‹ Prequel: Suffocate
Status: Giving this re-write a go
Inhale
Try
I don't remember what must have been a very rushed walk to the dining hall. When things finally make sense and the earthquake stops I'm sat on a hard metal chair. I lift my head, but it's forced back down towards my knees, “Keep it there so you don't faint, brainless.” The voice isn't sympathetic, but what should I expect? I stay in that position, counting breaths. Coated in a cold sweat, it's effort to unclench my fists, each finger aches and there are deep curves in my palms.
After a minute or so Johanna sits down next to me, her chair dragging loudly against the marble. “You alright?” I nod, although the simple movement makes the room spin again.
“Clearly not,” She drawls, “You want me to get Finnick?”
“No.” I force myself upright. My upper arms hurt too and I raise my left, there are four perfectly shaped red marks; Johanna's fingers. “Okay.” She slaps her hands against her thighs, “Trying to be nice and everything.”
“Yes.” I'm speaking through gritted teeth now, “I can see that. Thank you Johanna.” She stands, kicking her chair back into its correct position and paces. My face doesn't feel wet, I'm sure I haven't been crying but that doesn't mean it wasn't obvious. Let alone the fact Johanna has clearly root marched me in here. There goes my grand plan of not looking like a complete weakling.
I sigh, and she mimics it. “You know when he said you have these little,” she gestures at me, “moments. I wasn't quite sure what he meant.” It's clear who she's speaking about, and the betrayal stabs. Finnick has been speaking about me with Johanna, more than that, he'd told Johanna just how pitiful I am. She looks at me, and snorts, “He was telling me I should be nice to you. Which is actually kinda funny when you consider how you spoke to me yesterday.” She pouts, pulling a face, “You clearly haven't told him though. I would have thought...”
“You can go.” I bite between wheezes, humiliated, “Don’t feel like you have to babysit me.”
“Babysitting you?” She laughed harshly, “I’m making sure you don’t kill yourself, it’s very different.” I go to retort, but she leaves me no chance, “We may not be best friends by a long shot, but I actually kind of like Finnick. And if he gets himself killed over you I will not be happy.” She moves closer with each word until her bared teeth are too close to me for comfort. “So get yourself together.”
“This conversation you and Finnick had. Was it last night?” She realises I'm not supposed to know, tries to backtrack but the loud chime signalling lunchtime rings and the various carts ladled with food are placed around the room. Well, at least I know the reason behind Finnick's lie. I push myself to my feet, still a little wobbly. I wish I had a mirror, some way to determine just how much of a mess I will look like to the others.
Johanna leaves me, goes straight for the cart holding meat. I fiddle with my hair, wipe over my face and hope. People start to flood in, well, there's not enough people for a flood but everyone comes in pretty quickly. No-one disagrees with food.
Chaff is loudest, and starts dragging the smaller tables together. I stand still, I don't really want to eat, although I know I should. I'm trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Enobaria nudges against me on her way in, shooting one of those dangerous smiles. She saw. I swallow hard but scold myself internally until my legs move and I go to start piling up pasta on my plate, the most bland food I can see. I waste more time, and walk over to place some grapes in the corner when I bump my arm on someone and apologise.
“Oh, sorry, excuse me.” It's Peeta, his cheeks still flushed red. I wait in place, pretending to debate over more fruit. I should say something now I have a chance, it was what we had planned. “What's the difference between a tangerine and nectarine?” Peeta muses, I'm not sure he's speaking to me but I tell him I have no idea.
He smiles at me, “Elenia right?”
I nod, “Peeta.”
“District Four right, won the seventieth games.” He sounds like he's reciting something.
“You did your research.” I stop my voice sounding hard. “Clever.”
“I try.” There's a line forming and I let myself get shuffled to the next stand, although I don't pick anything up. Katniss is here, and Peeta passes her one of the tangerines. She thanks him in a sweet voice that doesn't suit her. I don't introduce myself and she doesn't either. Peeta didn't say any more, neither do I, although I knew I should be charming, should scour my mind for something clever or witty.
“I'm going to go sit down.” He nods, smiles again, “I'll erm, see you later.”
“See you at the table.” He says cheerfully, trying to pull me into the joke. I choke up a laugh, not missing how he kicks Katniss' foot before she too offers me a goodbye.
Finnick has saved me a chair and I take it, he barely even glances at me as he helps me to tuck myself in, in conversation with Johanna. I'm not surprised now I know that's something they like to do. I can't decipher the look she sends me and I start to play with the food on my plate. Paying about as much attention to that as I do the hand that finds its way close to my knee. Even so, and as mixed as my emotions are I clasp it tight when he goes to move it away. His hand is warm, smooth after the full body polish his prep team would have done before the opening ceremony. I prefer them rougher, worked a little more.
I prefer it when Finnick doesn't go behind my back. It's an easy, angry thought that rises up but I bite my lip hard and go back to spinning the fork in my free hand.
The conversations are loud, especially Chaff who is making fun of himself in his usual way. Finnick uses the noise as cover, his lips close to my ear. “What's wrong?” I glare at him as an answer. He grins, and it loosens the ball in my chest somewhat. “Look at them both,” he directs my eye line to the victors from District 6. Rea and, I can't remember his name. They're both well known morphling addicts, it must be easy to come by in Six and much less monitored. Only hospitals and healers are allow to supply you with it at home. Two days in and they're starting to go into withdrawal, that much is clear. Rea is practically yellow, and her hand is shaking as she tries to pick up peas with her spoon. I feel sorry for them both. Finnick doesn't seem to and makes some noise of indignation.
“Don't be nasty.” I say, not speaking lowly enough, “It's not their fault.”
“Then whose is it?” Now I make a noise, freeing my hand from his and gesturing around the room, almost knocking Berg from Ten in the shoulder. He just pouts and pops one of my grapes in his mouth, I don't need to question his change of demeanour. I raised my voice too much and we have an audience. This time my toes receive the brunt of my agitation, I press them hard into the chair legs and stop pretending to eat, pushing the plate away and sitting mute. Finnick tries to rest his hand on my leg again but I cross them spitefully.
There are a few more loud jokes, and one in particular, spat by Brutus no less, starts to set me off. I put my hands under the table because they are trembling and my heart is racing, so fast I'm surprised no-one else can hear it. I should be able to manage this bit, it's just food, it's a meal – the least threatening part of the day. If I don't leave the room I am going to start gasping for breath.
That's a fact, I cling to it. I could just walk out, no-one would question it, assume I'm going to the bathroom, they could assume whatever. I don't trust myself to speak so I do just that. I stand, wincing at the loud scrape of the chair and walking out, again not looking at people. The door swings shut, but it's opposite the game makers balcony and I'm not doing this in front of them.
I search desperately for the most secluded training station and head there straight away. It's the shelter one, thick pine trees will block me. A couple of the trainers are floating about, we're not really supposed to be out here during the lunch break but they don't say anything and I don't stop until I'm perched on a log somewhat concealed by branches.
I start hyperventilating almost instantaneously, and my hands are again fists on my thighs. I'm getting upset at my poor reaction which is making me panic, which in turn is making it harder to breathe. And the harder it is to breathe the most pathetic I feel, and so the angrier at myself I am. It's not a nice cycle, and I've done it plenty of times. Normally a short bout will only last a couple of minutes, and my body, clearly exhausted from my earlier attack doesn't fail me, the gasping falters to a weak wheeze in my throat. I can control it now.
The tree rustles and I can hear chatter in the background. Lunch is over, or nearly so. Someone approaches, and I see his hair first, the bronze contrasting with the deep green of the tree. I shuffle up on the log and he carefully mimics my position. I wait for the usual 'you okay?' but he changes tact, probably as sick of having to repeat that line as I am to cause it. “Did you even eat anything at lunch?”
“I ate some of my grapes.”
“A smarter person would have eaten enough to get them through the afternoon.”
“Good thing you're a smarter person then.”
“Lucky for you.” He leans over towards me, but it's just to grasp in his pocket and pulls out a blood red apple. I accept it, and he watches me until I take a small bite. “Better.” It's not phrased as a question but I answer, “A little, thank you.”
“Did I upset you during lunch?” I take another, larger bite of the apple. I'm not looking but I can feel his frown, and I definitely feel when his hand stretches out and tucks some hair behind my ear. His thumb trails down my neck. “Finn..” I whine, mouth full. He smirks, I allow myself to face him now. My neck tingles and I know full well he's aware of that. But there's a moment where we make eye contact, his lips twitch into a smile and I could easily drown in the moment. He looks kind of like he might feel the same.
He breaks it, declaring we'll spend the afternoon together, do some bits. “May as well start here.” He stands, I watch the muscles in his back move as he heads to the trainer. The shelter section isn't much of a challenge for two people who can plait twine and knot rope in their sleep. We have a half decent open hut up within half an hour. I have to stop Finnick who is determined he'd be able to make a chair I could actually sit on so we can move on elsewhere.
I feel better than I have all day, with less attention on him Finnick is Finnick. Not the version the Capitol wants. He makes bad jokes, he's decisive and clear with his knowledge. We avoid the weapons but we spend a little time on a few others stations.
It can't last all afternoon. I know that, and when Finnick eventually suggests the weapons station with the yellow holograms we split. He clearly doesn't know about earlier, which in the short term is good. I feel deflated though, back by myself and head to somewhere I know. The fish hooks. It's not until I have arrived that I even realise Katniss is here. This is probably good, although I don't say anything to her. Instead I lean forward, selecting a particularly tricky style on the programme setting. The trainer pretty much leaves me alone, she's focusing on Katniss and I'm here to jog my memory and find some weak version of a safe place.
After a while I notice Katniss watching me, and smile, closed mouth at her before turning back to my work. I scan through options, set myself little challenges with the fly. Katniss starts copying me, it's drawing close to the end of the day and the trainers are getting a bit bored, there have been no fights and not the usual poor atmosphere. As with most Capitol citizens, they thrive on gossip, even with their advanced skill sets. Katniss makes a mistake, and I debate for a few seconds before I stop and turn to her, “You need to undo those last two bits of thread and put them in a sheet bend.”
“I don't think that's a knot I know.”
I grab a couple more pieces of wire, “You do it...” I go through the stages slowly, her eyes tight with concentration, “And then just make sure you pull both ends equally so it doesn't unravel and there.”
Her knot is a little sloppy, but it's not a bad first attempt. “That's the main bit anyway.”
“Thank you.” Her words are more earnest now. “I don't think this is my forte though.”
“Fishing, or making hooks?” My question is honest enough but I can see how it come across and her eyes dart quickly up towards the game makers. “Both, we don't do much fishing at home. Kind of the opposite of you in Four.” I hear the familiar gunshot echo and feel the twitch one side of my mouth before I return my attention to the hook. It takes a lot of enough to keep my voice steady, “I'll bet. I don't remember much of Twelve when I visited, other than the snow.”
“We get a lot of snow.” Katniss agrees, and I can see she's trying to work out how to dig deeper. “Can make things difficult sometimes, back things up.”
“Oh,” I shoot my own look, but none of the game makers seem to be paying any attention at all, “You have a difficult winter?”
“Spring was tricky too. Hard to work, people get hungry when the mines are shut.”
“We had the harbours closed for a while too.” I can feel my pulse increase. They had had trouble in Twelve, restrictions and curfews that sounds like what had happened at home. I'm amazed she's told me, as heavily coded as it was. “Can't be because of the weather.” She says dryly as if daring me to disagree. "I remember my prep team talking about not being able to get anything."
“We had a really stormy few weeks.” I lower my voice even further, so I'm barely speaking above a whisper. “We had a lot of input from the Capitol though, to get us back in working order.” What I've just said is treachery in itself, a dig anyone with half a brain would understand. Katniss does and she drops the wire she was fiddling with. “You probably saw about the last of the nice weather, when you came on the victory tour.” Her jaw juts, she hears the venom.
I'm face to face with the reason Luka died. She is the icon of the rebellion, the switch, the spark. I'd thought that enough, I'd thought plenty of horrible things about Katniss Everdeen. She looks guilty now, her forehead rises into deep crinkles. She didn't want this, who would. I knew the berries had been to keep her alive, nothing more, nothing less and certainly not for Peeta.
That didn't save Luka.
“It's not your fault.” Why do I say it, when it's certainly not how I feel most of the time? I backtrack, cover it up when I notice we do in-fact have the trainers attention now, “It takes a while, and some of these knots are so fiddly.” I make a show of pulling my hook from the tiny platform and examining it closely. Katniss is fidgeting from one foot to another.
“What's the hardest knot you've come across?” I ask the trainer. It works, and they start blathering on about things, giving her time to pop her half-finished hook down and walk off.
We were alone when we first stepped into the apartment. Of course, Mags would be with other mentors, talking tactics, possible alliances. She was supposed to let us have a say first, but then it would be obvious, to push for Twelve.
And after Katniss’ display with the bow and arrow I didn’t have a doubt that most would ask for them. That just made it more difficult, and more terrifying. She was better than I had imagined, absolutely deadly.
We hadn’t spoken in the elevator and we didn’t now as an avox brought me a drink, her eyes wide and nervous as always. I didn’t say anything, there was nothing I could say. She was a mutilated slave, I couldn’t help her now. She was trapped here, as were we.
Finnick was clearly mulling over the day, and he plonks himself down on the couch, head resting back against the cushions. He's clicking his tongue, a habit he knows I find annoying and watches my reaction with limited interest. I sip on my drink as the avox brings Finnick his own and he thanks her graciously. I'm not the only person who pities how they live.
I can smell the rich scent of the coffee. “I really don't remember you drinking coffee this much at home.” He's swallowed down half of the glass and places it on the floor, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. “I don't think I was ever so tired at home.” He moves up a bit, tapping the space beside him. I debate denying him but don't, finishing my own drink, putting it on the table and dropping down with about as much grace as he had. My head finds it's way onto his hip and I stretch my legs, toes touching the other couch arm.
I could fall asleep in minutes but Finnick shifts and I rest myself further up his side. “Today wasn't too bad was it?” I shrug, this afternoon hadn't been awful, but the morning had been a whole other world. “No.” I mew, wishing he'd change the subject. He doesn't, completely oblivious and starts speaking about the others, what seemed to be their strength, their weakness.
Most of it was obvious, as well as his own. Johanna's words find me again; “If he gets himself killed over you I will not be happy”
Johanna is saying I pose a risk to Finnick, that he will protect me, of course he will. More than that, he'll protect me even if it kills him. That's what she thinks, that's the impression he gave her during their little secret midnight conversation. He moves again, taking advantage of the apartments emptiness and letting his arm drape over me, fingers trailing over my hip bone. He had promised, more times than I could count that he'd keep me safe. That wasn't a promise he could keep, regardless of his intentions. But his plan was to try, whatever the risk to himself, he must have made that clear to Johanna.
What if it did happen? What if, trying to protect me from some horror he was killed. The shiver of fear I'd become so accustomed too was a whirlpool inside me, ripping me apart. I feel myself tense and Finnick's body do the same. I wanted Finnick to be safe, I must have thought that a thousand times since he admitted the truer purpose and plan behind the games. I would do anything to keep him safe. He deserved it, more than anyone.
And if being with me would put him in more danger...
I wanted to find out from Johanna exactly what he has said to her.
There's a noise and quick, rapping footsteps. It's certainly not Mags, which only means Naloh has returned from wherever he's been. We don't move quick enough and he shoots us a very odd look. I make my eyelids flutter as if I've been asleep, “Oh, sorry Finnick.” I yawn, it's easy enough to do with how heavy my head does feel and sit up. It's poor cover, but if Naloh thinks anything he doesn't share it, instead he starts prattling on about his day, the poor food at one of the sponsorship parties he went too. He doesn't need to go, sponsors become solely Mag's jobs once we're in the arena but any chance for him to get out and socialise wasn't to be missed.
“I need to shower before dinner.” I excuse myself, Naloh won't disagree, he treats each dinner like some big affair. Finnick says the same and we head down the hallway. I pause outside his door, and he looks at me inquisitively. I want to say something, about what's just been running through my head, and the rest. I want to demand he tells me exactly what he was playing at last night, why he lied about it. About Johanna at the carriage. I want to tell him what Katniss has hinted at. Instead, I just smile and wrap my arms around his waist, head in the crook of his neck. I don't give him much time to respond, I kiss the bare skin and turn around.
“Come into my room when you've had a shower. I need to speak to you about Katniss.”
I will divulge that to him, but the rest can wait until I have my head on straight.
I rush my shower for a change, let the machine dry my hair and wipe some expensive face cream over my skin. It's from Seneca and I debate throwing it out but then I hear the door and dart back through. “Is that what you're wearing for dinner?” I look down, still in the small towel.
“You're hilarious.”
He sticks out his lower lip at this. “I do try.”
“I know.” He saunters through and sits on the bed as I go to one of the many in-built wardrobes and try to decide what to wear. “So, what did you need to tell me?”
I grab some underwear and chuck it on the bed near him, “Do you need help putting that on? 'Cause I am more than happy to oblige.” I half scoff and he chuckles, dropping silent and waiting for me. It's easier to speak without looking at him. “I was speaking to Katniss on the fish hook station.”
“Right...” he drawls. I enjoy the tiny sense of satisfaction that I'd gotten further with her than he had, but that doesn't last long once I pass along what she said. I use the same coded sentences we had, and spout some other rubbish about weather just-in-case we are being listened to. I decide on a simple dress and pull that out, although I kill time pretending to knock out some creases. He doesn't seem surprised, no doubt he's already heard something and what I say just backs it up.
I don't stop there though, I've started now and there's a tidal wave of words. I tell him about Johanna at the opening ceremony, what she'd said. How I responded. I tell him about Johanna this morning, not all of it. Not her mentioning that they had seen each other but I don't leave out her line about getting him killed. I'm almost out of breath when I stop, still not properly looking at him. He sighs, the bed creaks as he stands and he stops behind me, taking the dress from my hands and tossing it absent mindlessly onto the ground.
“Johanna's not known for being nice.”
“I know that.” She's not being as nice as he'd like at least. “She did take me into the room though,” I allow, “She didn't have to do that.”
“Why didn't she come and get me?”
“I asked her not too.” I'm trying to be fairly honest here. “I didn't want to drag you into it.”
“Don't be stupid."
"It doesn't matter anyway. It won't happen again. I'll be okay tomorrow.” It's only now that he touches me, moves my hair in a familiar way, kisses my shoulder blade. “Don't listen to anything else she says.” He's keeping his voice positive and practically cheery, “Okay?” He knows exactly what phrase is stuck in my head.
“I'll try.” I feel his smile, and spin as he wishes to let our lips meet. The usual fire fills me, it never gets any less powerful and I push myself against him, getting carried away. He isn't stopping me, he untucks the towel and throws it down, hands roaming. His mouth catches my moan and quickly he's guiding me towards the bed, nudging me onto my back and stopping my hands from reaching for his own shirt.
His lips detach from mine, instead, they start moving down my body painfully slowly. He kisses both of my breasts, down over my ribs, rising rapidly with anticipation. I only manage his name and he shushes me, down at my stomach, over my hip bones. I know what he's building up to and I can barely contain myself. He peppers kisses along my inner thigh and I'm aching. He's done it once before, seeming surprised at my innocence about it. Surprised and pleased. He teases me a little further, getting closer and closer whilst I continue to whine his name before his mouth finally meets the overly sensitive skin.
It doesn't take long, my hand caught where he'd put it in his hair, wanting him as close as possible. My back arches off the sheets one last time, and I lay back down boneless. Finnick kisses my leg a couple more times whilst I come down off my high and stands, stretching and leaning on the bed to catch my lips quickly. I try to pull him down, return the favour but he frees himself. “I think you've made us late for dinner.” His mock scorn is playful and he dodges as I aim a weak kick his way.
After a minute or so Johanna sits down next to me, her chair dragging loudly against the marble. “You alright?” I nod, although the simple movement makes the room spin again.
“Clearly not,” She drawls, “You want me to get Finnick?”
“No.” I force myself upright. My upper arms hurt too and I raise my left, there are four perfectly shaped red marks; Johanna's fingers. “Okay.” She slaps her hands against her thighs, “Trying to be nice and everything.”
“Yes.” I'm speaking through gritted teeth now, “I can see that. Thank you Johanna.” She stands, kicking her chair back into its correct position and paces. My face doesn't feel wet, I'm sure I haven't been crying but that doesn't mean it wasn't obvious. Let alone the fact Johanna has clearly root marched me in here. There goes my grand plan of not looking like a complete weakling.
I sigh, and she mimics it. “You know when he said you have these little,” she gestures at me, “moments. I wasn't quite sure what he meant.” It's clear who she's speaking about, and the betrayal stabs. Finnick has been speaking about me with Johanna, more than that, he'd told Johanna just how pitiful I am. She looks at me, and snorts, “He was telling me I should be nice to you. Which is actually kinda funny when you consider how you spoke to me yesterday.” She pouts, pulling a face, “You clearly haven't told him though. I would have thought...”
“You can go.” I bite between wheezes, humiliated, “Don’t feel like you have to babysit me.”
“Babysitting you?” She laughed harshly, “I’m making sure you don’t kill yourself, it’s very different.” I go to retort, but she leaves me no chance, “We may not be best friends by a long shot, but I actually kind of like Finnick. And if he gets himself killed over you I will not be happy.” She moves closer with each word until her bared teeth are too close to me for comfort. “So get yourself together.”
“This conversation you and Finnick had. Was it last night?” She realises I'm not supposed to know, tries to backtrack but the loud chime signalling lunchtime rings and the various carts ladled with food are placed around the room. Well, at least I know the reason behind Finnick's lie. I push myself to my feet, still a little wobbly. I wish I had a mirror, some way to determine just how much of a mess I will look like to the others.
Johanna leaves me, goes straight for the cart holding meat. I fiddle with my hair, wipe over my face and hope. People start to flood in, well, there's not enough people for a flood but everyone comes in pretty quickly. No-one disagrees with food.
Chaff is loudest, and starts dragging the smaller tables together. I stand still, I don't really want to eat, although I know I should. I'm trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Enobaria nudges against me on her way in, shooting one of those dangerous smiles. She saw. I swallow hard but scold myself internally until my legs move and I go to start piling up pasta on my plate, the most bland food I can see. I waste more time, and walk over to place some grapes in the corner when I bump my arm on someone and apologise.
“Oh, sorry, excuse me.” It's Peeta, his cheeks still flushed red. I wait in place, pretending to debate over more fruit. I should say something now I have a chance, it was what we had planned. “What's the difference between a tangerine and nectarine?” Peeta muses, I'm not sure he's speaking to me but I tell him I have no idea.
He smiles at me, “Elenia right?”
I nod, “Peeta.”
“District Four right, won the seventieth games.” He sounds like he's reciting something.
“You did your research.” I stop my voice sounding hard. “Clever.”
“I try.” There's a line forming and I let myself get shuffled to the next stand, although I don't pick anything up. Katniss is here, and Peeta passes her one of the tangerines. She thanks him in a sweet voice that doesn't suit her. I don't introduce myself and she doesn't either. Peeta didn't say any more, neither do I, although I knew I should be charming, should scour my mind for something clever or witty.
“I'm going to go sit down.” He nods, smiles again, “I'll erm, see you later.”
“See you at the table.” He says cheerfully, trying to pull me into the joke. I choke up a laugh, not missing how he kicks Katniss' foot before she too offers me a goodbye.
Finnick has saved me a chair and I take it, he barely even glances at me as he helps me to tuck myself in, in conversation with Johanna. I'm not surprised now I know that's something they like to do. I can't decipher the look she sends me and I start to play with the food on my plate. Paying about as much attention to that as I do the hand that finds its way close to my knee. Even so, and as mixed as my emotions are I clasp it tight when he goes to move it away. His hand is warm, smooth after the full body polish his prep team would have done before the opening ceremony. I prefer them rougher, worked a little more.
I prefer it when Finnick doesn't go behind my back. It's an easy, angry thought that rises up but I bite my lip hard and go back to spinning the fork in my free hand.
The conversations are loud, especially Chaff who is making fun of himself in his usual way. Finnick uses the noise as cover, his lips close to my ear. “What's wrong?” I glare at him as an answer. He grins, and it loosens the ball in my chest somewhat. “Look at them both,” he directs my eye line to the victors from District 6. Rea and, I can't remember his name. They're both well known morphling addicts, it must be easy to come by in Six and much less monitored. Only hospitals and healers are allow to supply you with it at home. Two days in and they're starting to go into withdrawal, that much is clear. Rea is practically yellow, and her hand is shaking as she tries to pick up peas with her spoon. I feel sorry for them both. Finnick doesn't seem to and makes some noise of indignation.
“Don't be nasty.” I say, not speaking lowly enough, “It's not their fault.”
“Then whose is it?” Now I make a noise, freeing my hand from his and gesturing around the room, almost knocking Berg from Ten in the shoulder. He just pouts and pops one of my grapes in his mouth, I don't need to question his change of demeanour. I raised my voice too much and we have an audience. This time my toes receive the brunt of my agitation, I press them hard into the chair legs and stop pretending to eat, pushing the plate away and sitting mute. Finnick tries to rest his hand on my leg again but I cross them spitefully.
There are a few more loud jokes, and one in particular, spat by Brutus no less, starts to set me off. I put my hands under the table because they are trembling and my heart is racing, so fast I'm surprised no-one else can hear it. I should be able to manage this bit, it's just food, it's a meal – the least threatening part of the day. If I don't leave the room I am going to start gasping for breath.
That's a fact, I cling to it. I could just walk out, no-one would question it, assume I'm going to the bathroom, they could assume whatever. I don't trust myself to speak so I do just that. I stand, wincing at the loud scrape of the chair and walking out, again not looking at people. The door swings shut, but it's opposite the game makers balcony and I'm not doing this in front of them.
I search desperately for the most secluded training station and head there straight away. It's the shelter one, thick pine trees will block me. A couple of the trainers are floating about, we're not really supposed to be out here during the lunch break but they don't say anything and I don't stop until I'm perched on a log somewhat concealed by branches.
I start hyperventilating almost instantaneously, and my hands are again fists on my thighs. I'm getting upset at my poor reaction which is making me panic, which in turn is making it harder to breathe. And the harder it is to breathe the most pathetic I feel, and so the angrier at myself I am. It's not a nice cycle, and I've done it plenty of times. Normally a short bout will only last a couple of minutes, and my body, clearly exhausted from my earlier attack doesn't fail me, the gasping falters to a weak wheeze in my throat. I can control it now.
The tree rustles and I can hear chatter in the background. Lunch is over, or nearly so. Someone approaches, and I see his hair first, the bronze contrasting with the deep green of the tree. I shuffle up on the log and he carefully mimics my position. I wait for the usual 'you okay?' but he changes tact, probably as sick of having to repeat that line as I am to cause it. “Did you even eat anything at lunch?”
“I ate some of my grapes.”
“A smarter person would have eaten enough to get them through the afternoon.”
“Good thing you're a smarter person then.”
“Lucky for you.” He leans over towards me, but it's just to grasp in his pocket and pulls out a blood red apple. I accept it, and he watches me until I take a small bite. “Better.” It's not phrased as a question but I answer, “A little, thank you.”
“Did I upset you during lunch?” I take another, larger bite of the apple. I'm not looking but I can feel his frown, and I definitely feel when his hand stretches out and tucks some hair behind my ear. His thumb trails down my neck. “Finn..” I whine, mouth full. He smirks, I allow myself to face him now. My neck tingles and I know full well he's aware of that. But there's a moment where we make eye contact, his lips twitch into a smile and I could easily drown in the moment. He looks kind of like he might feel the same.
He breaks it, declaring we'll spend the afternoon together, do some bits. “May as well start here.” He stands, I watch the muscles in his back move as he heads to the trainer. The shelter section isn't much of a challenge for two people who can plait twine and knot rope in their sleep. We have a half decent open hut up within half an hour. I have to stop Finnick who is determined he'd be able to make a chair I could actually sit on so we can move on elsewhere.
I feel better than I have all day, with less attention on him Finnick is Finnick. Not the version the Capitol wants. He makes bad jokes, he's decisive and clear with his knowledge. We avoid the weapons but we spend a little time on a few others stations.
It can't last all afternoon. I know that, and when Finnick eventually suggests the weapons station with the yellow holograms we split. He clearly doesn't know about earlier, which in the short term is good. I feel deflated though, back by myself and head to somewhere I know. The fish hooks. It's not until I have arrived that I even realise Katniss is here. This is probably good, although I don't say anything to her. Instead I lean forward, selecting a particularly tricky style on the programme setting. The trainer pretty much leaves me alone, she's focusing on Katniss and I'm here to jog my memory and find some weak version of a safe place.
After a while I notice Katniss watching me, and smile, closed mouth at her before turning back to my work. I scan through options, set myself little challenges with the fly. Katniss starts copying me, it's drawing close to the end of the day and the trainers are getting a bit bored, there have been no fights and not the usual poor atmosphere. As with most Capitol citizens, they thrive on gossip, even with their advanced skill sets. Katniss makes a mistake, and I debate for a few seconds before I stop and turn to her, “You need to undo those last two bits of thread and put them in a sheet bend.”
“I don't think that's a knot I know.”
I grab a couple more pieces of wire, “You do it...” I go through the stages slowly, her eyes tight with concentration, “And then just make sure you pull both ends equally so it doesn't unravel and there.”
Her knot is a little sloppy, but it's not a bad first attempt. “That's the main bit anyway.”
“Thank you.” Her words are more earnest now. “I don't think this is my forte though.”
“Fishing, or making hooks?” My question is honest enough but I can see how it come across and her eyes dart quickly up towards the game makers. “Both, we don't do much fishing at home. Kind of the opposite of you in Four.” I hear the familiar gunshot echo and feel the twitch one side of my mouth before I return my attention to the hook. It takes a lot of enough to keep my voice steady, “I'll bet. I don't remember much of Twelve when I visited, other than the snow.”
“We get a lot of snow.” Katniss agrees, and I can see she's trying to work out how to dig deeper. “Can make things difficult sometimes, back things up.”
“Oh,” I shoot my own look, but none of the game makers seem to be paying any attention at all, “You have a difficult winter?”
“Spring was tricky too. Hard to work, people get hungry when the mines are shut.”
“We had the harbours closed for a while too.” I can feel my pulse increase. They had had trouble in Twelve, restrictions and curfews that sounds like what had happened at home. I'm amazed she's told me, as heavily coded as it was. “Can't be because of the weather.” She says dryly as if daring me to disagree. "I remember my prep team talking about not being able to get anything."
“We had a really stormy few weeks.” I lower my voice even further, so I'm barely speaking above a whisper. “We had a lot of input from the Capitol though, to get us back in working order.” What I've just said is treachery in itself, a dig anyone with half a brain would understand. Katniss does and she drops the wire she was fiddling with. “You probably saw about the last of the nice weather, when you came on the victory tour.” Her jaw juts, she hears the venom.
I'm face to face with the reason Luka died. She is the icon of the rebellion, the switch, the spark. I'd thought that enough, I'd thought plenty of horrible things about Katniss Everdeen. She looks guilty now, her forehead rises into deep crinkles. She didn't want this, who would. I knew the berries had been to keep her alive, nothing more, nothing less and certainly not for Peeta.
That didn't save Luka.
“It's not your fault.” Why do I say it, when it's certainly not how I feel most of the time? I backtrack, cover it up when I notice we do in-fact have the trainers attention now, “It takes a while, and some of these knots are so fiddly.” I make a show of pulling my hook from the tiny platform and examining it closely. Katniss is fidgeting from one foot to another.
“What's the hardest knot you've come across?” I ask the trainer. It works, and they start blathering on about things, giving her time to pop her half-finished hook down and walk off.
___
We were alone when we first stepped into the apartment. Of course, Mags would be with other mentors, talking tactics, possible alliances. She was supposed to let us have a say first, but then it would be obvious, to push for Twelve.
And after Katniss’ display with the bow and arrow I didn’t have a doubt that most would ask for them. That just made it more difficult, and more terrifying. She was better than I had imagined, absolutely deadly.
We hadn’t spoken in the elevator and we didn’t now as an avox brought me a drink, her eyes wide and nervous as always. I didn’t say anything, there was nothing I could say. She was a mutilated slave, I couldn’t help her now. She was trapped here, as were we.
Finnick was clearly mulling over the day, and he plonks himself down on the couch, head resting back against the cushions. He's clicking his tongue, a habit he knows I find annoying and watches my reaction with limited interest. I sip on my drink as the avox brings Finnick his own and he thanks her graciously. I'm not the only person who pities how they live.
I can smell the rich scent of the coffee. “I really don't remember you drinking coffee this much at home.” He's swallowed down half of the glass and places it on the floor, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. “I don't think I was ever so tired at home.” He moves up a bit, tapping the space beside him. I debate denying him but don't, finishing my own drink, putting it on the table and dropping down with about as much grace as he had. My head finds it's way onto his hip and I stretch my legs, toes touching the other couch arm.
I could fall asleep in minutes but Finnick shifts and I rest myself further up his side. “Today wasn't too bad was it?” I shrug, this afternoon hadn't been awful, but the morning had been a whole other world. “No.” I mew, wishing he'd change the subject. He doesn't, completely oblivious and starts speaking about the others, what seemed to be their strength, their weakness.
Most of it was obvious, as well as his own. Johanna's words find me again; “If he gets himself killed over you I will not be happy”
Johanna is saying I pose a risk to Finnick, that he will protect me, of course he will. More than that, he'll protect me even if it kills him. That's what she thinks, that's the impression he gave her during their little secret midnight conversation. He moves again, taking advantage of the apartments emptiness and letting his arm drape over me, fingers trailing over my hip bone. He had promised, more times than I could count that he'd keep me safe. That wasn't a promise he could keep, regardless of his intentions. But his plan was to try, whatever the risk to himself, he must have made that clear to Johanna.
What if it did happen? What if, trying to protect me from some horror he was killed. The shiver of fear I'd become so accustomed too was a whirlpool inside me, ripping me apart. I feel myself tense and Finnick's body do the same. I wanted Finnick to be safe, I must have thought that a thousand times since he admitted the truer purpose and plan behind the games. I would do anything to keep him safe. He deserved it, more than anyone.
And if being with me would put him in more danger...
I wanted to find out from Johanna exactly what he has said to her.
There's a noise and quick, rapping footsteps. It's certainly not Mags, which only means Naloh has returned from wherever he's been. We don't move quick enough and he shoots us a very odd look. I make my eyelids flutter as if I've been asleep, “Oh, sorry Finnick.” I yawn, it's easy enough to do with how heavy my head does feel and sit up. It's poor cover, but if Naloh thinks anything he doesn't share it, instead he starts prattling on about his day, the poor food at one of the sponsorship parties he went too. He doesn't need to go, sponsors become solely Mag's jobs once we're in the arena but any chance for him to get out and socialise wasn't to be missed.
“I need to shower before dinner.” I excuse myself, Naloh won't disagree, he treats each dinner like some big affair. Finnick says the same and we head down the hallway. I pause outside his door, and he looks at me inquisitively. I want to say something, about what's just been running through my head, and the rest. I want to demand he tells me exactly what he was playing at last night, why he lied about it. About Johanna at the carriage. I want to tell him what Katniss has hinted at. Instead, I just smile and wrap my arms around his waist, head in the crook of his neck. I don't give him much time to respond, I kiss the bare skin and turn around.
“Come into my room when you've had a shower. I need to speak to you about Katniss.”
I will divulge that to him, but the rest can wait until I have my head on straight.
___
I rush my shower for a change, let the machine dry my hair and wipe some expensive face cream over my skin. It's from Seneca and I debate throwing it out but then I hear the door and dart back through. “Is that what you're wearing for dinner?” I look down, still in the small towel.
“You're hilarious.”
He sticks out his lower lip at this. “I do try.”
“I know.” He saunters through and sits on the bed as I go to one of the many in-built wardrobes and try to decide what to wear. “So, what did you need to tell me?”
I grab some underwear and chuck it on the bed near him, “Do you need help putting that on? 'Cause I am more than happy to oblige.” I half scoff and he chuckles, dropping silent and waiting for me. It's easier to speak without looking at him. “I was speaking to Katniss on the fish hook station.”
“Right...” he drawls. I enjoy the tiny sense of satisfaction that I'd gotten further with her than he had, but that doesn't last long once I pass along what she said. I use the same coded sentences we had, and spout some other rubbish about weather just-in-case we are being listened to. I decide on a simple dress and pull that out, although I kill time pretending to knock out some creases. He doesn't seem surprised, no doubt he's already heard something and what I say just backs it up.
I don't stop there though, I've started now and there's a tidal wave of words. I tell him about Johanna at the opening ceremony, what she'd said. How I responded. I tell him about Johanna this morning, not all of it. Not her mentioning that they had seen each other but I don't leave out her line about getting him killed. I'm almost out of breath when I stop, still not properly looking at him. He sighs, the bed creaks as he stands and he stops behind me, taking the dress from my hands and tossing it absent mindlessly onto the ground.
“Johanna's not known for being nice.”
“I know that.” She's not being as nice as he'd like at least. “She did take me into the room though,” I allow, “She didn't have to do that.”
“Why didn't she come and get me?”
“I asked her not too.” I'm trying to be fairly honest here. “I didn't want to drag you into it.”
“Don't be stupid."
"It doesn't matter anyway. It won't happen again. I'll be okay tomorrow.” It's only now that he touches me, moves my hair in a familiar way, kisses my shoulder blade. “Don't listen to anything else she says.” He's keeping his voice positive and practically cheery, “Okay?” He knows exactly what phrase is stuck in my head.
“I'll try.” I feel his smile, and spin as he wishes to let our lips meet. The usual fire fills me, it never gets any less powerful and I push myself against him, getting carried away. He isn't stopping me, he untucks the towel and throws it down, hands roaming. His mouth catches my moan and quickly he's guiding me towards the bed, nudging me onto my back and stopping my hands from reaching for his own shirt.
His lips detach from mine, instead, they start moving down my body painfully slowly. He kisses both of my breasts, down over my ribs, rising rapidly with anticipation. I only manage his name and he shushes me, down at my stomach, over my hip bones. I know what he's building up to and I can barely contain myself. He peppers kisses along my inner thigh and I'm aching. He's done it once before, seeming surprised at my innocence about it. Surprised and pleased. He teases me a little further, getting closer and closer whilst I continue to whine his name before his mouth finally meets the overly sensitive skin.
It doesn't take long, my hand caught where he'd put it in his hair, wanting him as close as possible. My back arches off the sheets one last time, and I lay back down boneless. Finnick kisses my leg a couple more times whilst I come down off my high and stands, stretching and leaning on the bed to catch my lips quickly. I try to pull him down, return the favour but he frees himself. “I think you've made us late for dinner.” His mock scorn is playful and he dodges as I aim a weak kick his way.