When The Canary Sings

Hickies.

Third Person Point of View: 

*

That night, Becca was left completely alone. Haymitch was gone, Effie was gone, the stylists were gone, and she was alone. Somehow, more often than not, this is how it was in the Capitol. She was alone.

Unable to sleep, partially because her bed was too stiff for her liking and partially because she couldn't stop thinking of the blonde boy back in District 12. She walked out of her bedroom and decided she wanted to explore. Her little feet made small pits and pats as she stalked her way to the elevator. Once inside the golden square, she pressed the button that had a giant P on it.

She rode it down, and when the elevator doors opened, she was swallowed in a blue light, and an odd yet somehow familiar smell.

She looked around at the tiled room, and at the big pit in the middle filled with water. Ohhhhh, she thinks, P for pool.

She races back to the elevator and to the room to put her bathing suit on, and by the time she gets back down there, there's someone in the pool, their back covered in purple bruises and what looked like cat scratches.

Becca was eight years old when an older girl at school had first taught her what a hickey was.

"It's when a boy kisses you so much it leaves a bruise." She explained, "it means he loves you a lot."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not really, but when it does, it's like—good." She said, holding a cold ice cube to her neck to get rid of them. "Adults don't like to see 'em, though. One day when you're older you'll get one." The girl assured, Becca only hummed in response as she picked at the wildflowers in the recess yard.

"I see Cray's girls." Becca blurted, "they have hicks."

The older girl, Marin, she thinks her name is, purses her lips. "Those are bad hickies. Do me a favor and don't go near that house." She says Becca wants to ask why, but then the bell rings and Marin goes off with all the older girls. "Just a bunch of unfortunate souls over there."

The man who stood at the edge of the pool was covered in hickeys, the bruises only made darker in the dim blue light of the poolroom. "Hi, Finnick," the redhead greets, walking up to his side and sitting down, her ankles in the water. Finnick jumps and looks around.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" He asks, "how did you convince Haymitch to let you come down here by yourself?" He jokes, the shakiness in his voice subsiding.

"Haymitch isn't here," she says, "I don't even know where he is. Same with Effie."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she shrugs.

Becca wanted to ask about his hickeys. She knows Annie definitely didn't give them to him, number one because she was way too sweet to do that to anyone. Unless she had a dark side, but Becca shrugged it off. Number two, if Annie gave them to him he'd be in bed with her now. She is young, and maybe a bit naive, but she definitely isn't stupid. She remembers Marin, talking to her about a good hickey and a bad hickey. She used to parade herself around school, showing everyone the dark mark on her tanned skin from her boyfriend, and when a teacher came she'd cover it with her dark hair. At the same time there was another girl from town, who used to hide her marks with the utmost amount of shame. She told people she did what she had to. And people understood.

That was the difference between a good hickey and a bad hickey. Becca hoped one day a boy would like her enough to give her one. A nice little mark to show people. To tell everyone that she was loved.