"Can we just give up the ghost?
Remember what we love the most?
Untangle our hands,
Unravel ourselves and let go?
Can we just give up the ghost?"
No pills or alcohol could alter this feeling of utter misery that floods my veins. How the hell am I to go on? Being without him is like trying to breathe without lungs. It's like trying to walk without feet to stand on. If anyone fancied me a little off before, just imagine what they must think now. I lost any trace of sanity that was left. He was the glue that held me together. Without him, I am only a small fragment of my former self.
It hurt. It felt like my heart was filled with led. I'm trapped inside my of mess of emotions; a web that ties into a noose.
I stared straight at my reflection, and I'm not going to lie, I was frightened. That face that glared back at me was pale and sickly looking. Deep lines creased into her skin, making her appear older. Purple-shaded bags made it clear that sleep was not a priority. Yet these were not the first things I noticed about the lady in the mirror.
Her eyes; they were lifeless. The dark eyes radiated sorrow. They held no warmth. Just looking into them, you knew not even the world's oceans could fill her empty heart.
A sort of aura surrounded her; she worse sadness like a coat. Just looking at her, you knew the demons held within her had already won. You could see it in her eyes. Just looking into my eyes.
His image haunts my every emotion and thought. I tried to be okay, I did. But I couldn't help it. Even just glancing at my hands made my eyes water at the memory of how it felt to hold him.
I cannot get past this. I can't. I can't.
I glance downwards and notice my hand on my stomach. I didn't even realize I positioned it there. Inside me, there was a little boy growing. A little Finnick.
That's when I make my decision. I will find a way to live through this hell. The pain of waking up to a bed that's half empty, the pain of not having anyone to comfort me during my moments of madness. For his child. Finnick wouldn't approve of this if he knew I was carrying our baby.
Tears stream down my face and I drop the knife onto the table.
I trace my finger across my small bump. Caspian Finn Odair.
I don't know. I'm evil. Sorry. I don't own The Hunger Games or the music at the beginning!
