Never before had the Capitol seemed like a better alternative than home. The house, the woods, the Training Centre, it all hurt too much now. I couldn't stand to be around anything that reminded me of Clove, even after my conversation with Junia.
So when an invitation arrived from the Capitol, I took it, even though they had no power over me anymore and I knew only hell awaited me there. Their leverage over me was gone. But I still went. I wanted to punish myself and I could think of no better place for that than the Capitol.
I'd never appreciated the view from the window of my Capitol apartment before. Nor had I appreciated the fact that no one gave a damn about me there. After my duties were done, they left me alone. No one cared whether I left my apartment or not. So I didn't. I spent hour upon hour tucked away on the windowsill of the wall-sized window, stared out at the distant mountains and let my mind turn completely blank.
I no longer wanted to think. I wanted to be consumed with bloodlust and anger and hatred and anything that was easier than fear and powerlessness and misery. The worst one was loneliness.
Never before had I known what it truly felt like to be alone. It had always been Clove and I. While she had been alive I had had purpose. But now there seemed no point.
When the front door slid open, I was glad that I had hidden myself from sight behind the thick velvet curtains. I was glad too that whoever it was walked in without announcement. That meant it was not a Capitolian, they would be far too frightened of me.
Last night at a banquet, a man who could not keep his hands to himself had found a steak knife through one of those hands. I had seen in their panicked eyes that they knew something had changed in our little game, even if they had no clue what.
The bold, unperturbed arrival meant that it could only be another Victor invading my solitude.
"Get out, Finnick," I snapped, sure that I recognised the heady scent of jasmine and sweat.
Footsteps approached and I groaned in frustration at their persistence, glaring up in anticipation as the curtain swished aside.
I was met not with sea green eyes, but with ice blue ones. My surprise lasted only a moment and then my scowl towards the golden haired beauty of District 1 intensified. She was probably the last Victor I wished to see, and that included Johanna. It wasn't bad enough that Cashmere and Gloss were our traditional district rivals, but the Valenti siblings seemed to embody everything I loathed. They relied upon their beauty to get anywhere in life, and every time I heard her obnoxious, flirty giggle and saw her flicking those curls over her shoulder, I wanted to drive knives into the nearest thing. Preferably her.
As usual, she seemed to care little for my glare or my hiss. That was one of the most irritating aspects of the Victors. They were, with the exception of Annie Cresta and probably LoverBoy, people who had slaughtered, lied, manipulated and betrayed their way to survival and they weren't phased by the fact that others had done that too. My reputation for brutality and volatility did little to scare any of them.
I still remembered watching Cashmere win. I knew that under her perfect, creamy skin and her sapphire eyes, that she was capable of brutality and viciousness to match my own. She had never ripped anyone's throat out but she did seduce her district partner, straddle him, press her lips to his and swiftly slit his throat. She had kissed him until his heart had stopped beating and his canon had fired.
"No one invited you," I said coldly as she let the curtain fall closed again behind her. She ignored me and took up a position that mirrored mine on the other end of the windowsill.
"I never need an invite, darling," she cooed patronisingly and settled herself comfortably. She fixed me with those striking blue eyes of hers. I loathed how beautiful she was. It was sickening.
"I have something to talk to you about," she continued, coolly inspecting her nails.
My eyes narrowed dubiously. Cashmere and I had never shared more than a painfully polite conversation. I could guess why she felt the need to talk to me now, and it infuriated me. My heel collided with her shin and I took a sick pleasure in knowing a bruise would mar her perfect skin tomorrow. Without hesitation she kicked back. I hissed. She snarled. We glared at each other for several tense moments until the pressure became too much, and we dropped out gaze in unison. I slumped back against the wall and crossed my arms sulkily.
"You fight like a girl," she said nastily and gave me a cruel smile. I rolled my eyes. This pathetic attempt at an argument was exactly the reason that I did not interact with girls like Cashmere.
And honestly, if anyone here was to be accused of the girly stereotype...
"I don't think that District 1 girl thought that when I drove that ice pick through her throat," I spat without looking at her. "What was her name? Something typically stupid. Allure?"
Despite the indifference I forced into my expression, I remembered all of their names.
To my surprise Cashmere's mouth clamped shut. Her lips pressed into a thin white line. The hate in her eyes intensified to a point where I almost expected to burst into flames.
My gaze flickered to her and then away again, hiding my surprise at the intensity of her reaction to my taunt. After a while she licked her lips lightly.
"Odd you should bring her up, considering," she said in a strained voice. Her smile was tight forced, which only made me more alarmed.
While my head was turned towards the mountains outside, I watched her warily from the corner of my eye. Cashmere was many things, but weak was not one of them. What I had said had struck a nerve and I wanted to know why. This wasn't simply Cashmere, the angry, spoilt little girl throwing a tantrum. This was Cashmere withholding a rage that mirrored my own.
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully. I shifted, trying to move into a better position. My nerves were tingling with familiar anticipation. I clenched my fingers into a fist, prepared to defend myself.
I jolted as Cashmere tossed her head. Her curls tumbled over one shoulder. I watched with disgust, recognising a move she pulled for the cameras all the time.
When I had first seen Cashmere on the Reaping videos, I had been painfully reminded of Tass; the same beautiful, angular face and gently lashed eyes. It hadn't taken three words from Cashmere's mouth after her Victory for that illusion to shatter. She was nothing like Tacita. She was still here, five years after her Victory, after all.
This time when she smiled it was almost polite, yet no less chilling than before.
"You've been sulking in here every day," she said calmly, "mourning that psycho little sister of yours."
Pain shot through my spine and sent me snapping upright. Every muscle tenses, I scowled at her.
She didn't flinch, though wariness flickered across her face. She had known that revealing her knowledge could have drastic consequences.
The urge to rip her hair from her head and gouge out her famous eyes was overpowering. I gritted my teeth till my head ached, trying to control the blinding rage. I needed to know how she knew, and why she was raising it now. People like us did not throw these comments around lightly.
With every ounce of control I possessed, I forced myself back against the sill.
"You know?" The words escaped through my still clenched teeth.
She inclined her head regally. "I had my suspicions from the Reaping. And then when she was killed...everyone else was fixated on hose ridiculous lovebirds from District 12." She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "I, personally, couldn't stand them. I found you much more interesting."
At the mention of the two frauds who had replaced Clove and Cato on the Victor's podium an irrepressible growl escaped me. They had better hope I was never in the same room as them, or Fire Girl might just find herself without her jugular. No one in all of Panem would be more deserving of a repeat of my Victory kill.
Cashmere was watching me intently. The thing I'd learnt about Cashmere was that her greatest skill was deception. Only fools believed that she was as vain and stupid as she appeared.
Swallowing down the bitter taste of rage and pain, I fixed her with my own cold gaze.
"Why do you care, One? You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself and your own precious sibling." Watching Cashmere and Gloss had always made me feel slightly sick, but now the thought revolted me. They'd always had each other in this torturous journey. Clove and I could have had that. I could have helped her through her first steps in the Capitol and she would have been there to understand my anger and my hatred. She could have been at my side in the Capitol every day, just as Gloss was at Cashmere's.
My attention was pulled back to reality as Cashmere cleared her throat daintily. I mentally chastised myself for going so far into dangerous thoughts. I couldn't allow a slip like that again or I would fall over the precipice and be lost in the black abyss again.
Her eyes were burning intently upon me and I had the powerful urge to look away. I steeled myself and held her gaze.
"It must be comforting to know that the person who killed her is dead," she remarked. Despite her light tone and the carefree shrug of her shoulders, her body was tensed.
I refused to play the same games as Cashmere. She might like to play pretend for all the world, but I loathed deception. I did not hide what I thought or felt as she did.
"If I could bring him back from the dead and kill him again myself, I would." My voice was soft and low, laced with the venom inspired by dozens of nights spent lying awake, replaying that moment over and over again and wishing that, somehow, I could have forced that rock from his hand and brought it down on his own head. My nails dug into my palms at the thought. I glanced down and saw drops of crimson on the flawless, white windowsill. Cashmere's gaze followed mine and her eyebrows raised with interest.
"Yes," she murmured softly. Her eyes flickered back to mine. "Imagine if you had to look him in the eye day after day, talk to him, pretend that you didn't want to rip his heart from his chest."
Dark thoughts still swirled in my head, but my attention was caught now. Like everything about Cashmere, there was more than there appeared to be in this conversation. I didn't know what yet, and that made me nervous.
"I wouldn't pretend," I replied carefully. "I would do it."
She gave a small, rueful smile and finally looked away. She glanced down at her nails. "Yes, well, that is where you and I differ, Enobaria. You've never been very good at pretending, have you? I, on the other hand, could look my sister's killer in the eye, give them a smile, and they wouldn't even know the agony I had planned for them."
I stared at her in silence for a long time but she didn't look up at me again. Perhaps even she wasn't masterful enough to hide whatever was going through her head.
"Why are you here, Cashmere?" I asked eventually. I was tired of these games.
She gave another small smile and shook her head. When she spoke it was still facing her lap, but every word was crystal clear and controlled.
"I told you, I'm here to talk about sisters. You're not the only one who's ever lost one, you know."
I glared at her, sick of her riddles. So her sister was dead too. Poor her. Everyone in Panem had lost someone, not even the spoilt little brats of District 1 could escape that. It did explain the anger I had seen though, and why it had seemed so familiar. Perhaps there was a certain flavour of pain that came with losing a sibling.
I glanced to the side, looking out the broad window at the Capitol view beyond, though I wasn't really fixed on it. I didn't want to talk to her about Clove and I didn't give a damn about her or her dead sister. I willed her to leave, before I was forced to inflict permanent damage on her perfect face.
As if she'd heard my thoughts, she unfolded herself gracefully from the windowsill.
The curtain didn't swish closed behind her, it must have been caught on something, and so when I turned I could watch her walk all the way to the door. It was just as she'd opened the door, and was standing silhouetted in the doorframe that the question escaped me.
"How did your sister die?" I didn't care...but I was curious. I watched her shoulders tense and then she turned to me very slowly, her curtain of golden curls half falling in front of her face. Her eyes still glowed at me through it though and I found myself caught in a gaze of terrible sadness, so different to the anger from a moment ago.
"You killed her, Enobaria. You drove an icepick through her throat on the third day of the 67th Hunger Games."
She stared hard at me for a long moment and I stared back, caught in her terrible gaze. Her words didn't inspire guilt in me but I couldn't deny the obvious pain in her eyes. She didn't even try to hide it now. I was intimate with that pain.
The moment was broken as a small figure appeared in the doorway that Cashmere still held open. Johanna stuck her head curiously into the room. Her short hair looked rumpled as if she'd just crawled out of bed and, as usual, she looked like she wanted to annoy the hell out of me.
"Aw, look at you too," she cooed, her eyes flicking between where I sat on the windowsill and Cashmere, who was still staring at me apparently ignoring Johanna. "You make such a cute couple."
"Shut your mouth Johanna before I shut it for you," Cashmere hissed. Her voice was low but venomous and I saw Johanna's eyes harden with suspicion. Cashmere blinked and the spell was broken. She sailed gracefully from the room, shoving passed Johanna who shoved her back.
Johanna watched Cashmere walk down the corridor and then turned her too-large eyes on me, raising her eyebrows with a wicked grin. "Lover's spat?"
Growling, I leaped to my feet, a lot less gracefully than Cashmere had. I sent Johanna stumbling back into the hallway with a vicious shove to her chest, and slammed the door in her face, ignoring her snarl from the other side. Some days I was in the mood to wage war with Johanna Mason, but today was not one of them.
A/N: You guys are amazing, do you know that? There are honestly no words for how it feels knowing there are people who have stuck with my story from chapter 1. When I see comments from those of you who have been through it all, whether you read it from the start or all in one go, I'm amazed.
This part is quite a long one. It may take time for developments (for example, that Ena and Domitius conversation) but personally this is my favourite of the parts because a lot happens, a lot changes, there are a lot of weaving storylines, AND it's not all grey skies and rainy days for our darling killer.
I appreciate all of you. I hope you enjoyed the Cashmere time.
- Lu