Melting Ice

Chapter 44

My hair is clipped up into a bun loosely as I let myself drift further down into the green gooey liquid. It moulds around my moving body until I'm still and comfortable with my position.
"Posture!", the voice in my head, mimicking Valerie, screeches. I suddenly feel myself rise slightly so my back is more straight and my chin tilted up at an angle.
Fingers run through my hair gently, massaging my scalp. For once, I relax myself and just go with it; not worrying about what comes next in this awful world. I breathe out deeply, as if I'm crying. Catos text messages come into my thoughts again, he words messing up my mind. It all makes sense; he found is easy to let go whereas I held on, he hasn't been texting me at all until today, he is probably behind this. But why, why would he betray me like that? Maybe I'm miss reading it. Why on Panem do I have to meet him there? It makes absolutely no sense!
My body shivers against the cold metal table beneath me as they pluck the remaining hairs from my body. I clench my teeth together as the next is removed.
"Sorry honey, last one", informs a friendly looking women with pink hair and lilac skin. I nod once then brace myself for another stab of pain. Instantly, as soon as I feel the tweezers nearing, I shut my eyes tightly and take a deep breath.
"Your done honey", she tells me, "Wait here for your prep team".
"Thanks", I mumble as another shiver of cold runs down my bony spine.
She tilts her pink head, "Let me get you something warmer whilst you wait". I smile softly.
As she hands me a flask, my hands carry the warmth through my cold blooded body. I slip on a silky robe around my shoulders for warmth, but not much. My lips gently sip the warm liquid. Chocolate.
When I was younger, in the winter mother would make us all fresh hot chocolate from the coco beans that grew near by. I remember coming home from sledging with Cane and Isabelle, we were frozen and covered in the soft snow. Father would be sitting by the fire, reading or watching the news whilst mother sat knitting and sewing clothes for the new baby: Kayla.
"How was it?", father would ask, helping me take off my snow covered coat.
"Cold", I shivered.
"Cane crashed me into the tree", I remember Isabelle complaining with crossed arms.
"Anyone would think your in the Hunger Games!", mother laughed.
It was funny back then, we are all young and had the money to not have our names put in more than necessary. As a family, we would watch the Hunger Games, choosing our favourites.
"Sit down by the fire children", mother would say, brushing the snow out of our hair, "I will get something warm to drink. Hot chocolate perhaps?". We would all cheer at this. Small memories likes these can bring some happiness to me; it's like a message telling me that not everything was always bad.
The warm liquid warms my blood and I let out a sigh, "Thank you", I tell her, who's name I do not know. Now I have at least a few minuets alone before I'm bombarded with make up and styling products. I pull out my phone.

3 new messages

Cato: be at the rooftop at 10
Do it
You have no choice but to do it
Me: what has got into you?
Cato: never been better
Me: why are you acting like this?
Cato: acting like what?
Me: don't act all innocent
Cato: rooftop tonight
Me: tell me why
Cato: that information is classified
Me: very funny
Cato: this is very serious business.
Me: tell me why
Cato: I can't Clove, I just can't

I take another sip before being forced to stop as my teeth are whitened.
"Why?", I moan occasionally but only get mutters as a reply. The taste is absolutely horrible in my mouth. Worst than the most bitterest sweet you have ever laid your eyes on. Next, they re-wash my perfectly clean hair with sweet smelling, perhaps vanilla and cinnamon, shampoo followed by an extremely gooey conditioner.
My hair is curled once, twice, many many times until it is no longer it's wavy self, but in ringlets framing my freckled, make up covered face.
"There we go!", squeals some random capitol women who's name is to difficult to pronounce.
"Thank you". I say quietly glancing at myself in the mirror. Sure, I don't look bad but I'm not beautiful; nothing along those lines. Cato would beg to differ, but he's an idiot right now and needs to get himself sorted out soon. The same women interrupts my thoughts by tugging on my newly curled hair and tightly plaits a small amount of my hair around my head. And it doesn't look to bad.
"Stand on the platform", she tells me, pointing me towards a small stage. I do so and I don't have a second before she is ripping off my robe and slippers until I'm completely naked and cold, and a little afraid at her enthusiasm.
"We are going to be late", she keeps muttering every few minutes as I pull my legs through shiny leather trousers, two zips either side and two at the ankle. Both gold; most likely real because it's the Capitol and they like their shiny things. Surprisingly, I can freely move about inside of them which is the opposite to what I was expecting. For the top, two zips run diagonally across the short sleeves, meeting at the rim. Everything is either a dark, musky brown or midnight black. The boots fit nicely around my feet, as does the jacket packed full of weapons.
"Your done. I will meet you after". I nod and begin to follow her directions.