Chapter Ten
"Your mother raised you right!" Althea cheers, her eyes alight with pride and admiration. I sit with my shoulders back, and my chin held perfectly parallel to the floor. My hands are clasped elegantly in my lap, and my best award winning smile displayed. I have been practicing walking in heels, sitting properly, and smiling with Althea for hours. Fortunately, I have had some prior experience from playing dress-up in Clymene's old clothes when I was younger. Clymene taught me what her mother taught her about conducting oneself gracefully in social situations. Some lessons stuck, others didn't—like not punching people.
"My mother didn't teach me any of this. My neighbor Clymene did; she's the one who raised me," I confide in Althea. Her smile falters slightly, her navy blue eyebrows draw together.
"Well, Clymene did an excellent job. Every young girl should know proper etiquette, you know," Althea praises. With thoughts of Clymene, I wonder what she must be doing back home. I imagine her cleaning her kitchen, the radiant sun shining through her windows that are constantly open. She'd tell me, "fresh air is good for the soul." During lightning storms, she would take me outside to watch it on her front porch. I remember being afraid at first, but when Clymene took my hand, and we sat outside watching the electrifying purple bolts streak across the sky, I was no longer afraid. That was the first time I remember being able to face my fears. Tears start pricking behind my eyes, the yearning for Clymene to hold my hand now, and take away my fears this time, is overwhelming.
"I don't have much more instruction for you," Althea smiles, satisfied with my performance. She studies my face, and as tears well in my eyes, she frowns. "What's the matter?" she asks, concern in her voice.
"I miss Clymene, is all," I sniffle, dabbing my eyes with the bottom of my shirt. Althea reaches in her purse next to her on the couch, and pulls out a tissue. I take it gratefully, and wipe my eyes.
"I know you must miss your family terribly, but imagine how proud they will be when you emerge from the arena, victorious!" Althea says, confidence saturating her words. I know she's trying to comfort me, but her statement does the opposite. If I am the next Victor, that means Wesley…I can't even finish the thought, or I will break down completely and I'd like to save that for another time.
"Thank you, Althea. I think I'm going to clean up before my lesson with Finnick," I tell her, as I collect myself and head to my room. My green eyes and the tip of my nose are red, evidence of my sobfest. I wash my face hastily with cold water, which seems to help a bit. I raise my hand to view Clymene's ring, the large amethyst stone reflecting in the light. I can imagine her standing in front of me, wiping my tears away, telling me to 'woman up' and win this thing. I smile at the thought of Clymene lecturing me. A strong woman she is, and a strong woman she raised.
Althea comes to collect me after lunch for Finnick's instruction, a session dedicated to refining my image for the upcoming interview with Caesar Flickerman. Nervousness grips me like a vice; the possibility of public embarrassment is large in my mind. I trust Finnick to advise me in this area though, if there's anything he knows how to do, it's how to work a crowd. Throughout our public appearances since the Games began, he effortlessly charms the Capitol's denizens, drawing them in with little more than a smile and a wave. His skill even landed us four sponsors.
"I've been mulling it over, and I believe the image you should project is one of strength, combined with class and grace," Finnick declares, sitting across from me at the dining room table. "Confidence is key, but not so much as to come off as arrogant, you need to be likable," he advises, casually popping a grape into his mouth. He sifts through some papers stacked in front of him, then instructs me to assume my interview posture. Following Clymene's teachings, I straighten my back, square my shoulders, and cross my legs elegantly. I run my fingers through my long hair, adjusting the waves over my right shoulder, the ends touching my lap. Finnick clears his throat and begins asking possible interview questions.
"Tell us, what inspired you to volunteer?" Finnick asks, mimicking Caesar Flickerman's thick Capitol accent. I muffle my laugh with my hand as Finnick flashes a fleeting smirk before quickly regaining his composure.
"I believed I stood a better chance here than Annie would. Plus, it would be a disservice for my skills to go unused," I answer with a fake smile. Finnick nods his head, and goes to the next question.
"And what skills might those be?" he probes.
"I suppose you'll just have to wait and see," I respond, my lips lifting in a mysterious and playful smile.
"Excellent. I like that. The audience always gravitates towards someone who exudes fun and playfulness; they prefer not to take things too seriously," Finnick commends me. We go through more questions, with Finnick fine-tuning my responses. By the end of the hour we've honed in on precisely how I should present myself, leaving me feeling more confident than ever.
"You will do outstanding, I believe in you," Finnick says, as Wesley exits his room alongside Althea. He flashes me a warm smile and wraps his arms around my shoulders as Finnick and Althea discuss schedule times, and logistics for tomorrow.
"You smell so good," Wesley murmurs, burying his face into my hair. Gently, he turns my head towards him and steals a quick kiss before Finnick and Althea turn around. I cling briefly to Wesley's arm before he retreats to the couch. Flicking on the television, he queues up reruns of last year's Games.
I settle into the gray cushions beside him. He gazes down at me, a soft smile playing on his lips as he pulls me closer. As I watch Mayra and Joshua on the screen, our tributes from the previous year, an unsettling pit forms in my stomach. Mayra and Joshua sit around the fire, smiling and laughing with their fellow Careers, blissfully unaware of the horror that awaits them once they close their eyes. I shut my eyes and turn away when the girl from District 1 sneaks out of her sleeping bag, wielding a hunting knife. Wesley's arm around me tightens when the gruesome scene unfolds before us.
"I'll never let anything like that happen to you," Wesley vows, tilting my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His ice blue eyes are soft, full of love.
"That's the problem. You're going to get yourself killed protecting me," I sigh heavily.
"I can take care of myself, you know." He responds, smirking. I'm well aware Wesley can fight off anyone, but the image of it still spikes my heart rate. I roll my eyes, and gaze out the window, the sun setting, casting a bright orange glow over the busy city. I watch people leave the tall skyscrapers, on their way home. I wonder what a typical day as a Capitol citizen looks like. Not caring about anyone else, indulging in all the luxuries. I would give anything to be one of them, and not in the predicament I find myself in, currently.
"I don't want to know what life without you looks like." I state, pursing my lips. I imagine the world would be dimmer, the sun not as bright, the vivid colors of the Capitol dull. Wesley inches closer to me, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"Just focus on right now," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. His lips press against my neck, sending familiar waves of pleasure coursing through me. With his strong arms sliding under my legs, he effortlessly whisks me away to his bedroom.
My body hums with anticipation, responding eagerly to his touch. This time it's different— it's not just about comfort or lust. Every caress, every movement is tender, deliberate, and slow. His intense gaze heats my skin, both of us not saying a word, purely communicating with our bodies. Bliss and utter satisfaction seep into my soul when we both find our release in each other.
"I love you," Wesley breathes, his perfect sun-tanned skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. My throat constricts, and a wave of nausea overtakes me. I jump out of bed just in time to lose my dinner. I feel Wesley standing behind me, his hands gathering my hair as I retch.
"Not the reaction I was expecting," he says quietly, disappointment clouding his expression, as I turn to face him.
"I love you too, but it scares the living daylights out of me," I express, confusion wrinkling his brow.
"Thank you?" he responds, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Only one of us comes out, or we both don't. Wesley, I can't go home without you," I say, tears welling in my eyes as the anxiety of leaving here without him overwhelms me, sending more of my dinner into the porcelain bowl. He runs a washcloth under the sink, and brings it to my forehead.
"Come here," he says calmly, pulling me close so he can cradle me. Nestling my head into his shoulder, he presses his lips to my temple.
"You have to promise me that if something happens to me, you will win. You will go back home the Victor, and you will live your life as fulfilling as possible," he whispers, his ice blue eyes piercing into mine with intensity.
"Nothing's going to be as fulfilling as being with you. What am I going to do anyways?" I question him defiantly, feeling the familiar anger rising within me.
"You have Clymene, your mother, and now Finnick—" He begins, but my irritated sigh cuts him off.
"I want you," I declare stubbornly.
"I just don't want you to be sad," he sighs heavily, the weight of reality bearing down on him as his shoulders sag, a defeated look on his face.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore." I state fiercely. I wind my arms together around his neck, and I shift in his lap, so my legs wrap around his waist. I inhale deeply, his intoxicating cologne calming my heart. His large hands cup the curve of my bottom as he stands up.
"Promise me something?" he asks, leaning back slightly to meet my eyes. I'm apprehensive to promise him anything, unsure if I'll be able to uphold it.
"Please, no matter how bad things get, promise me you won't end your life?" He pleads with me, his eyes serious. I won't lie and say the thought of us ending it together hasn't crossed my mind, but I would never want to end my own life. To take my own life to end the pain I'll temporarily feel for a while seems so selfish to me. Especially since I have my mother and Clymene to think about. As unusual as it seems, Altheah and Finnick have become a sort of family away from home, and I know they'd be affected by my death.
"I wouldn't do that…" I reply weakly, feeling the weight of his concern. He nods understandingly, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek.
"I didn't think so, I just had to say it, for peace of mind," he offers a soft smile.
"If I die, you have to promise me the same thing," I insist, locking eyes with him, the seriousness of the moment hanging between us.
"I promise you," he affirms, sealing his vow with a kiss.
The rest of the night seems to last forever, Wesley and I holding each other close. We don't speak much, the reality of the next few days sinking in.
"Can you tell me a happy story?" I request, nestled beside him, my head resting on his chest, my fingers tracing patterns on the rigid muscles of his abdomen.
"One time, at a party—Sydney Silverstone's, I think—a girl who had a crush on me, I can't remember her name, which is unfortunate considering it's probably the wildest thing that's happened to me thus far," he begins, already smiling. "Well she and I were talking for a bit, and for some reason, probably due to how much alcohol she had, she decided to leap at me, and plant a kiss. But she ended up tripping on my foot, and her braces got snagged on my sweater," he recounts, chuckling at the memory. "There I was, with this girl's braces stuck to my chest, scrambling to find scissors, to free her mouth," he laughs even louder, and I can't help but join in.
"Oh my word! What did she say?" I ask in-between fits of laughter.
"Well her mouth was full of my sweater so she wasn't saying much," he jokes, triggering another round of laughter from both of us. I can barely contain myself, imagining the awkwardness of the situation. Knowing Wesley, he was probably trying not to make her feel bad, but also trying to figure out how to get out of it.
"Did a lot of girls try to kiss you?" I inquire, still giggling.
"Yes, but never the one I really wanted to kiss," he replies with a smirk, prompting me to straddle his hips playfully.
"And who might have that been?" I tease, in a mischievous tone. His hands run up the side of my body, until they rest on my breasts, squeezing firmly.
"I think you know her, she's this short, brown haired girl…" he says, playfully going along with it.
"I'm not short!" I protest, earning an eye roll from him. I lean in, nipping at his earlobe before trailing kisses down his neck, feeling the heat building between us as he responds eagerly, flipping us over, so he's on top.
"I want to hear you say it," he says huskily, his lips traveling to my breast.
"I love you," I breathe, the intensity of our connection sparking like wildfire. the electrifying energy between us crackles. He gazes up at me through his lashes, a wide smile on his face.
For the rest of the night, we lose ourselves in each other, expressing our love in every touch until the first light of dawn filters through the gray curtains, signaling the end of our passionate rendezvous. Exhausted, but content, we cling to each other, savoring the small moments we get with each other.