HOW THE DEMONS WEEP | CATCHING FIRE

07.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EASY TO SAY, Cecelia would never get used to the herd of reporters and photographers that ambushed and crowded her everywhere she went. Sure, she had dealt with it for years, but the flashes still blinded her eyes and obscured her vision long after she had made her way inside. The girl stumbled into her hotel room alone, tipsy on both her heels and the bit of alcohol she had at dinner.

After they had wrapped the photoshoot earlier in the day, Cecelia had undergone yet another wardrobe change and moved on to dinner. She met with some advisors to discuss various matters including more commercials, more photoshoots, more roles she had to fill, and the many masks she had yet to wear for the public. Luckily, this time she got to come straight back to her room, instead of the usual detour to someone else's for whatever matters may be.

Once the door closed and Cecelia was left alone in the way too big hotel suite, she felt some of the pressure being lifted off her chest, her shoulders slumping and a breath of relief escaping her chapped and stained lips. For the first time in a while, her heart didn't feel as heavy and her mind not as clouded. She thanked both the lack of company and the alcohol running through her system for the feeling.

She set the few belongings she took with her at the table by the door then made her way to the bedroom. She kicked off her heels on the way and began unbuttoning the back of her dress that was done up way too tight. She hummed a tune on her way there, allowing herself to enjoy those few moments of peace considering she didn't know when, or if, she would find a moment like this again.

Cecelia made it through the grand double doors of her temporary bedroom and immediately slipped the loosened dress off her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her ankles before she stepped out of it. She left it lying helplessly on the wooden floor, shuffling over to her bathroom to hop in the shower. The glass doors slid open for her and she was immediately immersed in the hot water streaming down on her face. The stream was almost scalding hot, but Cecelia felt numb to the pain, letting the water burn her skin and clear her mind, washing the remnants of Capitol company from her body.

She stayed in the water for a while, washing up, before she decided enough was enough. She shut the water off, letting the shower dry her hair and body, then stepped out onto the cold tile and wrapped herself in her robe.

On instinct, Cecelia promptly escorted herself to the kitchen, grabbed whatever bottle of alcohol she could find, and went to sit in the chair facing the wall of windows. The brunette sank into the chair, her body slouching and taking the pressure off her sore feet. She stared across at the lights of the city, too far up to see anything in the streets below.

She quickly found herself upset that she didn't find any comfort in the supposedly beautiful view of her hotel. Too many memories were attached to the lively city, plaguing her nightmares and tainting the buildings in crimson. They only reminded her of the bodies that littered the arena and the people that merely stood by and watched.

Cecelia felt her mood growing increasingly sour and for once, instead of letting all the bad thoughts in, she pushed them away and instead turned to the bottle of respite she grasped between her fingers. Sure, this wasn't the first time Cecelia had used alcohol to mask the pain of her traumas, but it wasn't often she drank herself past the point of redemption, slipping into a black oblivion. She liked the feeling of feeling nothing, but didn't like the idea of not having control over her body and mind. She understood the Victor tendency to nurse this form of recovery, but it was rare she indulged. Tonight was an exception.