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aurainlife · 4 months

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pnrstatuslive · 1 year

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supplementsreviewss · 2 years

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drunkinchicago · 4 months

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coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2, link: chapter 3 link: chapter 4 link: chapter 5, link: chapter 6

Chapter 7: bloodstream

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Leith Ross

“Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy.”

John Locke, Second Treatise on Civil Government

There was a time in my life where, if there was a heaven, I would’ve set fire to it.

Hozier

Monday morning began before sunrise, steam rising off of the clawfoot bathtub in Coriolanus’ bathroom. He was making a habit of this - scalding coffee, hot bathwater, biting his food long before it cooled, because why should he have to wait? Nothing melts Snow, he told himself, always challenging his boundaries, trying to imagine what an enemy would do to him so he could do it first.

Tigris hadn’t come home yesterday. Coriolanus was trying not to think about it, about the fact that she was the only other Snow left and that their relationship was undeniably scarce. She acted differently toward him and he could imagine several reasons as to why. He wasn’t the same person he’d been a year ago, and he’d be the first to admit it. Coriolanus wanted to blame this on his involvement in the Games, but that would be cheap. If he’d had a different tribute, he would’ve let them die and impressed Dr. Gaul in some other way, providing her with the same rich insight she so highly values. He was not afraid of the Games nor was he was disturbed by their conception. In fact, he was grateful for them and the many opportunities of its existence, allowing him to gloat his intelligence through his ideas. He was a Victor. That thirst for winning and power hadn’t been born into him by his assigned role as a mentor - he had been born with those traits. No, it wasn’t the Games that changed him. It was Lucy Gray.

There had been times where he fantasized about a life without their meeting, but it was a futile thought. When he thought of her and the ways she fit into his world, there was nothing but divinity. She had been the driving force for every decision that had landed him where he now stood, wealthier and more intelligent, reigning over his peers with his apprenticeship and tailored suits. He liked to convince himself that he invented Lucy Gray, that she wasn’t her without him, but he knew reality to be a much harsher truth that he scarcely entertained - Coriolanus was nothing without her.

Coriolanus stared at his hands beneath the surface of the bathwater, noticing how his fingertips were beginning to prune. Anxieties about the coming week were starting to ebb and flow through his mind, flitting around the edges of Lucy Gray shaped thoughts. The emotional high of her arrival was beginning to give way to the complexities that would come out of her being in the Capitol, the pressure of Dr. Gaul’s threats blurring the edges of his vision. He hadn’t heard from Dr. Gaul over the weekend, and she hadn’t assigned him any writeups at their last meeting. It was unnerving and irregular. Then again, his last assignment had been both lengthy and meticulous - perhaps they were due to review that first. Besides, Coriolanus wasn’t scheduled to see Dr. Gaul today anyway. He had a full day of courses at the University and intended to come home directly after to finish a philosophy paper. Had it been last week, he might have considered staying late at school to write it, sandwiched between Clemensia and Festus Creed at a crowded darkwood table. He enjoyed the library, craving the familiar grassy but sweet scent of the rotting books that the University catalog boasted - “from before the Dark Ages,” his professors would say, holding a tattered copy with yellowing pages as though it were holy. Everything must have been holy before the War, unjudged and impartial and tolerant. Coriolanus wished he could remember it, and wondered who he would’ve become if he hadn’t been choking on the taste of vengeance since grade school. He tried to imagine a softer version of himself, his frame drawn in charcoal pencil rather than sharp ink, bending at the will of others rather than breaking them. Would Lucy Gray like him more that way?

Lucy Gray. She was sleeping then, he imagined, her blanket pulled up to her perfect chin - how many times he had cupped it, rubbing his rough thumb against the smoothness of her face. Once in the meadow outside the buzzing fences of Twelve, he’d moved his hand down to neck, made confident by the sweltering heat and seclusion. Lucy Gray had smiled against his lips as he’d done it, daring him to press harder, to go further. Back then, he was preoccupied with the act of being gentle and good, caught up in the preciousness of her. But she had wanted him to, and instead, he’d moved his hand to the small of her back. She pulled away, insisting on getting back to the Covey for supper. Coriolanus hadn’t been able to tell if she was disappointed with him and was too nervous to ask. It was only a few weeks later that Lucy Gray gifted him with betrayal, reawakening the aggression he’d been swallowing every time they kissed. Since that’s how you like it, I can be harsher now, Coriolanus thought. I can hurt you in all the ways that feel good to you.

Coriolanus hesitated to grab his bath sheet as he stood, staring at himself in the mirror. He’d maintained the muscles that his Peacekeeper training had given him, stronger and leaner than any male in his year at the University. Insecurity turned on and off like the flicker of a dying bulb as he turned to the left side, the burn wounds that had become permanent scars on his back coming into view. He’d doused himself in ointments, oils, whatever he could find at the apothecary and pharmacy alike - nothing worked. They remained, a reminder of what would’ve killed him had Lucy Gray not been there to save him. Always a reminder.

Clothes, coffee, shoes, breakfast, messenger bag, call driver. His routine was just that - routine, monotonous. Today, he added a step and wrote out a menu of suggestions for Lucy Gray’s morning and afternoon meals. Breakfast: orange juice, quiche lorraine, sliced bananas, coffee with cinnamon, whatever else she wants. Lunch: gorgonzola salad with grilled chicken (perhaps add candied walnuts? Ensure she’s not allergic first). Before leaving, Coriolanus reread the note he’d left and underlined ‘not allergic’.

In the elevator, Coriolanus decided to cancel his call for the driver, opting to walk instead. This was what he once did, what he’d done for many years, back when his apartment smelled of cabbage and rat poison. It used to feel humiliating ducking through back alleys and scuffing his shoes, his only pair that was already a size too small. Now it was simply motivating, the perspiration soaking his shirt serving as a reminder of what he had been through and what he had risen above, pushing him onward as sweat danced between his shoulder blades.

Livia approached him during their lunch hour, an unpleasant interruption to Coriolanus’ green apple slices and Dostoevsky readings. He was sitting outside on a concrete bench that had been engraved with Panem’s emblem, the dips and ridges of the carved symbol digging into his back.

“Hi.” Livia was attractive enough to reductively be average - blonde, thin, attainable. She spoke in a gloating tone, contrived confidence brushed on like her eyeliner, which was thicker on her right eye.

“Hello,” Coriolanus replied, reluctantly shutting his book and bringing his hand over his eyes to shield the sun. The action sharpened Livia’s face before him, but made it no better. She still looked painfully regular, the daughter of a wealthy family who was convinced she was worth just as much as their revenue. She wasn’t.

“Why don’t you come out on the weekends with us?” Livia cocked her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder.

Coriolanus didn’t have to ask who us was to know - Clemensia, Livia, Festus, Hilarius Heavensbee, Vipsania Sickle, whoever else he was forgetting. After the Games, the majority of the Mentors had remained close, gaining entry to the University and studying together in the same small groups they’d grown accustomed to at the Academy. Now that they were over the age of eighteen, Coriolanus’ classmates spent their weekends at nightclubs and other alcohol-affiliated outings in the Capitol, scandalously recounting the dramatics of such excursions throughout the school week. Coriolanus was noticeably absent and had no desire to attend. There wasn’t anyone for him at those events, no appeal in going. He planned to begin making appearances at the clubs only if Lucy Gray was booked for shows, anticipating the sight of her on stage again, making the knees of the crowd weak, his heart drumming against his chest knowing she was his. They could look, but they couldn’t touch.

“I’ve been tied up, I guess.”

Jarringly, Livia reached out to touch Coriolanus’ left wrist, examining it. “Funny, I don’t see any scars. No rope burn? Were you using cuffs?”

How desperate. He bet she thought he liked to fuck rough. Maybe he did. What would it matter to her? Coriolanus jerked his arm back sharply, embarrassed on her behalf. He wasn’t even sure how to respond.

Livia’s cheeks flushed as she observed Coriolanus’ disinterest. “I like you,” she hissed. “And you’d be stupid not to do something with that.”

Coriolanus blinked in return, not at all surprised by her shrill response. That’s who she was - loud, expectant, sneering, assuming that her opinion was remotely valued. It was true that any other boy would probably want her, but many had had her already, exchanging stories at lunch tables. Girls were jealous of her, comparing themselves to her designer clothing and routinely bleached roots. Coriolanus saw through this face. The traits that Livia thought she held - mysterious, trendsetting, likable - were characteristics that Lucy Gray possessed tenfold. And Lucy Gray wasn’t the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol. She was a girl from the Districts, if even that, natural and one-of-a-kind, created with an allure that couldn’t be replicated. That’s the kind of girl Coriolanus Snow wanted and deserved. It was entertaining to watch Livia be denied something she wanted - he imagined it must be a first.

“I’m not stupid,” Coriolanus said flatly before tossing an apple slice into his mouth.

Livia was already walking away, her skirt tight and unflattering, adding to the growing list of evidence that money can’t buy everything. “Come out this weekend, and we’ll see.”

When Coriolanus got into his driver’s car shortly after five, Strabo Plinth was in the backseat. It was a surprise, and a moderately unwelcome one at that. It had been a tense day riddled with assignments and he’d been unable to articulate himself when called on in his rhetoric course. Coriolanus felt off and wanted to get home, frustrated at the lack of instruction that came with obtaining your greatest desire. The combination of euphoria and lack of clarity that had come with Lucy Gray’s arrival was disconcerting. She would have to perform at shows, but when? He wanted to feel close with her again, but when? When would they share a room, when would she trust him the way she used to? They had so much to talk about in aims to understand what they'd done in each other’s absence. Was this eating her up the way it was him? The days were growing shorter as winter approached, the sun already beginning to set. It would be dark by the time he got home from school.

“Hello, Coriolanus,” Strabo said, adjusting his pinstripe tie. Coriolanus had never seen him in anything but a full suit.

“What’s this about?” Coriolanus wanted to cut to the chase, unable to play coy today. Strabo was unaffected by Coriolanus’ sharp comments, which made him all the more comfortable to make them.

The Avox driving the vehicle began to lumber forward as soon as Coriolanus slammed his door, the gravel of the cobble roads loud under the tires. For a moment Coriolanus worried this would be about Livia’s comment, already sick of the Cardews and their interest in him. He detested the notion of Strabo bartering him off like a show pony. He wasn’t something to choose, he was the one who made the choices. But that wasn’t what this was about at all.

“How’s your mail-order bride?” Strabo smirked, nudging Coriolanus with his shoulder as if they were brutish Capitol men gossiping about their boring wives, a role Strabo likely accomplished and one that Coriolanus hoped never to.

Mail order bride. The only word that stuck with Coriolanus was bride, an image of Lucy Gray in white grabbing him by the neck. “Lucy Gray is adjusting,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the hand sewn leather seat in front of him.

“She must be happy to be here, though. Must be easy enough to impress a little thing from Twelve.”

Coriolanus scoffed. “You are aware that she left me, aren’t you? I forced her here, so no, she doesn’t seem entirely happy at the moment.”

“People are fickle creatures when weighed down by the pressures of what they’ve been taught to believe. Patriotism is as rampant in Twelve as the dust of coal, scarring the faces of those worn out people. A very problematic place, really.”

“She’s not from District Twelve, she’s of the Covey.”

“All the same out there, isn’t it? Bleeding together like ink - all the same.”

If it’s all the same, what are you? Coriolanus wanted to say, irony being the richest aspect of Strabo’s perspective. District Two and District Twelve, don’t they bleed just alike too? “I’ve asked you this before, but I’ll say it again. Is this wrong to you? Are you upset with this?”

Strabo thought it over, his index finger tapping his right knee methodologically, following the same pace. “I’d simply like to be informed of your life and the decisions you have taken upon yourself to make, as is my right. Don’t you agree?”

Coriolanus could feel his blood pulsing, throbbing like something swollen and agitated. For a split second, a feeling regrettable and grim washed over him. Was this how Lucy Gray felt, indebted to a person, choiceless? He’d have to discuss this with her. He didn’t like to hunt deer that were strung up and immobilized anyway. He wanted them running, but only for fun, giving him a chase because they liked the feeling too, secretly hoping that he would shoot them down and mount their stag’s head on his wall for people to see and admire. Mutually assured destruction - it could feel so nice.

“I’m not going to marry Livia Cardew.” It was all he managed to say, ‘as is my right’ running through his head on a loop.

“Coriolanus.”

“Strabo,” he acknowledged, turning his head to meet the older man’s eyes and challenge Strabo to whatever he was planning to say next.

“I am looking out for you. I know that you assume that you know what’s best, but you are young and naive. I have been in this game longer than you have been alive. You cannot and will not become President if you take a District girl for a wife.”

“Lucy Gray has been here for two days. Let me have what I want at eighteen years old before you color my world with this speak of marriage and candidacy,” Coriolanus could hardly speak through the severity of his gritted teeth.

“I can see why Sejanus and you were such great friends.” Strabo’s voice was void of emotion, the rest of the world seeming to go quiet.

Coriolanus’ heart seized at the sound of his name - Sejanus. Sejanus.

“Why?” He sounded small, sweat beading on his palms.

“You remind me of him sometimes, so impassioned by what you think is right, so sure you know best. It’s the power of youth, I suppose. Perhaps I’ve just forgotten.”

They spent the rest of the car ride to the apartments entirely silent. Coriolanus felt as though he could read Strabo’s mind, envisioning the bittersweet recollections of a lost son. However, he was certain Strabo couldn’t read his. If Strabo could see what Coriolanus was thinking, all that he was remembering of the responsibility for Sejanus’ death, Coriolanus was certain his blood would run through the streets, thick and guilty, drying to amalgamate with dirt and waste.

Coriolanus worried that he had broken the front door with the force in which he slammed it. One of the maids, who was preoccupied with dusting the picture frames lining the main hall, jumped at the sound. “Where is she?” He demanded. The Avox pointed toward the ceiling, signaling with veracity.

“She’s in the garden?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but yell, furious. He thought of the rotting barrier surrounding the rooftop, imagining her stepping too close to the edge. He envisioned her running her fingers along the rose patches, her skin catching on the unbridled thorns. The maid continued to cower as Coriolanus stormed past her, running up the corridor to the grounds.

Lucy Gray was startled by his arrival, still in her nightgown, her silhouette accentuated by the waning moon. She was already close to the edge, her eyes wide and wild. Coriolanus threw his hands up, hoping to calm her, so as not to scare her.

For a moment neither of them said anything. The air was heavy with the smell of looming rain, fraternizing with the hue of roses. Coriolanus was certain it would storm tomorrow, but not tonight. Tonight was clear. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, warm, a tone so alien to that he’d been using the rest of the day. He hardly recognized it himself.

Lucy Gray nodded, crossing her arms over her chest timidly. “Are you?”

Coriolanus shook his head as he approached her, desperate to pull her away from the precipice of the roof. “No, but that’s not relevant. Why are you up here?”

Lucy Gray didn’t move from him as he neared. “I wanted to be outside. Am I not allowed?”

Coriolanus was desperate to touch her. It was striking, then, staring at her before him, how rarely he felt the warmth of another human being. Over the last several months, he’d assumed that remembrance was enough. He could recall how she felt like it was inherent to his existence, embedded so deeply that it was just as cursory to his being as his eye or hair color. Looking at her now, he couldn’t remember it as well. The potential for new memories was too heavy, washing away what was to make room for what could be.

Once close enough, he brought his hands to Lucy Gray’s shoulders and gently moved her to face away from him, hugging the back of her. The Capitol sprawled out around them, figures moving through high rises like ghosts, flashing from window to window as they moved about. The hum of cars and electricity lines buzzed like white noise, soothing the aggressions that had been plaguing Coriolanus almost as much as the feel of Lucy Gray’s body. She didn’t protest against him, dropping her shoulders and leaning back, letting his arms wrap around the front of her and his chin rest on the top of her head. The moment was stripped down, absent of the past and current ailments, even if only for a moment.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Coriolanus whispered, afraid to disturb the delicacy of the present.

“What would hurt me up here?” Lucy Gray’s voice was equally faint, her words lingering on ‘up here’. Coriolanus wondered if she was implying that the true danger was downstairs.

“The balcony rails are decaying.” Coriolanus lifted his hand to direct her chin to the left side of the roof, showing her a gaping hole in the banister. “I don’t want you to fall.”

Lucy Gray did not respond, cheeks warm at the familiarity of his hand on her face. She was suddenly glad for their positioning and his inability to see her expression. The tenderness of his touch felt foreign, distinctly Coriolanus yet so jarringly altered from the hostile person she’d known him to be. She never quite knew what to make of him and was afraid to commit to one opinion over the other. Ultimately, it felt easier to demonize him and push him away than the alternative, which felt synonymous to betrayal, a fear greater than death, that she could love him and he could destroy her because of it.

“You can let me in,” Coriolanus whispered in her ear, close enough that his bottom lip grazed her earlobe. “You can talk to me.”

She remained silent, too afraid to say the wrong thing, more afraid to say the right thing. Instead, she simply leaned back even further, wishing to crawl inside him and make judgments on the way his heart beat and the thoughts etched across his brain. Would she understand him then? Would she understand this?

They stayed this way for a while, Coriolanus’ heart beating against her back, slowing the longer they touched. The Capitol looked beautiful, lights stretching out for miles. If Lucy Gray looked hard enough, she could almost imagine her younger self on the precipice of the world, picking flowers in Twelve. Untouched and unharmed, unaware of the darkness inside her. Innocent and rare.

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