All for what? -A Finnick Odair x OC fic

Three -False Hope-

The morning of the 67th Annual Hunger Games Reaping

This year it is I who wakes with a nightmare, but I wake alone. The smell of the ocean drifts through the open windows, salty and humid. It's hotter than normal for this time of year, or maybe it's the nerves. I left the windows open last night, something I used to never do. Looking outside, I see the sun rising slowly, the sky turning from deep orange to light blue. Reaping day is upon me once again, but this year I am all alone.

I think of my first Reaping day, my father watching Finnick and I walk down the street to the town square. My eyes had been so puffy from crying all night long. Finnick had been to the reaping once before me, him being a year older, so he walked me that day to calm my nerves. The second, when Finnick was reaped and I thought I had lost him forever. Then to last year, when he and I had been so sure I would be called onto that stage, but was given that false hope, only to return home to find our families gone. Finnick returned weeks later, both tributes he was a mentor for had died in the bloodbath on the first day, then he found me back home and I told him about his mother, about my father. I thought we would be there for one another after that, but he told me we must stay apart, to keep me safe.

I've spent the past year alone, going to school, helping out at the docks for extra food. I know Finnick is covering the costs that I cannot and when I come home to find dinner on my table some nights, I know it is from him too. I went to his house many times in the first weeks, begging him to hold me, to love me, but he never let me inside, not even once. I have grieved alone.

Today there is a pale blue dress on my kitchen table, soft lace crossing the chest and falling down the skirt. I know Finnick brought it here. I want to rip it to shreds, to throw it into the ocean and watch it float away, but instead I put it on. I pull the top of my hair into a braid on each side, allowing the ends of the braids to lay across the rest of my hair.

The town square is just as crowded as always, I take my place with the other fifteen year old girls. Some of them wave hands across their faces, attempting to cool themselves, I suppose it is truly hotter than usual. My eyes scan the crowd as Ollie Hope begins his speech, hundreds of scared boys and girls stand, looking at the stage. I turn my attention to the side stage, first looking at Mags, the oldest victor, who stands with her eyes fixed on me. I wonder for a moment if Finnick still talks to her about me. He stands beside her, I know they have grown close. Sometimes I'll see her and Finnick walking on the beach in the early hours of morning. Finnick's eyes meet mine, instead of looking away as usual, he keeps them there. We stare at each other, as if nothing else if going on in the world. For a moment, I am back to the days when he would pick butterweed flowers and give them to me on our walks home from school. Sometimes I wonder if he knew he loved me way back then, as I already knew I loved him.

When Ollie takes his steps to the bowl and back to the mic, I shift my gaze away from Finnick's eyes. My thoughts fade and I am back to reality. The sea green color that I just starred into burned into my thoughts. Ollie scans the crown with his eyes as he speaks, "Happy Hunger Games and May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor! Now ladies first!"

"The female tribute for District Four is," that sickening pause once more, "Ivy Dagon."

Ivy Dagon. The tribute is me. What I would give to go back to moments ago, in that sickening wait for the tribute to be chosen. Mags grabs Finnick's hand before he can move, but I watch him twitch, as if he wanted to push Ollie right from the stage. My feet suddenly feel heavy, with each step I take I think I may forget how to make the next. Taking the steps one after another, I am suddenly no longer hot, ice now pumps through my veins. Taking my place on the stage, I refuse to look at Finnick. Ollie shakes my hand and suddenly I remember him shaking the hands of the tributes each year, one of the quirks our district escort holds. He makes his way to the males side, pulling a slip and walking back to the center stage, "The male tribute for District Four is," the pause, "Venus Gill."

I watch Venus, a broad eighteen year old take the stage, he was so close, so close to never being chosen, to being safe. I suppose we are all just one moment from being safe now. Venus moves forward as we are motioned to shake hands, he takes my hand lightly and shakes it. Then we are lead inside, for our families to say their goodbyes. The only one who comes to see me is the older woman who buys my nets by the docks. The conversation is mostly tears, but I don't cry. I have spent months crying over everyone I ever loved being gone. I just sit the rest of the time in silence, waiting to be taken to the train and from there to the capital.