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BLEEDING ROSE
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｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

KIRAN NASSIF'S APARTMENT is in one of the nicest parts of the Capitol. Throughout her experience with the Hunger Games and their aftermath, Ontari has familiarized herself with some of the city. There's the Games sector where the Tribute Center, Remake Center, and anything related to the Hunger Games are located. The government officials live in the Grandeur sector— named after the massive mansions and immaculately-done landscaping. Then there's Eminence for celebrities, the Emporium for the shopping areas, and other sectors that she hasn't learned of yet.

Even though Kiran is well-known, he isn't famous for acting or music, so his home isn't in Eminence. He explains that his sector is called Virtuosity. It's where many of the successful artists live. However, it's so expensive that the sector is still sparse by Capitol standards, meaning each apartment can easily take up three or more levels of a building. Levels — as in entire floors. Not even the Tribute Center is that expansive.

Ontari stares at herself in the mirror inside of Kiran's master bathroom. It's so clean that it doesn't even look like glass, almost as if she could reach out and plunge her hand inside. She'd once heard an old wive's tale of your reflection being you in another dimension. That alternate reality is horrible, so your reflection stops you from going inside. But she can't help but think that she's in the awful dimension. And when she puts her palm to the mirror and feels nothing but the cold glass against her skin, she thinks, good. She wouldn't wish her life on anyone.

She doesn't look as impeccable as she had when she'd arrived. Some of her mascara had smudged under her eyes from the sweat that had coated her skin, her hair is full of static, and there's some lipstick bleeding around the corners of her mouth. She feels odd rummaging through Kiran's belongings to search for something to fix her appearance with, so she decides to use water and her hands. However, the mascara is stubborn, so it doesn't budge, and the lipstick isn't going anywhere. It seems that this will be her look for the night.

The night was... fine. It wasn't particularly enjoyable, but it wasn't horrible, either— then again, as soon as they'd arrived at Kiran's apartment, Ontari had shoved herself into a corner of her mind and hadn't emerged again until she'd stepped into this bathroom, so she isn't sure what exactly happened.

Maybe Kiran had been a silver lining for her first time. She has vague memories of him making sure he took care of her and got her consent for everything. He hadn't left a single mark on her skin from his teeth or hands. Eytelia had warned her of that— how some of her clients might be eager to brand her with bites or bruises as evidence they'd been there. She'd also said how it was common for men to get off and be done with it. So, in an odd way, Ontari feels like she should be thanking her lucky stars.

When she returns to the bedroom, she finds Kiran standing near the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Virtuosity. The darkness in the room made it clear that nobody on the streets could see inside, but the expansive glass had made Ontari falter when they'd entered. The multicolored neon lights of signs swirl around the streets below, splashing everything with vibrant color. Murals are painted on the sides of architecture. Some are plastered with advertisements— the brick is covered in pixels that form a gigantic screen spliced in small segments by windows. Ontari almost jumps when she recognizes herself displayed on one wall. It's from a promotional photoshoot they'd done about a week ago. The dramatic makeup they'd put on her makes her look years older than she actually is, compelling Ontari to tear her gaze away from the portrait that she can hardly identify as herself.

Kiran is bathed half in the shadows from the bedroom, half in the hot pink lights searing through the glass. He's dressed only in his boxers because Ontari is wearing his button-up shirt. The cut of his figure isn't hard muscle or defined abs, but rather, it's lean and accentuated by the ink scrawled across his skin. His eyes are closed and his head is tipped back until the crown of his head hits the wall. When he opens his mouth, smoke billows from his parted lips and escapes through a small grate in the window. It's then when Ontari notices the orange-tipped cigarette in his hand.

Ontari remembers why she's here— his rebel tattoos. She struggles to think of a way to bring it up casually, perching on the edge of his king-sized bed and crossing her legs.

"How many tattoos do you have?" she decides to ask.

"Lost count after sixty," he replies, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Which one hurt the most?"

Kiran considers this as he exhales a cloud of smoke. The grate in the window acts like a sort of vacuum, sucking the acrid air out almost as soon as it blows past his lips, but it doesn't stop Ontari's eyes from stinging a little from the unfamiliar substance. Smoking is uncommon in Eight due to how expensive cigarettes are. Instead, most people die from the pollution caused by the factories. Choosing to poison one's lungs is a foreign concept to most people in her district.

Finally, he turns his head toward the wall opposite from the window and points to a large design that frames the shell of his ear and disappears into his black hair. It's difficult to see in the darkness, but it looks similar to the flower design on his hand, only more triangular.

"Not a lot to prevent you from feeling the pain there," Kiran explains. A small, wry smile forms on his lips when he asks, "Why, you thinking of gettin' one?"

Ontari scoffs. "I wouldn't be allowed."

"Because Mommy and Daddy would say no?"

"Because the Capitol would."

The words come out sharper than she'd intended, and the result is a heavy silence that fills itself with swirling feelings instead of words. Ontari regrets them as soon as she says them. She should've just taken the jab, but Kiran's teasing had poked at a sensitive part of her that wasn't ready to be prodded yet.

Kiran doesn't raise his cigarette to his mouth again. Instead, he stares at her. "The Capitol wouldn't let you?"

She should change the subject, but instead, she gives him a sardonic grin of her own. "I couldn't get a piercing if I wanted to without an entire team of people agreeing."

Kiran keeps staring. She doesn't like the feeling— like he's seeing her for the first time, or something, because it reminds her of how close they'd been a mere ten minutes ago and she'd rather not think about that right now.

"If I could get one, I think I'd get R.L.H.C," she says, staring out the window so she doesn't have to look at the young man. "My family members' initials. One for the side of each finger."

"Those wear away quickly," Kiran tells her. The joking tone he'd had before is gone. "You'd have to get them touched up often."

Ontari still doesn't look at him. "Good. Maybe I'd like the pain."

The smothering silence returns, punctured only by the sounds of street life squeezing through the open smoke grate. Laughter drifts up into the apartment. It's joined by cars driving down the street, music blasting from some other tennant with an open window, and the breeze drifting by. Ontari hadn't realized how quiet the apartment is until now. The walls must be soundproof.

Kiran brings the cigarette to his mouth again. "For a second I thought you were going to say you'd get one of the rebel tattoos. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Ontari feels like she's been dunked in ice water as freezing cold shock flows through every inch of her body. She stiffens, her gaze snapping back to look at him again, eyes going wide before she can stop them. For the first time tonight, she's speechless for a moment before sputtering out, "You knew?"

He huffs a laugh, causing smoke to pour out through his nostrils like a dragon before he says, "You think you're the first pretty girl to come around here after I started doing those?"

The ice is gone now, replaced with embarrassment and rage that are boiling, flushing her face an angry crimson. Her eyebrows knit together and her mouth turns into a scowl. It was a mistake to open up to him at all, even to mention her utter lack of bodily autonomy. She did that for what— so he could throw it back in her face?

Even though she wants to call him every foul name under the sun, she restrains herself and asks, "So... are you going to stop?"

Kiran actually laughs at this. It's a sharp cackle that impales Ontari like the sting of a tracker-jacker, making her shrink for a second.

"I would've thought someone like you wouldn't have bought into their bullshit," he muses, twiddling that stupid cigarette between his fingers. She kind of hopes that smoldering tip would burn him in the middle of that trick. "Snow turned you into a killer and you're just going to do his dirty work?"

Before she can stop herself, Ontari shoots to her feet and fires out, "Do you think I had a choice?"

As if he's surprised that she'd managed a retort, he looks back at her with slightly parted lips. He might be about to speak, but Ontari doesn't let him. She barrels on. Something had been curled in her chest for a long time, and now it comes slithering out like a snake, ready to infect Kiran with its venom.

"Do you think any of this is a choice? That I want to be here right now, with you, coming back from a party where I had to watch the way I walked so I wouldn't take a wrong step and flash everyone? That I got to pick that dress with the neckline plunging to my waist? Do you think I get a choice in anything?"

She's shouting now, acting most un-Desirable-like when she jabs a finger into the center of Kiran's bare chest, seething. "But you know who did have a choice? You. You chose to lead me on when you knew what I was trying to do the whole time. Why, so you could — could get off using a sixteen-year-old girl? Well, I hope you're proud of yourself. Congratulations, you got what you wanted."

The cigarette had slipped from Kiran's grip toward the end of her tirade, and he bends down to snatch it back up before the carpet can catch on fire. His eyes are wide like an owl's. This is the most caught-off-guard she's seen him so far.

"How —" The words get caught in his throat. He swallows, then tries again. "You're sixteen?"

Ontari stares at him dubiously. "How old did you think I was?"

Kiran extinguishes the cigarette on an ashtray placed on the dresser beside him. "Someone said you'd just turned eighteen." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, then averts them to the ceiling. "I'm ten years older than you?"

"That's correct."

Kiran looks down at her. She has that same gnawing sensation that his gaze can see more than the average person, though this time, she can tell that he's noticing all of the signs she's still a child. The way her cheeks still have a bit of youthful plump to them. Her slightly awkward proportions because she isn't done growing yet.

And then he leans his head back against the wall again, declaring a decisive, "Fuck."

Yeah, we did, Ontari thinks wryly, thankful she didn't say that out loud. Instead, she takes a step back and pulls the hem of his shirt down. It falls past her mid-thigh, but she can't help feeling exposed.

"So, now will you stop with the tattoos?" she asks, knowing that she's poking a bear by bringing the subject up again, but also knowing she has to do it anyways.

"No," Kiran answers.

Ontari feels like punching him. Maybe the games had made her more violent, or maybe he's just an asshole.

"Please." She hates that she's practically begging him, but if she returns to Snow and he's still doing these rebel tattoos, it's going to be Hestia's head on a silver platter. She'll spend all night pestering him until he agrees if she has to. "This isn't coming from me, and you know that. I don't want to be asking you this, but if I don't, he'll—" Ontari cuts herself off. Opening up to him had been a mistake, and she isn't ready to do that again. She swallows thickly. "Let's just say people will get hurt. And obviously, if you're tattooing rebels, you must hate the Capitol. If you won't stop... couldn't you just... change the design?"

"Change the design?" Kiran repeats with raised brows. "It's not as easy as you'd think, السكر."

Ontari's brows furrow at the unfamiliar word. It sounds like sokar, but she doesn't get to ask what it means because he keeps talking.

"It has to mean something, but it can't just be a picture of Snow's decapitated head. You've got to make it discreet. Besides, how do I know you won't just go runnin' back to him and tell him what it is?"

"You think I'd sell you out to the man who's forcing me to do this?" she demands.

He shrugs. "Can't be too careful. Had a partner get scared and ditch me at the shop. I'm guessing he's the one who turned me in."

Ontari thinks for a long few moments. Her mind wanders through the Capitol, the system of the Games, or anything else that's useful, but everything she comes up with seems too obvious. But finally, an idea pops into her head.

"You know how Snow always has that white rose pinned to his suit?" she asks. "What if... it was like that, but cut? Or... maybe bleeding? But to everyone else it just looks like dripping ink?"

"A bleeding rose." Kiran's thumb runs over his chin. "Not bad. And roses themselves are common, so I could make them subtle enough." He looks down at her again. "You're clever. I like that. If I were in your position, I'd do exactly as you are— anything to keep R.L.H.C. safe, right?"

He's so observant it's almost unnerving. Ontari doesn't give anything away, merely pretending to dust her hands off. "I suppose you expect me to feel flattered that you don't hate me?"

"No, but I'd be flattered if you didn't hate me."

"That's still up in the air."

"Look, I said and did horrible things. Obviously you're not who I thought you were, and I was an arse. So... I'm sorry."

Ontari manages a grin. "You don't say those words a lot, do you?"

Kiran shrugs. "I don't talk to many people enough to say them."

From how reclusive he'd acted at the masquerade party, that's not surprising in the slightest. And even if she certainly doesn't like Kiran, she can admit that she doesn't despise him as much as she had a few minutes ago when boiling rage had consumed her whole.

It's obvious they'd both made some errors. But she could use a contact in the Capitol, and if she can someday call him a friend, she'll be happy to have one. It's getting harder to discern who she can call a real ally nowadays.

_______

a/n:

ontari: i'm 16
kiran:

i luv complex characters who you can't tell whether you love them or hate them❤️❤️❤️ i'm expecting some very mixed opinions about kiran, just like there were in the last chapter, and i'm excited to see your thoughts on him!! he's been added to the pinterest board with his own section and i'm having a blast with him.

thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

—kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

‎السكر: "sokar", sugar

( word count: 2.7k )