All for what? -A Finnick Odair x OC fic

One - The Start-

The morning of the 65th Annual Hunger Games Reaping










   Finnick and I dare not to speak to one another, at the fear of our words shattering the pieces we are using to hold ourselves together. Today is the worst day of them all, yet it comes yearly. Reaping day is dreaded across all the districts, each person ages 12-18 fearing for their lives being taken away. Mothers and Fathers dreading the possibility of their children being torn from them, only to be thrown in a death pool full of teenagers. The Hunger Games haunt us from the districts, but today most of all. 

  Finnick's name is in the bowl three times, mine twice. For each year older we are, our name is added into the reaping bowl. Sometimes our district gets volunteers, but they are rare, no where near as common as District's one and two. Living in District Four means we do train for the games, just not to such an extreme extent as the other career districts. The amount of training can never be sure to grant you a victory though. 

  Icy water rises along the shore line, covering the tips of my toes. The first signs of morning are upon us. Soon enough Finn and I will part ways, returning to our families to get dressed, say what could be our final goodbyes, and head to the reaping. 

  I inch my pinky close to Finnick's, twisting them together. I give a slight squeeze, and just as I am going to speak, my voice cracks and I shutter as I begin to cry. 

  "We'll be okay," Finn pulls me to him, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. Silent tears fall down my cheeks as he speaks softly to me, "I'll meet you right here, just like last year. We'll take the day off and you can come have dinner with me and my mom."

   I nod, looking up to face him. His eyes are red, but he doesn't cry in front of me, not now anyway. When one of us must fall apart, the other does their best to stay strong. Finn leans into me, placing a soft kiss on my lips. He then reaches for my hand, guiding me from the ground. One last squeeze to my pinky and he lets go, giving the best smile he can manage as we walk in opposing directions. 

     My house is close to the shore line, which is why Finn and I began sitting out there in the late hours of the night. I'd once sat on my porch, watching the waves come in alone, but after Finnick began sitting on the beach, I joined him. As long as we stay within the lines of the docks, the Peacekeepers leave us be, most of them only caring that food is on the table by dinner. 

  My father is inside when I arrive home. Slumped over the table, a cheap liquor in hand already. I suppose he had always been a drunk, but it became worse after my mother died. She killed herself years ago, left a note saying the possibility of seeing her child die in the games was too much, so she took her life to no longer be burdened with worry. 

  So, instead of having a mother or father sew me a new dress, have me bath in rose pedals, or put my hair in beautiful braids, I ready myself alone. It doesn't take ling to pull on the pale blue dress, a simple white lace overlay on the breast. I take my still dampened hair and twist it into two pigtails, a simple but tamed hairstyle that works with my salt water waves.

    

   When I am standing in the town square, all I can do is look for Finnick. The lines are set, youngest in the back, oldest in front. Boys on the left and girls on the right, the line being split down the middle. I spot the back of his head soon after, his slightly wind blown blonde hair curling around his ears. He has swapped his cargo fishing pants for a darker dress pant, paired with an off white button down shirt. He looks around until our eyes meet, he flashes a worried smile and then faces the stage again. 

  My heart begins beating rapidly as our district four escort, Ollie Hope, makes his way from the microphone to the girl's reaping bowl. Ollie Hope, how ironic that he takes all hope away each and every year. Last year, my first reaping, I cried the entire night before. I could feel the fear coursing through my veins, pumping alongside my blood. I can feel thudding in my ears now, as if Ollie's footsteps are in sync with the beating of my heart. His hand digs deep in the bowl, plucks a paper slip, and he walks back to the mic.

"Happy Hunger Games and May the Odds be Ever In Your Favor," he smiles at us as if he's excited, he likely is truly filled with thrill right now. The citizens of the capital see The Hunger Games much different than us in the Districts, while we live in fear, the live for entertainment. His fingers unfold the paper slowly, an aching feeling wraps around me, wishing he would just say the name faster. I watch his eyes scan the paper, his lips part, then he announces, "The female tribute for District Four is," there is a brief pause, "Isla Sparks."

 I let out a sigh, it isn't me. Guilt swallows me for a moment, she is still someone. A child none the less, all of us are children. A girl from the older group of girls moves forward, she takes her steps with confidence and doesn't allow any fear to show. Ollie smiles at her, beaming as she makes her way to the stage, "Now for the boys!"

Ollie makes his way to the bowl on the other side of the stage, with this one he twists his hand around slowly, as if he enjoys making everyone anticipate what is to come. He plucks out a slip and moves back to the mic much faster than the girls side. I believe I actually saw him skip on his way back over, "The male tribute for District Four is," his eyes flick over the crowd for that same brief pause, "Finnick Odair."