Chapter Four
As we enter the Tribute Center, an unwelcome sense of discomfort washes over me. The farther into this journey I make it, the more real it becomes to me. We crowd into the glass elevator, and to my dismay, Althea deliberately puts herself between me and Wesley. I find myself yearning for the impossible—for the glass floor to shatter beneath us allowing the earth to swallow me whole and free me from this embarrassment.
We ascend swiftly, the elevator depositing us on the fourth floor, designated for District 4. Each district has its own floor corresponding to its number, a simple system. We emerge onto the expansive floor plan, mirroring the train's design, dark gray couches arranged around a colossal television. Pops of vibrant color and cascading crystal adorn the space, creating the ambiance that feels extravagant yet artificial. To the right, a glass dining room table commands attention with its surface dominated by enormous vases of flowers. I marvel at the bright green roses, a perplexing hue making me question whether nature had produced them in that shade or if they had been meticulously dyed. The opulence of the Capitol slaps me in the face standing here, and I can't help but think of the people who call places such as this one, their everyday residences. I refuse to use the term 'home' to describe these living quarters, everything too perfect, too orchestrated.
"Your prep teams will be taking care of you tomorrow, starting at ten in the morning, I would get that beauty rest, if I were you!" Althea trills, pointedly looking between us, scolding us with her expression. I smile sheepishly, my cheeks warming. Finnick nods at us, and retires to his chambers, leaving Wesley and me alone.
"Will you be able to sleep tonight?" Wesley asks me, stepping closer. His hands find mine, rubbing comforting circles across my knuckles. His thumb glides over Clymene's ring, prompting him to bring my hand up for closer examination. Before I can answer his initial question, another one escapes his lips, "Did Kai give this to you?" his eyes hardening with the inquisition.
"No, Clymene did," I respond, a fond smile gracing my lips at the memory of the old woman. A pang of sadness for her tugs at my heart, weighing me down. "Who do you miss the most?" I ask him, my gaze now fixed on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcasing the glittering city, alive with nightlife. I notice I can't spot a single star in the midnight purple sky, the light pollution from the city lights too great. He visibly tenses, and I turn my head to study his face. A half-smile plays awkwardly on his face.
"My father," he answers truthfully. "I know it should be my mother, everyone should miss their mother when facing death, but I don't," he shrugs mechanically.
"If I'm being honest, I don't miss my mother the most, either. Although I do miss the woman who raised me, who I'd consider my real mother," I confess. He nods in understanding, deep in thought.
"Clymene is a genuinely kind woman. Everyone speaks very highly of her, and how she took you in," he remarks, a soft expression spreading across his handsome face. Clymene could be best described as everyone's grandmother, offering help to anyone who needed it. If she saw little children playing unsupervised on the beach, she'd stay and keep watch until they made it safely home, no matter what she had to accomplish that day. At the market, she would buy extra so she could bring meals to the elderly in the neighborhood. She is an earth-bound angel.
"She's the best. I don't know what I'd do without her," I start to choke up, the tears welling in my eyes. The last person I'd want to cry in front of right now is Wesley. Seeking solace, I perch on my tiptoes and lean my face close to his, my lips tantalizingly close to his, a silent plea for connection. He grants it willingly, by crushing his lips to mine, our need for each other more urgent than before. The talk of family adding salt to fresh wounds, we seek refuge in each other, relieving the pain the only way we know how.
His hands grip my hips, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pushes open the nearest door, which appears to be his bedroom. His tongue invades my mouth, the need for intimacy escalating. His hand travels under my shirt, his fingers brushing against the edge of my lace bra.
He sits on the edge of his bed, and I straddle his hips, migrating my lips to just under his ear. A low moan escapes him and suddenly, the sounds of someone rummaging through the kitchen cabinets on the other side of the door reach our ears, and we freeze. It could be Althea or Finnick, or just simply a Capitol aid. I don't want to take the chance of it being Althea or Finnick. Swiftly, I untangle myself from him and straighten my clothes quietly. Wesley releases a deep breath, his cheeks flushed. Together, we wait, motionless, listening intently for any sign of the disappearance of whoever's on the other side of the door.
When we don't hear anything for a while, a mischievous smile breaks across his face. "This is not funny!" I whisper-yell at him, trying to stifle my own laughter. He covers his mouth as his shoulders shake, the shared secrecy adding a touch of playful intimacy to our stolen moment.
His shoulders continue to shake with suppressed laughter as he reaches for my hand, pulling me towards the door. He opens the smooth metal door, cautiously peeking out into the dimly lit room. Satisfied that the coast is clear, he tugs me gently behind him as we tiptoe to the door next to his, which holds my room behind it.
"Looks like we evaded discovery" he whispers, his eyes dancing with humor.
"Thanks for the daring escape. I don't know how we survived that one," I tease, a wide smile automatically making its presence on my face. He winks at me, leaning in to kiss me on the tip of my nose. He reaches behind me, and opens my bedroom door, ushering me inside the soft glow of the room. The earlier urgency has transformed into a quiet understanding, a shared acknowledgement of the solace we find in each other's company. Wesley's fingers lightly trace the outline of Clymene's ring on my finger, a tender gesture that speaks volumes.
"Go get some rest," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of concern. "Tomorrow is a big day, and you need to be well-rested." His father's attentiveness and empathy for others shines through, and I recognize that I cannot—no, will not be able to kill Wesley Greyson, should I have to. He very well may be the death of me, and I don't think I'd mind all too much if he were to kill me because someone like him deserves to win. Someone good to his core. Unless this is all a ploy for him to use my emotions against me. Maybe he's securing his victory with each kiss, and each kind word. Could he really be that deplorable? I decide against those thoughts, because I don't know him to be deceitful. With a father like Dr. Greyson, there's no way he could've been raised that cruel. With his mother's influence I could imagine it, but I believe Dr. Greyson's values have a stronger hold in Wesley's upbringing.
"You too," I reply. He closes the door quietly, and I wait until I hear his door next to mine close before I turn towards the large bed.
I neglect the ritual of a pre-bedtime shower, instead I succumb to the exhaustion that wracks my body. The last twenty-four hours have taken a toll on my body both mentally and emotionally. I fall asleep hard, slipping into uninterrupted blissful unconsciousness.
Breakfast passes by quickly, with Wesley discreetly stealing glances at me all throughout our meal. We don't speak for awhile, Althea and Finnick too preoccupied discussing our schedule for the week. Their voices drift in and out of focus as I try to concentrate on my food, but the subtle warmth in Wesley's gaze keeps me distracted.
The morning sunlight bathes the dining area in a soft, golden glow as it filters through the windows, illuminating Finnick's bronze hair as if he's wearing a crown. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of conversation create a comforting background melody.
"How did you sleep?" Finnick asks us collectively, shoveling a forkful of an omelet in his mouth. He's dressed in a navy blue sweater, and light pants which are surprisingly casual for the Capitol's Darling.
"Like a baby," Wesley answers, winking at me. My face warms, and I look down at the assortment of fruit on my plate.
"I slept like the dead," I admit, examining the artful star-shaped fruit on the end of my fork. Finnick nods, contemplating something but then thinks better of it and goes back to eating. The rest of breakfast is relatively quiet with Althea chattering about people she knows, people whom I don't care about unless they can shell out enough money to keep me alive in the Games.
Once in the Remake Center, I'm led into a sterile looking room, with a metal basin and a shower head in the corner. Three figures, two females and one male patiently await my arrival in the center of the room. The first to introduce herself is Azurealyn, a striking woman with turquoise colored hair and small shiny gold pieces of jewelry embedded in her skin artfully placed in designs. Her counterpart, Sera, has gone for a light pink skin tone and sports neon green eyelashes that rival the length of my pinky finger.
The male resembles Althea boasting the same shade of dark navy blue hair. However, his locks are bundled neatly in a bun on top of his head, a single braid wrapped around the base. Vibrant green eyes framed by gold eyeliner add a captivating flair, with flicks extending at the ends of his angled eyes. As I take in the appearance of the people who are responsible for beautifying me, I am beginning to get increasingly more nervous.
They immediately strip me naked and scrub my body with a sponge and a strange foam that tingles my skin. Once some layers of my skin have been removed they begin to remove what little hair I had left on my body painfully.
"You are by far easier to work on than last year's tributes," Azurealyn comments, smiling. I'm sure she didn't mean her comment to come across as insensitive or rude, she's just filled with ignorance thanks to her environment. I smile weakly, remembering last year. Mayra Sutherland who was sixteen, and Joshua Alder who was fourteen were killed fairly quickly, luckily. They joined the Careers, but were murdered in their sleep by the District 1 female. She slit their throats. And this is why I'm not too keen about joining the Career pack.
They bring me to a chair with a sink bowl behind it, and wash my hair with sweet floral smelling shampoo and conditioner. They work on me for a couple more hours, chatting to each other, and occasionally making small talk with me. I'll receive a compliment here and there, which I'm not sure how to take considering what they view as beautiful here in the Capitol.
"Silvarius is ready to see you now," Sera says, smiling as she appraises me. Azurealyn clasps her hands together, satisfied with her work. When they leave the room, I stand in the middle of the room wearing a thin robe.
Silvarius, a commanding presence, strides into the room with an air of silent authority. Standing tall and possessing a slender frame, she has long, pin straight silver hair with thin pieces of braided metal fastened throughout that cascades gracefully down her back. Her steely eyes, like polished steel, sweep over me with a discerning gaze.
Despite her height and the silver hair framing her features, Silvarius strikes a peculiar balance of plainness and normalcy. There's an unexpected simplicity in her appearance, save for her eccentric fashion. She is dressed in a silver one shouldered dress with a high slit that exposes the bottom of her hip bone. The material of her dress looks as if it's made of metal, the fabric structured, and firm.
"Well, you'll be easy to work with," she comments, gracefully circling me. Normally, I couldn't care less about what others think of my appearance, especially in the Capitol, but for some inexplicable reason, I find myself yearning for her approval.
"So I've been told," I say, watching her carefully. She nods, and gestures for me to follow her into a separate sitting room. We take our seats across from one another, a coffee table in between us. She pushes a button on the coffee table and a steaming hot meal appears from under the tabletop. A bed of rice with roasted salmon and veggies. The aroma is irresistible, and my stomach voices its approval with a low growl. A small twitch of a smile plays on Silvarius' lips.
"You must be hungry, it's been hours since breakfast. I always suggest they bring snacks while the prep teams work on you, but they never listen," she says, grabbing her own plate. I dig into the salmon, savoring the buttery and lemony flavors melting onto my tongue. The meal makes me feel homesick, with the flavors from home, but I swiftly sweep those feelings under the rug.
"How long have you been a stylist?" I ask her, keeping my mind occupied. I curiously look over her appearance. It's very hard to guess her age. She's not plastered in makeup, but everyone in the Capitol always surgically alters their faces so as to stay looking younger.
"I have been District 4's stylist for five years. Seven years before that I was District 8's." She says, her eyes alight with curiosity. She's about Middle aged but she looks to be in her early thirties. She was Finnick's stylist then, although I don't remember what he was wearing, and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.
"What will I be wearing today?" I ask her cautiously. She can sense the fear in my voice and she chuckles lightly.
"A simple white dress, your outfit in the Reaping inspired me," she replies, putting her plate down. I am relieved of any anxiety that I would be naked, or dressed as a giant fish. "Your hair is so long and wavy, I think we could probably leave it as natural as possible. I don't want to make you look like a completely different person. I want them to remember who you are in the arena when you're not wearing a pretty dress," Silvarius says. I smile warmly, grateful that she doesn't want to alter my appearance too much. In the past, the same cannot be said for some tributes. I finish the last of my lunch before she tows me into the dressing area.
I stand up in the center of the room, as Silvarius carefully slides the tight and small dress over my body. I'm going to have to peel this off of me later. Maybe she took going as natural as possible too far, because there's not much left to the imagination wearing this. The ruched white fabric shines iridescently in the fluorescent lighting, as if it was made out of pearl. She adorns my exposed tanned leg with diamonds and she fastens a small belt of dried starfish, and seashells around my waist. My hair falls in waves down to my hips, dripping wet from the salt water she sprayed in it. Smelling the ocean water causes a pang of hurt in my chest, but I ignore it.
Silvarius dusts some shimmery powder on my shoulders, collarbones and cheekbones. She kept my makeup minimal, some eyelashes and face makeup to make my skin glow. Then she turns me in the mirror, and my breath is taken away. I look as if I stepped out of the sea, my hair dripping, my skin glistening. I really look at myself in the long mirror, and I don't recognize myself, at all. This curvy, yet muscular sexy being looks foreign to me.
"Perfect," she whispers, and adjusts my hair over my shoulder. Silvarius checks the time, and then escorts me to the bottom floor of the Remake Center.
The area is bustling with many people rushing about, other tributes boarding chariots, and stylists adjusting costumes. I stare at our shining silver '4' that is stamped on our glossy black chariot that is pulled by four white horses. This all feels surreal, as if someone else is living this for me. I spot Wesley making his way towards us, and my breath catches in my throat. His muscular body looks as if it was carved out of stone, his skin glistens in the light like mine does, the same shimmer brushed on. His stylist has created an artificial merman tail, the blue scales almost glowing. A tall, golden trident sits in his left hand, looking weighty and formidable. His jet black hair is dripping wet, his waves falling in his ice blue eyes that are lined with thick black eyelashes. When those eyes land on me, they widen. His stare seems to burn through the thin fabric of my dress, heating my skin.
"You two look gorgeous!" Althea gasps, materializing behind us. She lightly touches the fabric on my dress. Finnick walks behind her, smiling wide when he sees us.
"You guys may actually have a winning chance," He jokes, knowing that the best looking tributes always pull the most sponsors.
When we mount our chariots, I have a brief vision of myself falling out of the chariot onto my face when the horses lurch forward. Especially in the heels Silvarius put me in.
"Remember, smiles, and waves!" Althea instructs us, as our stylists adjust our outfits one last time. The horses begin trotting forward, and luckily I am not thrown from the chariot, because Wesley steadies me with his protective hand resting on my lower back. The heat from his hand sinks through the thin fabric, my heart racing in response.
"What I'd give to be alone with you right now," he whispers, looking down on me. I look away, my cheeks warming again. The fact that he's so scantily clad makes flirting all the more suggestive. When we get within view of the crowds, he takes his hand away, and begins smiling and waving just like Althea ordered. I'm taken aback by the rowdiness of the crowds. People are shouting and pumping their fists, and some are even mock fainting as we ride by. I find myself on one of the screens and again, I have trouble recognizing myself. Whoever she is, she is stunning and looks just as fierce as the females from Districts 1 and 2. I smile and start waving, deciding if I look the part of a serious contender, I may as well act like one.
The twelve chariots pull up in front of the President's Mansion, and come to an abrupt halt. I sway slightly, but Wesley quickly reaches out and steadies me. Our eyes meet, and I smile at him, before focusing my attention on President Snow who makes his appearance on his balcony. His stark white hair, and pristine pressed suit give the ultimate aura of elegance and poise. He welcomes us officially, and the cameras cut to each of the districts before we are lurched forward again.
When the heavy doors close behind us, our entourage is waiting for us, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Silvarius offers me her hand, and helps me out of the chariot carefully.
"You looked absolutely radiant," she compliments, a proud look on her face. My prep team shower praise on my outfit while discreetly critiquing and criticizing the choices made by the other tributes' stylists. I am reassured that we received the most cheers, we looked the best, and there's no way we don't have a line of sponsors already lined up. I desperately hope this is true, for our sakes.