unforgivable ➸ finnick odair

T W E N T Y T W O

"That was exhausting," I sighed as Sean, Desiree and I emerged on our district floor at the Training Centre.

"I agree. I remember my own Victor's Interview," Sean said grimly, and Desiree winced at the thought of hers. 

"Just be prepared for more, El. You performed excellently out there today, and you're already quite well-loved in the Capitol; they're eventually going to want you back," Desiree told me grimly, and I pulled a face at the thought of more interviews.

"Let's hope not," I shook my head and promptly collapsed on the couch, drained of energy from the stress of the interview and watching the recap of the games.

"Don't forget to wake up for dinner!" I faintly heard Desiree sing-song as I closed my eyes and surrendered to the world of oblivion.

---

"Electra." A cold voice said, and I opened my eyes, attempting to lift my arms in order to rub my eyes before I realized that something cold was keeping my arms strapped down. A chain, I thought as I saw the metal chain that was around my wrist, the two sides padlocked together underneath the cold hard table I was lying on. A quick glance told me that my legs were strapped down as well, so all I could do was lift my head up.

"Electra." It was the same voice again, but louder and now distinctively female. Anxious and freaked out now, my head whipped from side to side frantically to try and find the owner of the voice, but to no avail. I did, however, get a good look at my surroundings. I was being kept prisoner in a room that was basically white haven - white walls, white ceiling, bright white light, white table, white floor, white everything. It was bare of furniture or anything roomy as well, and it sent shivers down my spine for some bizarre reason.

"Electra." Again, the same but louder. There was an angry undertone in it as well that made me nervous despite my attempts to calm myself down. It wasn't the voice of someone forceful, of someone big and strong and threatening. No, the owner of this voice, I suspected, had a stronger mental presence than a physical one. They were probably the type of person who would watch as you were tortured and not lift a finger or say a word against it.

"Electra." "Electra." "Electra." "Electra." "Electra." The voices echoed around the room, always still that same, angry, female one. They pounded against my brain and seemed to engulf it. The very sound of the voices gave me the feeling of drowning - of drowning and reaching up for a source of light that seemed so close but so far away, my fingertips only reaching more and more water as I sunk to the depths of an endless sea, my screams unheard my anyone as water filled my lungs and consumed my body - 

And then the setting changed. And changed. And changed some more. To my relief, the white room never appeared again, but then again, none of the rooms were ever repeated. My mind seemed to come up with an unlimited variety of tortures to submit me under. The voice was a regular occurrence in each setting, however. Always repeating my name, though their tone of voice changed. Sometimes they were still angry, others they seemed pitying, sad, envious, all negative emotions. Whoever they were, they hated me.

Sometimes I would be burning at the stake, fires greedily licking at my arms, smoke lazily drifting and squeezing my neck, filling my lungs in a similar fashion to water as it closed off my airway and slowly choked me to death. But I would always be whisked away before that merciful fate, to another world, another torture. Falling to the ground, air slapping against my face and bids - jabberjays, my hazy mind realized - that screeched and screamed in my ear, pecking against my exposed skin as I rushed to solid ground, only for the invisible force to stop me mid-air and drag me away to another world of nightmares.

Other times I would be again strapped to a cold metal table, only this time a faceless being would constantly use different weapons to carve up my body. Daggers would be dragged across my face to form a bloody, crooked X as the person/animal/thing/whatever would continue to chant my name in the same, hate-filled voice. Swords would be jabbed into my stomach and slice cleanly across my waist, always coming away drenched in my own crimson blood. The thing would use spears as threading needles, dipping it through my skin, pushing it along, pulling it out, then repeating the process despite my soundless cries of protest. 

This one was the worst, I thought dully as I stared at the ring of people encircling my prone form that was tied to a stiff, upright tree; a willow tree, I realized with a dry mental chuckle as my mind's cruel imitation of Everly stared at me with accusing eyes. The lower half of her green shirt had been roughly torn off, revealing the three stab wounds from her district partner that sat neatly on her abdomen. May was there as well, a neat hole going straight through her stomach from Glitter's spear, hair in a wild halo around her face as she stared at me, not in anger, but in disappointment. As was Bolt, arrow still protruding from his chest, a dull, bloodied silver dagger clutched in his bloodstained hands, an angry glare etched on his young face.

"Electra," they said in unison, voices mixing together in the same feminine tone that I had heard before. "Electra. Electra. Electra. Electra." I tried to open my mouth and say something, anything, but something was clogging my airway and all that came out was a frantic, desperate squeak. 

"Electra."

"Electra."

"ELECTRA!"

"Electra."

"ELECTRA, WAKE UP!"

"Electra."

"ELECTRA MAY REINE!"

Someone was screaming somewhere; a long, torturous, agonized scream that pounded against the sides of my brain as I surfaced from my nightmare, face drenched in tears and throat hoarse. The scream ceased as soon as I closed my mouth and shot up from my prone position on the couch, and I realized that the tortured scream had been my own. 

Figures swam hazily into vision as I frantically wiped the tears from my eyes; both Desiree and Sean were crouching in front of me, concerned expressions on their faces as I swallowed the lump in my throat and instinctively felt my stomach and face for the wounds the faceless being had inflicted. They were completely smooth and bare - no crooked X, no clean slice of a sword's blade, no stitching techniques made by a slim silver spear.

"... are you okay?" Desiree whispered, all sarcasm disappearing from her tone, replaced with concern for my well-being. Sean shot her a reprimanding look at the empty question as I slowly shook my head, still clutching my face, waiting for the X to reappear, for my fingers to come away covered in blood.

"No. I don't think so," I coughed out, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt the invisible heavy water and non-existent thick grey smoke press down against my lungs. Desiree gave me a sympathetic look as Sean disappeared to fetch me a glass of cold water.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Desiree asked hesitantly, and she didn't seem surprised when I frantically shook my head, reaching out feebly to take the glass of water that Sean reappeared holding. It was only when I finished gulping down the water like it was my lifeline did I speak again.

"I -  it felt so real," I choked, hands going back to my stomach and tracing the line across my waist that the thing's sword had made. Desiree and Sean exchanged identical grim looks before Sean spoke up, voice heavy and pitying.

"They always do."

This was, if I'm honest, just a chapter to show that Electra didn't come out of the games unharmed and without any mental scars. She's not going to go insane or become incredibly weak, because that doesn't suit her character, but she will have moments like these again, quite frequently. Originally the nightmare was just a small sub-plot of the chapter, and there was going to be something bigger happening, but the nightmare sort of consumed the whole chapter, and anyway, this story has been quite fast-paced already; time to slow some things down and have some more slice-of-lifey chapters.