Chapter Seven
The next day of training unfolds with surprising ease. Amidst the training and exercise, Zane remains a persistent thorn in my side, his taunts a constant reminder that everyone here, except Wesley wants to kill me, to secure the victory for themselves. However, Zane knows better than to utter his provocations in Wesley's presence. Wesley's intimidating presence deters unwanted attention. He remains close, yet maintains a careful distance to avert speculation. Were our relationship common knowledge, vulnerabilities would be exposed for the both of us. I refuse to let anyone exploit my feelings for Wesley. Despite our situation, what we share is genuine. There are no expectations; we embrace the present, seizing each moment. Though the eventual outcome will be painful, I pray that if we must face it, we face it together.
"You can use sharpened bones if you don't have metal," I advise Lira, who is currently struggling at crafting fish hooks. We've struck a deal: I teach her how to make fish hooks, she teaches me how to wield a sword.
"What do you think the arena will be like this year?" Lira muses aloud. I ponder, recalling past arenas. There was a frozen tundra once, so underwhelming that the Gamemakers likely won't revisit it. Tributes curled up, slowly succumbing to hypothermia. Then there was a parched desert, water scarce and temperature soaring; everyone dropped like flies. The Games must captivate the audience, both of which those arenas failed to do. We can't perish too quickly, or too slowly. There's a balance that one of the most promising Gamemakers; Seneca Crane, has mastered. I overheard them conversing among themselves while they were on the floor, grading us. It seems Seneca Crane aspires to become the Head Gamemaker next year. That prospect doesn't exactly bode well for us. He'll be at the height of his game, ensuring that terrifying atrocities await us in the arena to provide an exhilarating show.
"I'm unsure. Maybe we'll get lucky and it will be a luxurious mansion, with wine," I joke, stealing a glance at the Gamemakers. They stand motionless, diligently scribbling in their small notepads, documenting our every move. The Gamemakers loom above in the stands, often preoccupied, indulging in the lavish Capitol cuisine. There are about twenty of them, all adorned in purple robes, exuding an aura of superiority and arrogance that's palpable even from here, on the floor below. It's difficult not to harbor resentment towards them, as they plan our demise.
"Now, that would be fantastic," Lira sighs, nodding her head in agreement. She brushes her short hair behind her ear, her gaze settling on her district partner, Evander. He's a tall sixteen-year-old, skilled in swordfighting like Lira. I watch as he swings the sword artfully, effectively slicing the targets in fatal places. As far as I know, he's not very talkative, so Lira doesn't know much about him. He never speaks during lunch, he focuses on training, not uttering a single word to anyone here.
I scan the area for Wesley, and find him grappling with an instructor on the combatives mat. His arms ripple with exertion, his biceps bulging as he maneuvers his arm around his opponent's neck. A strand of wavy jet-black hair partially obscures his icy blue eyes, but they meet mine, and he offers a half-hearted smirk, catching me observing him. A sheen of sweat coats his face and arms, shining in the fluorescent lights. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly lower my head, returning to the task of demonstrating to Lira how to feed wire through the eye of a hook.
"Just like that!" I encourage Lira, as she feeds the line through and ties a perfect knot. She smiles triumphantly. Suddenly, Zane materializes behind us, scoffing behind my ear.
"What kind of fish do you expect to catch with that? A dead one?" Zane taunts Lira. She stiffens, but continues to work on her hook, displaying confidence and grace. Unlike Lira's composed demeanor, I struggle to maintain my composure.
"Why don't you do something useful with your time, like learning how to make a proper fire," I retort, drawing attention to his failed attempts at the fire-starting station. He spent half an hour trying to light the same pile of wood. Statistically speaking, he should've at least produced a spark, even accidentally. It seems he repels fire, which clearly bothers him. Zane's the type of person that cannot handle failure. Fury flashes in his blue eyes as he steps closer, jaw rigid. I set down the feathers in my hand and square my shoulders. Lira steps between us, casting a wary glance at the silent Gamemakers observing us.
"Just wait, Hale," Zane threatens, his eyes blazing with rage. My eyes shift quickly to Wesley who is standing by the mat, wiping his face with a towel.
"Wait for what? For you to learn to make a fire? We'll all be dead before then," I quip back. His fist clenches, and before I can react, his knuckles collide with my cheekbone, sending a sharp stinging pain across the right side of my face. I collapse to the cold, polished floor, my vision speckled with black spots. Lira pushes Zane back, while four Peacekeepers swiftly surround him, grabbing his arms harshly.
"That's just a preview of what's to come, wait until I have a mace in my hands!" Zane's voice echoes as the Peacekeepers haul him away. "I'm going to kill you!" He spits out before the doors slam shut behind him. Everyone has stopped training to watch the spectacle before them. I sense Wesley behind me, his arms slipping under mine to lift me up. Atala exchanges words with the other instructors, who take turns looking back at me. A medic rushes out a side door, the white armband with a red cross proudly displayed on his left arm.
"Are you alright?" Wesley asks, his voice tight. I turn to meet his gaze, and his expression hardens, darkening with anger. He steps away from me, putting distance between us.
"I'm fine," I reply quietly. The medic turns my head toward him, placing an ice cold bag against my face.
"You're going to have to come with me for an examination," the medic insists, carefully looking me over. Wesley weaves behind Lira, and the surrounding instructors, heading towards the ropes course without a backward glance before the medic escorts me away.
When I make it back to our floor after being thoroughly poked and prodded, I hope to slip into my room without encountering Finnick or Althea. Wishful thinking proves futile, as Althea awaits me, pacing back and forth, her manicured nails at risk from gnawing.
"What on earth were you thinking? You have to be on camera in two days!" Althea cries, seizing my chin to inspect the bruising.
"Why am I always being blamed for other people's actions?" I seethe, storming into the living room. I throw myself down on the couch, glaring out the window at the city bustling below us. I watch the tiny blobs of color enter and exit buildings, shiny cars racing down the streets.
"Young lady! My tributes in previous years have managed to complete their training without incident," Althea lectures, standing in front of me, obscuring my view of the outside world.
"Why are you comparing me to them? I don't see any of them sitting here mentoring me," I snap, instantly regretting the words as they escape my lips. Frowning, Althea settles slowly into the chair across from me. Finnick emerges quietly from his room, his expression one of anger. He joins me on the couch, running his fingers through his bronze curls in obvious stress.
"Amara, would you like to tell me what happened?" he asks, studying me sideways. His sea-green orbs linger on my new battle wound, his fist balling up as he rests his jaw upon it.
"Zane has been…harassing me since day one of training, to put it lightly," I start, my gaze fixed on my hands as I twirl Clymene's ring around my finger. "He was taunting Lira, the girl from District Two, and I had made a snide remark about him being unable to start a fire. Then he punched me."
Finnick sighs heavily, rising from his seat and wandering over to the window. He stands there for a few moments, gazing out at the Capitol. Althea shakes her head lightly, her painted lips set in a firm line.
"Why didn't you tell me? I specifically asked both Wesley and you to let me know if anyone tried anything," Finnick demands, his voice rising. I shrink back into the cushions.
"I thought it didn't matter, since we'd be in the arena in a few days. Then I could actually do something about it," I reply to Finnick, stealing a glance at his face. He stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the cream colored sweater stretching at the strain of his muscles.
"Amara, you should have told me," Finnick says sternly. "What has he been doing?" he asks, walking over to the mini bar by the dining room table.
"Just getting really close to me, and threatening me. He…gets handsy sometimes." I confess, burying my face in my hands. Althea gasps as Finnick drops the lid to the ice bucket. It clatters loudly on the glass surface, echoing through the room.
"He what?" Finnick questions, his tone steady and calm, more unsettling than if he were yelling. I slide my fingers apart, so I can see through them. Finnick leaves the mess on the bar and darts out of the room.
"Where is he going?" I panic. I never intended to make a scene. I never intended on telling anyone about Zane, for this very reason.
"My guess is Atala. He's going to report Zane to the Gamemakers," Althea says, shooting a sympathetic look at me.
"What will happen to him?" I inquire, certain that he will still be forced to participate in the Games. I fail to see what reporting him would do.
"They will reprimand him and most likely give him a terrible score during your individual training session," Althea responds, devoid of emotion. Our individual training sessions are scheduled for tomorrow. The Gamemakers score us based on our skills during training. They consider everything we've done the past three days, and after our one-on-one session, they assign scores ranging from one to twelve, one being the lowest. The higher score you get, the more sponsors and support you receive.
"I don't feel well; I think I'm going to lay down," I inform Althea, pushing myself up off the sofa. She remains seated in her chair, her hands clasped together. Pausing outside of Wesley's room, I contemplate knocking. Just as I decide to retreat to my room, his door swings open. He awkwardly stands on the threshold, staring at me.
"Hi," I greet, closely assessing his face for emotion. He closes his eyes briefly and then ducks back into his room, leaving the door open. Interpreting this as an invitation, I step inside and softly close the door behind me. Wesley sits on the edge of his bed, fidgeting with his bracelet. I notice he does that often, as if he's seeking comfort from the accessory.
"Where did you get that?" I ask, pointing to the leather band, timidly taking a seat next to him.
"My father gave it to me when I was nine. We had to keep cutting the band and tying it looser as I got older," he explains, his gaze fixed on my face. His jaw tightens as his eyes scan over my bruised and swollen eye.
"You're mad," I remark, more as a statement than a question. He nods slowly, falling back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I lay down next to him, patiently awaiting his words.
"I was mad when I thought that you baited Zane. Everyone already has it out for you," he says finally after a few seconds of silence. "You don't hear what they say about you. They want to end you first, because you're threatening to them," he turns his head to look at me. I have followed Finnick's advice and not picked up a spear once. I haven't touched the knives since that first day, but every station I go to, I excel at to some degree.
"I eavesdropped while Finnick was talking with you. It's not your fault, but I wish you would just stay silent sometimes. I know that you're tough and you won't let anyone push you around, but Amara, look where we are," he continues, his voice thick with emotion. I don't speak, allowing him to get it off his chest. "This isn't Zara Wavecrest's house; this is the Hunger Games, where there are no rules once you step into that arena. I'm haunted by the thought of someone killing you, I don't know what I'd do—" his voice breaks off, his hand finding mine, gripping tight. He's right, I should've been more conscious of the fact that others were watching me as well, not just Zane.
"I'm going to kill him first." I vow, squeezing Wesley's hand back. He rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow, his eyes filled with worry.
"What if he gets to you first? What if you can't get a spear?" Wesley questions me, raising an eyebrow. I don't have a response for him. He nods his head, confirming his point. "I think I'm falling in love with you, and I can't stop it, nor do I want to." he whispers so softly I could barely hear him. Tears sting behind my eyes, emotions overwhelming me, so I lean in and press my lips against his, feeling a rush of passion and desperation. His tongue seeks entrance into my mouth, and I grant it, the mood in the room changing drastically into something more intimate.
His strong hands grip my hips, and he roughly lifts me so I'm on top of him, a surge of electricity coursing through me at his touch. He sits up easily, keeping me in his lap. He pulls away, his ice blue eyes alight with desire, sending shivers down my deliberate movements, he slips my shirt over my head, his gaze devouring every inch of my skin, igniting a fire within me. He reaches behind me, and with one flick of his hand, my bra pops off, leaving me momentarily bewildered.
"You're good at that…" I say suspiciously, trying to mask the fluttering in my chest. He laughs lightly, a warm pink tinting his cheeks. "I don't remember you ever having a girlfriend," I wonder out loud, my curiosity peaked. He rolls his eyes and lays back on the bed, throwing his arms over his face.
"I have never had a girlfriend," he confirms. "I've also never had sex." he admits, holding his breath. I can say not many things shock me, but this piece of information has thoroughly surprised me. With the way Wesley has been flirting and the ease of him being physical with me, I would have thought he'd been with a few people. "I hate to admit that I stole one of my mother's bras and practiced so that I'd impress the girl I was with when the time came." he confesses, his embarrassment evident. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, but the giggles burst out anyway. Wesley peeks one eye out, to scowl at me.
"How have you never had a girlfriend?" I ask once my laughter dies down, disbelief coloring my tone. He removes his arms from his face, and cocks an eyebrow, his gaze piercing yet gentle. He is insanely handsome, pure masculinity at its finest. I hear the way the girls talked about him in school, I just assumed he gave into their requests.
"I just never got around to it. I was also pining for a girl who ignored me my whole high school career," he replies, smirking. I look down, feeling guilty for not seeing him sooner. He places a finger under my chin, and tilts my head to look at him. "We're here, now," his words infused with promise and adoration. With those words, I gain the courage to continue where we left off, a sense of anticipation building within me. I lift his shirt over his head, marveling at his bare chest once again, the sight leaving me breathless. His hands reach out and cup my breasts, his touch both tender and possessive. I kiss him passionately, our connection deepening as we lose ourselves in the moment, the world fading away around us as we explore each other's desires.
Wesley kisses his way down my body, his movements intentional and filled with a hunger that matches my own, each touch sending waves of pleasure through me. He yanks my pants off, pausing to smirk up at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. He climbs back up the bed, giving special attention to my breasts, setting my skin ablaze. I hear the front door slam closed, and my heart skips a beat, flooding my bloodstream with fear of being caught. Wesley freezes and looks back, quickly getting up to lock the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, he returns to me, his focus unwavering as he resumes our intimate exploration. His other hand travels south, sparking a firestorm of longing within me. He covers my mouth with his other hand, a playful smile dancing on his lips.
"Do you want the whole Tribute Center to hear you?" he jokes, his voice filled with playful banter. I gently take his hand off my mouth, our bodies molding together, fitting like perfect puzzle pieces, a seamless connection born out of raw emotion and need.
I've only been with Kai, so I wasn't sure what to expect being intimate with Wesley, but it definitely wasn't what I had imagined. I've never felt so beautiful, or seen in my entire existence. This is what it feels like to feel loved completely, cherished for who I am, flaws and all. I lay curled into Wesley's side, my leg draped across his waist, a sense of serenity washing over me in his embrace.
"Did you…?" Wesley asks, his voice tender as he kisses the top of my head.
"Yes," I chuckle breathlessly, satisfaction flooding every part of me. I look up at him, and run my fingers through his soft waves, savoring this moment.
"I wasn't sure if it was good for you, I'm assuming you've been with others, and I'm not exactly experienced—" he begins, his words tinged with self-doubt. I place my finger across his lips, effectively shushing him, my heart swelling with affection and understanding.
"Other, not others," I correct him, my voice filled with reassurance and love. He nods his head, his stare filled with gratitude and warmth. He leans in and firmly places his lips against mine, stirring more desire within me. He adjusts himself so he's on top of me, my chest pressed against his, the beating of his heart against mine. I can see the love in his eyes, plain as day, the depth of emotion surpassing anything I've been accustomed to. Kai never looked at me this way. He never looked at me with this much love and adoration. Kai might've loved me, on his terms, or when it suited him best. Wesley is in love with me, unconditionally and without reservation.
"Something is bothering me," he tells me, twisting a piece of my hair around his finger, his touch gentle, yet troubled. I caress the side of his face, tracing the sharp outlines of his cheekbone and jaw, feeling the tension in his muscles ease under my touch. "I heard you say Zane has been handsy with you and threatening you since day one. Why didn't you tell me?" his icy eyes soften into a warmer shade, concern overtaking his features.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of nothing. Except, now it's not nothing," I explain, smiling sheepishly. He touches my eye lightly, so as not to hurt me.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he asks, his eyes boring into mine, his words a reminder of his unwavering care and support. I nod, feeling gratitude for his presence in my life, no matter how short it may be. "Let's shower so we can get ready for dinner. I'm sure an Avox can grab you something from the infirmary to help with the pain and swelling." Wesley says, pulling me up to a sitting position.
Turning on the hot water, we both step into the multiple streams of water surrounding us, the warmth enveloping us like a comforting embrace. Wesley hugs me close to him, the water saturating his hair, causing it to fall in his face. He sweeps his hair up and out his face, showcasing the strong masculine features of his face.
I stand on my tiptoes, cradling his face between my hands, the water cascading over us like a symphony of sensations, kissing him sweetly. His arms encircle my waist, his hands squeezing the curve of my bottom, lifting me slightly off the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist, surrendering to the magnetic pull between us, as he presses my back against the tile wall, our bodies melding together in perfect harmony.
"You are so beautiful," he whispers, his words a sweet melody. As he enters me, a downpour of craving for him washes over me, every touch and feeling heightened by our yearning for each other.
Wesley looks out into the hallway first, making sure the coast is clear. With urgency, he pulls me toward him by my towel, crushing my body against his, his kiss fleeting but filled with as much emotion as in the shower, before he pushes me towards my room. I hurriedly duck into my room to get dressed, the rush of emotions swirling inside me like a tempestuous sea. Closing the door behind me, I can't help but smile to myself, a surge of euphoria surging through my veins. It's a bittersweet moment of realization considering my predicament, the joy of discovering love juxtaposed with the looming threat of loss.
The thought of losing Wesley, of being torn away from the warmth of his embrace, pushes me over the edge. The thought of never looking into those glacial blue eyes, seeing his heart-stopping smile every morning rips my heart in two. I sink to the hard wooden floor, the weight of my despair crashing over me like a tidal wave, the sobs wracking my body silently. Feelings of regret for wasting so much time with someone who didn't value me now haunt me, the stark contrast of what could have been with Wesley overwhelming my senses. In his love, I find solace and healing, yet the fear of losing him leaves me paralyzed me with anguish. I didn't think I could or deserved to be loved like this, and now that I have found Wesley, the prospect of losing him is a pain too deep to bear.