ODDS

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʀᴏꜱᴇꜱ

Alana

𝓒𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 me, eyes sweeping over my thinning frame as she brushed the perfume-smelling powder over my features. She might've been trying to get my attention, to gain some semblance of peace that I was alright.

But I couldn't give her that.

So I stared off into space, the feeling of someone combing their fingers through my hair to curl my already wavy locks lulling me to sleep. It's what I longed for. Sleep.

Maybe death would bring that when it came to take me away.

I took a shaky breath. I had to push those thoughts out of my head. This was for Finnick, surviving. I had to do it for him, no matter how much pain I went through, no matter how convincing death's flirtatious voice sounded.

It was always for him.

"You're all ready." Cinder's words barely formed a whisper. She was disappointed. Then again, maybe not. Maybe it was shock that painted her beautiful face. I didn't know.

My mind hurt too much to focus on it, so I gave up.

I nodded in her direction, still in a daze. If I stayed in this trance of sorts, maybe this wouldn't be as painful. Maybe I wouldn't care if everyone in the districts saw me as a traitor.

A traitor.

That's what I was.

I wondered what Calypso would think of me now. Honestly, I didn't know if she was still alive, after my mishap before the games, when I was a show-clown for the Game Makers.

And Morgan? What would he have said if he could've seen me?

My pondering only brought anger. I felt my blood boil as I thought of then judging me, as if it were real. How could they think that? I was only doing what had to be done. It was this or death. Survival of the fittest. They had no right to judge me.

But that wasn't real.

I had to remind myself that it wasn't. All of the stress was starting to catch up to me. I could already feel it in my aching bones, my sore muscles, my confused mind. It was everywhere, the doubt, the fear, the anger and exhaustion.

I felt a hand with sharp nails dig into my bruised flesh as it guided me forcefully to my position in front of the camera. It was an odd sensation, as I wasn't completely there at the moment. I was there but I wasn't.

I was there but I wasn't.

"You remember your lines, I presume?" the man behind the camera stood with a pride I was so used to seeing.

These people were relentless.

I nodded, not finding enough effort to care about voicing my answer. I had to save my energy for my performance. I had to convince them that I was fine, that the Capitol was what they'd been taught, a beacon of hope for a falling and crumbling empire.

Convince them.

The memory of his voice sent chills down my sore spine and goosebumps travelled the length of my arms.

This had to work.

"And ready we're on in five, four-" the man continued his countdown silently, counting his fingers to a steady beat.

Convince them.

I sat up, all remnants of any pain or suffering devoid from my face. Instead, I allowed a concerned, yet confident look approach the camera. I was being broadcasted to all of Panem, and I had to convince them.