𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑫 - ❝ if I burn, he will
burn with me; that's his destiny, I'm
not going to heaven anyway so I
might as well drag him with me ❞
➹
ongoing
book 1
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─. ✦˖─
CHAPTER 37 ❝ CONFLICT ❞
A MOIST and uncomfortable feeling crawled up my skin and spread on my body. Persephone's stone cold body laid in front of me and I couldn't help the feeling of guilt that arose in my soul as I stared at her, motionless. In the distance, I could hear Beetee looping the wire and explaining the plan to the others, one that we've already went through before together and left the two popular tributes in the dust of.
I, for one, was filled with an unending rage and I wasn't sure who it was directed to. Plutarch Heavensbee who promised me Persephone's safety alongside the mockingjay of our rebellion but ultimately went against our promise and dug her straight into the tidal waves? Coriolanus Snow who dropped us in here once again and forcing us to fight for our lives just for his pure entertainment? Or Katniss Everdeen who forced Coriolanus Snow's hand and put Persephone under the scrutinising gaze that ultimately forced us into this position a lot sooner than we were ready for it?
The flies that buzzed in my ear gave no response in return to the questions that danced on my mind and my eyes never left her pale skin marred with rough cuts from the beach floor. In the time that I've been staring at her after we pulled her out of the water and carried her to this god-forsaken tree, my eyes haven't left her once.
In this time span, I've noticed so much more about her than I did in the past. The lightly covered bruises that marred her neck and wrists from the violence inflicted on her weeks before the games; the bags under her eyes that were hidden by the thick and unmovable foundation coating her skin, and the uneven clippings of her nails that resembled bite marks from anxiety.
This place isn't good for her. These people aren't good for her. It's been eating away at her silently and although she's livelier in the arena than she was in the districts, she's slowly becoming a peek of who President Snow wants her to be.
A machine.
A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up to meet their eyes. Finnick Odair stood above me, his tired sea green eyes looked at me with a faint tickle of guilt hiding behind those sympathetic orbs. If it was the me from before the games, the me that didn't experience the depths of betrayal and the preparation for death years and years over, I would've thought it was an innocent type of guilt. The guilt for not protecting my sister and letting her get this way and the guilt for disappointing me as my future brother-in-law.
But I knew better.
I didn't miss the subtle glances that he gave me while pretending to turn over his shoulder to talk to Everdeen and Mellark.
