Defying the Odds (The 4th Quarter Quell) [The Hunger Games Fanfiction]

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Layla

I jerk out of bed with my ears ringing and my throat dry. I hear someone screaming and then I realize that it’s me, I’m screaming. I close my mouth, and instinctively grab at my throat. Nothing. My throat is not bleeding, it is not sliced open.

When my eyes squeeze shut, I see her again. Ember is at my throat with a blade pressed to it, ignoring my cries in response and pushing the blade further into my skin. Stop, I cry. Stop, stop, stop.

I snap my eyes open again to the sound of pounding against my door.

“Are you okay?!” Finnick yells.

I am silent before I roll out of bed and unlock the door.

“Are- are you crying?” he says, and I touch my cheeks. I pull my fingers back and see the wet, salty tears I must have cried, and shrug before wiping them away.

“What happened?” he asks, pulling me into a hug. I don’t say anything as he wraps his arms around me and puts one on my head, holding me to his chest. 

Nightmare, I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks, and I slowly nod. “Shh, shh. It’s gonna be okay.”

No it won’t be okay, I want to say. Nothing will be okay.

But his words aren’t what are upsetting me. It’s him, the way he smells like the sea and reminds me of my family. He reminds me so much of my family and District Four that it makes me sick. His voice and his actions are so familiar that I want to shove him away and tell him that I don’t want him near me, that I don’t want home anymore.

I want Asher.

I want Asher’s arms around me and Asher’s words and Asher’s love and Asher.

I pull out of Finnick’s arms and push past him to go to the dining room table. He’s stunned at my reaction to his comforting, but I can hear his footsteps following me to the dining room. I sit down and ask the Avox serving me for coffee, and begin to sip on it without sugar or creamer once it is in a mug. It burns as it trickles down my throat but somehow manages to soothe to burning from screaming earlier. I stare at the food on the table and turn my head away from it, suddenly not hungry.

Finnick sees the lack of food on my plate and turns to me once he is seated.

“Eat,” is all he says, and then his jaw turns stony when I don’t respond or place food on my plate.

Minutes pass, and I am still sitting in the chair sipping on my coffee, refusing to look at Finnick, or Brennan who has just sat down.

“What’s wrong with her?” Brennan asks Finnick as he loads food on to my plate.

“Me?” I ask him, turning to him suddenly. “You mean what’s wrong with me?” He looks annoyed in my response, and stays turned towards Finnick, who is now not looking at either of us. “I’m still here, Brennan. I can hear you.”

“That’s nice of you to acknowledge me too, Layla,” he says, drawing emphasis on my name. “I didn’t know we were back on a first name basis now.”

“I didn’t know I was important enough to talk to you, Brennan,” I retort, my teeth gritting together as I say his name.

He laughs a sharp, cruel laugh, and I know he is gone. These games have already changed him, already turned him into a ruthless Career.