here to kingdom come - Chapter Two: run fast as you can
Title: here to kingdom come
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: M/NC-17
Spoilers: All three books of the Hunger Games trilogy.
Warnings: Drug use, cursing, dubious con, and character death
Characters: Sophie Devereaux, Nathan Ford, Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison, Tara Cole, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, various other characters, and minor OCs.
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Sophie/Finnick, Sophie/Tara, Parker/Hardison, Annie/Finnick, Peeta/Katniss, and Johanna/Gale.
Summary: As a Victor, Sophie Devereaux has spent the last fifteen years of her life trying not to feel. But rumors bring news of rebellion, hope for a better future. A second chance.
run fast as you can
“Run fast as you can
No one has to understand
Fly high across the sky
From here to kingdom come
Fall back down to where you’re from.”
- “Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars
“Our two tributes look strong this year.” Imanuel Evander gives her a wide smile. “And attractive.”
Sophie smiles faintly in return and takes a sip of her cool apple cider. “I assume you have spectacular clothes ready for them.”
He shrugs. “It’s my job. I have new clothes for you, of course.”
“Of course.”
She watches condensation gather on her glass and slip into a jagged line to the table; even in the Capitol the heat is oppressive. She takes another sip. Apple cider was her favorite thing to drink at one time. It tastes like summer, and it reminds her of her father. He used to bring it home to them after he went to the Capitol.
It’s something she only indulges in while in the Capitol. It’s better than drinking herself into a stupor; it’s pain edged with bitterness, and honestly, it’s just as intoxicating as any liquor. Addiction is easy to find and hard to lose.
Bile crawls up her throat at the memory of her father, and she forces it back down with a hard swallow. This is why she hates all the time between the Reaping and the Games. It’s too easy to slip back into memories, a morbid habit she has yet to break.
“You’ve lost weight.”
She looks up at Imanuel, startled. “What?”
“You’re getting too thin.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room where he has a large pile of fabric and various accessories. “I used your measurements from last year for that dress and it’s too loose for you. You know, we value slenderness, but you’re going to look like a skeleton soon.”
He brandishes a wide gold belt heavy with rubies. She eyes it warily; she’s never trusted him when he starts trying to fix parts of her.
Like when he thought she was in love with Finnick, and he tried to chase off Tara because he thought Tara was interfering in what could be a very happy love affair. Or when he brought the Bliss drug to her and convinced her to take it because it would help her forget her pain. She spent two days in a medical center since he had given her a much larger dose than her body could handle.
“What is that for?”
He pulls her out of her chair and loops the belt about her waist, cinching in the loose fabric of her dress. The gold sits heavy against the dress. It feels like a chain, and she desperately wants to shed the added weight.
“My clothes are my art, and art is all about presentation. Therefore, the clothes need to fit properly so everyone can see my brilliance and admire it.” He punctuates his statement with an emphatic gesture of his hands that clips her shoulder.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
He steps back and looks her straight in the eye. “I know you think of me as a frivolous man, but the right piece of clothing for those tributes can mean the difference between life and death in the arena. It’s my job to give them the best opportunity for survival that I can.”
“So why is it so important that I am dressed to perfection?”
She snatches up her glass and takes a long swallow, wishing she had some sort of alcohol to make the room feel lighter. She hates summer.
“Because people still look at you, darling, and they measure your worth according to appearance.” He shakes his head and a sly smile creeps onto his face. “Or maybe I’m just a fool who loves sewing a few dresses.”
The pointed remark hits her square in the chest, and she drops her eyes, a little ashamed of her behavior. Imanuel is her friend, and she doesn’t have enough of those to be callous to the ones she has.
“You know everything you design is exquisite,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”
He gives her a sharp look, all of his easy good humor disappearing. “You don’t. It’s just important for you to understand.”
Sophie nods her head, keeps her voice light. “Of course. I…forget, sometimes. Things like that just aren’t very important in District Four.”
His mouth tightens, and he looks like he’s about to say something else when his prep team tumbles through the door. They bring laughter and sunshine with them as they pour out compliments for the girl tribute this year, pretty Lydia who is so charming and brave. Sophie’s unease slips away as they surround her and Imanuel leaves.
There are three of them, one girl and two young men. Aria is willowy and short, like a pixie, and her doe-like eyes are always shining with joy. She has an obsession with Sophie’s hair and is always attempting to put feathers in it; Sophie has managed to avoid that particular oddity so far. Aria isn’t like most Capitol citizens with wild hair colors and features altered by surgeries; her whims come and go too much for her to undergo a permanent change in her body. Instead, she wears flamboyant clothes that include an overabundance of accessories, and her make-up is generally just as flashy to match.
Benjy is the older of the two men, and he’s only in his mid-twenties. He moves like a cat, smooth muscles and slender body vibrating with energy. His black hair is always perfectly styled in a way that makes it look like he slept on top of his head, and black curly lines are tattooed continuously all over his body, emphasizing every movement. He acts as the anchor to Aria’s flighty emotions.
Tally is the last of the group. He is fascinated with the idea of the phoenix, an animal that dies in flames and is born out of ashes. Unfortunately, this has manifested itself in brilliant red-orange hair that only emphasizes the paleness of his skin and his unsettling black eyes. He looks constantly in transition between death and re-birth; the effect ends up as both frightening and enthralling.
They brandish their various kits, and their hands pat over Sophie’s skin and clothes without an ounce of apology. Their words fall across her; it feels like being out in the middle of the ocean. There’s a soft roar about their conversation that lingers in her ears, but it’s not like the crash of the waves against the shore or the cacophony of the crowd’s cheers outside.
It’s a comforting sound, a lullaby almost, and she revels in it. Unlike Imanuel, there is no depth to any of them; or, at least, she hasn’t found any. These three are foolish and vain, easily excited over the smallest things, and it is like being in the care of small children except that the results will be much better. This absence of expectations, the selfishness, it allows her to stop thinking and just stay there with only small thoughts about which color lipstick is best to go with her new outfit.
It’s a different sort of freedom, one without cost, and she adores them for allowing her that luxury even if it doesn’t last.
Today, they’re discussing the upcoming Games, so she allows her mind to float a little while they smooth out her skin. They jabber about the new tributes and how spectacular they will look that night. It’s the same talk every year, and she knows they believe in it, too, even if most of what they say are phrases recycled over and over again until she can almost parrot it all back to them.
It would hurt their feelings, though, so she manages to rein in that impulse. They wax the stubble from her legs that she’s let go for the past couple of days, and she doesn’t even wince, the pain more of a ghostly memory than fact. She’s been doing this for the past fifteen years of her life; the time didn’t feel that fast when it was passing by, but she can feel the weight of the years in her bones.
She is old before her time. Mags has been telling her that for years, and the thought brings a small smile to her face.
“It was so heartbreaking to see that girl volunteer for her sister.” Aria rubs lotion into Sophie’s arms, her fingers moving in a soothing circular pattern.
Benjy shakes his head from where he’s working lotion all over Sophie’s thighs. “Oh, I know. And she’s from District Twelve, too.”
“She doesn’t look as scrawny like the tributes from there normally do.” Tally frowns and starts brushing out Sophie’s hair. “And District Twelve has new stylists this year.”
“I heard Cinna requested District Twelve,” Aria whispers, her eyes shining with the gossip. “He said something about how no one had explored the potential there yet.”
“Potential?” Tally scoffed. “No one has explored it because it isn’t there.”
“Still, you never know when someone might surprise you,” Benjy says quietly.
Aria tosses her hair, and the five large necklaces draped about her neck jangle loudly. “I think he’s just trying to pretend like he wasn’t put with District Twelve because he’s the newest stylist.”
“Well, I saw some of the sketches he submitted.” Benjy moves behind Sophie to help Tally curl and braid small sections of her hair. “They were spectacular.”
Tara comes in with a smile on her face. “I was sent to check up on everything.”
“We’re almost finished.” Aria joins the two men behind Sophie, helping to pin the braids in place.
Benjy moves around to the front and clasps his hands to his chest. “Oh, you look beautiful, darling.”
Sophie preens for them, completely unselfconscious about her naked body, winking in Tara’s direction. Sophie doesn’t miss the flash of lust in Tara’s eyes and smiles in satisfaction as Imanuel walks in bearing a dress over his arms.
“All right, all right, we’re not done yet.” He’s practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.
He holds the back of the dress open for Sophie, and she steps into it and lets him fasten the hooks in the back. She gasps at the sensation of the cool softness of the material, and she steps forward to the mirror to admire it. The light pink complements her bronzed skin; it seems as though she is glowing from the inside out.
“It’s wonderful,” she says as she turns with a wide smile to Imanuel.
Tara grins wickedly. “Oh, wait until you see Finnick.”
The door opens, and Sophie has to stifle a laugh at Finnick’s disgruntled expression as he steps into the room. He’s been dressed in a matching pink shirt and tight black pants that leave little to the imagination. He tugs uselessly at the material around his thighs.
“I can barely even walk in this,” he complains while Aria, Benjy, and Tally coo over how spectacular his outfit is.
Imanuel raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not the point of it, is it? Besides, I don’t design your clothes.”
“Maybe you should say something to your partner,” Finnick replies through clenched teeth, “before I kill myself to end my misery.”
“Mina doesn’t like my suggestions,” Imanuel says, and Sophie snorts at the obvious lie. Mina takes a lot of suggestions from Imanuel while designing clothes.
“Am I missing a party?”
Mina’s husky voice interrupts Finnick’s next words, and Sophie quickly pulls Finnick to her side before he can start ranting again. Tara joins them as Finnick wraps an arm around Sophie’s waist, and Tara follows suit by resting her arm around Sophie’s hips. Sophie feels a small thrill at their attention and ignores the way Tara and Finnick frown at each other.
She is not going to act as referee over their jealousy.
“Well, I think we should probably go,” Sophie murmurs. “Imanuel and Mina have to join the tributes anyway, so we don’t have to wait on them.”
Finnick leads the way out of the room, slipping away from Sophie’s side. Sophie frowns at the urge she has to run after him to catch up.
***************
Sophie shifted in soft cotton sheets, sunlight warm on her face, keeping her eyes shut as she luxuriated in the heady scents of the flower garden just beyond the window. She sighed, contented, and felt the bed dip on her right with the addition of another body.
“Good morning.” Hands rubbed softly along her arms, fingers pausing to trace the curve of her shoulders.
She hummed under her breath and opened her eyes, blinking against the light’s intrusion and smiling.
“Good morning, William,” she murmured as she pulled him down for a languid kiss.
He nuzzled into her neck, propping himself up on his elbows, his chest a faint pressure over her. His breath puffed against her skin, hot and a little damp, flavored by the apple cider he drank every morning. His lips brushed against her neck, right below her ear, while his left fingers danced along her hip, pressing down, feeling the hard line of bone underneath skin.
“There’s breakfast, if you want it.” He kissed the side of her head.
She reached up and tangled her hand in his black hair that was just starting to turn silver at the roots. “I’d much rather stay right here.”
Grinning, he kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip, and she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand wandered along her collarbone and dipped lower, cupping her breast in his palm, his thumb brushing her nipple. She moaned softly, arching into his hand, and he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly at her skin.
“So, you aren’t nervous about meeting my mother?” he asked, and she could feel his smile against her throat.
She wrapped a leg lazily around his calf, running her nails down his back, relishing his shiver, the tightening of his muscles.
“I still don’t understand why this is so important to you.”
He moved away, hovering over her again, his green eyes serious. “Because I want to marry you, Sophie.”
The breath caught in her throat, and she gave him a small smile. “Can you?”
“Yes.” He brushed his lips against hers. “If you want me, we can get married.”
She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, and nodded her head. “I want to, William.”
His face lit up, and he kissed her again, his hands wrapping around her waist, his tongue sliding into her mouth; she tightened her fingers reflexively against his shoulder, sighing with pleasure.
She moved her mouth along his jaw, murmuring, “How much longer do we have until your mother gets here?”
He craned his neck to look at the clock beside the bed, and she took the opportunity to nip at his neck.
“One hour.”
He leaned back in for a kiss, and she pushed him back.
“An hour? You let me sleep too long.” She groaned and slid out from under him.
He rolled onto his back. “We have plenty of time.”
“I have to take a shower, William.” She grabbed up his bathrobe and wrapped it around her body.
“I do, too.”
She smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, then, come with me.”
Fifty-five minutes later, Sophie fixed the collar of William’s shirt, pressing a kiss to his cheek and linking her arm through his.
“You look quite handsome,” she said with a smile.
He rubbed his thumb gently along her jaw and said, “And you are incredibly beautiful.”
She blushed; the minutes ticked by, and she started to fidget, shifting her weight from one foot to another. William covered her hand with his and squeezed as a knock sounded from the other side of the door.
“Don’t be nervous,” he murmured, kissing the side of her head as he walked to the door.
He opened it, revealing a petite elderly woman with perfectly coiffed grey hair. He pulled the woman inside and kissed both her cheeks.
“Hello, Mother,” he said quietly.
She nodded her head stiffly. “It’s good to see you, William. Now, where is this young woman you keep telling me about?”
William led his mother over to stand in front of Sophie. “Mother, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux. Sophie, this is my mother, Emily Beaumont.”
Sophie smiled nervously and extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont.”
Mrs. Beaumont ignored the proffered handshake and sniffed. “And you’re from District Four.”
Sophie didn’t miss the disdain in the older woman’s voice or the snub. William frowned from behind his mother and sidled around her to wrap an arm around Sophie’s waist.
“Sophie has laid out a marvelous lunch on the balcony,” he said nervously, running a hand through his hair.
“That sounds lovely, William,” Mrs. Beaumont replied, but she didn’t smile.
William offered his arm to his mother and walked slowly out to the balcony, chatting with her about the petunias he was growing; apparently, they were his mother’s favorite flowers, and Sophie now regretted that she had chosen lilies as the centerpiece for the table. She sighed and followed after them, pulling self-consciously at her dress.
By the time she made it to the balcony, William already had his mother seated in the shade, and he pulled out a chair for Sophie. She sat down and smiled graciously at Mrs. Beaumont, feeling her cheek muscles pull with the effort when Mrs. Beaumont simply looked back with cool indifference.
“William, dear, you look a little warm in that shirt,” Mrs. Beaumont said before Sophie could offer anyone some food. “Why don’t you go change into something cooler? We’ll wait here for you.”
William nodded. “All right. Try to behave while I’m gone.”
He brushed his lips against Sophie’s cheek and walked back into the apartment. Sophie ducked her head and tapped a fingernail against her fork.
“I care very much for my son.”
Sophie looked up at Mrs. Beaumont, confused. “I’m sorry?”
Mrs. Beaumont continued like she hadn’t heard Sophie. “And I want for him to be happy. So, I must ask, do you love him?”
“Yes.” Sophie surprised herself with her quick answer, but she smiled a little. “I do love him.”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” Mrs. Beaumont replied slowly. “With most other women, I would assume they were after his considerable fortune. However, with your, shall we say, unique circumstances, I believe you would not be here if you did not care for him.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Mrs. Beaumont,” Sophie murmured.
Mrs. Beaumont broke into a sly grin and said, “I think we shall be great friends, my dear. And, you may call me Aunty.”
***************
Sophie stumbles as she gets off the elevator. She catches herself before she hits the ground. She takes a few steps and loses her balance again, crashing into a table.
Something breaks in the dark, and she tries to move away so she doesn’t cut herself. The world tilts and she goes with it, her head pounding. She sits there and tries to breathe through the sensation but her blood is thrumming too hard in her veins, sparking and urging her on to mischief.
“Shit.” She picks something up off the floor and throws it. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Soph, is that you?”
Finnick’s bleary voice sounds from somewhere in the room and then suddenly there is light. She shields her eyes from the brightness and hisses a little. Tara appears in the doorway.
“What’s going on? I heard a lot of noise and…” Tara’s voice trails off when she sees Sophie sitting in the middle of the floor. “Oh. How bad is it this time?”
Finnick slides off the couch and starts to approach Sophie warily. “Not sure yet. Soph, did you take anything?”
“Gave me a pill. Had to swallow it,” Sophie mumbles. She wants to just curl up and sleep. The fever under her skin hurts, and it flares to life when Finnick gets closer.
He lays a hand on her arm; she shivers at the rush of arousal, and he backs off. She bites her lip and whimpers because the desire ruling her is painful to the point of agony.
“Yeah, they gave her Ecstasy. At least it was only one dose this time around. I’ve seen her like this plenty of times. She’ll be fine in the morning.” Finnick rocks back on his heels and glances back at Tara. “I’m going to need your help to get her up.”
“You’re not strong enough to pick her up on your own?” Tara replies, a slight smile tugging on her lips.
“It’s the arousal the drug creates. I put her that close to my body, and she’ll probably have half my clothes off before I can do anything to stop her. With the two of us, maybe we’ll be able to keep her hands from wandering too much.”
Sophie lets her head loll from side to side, watching Finnick and Tara through barely open eyes. Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she digs her nails into the palm of her hands. She opens a clenched fist; blood wells up from four half-moon marks.
Finnick pulls her up and drapes one of her arms over his shoulder. Tara follows his example, and Sophie hangs between them, her head falling forward as she tries to force back a moan. She squirms as they carry her away. She wants to touch them, taste their skin, but she can’t get free.
She is lifted up and laid on something soft. She blinks. It’s a bed. Now that she’s free, she grabs someone’s hand and shoves it between her legs, shifting and groaning when fingers brush against her clit. She arches her back and thrusts back impatiently against the fingers; she opens her eyes and sees Finnick hovering over her, his mouth set in a firm line.
“Please, Finnick,” she whines as she grabs fistfuls of the sheets.
His face softens, and he leans in, kisses her as his hand starts working between her legs, tracing familiar patterns over her skin, teasing and frustrating. She pulls him closer and doesn’t even notice that Tara leaves the room.
***************
Sophie wandered slowly through the elegant ballroom, still a little unsteady on her heeled shoes. People whirled by in flashes of color, the dissonance of music and conversations nearly deafening. Someone stepped on her skirt from behind, and Sophie jumped, her body already moving into a defensive crouch before she remembered where she was.
The 59th Hunger Games had ended five months ago, and she was the victor. It was over. She was safe.
The poor man who had stumbled against her held his hands up in front of him in a feeble attempt at protection. She could tell from his glassy eyes that he had been drinking steadily from the punch bowl, and she straightened up, giving him a brief nod as she walked away.
She drained the rest of her drink and placed the long-stemmed glass on a mostly empty table. No one sat at the tables; instead, there were hundreds of tables loaded down with food and drink with smaller tables scattered along the fringes of the ballroom for dishes when the guests were either finished eating or bored with it. That had been her third glass of the punch, and the alcohol was going to her head, making it feel light and warm, her limbs liquid, heavy.
The dancing in the middle of the floor was something fast and furious, drums pounding out a loud beat that echoed in her ears. Through the throng of dancers, she caught sight of President Snow talking to a group of older men, and when Snow glanced in her direction, fear gripped her stomach, nausea overwhelming all over her senses.
Sophie stumbled her way into a dim corner and gulped down breaths of air. The warmth she had just found so pleasant was quickly turning into a stifling heat that threatened to suffocate her. Her fingers scrabbled against the wall, looking for something to grasp because her knees were starting to buckles underneath her.
“Hey, are you all right?”
The sudden male voice beside her startled her, and Sophie stiffened and slowly looked to her right. He looked friendly enough with unruly curls and wide blue eyes; but she had learned that first impressions didn’t necessarily mean anything.
She drew away from him. “Who are you?”
He broke out into a grin and laughed. “Nathan Ford. I’m a victor from District Five. And you are Sophie Devereaux, the victor of the 59th Hunger Games.”
“I remember your Games,” Sophie said slowly, fragments of memory flashing through her mind. “Seven years ago.”
“That would be correct.” Nathan winked at her. “Now, why are you hiding in a corner at a party that’s in your honor?”
She flinched at the mention of the party and shot back, “Why are you bothering me instead of dancing with your wife?”
“Oh, you’re a quick study.” He didn’t seem fazed by her rudeness and simply smiled.
“It’s not hard to see your wedding band.”
“Only if you’re looking for it.”
She blushed at his response, his calm gaze causing her to squirm a little under his scrutiny. It was as if he knew why she had looked to his left hand for a ring.
“You still didn’t answer my question,” she finally replied in a quiet voice.
“She was worried about you, as well. You looked like you might be sick.”
She bowed her head and frowned. “I apologize, then, Nathan, for my rudeness and for distracting you from the party.”
“Nate. Call me Nate.” He took her hand and tucked it through the crook of his left arm. “And there’s nothing to apologize for.”
He led her away from the corner, his right hand resting over the fingers she had wrapped around his arm, the warmth of his skin comforting and gentle.
“If you were wearing a ring, I would have noticed.”
She looked up at him sharply, confused by his conversational tone and his pleasant expression. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or making fun of her or playing some new game she didn’t know the rules for. He just curled his palm over her knuckles.
He stopped by a table overflowing with glasses of varying shapes and sizes, liquid glittering inside them as the light bounced off the surfaces, amber, dark brown, purples, light gold, and diamonds winking back at her. He lifted a cup of water and handed it to her.
“Keep your wits about you,” he said quietly, inclining his head toward hers, a smile on his face even as his eyes grew serious. “I know what’s been happening on your Victory Tour. It’s nothing new. But on nights when you don’t have an appointment, don’t drink too much or take any pills offered to you. That way, no one can take advantage of you.”
“They’re already taking advantage of me,” she murmured, taking a sip of water and savoring the coolness as it slid over her tongue and down her throat.
“True. But you still need to take control of what you can.”
Ahead of them, Sophie could see a slender blonde woman talking to a portly gentleman, skillfully avoiding his eager hands that kept wandering along her body. Nate cleared his throat, and the woman turned to face them.
“Ah, Maggie, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux. Sophie, this is my wife, Maggie Ford.”
Sophie smiled at Maggie, admiring the other woman’s beauty; Sophie couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away from Nate, but she loosened her grip in case he wished to join with Maggie.
“A pleasure to meet you, Sophie,” Maggie said with a wide smile, her blue eyes sparkling. She laid a hand on the portly gentleman’s arm. “Robert, why don’t you introduce me to your friends? Then we can talk about that dance you owe me.”
Nate watched Maggie leave with Robert, worry creasing his forehead.
“I’ll be quite all right if you would like to go with them,” Sophie said quickly, slipping her hand from around Nate’s arm. “Thank you for the advice, though.”
He shook his head. “She’ll distract him with some liquor and come back in a few minutes.” He held a hand out to her. “Would you care to dance?”
Sophie hesitated. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“Sophie, you’re a victor now. The first lesson you should learn is that all of us don’t play by normal rules.” He smiled and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. “Besides, I thought you were going to be my friend.”
He placed a hand on her waist, and she rested her left hand on his shoulder, letting him take her other hand in his. The music rose and fell, one-two-three, and he led her into a simple dance, his fingers pressing into the small of her back. She hadn’t felt this safe in a long time.
At the end of the night, Nate slipped a small piece of paper into Sophie’s hands.
She eyed it curiously. “What’s this?”
“My phone number.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “If you ever need someone to talk to.”
She smiled radiantly and kissed his cheek before she could think better of it. He smiled, blushing just a little, and she watched him leave, her right hand clasping the paper over her heart.
***************
Her tongue is too thick for her mouth. That is all Sophie can think about as she follows Finnick into the mentors’ lounge in the Training Center. Well, that and the throbbing pain in her head that hasn’t dissipated yet. Everyone else from the other districts is already there, and Sophie pretends like they aren’t all staring at her.
Enobaria glances over her and smiles with her sharpened teeth. “Rough night?”
Finnick glares at Enobaria. “Leave her alone.”
He leads Sophie over to the nearest couch and helps her sit down. Sophie relaxes back into the soft cushions and listens to the soft hum of conversation. This is the first day of training, and they can’t start talking to sponsors until the afternoon because the sponsors couldn’t be bothered to get up before then. They stay up all night at parties and need the morning to nurse the pain their pleasures bring.
She doesn’t understand the constant cycle. Touch a hot stove, get burned, and you never do it again. It’s as if they’re all stubborn children who truly believe it won’t hurt this time around. It’s the definition of insanity.
She closes her eyes and pushes the thoughts away. It’s nothing new and she has better things to focus her attentions on. Such as the gossip Finnick is currently listening to.
“Rumor is that Haymitch finally has a good tribute with that girl.” Johanna leans closer than necessary to Finnick, her impish brown eyes sparkling. “There’s supposed to be something special about her, and sponsors are interested.”
“I heard she’s just a spark that will flicker out.” Nate’s measured tones hit her, and Sophie forces herself to keep her eyes closed.
She can’t look at him, not yet, not here. Whenever Nate meets her eyes, it’s too much, overwhelming and terrifying, and those moments never come often or stay for long. She’s falling apart too much right now to let him see her. She wants to be whole, unblemished, when he looks to her and smiles. She wants…something.
Maybe she wants him to love her; maybe she wants to fix him. But there are some wounds that go too deep, that only fade to a throbbing pain instead of a sharp stab. And she can’t help him if she’s only in pieces herself.
She wonders if they’ll always be like this: lost, lonely. Broken.
“Hey, are you okay?” Finnick’s voice drifts over her and a cool hand is pressed against her flushed skin. “I’m going to get a cool cloth for your head.”
Sophie looks up at him, and Finnick smiles at her before sauntering away. Johanna scampers along with him, and Sophie could kill the both of them for abandoning her with Nate.
“I take it you were in a business meeting last night?” Nate asks, a frown pulling at his mouth as he sits down beside her.
“Of sorts, yes,” she murmurs back with a smirk.
“Do you normally feel this way the next day?”
“Last night was an exception. It was a very…large meeting.” She can’t meet his blue-eyed gaze. “I didn’t anticipate all our activities. Or the number of clients.”
She’s not going to give him details about how she was passed from man to man at that party, five in all, young, loud, and disgusting; she’s not used to handling that many on her own, and despite how she feels now, she’s grateful that they forced the Ecstasy pill on her, shoved it into her mouth and made her swallow it. It’s given her memories a blurred edge, a distance so that she can deal with it all.
She feels him wince beside her, and he places a hesitant hand on her arm. She relaxes under the touch. She is tempted to move closer, but she stays where she is.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” He’s closed the distance between them; his breath whispers past her ear.
She looks up at him through her lashes. “I think I’ll be all right.”
He just presses his thumb into the crook of her elbow and rubs it in a gentle circle. Her pulse quickens, and when he smirks, she flushes with pleasure and embarrassment. She watches his thumb move along her skin, her lips parted slightly. His forehead touches along the side of her head, his mouth just brushing against her cheekbone.
“Hey, Sophie, I got the cloth.”
Finnick’s voice makes her jump, and in a flurry of movement, Nate disappears. She looks up at Finnick, bewildered, and he gives her a sad smile before laying the damp cloth over her forehead and kissing her cheek.
***************
All of the victors are really like an incestuous family. They don’t always like each other, they fight most of the time, and everyone has favorites, but they are tied together by bonds they can’t seem to break.
They’ve survived the Games and that alone means that despite the arguments and jealousies, they will defend each other to the death.
Sophie learned early on that sex is different with the victors. It’s just a form of comfort, nothing special to be shared between two people. She supposes that when you sell your body enough it ceases to be worth much at all. She’s certainly not an exception to that idea. She’s fucked most of her fellow mentors at some point for a “client’s” own purposes; and she’s fucked a slightly smaller amount just because that’s what they do.
One encounter she’s never been particularly proud of was the time she let Brutus push her up against a wall and take her. She was looking for punishment, wanted his hard hands to bruise her, and it was all over in a few sweaty minutes that didn’t solve the ache lurking inside her.
But she looks on the others with fondness. There’s Enobaria with her sharp teeth and the thrill of danger, surprisingly gentle and soothing. Cashmere and Gloss almost always come in a pair. The rumor is that they have their own romantic relationship but everyone pretends like that’s a silly idea.
Johanna is hard and demanding; she prefers to dominate. Cecelia is motherly and kind, but she doesn’t fuck anyone now except her husband. Parker is all angles, blonde hair and flashing hazel eyes that are impish and promise surprises. Things are easy with Parker, simpler. She adores Sophie.
Eliot fascinates her. He’s short, well-muscled and solid, but he moves with a fluid grace he shouldn’t be able to achieve. He keeps his hair long, and he looks perpetually angry, but he softens when he moves inside her, attentive and needy.
Maggie is different from the others. Maybe, most importantly, it’s because she’s Nate’s ex-wife, separated from him by the mutual loss of their son. She and Maggie have always been friends, as long as Sophie has been friends with Nate. And Maggie is so beautiful in a way that’s pure, angelic. Having Maggie was like having a piece of Nate, something Sophie wants so desperately. And it only happened once.
The beat of the music thudded against Sophie’s ears, bleeding into her skin and warring with the flow of her blood. The club was called Vices, and she preferred to come here when she was looking for a good time with no strings attached. She could always count on a fellow victor being around.
And, to no surprise, Enobaria was lurking along the back wall, chatting up some young man who was entranced by her flashing eyes and too-sharp teeth. Sophie smirked; the boy had no chance. Enobaria would eat him alive. Sophie caught a glimpse of Cashmere and Gloss dancing, too close, and she ignored them.
There was a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, and Sophie turned toward the bar, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Maggie Ford sitting on a stool. Sophie sauntered over and slid onto a neighboring stool.
“I wouldn’t expect this to be your type of place.” The music made it so Sophie had to lean in close to Maggie.
Maggie jumped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you sit down.”
“Parker’s been giving me some tips on being sneaky.” Sophie motioned to the bartender for her usual and looked Maggie up and down. “Now, what are you doing here?”
“I was called to the Capitol for…” Maggie waved a hand through the air. “Business, I guess you could call it.”
She laughed, the sound hollow, and she drained her glass of its amber liquid. Sophie watched through narrowed eyes and only sipped on her drink when the bartender slid it to her. It had been nine months since Sam had died, since Maggie had lost her only son, and Sophie felt the anger rising in her blood at Snow for making Maggie come here so soon.
“Nate hasn’t been called in, though,” Maggie said after she finished off another drink. “Probably a good thing because all he does is drink. I worried for a little while that he might try to kill himself.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He believes in suffering.” Sophie meant for the words to be light, but Maggie looked distraught over the idea.
Now that she thought about it, Sophie supposed that nothing could be light after such a loss.
“I do want to thank you for what your friend, William, did for us. I wanted to thank him in person, but I was told he wasn’t practicing anymore when I tried to contact him.”
Sophie threw back the rest of her drink and winced at the burn. “Well, he’s dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Maggie laid a hand on Sophie’s arm, and Sophie wanted to throw it off. She didn’t deserve any sympathy for what happened to William because it was her own fault. There were some rebellious acts that couldn’t be forgiven, not even if the guilty party was a Capitol citizen and was acting only out of love.
Sophie shook her head. “It’s all right. Nothing can be done about it now.”
The bartender brought both of them fresh drinks, and Sophie ran her forefinger around the rim of her glass as she watched Maggie swallow the dark liquid. Maggie swayed a little, probably not accustomed to drinking all that much, and Sophie grabbed Maggie’s elbow to keep her from falling off the stool.
That pushed them even closer, and Maggie’s lips brushed against the corner of Sophie’s mouth; Maggie whispered something Sophie couldn’t hear and turned into Sophie, kissing her. Sophie responded before remembering who this woman was, and she pulled away.
“Maggie,” Sophie’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “What about…”
“I’m not here to be faithful to my husband,” Maggie replied with a bitter smile. “I just want to feel…something. Something else.”
Sophie nodded her head and drew Maggie back to her.
They ended up at Sophie’s apartment in the city, and as they lay side by side, Maggie curled into Sophie and rested her head on Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie could feel the dampness of Maggie’s tears.
“I think my marriage is over,” Maggie whispered. “I think I’ve known for awhile, really, and I just didn’t want to give up. I wanted to be able to fix Nate. Fix us to what we used to be.”
“Are you sure?” Sophie fumbled the words, cursing under her breath.
Maggie pressed her lips to Sophie’s neck. “I don’t think I would be here if I wasn’t.”
***************
Sophie paces the floor of the apartment’s living area, pulling at the tight dress stretched across her hips. Every time she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the wall, she can only see red. Red lips, red dress. The color makes her feel sticky, like she’s been bathed in blood.
Aria and Imanuel helped her get ready tonight for her appointment. Sophie has too many nights out for the entire prep team to be called in each time, so they alternate. It’s not like all of them are needed, anyway. It’s so much of a routine that two more people would only make the process longer.
It’s the end of the second day of training, and Sophie can feel the exhaustion dogging her every step. She’s smiled and laughed with sponsors all afternoon, attempting to charm them into giving her tributes money; at this point, she and Finnick have managed to get plenty of money pledged to their coffers for the Games so that’s one worry off her chest.
Finnick has already gone to his appointment, but he won’t be back before her tonight. He’s attending a party with Johanna, Maggie, and Brutus, and Sophie knows Finnick may stumble in tomorrow morning. It’s the way these things go.
She only has a quiet evening ahead of her with an older man who is a personal friend of Snow’s. She has no doubt it will be unpleasant, but he doesn’t seem as though he will be cruel.
So she chews on the side of a nail and waits for the cab to come pick her up. When the elevator doors open, she whirls around in surprise.
She places a hand on her hip and smiles. “Nate.”
“Sophie.” Nate nods in her direction, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken when they travel the length of her body.
He walks over to the small table across the room and pours three fingers of scotch into a glass. She watches him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to offer an explanation because she’s not going to ask for it.
“I see you have plans tonight.” He gestures to her outfit with his glass and drains it. “Are you leaving soon?”
“When my cab gets here,” she replies slowly.
She takes a step toward him, and he skirts around her, just barely keeping from brushing against her. She huffs impatiently and sits down on the couch. He starts pacing, his strides long and even.
“Are you going out for business or pleasure?”
“Business.” None of the victors feel comfortable with the word “whore,” so they act like they’re just going to a job that has no title and no description.
He frowns. “How many appointments do you have this time?” When she doesn’t answer after a few moments, he stops walking and looks at her. “Sophie, how many?”
“Seven.” A blush colors her cheeks; she hates the shame sitting low in her stomach.
The color drains from his face, and he rubs his eyes. “I didn’t…I wish…. I don’t like it.”
He pronounces the words with such finality, as if he has any say, that she can’t help the rage that makes her mind go blinding white for a moment before focusing intently back on him.
“Well, it’s not like I have choice.” She keeps her voice steady, pointed as she stands up and walks to him. “I don’t enjoy selling my body to whoever wants it. But, you don’t like it! That just changes everything!”
He backs up, holding his hands in front of him. “No, Soph, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what do you mean?” She’s tempted to slap him; her hand twitches at her side.
“I don’t like to see you used like you’re nothing because you deserve better.”
“And what would be better? You?”
He ducks his head, and she sighs. She takes his hand and tugs him a little closer.
“If I could stop doing all this, I would. But I’m doing this to protect Mags and Annie and Finnick. And, even you.” He lifts his head, and she looks steadily up at him. “But, Nate, what are you doing here if you don’t want me?”
He just stares down at her, his face set like stone; she sees the twitch of his lips, his slightly dilated eyes, and feels the shift of his body as he leans further into her.
She kisses him first, her right hand sliding into his brown curls as she slants her lips over his, pulling at him. He crushes her to his body in a swift movement, his fingers tangling in the hair that falls down her back, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. He slides his tongue into her mouth, and she moans, dragging her nails along the back of his neck.
She hears the buzzer announcing the cab’s arrival. Nate ignores it and takes a step forward, pushing her back, guiding her to the couch. She tugs his bottom lip through her teeth and releases him when he groans softly, slipping out of his grasp and off to the side.
He looks at her, bewildered, and she walks away, stepping into the elevator. She doesn’t turn around until the doors close behind her. She leans against the wall and looks into the reflective surface of the doors. Her hair is a mess of tangles now, and her lipstick is smudged. Tears hover in her eyes, and she blinks them away as she wipes off the smear of red that looks garish against her skin.
Chapter One
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: M/NC-17
Spoilers: All three books of the Hunger Games trilogy.
Warnings: Drug use, cursing, dubious con, and character death
Characters: Sophie Devereaux, Nathan Ford, Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison, Tara Cole, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, various other characters, and minor OCs.
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Sophie/Finnick, Sophie/Tara, Parker/Hardison, Annie/Finnick, Peeta/Katniss, and Johanna/Gale.
Summary: As a Victor, Sophie Devereaux has spent the last fifteen years of her life trying not to feel. But rumors bring news of rebellion, hope for a better future. A second chance.
run fast as you can
“Run fast as you can
No one has to understand
Fly high across the sky
From here to kingdom come
Fall back down to where you’re from.”
- “Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars
“Our two tributes look strong this year.” Imanuel Evander gives her a wide smile. “And attractive.”
Sophie smiles faintly in return and takes a sip of her cool apple cider. “I assume you have spectacular clothes ready for them.”
He shrugs. “It’s my job. I have new clothes for you, of course.”
“Of course.”
She watches condensation gather on her glass and slip into a jagged line to the table; even in the Capitol the heat is oppressive. She takes another sip. Apple cider was her favorite thing to drink at one time. It tastes like summer, and it reminds her of her father. He used to bring it home to them after he went to the Capitol.
It’s something she only indulges in while in the Capitol. It’s better than drinking herself into a stupor; it’s pain edged with bitterness, and honestly, it’s just as intoxicating as any liquor. Addiction is easy to find and hard to lose.
Bile crawls up her throat at the memory of her father, and she forces it back down with a hard swallow. This is why she hates all the time between the Reaping and the Games. It’s too easy to slip back into memories, a morbid habit she has yet to break.
“You’ve lost weight.”
She looks up at Imanuel, startled. “What?”
“You’re getting too thin.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room where he has a large pile of fabric and various accessories. “I used your measurements from last year for that dress and it’s too loose for you. You know, we value slenderness, but you’re going to look like a skeleton soon.”
He brandishes a wide gold belt heavy with rubies. She eyes it warily; she’s never trusted him when he starts trying to fix parts of her.
Like when he thought she was in love with Finnick, and he tried to chase off Tara because he thought Tara was interfering in what could be a very happy love affair. Or when he brought the Bliss drug to her and convinced her to take it because it would help her forget her pain. She spent two days in a medical center since he had given her a much larger dose than her body could handle.
“What is that for?”
He pulls her out of her chair and loops the belt about her waist, cinching in the loose fabric of her dress. The gold sits heavy against the dress. It feels like a chain, and she desperately wants to shed the added weight.
“My clothes are my art, and art is all about presentation. Therefore, the clothes need to fit properly so everyone can see my brilliance and admire it.” He punctuates his statement with an emphatic gesture of his hands that clips her shoulder.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
He steps back and looks her straight in the eye. “I know you think of me as a frivolous man, but the right piece of clothing for those tributes can mean the difference between life and death in the arena. It’s my job to give them the best opportunity for survival that I can.”
“So why is it so important that I am dressed to perfection?”
She snatches up her glass and takes a long swallow, wishing she had some sort of alcohol to make the room feel lighter. She hates summer.
“Because people still look at you, darling, and they measure your worth according to appearance.” He shakes his head and a sly smile creeps onto his face. “Or maybe I’m just a fool who loves sewing a few dresses.”
The pointed remark hits her square in the chest, and she drops her eyes, a little ashamed of her behavior. Imanuel is her friend, and she doesn’t have enough of those to be callous to the ones she has.
“You know everything you design is exquisite,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”
He gives her a sharp look, all of his easy good humor disappearing. “You don’t. It’s just important for you to understand.”
Sophie nods her head, keeps her voice light. “Of course. I…forget, sometimes. Things like that just aren’t very important in District Four.”
His mouth tightens, and he looks like he’s about to say something else when his prep team tumbles through the door. They bring laughter and sunshine with them as they pour out compliments for the girl tribute this year, pretty Lydia who is so charming and brave. Sophie’s unease slips away as they surround her and Imanuel leaves.
There are three of them, one girl and two young men. Aria is willowy and short, like a pixie, and her doe-like eyes are always shining with joy. She has an obsession with Sophie’s hair and is always attempting to put feathers in it; Sophie has managed to avoid that particular oddity so far. Aria isn’t like most Capitol citizens with wild hair colors and features altered by surgeries; her whims come and go too much for her to undergo a permanent change in her body. Instead, she wears flamboyant clothes that include an overabundance of accessories, and her make-up is generally just as flashy to match.
Benjy is the older of the two men, and he’s only in his mid-twenties. He moves like a cat, smooth muscles and slender body vibrating with energy. His black hair is always perfectly styled in a way that makes it look like he slept on top of his head, and black curly lines are tattooed continuously all over his body, emphasizing every movement. He acts as the anchor to Aria’s flighty emotions.
Tally is the last of the group. He is fascinated with the idea of the phoenix, an animal that dies in flames and is born out of ashes. Unfortunately, this has manifested itself in brilliant red-orange hair that only emphasizes the paleness of his skin and his unsettling black eyes. He looks constantly in transition between death and re-birth; the effect ends up as both frightening and enthralling.
They brandish their various kits, and their hands pat over Sophie’s skin and clothes without an ounce of apology. Their words fall across her; it feels like being out in the middle of the ocean. There’s a soft roar about their conversation that lingers in her ears, but it’s not like the crash of the waves against the shore or the cacophony of the crowd’s cheers outside.
It’s a comforting sound, a lullaby almost, and she revels in it. Unlike Imanuel, there is no depth to any of them; or, at least, she hasn’t found any. These three are foolish and vain, easily excited over the smallest things, and it is like being in the care of small children except that the results will be much better. This absence of expectations, the selfishness, it allows her to stop thinking and just stay there with only small thoughts about which color lipstick is best to go with her new outfit.
It’s a different sort of freedom, one without cost, and she adores them for allowing her that luxury even if it doesn’t last.
Today, they’re discussing the upcoming Games, so she allows her mind to float a little while they smooth out her skin. They jabber about the new tributes and how spectacular they will look that night. It’s the same talk every year, and she knows they believe in it, too, even if most of what they say are phrases recycled over and over again until she can almost parrot it all back to them.
It would hurt their feelings, though, so she manages to rein in that impulse. They wax the stubble from her legs that she’s let go for the past couple of days, and she doesn’t even wince, the pain more of a ghostly memory than fact. She’s been doing this for the past fifteen years of her life; the time didn’t feel that fast when it was passing by, but she can feel the weight of the years in her bones.
She is old before her time. Mags has been telling her that for years, and the thought brings a small smile to her face.
“It was so heartbreaking to see that girl volunteer for her sister.” Aria rubs lotion into Sophie’s arms, her fingers moving in a soothing circular pattern.
Benjy shakes his head from where he’s working lotion all over Sophie’s thighs. “Oh, I know. And she’s from District Twelve, too.”
“She doesn’t look as scrawny like the tributes from there normally do.” Tally frowns and starts brushing out Sophie’s hair. “And District Twelve has new stylists this year.”
“I heard Cinna requested District Twelve,” Aria whispers, her eyes shining with the gossip. “He said something about how no one had explored the potential there yet.”
“Potential?” Tally scoffed. “No one has explored it because it isn’t there.”
“Still, you never know when someone might surprise you,” Benjy says quietly.
Aria tosses her hair, and the five large necklaces draped about her neck jangle loudly. “I think he’s just trying to pretend like he wasn’t put with District Twelve because he’s the newest stylist.”
“Well, I saw some of the sketches he submitted.” Benjy moves behind Sophie to help Tally curl and braid small sections of her hair. “They were spectacular.”
Tara comes in with a smile on her face. “I was sent to check up on everything.”
“We’re almost finished.” Aria joins the two men behind Sophie, helping to pin the braids in place.
Benjy moves around to the front and clasps his hands to his chest. “Oh, you look beautiful, darling.”
Sophie preens for them, completely unselfconscious about her naked body, winking in Tara’s direction. Sophie doesn’t miss the flash of lust in Tara’s eyes and smiles in satisfaction as Imanuel walks in bearing a dress over his arms.
“All right, all right, we’re not done yet.” He’s practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.
He holds the back of the dress open for Sophie, and she steps into it and lets him fasten the hooks in the back. She gasps at the sensation of the cool softness of the material, and she steps forward to the mirror to admire it. The light pink complements her bronzed skin; it seems as though she is glowing from the inside out.
“It’s wonderful,” she says as she turns with a wide smile to Imanuel.
Tara grins wickedly. “Oh, wait until you see Finnick.”
The door opens, and Sophie has to stifle a laugh at Finnick’s disgruntled expression as he steps into the room. He’s been dressed in a matching pink shirt and tight black pants that leave little to the imagination. He tugs uselessly at the material around his thighs.
“I can barely even walk in this,” he complains while Aria, Benjy, and Tally coo over how spectacular his outfit is.
Imanuel raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not the point of it, is it? Besides, I don’t design your clothes.”
“Maybe you should say something to your partner,” Finnick replies through clenched teeth, “before I kill myself to end my misery.”
“Mina doesn’t like my suggestions,” Imanuel says, and Sophie snorts at the obvious lie. Mina takes a lot of suggestions from Imanuel while designing clothes.
“Am I missing a party?”
Mina’s husky voice interrupts Finnick’s next words, and Sophie quickly pulls Finnick to her side before he can start ranting again. Tara joins them as Finnick wraps an arm around Sophie’s waist, and Tara follows suit by resting her arm around Sophie’s hips. Sophie feels a small thrill at their attention and ignores the way Tara and Finnick frown at each other.
She is not going to act as referee over their jealousy.
“Well, I think we should probably go,” Sophie murmurs. “Imanuel and Mina have to join the tributes anyway, so we don’t have to wait on them.”
Finnick leads the way out of the room, slipping away from Sophie’s side. Sophie frowns at the urge she has to run after him to catch up.
***************
Sophie shifted in soft cotton sheets, sunlight warm on her face, keeping her eyes shut as she luxuriated in the heady scents of the flower garden just beyond the window. She sighed, contented, and felt the bed dip on her right with the addition of another body.
“Good morning.” Hands rubbed softly along her arms, fingers pausing to trace the curve of her shoulders.
She hummed under her breath and opened her eyes, blinking against the light’s intrusion and smiling.
“Good morning, William,” she murmured as she pulled him down for a languid kiss.
He nuzzled into her neck, propping himself up on his elbows, his chest a faint pressure over her. His breath puffed against her skin, hot and a little damp, flavored by the apple cider he drank every morning. His lips brushed against her neck, right below her ear, while his left fingers danced along her hip, pressing down, feeling the hard line of bone underneath skin.
“There’s breakfast, if you want it.” He kissed the side of her head.
She reached up and tangled her hand in his black hair that was just starting to turn silver at the roots. “I’d much rather stay right here.”
Grinning, he kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip, and she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand wandered along her collarbone and dipped lower, cupping her breast in his palm, his thumb brushing her nipple. She moaned softly, arching into his hand, and he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly at her skin.
“So, you aren’t nervous about meeting my mother?” he asked, and she could feel his smile against her throat.
She wrapped a leg lazily around his calf, running her nails down his back, relishing his shiver, the tightening of his muscles.
“I still don’t understand why this is so important to you.”
He moved away, hovering over her again, his green eyes serious. “Because I want to marry you, Sophie.”
The breath caught in her throat, and she gave him a small smile. “Can you?”
“Yes.” He brushed his lips against hers. “If you want me, we can get married.”
She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, and nodded her head. “I want to, William.”
His face lit up, and he kissed her again, his hands wrapping around her waist, his tongue sliding into her mouth; she tightened her fingers reflexively against his shoulder, sighing with pleasure.
She moved her mouth along his jaw, murmuring, “How much longer do we have until your mother gets here?”
He craned his neck to look at the clock beside the bed, and she took the opportunity to nip at his neck.
“One hour.”
He leaned back in for a kiss, and she pushed him back.
“An hour? You let me sleep too long.” She groaned and slid out from under him.
He rolled onto his back. “We have plenty of time.”
“I have to take a shower, William.” She grabbed up his bathrobe and wrapped it around her body.
“I do, too.”
She smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, then, come with me.”
Fifty-five minutes later, Sophie fixed the collar of William’s shirt, pressing a kiss to his cheek and linking her arm through his.
“You look quite handsome,” she said with a smile.
He rubbed his thumb gently along her jaw and said, “And you are incredibly beautiful.”
She blushed; the minutes ticked by, and she started to fidget, shifting her weight from one foot to another. William covered her hand with his and squeezed as a knock sounded from the other side of the door.
“Don’t be nervous,” he murmured, kissing the side of her head as he walked to the door.
He opened it, revealing a petite elderly woman with perfectly coiffed grey hair. He pulled the woman inside and kissed both her cheeks.
“Hello, Mother,” he said quietly.
She nodded her head stiffly. “It’s good to see you, William. Now, where is this young woman you keep telling me about?”
William led his mother over to stand in front of Sophie. “Mother, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux. Sophie, this is my mother, Emily Beaumont.”
Sophie smiled nervously and extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont.”
Mrs. Beaumont ignored the proffered handshake and sniffed. “And you’re from District Four.”
Sophie didn’t miss the disdain in the older woman’s voice or the snub. William frowned from behind his mother and sidled around her to wrap an arm around Sophie’s waist.
“Sophie has laid out a marvelous lunch on the balcony,” he said nervously, running a hand through his hair.
“That sounds lovely, William,” Mrs. Beaumont replied, but she didn’t smile.
William offered his arm to his mother and walked slowly out to the balcony, chatting with her about the petunias he was growing; apparently, they were his mother’s favorite flowers, and Sophie now regretted that she had chosen lilies as the centerpiece for the table. She sighed and followed after them, pulling self-consciously at her dress.
By the time she made it to the balcony, William already had his mother seated in the shade, and he pulled out a chair for Sophie. She sat down and smiled graciously at Mrs. Beaumont, feeling her cheek muscles pull with the effort when Mrs. Beaumont simply looked back with cool indifference.
“William, dear, you look a little warm in that shirt,” Mrs. Beaumont said before Sophie could offer anyone some food. “Why don’t you go change into something cooler? We’ll wait here for you.”
William nodded. “All right. Try to behave while I’m gone.”
He brushed his lips against Sophie’s cheek and walked back into the apartment. Sophie ducked her head and tapped a fingernail against her fork.
“I care very much for my son.”
Sophie looked up at Mrs. Beaumont, confused. “I’m sorry?”
Mrs. Beaumont continued like she hadn’t heard Sophie. “And I want for him to be happy. So, I must ask, do you love him?”
“Yes.” Sophie surprised herself with her quick answer, but she smiled a little. “I do love him.”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” Mrs. Beaumont replied slowly. “With most other women, I would assume they were after his considerable fortune. However, with your, shall we say, unique circumstances, I believe you would not be here if you did not care for him.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Mrs. Beaumont,” Sophie murmured.
Mrs. Beaumont broke into a sly grin and said, “I think we shall be great friends, my dear. And, you may call me Aunty.”
***************
Sophie stumbles as she gets off the elevator. She catches herself before she hits the ground. She takes a few steps and loses her balance again, crashing into a table.
Something breaks in the dark, and she tries to move away so she doesn’t cut herself. The world tilts and she goes with it, her head pounding. She sits there and tries to breathe through the sensation but her blood is thrumming too hard in her veins, sparking and urging her on to mischief.
“Shit.” She picks something up off the floor and throws it. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Soph, is that you?”
Finnick’s bleary voice sounds from somewhere in the room and then suddenly there is light. She shields her eyes from the brightness and hisses a little. Tara appears in the doorway.
“What’s going on? I heard a lot of noise and…” Tara’s voice trails off when she sees Sophie sitting in the middle of the floor. “Oh. How bad is it this time?”
Finnick slides off the couch and starts to approach Sophie warily. “Not sure yet. Soph, did you take anything?”
“Gave me a pill. Had to swallow it,” Sophie mumbles. She wants to just curl up and sleep. The fever under her skin hurts, and it flares to life when Finnick gets closer.
He lays a hand on her arm; she shivers at the rush of arousal, and he backs off. She bites her lip and whimpers because the desire ruling her is painful to the point of agony.
“Yeah, they gave her Ecstasy. At least it was only one dose this time around. I’ve seen her like this plenty of times. She’ll be fine in the morning.” Finnick rocks back on his heels and glances back at Tara. “I’m going to need your help to get her up.”
“You’re not strong enough to pick her up on your own?” Tara replies, a slight smile tugging on her lips.
“It’s the arousal the drug creates. I put her that close to my body, and she’ll probably have half my clothes off before I can do anything to stop her. With the two of us, maybe we’ll be able to keep her hands from wandering too much.”
Sophie lets her head loll from side to side, watching Finnick and Tara through barely open eyes. Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she digs her nails into the palm of her hands. She opens a clenched fist; blood wells up from four half-moon marks.
Finnick pulls her up and drapes one of her arms over his shoulder. Tara follows his example, and Sophie hangs between them, her head falling forward as she tries to force back a moan. She squirms as they carry her away. She wants to touch them, taste their skin, but she can’t get free.
She is lifted up and laid on something soft. She blinks. It’s a bed. Now that she’s free, she grabs someone’s hand and shoves it between her legs, shifting and groaning when fingers brush against her clit. She arches her back and thrusts back impatiently against the fingers; she opens her eyes and sees Finnick hovering over her, his mouth set in a firm line.
“Please, Finnick,” she whines as she grabs fistfuls of the sheets.
His face softens, and he leans in, kisses her as his hand starts working between her legs, tracing familiar patterns over her skin, teasing and frustrating. She pulls him closer and doesn’t even notice that Tara leaves the room.
***************
Sophie wandered slowly through the elegant ballroom, still a little unsteady on her heeled shoes. People whirled by in flashes of color, the dissonance of music and conversations nearly deafening. Someone stepped on her skirt from behind, and Sophie jumped, her body already moving into a defensive crouch before she remembered where she was.
The 59th Hunger Games had ended five months ago, and she was the victor. It was over. She was safe.
The poor man who had stumbled against her held his hands up in front of him in a feeble attempt at protection. She could tell from his glassy eyes that he had been drinking steadily from the punch bowl, and she straightened up, giving him a brief nod as she walked away.
She drained the rest of her drink and placed the long-stemmed glass on a mostly empty table. No one sat at the tables; instead, there were hundreds of tables loaded down with food and drink with smaller tables scattered along the fringes of the ballroom for dishes when the guests were either finished eating or bored with it. That had been her third glass of the punch, and the alcohol was going to her head, making it feel light and warm, her limbs liquid, heavy.
The dancing in the middle of the floor was something fast and furious, drums pounding out a loud beat that echoed in her ears. Through the throng of dancers, she caught sight of President Snow talking to a group of older men, and when Snow glanced in her direction, fear gripped her stomach, nausea overwhelming all over her senses.
Sophie stumbled her way into a dim corner and gulped down breaths of air. The warmth she had just found so pleasant was quickly turning into a stifling heat that threatened to suffocate her. Her fingers scrabbled against the wall, looking for something to grasp because her knees were starting to buckles underneath her.
“Hey, are you all right?”
The sudden male voice beside her startled her, and Sophie stiffened and slowly looked to her right. He looked friendly enough with unruly curls and wide blue eyes; but she had learned that first impressions didn’t necessarily mean anything.
She drew away from him. “Who are you?”
He broke out into a grin and laughed. “Nathan Ford. I’m a victor from District Five. And you are Sophie Devereaux, the victor of the 59th Hunger Games.”
“I remember your Games,” Sophie said slowly, fragments of memory flashing through her mind. “Seven years ago.”
“That would be correct.” Nathan winked at her. “Now, why are you hiding in a corner at a party that’s in your honor?”
She flinched at the mention of the party and shot back, “Why are you bothering me instead of dancing with your wife?”
“Oh, you’re a quick study.” He didn’t seem fazed by her rudeness and simply smiled.
“It’s not hard to see your wedding band.”
“Only if you’re looking for it.”
She blushed at his response, his calm gaze causing her to squirm a little under his scrutiny. It was as if he knew why she had looked to his left hand for a ring.
“You still didn’t answer my question,” she finally replied in a quiet voice.
“She was worried about you, as well. You looked like you might be sick.”
She bowed her head and frowned. “I apologize, then, Nathan, for my rudeness and for distracting you from the party.”
“Nate. Call me Nate.” He took her hand and tucked it through the crook of his left arm. “And there’s nothing to apologize for.”
He led her away from the corner, his right hand resting over the fingers she had wrapped around his arm, the warmth of his skin comforting and gentle.
“If you were wearing a ring, I would have noticed.”
She looked up at him sharply, confused by his conversational tone and his pleasant expression. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or making fun of her or playing some new game she didn’t know the rules for. He just curled his palm over her knuckles.
He stopped by a table overflowing with glasses of varying shapes and sizes, liquid glittering inside them as the light bounced off the surfaces, amber, dark brown, purples, light gold, and diamonds winking back at her. He lifted a cup of water and handed it to her.
“Keep your wits about you,” he said quietly, inclining his head toward hers, a smile on his face even as his eyes grew serious. “I know what’s been happening on your Victory Tour. It’s nothing new. But on nights when you don’t have an appointment, don’t drink too much or take any pills offered to you. That way, no one can take advantage of you.”
“They’re already taking advantage of me,” she murmured, taking a sip of water and savoring the coolness as it slid over her tongue and down her throat.
“True. But you still need to take control of what you can.”
Ahead of them, Sophie could see a slender blonde woman talking to a portly gentleman, skillfully avoiding his eager hands that kept wandering along her body. Nate cleared his throat, and the woman turned to face them.
“Ah, Maggie, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux. Sophie, this is my wife, Maggie Ford.”
Sophie smiled at Maggie, admiring the other woman’s beauty; Sophie couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away from Nate, but she loosened her grip in case he wished to join with Maggie.
“A pleasure to meet you, Sophie,” Maggie said with a wide smile, her blue eyes sparkling. She laid a hand on the portly gentleman’s arm. “Robert, why don’t you introduce me to your friends? Then we can talk about that dance you owe me.”
Nate watched Maggie leave with Robert, worry creasing his forehead.
“I’ll be quite all right if you would like to go with them,” Sophie said quickly, slipping her hand from around Nate’s arm. “Thank you for the advice, though.”
He shook his head. “She’ll distract him with some liquor and come back in a few minutes.” He held a hand out to her. “Would you care to dance?”
Sophie hesitated. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“Sophie, you’re a victor now. The first lesson you should learn is that all of us don’t play by normal rules.” He smiled and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. “Besides, I thought you were going to be my friend.”
He placed a hand on her waist, and she rested her left hand on his shoulder, letting him take her other hand in his. The music rose and fell, one-two-three, and he led her into a simple dance, his fingers pressing into the small of her back. She hadn’t felt this safe in a long time.
At the end of the night, Nate slipped a small piece of paper into Sophie’s hands.
She eyed it curiously. “What’s this?”
“My phone number.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “If you ever need someone to talk to.”
She smiled radiantly and kissed his cheek before she could think better of it. He smiled, blushing just a little, and she watched him leave, her right hand clasping the paper over her heart.
***************
Her tongue is too thick for her mouth. That is all Sophie can think about as she follows Finnick into the mentors’ lounge in the Training Center. Well, that and the throbbing pain in her head that hasn’t dissipated yet. Everyone else from the other districts is already there, and Sophie pretends like they aren’t all staring at her.
Enobaria glances over her and smiles with her sharpened teeth. “Rough night?”
Finnick glares at Enobaria. “Leave her alone.”
He leads Sophie over to the nearest couch and helps her sit down. Sophie relaxes back into the soft cushions and listens to the soft hum of conversation. This is the first day of training, and they can’t start talking to sponsors until the afternoon because the sponsors couldn’t be bothered to get up before then. They stay up all night at parties and need the morning to nurse the pain their pleasures bring.
She doesn’t understand the constant cycle. Touch a hot stove, get burned, and you never do it again. It’s as if they’re all stubborn children who truly believe it won’t hurt this time around. It’s the definition of insanity.
She closes her eyes and pushes the thoughts away. It’s nothing new and she has better things to focus her attentions on. Such as the gossip Finnick is currently listening to.
“Rumor is that Haymitch finally has a good tribute with that girl.” Johanna leans closer than necessary to Finnick, her impish brown eyes sparkling. “There’s supposed to be something special about her, and sponsors are interested.”
“I heard she’s just a spark that will flicker out.” Nate’s measured tones hit her, and Sophie forces herself to keep her eyes closed.
She can’t look at him, not yet, not here. Whenever Nate meets her eyes, it’s too much, overwhelming and terrifying, and those moments never come often or stay for long. She’s falling apart too much right now to let him see her. She wants to be whole, unblemished, when he looks to her and smiles. She wants…something.
Maybe she wants him to love her; maybe she wants to fix him. But there are some wounds that go too deep, that only fade to a throbbing pain instead of a sharp stab. And she can’t help him if she’s only in pieces herself.
She wonders if they’ll always be like this: lost, lonely. Broken.
“Hey, are you okay?” Finnick’s voice drifts over her and a cool hand is pressed against her flushed skin. “I’m going to get a cool cloth for your head.”
Sophie looks up at him, and Finnick smiles at her before sauntering away. Johanna scampers along with him, and Sophie could kill the both of them for abandoning her with Nate.
“I take it you were in a business meeting last night?” Nate asks, a frown pulling at his mouth as he sits down beside her.
“Of sorts, yes,” she murmurs back with a smirk.
“Do you normally feel this way the next day?”
“Last night was an exception. It was a very…large meeting.” She can’t meet his blue-eyed gaze. “I didn’t anticipate all our activities. Or the number of clients.”
She’s not going to give him details about how she was passed from man to man at that party, five in all, young, loud, and disgusting; she’s not used to handling that many on her own, and despite how she feels now, she’s grateful that they forced the Ecstasy pill on her, shoved it into her mouth and made her swallow it. It’s given her memories a blurred edge, a distance so that she can deal with it all.
She feels him wince beside her, and he places a hesitant hand on her arm. She relaxes under the touch. She is tempted to move closer, but she stays where she is.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” He’s closed the distance between them; his breath whispers past her ear.
She looks up at him through her lashes. “I think I’ll be all right.”
He just presses his thumb into the crook of her elbow and rubs it in a gentle circle. Her pulse quickens, and when he smirks, she flushes with pleasure and embarrassment. She watches his thumb move along her skin, her lips parted slightly. His forehead touches along the side of her head, his mouth just brushing against her cheekbone.
“Hey, Sophie, I got the cloth.”
Finnick’s voice makes her jump, and in a flurry of movement, Nate disappears. She looks up at Finnick, bewildered, and he gives her a sad smile before laying the damp cloth over her forehead and kissing her cheek.
***************
All of the victors are really like an incestuous family. They don’t always like each other, they fight most of the time, and everyone has favorites, but they are tied together by bonds they can’t seem to break.
They’ve survived the Games and that alone means that despite the arguments and jealousies, they will defend each other to the death.
Sophie learned early on that sex is different with the victors. It’s just a form of comfort, nothing special to be shared between two people. She supposes that when you sell your body enough it ceases to be worth much at all. She’s certainly not an exception to that idea. She’s fucked most of her fellow mentors at some point for a “client’s” own purposes; and she’s fucked a slightly smaller amount just because that’s what they do.
One encounter she’s never been particularly proud of was the time she let Brutus push her up against a wall and take her. She was looking for punishment, wanted his hard hands to bruise her, and it was all over in a few sweaty minutes that didn’t solve the ache lurking inside her.
But she looks on the others with fondness. There’s Enobaria with her sharp teeth and the thrill of danger, surprisingly gentle and soothing. Cashmere and Gloss almost always come in a pair. The rumor is that they have their own romantic relationship but everyone pretends like that’s a silly idea.
Johanna is hard and demanding; she prefers to dominate. Cecelia is motherly and kind, but she doesn’t fuck anyone now except her husband. Parker is all angles, blonde hair and flashing hazel eyes that are impish and promise surprises. Things are easy with Parker, simpler. She adores Sophie.
Eliot fascinates her. He’s short, well-muscled and solid, but he moves with a fluid grace he shouldn’t be able to achieve. He keeps his hair long, and he looks perpetually angry, but he softens when he moves inside her, attentive and needy.
Maggie is different from the others. Maybe, most importantly, it’s because she’s Nate’s ex-wife, separated from him by the mutual loss of their son. She and Maggie have always been friends, as long as Sophie has been friends with Nate. And Maggie is so beautiful in a way that’s pure, angelic. Having Maggie was like having a piece of Nate, something Sophie wants so desperately. And it only happened once.
The beat of the music thudded against Sophie’s ears, bleeding into her skin and warring with the flow of her blood. The club was called Vices, and she preferred to come here when she was looking for a good time with no strings attached. She could always count on a fellow victor being around.
And, to no surprise, Enobaria was lurking along the back wall, chatting up some young man who was entranced by her flashing eyes and too-sharp teeth. Sophie smirked; the boy had no chance. Enobaria would eat him alive. Sophie caught a glimpse of Cashmere and Gloss dancing, too close, and she ignored them.
There was a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, and Sophie turned toward the bar, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Maggie Ford sitting on a stool. Sophie sauntered over and slid onto a neighboring stool.
“I wouldn’t expect this to be your type of place.” The music made it so Sophie had to lean in close to Maggie.
Maggie jumped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you sit down.”
“Parker’s been giving me some tips on being sneaky.” Sophie motioned to the bartender for her usual and looked Maggie up and down. “Now, what are you doing here?”
“I was called to the Capitol for…” Maggie waved a hand through the air. “Business, I guess you could call it.”
She laughed, the sound hollow, and she drained her glass of its amber liquid. Sophie watched through narrowed eyes and only sipped on her drink when the bartender slid it to her. It had been nine months since Sam had died, since Maggie had lost her only son, and Sophie felt the anger rising in her blood at Snow for making Maggie come here so soon.
“Nate hasn’t been called in, though,” Maggie said after she finished off another drink. “Probably a good thing because all he does is drink. I worried for a little while that he might try to kill himself.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He believes in suffering.” Sophie meant for the words to be light, but Maggie looked distraught over the idea.
Now that she thought about it, Sophie supposed that nothing could be light after such a loss.
“I do want to thank you for what your friend, William, did for us. I wanted to thank him in person, but I was told he wasn’t practicing anymore when I tried to contact him.”
Sophie threw back the rest of her drink and winced at the burn. “Well, he’s dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Maggie laid a hand on Sophie’s arm, and Sophie wanted to throw it off. She didn’t deserve any sympathy for what happened to William because it was her own fault. There were some rebellious acts that couldn’t be forgiven, not even if the guilty party was a Capitol citizen and was acting only out of love.
Sophie shook her head. “It’s all right. Nothing can be done about it now.”
The bartender brought both of them fresh drinks, and Sophie ran her forefinger around the rim of her glass as she watched Maggie swallow the dark liquid. Maggie swayed a little, probably not accustomed to drinking all that much, and Sophie grabbed Maggie’s elbow to keep her from falling off the stool.
That pushed them even closer, and Maggie’s lips brushed against the corner of Sophie’s mouth; Maggie whispered something Sophie couldn’t hear and turned into Sophie, kissing her. Sophie responded before remembering who this woman was, and she pulled away.
“Maggie,” Sophie’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “What about…”
“I’m not here to be faithful to my husband,” Maggie replied with a bitter smile. “I just want to feel…something. Something else.”
Sophie nodded her head and drew Maggie back to her.
They ended up at Sophie’s apartment in the city, and as they lay side by side, Maggie curled into Sophie and rested her head on Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie could feel the dampness of Maggie’s tears.
“I think my marriage is over,” Maggie whispered. “I think I’ve known for awhile, really, and I just didn’t want to give up. I wanted to be able to fix Nate. Fix us to what we used to be.”
“Are you sure?” Sophie fumbled the words, cursing under her breath.
Maggie pressed her lips to Sophie’s neck. “I don’t think I would be here if I wasn’t.”
***************
Sophie paces the floor of the apartment’s living area, pulling at the tight dress stretched across her hips. Every time she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the wall, she can only see red. Red lips, red dress. The color makes her feel sticky, like she’s been bathed in blood.
Aria and Imanuel helped her get ready tonight for her appointment. Sophie has too many nights out for the entire prep team to be called in each time, so they alternate. It’s not like all of them are needed, anyway. It’s so much of a routine that two more people would only make the process longer.
It’s the end of the second day of training, and Sophie can feel the exhaustion dogging her every step. She’s smiled and laughed with sponsors all afternoon, attempting to charm them into giving her tributes money; at this point, she and Finnick have managed to get plenty of money pledged to their coffers for the Games so that’s one worry off her chest.
Finnick has already gone to his appointment, but he won’t be back before her tonight. He’s attending a party with Johanna, Maggie, and Brutus, and Sophie knows Finnick may stumble in tomorrow morning. It’s the way these things go.
She only has a quiet evening ahead of her with an older man who is a personal friend of Snow’s. She has no doubt it will be unpleasant, but he doesn’t seem as though he will be cruel.
So she chews on the side of a nail and waits for the cab to come pick her up. When the elevator doors open, she whirls around in surprise.
She places a hand on her hip and smiles. “Nate.”
“Sophie.” Nate nods in her direction, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken when they travel the length of her body.
He walks over to the small table across the room and pours three fingers of scotch into a glass. She watches him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to offer an explanation because she’s not going to ask for it.
“I see you have plans tonight.” He gestures to her outfit with his glass and drains it. “Are you leaving soon?”
“When my cab gets here,” she replies slowly.
She takes a step toward him, and he skirts around her, just barely keeping from brushing against her. She huffs impatiently and sits down on the couch. He starts pacing, his strides long and even.
“Are you going out for business or pleasure?”
“Business.” None of the victors feel comfortable with the word “whore,” so they act like they’re just going to a job that has no title and no description.
He frowns. “How many appointments do you have this time?” When she doesn’t answer after a few moments, he stops walking and looks at her. “Sophie, how many?”
“Seven.” A blush colors her cheeks; she hates the shame sitting low in her stomach.
The color drains from his face, and he rubs his eyes. “I didn’t…I wish…. I don’t like it.”
He pronounces the words with such finality, as if he has any say, that she can’t help the rage that makes her mind go blinding white for a moment before focusing intently back on him.
“Well, it’s not like I have choice.” She keeps her voice steady, pointed as she stands up and walks to him. “I don’t enjoy selling my body to whoever wants it. But, you don’t like it! That just changes everything!”
He backs up, holding his hands in front of him. “No, Soph, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what do you mean?” She’s tempted to slap him; her hand twitches at her side.
“I don’t like to see you used like you’re nothing because you deserve better.”
“And what would be better? You?”
He ducks his head, and she sighs. She takes his hand and tugs him a little closer.
“If I could stop doing all this, I would. But I’m doing this to protect Mags and Annie and Finnick. And, even you.” He lifts his head, and she looks steadily up at him. “But, Nate, what are you doing here if you don’t want me?”
He just stares down at her, his face set like stone; she sees the twitch of his lips, his slightly dilated eyes, and feels the shift of his body as he leans further into her.
She kisses him first, her right hand sliding into his brown curls as she slants her lips over his, pulling at him. He crushes her to his body in a swift movement, his fingers tangling in the hair that falls down her back, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. He slides his tongue into her mouth, and she moans, dragging her nails along the back of his neck.
She hears the buzzer announcing the cab’s arrival. Nate ignores it and takes a step forward, pushing her back, guiding her to the couch. She tugs his bottom lip through her teeth and releases him when he groans softly, slipping out of his grasp and off to the side.
He looks at her, bewildered, and she walks away, stepping into the elevator. She doesn’t turn around until the doors close behind her. She leans against the wall and looks into the reflective surface of the doors. Her hair is a mess of tangles now, and her lipstick is smudged. Tears hover in her eyes, and she blinks them away as she wipes off the smear of red that looks garish against her skin.
Chapter One
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven