Hope and Nightmares - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

To my disappointment, Max wakes me up again at seven o'clock in the morning again to "train".

This time, he's not wearing a bathrobe, but black silk boxers. No shirt.

"You really don't like clothes, do you?" I say, still working out the tangles in my hair, which is still wet from my morning shower.

"I'm not particularly fond of them," he replies with a sheepish grin. "If I had it my way I wouldn't be wearing anything at all."

"And what's stopping you?"

I had intended the question as a genuine curiosity, but the words had slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. I had fortunately been able to keep the tone of my voice...non-suggestive.

Max either didn't take the question that way or didn't care. He laughed and shook his head, looking at the floor, as if it brought up a funny memory from the past.

Seconds of silence ticked by before he sat down and began to coach me on how to act during the interviews.

"Charm is the art of having an attractive personality," he says. "Making eye contact, being a genuine listener, being someone that other people would like to talk to. But sometimes charming isn't all the Capitol people are looking for."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Sometimes, just being a good conversationalist doesn't get you the amount of sponsors you're looking for," he says. "When you've got a severe open wound or injury two weeks into the Games, considering you get that far, four or five sponsors will buy you a thumb tack. You have to be sexy, cunning, inviting, witty. That's what people are looking for. That's what saves your life."

I think back to the days spent in my backyard, with my mother coaching me on how to sit like a lady and giving me tips on being well-liked. "Almost like physical charm."

"Exactly like physical charm!" he says. "Your tone should depend on what you're saying. Articulate your words clearly and project your voice. Sound sincere."

It sounds like this guy has had a lot of practice in this area of expertise. He runs through body language, word choice, winks and gestures, compliments, posture, humor, smiling, eye contact with the audience, staying on topic during the interviews. The list goes on and on.

After we're all finished, after we've done mock interviews, practiced responses, gone over body language, Max stands up and stretches. As he talks on, my eyes wander to his well-built chest, golden skin, robust biceps, defined abdomen...

"Are we clear?" he says, snapping me back to attention.

"Huh?"

A smile breaks across his chiseled face. "Try not to fall too in love with me, princess."

I knew it was meant as a joke, but it rubs me the wrong way. I bolt to my feet. "You are so arrogant!" I spit. "Just because every girl back home drools over you and every girl in Panem wants to get inside your stupid silk little boxers--"

"What?" he says proudly with a smirk. "What could you possibly say to make any of that bad?"

Smoke is most definitely pouring out of my ears now. "You are so damn cocky!"

"I'm not wrong, you know," he says, tilting my chin up with surprisingly soft fingers.

My fists clench into balls at my sides as I resist the urge to stomp on his foot. "My life is on the line, you know. I could be dead in three day's time! This is the Hunger Games, for God's sake! Every girl in District 1 would love to kiss you. Every girl in the Capitol wants you. You can have any girl in the whole damn country! I get that! But you have the nerve, to just--"