Flames to Embers

21- Appointments

Here's a nice long 5,000 word chapter (as opposed to my usual 1-3 thousand)

song is line without a hook by Ricky Montgomery

*A few hours earlier*

I got out of the hot shower, and reached for a towel, only to come up empty. I forgot to set one aside. Dripping water across the floor, I made my way over to the linen closet in my bathroom. I groaned as I grabbed the last one off the shelf. I would have to let an avox do my laundry soon. It had been a while since I had gone this long without washing my clothes.

Moving the last towel out of the way, I saw the cardboard box I hid there years before, determined to never open again. But at the moment, it seemed like a very welcome alternative to the reality I was facing. Glancing in the mirror, I could see the angry scratch marks up and down my chest and back. There were bruises on my arm, and they hurt to an extreme. I'm not sure what happened to it, but it hurt more than a few bruises should.

I dried off, then pulled the box off the shelf, to look at the contents. There was only a syringe, a ten-ounce bottle of Morphling, and a box of alcohol wipes that I used to keep the syringe clean.

My anxiety was running high, from what I just did, as well as what I was about to do. This would calm my nerves, I knew that from experience.

But I knew I was supposed to find Katniss later. I told her I would do my best to see her later, and although I could easily just not do it, I wanted to see her.

Katniss would see right through me, no matter how good of an actor I was. It was like she could smell the drug on me. When I was sixteen and she convinced me to quit the morphling drip, I didn't quit overnight. She didn't expect me to, but she could always tell when I used it. I don't know how. I was always careful to cover it up for my clients anyway.

I shook my head and rubbed my tired eyes. I closed the box up and put it back on the shelf. I knew I should just throw it out, but I couldn't bring myself to.

I pulled away before I could change my mind and began the painstaking process of applying a salve and concealer to each of my fresh wounds. Then I went back into my room and pulled on a pair of comfortable pants and a shirt, one of my last sets of clothes.

I stepped onto the elevator, and off again a few minutes later on the District 12 floor. I knocked on Haymitch's door, and he let me in. The room was filled with people, for once, instead of bottles.

"Glad to see you dressed up for this fine event," was all he said in greeting. Haymitch, himself, had never changed out of his dress shirt from the parade.

I rolled my eyes, but ignored his comment. I could wear whatever I wanted. This was a meeting among friends in Haymitch's bedroom. No one would care.

"And you're ten minutes late."

I shrugged. "I had a client. I would rather be late to your meeting, instead of Snow's. He already has me on a short leash."

Johanna laughed from her spot on the floor. "So you are his lapdog." No one laughed along with her. "Because he said he was on a short leash. And dogs are..." she glanced around and saw only somber faces. "Whatever." She muttered.

I sat between Cashmere and Britt. Cashmere squeezed my hand. "He's making you take clients during the Games?"

Everyone knew the Games were our vacation time. I shrugged. "He's just mad at me."

Everyone was staring at me, so I just focused my attention on Haymitch, where it was supposed to be, and hoped they would do the same.

Haymitch cleared his throat. "So let's start on that happy note."