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the morning begins with aria waking me up.
"we have a very important day!" she hollers, banging a presumably gloved fist against my door.
i stumble out of bed, my eyes sore and my face tight. i rub my cheeks and my eyes twice over, before feeling functional enough to partake in a private training session.
in front of the gamemakers, who did a great job at making me feel immensely uncomfortable yesterday during a public training session.
now, in private, where i'm marked from one to twelve on my ability, for ten minutes.
what an ideal scenario.
james is already munching down various berries and fruits for breakfast, gnawing down on his fork. i wince each time he bites, as his teeth create a scratchy ding against the metal.
"ready?" tassian asks, nudging my arm.
i nod politely. "i think so."
"what are you planning?" he asks.
"probably just throwing knives." i say.
"yeah, that'll work." finnick erupts from the end of the table.
"you got an eleven, right?" james asks finnick, his eyes shining. finnick nods, taking a bite of his toast.
"that's good." i say quietly, causing finnick's head to snap in my direction. "i hope i can do that well today."
i'm surprised when finnick doesn't make a flirtatious comment, and instead hums along, nibbling his toast.
i'm in a bit of a conundrum. for i shouldn't get a high score as i don't want to label myself a threat for the other tributes, though i should also not get a low score because then no sponsors will see me as a useful tribute.
and i need to prove my worth to james.
i've spent my whole life envisioning what i'd do in the hunger games. now i'm here, it's a mystery. each new day is a new experience, despite how experienced i thought i was.
even though i'm set to enter the arena in a couple of days, it feels surreal. the idea of feeling the grass that grows within an arena between my own fingers is too much. keeping the thoughts of the arenas in my head was enough. letting them run loose into reality and sending me here was a spark that's spiralled out of control.
all that's left is for me to die, and tame it.
i repeat to myself to reassure myself day after day that it'll all be well when i'm dead. james will win, and will take a house in victor's village.
him and finnick perhaps best friends, attending luxurious and prominent capitol balls together, wooing panem in a single seductive grin.
i'm sure that's all james yearns for, when i watch his face scan finnick's enviously at the breakfast table.
