Hope

CHAPTER EIGHT

Finnick stayed up late the nights following the 73rd Games.

Abigail Gray had survived. Against all odds, she was coming back—coming back to him. He couldn't believe it.

But as much as he wanted Abigail to live a full life, or as full as possible, he had neglected to realize his own selfishness on the matter. He had won his games, and he was never the same.

Was the life of a Victor better than not having one at all?

All of the people he loved, tortured and killed by Snow; his body being sold to the Capitol citizens over and over again. He hadn't had a life before the Games, but he certainly hasn't had a life since.

He hoped their rouse would save Abigail from the life he had been subjected to. He couldn't bear to witness the same pain in her eyes that was certainly in his.

"Abigail is awake. They should be releasing her soon," Mayfair announced, four days after she left the arena. Finnick had been sitting at the window, gazing out towards the Capitol. Finnick blinked, looking at the escort as she gave him a small smile.

For a Capitol citizen, Mayfair was not nearly as clueless as most.

"I'll be ready in a minute," Finnick spoke, to which Mayfair nodded and gave him some moments to collect himself.

Finnick felt tears coming to his eyes for the first time since his own Games. His breaths became heavy as he tried to calm his shaking hands. Finnick Odair felt such relief at the sound of Abigail being alright physically that he cried.

But he also cried for her. She was probably terrified.

He of all people knew that surviving the Games meant a life of misery.

His hands covered his face as his emotions finally left him that he had been holding in since Abigail left for the arena. Kissing her was torture—he wanted to kiss her because he wanted to hold on to her in any way he could, but once he did he wasn't sure how he could live without it.

But she will never be the same. They will never be the same, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

Finnick collected himself in moments, knowing that he needed to see the girl before overthinking and going down a rabbit hole he couldn't recover from. He met Mayfair at the door.

In no time, they were escorted to where Abigail was being tended. Aldar, her stylist, had already been there and assured Finnick that he allowed for no alterations to her body per his request.

Finnick was eternally grateful for that. He couldn't imagine waking up in a body that wasn't his—one that he had no consent to being changed.

The Victors already had to live through that once.

"Have you seen her yet? Is she awake?" Finnick asked, trying to remain calm knowing that Snow was watching his every move.

How could he hide his love for the girl? When he proposed the idea, he was merely attracted to her, but now he genuinely cared for her and it terrified him. Snow couldn't know about their care for one another.

"She is awake," Aldar answered, nodding behind Finnick. The Victor turned behind him to see was Aldar had seen: Abigail Gray was walking towards them.