Going Under

A dim light shines overhead. My head is swimming, swimming through mud. The mud is so thick that I have to fight to stay above the surface. The mud is thickening, dragging me down into its earthly roots. I am going under. Submerging, I drown. In actuality, I lean over and throw up everywhere.

"We might need another bag," from under the mud, I hear the whisper.

Filth and vile. I can feel grime growing onto me. I feel disgusting. Yet, I just cannot get free. The mud threatens again, grasping me and forcing me under. More vomiting. The dim light gets brighter. I notice that my vision is askew. Something is holding my head down.

"Here are some bags. This room needs to be fumigated," more whispers.

Sweat drips down from my forehead. I am cold, shivering, freezing. There is no mud, but I can feel my head sinking in it. Only a strong vice, which holds me down. I want to scream. I cannot remember how I happened upon this place. My memories are distorted.

"He…hel…help"

My throat burns. I can taste nothing but spew. I want to cry. I need to get away. Why is everything so jumbled? The light is getting brighter. I can make out a doorway. My head is held down tight. It becomes hard to breathe. I reach for the vice that holds my head down. Shock hits me when I feel the familiar touch of skin.

I am suffocating. I can feel vessels bursting throughout my body. My eyes, once so beautiful, will be the first to go. Capillaries will seize up, expecting blood that will never arrive. I am going to die. Frantically, I scramble for the hand that holds my head in place. I claw at the skin, begging it to let me go. Now, I am panicking. Spots dawn over my eyes.

"Stop. Stop! You're killing me!" I manage to choke out.

The grip holds tighter. I can feel my last breath in my throat. It is bubbling fiercely, trying to surface out of my mouth. My stomach convulses, undoubtedly shutting down. If I could cry, I would. My grip becomes weak on the murdering hand. With all the strength I can muster, I force the breath up into my throat.

"Ready the bag."

I am going to suffocate. They will hold the bag over my face until I die. I try harder, forcing the breath out. I open my lips. Vomit, clear and stinging, rages out of my mouth. I cough in surprise. Slowly, the grip loosens. Shaking, I sit upright and try to focus on my surroundings.

"Drink this."

A red cup, full of clear liquid. Is this vomit? Is this liquor? I raise the glass to my lips. Oh, my throat burns. I let the liquid seep down into my churning stomach. Relief spreads through the drying capillaries. I am not going to die.

My vision refocuses. Familiarity strikes. I am in Seneca Crane's bedroom. He is standing by the door, ready to grab more bags if needed. Turning, I spot his sister on the bed next to me. She must have been the one holding my head down. I understand now. They are helping nurse my hangover.

I am so embarrassed. Tears pool out of my eyes. The room smells awful. Seneca looks disgusted and worried. What have I done? The bedroom, once so beautiful and majestic, becomes a wasteland. Closer examination shows the bed and floor have donned a plastic protector.

"How do you feel?" Venia whispers, gently touching my back.

I look into her eyes, expecting malice for everything I have put her through. Instead, I see concern. Genuine concern at that. I grasp her hand and nod slowly, assuring her that everything will be alright. She leads me over to the powder room. We walk in and she closes the door behind us.

"Let's clean you up," she says.

She walks over to the gratuitous bathtub and begins to let the water run. She adds all sorts of salts, powders, and liquids. The water turns a spectacular lilac color, emitting a pleasant odor. While we wait, she sits on the outside of the tub. Slowly, I begin to remove my clothing. Venia glances me over with a caring eye, looking for lacerations or bruising. When the water reaches an acceptable height, she gestures for me to get in.

"I will wash your clothing while you bathe. If you need anything, just call and I will come back," she instructs.

She leaves. I sink down into the warm liquid, feeling the vile melt away. The purple liquid saturates my skin, erasing any sign of roughness. I realize that the chemicals Venia has added provide the best care the Capitol can provide. My eyes close in relaxation. How nice.

The bath lasts around twenty minutes. I drain the tub and begin to clean myself up. My hair has undergone quite a journey. By brushing and untangling, it reshapes into something acceptable. Looking into the full-scale mirror, I can see the effects of the bath. I am left with a warming glow to my skin, illuminating and highlighting my more feminine attributes, namely my curves. A light knock resonates on the door.

"May I come in?"

His voice. I reach behind me and grab a towel. Not that it matters. I just want to redeem as much self-respect as I can.

"Come in."

The door opens. I look delicate in my reflection, my hands innocently placed rather than provocative. He steps into the powder room, gently closing the door behind him.

"How do you feel?" he questions and inspects.

"Much better," I respond, "Thank you."

He steps toward me, cautiously as if I may lash out at him. I allow him to close the distance between us. Suddenly, I forget any fury or hate that I have toward him. I burst into tears. His strong arms enclose around me, protecting me from myself. Through tears, I view the mirror. We look so tragic, so unfortunate in our embrace. I catch sight of his eyes, closed with a feeling of healing, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Seneca," I whisper, "I am so sorry."

"Effie," he answers, "I love you. I am sorry."

We stand there in a tragic embrace, my tears gently falling. He holds me tight, providing warmth and safety. I feel guilty, guilty because Seneca feels guilty. After what seems like eternity, he releases me. I want to scream for him to hold on and not let go. He fumbles under the counter and produces a cup, filling with water. He gives it to me, and I drink the contents.

"What am I going to do with you?" he speaks aloud.

I give him a curious look. A pang of horror fills me with the thought of him leaving.

"Please don't leave me," I sputter, water tricking out.

"Why though? I fear that you are not satisfied with me," he states indifferently.

"No, no. I am more than pleased with you. You are the greatest thing to me. Seneca, I love you," I placed the cup down.

With my words, I felt something. Something that I had never felt before. True devotion. It hit me like a ton of coals. He became so real. Our love became real. The childish hunger that I had felt was nothing compared with the overflow of emotions. I threw myself at him, offering up anything I could. I had the urge to please him, right here.

"Effie, Effie," he chuckled, "I love you too, you must know this. But this unparalleled hunger? Where is it coming from? Are you furious with me? Are you in need of something?"

"Oh, I most definitely need something," I growled, "You."

He took my hint.