✓ | Iron ↠ The Hunger Games

nine ━ the gauntlets

CHAPTER NINE;
the gauntlets

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( warning: depictions of drug abuse, addiction )

     When Vesper awakens abruptly in the early hours of the next July morning, following another troubling dream of her faceless mother, she almost forgets Icarus is still curled up on the floor at the foot of her bed. Today no morning light floods in; low-hanging clouds at twilight give hope of no sunlight breaking through and dappling spots on the lavish carpet. It's something of a relief to her — at least there's a break from the sweltering heat that has been ongoing for days now.

Her silky pyjamas sway loosely and stroke her skin as she pulls herself out of bed, careful not to awaken him while tip-toeing to the bathroom. Just like she always used to back home, she runs her hands under the tap, relishing in the cold liquid that spills over her wrists and cleanses the clammy sweat that had clung to her skin in her nightmares. Then she lets it gather in her palms, splashing it on her face and rubbing the coolness along the nape of her neck.

     How many sleeps now? One... two...

     Two sleeps. Two sleeps until they enter the arena.

     She stares at her reflection in the mirror, trying to figure out whether she has come to terms with this reality or not. Considering she could be days away from certain death, Vesper feels astonishingly... calm. But maybe this is just her settling into her surroundings that were once foreign to her (however discomforting they are) — she'll go right back to square one the moment she runs off that podium on that dreaded morning, she is sure.

     Vesper is sure she will bounce back. After all, that's what she has always been praised for, be it in work, life... after her father died. But what else was she supposed to do? Wallow in it? There was simply no time, only the impending awareness that she and Blythe would both have to ramp up their working hours, and of course the strain in relations that came with it.

     Grief does strange things to people.

     By the time she emerges from the bathroom, Icarus is stirring and opening his eyes like a bewildered newborn. She sighs heavily and rubs her eyes.

     "Sorry," she murmurs.

     "Naw, you didn't wake me up. Wasn't sleeping too deeply anyway."

     Vesper perches on the edge of her colossal-sized bed, gathering her hair into a ponytail and tucking it over onto one of her shoulders. She meets his tired eyes that blink through the darkness and look for answers — all of which she can't possibly have. Then comes the fighting against the urge to think ahead to the arena, when he'll be mostly relying on her for his safety...

Two sleeps. Still two sleeps until then.

A gentle thud comes from next door; a sharp breath follows, pacing footsteps growing louder and quieter as they scale the hallway. Vesper and Icarus share a quizzical glance — they mustn't be the only ones awake. Perhaps it's Hermia, scuttling around to do early rounds in the morning. Or maybe Irma was restless, and went to get a cup of tea. Or—

Oh no...

Vesper instinctively strides towards the door, pressing her ear against it as she slowly turns the doorknob. It opens just a crack, and Icarus crouches under her arm to get a peek for himself. "What's going on?" he whispers, "I can't see anything."