Stay with me? [Finnick Odair]

39

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Chapter thirty nine: Hell comes in a lot of different colours
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I'm in Finnick's house, fixing up a cup of hot chocolate for both of us, Finnick is sitting in the living room with the TV on— just flicking through the channels. The announcement for what the twist will be for the quarter quell is going to be on TV soon, I know we're not ready, we don't know what it will be, but we have no choice but to view it. Every channel will be taken up by this announcement. There's no escaping it.

I quickly stir some sugar in the chocolate, picking up both cups and carefully walking into the living room, I hand one cup to Finnick and take a seat beside him. We don't say anything, we just quietly sip our chocolate— ignoring the burning in our tongues as the anthem echoes through the large house.

Mae will be watching too, back at home, I know I should be over there with her but I needed some comforting this morning. I was up all night with nightmares again, they've never stopped since I left that damned arena.

"Are you ready?" Finnick speaks quietly, his tongue clicking as he brought his lips away from the cup, I instantly shake my head.

"Nope."

The quarter quell isn't for months yet, the snow has barely began to melt, there's no way they could have it planned already— but then again they've been planning the quells for years before they actually happen.

The president appears on screen, my jaw clenches at the sight of his snake-like eyes, burning holes into my skin, I keep my lips on the edge of the cup and force myself to look him in the eye. I'll never get over the feeling of fear that wells up inside me every time I see Snow.

My throat tightens as he begins to speak, as if someone's tightening a rope around my neck, I cough in an attempt to get rid of the feeling but it stays no matter what I try.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it," he speaks with a twisted grin on his face, as if he enjoys the thought of the district's turning over two of their kids to become killers, it's strange to think about, surely the people in the districts would've picked the two that they think would be the best and most ruthless killers. It's disgusting. "On the fiftieth anniversary," he continues. "As a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

I remember a lot of people talking about that, though I wasn't born yet, my mother watched it carefully as her sister was sent into that fight. She didn't come out alive. The district 12 tribute, Haymitch Abernathy, won those games with his knowledge about the forcefield. It's known across Panem that he's a raging alcoholic because of those games.

I have spoken to him once or twice, he's nice once you get past the alcohol, but you can never get past the stench of booze on his breath.

Most people turn to alcohol or morphling to escape the memories of their games, I have tried alcohol once or twice, but I've never became addicted, I'm not too sure about Finnick but I know he's definitely not as bad as Haymitch.

"And now we honour our third quarter quell." I scoff at the word 'honour'. The only people who actually honour these years are the people in the Capitol who aren't forced to go into that arena and watch people die right in front of them. A little boy dressed in white steps forward holding a box, as soon as he opens the lid we see tidy rows of yellow envelopes. The president lifts up an envelope clearly marked with the large number '75'. His finger slips under the flap and he lifts it, tugging a small square of paper out of it, his eyes meet the camera again and his puffy lips curl into a demented grin. He speaks without hesitation. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them can not overcome the power of the Capitol, the Male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Finnick and I understand what that means immediately for us, one male, three females. Finnick is going back into the arena. Annie and Mags are definitely in no shape to fight to the death, Annie would just collapse emotionally and Mags... I just can't allow myself to let her go into that arena.

I have to volunteer.

I'm going back into the arena. No matter what.

It's an addition to the promise I made to Annie and her brother before Annie lost her mind, protect them both at all costs, even if that cost is my own life.

My body goes into autopilot, I don't bother to speak to Finnick, I just rush towards the door and fling it open, I run out the door in the snow-speckled street and collapse onto the cobblestone road. I can hear the distant, terror-filled scream of Annie down the street. But my mind is too occupied. I can't focus. My mind is racing. My heart is pounding.

It feels exactly like it did when my name was called for the reaping, like someone had just punched me in the gut, all the air is knocked from my lungs upon impact with the ground. The snow meets my cheek and I'm brought back to reality. Eyes flickering, my hands are brought to my face and I claw at my skin, I don't know what I'm trying to do, shed my skin, make myself feel pain, I don't know. All of a sudden, I felt a scream bubble in my throat, but a pair of hands grab me before I'm able to let it out, I thrash, scream, and scratch at whoever has grabbed me in an attempt to break free.

The announcement of the victors going back into the arena has driven me to a state of insanity, much like Annie whose screams are still echoing, I'm dragged somewhere, I don't realise where until the warmth hits me and a blanket is drawn around my shoulders. I'm back at home...