That Fine Line

Chapter 11 - Loss

Everything worked out as I intended. He was pinned on the floor, panting beneath me. Smiling in victory, I stood over him, still straddling my defeated opponent.

"As I said," I stepped off of him. "I won this match." My heart was beating extraordinarily fast for simply recovering from a fight. It raced even faster when I met his pretty sea-green eyes again. It's probably just because I'm out of practice.

The overconfident man had done exactly as I'd planned. Banking on the chance that he'd play "gentleman", I'd purposefully went all the way in with my offense. And I was right: he didn't strike, but instead grabbed me for a finishing take-down. Unfortunately for him, my instincts were still (surprisingly) intact, so I was able to land on my feet, even after he'd flipped me in midair. While he was still caught off-guard by my sudden recovery, I swept his feet from under him, leaving him incapacitated on the floor with my knee pressing on his Adam's apple.

As I got up, I grew worried that I'd revealed myself in front of everyone else at the Training Center. Thankfully, the floor was almost empty, as the majority of the tributes had gone off for dinner.

Still breathless from our sparring match, Finnick panted, "I thought you didn't do any combat stuff."

Now's not the time to tell him yet. I shrugged my shoulders. "I just got lucky, I guess." Little did he know about the elation I was feeling at that moment, knowing I'd impressed him out of the blue.

~

We were on the mat again. Another sparring match. Except the roles were reversed. He'd pinned me down on the floor, holding my wrists down by my head. His weight crushed my pelvis, prohibiting me from kicking him away. Although, that would only matter if I wanted to kick him away.

At some point, I'd stopped struggling against him. I surrendered, looking up straight into those deep sea-green eyes, noticing every little detail about his pretty face. The bronze lashes that decorated his eyes, his perfectly straight nose, the set of pretty pink lips underneath, and the soft feathery tufts of hair that hung down from above his forehead, as if they were calling me to reach out and touch them...

"Y/N," he murmured softly, "I want you to run away with me..."

Somehow a hand had gotten loose from his grip and began to feel its way through his beautiful bronze hair. It eventually settled on the side of his face, his ear in-between my thumb and index finger. And then my heart totally melted. He smiled at me. Dimples that my subconscious somehow still remembered appeared on his face, and his eyes squinted slightly in a smile. This man was going to be the death of me.

"Y/N?"

I turned to see my mother standing beside us, having watched the entire scene enfold. Like a coiled spring that was being released, I sprung up without regard for whether or not I'd hit Finnick.

"Mom, I-I didn't mean to. I swear, he took advantage of me while my guard was down. He was the one who'd kissed me. I didn't mean to do it. I had no idea he'd do that. But it's different now, and I don't really know what's going on anymore."

The words tumbled out endlessly until it all didn't make sense anymore, and I didn't know what to say. Partially because I wasn't sure of how I felt, but also because of the way she was looking at me. It was the look she had given me all those years ago when we'd first arrived in Four. She'd avoided my gaze, staring off into the distance in her own thoughts, during the entire trip. Only when we'd finally settled down for dinner did she give me that spiteful yet somehow dispassionate look. As our days of District toil wore on, the resentment eventually left and only emptiness remained. 

Tears welled up in my eyes as the memories of her blank expression reeled in my mind. "Mom, please say something," I begged.

She stared back at me wordlessly. The way she always did.

I woke up from the dream, springing straight up from my bed. My head swam with confusion. How could I dream of kissing him? My mortal enemy? The person I wanted dead the most?