Chapter Three
I board the train, and the glass doors seal closed behind me. This isn't an unfamiliar experience for me, my previous train journey was to the Capitol when my mother won her Act of Valor award. Glancing around now, the train looks almost exactly the same. The main car features gray couches adorned with lime green pillows, a central dining table crafted of dark wood, and a crystal chandelier suspended above it. Along one of the long windows, there's a glass table displaying an assortment of liquor in intricately decorated crystal decanters.
Althea shows me to my personal chambers, a spacious room with an adjoining bathroom, and dressing area. She informs me she'll be back to collect me for dinner, and to make myself at home in the meantime. We're expected to reach the Capitol a few hours after midnight, being closer than the other districts who will arrive in the late morning. As I explore the room, my fingers trace the deep charcoal bedspread, and a realization hits me—I may never sleep in my own bed again. I push those thoughts out of my mind quickly. Dwelling on such uncertainties will not serve me well. I won't let the thoughts of defeat take root in my mind, afraid they will manifest in reality.
I step behind the partition in the dressing area, and strip off my clothes. As I walk into the bathroom, I observe these showers are more advanced than the ones in my own home. I experiment around with the controls until the water's just right. With a touch on the screen, a luxurious soap smelling of sweet vanilla sprays onto my body. As I lather my body, my thoughts drift away from me again. It's hard to believe that just this morning, Kai and I shared a shower, but now, a mere ten hours later, everything has transformed so drastically. The thoughts swirl around me like mist, and I can't help but wonder about the alternate reality where I hadn't volunteered. Kai would have embarked on his own journey, leaving me behind to face the loneliness that would ensue.
After the shower, I sift through the dresser, and decide on simple black leggings and a gray sweater. I pick up my dress off the floor and shove my nose in the fabric. I can smell Kai's special brand of cologne on the dress. My heart aches for the security he offered me, even if it was only for a short while. That was safe, where no one was on a train to the Capitol, where no one could be dead within a week.
I'm grateful Althea arrives to pull me from the depths of self-pity. I acknowledge I am the one who got myself into this mess. I could have simply stayed silent and let Annie go. However, I realize I likely saved her life, considering her timid nature. The small and reserved redhead lacks the qualities it takes to survive these Games. In all honesty, I'm not even certain I possess the necessary strength to endure this ordeal myself. I like to think I can emerge victorious, but everything changes when you step foot in that arena.
As I enter the main car, my eyes catch Finnick and Wesley seated at the dining table, each in a new set of clothes. Wesley's icy gaze touches me briefly before he strides over to the table holding the drinks. He grabs a crystal glass of dark amber liquid and tilts his head back, downing the contents in one swift motion. The air seems charged with unspoken tension, making me curious about the dynamics between Wesley and Finnick.
Taking a seat beside Althea, who has her planner spread out before her, Wesley passes behind me, the smell of the ocean lingering on him. He sits down directly across from me, his eyes piercing me. His expression is neutral but his eyes tell a different story. Is he planning all the different ways to kill me? Perhaps how he will spend his riches after winning? Should we form an alliance, as is expected? The Career tributes usually get together, and eliminate the weaker tributes, so when they're out of the way, the real fun can begin. Despite my reluctance, it feels like an unspoken rule. We'll have to eventually kill each other anyway, so what does it matter? It could give me an advantage, if I can assess my enemy and make note of their strengths and weaknesses.
"Oh! Dinner is served!" Althea exclaims as the staff brings out a banquet. I know I'm from a wealthy district, but I've never seen this much food before. Not at one time, anyway. My mouth waters at the sight of a roast bird surrounded by smaller dishes of various foods, all appetizing in their perfect presentation.
"Enjoy every bite while we can, I guess, right?" Wesley comments with a smirk, catching my attention. I respond by taking some meat from the bird, and mashed potatoes drizzled with a thin sauce. We both reach for the roasted brussel sprouts, our hands brushing. I pull back as if he burned me. He gestures for me to go first, but I begin to feel queasy.
"You go ahead," I smile at him. Wesley doesn't hesitate in piling his plate high with food. When we take our seats, he immediately starts digging in, shoveling the food as fast as he can. Finnick, who has been silently watching us, rises and only grabs a small bowl of some sort of broth.
"Wesley, the food isn't going anywhere," Althea chides, grimacing at his barbaric eating style. Finnick lowers himself into a seat at the head of the table, and shakes his head lightly.
"So Amara, I've been meaning to ask, why did you volunteer?" Finnick questions me, savoring a spoonful of his soup. I lock eyes with his sea-green gaze, noting his interest. Finnick stands out as one of the most alluring Victors, akin to a Greek god. The Capitol is enamored with him, with fans clamoring for his attention every year. I'm unsure if he reciprocates any of the romantic pursuits, he's never been seen with anyone besides Mags. Numerous people boast of romantic connections to the sought-after Victor, but it could all very well just be rumors.
"I'm not entirely sure, myself. I guess I felt bad for Annie." I respond, the words escaping me before I can gauge their impact. His eyes don't leave my face, which causes me to become self conscious. I wonder what thoughts are running through his mind, now. Most likely, all the tributes he's mentored in the past have been assertive and unwavering. He's probably contemplating how to navigate the arena with someone like me—someone who is empathetic and compassionate. It's his job to help me survive as long as I can in the Games, if not becoming victorious. I'm well aware my response deviates from the expected, and wasn't the answer he anticipated.
"Why would you feel bad for her?" Wesley asks, his tone carrying skepticism. I find myself idly moving my food around my plate, trying to articulate a response without revealing my distaste for the government.
"She seemed scared. She wouldn't have won, anyways," I interject quickly, my eyes momentarily meeting Finnick's penetrating gaze. A warmth spreads across my cheeks as I look down to the tabletop, studying the wooden grain.
"Well that was very considerate." Finnick finally says, raising a glass of the deep amber liquor to his lips. Even though I didn't eat anything on my plate, I can't stomach another bite.
"You should put on as much weight as you can before the arena. Food will be scarce, and you need your strength," Finnick says, pointing to my untouched food. I understand the logic behind Finnick's counsel, but I will surely lose my dinner if I continue eating. I peek up at Finnick, the wisdom in his words bringing his victory in the arena to mind. I vaguely remember Finnick's Games, since they occurred when I was thirteen. I remember he tied massive nets that trapped his opponents, making stabbing them with his trident effortless.
"Well, I think it was very brave," Althea commends me, wiping the corners of her mouth gracefully with a white cloth napkin. Finnick, with a subtle yet affirming nod, echoes her sentiment in a way that conveys his unspoken agreement. The acknowledgment from Finnick adds a layer of validation to the compliment, making it all the more significant.
Once everyone finishes their meal, we retire to the couches around the huge flatscreen television to watch the recap of the Reaping. I curl my legs up underneath myself, making myself as small as possible. Finnick sits next to me on the couch, the cushion dipping with his weight. Wesley and Althea take seats in chairs at the end of the coffee table. In spite of the casual setting, a palpable tension remains in the atmosphere of the room and I am very aware of Finnick's proximity. I could stretch my leg out, and touch his thigh, he's so close.
The seal of Panem flashes across the screen. The broadcast begins with District 1, showcasing both male and female tributes who exude a lethal aura, as they usually do. District 2 follows suit with the same type of tributes, muscular and fierce looking; well trained killers.
"I would form an alliance with those pairs, you don't want them hunting you in the beginning," Finnick comments. The Career pack strategy has worked all these years, so I might as well just step into my role, coming from a Career district.
District 3's tributes hold no weight in my mind, they don't register as a threat to me, both of them so small and skittish. When they show our district, I watch myself volunteer for Annie. I show no outward emotion walking up to the stage and I say my name with a clear and strong voice. When Wesley gets called, my head whips to look at Althea, but when he steps onto stage I am a blank page again.
My eyes wander over to Wesley, but he's not looking at the screen. He's playing absentmindedly with a leather woven bracelet on his wrist.
They show the rest of the districts, and I am not impressed, save for the boy from District 7 who looks like he can handle his own. Given District 7 is responsible for supplying lumber, this means he's probably handy with an axe. I shudder involuntarily thinking about being on the other end of that axe. Meanwhile, Althea doesn't stop talking about how we are the best looking pair of tributes this year, and how we will be getting so many sponsors, we won't know what to do with everything they send us. I cling to that hope because maybe then I won't have to stay with the Careers for an extended period of time.
"Well, it's going to be a long day tomorrow, and we'll arrive in less than three hours. I suggest you both get some sleep, while you can. I want my tributes looking their absolute best," Althea advises, before ducking into the other car. Three hours isn't much time for sleep, and I'm not sure I can sleep even if I wanted to. Wesley and I stay put while Finnick pushes himself off the couch. He looks between us, and then sits back down, sighing.
"I know this situation isn't ideal, but it's the cards we've been dealt. I will do everything in my power to try to get one of you home safely. Now who that is, is up to you." Finnick explains sincerely. I look at Wesley who is now watching me intently. He rubs his jaw, studying me.
"Thank you," I express my gratitude to Finnick. Unsure why I'm thanking him, I know it's probably emotionally draining having your tributes die in the arena every year and you failed to have brought them home. I can't imagine what that does to a person. If I win, I'll know firsthand in a year when the next group of tributes are rounded up, being their mentor.
"Survival in the Games will require strategic thinking. Remember, it's not just about physical strength, but mental agility as well. Assess your surroundings, anticipate your opponent's moves, and trust your instincts," Finnick continues, his words cutting through the silence with a seasoned authority.
"Form alliances, but be cautious. You cannot trust anyone. Only one Victor comes out of that arena. Keep in mind that the Capitol thrives on spectacle. The more entertaining you are, the more sponsors you will likely receive," Finnick concludes, rising from the couch again. As he retreats to his chambers, I am left feeling a twinge of anxiety for the rough road ahead, but with Finnick's expertise I feel a sense of confidence. If anyone can get me through the Games, it will be Finnick, the warrior who outsmarted his competition and triumphed against the odds.
"Do you want tea?" Wesley asks me, after a few moments of silence. I nod my head, and trail behind him to the dining area. He takes hold of the square mug and fills it with steaming water from the electric tea kettle on the banquet table. I sift through the sachets of tea, searching for peppermint or lavender. I opt for a blend of lavender and chamomile when I can't find my trusty peppermint.
"Is that really why you volunteered for Annie?" Wesley asks me, referring to earlier during dinner when Finnick asked me. He sits down in a dining chair, and runs his fingers through his black wavy hair. It stops just above the collar of his navy blue shirt.
"Yes. And no," I reply, blowing on the hot liquid. I take my seat across from him, seeking warmth for my ice cold hands on the sides of the mug. "I think I was more afraid of staying home. I don't have any idea what I'd do for work, and what my life would look like. At least if I win, I'll have a picture of what being a Victor is. And if I lose, I guess it's not my problem anymore," I elaborate. His lips twitch up into the faintest of a smile, and his eyes, so ice blue they're almost void of color, carry a hint of amusement.
"I can understand that. I'm not sure what I'd be doing either. My passion is for surfing and there's no job that pays me to do that," he laughs dryly. I sip my tea, leaning into the calming effects of the lavender and chamomile.
"You wouldn't want to help your father in the clinic?" I question him. I recall seeing him in the clinic providing herbs for his father, and helping out where needed. The clinic was always bustling with a revolving door of injuries. Mostly from training accidents or jellyfish stings. The more serious cases were drownings, though rare. To counteract the drownings, everyone in District 4 was taught CPR in school, thanks to Dr. Greyson. Luckily no one has had to perform it on anyone but it's always helpful to be more knowledgeable in what to do in such a situation.
"It's not that I don't enjoy helping my dad, it's just not my dream. It's his," he tells me, sipping his tea. His eyes flit up to mine. He enjoys helping his dad, because he knows it makes him happy. Even though he doesn't want to, he still does. Why does Wesley have to be selfless and kind-hearted? Why couldn't I have been stuck with a jerk?
"How did your family react?" I ask him, curious. His square jaw clenches. He leans back in his chair, his hand curling into a fist on the table.
"They…want me to win obviously. They just can be so…cruel sometimes," Wesley confesses, avoiding eye contact. The weight in his words hint at a deeper pain, and though I'm curious, I don't press him further. Respectful of his boundaries, I refrain from prying into a topic he seems reluctant to discuss.
His reference to their cruelty seems out of character from what I know of his father, leaving me with a strong suspicion he's speaking about his mother. She's a young woman who is obviously more invested in her looks than her children. She is always in new and expensive clothes, and I've never seen her without her hair or makeup done. Now that I think about it, I've never seen her at the clinic or around any of her children, either.
"Sounds like a lot of people in our district." I say, sipping the last of my tea. I look at the clock and see it's only one-thirty in the morning. We still have an hour and a half left.
"How did Kai take it?" he asks me. I purse my lips and a heavy sigh escapes my lips as I give a nonchalant shrug.
"He…took it well. He's going to the Peacekeeper's Academy, so this doesn't exactly affect him too much," I say with annoyance clearly in my voice. His eyebrows rise in shock, his blue eyes search my face for more than just the surface details.
"It takes awhile to get accepted for training," he states, bringing light to the obvious, that Kai had made his decision to leave me well before the Reaping.
"That it does," I agree, not meeting his stare that is surely filled with pity. How pathetic, that Kai deemed I wasn't good enough to keep around.
"He doesn't deserve you, and he never will," Wesley says, his fingers tightening on his mug. I look up at him and don't find the expected pity, but instead, a subtle admiration. The air in the room seems to change with an unexpected energy. Suddenly, Wesley is not just a friend, he is a strikingly handsome man, the epitome of masculinity. We are alone in this moment, the only two souls awake on the speeding train.
"Thank you," I say, my voice getting caught in my throat. Wesley rises, breaking the magnetic tension between us. He collects our empty mugs from across the table, and places it on the tray outside the door that leads to the kitchen. As he turns back, our eyes lock, and in the quiet stillness, the unspoken connection becomes undeniable. Without saying a word, he moves closer until he's standing in front of me. I slowly rise out of my chair, my eyes meeting his sculpted chin. I look up, and in his eyes I see what must be mirrored in my own, a desire for comfort, a desire to feel deep connection while both of our hearts remain beating for the time being. He leans in slowly, until his warm lips press against mine. His strong and sure hands snake around my waist, my body pressing against his muscular chest. His other hand reaches up, and winds in my hair.
When we break away, his icy blue eyes have thawed out, and we both release the breath we've been holding. Staring into each other's eyes, the silence carries the unspoken understanding that what just transpired between us isn't destined to be anything serious. There's a mutual acknowledgement of the impermanence of our connection, an agreement that the impending Games dictate a temporary nature to whatever this is.
In this fleeting pocket of time, we both crave the warmth of companionship and the comfort of shared intimacy. It's a conscious decision to savor the present, to allow ourselves the luxury of feeling good in each other's presence while we can. Our hearts may not be committing to a future together, but our bodies, pressed against each other in the quiet room, seek solace in the simplicity of the moment.
"I'm sorry…I just…" He trails off, and lets go of my waist, putting distance between us. I expect kissing Wesley to feel wrong, given Kai and I were together fourteen hours ago, but I'm surprised I don't. I realize the chapter for Kai and I had truly ended when he sent in his paperwork to the Capitol.
In this moment with Wesley, I find a profound sense of release, an unexpected liberation from the lingering ties to a relationship that had clearly run its course.
"It's okay," I breathe, reaching for his hand, and tracing circles on the back of it. He smiles halfheartedly, and brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses them. When we hear the door opening to one of the bedroom chambers, we jump apart.
Althea bounces energetically in the room, her dark blue wig is now styled in a completely different manner, with curls framing her face which is also freshly done up in new makeup.
"Oh! I wasn't expecting both of you in here," Althea gasps, stopping short. A heat warms my face, a crimson blush that betrays the embarrassment in being caught in this awkward situation. Wesley, on the other hand, doesn't seem embarrassed at all. Instead, a smug grin plays on his lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Well, it's no matter. Let's get ready to be on camera, we're pulling into the train station," she says quickly, dismissing the awkward interaction. When she wanders over to the banquet table, Wesley quickly pecks my cheek and races to his private chambers before I can react.
When I step into my bathroom, I do a once-over in my mirror, my cheeks still slightly pink. My long brown hair falls in waves around my face, and my eyes finally rest on the necklace Kai gave me. I rip it from my neck, and toss it to the corner of the room, without a second thought.
When I emerge, Finnick is standing by the window, waving and smiling to his fans. I look through the window, and spot tall glass towers sparkling in the moonlight, and neon lights flash throughout some of the buildings. The Hunger Games is such a revered event here in the city, there are brightly colored people gathered in the streets awaiting our arrival at three in the morning. I see men and women alike, cheering when they spot Finnick and I in the window. Some are even blowing kisses. I am astonished at all this attention. It's welcome, though. Any one of these people could be holding the funds that end up saving my life in that arena.