Chapter 45
So, my apologies and my bad. After revising the last chapter, I actually made it about twice as long... :( Here is the compromise to myself. The second half of that chapter will now be it's own.
If you are wondering about the consequences to Scarlet's veiled threat towards President Snow, you'll soon find out. You've probably already realized this, but Scarlet's temper and impulsive reactiveness gets her into so much trouble. I love that she can't be caged and broken, but at the same time... she goes through so much pain.
It is a good reminder though, that even though pain and fear is a powerful way to control someone, everyone has their breaking point. If that's all you rely on to control them, you may soon find yourself unable to control them any longer...
Take Care and Stay Safe! ~CANGEL
***
Scarlet Wolfe
A cry slipped from her mouth as the final lash landed across her back. Lightning streaked across her back, followed by a deep, aching throb. Scarlet's legs had given way fifteen lashes ago. She lay across blood splattered mahogany, shirtless, exposed, bleeding, as her body shuttered against the spreading pain. As painful as receiving the lashes had been, she knew from experience, it would only get worse. Her body was in shock, numbing the pain considerably, but all too soon the shock would fade, leaving her to feel each and every exposed nerve ending.
The penthouse suite held above the Training Center was kept for the District 14 tributes upon their first arrival in the Capitol. It was the same penthouse suite she'd stayed in for the last two weeks while in recovery from her time in the Arena. And it was the same penthouse she'd been escorted to after her interview with Caesar for one last night, before she would get to go back home to District 14.
She stared at the box of furs sitting on the ground five feet away from her next to the pristine white couch. The lashes, painful as they were, did nothing to dilute or dull the rage and pain that whirled together inside her. Just the sight of that golden box was enough to threaten to knock her to her knees or use her newly given claws to rip the finery around her to shreds.
The Peacekeepers had been waiting inside when she had returned from her interview with Caesar. She had been expecting it, of course. She'd known that something would happen since the moment she had decided to go off script and send a little message back to President Snow. Even if no one else in the Capitol's audience realized what she'd meant, Caesar had. And if he did, so had others. Including President Snow.
The lashing was a lesson. A punishment. Scarlet was beginning to hate that word. Punishment. Everything seemed to be a punishment. A lesson. A warning.
First her appearance, with her black claws and her wolf's eyes staring back at her every time she looked in the mirror. She had accepted that. Her new role, which had been explained to her by Finnick. Even fresh from the Arena and her head swimming in her actions, she hadn't resisted. Then the clothing—red and silk and very daring, another change she'd had no say in. She hadn't uttered a single complaint about the wolf mask that followed, even as it nearly suffocated her.
But even as she had accepted all of this without a fight or word of discord, there were still more punishments to be delivered.
The golden box mocked her from the floor in front of her. The wolves had sacrificed their lives in that arena, why couldn't they be left in peace? Why couldn't they be laid to rest and remain in the ruins of the Arena or be sent home to District 14 with her brother?
Scarlet clenched her fist and squeezed her eyes shut against the floor. The smell of blood and sweat filled her nose, nearly enough to send her back into that Arena, however, as she opened her eyes, they locked on the box once more. No, she was not in the Arena.
Her body was locked in place, her muscles tense and ridged Her entire back felt raw, like they had poured kerosene on her and lit a match, leaving her to burn. She felt, rather than saw, the Peacekeepers leave, feeling their footsteps fading echoes against the floor.
Penelope was supposedly somewhere in this penthouse, but Scarlet hadn't seen the woman since the Peacekeepers had agreed not to mark Scarlet's face or anywhere visible. Scarlet, after all, had an image to maintain.
Scarlet wondered why they had bothered to erase the scars from the Arena if they were just as ready as ever to split her skin open. What was the point of erasing it all if they could tear her apart however they liked, away from the prying and hawk-like eyes of the Capitol citizens and leave her to rot and soak in her own blood?
Tomorrow, she would return to District 14. She didn't know if she was happy to return home or resigned. Without Crimson there, it would never be the same. But what was the other option? Staying here? She shuddered at the thought.
No. She would never survive living here in the Capitol. District 14 was in her blood. Hell as it was, it was who she was and what she knew. Cadmium was there. She reminded herself. Somehow, she'd learn to be okay.
It was where she belonged.
She laughed against the hardwood flooring, her sharpened nails cutting into her left palm. She hissed in pain. Her hand, her back, her head, her soul.
Everything hurt, but she couldn't stop laughing. Every breath, every shake of her shoulders caused flashes of sharp pain shooting through her raw nerves. Still, through the tears, she laughed.
Did they think they could break her like this?
Just fucking try.
***
When Scarlet woke, it was to the pointed toe of Penelope Bright's ruby red shoes. Scarlet blinked up at the woman, reading nothing as Penelope opened and closed her mouth, apart from the disgusted look that she never seemed to lose.
Scarlet pushed herself up from the ground and dragged herself away from her blithering idiot of an escort. She forced herself through a shower in which she didn't even try to touch her back. Just enough to clear her face, arms and legs of any blood before turning off the cold stream of water and exiting the room.
Her prep team greeted her somberly, seeming startled and taken aback by the rough treatment of their newest Victor.
Verra tipped her chin up. "You shouldn't have done that in the interviews, Scarlet. I thought you would have learned your lesson after your last interviews. You're really lucky they stopped with just this."
Scarlet pulled face away from Verra's touch, her stomach rolling as she thought about what Verra had implied. The unspoken name hung between them like an anchor. Cassandra. Verra was right though. And if Scarlet hadn't been a tribute in the games, or a Victor, she probably would have found herself an Avox for all the trouble she'd caused.
Even though she was right, Scarlet ignored all of them as they cleaned her up the best they could with the shortened timeframe. Apparently, she'd overslept. Scarlet stopped them from applying any salve to her back. Her glare stopped any protest they could utter.
She wanted the scars that the salve would prevent. Scars weren't shameful. They weren't ugly or proof of weakness. Contrary to what the Capitol citizens seemed to believe; scars were proof of strength. They marked the trials of a person's life and what they survived and had been through. It was a map of their life.
Her stylist dressed her in a scarlet silken dress, but Scarlet noticed that the corset that had been set aside for her, wasn't wrapped around her body. Verra offered her up a small smile. As if offering Scarlet a peace offering.
Scarlet didn't return it as she looked away. Grateful as she was that the corset wasn't wrapped around her injured body, she wasn't interested in making friends or mending bridges. Been there, done that. She wasn't interested in a repeat.
The Wicked Wolf was selfish, methodical, and beautiful death tangled together. She was ruthless, heartless and only safe to be around when at a distance.
The dress itself was sexy. It parted down between her breasts, though she didn't have much there without the corset's assistance. It had a full back and loosely fluttered down past her ankles. She wore red heels that added several inches to her height.
She exited the bathroom with a full face of makeup, her golden eyes popping and her pale skin looking more flushed and livelier. Scarlet hated it but didn't protest as Verra and the prep team changed her from Scarlet Wolfe into the Wicked Wolfe, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games, covering her lower face once more with the metal wolf mask.
Scarlet noted the box of furs being carried out with the rest of her luggage and resisted the urge to rip it from the Avox's hands. Much as she hated its very existence, she knew she could never lose them. If she ever did, she didn't know what she'd do, but she knew it wouldn't be pretty.
"I want President Snow's gift in my room on the train." She said into the room, speaking to no one specific, but it's the Avox that bowed their head in deference to her demand.
Scarlet left the penthouse suite without looking back, entering the elevator with Penelope, Verra and her prep team. Because District 14 was so far away and it would take almost a full day to get back there, they would travel with her to her District. No one wanted a hair out of place for her big welcome home—never mind her shredded back. She rolled her eyes inwardly while keeping her expression blank.
Ignoring the queasiness of her stomach was getting easier, after all the times she'd used the elevator, but she hated it just the same. Scarlet pasted a smirk on her lips just as the elevator doors opened.
She left the elevator silently, but even still, within seconds, she was bombarded with cameras and interviewers and the Capitol citizens who wanted one last glimpse of the Wicked Wolfe before she headed back home to District 14.
She raised her chin high but gave them no direct attention and didn't bother to answer any questions. The crowd still wrapped around her, though she noted they kept their distance. They loved her even as they hated and despised her. They desired her even as they feared her. She was beautiful death embodied.
You can look. You can be enraptured.
But if you dare to go too close...
As she walked across the lobby with carefully placed footsteps, Scarlet locked eyes with the one Victor she just couldn't seem to shake. Everywhere she was, he was there as well.
Finnick Odair.
You may want to be alone, Little Wolfe, but you aren't alone.
His words flitted through her head as she took him in. Sprawled out in a lobby chair, his hair mused, and his shirt unbuttoned, leaving his tanned and toned chest on display. A crowd of his own fans surrounded him as he entertained them with his charm and his easy grin, seemingly comfortable and at ease as the women and even some men tried to get their last touches before he too, went back to his home District.
Finnick Odair was opposite of her in every way, it was no wonder why they had clashed early on in their...acquaintanceship. He was the sun and she was the moon. He was warm and welcoming and charming and open. She was cold as ice, fridged, angry and closed off.
And yet, out of all the people that surrounded her, she felt that he was the only one who saw her. He still saw the girl she was or the girl she had been, not the temptress and monster that the Capitol had forced her to become.
It was ridiculous and illogical, because Finnick had never actually known her, ever. She had never been completely herself, ever since she'd volunteered for Violet. But it felt like he did. Like he saw beneath the mask and the smirk and the golden eyes. It felt like he knew all her secrets and understood them.
He had secrets too. She reminded herself. It made sense that he would see some of hers. She rationalized. It was nothing special.
Like hers, his expression didn't change, but something flashed in his eyes as he watched her, something that she couldn't understand. She kept her head straight and her eyes forward, ignoring the unfamiliar pang at the loss of his sea-green eyes. Even though she couldn't see them, she could feel them on her, never leaving her for a moment until she left the lobby.
The air outside shocked her. Warm and heated. For some reason, she'd expected it to be as cold and bitter as the Arena had been. She allowed herself to be led to the sleek black car out front of the building where they would all be driven to the train.
It was fifteen minutes by car to get to the train station. Fifteen torturous minutes in which she endured in utter silence, with her back as straight as possible and her hands on the seats beside her, trying to keep her back from hitting the back of the seat behind her and her body as still as possible to keep the pain to a minimum. She kept the fact that her dress was currently saturated with her own blood, trusting the scarlet coloring of her dress to hide it long enough to get on the train unnoticed.
She just wanted to go home.
---------------
Alright, tell me your thoughts on this chapter! Scarlet is strong--far stronger than me (I would still be on the floor dying and I am a BIG complainer when I'm injured or sore. That is how I relieve stress)
So, now, after everything that has happened, Scarlet is finally allowed to go home. She will be welcomed home by District 14, but remember that the Victory Tour does not happen for another six months. So she will have six months to live peacefully in District 14 as a Victor...Right?
I want to extend sincere thanks to all those who've read and commented on my chapters. I try really hard to save as many comments as possible, though sometimes it is hard, and sometimes it's just not possible. Even so, I love ALL of your comments and thoughts and opinions. They give me the motivation to help me push through writer's block and struggles when writing this.
To everyone reading, Take care and stay safe! ~CANGEL
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