Sugarcubes // Finnick Odair - Hunger Games Fanfic

VI.

After Peeta's interview went south, we were moved to the tributes center.

They wasted no time in plugging me into drugs again, like usual, it was first a bag of morphine – to make sure I didn't die from whatever they were about to do, and then the serum that made me lose my mind. This time however, Thorn didn't come in. Another peacekeeper did.

"Listen, Kendria, we are running out of time," he tells me. "There's no more tolerance to your antics. Annie has disappeared, so we can't bring her back here. You're our only option. Tell us what you know about the rebellion, and maybe, you won't die today."

I scoff. These bluffs can't fool me.

"I won't die today anyways. You obviously think I have some information, that the Capitol needs. Kill me, and where are you going to get those answers?"

He seems like me; hot-headed, stubborn, and very strong. He doesn't have a badge on. I don't know his name. They know that the rebel base is in thirteen; otherwise, they wouldn't have dropped bombs there. Everybody knows it by now; it's common knowledge. By Plutarch's disappearance, they can probably guess that he's leading the rebellion. The problem is that's how much I know about it too. So, what do they think I know? What more is there to know? Because of Peeta, and his interviews, where he's been forced to talk about things happening in the world, I'm up to date on what's been happening – or at least, what the Capitol wants us to know.

It's his turn to scoff now. He exits the room, slamming the door, and making me flinch at the loud noise. Then, four more people enter. They're all holding long metal cubs that have pointed ends. Each of them is covered in plastic wrapping, to protect them from the mess they are about to make. The shield them from my blood, and earplugs, to shield them from my screams. It is a sign of just how weak I truly am that I don't get up when they come at me. I can't. It's not the mental paralysis that stopped me from fighting back when my father hit me. It's the sheer physical exhaustion. As they land blow after blow on the skin that doesn't seem to be mine anymore, and I slowly lose my vision to the pain, the only thing that continues working is my mind. For some reason, it's working faster than before. It's filled with memories, both real and memories that have been forced into me by the serum; and it's getting harder for me to distinguish between them. Everything merges; my life becoming one hot mess of a movie.

The peacekeepers don't stop.

I have also had a longing to hold a metal club and beat everything in sight. I'm not going to lie to myself; and try to make myself believe that I am any better. I am only different because something has always stopped me. Against my father, it was fear that my siblings would turn their back on me if I was the reason their beloved father died. With the peacekeepers and president Snow, it was fear that if I died, they'd have to fend for themselves. With the Capitol citizens, it was fear of Snow, and with my prep team it was respect for Alexander, even after he had died.

When they have exhausted themselves, and I have not uttered a single word, I am left alone in the room, bleeding out of a thousand different cuts, bruised, and battered. Finally, my body matches my mind. Another person comes in; from his lack of a derogatory remark, I assume he's an avox. Gently, more gently than any peacekeeper could, he lifts me up and assists me back to the cells. The Capitol forever surprises me. I had no idea there were cells in the tribute centre. They obviously haven't been used in a very long time since the metal bars and rusted and the tile is chipped. He helps me into a cage right next to Peeta, and apologetically shuts the door and locks it. Peeta too seems to have gone through something. He looks shallower than usual, jumpy, and insecure.

"Kendria," he says, leaning through the bars separating us and staring at me. Stifling a groan of pain, I sit up and smile at him comfortingly.

"Yes, Peeta?"