Inhale

I use the time with my prep team to try and think about what I should say. Finnick is still being secretive about his grand plan so I pretend I have an amazing idea of my own. He probably hasn't brought it. I am drawing a blank, eventually, I run through possible things Caesar might bring up and how I could respond. It's the most I can manage and decide to wing it. My assessment with the gamemakers had been instinctual, impulsive and had worked out well for me. Maybe I could pull this off as well.

We eat a small lunch, at a different time to Finnick and his prep team so I spend several hours alone with Blithe, Margy and Trix. It's difficult, there are several breakdowns, I struggle to tell the sincere from otherwise but the only that comes close to moving me is Trix. I won't allow it, will not be upset with them. Their lives will continue. There is a very good chance I am entering my last hours.

The conversation runs cold after this, and there's an anchor wrapped around me, trying to force me back into the depths of bad thoughts. That is enough of a fight for me and I'm already exhausted when they're gone. Apparently, they are going to a pre-interview affair but will be at the event to cheer me on.
There is a lump in my throat that lingers. I swallow hard, try and force it away with ice cold water but it refuses to budge. Thankfully Luine is a distraction, she appears as if on springs, jabbing and pinning until she's happy. This dress is far flowier than the other, thick swirls of tulle make it seem like it's floating when I walk. She continues fiddling until we're out of the door, complimenting Finnick who looks as beautiful as ever and batting her eyelashes at Marck.

They have set a stage up, added even more seats to the large area. Where we stood with horses a few days ago we now have platforms, mirrors on every surface to catch any last minute blemishes. Again, Luine does not stay long, but places me in a circular ring of my own reflection, telling me I have to practise my posing further. Reminds me that even after my interview I am on stage and must ensure I keep my head up. When she vanishes Finnick steps in front of me, our morphed figures dance around us. He holds his hand out and I grip it as, ignore the damp palms that mimic my own. “Ready?” There's no answer I can give that could possibly sum up how I feel. Every second it seems like my organs are constricting further.

A voice echoes, we have fifteen minutes until the show starts and are due to line up. I go to lead him away but his grip tightens. I watch him watch us, turn around to peer at every version. “We need to go.” I remind him, fiddling with the necklace resting on his exposed chest. It was a good call by Marck, it's made of shells and sea glass. I can practically smell the ocean. “In a minute.” He mumbles, and his eyes go to the small golden necklace Luine had clearly chosen to match, the shell is carved from a pearl, tiny in comparison to the real ones decorating him.

He's making me nervous, a completely different energy to the upcoming interview. He starts a sentence twice but swallows down the words. The tannoy blares again. I go to say his name, break him out of whatever trance he's entered. He kisses me instead, sweetly and taking advantage of my surprise. I glance around immediately afterwards, we're not the only people in this space. He doesn't seem to care, doesn't remove his eyes from me. “I...” His grin emerges and he laughs at himself. “So stupid.”

I can see my reflection looks lost and he presses his lips against my forehead, I'm only a little shorter than him in these shoes. “I love you.” He blurts the words and they mould into one delicious breath. He repeats them, waits expectantly. I am a firework, my whole body alight and ready to burst. I spring on my tiptoes and catch his mouth. Hoping I can put my feelings across in this short kiss. “Finnick...”

A cough appears from our side. Haymitch, learning against another mirror, an expression I can't work out and am far too flushed to care about. “You two are gonna be late,” He scolds, tone playful. “Can't start without our favourite district.”

“Maybe not everyone's favourite.” Finnick allows, taking hold of my hand again and running the other through his hair. Caesar had been pushed out of my mind for the last couple of minutes, and now he forces his way back in, spoils my perfect moment.

“Come on,” He squeezes my palm swiftly and leads me past Haymitch, who winks when he pushes himself off the mirror and leaves the space.

We're not the last to get to the staging area, Finnick only having a chance to joke about how nice everyone looks when the rest of District Twelve appear. Katniss is in a wedding dress. I can't work out the reasoning for this, I can remember the dress from a show put out months ago, people got to vote on their favourite. I can only assume this was the winner. It wasn't the one Rita had voted for.

Finnick was the first to break the awkward mist of silence that had coated us, “I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.”

She snaps at him instantly, it was Snow that made her wear it. That made more sense, this wasn’t to get a sympathetic reaction, this was to embarrass her, shame her, make her feel stupid. Show that their love, this doomed wedding was just part of the show.

Cashmere scoffs, not far from me, “Well you look ridiculous.”

“Cashmere.” I warn, and she huffs, dragging Gloss off with her to their place in line. “We should go as well.” I suggest and Finnick nods, only now releasing my hand as he takes a couple of steps away and mutters In Peeta’s ear.

Katniss looks thunderous, fiddling with the bodice as Johanna steps to her, straightening diamonds that cling to her neck, “Make him pay for him.” She says too loudly, glaring around the room as if waiting for a challenge. Finnick returns to me, hand landing on my lower back as everyone manoeuvres themselves into position.

I am behind Beetee who smiles at me, telling me I look nice before Wiress catches his attention. “He has a point,” Finnick whispers into the shell of my ear, “You look ridiculously beautiful.” I will myself not to blush and fight against every reflex. All the nerves in my body are fighting to clutch at him, steal him away and kiss him until I can't breathe.

Finnick loves me.

I need more time to digest this, to let it soak into my very being. I only realise when the lights flicker and Caeser's voice booms, that I hadn't said it back. I take advantage of the starting music, we're all squished together but I'm past caring what other people think at this moment. I shuffle on the balls of my feet, chest pressed against him. “I love you too.” I get the dimpled smile in response, eyes that threaten to drag me under.

Cashmere is the first tribute onstage and the minutes fly by. Gloss echoes her sentiment, and my mouth gets thicker with every word. They're playing this so well, members of the audience are sobbing. Cashmere and Gloss see the Capitol as their family, how sickening, yet how utterly believable.

By the time Beetee had tested the waters, asking about the legitimacy of the games my mouth is bone dry and I can feel my hand, still twisted with Finnick's shaking. “Just smile, it will be fine.” He whispered again as Beetee moves away from Caeser. We all stood in two tiers at the back of the large stage after out interviews.

Finnick moves around to my side, leaning in so close his lips were almost brushing mine, muttering last phrases of encouragement. I was going to royally mess this up, I could feel it.

An attendant appears, yammering into his headset and grabbing my arm with far more force than necessary. As far as I knew no-one had ever gotten this far and tried to run. Where would you go? I drop Finnick's hand, try and gulp down some more air as I hear Caeser introducing me, a brief history of my time in the Capitol. The attendant shoves me towards the stage entrance so hard I nearly trip.

That is not a good start, I grit my teeth, quickly shove back the mass of material and put a swing in my step. Caeser is stood, grinning manically and pulling me into that awful little air kiss routine. I go to sit, try and remember how Luine said to do it and catch my heel in my skirt. I slip, fall onto the chair instead of slinking down as planned. I burst into giggles, some nervous response I don't understand. Caesar joins in kindly.

“Not the best start.” I breathe, still trying to stem my giggles. “I am so sorry I nearly fell into your lap.” I hadn't by any means, but it put the attention more on him. Make it more of a joke and less of an embarrassment.

“Oh, but we forgive you of course!” He drags the audience into our little giggle and they laugh. “No harm done at all.”

He waits for the audience to settle. I am drawing an absolute blank. He saves me, “Now, Elenia, on to something much more serious, and something that I know touched a lot of hearts.” His pout looks so false and inflated, “When your name was called and Margery tried to volunteer.” I had never in my life heard someone call her Margery but ensure my expression is serious. “She was your mentor, wasn’t she? Did that...”

“Well, surely no-one can claim they would want to see her in there.” I'm proud of the strength and conviction in my voice. Caesar sucks on his lower lip, and I could see the moment flashing on a screen to the side of me, I bit mine. “Mags means a lot to me. She's my family.” I say simply, “And my name was called, so here I am.”

“Looking absolutely divine, I may add.”

“Well thank you,” I beam, tongue running over my teeth, “Though it looks like my stylist may have taken a bit of inspiration from you.” I pop my lips at him, highlight the similar shades of makeup coating us. “I'm honoured.” He assures me, letting the audience chuckle again. “But you certainly pull it off much better than I do.”

Flirtatious then. Let's go for that, it's what I'm being pushed in to.

“And yet still no beautiful men banging on my door.” His face tightens for a second, no doubt Seneca was on his no mention list and I am veering far too close to it. “I don't believe that for a moment.” His beam returns, and I ensure that I am looking somewhat coy.

“But, speaking of beautiful men.” He pauses, and I know exactly where he is going. “Mr Odair.”

“Finnick.” I confirm, “He is definitely very pretty.” There's a general sound of consensus from the Capitol citizens. The moment Finnick comes out they will forget all about me. Twisted vultures they are. That thought spurs me on a little bit. Caesar leans forward in his chair, I ensure my posture is on point, chest thrust out and smile on. “How does it feel, to be here with him? He was your mentor as well...”

“Absolutely. He's the reason I'm alive.”

Caesar thinks I am referring only to my time in the arena. He knows nothing about every other way Finnick Odair has kept me breathing. “I don't think that's fair,” He points at me, “I don't know about you,” this is for the audience, “but your time in the arena was definitely a highlight for me!”

“Well, I hope I impress you again this time.” I snipe, forcing on a bigger smile to counter my tone.

“I have no doubt you will.” My time must be running low and he switches back to Finnick. “How is it? To be back here together? In such dangerous territory.”

“The Capitol or the arena?” I purse my lips, they can play this off as dumb if they want. Caesar doesn't buy it, backpedals. “I'm not too worried,” I lie, twisting to the audience, and playing with a curl. Caesar asks why not, “Well,” I allow, making sure I put as much gravitas into the words as possible, “last year two tributes left, and every rule there is has been broken to put us back in there. The Hunger Games are starting to get a little bit unpredictable aren’t they?”

The blood is racing through my veins and he tries to cut me off, but I have the audience in my grip, if only for a few more seconds, “But doesn’t that just make it more fun?!”

There's a round of applause and the buzzer sounds loudly to indicate the end my time, Caesar lets them cheer and stands, offering me a soft hand and helping me to my feet. We go through the air kisses again, and he announces me once more. I wave to the audience, blow a couple of kisses, finally spotting Luine who bares her teeth in what is clearly supposed to be a 'you did well' smile. Naloh is beside her, he just looks angry.

I swing my way to the back of the stage, all the adrenaline in my body is making my hands shake and I stretch my fingers. Accepting the spot beside Beetee. “Okay?” he hisses out of the side of his mouth, I nod and arrange my skirt again as Caeser gets ready to welcome Finnick onstage.

My interview had gone better than I expected, I hadn't completely humiliated myself and hopefully hadn't let down Finnick's little resistance group. I was sure the time could have been better used, I could have spoken more eloquently, questioned the order in a similar way to Beetee. It's too late now, I can't change what I did or didn't say.

Finnick is about the enter and I'm sure most people have forgotten me anyway. They are waiting for their Finnick. So precious to each and every one of them. He enters in a breeze of that perfectly relaxed smile and waves. I finally get the reveal at the same time everyone else does. Finnick isn't here for an interview, he's here to read a poem. I have to hide my smile behind my hand so it doesn't seem callous.

I have never heard Finnick mention poetry before. Why had he let it be a big secret?

It's brilliant though, so simple and yet so well thought out. He doesn't challenge the Capitol, just plays on their misplaced affection. I can see his back from where I am stood, but screens on the wall reveal his face. He pulls the same creased piece of paper from his pocket he had been scribbling on in his room and glances at Caeser before clearing his throat and going ahead.

“My love,“ He starts, not in his usual purr but a voice I'm more familiar with. The same voice that helps me recover from nightmares, the same voice that made fun of me when I'd emerged from the ocean with seaweed caught in my hair. My Finnick is speaking, not theirs. Do they notice a difference?

“You have my heart. For all eternity, if...” The stutter wins them over more, makes it seem heartfelt, “If I die in that arena my last thought will be of your lips.”

I had to pull my eyes from him to stop from flushing, it was stupid, just meaningless words he knew would have an effect on the audience.

And they did, there were catcalls, proclamations of love and far too many people fainted. They got more ridiculous every year. There's no chance of any more being said, Finnick tucks the paper away and they cheer until the buzzer goes off. Caesar shakes his hands in good nature and pats his shoulder before he heads back towards where I am stood. “Nice poem,” I manage, pretending my heart isn't still a hummingbird.

“I had the best inspiration.” He says lowly, although there is no need, the audience is still going berserk. I definitely go red now, unable to tear my eyes away from him. “For all eternity,” I repeat, cursing every single person present for ruining this. Finnick wrote a poem for me, about me. Suddenly poetry was far less stupid. “And the rest.”

Caesar finally has control of the audience, and the interviews start again. Nothing interesting happens for ages bar Johanna's flip out, which definitely won't endear her to anyone. She'd probably been right in her comment about limited sponsorship the other day. She had to be removed in the end, screaming at the audience, profanities I doubt they'd ever heard echoing through the air. I bit my lip.

I couldn’t go after her, not now I was in my place, feet aching already. I shift my weight, at least I hadn’t managed it how she had, at least I kept my head fairly straight.

She was just begging for trouble. Didn't she realise her temper would make her job so much harder?

Irritation fluttered after her and Caesar struggles to move on, thankful not to find too much controversy in the next few victors. But there are comments, and I can see the audience starting to crack, Cecilia had mentioned her children, and there wasn’t a person there who thought she was going to live, to make it even past the initial bloodbath.

Johanna is returned to the line up halfway through Chaff's interview. He's so well rehearsed, calm yet making points that drive the audience to silence. Challenges them to think. She's on the row behind us, and I let myself turn during the break before Katniss. Her arms are covered in red marks, fingerprints. She won't meet my eyes and Finnick strokes my arm with an almost immeasurable shake of his head. Leave her be.

I do, change how I'm standing again. Only about fifteen minutes left.

Thirteen hours until the arena. That sobers me up.

The audience are on the edge of their seats and the moment they see Katniss in her wedding dress they erupt. I don’t know if that worked out the way Snow wanted it too, they weren’t humiliated by it, they were outraged and the amount crying doubled in a few seconds.

There was no wedding, no star-struck couple.

What was Snow playing at, making them love her more?

Caesar doesn't ask her to do much, she offers to spin how she had last year when her dress had sparkled. It seems childish, something I thought she was over but the moment she starts I get it. The dress sets alight, there's little smoke so the fire must be false but by the time she's stopped and is regaining her balance the white wedding dress is gone. She's in a tight black material, feathers adorning her arms.

The crowd goes wild but then stilted, murmurs. Even Caesar didn’t seem to get the significance at first, the black wings, the feathers over her shoulders and around her waist. I was too distracted to hear most of her talking, but I tuned back in as Caesar gestured for Cinna to stand.

He’d made her into a Mockingjay, the symbol I’d seen sprayed during the weeks shut down in Four. The symbol Luka had died for, that Thom had stabbed into his skin.

The mark of everyone who was against the Capitol.

“He’s a dead man,” Finnick complains, voice tinged with worry even though no-one in the audience seemed to realise. This wasn’t random from her stylist, this was an admittance in his involvement, this was him making a stand every district, at least those at unease would understand.

I'm waiting for the peacekeepers to appear, drag him from his seat. That doesn't happen, of course, that would be an admittance, inviting questions Snow wouldn't want. Another minute later Katniss is stood not far behind us. I'm fairly sure that between her and Finnick nothing can top it.

But then Peeta comes out and opens his mouth.