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Greyson ran her fingers through her hair, scrubbing and mixing in the shampoo until her head was full of suds. She sat in the tub with mountains of foam layering the top of the water, displeased that she would have to get out and go to the reaping soon. In all honesty, it wasn't even a reaping. There were three girl tributes; her, Mags, and Annie, and she wouldn't hesitate to volunteer for them. If her name was to be called, hopefully Mags or Annie won't volunteer, both have lived a more difficult life than Greyson. If anything, she deserved to go back into the arena because of a life wasted away from isolation.
Life was ticking by in her mind as if a countdown to the day she'd die, and the only thing she could do was wait. It was a terrible thing – time. It could be the most precious of things but it could also be the thing to ruin you in seconds. Greyson almost feared time. She hated how it had been used countlessly against her for most of her life, with Snow trapping her inside of her house and the countdown that was said before you were released into a killing frenzy for the games.
Greyson looked down at her fingers that were beginning to get shriveled up so much they were resembling raisins. The water of the bath was starting to turn cold from the lack of movement she was making, so she rinsed her hair and rung it out, stepping onto the tiled floor without managing to slip and wrapping a towel around herself.
She changed into appealing clothes just for the Capitol and their audience. She wore black jeans and a black sweater that had gold embroidery on the shoulders. She didn't bother wearing makeup because she didn't really ever wear any, and she knew that the next few days of her life would consist of looking like an array of colors from the rainbow, if she was to be chosen to participate in the Games. Greyson fixed her hair until it was hanging on her shoulders in soft, chestnut waves.
She sat downstairs, stirring a cup of tea she made for herself. She found that, even in the most heart-gripping of times, a cup of tea would calm her down. It's serene aroma kept her chest from rising so quickly and her leg to stop shaking. Tea was Greyson's cocaine to a drug addict. She wasn't obsessed with the drink, but having it in the house was a must-have.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as her doorbell rang, chiming throughout the silent house. The only thing that could be heard was the scraping of a chair against the floor and Greyson's uneven breaths. Finnick stood there in all his auspicious glory, a hand reaching out for her to grab.
Greyson cursed herself inwardly, knowing that if she took his hand she would be forced to face reality; to face death. But with one gentle, reassuring look from Finnick, they were walking with the rest of the tributes to the square. It was hard not be sorrowful for Annie Cresta, who was shaking and muttering to herself that everything was going to be alright. It was a pitiful lie to tell yourself, because in a world as dangerous as this one there was bound to be some faults and tragedies.
She flinched as Finnick began to rub circles into the back of her hand. She supposed that Finnick was her lifeline. He was always there when she needed him and she was always there when he needed her. It was a mutual relationship where they flirted and cuddled, no strings attached. The only problem was that there were strings and evidently, there were feelings much stronger than friendship. Which was what Snow didn't want to happen all along.
He didn't want his toys to be shared, he wanted them all to himself like his wooden soldiers. He had a full playhouse of toys that varied from the candy Capitol people to the toy robots that were labeled Victors. They were all lean, killing machines that couldn't be controlled, which was probably why he feared Katniss Everdeen as much as an arachnophobic feared spiders. His imagination of blood and power was diminishing as people like her rose to their full potential.
Nothing lasts forever, Greyson thought to herself as she felt Finnick's hand slip from her grasp. They were walking up the steps to the stage in front of all of District Four and the Capitol. She knew the other victors were sure to watch the reapings, so she held her head high and wiped all emotion from her face, ignoring the whispers that waved behind her as she passed people who watched her games and saw her suffering. They were nothing but the past.
She was next to Mags at the end of the short line, and the two shared a silent nod in respect. Mags had seen Greyson walk with Finnick to and from their houses multiple times before, and the older woman smiled to herself. She knew what love looked like.
Just then, Elodie Fenway glittered across the stage in puffs of happiness and feathers of blue smiles. She was clearly representing their District from her sequined top that swayed whenever she moved and her tight pencil skirt that faded from blue to white with small silver pearls sewn into the hem at the bottom. Her cheeriness made Greyson want to throttle her neck and scream at her that all of this was wrong. But that would mean humiliation and weakness in front of everybody.
After they played the video of utter bullshit, Elodie started talking. "Hello my fellow citizens of District Four! It is my pleasure to announce for you the Victors that will take part in this year's Quarter Quell!" Elodie sang the last part as if it was her favorite song, earning a subtle glare from Greyson and a few other Victors.
She glanced at Finnick to see that he was staring straight ahead, arms respectfully crossed and waiting to be chosen. Just waiting. Greyson bit her tongue from calling out his name and stopped herself from running over and giving him a tight hug. She couldn't do that because Elodie was already hovering over the three slips of paper that had her name on one of them.
Her manicured hand moved over the papers, swirling in such an elegant fashion that Greyson's heart hammered inside her chest repeatedly. "And this year's tribute for the annual Quarter Quell is..." She grabbed a name and unfolded it. Greyson couldn't breathe, couldn't think as her mind went blank from the rustling of paper. "Annie Cresta!"
The choked scream that left the poor, deranged girl left Greyson doing something she never thought she would do in a million years. Finnick's heart dropped at the sight before him. Annie couldn't even move an inch as Greyson shot forward, her arm blocking Annie from moving.
"I volunteer as tribute!" The words felt like poison on her tongue, but they also gave her a justice that strengthened her purpose as Annie started sobbing harder and shook with gratitude. Greyson turned around from the girl so she didn't start crying along with her, and went into Elodie's open arms.
"Ah, what excitement! A volunteer!" Elodie held a microphone to Greyson's lips. "What's your name, dearie?"
Greyson's eyes swept over the ocean of people that watched her with sad eyes. They all felt sympathy for her; for the girl who never lived a purposeful day in her life. Greyson swallowed the thick lump that burdened her throat. "Greyson Hunter," she said with a quake in her voice that she hoped went unnoticed, however, Finnick shifted in his spot as he listened to her say her name.
Elodie cheered and then began talking in excitement. "Now for the gentlemen!" She clambered over to the giant bowl of names that held five male Victors. Her hand didn't hesitate this time around, and as she unfolded the second tribute, Greyson closed her eyes.
But that didn't stop her heart from plummeting as his name was called.
