First time uploading a fanfiction in a very, very long time. I figured it was time to flex some of these writing skills. Comments are appreciated.
Glamour. Glitz. Glitter.
Glamorous Capitol drones, glitzy parties with copious amounts of alcohol, and glitter. Every inch of the Capital is plastered in the obnoxious sparkles, even the people. Maybe it was because of an official mandate that I've never heard of. Every night was the same party, different celebration. All superficial glamour, glitz and glitter. Once a year, I receive a break from the excessive lifestyle. During the annual Hunger Games, President Snow so graciously allows the pervious victors a break so they can properly prepare unfortunate children for slaughter. Like a mindless lackey, I flash a dazzling smile and do as I'm told.
Shed. Sweat. Moan.
And the process repeats. Shed the frivolous clothing. Work up a sweat. Moan and pretend you enjoy it. I've repeated the mantra so often that it's become second nature.
Although many envy the fame, the Capitol lifestyle is not anything that should be glamourized, at least from a victor's perspective.
Finnick Odair, The famous fuck from District 4.
Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I felt just as fake as the pleather pants I was wearing. The faux leather clung to my legs like a second skin, emphasizing the most desired parts of my male anatomy. The bedazzled denim vest lay abandoned somewhere on the marble floor.
If it were up to me, and not my stylist, I would never wear anything besides sweatpants or beach trunks. If it were up to me, and not Snow, I'd never leave my home in District 4. Instead, I'm clad in an uncomfortable costume that radiates sex, lounging in some frivolous hotel room with a complete stranger.
Maybe if I closed my eyes long enough I could pretend I was home, hearing the waves of the ocean crash down onto the beach. Sand against my bare feet as a 'Welcome' mat. Salty winds nipping at my face. No matter how exhausted, simply thinking about the ocean relieved all the muscles in my body. I swear, the waves and I speak a similar language. After a few seconds of reminiscing, I opened my eyes, dragging myself from memories of the inviting sea and back to harsh reality.
I was still in the dimly lit room with a random woman occupying the bed. Like many before her, she wanted the Finnick Odair package. A night out on the town, a charming dinner, and myself for dessert. Many paid a grand sum of money for the charming playboy that the Capitol built me up to be. Brick by brick, lie-by-lie, kiss by kiss until I'm not even sure who the real Finnick Odair is. I wasn't even sure what we ate for dinner. The strangers in bed seemed to blend into one giant nightmare.
For the first time in a while, I actually looked at the aristocrat in my bed. I took the time to open my eyes and examine the woman I was going to share my body with… The sight was alarming. Maybe I was going insane or suffering from a strong case of homesickness. I was far away from District 4, but the woman underneath me looked like a mermaid.
Waves of dyed aquamarine locks curled past her shoulders. Large crystal blue eyes gazed up at me, contacts making the orbs unnaturally wide and fish-like. Even her skin was shimmering. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the tiny triangles of glitter threaded into her skin to create the appearance of scales. The color gave her skin a sickly pale green tint.
Please tell me this is not a new fashion statement.
Instead of leaping away in disgust, like ever fiber in my body was screaming at me to do, I leaned over and pressed my lips to the unnatural surface. The mutilated skin was as reptilian like as I thought it would be. The scales were cold and rigid against my body. I cringed; the taste was overly salty, nothing like natural salt water. Maybe she thought this cosmetic fish look was attractive, but it had the opposite effect on me.
"Well, aren't you a beautiful little mermaid." The lie came out smooth as butter.
She giggled like a schoolgirl.
Was this President Snow's idea of a sick joke?
Even though she looked the part, the female before me would be a real shitty swimmer. Her arms were thin and frail. Her back muscles seemed to cave under the weight of her large, also surgically altered, breasts. Sliding my hand down her leg, I gripped one of her calves in my hand. Not an ounce of muscle. In all, she was a terrible, hideous, mermaid. The natural girls of District 4 would put her surgically altered body to shame.
As my thoughts drifted back to my home district, a pair of innocent sea foam green eyes appeared in my head: bright green orbs, with sweeping long lashes. Her eyes were identical to the color of the Caribbean sea, and just as warm and inviting. I took a moment to remember the face that the eyes belonged to. As the image came back to me, the rest of the water nymph's face appeared in my head. Light freckles showered the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her hair was a wild waterfall of copper locks, falling recklessly in a mess of tangles and curls.
Annie Cresta.
I don't know her very well. I've only encountered the girl a few times during my brief visits back to District 4. The Cresta family owned one of the fishing ships off the bay near the victor's village. Her parents were sociable; her father always reported the weather conditions of the day before my swims, while her mother would attempt to drag me inside to bestow fresh seafood upon me the second I left the water. However, Annie seemed to lack the Cresta Social gene. Our conversations consisted of curt nods of recognition when passing each other on the docks. What I do know about her is that Annie Cresta could swim. Endless days spent beneath the waves made her body lithe and tone. She seemed to enjoy the company of the sea to the company of people.
Now, she was a real mermaid.
The sound of the creaking of the bed broke me of my reverie. I was grateful for my body's ability to run on autopilot. Without realizing it, I had successfully removed both of our clothes and entered the thing lying beneath me. The sound of the creaking of the bed broke me of my reverie. I glanced down at fishy, wondering what her face would look like twisted in ecstasy. Maybe those giant orbs would pop out of her eye sockets. My amusement was cut short when my gaze met the ugliest snarl I have ever seen. Her big bug eyes were narrowed, and her thin lips curled upwards revealing her sharp teeth. This woman belonged in the arena. By her facial expression alone, I could tell I would not be the victor of this Hunger Game.
I stopped moving my hips.
"Darling," My tone was calm but I could feel my heart rate increasing. "What's wrong?"
Snow would not be please with an unhappy customer and all victors know how cold and cruel Snow storms can be.
Her hands pushed at my chest, while her legs wiggled to untangle themselves from beneath me.
"Talk to me, baby" I urged again, grabbing at her naked skin.
I tried to pull her back into me, but she was a woman on a mission. She was a hurricane, stomping about the floor and throwing on her clothes even faster than she ripped them off.
"Who the hell is Annie Cresta?!" She finally shrieked, halfway through putting her dress back on.
I was sure my heart stopped and the world moved in slow motion. Once her clothes covered her body, the sea monster took to throwing random objects in the hotel room. I was unfazed; my body paralyzed with shock and fear. It took a pillow to the head to regain my ability to speak. I grabbed the soft object and moved off the bed. My face must have been as white as the down feathers inside the pillow.
"What?! No one! Nobody." I laughed through gritted teeth, "What are you talking about?"
I approached her cautiously, like a caged animal. Fishy snarled in response.
"Just come back to bed" I pleaded, desperation growing in my tone, "We were just getting to the fun part."
It was impossible. There was no way I could have said Annie's name aloud. I'd never do anything so stupid.
Her next few words were the final nail in the coffin for the burial of my happiness.
"I didn't pay for you to say some other woman's name."
A harmless name. A slip of the lips. Little did I know that it would cost my humanity. This memory would replay itself over in my head, a thousand times over, as if thinking about it could change the outcome.