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Training hadn't mentally prepared Greyson for the President's announcement. She wasn't even sure if she could listen to it. She knew the time was coming, but now that the President stood on her television dressed like a proper Capitol politician with his signature white rose clipped to his suit jacket, everything felt more real. It all felt like a bullet racing towards her in slow motion, flying towards its target in a painful wait that could only mean death.
She believed she wouldn't find her way out of the arena if she was chosen tribute. She had the strength and skill with a few good friends up her sleeve, except that didn't cease the idea that she wasn't the one to be looking out for. Katniss was. And who was to stop the other ruthless Victors from killing her? It was up to the select few that Haymitch picked to protect the revolution's symbol. Katniss Everedeen's life was in her hands.
Greyson sat alone that day, standing in front of the television with her body motionless as she listened to the anthem play in the background as Snow began his speech. She clamped her mouth shut and kept her eyes wide open, watching as every word escaped his venomous lips. "As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
A few minutes went by, some feeling like hours, until Greyson felt her hand twitch and her blood reminding her it needed circulation again. She flexed her hands, then clenched them tightly. She was infuriated with Snow. She wanted to kill him, to strangle the life out of his thick body and slit his throat with the dullest of knives. She wanted to make him pay for what he'd done over the years of the Hunger Games until she felt no more of the bloody need.
These were overpowering her thoughts, too dark for such a person whose life had been stained with red. But when you think about it, she's thought worse. She's seen worse. She was a reaper, taking lives of the children who were forced to kill her. And that much was enough to cause someone to go mad; insane even. But not Greyson.
She's stayed sane all these years in her shell of a home, watching each year as more were subjected to the darkness like herself. Which was why she never understood Finnick. He was a chaotic mess before her real terror began, his journey stretching much more emotionally than anyone she knew. She worried about him now and how he was going to be able to manage to stay strong throughout all of this. Finnick was a strong person, but strong people can only be strong for so long.
The slamming of her front door snapped her out of her thoughts, bringing her to jog out into the middle room. In a blur she was pressed in a warm, familiar embrace that snuggled closer to her body, enveloping her like a cloud. She could feel his hands violently shaking and running up and down her back as if she was the one who was slowly losing themself.
Greyson pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, daring the moment to be the unrequited time. His whole form was hunched over her like a ghost, swallowing her and begging to be seen. She ran a hand through his always perfect hair, loving how it sifted through her fingers so easily. She whispered into his ear softly, coaxing him to follow her up to their unsaid sanctuary.
She kept a tight hold on his hand as she pushed the door to her bedroom open, fearing that he may fall over. Finnick kept her close to his body when they were under the chilling covers. His leg was thrown over hers, trapping Greyson from moving anywhere but closer, and his hand was left to carelessly trace the outlines of her calm facial expression.
Amused, she watched him through her hourglass eyes, not minding how faultless their bodies molded together. He reminded her of a giant teddy bear in bed, he never wanted her to move away from him. She was obligated to be pressed up against him so their heat radiated from body to body. They were stuck together like magnets.
It was clear she felt something for Finnick. The real question was if he did. So she defiantly took the chance. Their noses brushed and their long drags of breath jumbled. He was looking at her with a sweet innocence that only a rare few witnessed, his lips looking more desirable by the second.
"Shit world we live in," she whispered.
Finnick couldn't breathe. His thumb was caressing the silky skin of her cheek and her heart shaped lips were parted, dangerously close to his. He couldn't imagine why a girl so amazing would take interest in a person like him. He was part of Snow's game, a piece that was to fit in his complex puzzle of life and death. But somewhere, a small voice reminded him, Greyson was a part of that puzzle too. Which meant she fit right in there along with him.
He tried not to let that infamous smirk of his show, so he distracted himself by responding to Greyson's comment. "Sometimes not," he whispered sincerely. "I happen to like ours."
Ours, Greyson smiled to herself, holding on tighter to him. I like the sound of that.
