Chapter Five
When we return to our floor, the enticing aroma of dinner being prepared wafts through the air, instantly making my mouth water. The scent of onions, and fresh herbs roasting creates a cozy atmosphere in the otherwise cold and immaculate room. Wesley's stylist, Anaria, a petite dark-skinned woman with gold hair braided down to her knees, warmly introduces herself. She smiles genuinely, revealing gold diamond encrusted caps on her surgically lengthened canines, giving her the appearance of a large predator ready to tear my throat out. I kindly excuse myself from the room, and make my way to my bedroom. I lean against the cold metal of the door as I lock it behind me. The breath I've been holding heaves its way out of my lungs forcefully, the stress from the day along with it.
Carefully, I shimmy the fabric down, determined not to damage the beautiful dress. Removing each diamond from my skin becomes quite the task. After a thorough cleansing, ridding myself of all makeup, and shimmer, I opt for comfort, dressing in a simple cotton navy jumpsuit that reaches the floor. I pull a white wool sweater over my arms, the thick material shielding me from the chill of the air conditioning.
Our stylists join us for dinner, facilitating a collaborative discussion on our upcoming strategy. It's crucial for us to craft a compelling public image that sets us apart, attracts sponsors, and proves advantageous in the arena against the other tributes. While Wesley and I are physically capable, the focus now shifts to developing a strategy that endears us to the general populace.
Finnick casually emerges from his room, dressed in the same dark emerald suit from earlier. His typically curled hair is neatly gelled and combed in a side part, lending him a timeless and polished appearance. Pouring a glass of rich burgundy wine, he raises it, capturing the attention of Wesley and I's stylists and Althea.
"I'd like to announce that Amara and Wesley each have four sponsors already!" The joy and pride in his announcement permeate the room. Glasses are raised, cheers erupt, and yet, as the smooth and tart wine glides down our throats, Wesley and I exchange a silent look over the rims of our glasses. Despite whatever connection we have, the reality remains—this is a competition, a fight to the death. And the thought of losing Wesley stirs a sorrow within me.
The haunting image of his father weeping over his son's coffin, flashes before my eyes, and my heart clenches in pain. The prospect of winning and returning home, only to face his grieving father, becomes an enormous weight on my conscience.
"Congratulations! At this rate, you won't want for anything in the arena! It will be handed to you!" Althea beams, her lips painted in a dark blue that shimmers in the light. Silvarius gently squeezes my arm, her smile radiating with pride. It was her work after all that drew the sponsors to me in the first place.
As dinner is served, I've already indulged in three glasses of wine. A sense of giddiness overtakes me, a welcome distraction. Slicing into the tender red meat, I find myself marveling at the culinary artistry before me. The meat practically melts in my mouth, and each spoonful of mashed potatoes is a revelation in smooth and creamy perfection. Lost in the flavors, I quietly eat my meal as everyone talks, not hearing a single word they are saying. My ears perk up when I finish my plate, my stomach nearly at full capacity.
"So, I think it's safe to say that playing the innocent card is out of the question for you, Amara," Finnick delves into our discussion of strategy. As we anticipate the start of training tomorrow, my thoughts drift to the other tributes, contemplating their skills and what we might face.
"I guess I'll be focused on charming everyone then, saying what they want to hear," I respond, attempting to articulate my words without revealing my level of intoxication. I really am. Finnick, enthusiastically nodding while chewing, points his fork in my direction.
"Be sweet, and courteous, but show them that you won't back down from a fight, that you can hold your own," Finnick advises, after swallowing a mouthful and washing it down with wine. Downing the remainder of my glass, I make eye contact with an Avox—a silent servant of the Capitol, condemned for treason or rebellion, their tongues cut out, permanently silencing them. The boy refills my wine glass, and I look into his brown eyes and wonder what he did to deserve this fate. How awful it must be, serving people, especially people of the Capitol for the rest of your life.
"Wesley, I can say the same for you. It will be impossible to convince the other tributes you aren't a threat, seeing as how Anaria made sure to display your physique so boldly and give you a weapon on your opening ceremony," Finnick remarks, his sea-green eyes shifting to Wesley, who is quietly enjoying his meal. "The best advice I can give for tomorrow would be to conceal the skills you are confident in, and work on the ones you aren't," he continues, sharing insights from his own experience in our position. As he speaks, I find myself lost in his eyes—a captivating blend of blue and green, almost magical. Suddenly, he makes a peculiar face in my direction, and I realize he was addressing me.
"What?" I stutter out, my head spinning. Wesley's eyes snap to mine, and I guess that he probably can see that I'm a bit tipsy. The familiarity of this level of intoxication brings me back to the last time I felt this way—at one of the house parties that Kai and I had attended, coincidentally one where Wesley was present too.
Kai and I were sitting on the outdoor patio of Zara Wavecrest's house, a small but spacious home nestled on a hill surrounded by palm trees and imposing boulders. The fire pit cast a warm glow as I sipped on a mixture of liquor and a sweet carbonated beverage. Kai shifted, providing a more secure seat on his lap, his fingers traveling up the back of my light shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Engaged in lively conversation with a classmate about weekend weather and a potential surfing escapade, Kai seemed to forget I was even sitting on his lap.
Meanwhile, the girls from my class gathered by the drinks, engrossed in hushed gossip about someone I didn't catch the name of. I had already said hello, and tried to make conversation with them, but their standoffish demeanor dissuaded further efforts. Ever since Kai and I had gone public with our relationship, the girls ceased talking to me. I didn't have time for petty highschool drama anyways, I stayed away from all that nonsense.
"Amara, would you like more rum?" Dylan, a lanky boy with glasses but a sweet smile asked me, holding out a bottle of a dark liquid. I was already buzzed, but decided if I was going to let loose, it was going to take a lot more rum. I nodded and held out my cup, and Dylan poured a considerable amount in. I brought the cup to my lips, and the fumes of the alcohol swirled under my nose.
As the night went on, I got increasingly more intoxicated, and Kai continued his conversation with some more boys from class. I had been ignored long enough, so I took it upon myself to venture into the house and find some company. Later into the night, my inebriation manifested in a haze of conversations.
"Your hair is just like...so pretty," Lauren, a blonde girl I had math class with slurred. She was slumped on the white couch in the living room, resting her head on her boyfriend, Dean's shoulder, who was fast asleep. We had been talking, but for the life of me I can't recall about what.
"Thank you!" I exclaimed, far too loud for the environment. Lauren smiled, closing her eyes sluggishly. Glancing around the room for Kai, I couldn't spot him anywhere. I pushed myself up on my feet, swaying violently to the right. Gripping the arm of the chair I just vacated, I steadied myself.
Scanning the room, I noticed Wesley tucked in the corner, quietly observing the scene before him. People making more drinks in the kitchen, Lauren and Dean passed out, and a pair of girls playing cards on the living room floor. He had been talking to Charlotte, a short brown haired girl with bangs a moment before, or was that hours ago? I had lost track of time.
I started towards the back door, hoping Kai was on the patio, but my toe caught the edge of the barstool, and sent me careening into a solid mass. The impact caused me to spill my drink everywhere. As I regained my bearings, I found myself face-to-face with Ryan Thompson, his face marred by anger.
"Watch where the hell you're going, you made me spill my drink!" he snarled at me, his brown eyes resembling dark pits of rage. The alcohol coursing through my system seemed to warp my sense of seriousness, finding humor in the situation. A small giggle burst from my lips uncontrollably, and I hastily slapped a hand over my mouth in an attempt to stifle it.
My humor enraged Ryan even more. In response, he forcefully shoved my shoulder back, standing taller before me, his chest puffed out in a display of aggression, akin to some kind of bird.
"You think this is funny? Go get me another drink," He ordered, his voice an octave deeper. Suddenly, anger surged within me. The audacity of him, treating me as if I were his personal servant, ignited a fiery rage within me.
"How dare you!" I shouted, frustration and indignation fueling the force of both my fists as I pushed against his chest. He barely moved backwards.
"You really shouldn't have done that," he said menacingly. He grabbed my arm and squeezed his fingers together, compressing my upper arm so hard the blood stopped flowing. Instinctively, I stomped on his foot, and he involuntarily jumped back, and bent his head forward—now I could reach his face. I punched him square in the nose, a satisfying crunch sounding when my fist met his flesh. Blood shot out of his nose, like a red geyser.
He stumbled backwards, his dark eyes ablaze with fury, met my challenging green ones. I stood firm in front of him, daring him to do anything else. Before he could retaliate, I was being hoisted up and over someone's shoulder. His shoulder bones dug into my hips painfully, and I pounded on his back, kicking my legs until he reluctantly set me down.
"I'm trying to help you!" Wesley yelled, his ice blue eyes staring at me in bewilderment. His black hair was tousled in disarray on the left side of his head, a casualty of my earlier tantrum. I looked down at the ground, as if a parent was scolding me.
"Oh, sorry," I mumbled, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. He laughed lightly, shaking his head.
"You are something else," He muttered, his eyes appraising me. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking me over for any signs of injury.
"Yes, I'm fine, just pissed," I said, glaring over his shoulder towards where Ryan stood. Everyone was handing him napkins and ice, as if he were innocent and in need of rescue. I rolled my eyes at the sight.
"Me too, Ryan's an ass when he drinks," Wesley sighed heavily, casting a glance over his shoulder at the dramatic scene. "Actually, Ryan's an ass all of the time," he added with a laugh. I managed a smile, but it faded when I noticed Kai quickly pushing his way through the crowd, a look of worry etched on his face.
"Throwing punches?" Kai questioned, when he stopped short in front of me, the disappointment dripping from his tone. I was shocked his first concern wasn't my safety.
"Ryan started it!" I defended myself. Wesley crossed his arms over his chest, slowly backing away, watching us in silence, clearly not wanting to get involved.
"Grow up, Amara, would you?" he lectured, grabbing my arm forcefully and sharply tugging me out of the house. I looked back and watched as Wesley stood there, jaw clenched.
I am pulled out of my trip down memory lane when Finnick speaks. "I had asked you what your skills were," Finnick says, watching me warily.
"Oh! I can throw spears and knives fairly well," I explain, taking another sip of wine from my glass. The liquid is even smoother now that I can't taste the burn as much. Finnick nods in approval.
"She's a fighter," Wesley comments, smirking slightly. "She'd pick fights with guys two times her size," he adds, taking another sip from his own glass. I narrow my eyes at him, but he stares back at me cooly, no emotion on his face.
"Amara!" Althea gasps in shock at my unladylike behavior. I forgot that it's unacceptable to punch others but when murder's televised for everyone to gawk at—that seems to get a pass.
"Out of defense! I don't just go around punching everyone," I clarify, my speech betraying me, and revealing my blood alcohol levels. Wesley snickers, covering his mouth with his hand.
"Well, that's a relief!" Althea says sarcastically. Finnick makes a hand motion at one of the Avoxes telling them to cut off my supply. I clutch the glass I have in my hand tighter, afraid he's going to take it away. I pout in my chair, staring at my plate when suddenly it disappears. I look up and see our dinner plates being collected, and dessert is brought out. A small dish of custard with a hard caramelized sugar topping appears in front of me.
"Wesley, what are you adept in?" Finnick questions him, looking at me sideways, likely making sure I'm still sitting upright in my chair.
"Hand to hand combat, and I'm proficient with a mace and crossbow," Wesley answers, spooning the dessert into his mouth. I follow suit, savoring a spoonful of the sweet vanilla custard that spreads across my tongue, accompanied by the crunch of the smoky caramelized sugar.
The rest of dessert goes by, with Finnick giving valuable pointers on training. He emphasizes the importance of not exposing our strengths or weaknesses during training, and encourages making alliances with the Careers, explaining that it won't be ideal to have them as our enemies.
We retire to the couch to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies. When I stand, my lack of coordination becomes evident, and Silvarius promptly grabs my elbow, ensuring a steady and safe descent onto the couch. Wesley takes his seat across from me on the other sofa, and Anaria joins him. Althea eagerly perches herself on a chair in front of the television. Finnick settles himself on a cushion next to Silvarius and I.
The seal of Panem flashes on the screen before they play the footage of everyone in their chariots. As Wesley and I appear on the screen, a twinge of an emotion I am unsure of rises in my chest. We look good together. The cameras catch Wesley steadying me, and I see what everyone else sees, except me. He gazes down at me with genuine affection, his hand wrapped securely around my waist. It's undeniable there is a spark between us, anyone could see it. A lump forms in the back of my throat, as I watch us on the screen, as if we are two beautiful strangers. Wesley looks at me, his eyes a mix of emotions. We watch the other tributes who act as if they can't stand being in the same chariot as one another. When District 12's screen time is over, the seal flashes across the screen again, closing out the program.
"I think you both should get some rest, tomorrow will be a long day," Finnick says, stretching his arms behind him. I stand up, wobbly, but not completely helpless. I bid a farewell hug to Silvarius, and then follow Wesley into the hall leading to our rooms. He stops short and turns towards me, and before I can register this, I walk flat into his chest. He quickly reaches out and holds me, ensuring I don't fall.
"Should I expect a punch right about now?" Wesley jokes, referring to the night at Zara Wavecrest's house.
"I didn't think you'd remember that," I say, laughing, feeling light.
"I do," he says, a hint of bitterness in his voice. I recall the way he looked when we were leaving. "You were about as wasted then as you are now," he muses.
"Were you mad?" I inquire, imagining his face—his eyebrows drawn together, his jaw rigid. His grip tightens briefly on my arms, revisiting the memory.
"Not at you," he says firmly, releasing my arms and opening my door for me.
"Ryan?" I ask, stepping inside the dim room, Wesley following closely.
"Yes, but not just Ryan. I didn't like how Kai reacted," he admits truthfully, his mouth forming a firm line. Kai didn't stand up for me, but Wesley did. I question how I couldn't see this before, Wesley stepping in when Kai didn't. "I will never understand how he could just toss you away like he did. If you were mine, I'd never let you go," he whispers, grabbing one of my hands, and pulling me close to him. I don't doubt that Wesley and I could've been a perfect match, if only I could've opened my eyes sooner.
"You were there all along. Right under my nose," I tell him, inciting a frown from him.
"I'm here, now," he promises. I want to respond, 'For how long?', but I don't bring attention to what we both already know—the inevitable fate one of us must suffer. Instead, I push him gently onto the bed, and straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands glide up my back, and rest with one on my upper back and one on my lower back. He hugs me tighter to himself, burying his face in my neck. I pull back slightly and kiss him passionately. His lips are soft and warm and his mouth tastes like vanilla from the dessert earlier.
I shrug my wool sweater off my shoulders, and he stills beneath me. I grab the sides of his face, the stubble already starting to poke through even though his face was clean shaved this morning. I press my lips against his cheek, then trail down to his sharp jaw, finally, I land a kiss on his neck, his skin smelling clean, and with undertones of sandalwood and amber. He exudes the warmth you feel when sitting near a fire.
"Amara, we can't," he says, pushing me lightly away from him, balancing me in his lap.
"Why?" I ask, annoyed. I want him, for as long as I'll be able to have him, and I would assume he felt the same.
"Because, you've been drinking," he reminds me, fueling my annoyance. I throw myself off of him, and bury my face into the pillow. I'm mildly embarrassed. I feel him lay down in the bed next to me, and rub my back. I shy away from his touch, and his hand stops and then disappears. "I didn't know you had to be drunk in order to be with me," he jokes. I turn my head, the other half of my face still pressed into the pillow. I raise my right eyebrow.
"That's not why I'm mad," I begin, closing my right eye. If I can't see him, then that means he can't see me. I know my logic is not sound, but it gives me the courage to say what I want, nonetheless. "I'm annoyed because I really want you. I want you as much as I can have you with the time we have left," I explain, mentally groaning. Expressing my feelings has never been my strong suit, but the alcohol has made me bold.
"We can save this for a more sober occasion. In the meantime, you should get some rest," he says, smiling.
"Everyone's always telling me to get rest," I say, flipping on my back. He chuckles, and then tucks me in between the sheets. "You sure you don't want to get in bed with me? It's pretty cozy in here," I wink, snuggling deeper into the comfortable bed. He rolls his eyes at me.
"I don't doubt that. Enjoy it for me, then," he leans down and kisses me sweetly, before pulling the door closed behind him. I feel how tired I actually am, but I can't stop the thoughts of what my life would have been like if I was with Wesley instead of Kai. I sure as hell wouldn't be on my way to the arena by my own will.