I feel bare. Everywhere, bare. I have been literally stripped down to nothing. I have no unneeded hair left on my body. My eyebrows have been waxed. I wear nothing, and I stare at my shape in the mirror.
I am small.
I am small as far as width goes, at least. I can see some of my ribs, and my collarbones stare back at me. I am not malnourished, but I am very, very skinny. I study my body, taking it in. My thighs are too big, my breasts are too large, and my upper arms jut out too much. I am, simply, flawed. I close my eyes and collect a deep breath. My stylist will be a man. I decide to not care about this. I will meet him in about a minute, maybe seconds, from now.
I take my hand and I feel my eyebrows, running my fingers delicately across the newly shaped form of my eyebrows themselves. As I put my hand down, I see my stylist walk through the door. He looks to be in his late twenties, which isn't so bad, I guess. He gently shuts the door, and I am completely passive.
"Hello. I'm your new stylist," he greets in a soft voice, "My name is Gabriel."
"Hello," I reply quietly, turning to face him, "My name is Charlotte."
"Let's see here," he looks me over, and I begin to feel embarassed. "I already have an outfit for you, but I think I might need to give you a few accessories...follow me," he says, guiding my toward a door.
"Just go in there, and put on the dress that's hanging on the wall. Then, come and meet me back here," he commands nicely. I nod, and I go into the room. After I step in, Gabriel closes the door behind me. I am left in this dimly lit room, and I spot the dress. I just throw it on my body, then I turn toward the mirror to examine it.
The dress is orange on the underneath, but the outside is covered in black gems. The gems sparkle with even the slightest move, and the orange brings the gems to life. I can't even imagine what this dress will look like when I am in the City Circle later today. Also, I have no idea what Dan's wearing. But why do I care? I'm not supposed to have feelings for him.
(A/N: Yes, you perfectionists, I know I messed up the timeline a bit. But I, like, just now remembered that I'm supposed to have the Parade before the Interviews, and then the scores come out.)
I leave the room, satisfied with the way my dress looks. I am also now wearing underwear, which is a relief, and some shoes that I barely saw before I left the dressing room.
"Ah," Gabriel comments, "that looks better than I thought it would." And he's right. It compliments my figure by hiding the drawbacks and embellishing my good features, such as my curves and thin shins. The outline of my chin is illuminated by the sparkling gems of the dress.
"Is this all?" I ask, since I already look spectacular.
"No, I need to put some Capitol flare on you; you'll need it to get sponsors," he explains. I'm a little bit offended, because it sounds like he thinks I can't get sponsors otherwise. But anyway, I sit down in a chair while he does my makeup. When I turn around, I see myself in the mirror, and I am taken aback. I have black eye shadow on my top eyelids, and I am wearing metallic orange lipstick. It makes my face look as if the fire of my lips is consuming my coal-colored eyes. It is spectacular.
After I thank Gabriel for his help, I leave the dressing room and I take an elevator down to the chariot room. I am glad to see that I make it to the chariot before Dan, and I just stand next to one of the black, velvety horses. I stroke its face and it nudges its nose against my hand. I laugh when the horse sneezes, and I'm glad that none of the horse snot got on me. Then, I notice the other tributes preparing themselves in the chariots. When I step into the carriage, I see Dan out of the corner of my eye, finally making it to the chariot room. I turn my head, facing the giant doors at the end of the room. I don't want to see Dan, even though it's inevitible. When he hurries on to the carriage, I look the other way. I hear him sigh in disappointment.
"You can't avoid me forever. And I already said I was sorry; I gave you space. What more do you want from me?" Dan asks quietly. I turn to face him. He looks sad - almost pained. I look down.
"I want you to stop loving me," I reply simply.
"If only it was that simple," he whispers.
"If only," I murmur, "What could possibly make you want to be with me? Especially now? Your timing is horrible. If we were at home, if the Games weren't looming over us, it might be different. But like I said, I'm afraid to love. I wouldn't want to love you because I don't want you to be sad when I die, and vice versa."
"I get that, but humor me, please. If you're so set on dying anyhow, let me enjoy your company whilst you're still here," Dan pleads politely, outstretching his hand.
I sigh. "Fine. But you're not allowed to cry when I die. And I'm not asking, I'm demanding," I accept.
"If it's what you want. So be it," he gives a sad smile. I then take his extended hand.
Then, the doors open, and I am now confident in myself, because I have someone to pick me up if I fall.
