Saturday, 26 January 2013

Saturday, January 26, 2013 -


by Jon Thorn
Published: Jan 26, 2013
Words: 19,395
Category: general
Orientation: F/F
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It is ten days since the end of Whipping Girl. Poor Felicia has found it harder than me. She was so angry, so betrayed. She thought we would be going home to District Twelve but Miss Goldthorpe had other ideas. She kept her promise that we would be back together but neither Flis nor I imagined that we would still be here in the Capitol. Miss Goldthorpe's house is large and impressive. It occupies a location on a hillside looking over the city and the rooms are split over a number of levels. It's a beautiful house in a lovely spot but that has been little comfort to Flis. For the first few nights she came to my bed and I held her in my arms and stroked her hair, lulling her to sleep. She is sleeping in her own room now but still looks pale and distressed. The thought of being next year's Whipping Girl is preying on her mind despite it being a year away. She knows that running away would be utterly futile - where would we run to? So, like me, she has to get used to living here, in the house of our enemy. It is not uncomfortable; in fact we have every luxury including a gym and a swimming pool, but of course it isn't home.

Miss Goldthorpe hasn't touched either of us since the end of the show. She doesn't want to break us entirely - we would be no use and no fun. I am glad for Flis' sake but there is a growing need in me, a hunger that I can't ignore, I crave the pain and the excitement it brings.

It is bedtime and I have changed into the man's shirt that I always wear for bed. I am naked underneath. I turn out the light and lie there, my eyes closed. I try to relax but I cannot. I try to sleep but sleep does not come. When I close my eyes I am back in the arena, back being punished. The memories arouse me but they are not enough, they only emphasise my hunger. At last I can stand it no more. I hate myself for doing this but I can't stop myself. I open my bedroom door and pad down the thickly carpeted corridor and up into the heart of the house.

Miss Goldthorpe's study is on the top floor. It has huge windows that open out onto a balcony and give a perfect view of the city below. I knock on the door.

"Enter," she calls.

I fill a little frisson of mingled fear and excitement as I push open the door.

I am suddenly taken aback. She is not, as I had assumed, alone. Sitting across from her is Katarine - Katarine Hollister, the joint winner of Whipping Girl. I stare at her, my eyes wide. What is she doing here?

"Anastasia," Miss Goldthorpe says smoothly, "What can I do for you?"