Chapter Twelve
"Do you think you're clever?" Zane laughs sadistically. I put as much space between us as I can, my back pressed up against the glass wall. His eyes gleam with malice as he inches closer. "Wearing a crown and lying to the crowd, making them believe you're some innocent woman?" he accuses, his voice a venomous hiss. I jump when I hear pounding on the outside of the elevator doors—it must be Wesley. Panic spikes as Zane slams the button for the twelfth floor, and the elevator lurches into motion, ascending to the top of the building.
"You are not innocent, you are conniving," he whispers, his breath saturated with liquor. "I wonder what the audience will say when they learn you sabotaged me, because you know you can't beat me," Looking into his crazed blue eyes, it is evident that whatever shred of sanity Zane once possessed, is long gone. I feel the fear settle deep in the pit of my stomach.
"Get away from me," I say through my teeth, my muscles tensing, ready to strike. Despite the terror coursing through me, I know I have to be strong. There is no one here to save me but myself.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid?" Zane chuckles, pressing his body against mine. Desperation fuels my strength as I shove him off of me, but he retaliates, grabbing the collar of my dress and yanking hard. The fabric tears with a loud rip, leaving my chest exposed. His eyes light up with satisfaction at the sight.
"Let's remedy something really quick," he sneers, snatching the golden crown from my head. He pulls it out so forcefully that strands of my hair come with it. I yelp in pain, but the sound only seems to excite him further.
He shoves me against the glass wall, his hand roughly groping my breast as he forces his lips onto mine. Rage and fear mix into a volatile cocktail inside me. With all my strength, I knee him in the groin. He drops to the floor, clutching himself in agony.
Seizing the moment, I send my foot flying into his face. Blood spatters across my dress and the elevator floor, streaming from his nose. Zane lies on the floor, groaning, his once confident sneer replaced with a look of pain. I back away, my heart pounding, every nerve in my body on high alert.
The elevator doors slide open onto the twelfth floor, and for a fleeting moment, hope surges within me. It quickly diminishes when I see there's no one on the twelfth floor yet. I attempt to step over Zane, but he grabs the hem of my dress, yanking me down hard.
"We're just getting started, baby," he smirks, pinning me beneath him. I punch him hard in the jaw, a shooting pain traveling from my knuckles up to my wrist. He reels back, grabbing his jaw, blood still pouring from his nose. I am now covered in his blood, the warm sticky liquid coating my chest. I discreetly kick off my heel, though it's still too far for me to reach.
"You're a real bitch," Zane spits, his bloodied face contorted in rage. My fingers stretch towards my shoe, but before I can grab it, he slaps me sharply across the face. The stinging pain spurs the fight within me, and I finally hook my fingers around the heel. Summoning all my strength, I bash the side of his head with the heel as hard as I can. Blood sprays across my face, and I gag at the metallic smell. Zane screams in anguish, collapsing against the glass wall.
I use this opportunity to make my escape. I scramble to my feet, leaving my heels behind. I sprint down the hall, not daring to look back. My focus is solely on reaching the stairwell.
Once I push the door open, I lean against it, gasping for breath. The cool air of the stairwell feels heavenly against my heated skin. Through the small window, I see an empty hallway, a brief relief. Without wasting another second, I descend the stairs rapidly, my mind set on finding Wesley. I leap down three steps at a time, gripping the railing for support. As I glance over the edge, I spot Wesley climbing up two steps at a time, his movements strained in his tight suit.
"Wesley!" I shout, my voice echoing sharply in the cement stairwell. He stops abruptly, looking up, sweat shining on his face, his gelled hair falling into his eyes. Behind him, Finnick appears, looking up in worry. In seconds, Wesley reaches me, his eyes widening.
As he takes in my battered and bloody appearance, his expression transforms. His eyes ignite with a fury I've never seen before, a hatred that burns through his usual calm demeanor. Finnick stops short behind Wesley, quickly averting his eyes from my exposed body.
"What the fuck did he do?" Wesley roars, his voice filled with rage as he looks me over frantically. "Where are you hurt?" he asks, his voice tight. The intensity in his ice blue eyes cuts through the fog of my shock, making me acutely aware of how I must look—coated in Zane's blood, my dress torn and barely clinging to my frame.
"It's not my blood, I'm okay," I whisper, burying my face in his neck, my voice muffled against his skin. I expect tears, but they don't come. Numbness has settled in, a protective barrier against the trauma. "I'm okay, I promise," I say softly, trying to quell his fury. Wesley quickly shrugs out of his metallic bronze suit jacket and wraps it around me, his touch gentle and reassuring.
"Where is he?" Finnick finally says, his sea-green gaze hard with anger.
"I left him on the elevator on floor twelve," I reply, shrinking further into Wesley's side. Finnick immediately turns and races down the stairs at a dizzying speed.
"Come on," Wesley says, his grip firm but tender as he takes my hand. We descend the stairs together, and as my adrenaline wears off, the exhaustion makes itself known. I lean into him for support, my mind unwillingly replaying the ordeal, the memory a dagger of fear and disgust. I shudder, imagining what could have happened if I hadn't managed to defend myself. What was Zane's plan? To rape me? To scare me? Was he trying to break me before the arena, thinking it would give him an edge?
Wesley's presence is my anchor, his warmth a beacon in the dark swirl of my thoughts. As we reach the lower floors, the sound of distant voices filter through. The anxiety of anyone seeing me like this spikes my heart rate. Wesley notices my uneasiness, so we take the steps at a faster pace. He squeezes my hand gently, and I find the promise of safety in his grip.
When we finally reach our empty apartment, we head straight for the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and the sight is shocking. My beautiful dress is torn from my neck to my belly button. My hair is disheveled and my makeup smeared. I am thoroughly sprayed and coated with Zane's blood. Wesley stands behind me, his eyes burning with anger and concern.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks softly, his fingers gently sliding the destroyed fabric off my shoulders. I step out of the dress, feeling the cold air against my skin.
"I don't know how to answer that," I say, my voice flat. I wait for the tears or the breakdown, but they don't come. Wesley's eyes search my face, looking for something he can't find.
"What happened?" he asks, undoing the black tie around his neck. I hesitate, unsure if I should tell him everything. It will only make him angrier, and that won't help either of us.
"He didn't rape me, if that's what you're thinking," I say quietly. Wesley lets out the breath he's been holding, relief softening his features as he shrugs out of his shirt and pants. "I fought him off. I bashed the side of his head with my heel," I add, keeping the details sparse. I don't want to relive the memory of Zane's hands on me.
"Well, that explains all the blood," Wesley mutters, clearing his throat. I meet his icy blue gaze, and suddenly I can't tolerate the distance between us. I throw my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him. He holds me tightly, kissing my temple.
"I love you, but it's pretty gross that we're covered in blood," he chuckles, lightening the mood. A small laugh escapes me, breaking the tension. His face twists into a faint smile as we step into the shower.
The warm water cascades over us, washing away the blood and grime of the night. I watch the water turn pink, then clear, as it swirls down the drain. Wesley's touch is gentle as he helps me scrub away the remnants of the horror. I lean into him, letting the steam envelop us in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
As the water washes over us, I feel a semblance of peace returning. The memories of Zane's attack still linger, but here, in this moment, with Wesley, I feel a glimmer of hope. His presence grounds me, reminding me of the strength I have within and the love we share.
We step out of the shower, clean and refreshed, but the weight of the night still hangs heavy in the air. Wesley wraps a bathrobe around me, kissing my cheek.
"We'll get through this," he whispers, his voice steady and filled with determination, "Together."
I nod, feeling the truth of his words. No matter what the arena holds, no matter the horrors we face, we have each other. And in this brutal world, that's everything.
Stepping into the living room, I find Finnick and Althea in a deep conversation in front of the couch. Finnick's face is a mask of distress, while Althea looks positively elated. The tension in the room is palpable. I can feel Wesley's presence behind me as I sink into one of the cream living chairs, the scent of his body wash offering a small comfort.
"What's going on?" I ask timidly, dread coiling in my stomach. Wesley rests his forearms on the back of my chair, a solid and reaffirming presence.
"Amara, the Gamemakers are airing your incident with Zane in the elevator," Finnick says through his teeth, his frustration evident. "I tried to stop them, but…" he trails off, his helplessness echoing my own sinking heart. The thought of my most vulnerable moment being broadcast for the entire nation to gawk at makes me feel raw and exposed. I appreciate Finnick's efforts, but fighting the Capitol is like fighting the tide—utterly futile.
"I think it's amazing! You look so strong and everyone will see that you're a winner!" Althea chirps, her enthusiasm a contrast to the dread pooling in my stomach. My fists ball in my lap as I fight to remain composed. "You will gain so many sponsors!" Althea continues, her smile wide and oblivious. I shoot up from my seat, my fists still clenched. Wesley's hand lands firmly on my shoulder, grounding me.
"What are you even saying right now? Do you hear yourself?" I demand, my tone low and simmering with anger. Finnick quickly stands and positions himself between Althea and me, knowing I'd never actually hurt her, despite my anger. That would be like kicking a defenseless puppy. "Wait, you saw the footage already?" I ask, disbelief thick in my voice.
"It was playing when we went to the Gamemaker's headquarters," Finnick replies quietly. They saw it then. They saw Zane assault me. The urge to hide, to disappear and never come out, is overwhelming.
"Are they going to show…everything?" I ask, my cheeks flaming with humiliation. The silence that follows is answer enough. My worst fear is confirmed: the full assault will be broadcast for all of Panem to see. I don't think I've ever felt more exposed in my life.
Wesley moves closer to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. I lean into him, desperately clinging to the comfort he provides. I don't know why I expected the Gamemakers to respect my privacy. Their job is to exploit our most painful moments for entertainment.
"When is it airing?" Wesley asks, his grip on me tightening protectively.
"Shortly," Finnick responds, his tone clipped. The dread I feel is nearly paralyzing. I don't want to relive the ordeal, but if the whole country is going to watch, I need to know exactly what they'll see. I sit back in my chair, the weight of the impending broadcast pressing down on me. Wesley remains standing, leaning against the back of my chair, his presence a small but significant shield against what we're about to face together.
When the Panem seal flashes on the screen, my stomach churns violently. The usual announcers for the Games, Gaius Stillwhisper and Claudius Templesmith, both sit next to each other, giddy.
"We have a special treat for you all tonight!" Gaius exclaims, his excitement over the top.
"It appears Zane Marwood and Amara Hale had a bit of an incident tonight in one of the elevators after the interviews!" Claudius shouts, his voice brimming with glee as if this is the best thing to happen in history.
"What's even better? We have the footage!" Gaius gushes. "Watch as these two tributes dish it out in a heated altercation!" The screen goes black for a second, and then the footage appears. I see myself on the screen walking into the elevator, Zane following close behind.
"Don't watch," I warn Wesley, whose eyes are glued to the screen. He glances at me for a split second, then his gaze snaps back to the screen, ignoring my plea. Sighing heavily, I turn my attention back to the television. The footage shows me shoving Zane back before he rips my dress. The camera angle is from the upper right corner, sparing some of my dignity. Wesley stiffens as he watches Zane grope and kiss me. Althea, disturbingly, watches in amazement, her smile wide as if this is better than the actual Games.
"I wish I were being thrown in the arena this time," Finnick says quietly, his voice strained. He sits down, his face stoic, but his eyes alight with fury. The dreadful scene continues to unfold, with Zane's blood splattering all over the place. When Zane gets on top of me, I hear Wesley grinding his teeth together. I can't help but feel a grim satisfaction as I watch myself bash his head in with my heel. It looks brutal on camera, both of us drenched in blood.
The footage stops abruptly, and Wesley turns around swiftly, punching a wall before retreating to my room without another word. I gape at the hole he left in the wall, a perfect cast of his fist. Althea gasps in horror at the damage to the wall, but while I was being assaulted she was elated. I will never understand how corrupt and backwards the Capitol has gotten.
"Isn't that amazing? I mean it is truly spectacular!" Claudius enthuses.
"If this is what we get before the arena I cannot wait to see what we have in store for us tomorrow morning!" Gaius says, his voice full of anticipation.
"Zane better watch out for her, if he has any intelligence he would take her out first," Claudius advises. The program closes out with the announcers eagerly amping up the rivalry between Zane and me, their excitement thinly veiling the brutality of the spectacle they are promoting.
As the screen fades to black, the weight of what just transpired sinks in. The entire nation has seen my most vulnerable moment, twisted into entertainment. The room is silent, except for the faint hum of city nightlife. The emptiness feels suffocating within me. I lean into the chair, my mind reeling, knowing this is just the beginning.
"Good work," Althea praises, giving my shoulder a light squeeze before retreating to her room. I drop my head into my hands, miserably trying to calm the anger that is building within me. The emotional turmoil of recent events gnaws at my insides. I feel someone kneel before me. Picking my head up, I see Finnick before me. His tie hangs loose and the first three buttons of his shirt are undone. His usual composed demeanor looks disheveled.
"Run as fast as you can to that Cornucopia, and grab your spear. End him first," Finnick tells me, his eyes softening with a mix of concern and regret. "I feel like I failed you. I had no idea he was going to stoop to this level. To actually assault you…" His voice cracks with the weight of his guilt. "And then, not being able to stop the Gamemakers from airing it for the world to see…" He trails off, frowning deeply. I rest my hand on his arm, which is draped across his knee, hoping to provide some comfort.
"Finnick, this is not your fault. None of us knew how far Zane was willing to go. I fought back, and I felt confident enough to do so, because of the way you've mentored us. Please do not blame yourself," I tell him genuinely, trying to ease his worries. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles weakly, placing his hand over mine. He stands and pulls me up with him.
'Thank you for saying that," he murmurs as he turns to walk towards his room. I follow him, heading towards mine. Just before I open the door, he calls out softly.
"Amara?" His hand rests on the handle of his door. "Make him suffer," he orders, his voice firm but laced with a fierce protectiveness. He then disappears into his room.
A small, determined smile forms on my lips. The humiliation Zane caused fuels my rage and desire to make his last moments as painful as I can manage. At least now, I have something to look forward to. The thought of avenging myself, of proving my strength, gives me a grim sense of purpose.
When I step into my room, I find Wesley sitting on my bed, staring out the window. The inky sky is adorned with bright, twinkling stars, an unusual sight given the city's light pollution. As I get closer, I realize he's lowered the screen, and the night sky is just a projection, artificial like everything else here. I sit next to him, and rest my head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. He stills beside me, and I look up at him warily.
"What the hell are you sorry for?" he asks, bewildered. I sit up, to see him better. His wet hair is dripping into his ice blue eyes, which are hard with suppressed anger.
"I didn't want you to see that…" I trail off, the shame washing over me.
"You have nothing to apologize for, what happened wasn't your fault," Wesley tells me sternly.
"I know, but I didn't want you to have those images in your head," I explain, admiring the projection on the screen. I briefly wonder if I will ever see the real night sky again.
"Leave it to the Gamemaker's to exploit someone at their most vulnerable," Wesley mutters, snaking an arm around me.
"My mother and Clymene must have seen it," I say, staring absently at the fake stars. The thought of them witnessing my assault makes me nauseous. I can't imagine what is going through their minds right now. I wish there was a way for me to let them know I'm okay, but we have no contact with our districts or anyone other than our escorts and mentors. We're in our own little world, where our job is to entertain the rich. It's sick and twisted, but at least I'm excelling at my job and giving everyone a spectacular show so far.