~you made me out of love /jasper+lethe

[Rosetta]

[presto]

[/presto]

LETHE TURNER

Lethe stole away into the bathroom the first chance she got.

The wedding festivities had drawn to a close around one in the morning with a finale of fireworks shooting off over the glass roof and a great deal of congratulations directed towards the bride and groom. Lethe had only time to kiss Eden good-night before her mother whisked her off and the grand wedding party escorted them loudly into a private vehicle and back to the hotel. All the while, Lethe thanked her admirers and buried her face in the flowers that had been thrust into her hand. They weren't alone in their car ride, instead surrounded by Capitol escorts, nor were they even allowed one another's company up the elevator to their room. An Avox arrived ready to take Lethe's shoes from her sore feet and relieve her of the flowers. Finally, they were led to the bridal suite, where two boxes sat on a rose petal littered bed, and the door closed and it was just them. Jasper and Lethe. Mr. and Mrs.

And that's when Lethe, yanking the box with her name off the bed, closed herself into the bathroom. How fitting, she realized as she set on the edge of the bathtub, cradling the box in her lap. The part of the night she feared the most and here she was, where it all began, I a bathroom. In retrospect, had she not found her way into a bathroom, to a bathtub, she wouldn't even have been married to Jasper. Her mother needn't have pushed so hard for a marriage had she not popped Eden out nine months after that fateful night in the bathtub.

Her hands trembled over the top of the box in her hands. There had been one labeled for Jasper and her mother's signature was in the corner of both. Lethe didn't have to reach far to guess what it was. A white nightgown. Lethe raised it slowly from the box, the tissue paper crinkling as it slid off the silk. No doubt Jasper's box contained some new pajamas. There was a sheer shawl wrapped in some more tissue paper and also--Lethe's cheeks burned as she produced it--a box of prophylactics. She could almost hear her mother's words ringing in her ears, "If only you had these a few years ago." Of course, Lethe was a married woman now, but perhaps her mother feared Lethe becoming pregnant on her wedding night and rumors circulating that the marriage was a rushed cover-up for an earlier conception.

For a long time, she sat at the edge of the tub, staring at the box in her hands, holding it gingerly as if she was afraid of being burned. Outside the bathroom, she could hear some shuffling around. Perhaps Jasper were changing and Lethe, still clad in her wedding dress, suddenly felt self-conscious. She couldn't remerge still in her wedding dress. That would be rude and there was a different intimate feeling surrounding getting undressed to change in another thing, something more sexy, than simply getting undressed. At least, once Lethe undressed tonight, she'd be able to sink under blankets and stay there. Changing from her wedding dress and into the pajamas before him would reveal her vulnerability. He'd be able to see every crack in her skin, see her hands hastily pull the nightgown over her head.

She changed in the bathroom, unzipping the wedding dress by herself and letting her elegant hair down. It was a surprise to her that she had to do all this on her own and not with the help of Mel or even an Avox. Perhaps this was a sort of test. On Lethe's wedding night, she was alone, on her own. Could she do this all by herself? Sleep beside a man she was determined to turn away from? And yet, his was inescapable. His wedding vows seemed to have been stamped upon the side of her skull. She felt her lips moving in time with them. Her ring burned with his touch and yet, she let him hold her hand, let him kiss her, dance with her, press cake to her tongue. He didn’t singe her—the wedding did. She could hear his whispers, “I want to spend my life with you” and he echoed “with you…with you…with you…”

The silk nightgown was soft against her skin and she shivered and pulled the shawl around her shoulders. Her feet were bare and she could see that there a tiny chip on the pink nail polish on her big toe. Her mother would have a fit if she saw it: “You can’t go to your wedding bed with chipped nail polish!”

And then despite herself, Lethe snorted with laughter, just imagining her mother now, sitting up in her bed, biting her own manicured nails, wondering, wondering if her daughter was following a silly old wedding tradition, coming out like a gift clad in white, before diving between the sheets. Beside her, her husband snored on, worn out from the party. How silly her mother was surely being, dancing about her room. When will she get another grand child? Perhaps a boy! Twins! That red-haired Victor had had twins; was it genetic in Victors? Lethe imagined her siblings getting drunk at the bar downstairs (probably with a few Victors) and little Eden, sucking her thumb, maybe having fallen asleep beside her new best friend Daisy. Only Mrs. Turner, the anxious one.

Maybe this was for the best because Mrs. Turner could boss around a single mother, but a married one? Never! Yet as soon as that thought passed through Lethe’s mind, she exhaled it with another snort of laughter. Her? Tell her mother off? Surely not. Her mother would be bossing her around from her deathbed and Lethe, she knew, would happily comply.

Well, Lethe thought to herself, I’ve solved the problem to my mother; there is no solution. Now, that boy, that man, my husband, just beyond the wall…Lethe quietly laid her ear against the bathroom wall, but heard nothing on the other side. Perhaps he was listening for her as well, trying to feel his way into her, trying to understand her. He wrote such beautiful poems, charmed her mother, her family and yet the girl he just married would kiss him for a night and then disappear into her room, pulling the blinds down tight. There was silence and Lethe felt her stomach lurch and teeter slightly. Was this going to be her marriage? Listen at doors, a wall always between them, ears pressed to the cold paint—she jerked away, chest suddenly heaving.

She could hear their voices, those she’d shoved six feet under, sense their fingers on her skin, pressing into her eyelids. Saskia and Razor, she prayed to them, help me break the silence that you cannot.

Her hand quivered over the doorknob, the cool metal tickling her palm. She could stay in here all night, but the silence, she knew, would drive her mad. She opened the door with a creak, louder, like a gunshot, “Jasper?”

He was lying across the sheets in his own silk pajamas and upon seeing him waiting there, Lethe, closing the door being her, swallowed hard and leaned against it, arms limp at her side. Her insides were fluttering. His head was resting on his arm and the crook of his elbow made a right angle. A part of her wanted to kiss it, that tiny crook of his elbow, but another part of her kept her anchored to her spot, head rushing from his elbow to his lips to her mother, pacing, pacing about her room. The elbow. And suddenly, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it, his stupid little elbow, that tiny part of him, that right angle, as she sighed out quietly, “We need to talk.”
*Thank you again to Zoe for this beautiful template!

[Wonder]

He touches the walls as he walks graciously around hallways - they're soaked in morbidity. There's a cruel sense of, irony, almost that he should escape the games and not but three years later he lands up in the Capitol. What used to be a death sentence was now meant to be a celebration, and it was, that wasn't a question at all. The question stood. How does one manage to walk through a place with narrow walls, minimalist furniture, calming colour schemes and not think of all the children who cried mercilessly in the beds surrounding them about their almost inevitable deaths? Lethe herself had once slept, or stayed up restless waiting.

But she wasn't dead. Neither was Jasper. Her soft blonde curls bouncing in front of him, this was their night to indulge in whatever they so wished, this was their wedding night. Not his, not hers, but theirs. The thought sent a small chill down his spine, hundreds of world's created just on his smile - there are glimmers of hope in her emerald eyes and he walks poetically behind her as she leads the way, flustered and ultimately unwilling. It was no surprise to him really, he knew from the beginning that even if he tried to woo Lethe with every bit of his soul there was a thick steel wall guarding her emotions, her conscious. The only development Jasper had ever really gotten was that it wasn't entirely the games that built this wall, it was Eric who tied the screws and locked the doors.

There was only so much Jasper could do without imposing. As much as he loved her, it was never his business to break her down and leave her just as battered as she's been. Hasn't she suffered enough? If anything, Jasper was just a symbol now. A way to pass off the Lethe was no longer single, not a single mother, Mrs Turner couldn't say anything because as far as she was are Jasper and Lethe were happily together without any complications. If Lethe needed a scapegoat, he was glad to be it. At the end of the day, he could write years of scripture on her smiles, he would raise Eden as if she were his own, and he would share what little he had in comparison just to keep up whatever façade.

A literal steel door kept them apart. Jasper couldn't help to touch the delicate bathroom door, imagining the faded princess sunken to the floor, but was it his business to barge in? No. One could only be so greedy on a night of celebration.

This was her time to recoup, relax. A quick pause in the mirror allowed a smirk to cross his face, there was no time to be down about this at all - plus, he had makeup all over his face. Part of him yearned to be in the washroom to comfort Lethe, and the other part yearned so he could wash his face off. He rested with the knowledge that him looking silly probably would help Lethe relax just a little more. Upon the bed lay a small wooden box, his name engraved with calligraphy, 'Jasper.' Inside a set of pajamas for the evening, silk plaid bottoms and a simple white t-shirt. At the bottom a small box of condoms with a smiley face etched on to the edge of the box, a clear message for the kids to, "Have fun!" but every bit of Jasper somehow doubted that. Nonetheless it didn't keep his face from reaching a deep shade of red and brushing quickly over his shoulder to make sure that Lethe hadn't seen what was there - that wouldn't undoubtedly start a conversation that he didn't want to have just yet.

After changing into the silken nightwear, he took the time to dig through the drawers to find his personal things. It seemed as though an Avox had entered at some point to arrange their items, but it really didn't help in terms of organization. It seemed as though he took a full five minutes before he found his thick-rimmed reading glasses, and another ten before he found his small folder of dirt-stained envelopes. Each envelope was inscribed with a different greeting, and each with a different problem - this was work for him. It seemed a little dumb to do work on his wedding night, but he didn't want to impose on Lethe and her alone time and frankly, he didn't really know how long she would take, it could be hours before she decided that she wanted to actually see him, which he'd come to expect.

Work was a good getaway, a way to help the people of his district without getting directly involved within their lives. Jasper was sure that had anyone else but Lethe found out that he was the one helping people out, their reaction would be pretty poor. The mayor's nephew writing letters to help the lower class - pfft, sure, who did that help in the end? Despite the serious economical issues within District Five, there were still clear distinct social classes. It broke Jasper's heart that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't rightfully know what anyone was feeling in terms of starvation, loss of home, loss of family members - but he could try. That's what he was always there for, to try. Try and help. That was always the ultimate goal, wherever there was someone that needed something, he tried.

"Dear guy who helps," he read. He could only get through four words at a time without glancing up to check the bathroom door. Every part of his body was drawn towards the frame, such a clear distinct barrier between him and her - the bridge and groom, on their wedding night. Every thing he'd worked towards, flowers, buttons, making sure that there was no complications with her family so he could be the excuse. But maybe that's all he'd ever be, the excuse. The "Dear guy who helps." There was a third person in the room, there was Jasper, Lethe, and the ghost of their relationship, dripping sweat, panting heavy. The ghost, pushing Jasper to get up, to go in there and say hello. He brushes the letters off the bed, tidily sweeping them onto the night-table beside him and stares, waits and looks at the door for the moment she opens the crease and whispers, "Jasper?"

And in that moment he loves her. The white silk towering off her body as if floating through the air, she's the goddess Athena, deadly but gorgeous, trifling over any enemy that's in her way. And her hair falls, tumbling down an volcano exploding and the lava twisting and turning beautiful but ever so dangerous - and she stands there, emerald eyes and all, and he sits there, with his hand holding up his head - and he wonders, is love just always a staring game? "We need to talk." And suddenly it's a further game, it's a game of - what did I do wrong, why can't she love me? And the answers are a list so long that he'll never be able to finish - the list is so long that he realizes once again that he's just an excuse to her.

And he whispers, "I think we do too." And he sighs, patting the space beside him on the bed, hopefully welcoming her into his territory.

Love was definitely just a staring game, he realized while looking in her emerald eyes.

[Rosetta]

[presto]

[/presto]

LETHE TURNER

There was the slightest bit of dirt under Lethe’s fingers. She could see it through her smooth, white tips. She imagined it must’ve come from the flowers, the tiniest fragments of dirt, swept up as she dug her fingernails into their stems.

She focused on picking it out as she took a seat next to Jasper on the bed. Her heart was racing, alerted to the innocent act of sitting beside her husband on their marriage bed. There was tension hidden in the air between them, some kind of toxic gas that took their breaths away. She could feel his eyes all over her, like hands, sweeping over her skin, looking for a way in. He’ll never get in, she thought bitterly, and, dirt dislodged, she raised her eyes to meet his.

“It’s funny, not having my mother here?”

She meant it as a statement, a way to break the ice, but it came out as a question. She was searching him, testing his response to the lack of chaperone. Prior to their marriage, Lethe’s mother had insisted upon it. Her reasoning was that it was only proper, but Lethe knew better. Her mother wanted to control every aspect of their relationship, wanted to ensure it went smoothly, to ensure her daughter didn’t have another unfortunate slip-up in a bathtub.

Jasper and Lethe were seldom alone except for a single night on the train ride to the Capitol where they exchanged less words and more kisses. Now, all they had were each other, filling up the space, too large for Lethe to wrap her head around and all the while as she asked her question, “it’s funny, not having my mother here?” she knew she was really asking “how do we do this alone?”

Drawing her legs up onto the bed and under her, she spied the longing in Jasper’s eyes. She could taste it in the air like salty sweat. In the time she’d returned from the Games, scarred, skinny, hair falling out of her head, she’d filled out. Her belly, now flat again was smooth and white, the stretch marks removed by Capital technology. Her hair had grown back, her eyes (or rather one eye) had brightened. Lethe could tell that no longer the impish little girl who had outlived twenty three others but rather a woman who could at least call herself pretty and she knew now that if she stretched back just so, against the pillows, her silk nightgown settling against her skin and stretched her legs out behind Jasper’s sitting figure, she could increase that longing. And to her own surprise, she did. She stretched her legs out and drifted back against the pillows, still sitting, but lower now, staring up at him, hands folded just under her breasts.

“You know, you’re a stepfather now.”

So, we are not truly alone. Jasper had not only gained a wife, but a daughter today and a flicker of pity welled up inside Lethe. She narrowed her eyes at him. Who is this man, so willingly thrown to the lions? Thrown into a pit with a damaged Victor and a little girl who will never know her true father? Is this what he wanted? Wealth, an honored spot alongside a Victor…and yet, when the lights went out and he came to bed, he visited her demons, he heard the cry of a girl not born of his loins.

Suddenly, Lethe found herself thrown onto a park bench, lurching away from him, her own letter tight in her hand. How dare he think he could help! How dare he think he could care! Was he acting, boy who brought her buttons instead of flowers on their first date? She sifted through them later, pulling out each one, as each one was different and beautiful, a product of a long time spent, so she hid them under her bed. She found herself at dinner tables, walking through the streets, pursued by this one boy who managed to get her to listen, who stopped her outside her daughter’s bedroom door, listening to his smooth voice recount fairytales Lethe had heard when she was a child, about princes who showed up on doorsteps to save the princess from the demons hammering inside her own head.

She was on a dance floor, pulled close, thinking of Eric, but he was fading. Eric’s nose began to lose its shape. In fact, she could hardly even remember it at all. He was seeping into her, breathing the air into her lungs, rich enough to say “yes”when a glittering ring was presented before her. She could’ve dragged her feet down the aisle, but she walked, propelled by some force she’d been running from this whole time, refusing to accept that that longing, misperceived as lust, in Jasper’s eyes turned was really something else and her lips parted a little bit, heart still hammering against her chest.

The realization was settling into her skin and though she tensed up against it, it was like a poison. Her toes curled up and she blurted out, “How can you love her? Hasn’t she been forced upon you? How do you do it?”

And all the while, as Lethe’s blood pounded in her ears, she knew she wasn’t really asking about Eden.


*Thank you again to Zoe for this beautiful template!