Mahogany

"So he kissed you? Right in the middle of class? How romantic," Portia squealed with girlish delight.

"Of course not, are you absurd? It was after class," I urged her to keep her voice down, because some students by the bookshelves were starting to stare.

"Trivial details, who cares?" she whispered, "Do you think he wants to take you to the pre-Games dance? Ugh, imagine being invited by Seneca Crane. You would be the talk of the town."

"Who cares? I hope this does not get around. I just want a clean reputation," I said matter-of-factly.

It was true. Seneca had caught me completely off guard yesterday. We weren't schoolchildren anymore. He would need to utilize the upmost caution if this relationship were to blossom.

"Should I even bother going today?" I asked Portia, "I mean, who knows what he has on his mind?"

"I think I have a clue," Portia giggled and blushed.

"Grow up," I teased her, "It has been a while. At least I think it has."

I would be lying if I said things with Seneca didn't change me. The second that I walked out of that classroom, memories sprang up like flowers in the spring. Suddenly, I could picture our past. Pieces fell together. I recalled days spent outside, hands clasped delicately, and on occasion, roughly.

Portia sat with me on her lunch break, eager for more news. She had a conniption upon discovering my actions. She immediately jumped into mom mode, praying that I protect myself both emotionally and physically.

"So what are you going to do?" she broke through to my conscious.

"Be myself. I am going to go to his office and see what happens," I stated.

"Good luck with that. Give me details," she smiled and patted my hand.

I felt as if she were being neglected. I had insisted on asking her about classes, a subject she did not breach on her own. She might not even be fitting in with the other Stylists for all I knew. I hoped that she was having a wonderful experience. I vowed to spend more time with her once I figured this whole Seneca thing out.

At five o'clock, I headed through the tribute training center and boarded the golden elevator. I rode it to the lobby and walked down the crooked corridor to Seneca's office. I knew that I would arrive earlier than expected, but in my mind, fashionably early was always a bonus. Without a moment's hesitation, I knocked on the door.

"You are early," he said with a smile as he opened the door.

I stepped cautiously into the dim office. The normal scholastic look had been tossed aside for something more intimate. His desk had been turned sideways, a tablecloth with the royal crest of Panem now sat on top. A candelabra rested in the middle with a candle glowing warmly.

"Please," he gestured toward a chair, "Have a seat."

"This is quite impressive," I observed, taking off my jacket.

He took the jacket from me and hung it over the door handle. He pulled the back of my chair out from behind me, ushering me into the seat. The padding of the chair was made of valor. He crossed to the other side of the desk and sat, spreading his napkin over his chest.

"I hope you are hungry," he said with a grin, "I have prepared a fine meal."

"Well, I do have a mighty appetite," I responded.

His eyes rose in surprise and dual satisfaction. He had prepared in intricate meal, revealing fine seafood for the first course. It was rare to get seafood this time of the year, so it must have come from District 4 itself. We dined with mixed humor and light conversation, leading up to the lighter course of dessert.

"Some fine cake perhaps?" he offered, "Or maybe a pastry?"

"Nothing, thanks. I could not eat another bite," I feigned putting my hands over my stomach to ward away indigestion.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked carefully.

He had cleared the table, making the dishes and candelabra vanish. The whole top of the table was clear, providing me a straight path toward him. I stood and leaned over the table, similar to the day I met with him to discuss the internship.

"You," I responded, grabbing his tie.

I forced him across the table, pulling his lips to mine. He willingly obliged, half falling onto the tablecloth. His hands found my face, holding me to his. I pulled them down to his sides, wanting to be in control. He crossed over to my side of the table and forced me on top of it, my back meeting the bare mahogany.

"Is this what you want?" he breathed, loosening his tie.

"Yes," I answered, lying against the wood.

He removed my shoes quickly, and I ripped his shirt off. He lifted my skirt above my waist and moved closer, letting me feel his whole body. I traced the grooves in his chest, his strong muscles rippling through.

"Come here," I urged, wanting him all over me.

He kissed me again, our bare fronts touching now. I could feel him tremble with anticipation. He whispered reassurances into my ear, causing shivers to spread. I dug my nails into his back, expecting the pressure to build.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered into my neck.

"Seneca," I gasped in between breathes, "I want you to make love to me."

"We can wait," he brushed against me.

"I said I want you to make love to me."

"Effie."

"Seneca, please."

He paused.

"What did you say?"

"I said please. Please, Seneca. Make love to me."

What is he waiting for? A written invitation? He courts me for weeks, nearly scaring me half to death and he will not take the bait. I waited, hoping to feel him. I silently prayed for him to do something. Anything. He just stopped and stared into my eyes, searching for something I did not know. Finally, he released me.

"Effie, I can't. Not like this. You aren't yourself today," he backed away, "I am sorry."

"No, Seneca. I am myself. I need you. I want you. I am here, giving myself so freely to you. Why can't you, you know?" I asked with disappointment.

"It isn't right," he answered, "It isn't right. Not yet."

I sat up on the desk, lowering my dress. I could feel the disappointment and anger sink into the floor. I found my shoes, helping to right the room. Seneca had sat down in his seat, one hand over his eyes. I was almost scared to face him, fearing a confrontation.

"I just want to be with you, you know. You aren't some cheap hooker. You actually mean something to me. I was hoping that we could be together. The way we used to be before you lost your mind. Do you remember that, Effie? Do you remember what it was like before?" he extrapolated.

I froze in my tracks. Never had I expected a love confession of this caliber. I knew that we had history that was made clear. However, I could never fathom the depth of his devotion. The depth and the duration, for after all these years that I had been sick, he had been here, wanting me. The realization almost broke my heart. I rushed over to his chair, taking his hands in mine.

"Seneca, I want to be with you, too. I am lost, yes. But, I need you. To help me rediscover myself. Help me find who I am," I urged, pressing his hand against me, "Please."

He looked into my eyes, showing me two deep pits of undying devotion and underlying passion. He wanted to help me, but neither knew how.

"What can I do?" he mused, "I don't want our first time since-to be like this."

"We can work past that," I agreed, "Help me in other ways."

"How?" he asked.

"Hold me."

He stood, slowly at first, more commanding after. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, as if testing to see if I would break. I twisted those hands around, wanting to feel enveloped by him. I wanted him to engulf me.

"This is nice," I commented.

He remained silent. I grew anxious, as he grew limp. Quickly, I needed to find some way of getting him back here.

"You know, I remember a lot of things, thanks to you," I added, "I remember the trips to the park. The handholding. The intimate moments, too."

He squeezed tighter.

"I can almost remember everything," I smiled into him, "Can you remind me of some things?"

"Like Graduation?" he finally spoke, "At Venia's."

My eyes snapped shut then opened again. Venia. That name rang bells, but I could not match it with a face. I knew she had something to do with Alfie though.

"My brother," I whispered.

Seneca released me. He spun me to face him, showing true interest in his eyes. He grew excited again.

"That's it!" he shouted, "They will help you remember."

"Do you really think so?" I contemplated.

"Yes. But only if you're ready," he answered, "Are you ready to see them?"

I paused for a second, the brief message from the penthouse reminding me of dangers. I chewed on my lip for a second, deciding my course of action. Seneca, no doubt, would think that I would be anxious of seeing Alfie. However, I had yet to tell him of the threats. Perhaps, it was better if he did not know. Not yet anyway.

I breathed a deep sigh, everything waited on this answer. If I wanted my memory back, this was the thing to do. If I wanted to possibly ruin everything, this was the course to take. If I wanted Seneca to be mine for good, this needed to be done.

"Yes."