Lost at Sea || Finnick Odair x OC (DISCONTINUED)

Nineteen: sad bitch hours

FINNICK

°•. ✿ .•°

Daphne opted for a dark green dress, so I forced myself to wear a matching suit.

She didn't really like that.

Once we were at the party, she took my advice. She smiled, acted polite, ate food no matter how weird it was. Complimented people on their stupid Capitol outfits and their ridiculous makeup. She danced with strangers no matter how uncomfortable she was. On the way back, she laughed and talked about her adventures.

In her shower, she wept.

°•. ✿ .•°

About four days later, after more ridiculous parties and excessive breakdowns, we were finally able to take the train home. All three of us feigned sadness for our departure of the Capitol. We promoted the Victory Tour in December. We "send our love from District 4!"

When we got on the train, we all went to our rooms and took some naps. The train is a lot better than being in the Tribute Center. It's not exactly nicer; I wouldn't say that. But something about the gentle hum of the engine keeps me asleep. Something about watching the scenery outside my window- nature, full of wildlife and untainted lands- remind me how much closer I am to my own home.

I wake up to the sound of screaming, but I know what it is. I don't bother getting out of my bed to go see her. She's told me before that she doesn't want me to do that. When asked why, she couldn't give me a clear answer. I learned the hard way not to wake her from whatever plagues her unconscious. I wonder if it embarrasses her to be seen in that kind of state. I think it's one of those things we won't be talking about. Not for a long, long time at least.

I roll over, my white sheets falling away. I hear her gasping as she sits up, her room only right next to my own. Does Mags know not to check on her? No doubt Mags has seen her fair share of terrors in her life time- both her own, and others- so perhaps she understands to leave Daphne alone. Mags has mentored children and watched them die, whether or not they may have won the Games. Mags has seen children and close friends subjected to unimaginable horrors. How much has she really seen? Mags won the 11th Hunger Games, and now, Daphne has won the 65th. I often wonder what it's like to have so many years of painful, excruciating memories.

I hear a train car door open, and stumbling footsteps trail through the hall, making their way towards the dining car. I hear her sniffing, a soft weep escaping her mouth. Should I go see her? I'm still not quite sure. I don't think I want to be in the dining car with her ever again, given our first meeting.

Oh, who am I kidding? I put on pants and a shirt, and follow her into the dining car.

She's sitting at a table, drinking a glass of warm milk. To help her sleep, I guess. Mags sometimes has it, or she makes some for me when I'm feeling particularly restless. Daphne's eyes are bloodshot and teary as though she's been crying for a long time now. She's biting her lip, her eyes vacant as she gazes across the car. Her foot taps rapidly, and I realize she's zoned out again. Her pupils are small, her eyes unblinking, her breathing slightly erratic.

"Hey." I say softly.

Such a small sound is enough to make Daphne flinch as she snaps back into reality, her eyes trained on me. She offers a sad smile and gestures to the chair in front of her, which I gladly sit in. She holds out the cup of warm milk wordlessly, but I deny it.