I climb into bed, however within a few minutes, it's clear I won't be able to sleep, so I pull on a light coat and head down to the beach, lighting a small fire with a pile of driftwood, dried from sitting in the sun all day. I pick up a stick, absently drawing in the sand, mind wandering to the death of my tribute the day before.
She was a sweet girl, 15 years old, skilled with a spear and popular with the Capitol. I really thought she had a chance of winning, made it to the top 3 before getting betrayed by her ally, a district 2 tribute that stabbed her in the back while she was sleeping.
I wipe the tears that had fallen, shaking my head in defeat. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to see Finnick standing there, a sympathetic look on his face. "Oh, hi Finnick."
"Lizzie," he replies, taking a seat beside me in the sand. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." I lie as his hand comes up to wipe away another tear. "You'd think I'd get used to it. Losing tributes. But God, it never gets any easier, does it?"
"I wish I could say it does," he sighs.
"She didn't deserve this." I cry. "She was good, she was a good person, a sweet girl."
"She was the best." he replies, squeezing my hand. We sit together in front of the fire, and I nestle into his chest. He wraps his arms around me tightly and pulls me in close.
In his arms, I feel totally safe from all the dangers of the world.
"Finnick?" I look up at him, heart pounding. I open my mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. "I'm glad you're here." He smiles, and squeezes me closer. "Listen, I just wanted to say... I'm– I just–"
I break off as Finnick's hand comes up to cup my face, tilting my chin up before crashing his lips against mine. I freeze for a moment, then melt into the kiss. My hands reach up to wind through his bronze locks, pulling him closer. His lips are soft and warm, and the kiss is tender and full of passion, just how I imagined it would be.
Too soon, he pulls away. My eyes flutter open, looking up at him. "Come here, love." He pats his chest, and I rest my head against it. The soft beating of his heart is like a lullaby. Before I know it, I'm drifting off, the warmth from the fire and his embrace lulling me to sleep.
I'm suddenly awoken by blaring alarm sounds and flashing lights. I snap up looking around in a panic. "Hello?" I call out. "What the hell is happening?" I tug on my restraints, heart pounding.
If there's a fire, they would come get me, right? Or would they leave me to burn?
I didn't have to think hard to figure out the answer to that.
I pull on the restraints with all my might, ignoring the stinging pain in my wrists, even as the skin breaks open and begins to bleed.
The alarm and lights continue for about five minutes, then abruptly stop. I wait in silence, but nothing happens. No smoke, no yelling, no fire. I start to relax, leaning my head back against the chair and closing my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because next thing I know is jolted awake once again by an alarm and flashing lights.
This cycle continues throughout the entire night, intermittent periods of blaring alarms and quiet, causing me to barely get any sleep.
At some point, though, it stopped enough for me to drift asleep, because suddenly the sickening scent of roses and blood fills my nose as I start to wake. Before I can even open my eyes, I'm doused with ice cold water, causing me to gasp and sputter as the cold shocks me awake. "Hope I didn't wake you." Snow teases as I glare at him.
"What do you want?" I ask tiredly.
"You and Peeta are doing an interview with Caesar Flickerman. Tonight." he replies, and I sit up a little straighter, mind racing at the possibilities of what to say. "I want you to listen to me very carefully: you are to call for a ceasefire. The rebels will undoubtedly be watching. If anyone can convince them to abandon their foolish attempt to overthrow me, you two can. I'll have a prep team come for you in an hour." He starts to leave, then turns back and looks at me with a wicked smile. "One word out of line and you'll be shot in the head alongside Peeta, Johanna, and anyone else in the room as soon as the cameras turn off. Understood?"
"Yes." I say through gritted teeth. He huffs and leaves the room, soon replaced by a trio of stylists who begin working on me.
They dress me in a floor length deep blue gown with a corseted top, put my hair up in an elaborate updo with pearls threaded throughout, and pack what feels to be a mountain of makeup on my face.
The head stylist, Marquis, holds a mirror up to show me the result, and I find myself looking at someone I barely recognize.
I'm led from my room, which I realize is in the training center, down to the same stage the tribute interviews were held in. I stand in the wings, remembering the last time I was in this spot, when I was with Finnick...
