Strictly Prohibited ➳ THE HUNGER GAMES ✔️

|11| There's Daggers In Men's Smiles

Chapter 11 x

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Gloss's POV

I am legitimately amazed that I haven't smashed anything. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games, arrived in District 1 today. I couldn't condemn them for winning – someone has to. But it just reminded me of the failure of the District 1 tributes in the past few years, how I had been the last to survive the Games. A grimness settled over me then, when I realised just how easy it was to die. Lives were snuffed out like candles, the lives of frightened teenagers with weapons forced into their hands.

Cashmere doesn't seem surprised at all to see me on the couch sipping a beer when she returns from the celebrations with Storm in tow. Of course they would have go. It was Storm's obligation as a Capitolian escort, and while I was feigning sick Cashmere had still found it in herself to go. Cashmere crosses over with a scowl and snatches the can of beer from my hand, setting it down on the table.

"Don't turn into Haymitch from 12, Gloss. Drinking doesn't become you."

Storm sits beside me and her expression is solemn. I don't look at her because I don't want to see the pity in her eyes. I hope she doesn't think things have changed due to what happened the other night with me stopping Hyperion. I'm just as fucked up as I was then, meaning I still don't want anything like a relationship with Storm. Cashmere replaces the beer with a juice, which I sip gratefully.

"There's always a chance," Storm informs me, but it's one of those times when you don't need optimism. I wish the voice of reason would just shut up and leave me alone to brood. "Someone from District 1 might win in the 75th Hunger Games."

Cashmere sinks into a chair across from me and I note that her expression has darkened considerably. I know exactly why. Every twenty-five years, the Capitol issues a Quarter Quell. For the 25th Hunger Games, the districts were forced to vote for the tributes they would send into the arena. For the 50th Hunger Games, double the amount of tributes was sent in. If I remember correctly, that's the year Haymitch Abernathy won. The 75th Hunger Games are only a cause for apprehension.

"The Capitol will twist the Games," Cashmere informs Storm, as if she could have forgotten. Really Storm should know better than anyone else. I can imagine Hyperion hissing in Snow's ear like a venomous snake, trying to hurt us in any way he can. My lip curls in disgust at the thought.

"There's something else." Cashmere and I both glance at Storm, who is playing with her hands and gnawing at her lip. I can tell by the way she's fidgeting that something is wrong and when she looks up, her hazel eyes are troubled. "There's a rebellion rising in District 8."

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Cashmere goes out, but Storm stays in. My sister will sometimes go shopping in her light hearted moments, calling it retail therapy. I don't understand it, but it's good to see that she's in a bright mood, especially since I'm not. At first I think that Storm is waiting around for Cashmere to get back, but it soon becomes clear she's staying to talk to me. It's not really a prospect I'm comfortable with.

"Gloss?" Storm swirls a mango juice in her hand, looking down into its murky contents before glancing back across at me. "I just wanted to talk to you. About the other night. When Hyperion..."

I know she doesn't want to finish the sentence, so I spare her. "I remember what happened, Storm. It doesn't mean anything. I had been drinking too."

My words seem to impact her like a slap to the face. She flushes bright red and bites at her lip, nodding. She acts as though she can accept it, but there's misery in her eyes, a desire for something that can't be. I wish that I could tell her the truth. But the truth can sometimes hurt like a knife between the ribs, despite the good intentions that come with telling it.