Just as a head's up, I want to warn everyone that this chapter may not be for everyone - as a CONTENT WARNING, it contains forced prostitution and allusions to self-harm.
Please only read if you can!
~Meghan
Chapter XVII
Capitol Company
- The Remake Center -
Gallus found me after Ilis took Lauren and Bole down for training.
"Time to get you ready for your date," he said, giving me a suggestive look with his red-glitter eyes. "A very rich one by the sound of it."
Aurelia squealed and the prep team hasn't stopped talking, even now as they wax my legs yet again in the Remake Center. I wince, rubbing the tender flesh turning pink where they did the last rip. No matter how many times I get waxed, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. The plucking either. At least Maxima looks sorry as she takes tweezers to my eyebrows.
With a sigh, Gallus shakes his head. His diamond earrings sparkle as he turns. "I'm going to get Doctor Romula to give you some sleeping pills. Those sleep bruises are horrifying."
"Bad nights happen to us all," Maxima tries to reassure me with a sweet smile.
I manage a weak smile. If only she knew that my nightmares involved a girl drowning in her own blood before I blew up on my podium. After Mags sang me to sleep, I didn't have any dreams, but I woke up with the smell of roses and blood in my head.
Maxima and Aurelia go to work painting over the purple tinge below my eyes.
Gallus flips through his sketchbook full of his designs on a redheaded girl. "I'm thinking... this one. Plunging necklines are so old now, too last year. Backless is the perfect touch of sensual without trying."
"Does it need to be sensual?" I mutter, grimacing as Priscus rips off another strip of hair on my calves.
"You need what I say," Gallus says icily, lifting his chin. He flicks his dark eyes towards me. "I'm to make you look irresistible. So we have our work cut out for us."
I roll my eyes. "Thanks," I mutter, but I don't argue as the prep team keeps working away. They file my nails and paint them in glitter. My earrings are changed so that one has a drop of silver, and the other has a sparkling cuff that runs up the side of my ear. My hair is straightened, made sleek and glossy with some serum, hiding the choppy ends. They cover me in lotion and then spray so much perfume that I start hacking.
Gallus comes back, touches up my heavy eye-makeup, and gives me a final coating of burgundy lipstick before revealing my gown. It looks like a silver parachute from the Games, slipping over his arms as he directs me to lift my arms up. The dress glides over me. It's even smoother than my silk bedsheets, something I didn't think was possible. When I turn in the mirror, my eyebrows rise.
The dress looks like liquid silver on me. It highlights every move my body makes, glistening, like water gliding off my skin. The neckline slouches a bit, hung up by thin silver straps. They crisscross over my back, leaving it mostly exposed, like my black dress during the victory party.
"I think I've outdone myself," Gallus says. He snaps his ringed fingers and Priscus dashes off before bringing back strappy black high-heels. Gallus smiles at me, circling around like a vulture, admiring his handcrafted work. "You're going to kill him, Fern."
I'm quiet for a moment, staring at the girl in the mirror. "That's the dream," I finally say.
- The Elysium -
Gallus walks me to a shiny black car outside the Training Center, which turns out to be driven by an Avox. He tells me to have a fun night, fixes a lock of hair, and then I'm being whisked off through the streets of the Capitol. The sun is setting, drawing a blanket of orange and gold across the colorful buildings and bright lights. People are beginning to go out, dressed up. Electronic billboards shift between pictures of the tributes in this year's Games.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress. My chest moves, but it feels like I'm not drawing in any air.
I'm doing this for Mama and Pine, I remind myself. For their safety.
I know President Snow wasn't bluffing when he threatened to have them killed. If I don't entertain Carus Cardew, my brother's name will be the only one in the reaping bowl. Maybe not next year, maybe not the year after, but it's a guarantee. But it won't happen if I can keep Snow happy.
The car stops, snapping me from my thoughts. I glance up as a man in a fuchsia suit opens the door to the car.
"Welcome, Miss Redwood," he says smoothly, "it's a pleasure to have you dine with us tonight. Your date is already seated in the private area. We want to accommodate your preference to remain... subtle about your excursion." The man winks, as if we're both sharing a gossipy secret. I never gave a preference for privacy, so that must be Carus' doing.
I smile as if it was my idea. "Thank you." I start to slide out of the car, but remember what Ilis would say. So I hold out my hand, and the man helps me onto the sidewalk. He leads me through a side-door to a glass building, the walls obscured inside by strings of sweet-smelling flowers and twinkling lights. The din of chatter and clattering silverware meets my ears as he leads me to an area sectioned off by a screen of colorful leaves.
Seated there, at the already-set table with a snow-white cloth, is Carus Cardew in an evergreen suit. He smiles, standing as he notices me. "Fern, how lovely you look!"
The man in fuchsia vanishes, leaving me alone with Carus. I force my skin to stop crawling under his eyes. "You too, Carus," I say. "Green is my favorite color." But I don't think it will be anymore now that he's wearing it.
Carus pulls my chair out for me, going to take his place in his own. I sit like Ilis taught me with my ankles crossed, keeping my back straight.
Before either of us can say a word, a waiter dressed in bronze comes up, placing two crystal flutes down on the velvet tablecloth. He takes out a slim glass tablet and looks expectantly between Carus and I.
"Um." I glance at Carus. "Do you have the menu?"
He cracks a smile. "Oh, we don't use menus here. You can name anything you want, anything at all."
I glance at the waiter's blank tablet. I don't even think my stomach could hold food at all, but I would never hear the end of it from Snow if I don't play along. So I lift my chin up. "I'll take the chef's favorite."
The waiter gives a slight, approving smile, writing down my words onto his tablet. Carus orders a stew before the waiter vanishes, and then turns his artificially golden eyes towards me.
"How have you been finding your time back in the Capitol?" he asks.
Like Hell. I bite my tongue, trying to imagine I'm sitting onstage with a less friendly Caesar Flickerman. That's all this is anyway. Another performance. "It's been very refreshing," I finally lie. "I've missed the view of all the buildings. It always seems like there's something going on in this city."
"Not much like at home, I'm guessing," Carus says. His eyes crinkle with the lines that so many people here in the Capitol don't have. Years of weathering and smiling, drawn out on someone's skin. For a moment, it reminds me of my grandfather and the way he used to pull on his wide-brimmed hat, smiling down at me and my older sister. But then his face melts back into the Capitol man in front of me.
I shrug and offer a smile Ilis would be proud of. "Not really." But I don't want to talk about what I miss from District 7. I don't want Carus connected with my home like that. "You said a few months ago at the party that you visit District Two. I didn't know that administrators had much to do there."
Carus laughs and finally reaches for his crystal flute. "Well, between you and me, Fern, I do work at the president's offices, but I'm not quite an administrator. I'm more involved in... surveying for President Snow's projects." He gives a me secretive smile and lifts the flute to his lips, taking a sip. "Have you ever tried posca before?"
I glance over at the amber liquid in my glass. "Posca?"
"It's like a watered down wine, with a bit of spice to it," Carus says.
He watches me expectantly, a bit of a smile on his face. I lift up my glass delicately, watching the liquid move around, reflecting the lights around us. I draw it closer to my mouth, and then the waiter is back, setting down two plates and chirping an offer to get anything else we need. I shake my head, setting down my glass, and the waiter disappears again behind the walls of leaves.
"I love this stew," Carus says, setting his napkin in his lap as he picks up a silver spoon.
I peer down at my plate of what looks like pale orange noodles under a plum-colored sauce, smelling like fennel. My stomach churns but I grab my fork anyway, setting my napkin in my lap like Carus.
He takes a bite of stew and smiles, closing his eyes for a moment in bliss. "My grandparents used to always make this stew for me, they ate buckets of it during the war when food was a bit more scarce. It's not luxurious, but it's so very filling. It's a staple here now in the Capitol. As much as people wanted to forget bad times, some habits remain, even if it is a hot bowl of beans and bread."
I pause, glancing over at him. It's bizarre, hearing someone from the Capitol talk about the war. Usually it's just mentioned in relation to the Hunger Games as a reason why the Capitol needs to keep killing off district kids. But Carus just eats another bite of stew.
"Were you close to your grandparents?" I finally ask.
Carus considers my question, sipping more posca. "Fairly. They were stern people, but I loved them all the same. They were a bit more obsessed with the Cardew name than I've been. I think it's a trait my mother inherited, so much so that she kept her own name instead of my father's. She was one of the original mentors of the Tenth Hunger Games, actually, back when the mentorship program started."
I swallow, forcing myself not to look away. "She must have been an important woman."
"She was just a girl at the time, actually," Carus says simply, "about the same age as the tribute she was assigned to. There wasn't much to win there, of course, not even some prize money. Just a scholarship to the university."
No, just the life of a tribute you probably don't even know the name of. I can't help myself from blurting out, "I thought everyone in the Capitol has money."
If Carus knows I meant it as a thinly-veiled insult, he doesn't take it like one. Instead he just laughs. "Everyone here certainly does make it look that way." He leans forward just the slightest bit. "I think you've noticed that by now, though, haven't you?"
I blink, not sure at first how to respond. If the words had been coming from Snow's mouth, they would've been smug and threatening. But Carus just smiles as if he's impressed. If I didn't know what this date was really about, I almost might believe he was a genuine person. But he's not. "So you don't care about money?"
Carus still has a smile on his face. Finally, his gold eyes drop back to the stew as he picks up his spoon again. "Money gets old. Ironic for someone who works at the offices to say, I know, but like I said - what I do is much more important than that. What about you, Fern? How have you been enjoying the mansion in the Victor's Village? I've seen the ones in Two. They're quite remarkable." He lifts up his posca glass, his eyes glinting.
As if Ilis is whispering in my ear what to do to play this game, I pick up my own crystal flute and hold it out to his. They clink together like a delicate bell, and Carus takes a long sip, his eyes watching me.
I lift the glass to my own mouth. "I don't know if I'd agree," I finally say, smile, and pretend to drink.
- Cardew Penthouse -
I've never been in a penthouse before.
It's much more massive than I expected, full of white walls and black leather furniture. Carus takes my hand to show me the main living room. Wrapping around it are floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a view that stuns me into silence. The Capitol shines like a bed of embers, full of colorful lights and movement far below. Out in the distance, the massive lake shines underneath the moon's glow.
My throat tightens when I notice the mountains far in the distance. Home is just beyond.
"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" Carus asks. He gives me a wide smile.
I let my gaze sweep across the night scene. "How long have you lived here?"
He shrugs. "It's been in the Cardew family for ages. Since before the Dark Days. My grandmother, Livia, used to say that no other family has ever lived here." He laughs. "No idea if that's true, but she sure said it a lot. Do you like it?"
I turn, looking at the dark furniture. It's so foreign-looking I honestly don't even know. Back home, my victor's mansion is big but its rooms are small and cozy. The furniture is distinctly District 7. But it's so different here. Almost... alien. It doesn't look inviting like I always envisioned my own dream house when I was little. It looks like anyone could live here.
My eyes stop on a collection of photographs hanging on the wall in black frames.
Carus follows my gaze. "You can look at them."
I walk over to the photos, lit up with the city light from outside, just a cluster of seven. A couple have an elderly woman I take to be his grandmother. I don't know some of the others, but when I see a little boy in a tiny school blazer with a scuffed knee, I stop. The boy's smile is wide, missing a front tooth. He's holding up a toy hovercraft in his small hand, squinting in the sunshine. I immediately know who it is, even without the artificial amber eyes.
"I was five," Carus says, appearing beside me. "Father had just gotten me one of those toys during his trip to District Six."
I stare at the smiling face of six-year-old Carus Cardew. When I finally pull my eyes away, I look at the grown-up version next to me. It's hard to imagine that they're the same person. "Your eyes used to be green," I blurt.
Carus laughs. "Yes, you caught me. Bright green, a little bit like yours."
The thought makes me want to cry for some reason.
Instead, I look back at the last photograph. It's a pretty girl with long brunette hair, her own green eyes big and excited, standing on a balcony I'm guessing is on the rooftop above us. She's familiar. The resemblance to Carus is obvious, but she looks about my age. But who knows when the photo was taken.
"Is this your sister?" I ask, figuring it came from years ago.
Carus laughs again. "That's Aristophina. She's my daughter. This was a year ago."
My eyebrows rise. When he's talked about his daughter, I figured she was somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties. She looks so young here. Almost-
"She's about your age.," Carus tells me. "You two might make good friends."
For a moment, my head spins. About your age. You two might be good friends. Carus Cardew is buying the body of a victor young enough to be his daughter's age. Someone he thinks his daughter might be friends with. Does his daughter know what her father is doing? Would she just accept it as part of life in the Capitol? Part of the perks of being a friend of President Snow?
I plant my heels firmly on the ground, trying to keep myself from fainting.
Carus slips his arm around me, chuckling. "Too much posca? It happens to us all."
I don't argue. I don't tell him that I didn't have any of that drink, and that I never wanted to go on the date with him. But maybe he already knows that.
Carus Cardew pulls me back to the wall of windows and I let him. I want to keep looking at the mountains that might lead to home, but he turns me towards him, putting a hand against my back like he did at the victor's party. Part of me wonders if he does this with other women, other victors. He probably thinks it's a gesture that I'd like, something that he thinks every woman he's been with likes.
"Such a beautiful girl," he murmurs to me. His artificial amber eyes stare into mine. I force myself not to look away.
You two might be good friends.
My arms feels heavy and numb, but Carus doesn't seem to notice.
Please don't, I think. Please don't.
Somewhere in the back of my thoughts, I think about Axel. When was the first time someone bought him? What was going through his head at the time?
President Snow's smile in the rose garden comes to my mind. His threat. His order. Do you think you can entertain him?
So I lean forward and kiss Carus, keeping my eyes shut so that I can't see his orange eyes. I force myself not to move away when Carus pulls me closer, kissing me back, tasting like posca, and mumbling something I don't understand. All I can think is how different it is from when Vis kissed me. In the elevator, it was quick and rushed, but he was gentle with how he put his hand in my hair. I didn't doubt the look in Vis' eyes. This is the opposite. This is wrong.
"I've dreamt about this for so long," Carus sighs against my mouth.
I close my eyes tighter.
- Training Center, Floor 7 -
I take off my black heels in the elevator, snapping one of the thin straps in the process, but I don't care.
When the elevator doors open, I step onto the cold marble floor, the chill biting my bare feet, and I welcome it. Our apartment is silent and dark. I've missed dinner. Lauren and Bole will be in bed right now, getting rest for their last day of training tomorrow with private sessions. The thought makes my stomach sink. How does that look? That a mentor left her tributes to go on a date?
I move towards the hallway, but a flicker of movement makes me turn. My eyes meet Axel's in the dim lighting. He's sitting in the lounge area, flicking through that sponsor tablet again, the blue glow lighting up his face.
We're silent for a moment. Just staring.
So now he can look at me?
I wish he'd look away.
But he doesn't, just staring like he's seen a ghost.
I look away first, letting my silver dress sweep around me as I walk down the hall and lock myself in my room. It's nearly black, just lit up with the sparkling Capitol skyscrapers outside my window, a silver moon setting behind one of them. It has to be at least four o'clock in the morning now. I'll have to be up for breakfast in five hours. I wish I could just stay in my room all day, blocking out all of the Capitol and the 74th Hunger Games.
But I'm a mentor now. I'll have to be up for Lauren, especially since I wasn't here today. Instead I was at Carus Cardew's penthouse.
The thought breaks something I've been holding together.
My knees wobble before giving out, and I crash painfully to the floor. I shove my heels away from me, pressing my face into the carpet, curled up in a ball. I grit my teeth so hard it's a wonder they don't break. I almost don't even feel it, though. All I feel are Carus Cardew's hands on my skin, his lips and the velvet of his bed comforter. The thought makes me want to rip off every inch of skin on my body, but I settle for my dress instead.
I pull the gown, tearing at the beautiful silver fabric Gallus designed for me. I scrape myself in the process, blood running down my arm. I tear the silver cuff of my ear, throwing it against my window, and dig my hands into my glossed hair.
I don't realize I'm crying until the tears splat onto my legs. I pull my knees up to my face, sobbing until my throat hurts. I don't hold back my tears like I usually do. They run down my face, mixing with the blood dripping onto the carpet. I reach over for a pillow near my bed, burying my face in it. I scream into the pillow, digging my sparkling, pristine fingernails into it.
I don't how long I sit alone in my dark room, curled up in the glow of the Capitol skyscrapers out the window. Eventually the tears stop coming, my blood dries on my arm, and my throat feel like it's in ribbons so that screaming hurts too much anymore. I just sit there, rocking. My eyes find the clump of torn silver fabric near me.
I thought being a victor was a good thing.
I used to see them on television, or around District 7, the ones who escaped death in the arena. I always thought they were lucky. They didn't have to work like the rest of us, wonder if they would have enough food to feel full in the winter, or think about how they'd have the money to support their children one day. They're supposed to be the ones that escape the life in the districts the rest of us have.
But now it's like the façade has been pulled away, and I finally know what victors are.
They don't win anything. We don't win anything. Nobody comes out of the arena to go onto greater things. The second my name was called, it didn't matter if I won or not. It didn't matter whether or not I died in the arena, because the old Fern was never going to come out of the arena alive.
I think I died in the arena. I think the Capitol really did kill me in the Games.
I don't know how or when I fall asleep, but I'm woken up to bright sunshine by an Avox collecting my dress. I don't even care that she's seeing me curled up on the floor, and she doesn't give me a look to show that she cares much either. It's just business, and she's just going about her chores.
"What time is it?" I say, my voice hoarse.
She points out the window and then holds up eight fingers.
A tiny bit of relief makes it easier to breathe. Good. I haven't missed breakfast. I grab the bed to pull myself up to my feet, not entirely trusting my legs to work, but they have to. The Avox doesn't give me a second look as I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water is scalding, so hot that it fills up the glass with steam and leaves my skin red, but I wish it could be hotter and melt my skin right off. I scrub at the dried blood on my arm and assess the damage the faint scratches will leave.
For a moment, I sway under the too-hot water, my eyes stuck to the scratches my painted nails left as I ripped off my dress hours ago. For a moment, I'm almost proud. The Capitol took away the scars that I had in the arena, Gallus dresses me up in gowns that the Capitol will love, and now President Snow has made my body not even belong to me. For the first time all night, I can't feel Carus Cardew's hands on me. I made that scar. It's mine. The only way my body can belong to me now.
I close my eyes and hit all the scented shampoo buttons on the wall until I can't smell Carus' cologne anymore.
By the time I've dried off my body and hair, the sun is rising higher in the sky. Both the Avox and my dress are gone, but the ear cuff still sparkles where it fell below my window. My stomach starts to knot as the thought of breakfast wanders into my mind. I shove it down and focus on dressing instead, choosing soft pants and a long-sleeved shirt that covers the scratches. I forget socks when I yank on some boots, but can't be bothered to take them back off again, so I leave my room instead.
I try to keep my mind blank as I walk into the breakfast room. Bole isn't here yet, but Lauren, Ilis and Axel have already starting eating. I can't help the wave of nausea that passes over me when they all turn their faces as I sit down. Well. Almost all of them. Axel, once again, doesn't bother to look at me so I keep my face turned away from him too.
Ilis beams at me. "Well good morning, young lady. I'm surprised you were able to get up at all this morning. I told Axel that you would be sleeping in 'till noon."
I curl my hands into fists beneath the table. Of course he would say that. As if I would actually choose to sleep in rather than see my tribute the last morning of training. But then I remember how I wasn't there for dinner, and I uncurl my fists, gazing down at the table. "Well. I'm here."
Silence settles over the table. Axel and Lauren keep eating.
"I may or may not have seen your little escapade on the Capitol News earlier this morning," Ilis laughs. "He's quite the catch. Oh, don't look so sour, I'm not one to judge. We all like to have our fun. I just-"
"Can you please stop talking?" I snap, shooting Ilis a glare.
Axel finally looks up. Even Lauren's face is stunned. Ilis just splutters, putting down his fork to give me a wide-eyed look of shock.
"That tone of voice-"
"What's going on?"
We all turn to look at Bole as he walks to the table, sitting down next to Lauren and cocking an eyebrow.
I tense my jaw. "Nothing. I... It's just that I think we should talk about you both instead, about what's going to happen today since it's your last day of training."
It's silent for a moment, the air still tense, before Lauren pipes up with, "that's when we get scores, right?"
Ilis frowns at me before turning and beginning to explain the private training sessions.
I sink back into my chair and, for a moment, try to pretend I'm not in the Capitol.
- Victor's Lounge -
The room is silent.
I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here, just staring at the blank television, curled up.
Such a beautiful girl.
I clench my jaw, digging my nails into the back of my other hand. I don't dare close my eyes. I don't want to see those artificially amber irises again, and I know that if I close my eyes right now they're all I see. Just thinking about them makes the smell of posca and cologne swirl in my brain. I take a deep gulp of air, scented with the mint cleaner the Avoxes use.
I hadn't said much today while all the victors gathered together in the lounge. They discussed the upcoming training scores, and then focused on their usual puzzles, knitting, or video games. Some vanished to go network, something I don't understand still completely, but that Axel didn't bother to explain. He just sat across the room from me, talking to Luster and Millicent Porter. Julius tried to rope me into another pool game, but the look on my face made him stop pretty fast. One by one, they all left to get dinner. I didn't move when Axel left.
The door behind me clicks open and I jump.
When I turn, Finnick Odair gives me an apologetic look, standing in the doorway. "Sorry," he says, curiosity flickering through his sea-green eyes. "Forgot my coat." He walks over to one of the chairs where a blue blazer is hanging. He folds is over his arm and glances back over at me. "Dinner's starting soon. They'll probably be expecting you upstairs."
"Probably," I say, finally finding my voice as my heartbeat stops racing. I look down at the couch cushion next to me, stare at the purple threads. "Thanks."
Finnick turns towards the open doorway, then pauses. He turns back towards me. "Don't stay here, Fern. You don't need to be by yourself."
I blink, my eyes still stuck on the couch threads. I know that even if I go upstairs, I'll still be alone. I'll have to deal with Ilis' teasing, and the curious looks from Lauren and Bole. Axel won't even look at me. I'd much rather be alone here than alone in a crowded apartment. If I go back to my room, I know that I'll smell Carus Cardew's cologne. I want to spend every spare moment I can away from there until dinner starts. Then I'll go back and keep being a mentor.
"You'll never survive."
I look back over at Finnick, who's still in the doorway, his coat held loosely from one hand. He shrugs a shoulder and glances at me with something I could mistake as pity, but know it's probably just understanding.
"You'll never survive like this, I mean," he finally says. "Surviving is all we can do now."
With that, the District 4 mentor leaves the room, leaving me alone in the silence. I turn on the couch cushion, staring at the vase of pink flowers set on the coffee table. In the mirrored surface of the vase, a warped version of myself stares back, lips pulled down in a frown, eyes bruised with sleeplessness.
Surviving is all we can do now.
It doesn't take a genius to know that surviving isn't the same as living.
My forest-green eyes blink once in the mirrored vase.
It almost feels mechanical how my body moves, standing up and leaning over to pick up the vase. I pull my arm back and throw it like one of my axes. My reflection smashes apart against the silent television, shattering into hundreds of glittering pieces of mirror, raining down onto the floor. The pink flowers drop limply on top, one getting caught in smashed, jagged screen of the television.
I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs as they expand and exhale.
I stopped living a long time ago. Finnick is right. Now all I can do is survive. That's the only way I can ever beat Snow at his own game.
- Training Center, Floor 7 -
I force myself to eat dinner.
My stomach protests, but I keep scooping up the soup, bread, and even dessert. Ilis and Gallus watch me, peeking over their glasses. Ilis still has a disapproving look on his face, so I know I'm not forgiven for this morning. But at least I don't have to deal with him chastising me for not eating.
We all settle into the crescent-shaped couch in the living room, Caesar Flickerman on the screen.
I sit on the far right side, Lauren to my left, and Gallus to hers. Across the couch, Axel speaks to Bole and Decima. I make myself turn from him, staring at the screen instead. Caesar is chattering away. He smooths a piece of his powder-blue hair back, holding up a stack of cards with a wide grin and wild laugh.
Next to me, Lauren clenches her hands together.
"I'm sure you did well," I say softly.
Her brown eyes blink at me before she smiles back.
"As always, we'll start with District One," Caesar begins. "Marvel: eight. Glimmer: eight." Pictures of the two tributes come up, one by one, as he announces their scores. The pair from 2 also pull predictably high scores with tens each. Betee and Capalla's tributes get an six and seven respectively. The pair from 4 get high scores, of course. Caesar moves onto the next card. "Now for District Five." A photograph of Vis comes up.
My breath catches.
He's not smiling, like everyone else, unlike how he was back in District 5. His dark, though, is still messy as ever.
"Seven," Caesar says.
I let out a slow breath. Seven. Not great, but not bad either, just under a Career score. What did he show the Gamemakers? He's not strong like Hendrix was, but people from District 5 aren't usually starving like the outer districts. That alone would give Vis an advantage. As District 6 starts, guilt settles in my stomach. Shouldn't I be hoping for the other tributes to get a low score? For Lauren to stand out?
I'm still thinking about it as District 7 is called. The air in the room seems to thicken.
"Bole," Caesar says, and his picture comes up. "Seven."
A relieved smile breaks across Bole's face. Lauren beams at him, and Axel claps a hand on his back.
"Not too bad at all," Decima murmurs with an approving nod. She takes a pleased sip of her red wine.
Lauren's face appears on the screen next. I hold my breath as Caeser picks up the next card. "Lauren Cambium," he says. "Six."
My tribute lets out a slow breath.
"That's good," Gallus assures her quickly in a demure tone. Still, even as he sits with his leg crossed over his knee, eyes scrutinizing the television, I can see the gears working in his head. A six won't attract any particular attention from sponsors, I bet. It's not a bad score for someone as small as Lauren, even if she does have muscle, but it's not like the Careers. She'll need to impress them tomorrow, and half of that is Gallus' job with what she'll wear.
Gallus turns, and I know we're thinking the same thing.
I tear my eyes away as Caesar moves onto District 8. "You did great," I say softly to Lauren. "It's a good score."
"We can definitely work with it," Ilis adds with a smile he probably thinks is reassuring.
Lauren glances over at me, nodding.
For just a split second, movement flashes out of the corner of my eye. Before I can stop myself, I turn and meet Axel's gaze. We stare at each other for what can only be a moment, but it feels longer. His face is unreadable. I know better now than to try to guess what he's thinking, because I probably don't want to know.
I'm surprised at how much I care.
How I want to grab his shoulders and ask what it is he's seeing on my face that makes him keep turning away. Or what it is in his head he keeps hearing, what keeps making him pretend like I'm not here. Snow has made him do the same thing as me. So why is he treating me like a pariah? I don't know what I want him to do. He can't stop Snow.
But maybe I just want him to care too.
Axel looks away first, turning back to stare at the tributes from 9, and then 10 receiving their scores.
I feel numb as District 11 gets their scores. I'm hardly aware of it. I think I just want to go to bed, to be alone again and hide under my blankets that smell nothing like home. When we get to District 12, I sit up a bit. Everyone will go to bed after this, I just need to be here for 5 more minutes. And then the girl from 12 - Katniss - gets an eleven.
"What?" Gallus shouts, uncharacteristically leaning forward with his jaw hanging open.
The rest of us stare in shock that Caesar seems to share. When was the last time someone got an eleven in training?
Lauren is silent next to me.
My eyes move, drifting down to the soft carpet, stopping at the toes of my brown boots. The Girl on Fire just burned the competition to the ground.