Finnick's world was white, a sterile white that made his eyes burn with the pure ferocity of it's pigment. As the burning heightened, so did his perception of the walls' proximity, each moving closer and closer and closer until- his heartbeat slowed. He was only imagining things.
Again.
If he had indeed suffocated, Finnick imagined dryly, his body would have been removed and buried in record time; only a small funeral, if any, would have been held. Finnick had come to accept the way this district was run, but in his heart he despised the order. He, although understanding how incredibly cliche he sounded, missed the ocean, the ever-blue sea District 4. The water had no regulation. The tide rose and fell regardless of the traumas caused by humans. He used to be like to the sea, unrestrained and unbridled, but his now-scarred hands told a different story: Finnick was irrevocably altered by man's endless depravity.
He began to walk down the white hallway, anticipating a run-in with someone, anyone, before instinct could seize him and he would attack this alabaster prison.
"Finnick?" The voice came from behind; he swiveled his head. "Stop clenching your fists like that, you look like an angry walrus."
He grinned slightly as he recognized the figure. "Johanna, what a pleasure."
She smiled wryly. "I'm not sure that word exists here. What's the motto? 'Give me a very detailed schedule or give me death?'"
"They rescued you from the Capitol."
"I s'pose. Weaning me off morphine wasn't too kind, though. Disagree, Soldier Odair?"
He bit off a less than polite retort. "You shouldn't even be here."
"I shouldn't be here? Sorry, but I doubt 'Angry walk of self pity' is anywhere in your schedule."
"I wanted fresh air," His eyes rested on her sneering face, "and a windowless hallway was the next best thing."
She smiled, but he could see her jaded mask falling. "I know how you feel."
He offered his hand, warmed by her unknowing comfort. "Soldier Mason, I believe we have an exactly portioned meal to gratefully consume."
Half-smiling, she grabbed his arm.
The dining room was vast, and unsurprisingly devoid of color. Finnick eyed his food with distrust. The last meal had been beats in a mystery stew, and the "mystery" happened to taste like dirt and socks.
"You have to eat." Finnick looked into Annie's worried blue eyes and grinned.
"Do not pout at me, Cresta! How could I possibly resist this-" he poked the food warily, "delicious venison?"
"I'm worried about you, Finny. You're wasting away."
"Wasted is exactly what I want to be right now." Johanna put in to little amusement across the table. "Alright! God, no more jokes."
"Maybe you would like to tell him how delicious the food is," Annie intoned pointedly.
Johanna flared her nostrils. "Fine. It's truly fabulous, Finny. Really just amazing."
Finnick gagged. Annie threw her hands up in defeat. "Okay, starve. You're both hopeless."
She got up to clear her tray. Finnick watched her leave, a smile playing on his lips. Regardless of what happened to her, she remained unchanged. The demons that caused the scars on her hands didn't haunt her anymore. Finnick wished he could say the same.
"So, Finny. She must be fun in bed."
His attentioned snapped back to the woman across from him, who was laughing.
"How many times do I have to tell you, we are not together!"
The people dining adjacent to them looked over quizzically. Raised voices weren't permitted; Finnick lowered his head, fending off their silent chastisement.
"Aw, you're red. How cute. Like a baby walrus."
"Johanna, I'm going to kill you," he whispered heatedly.
"I dare you to try, walrus."
"You're impossible." He swung his legs to the opposite side of the bench, balancing his tray of hardly-touched meat as he stood.
"Such a sore loser, Odair. Go and run back to Annie so she can pat you on the head tell how good a little boy you are."
"Have a lovely night, Johanna," he said with an attempt at her biting sarcasm.
Finnick's footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he wandered to his quarters. The eery silence only highlighted the fact that it was far past the time he was expected to be asleep. He didn't want to be alone; his solitude brought memories and his memories brought monsters. Finnick had no real choice, slipping quickly into his room for fear of the regulation-obsessed guards.
Once inside, he leaned against his door, preparing to tackle the demons he knew crawled like spiders on these white walls. But his room was silent. Everything was silent, so terrifyingly silent. It hurt his mind, this horrible, shrieking, nothingness. He clutched at his ears squeezing his head, attempting to end the horrible, horrible silence. He sank to the ground, tears falling freely, and opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Sometime later, he rose from his collapse on the cold marble. He tiptoed to his threadbare bedroom, careful not to wake the monsters that had overcome him only hours prior.
Maybe Annie's not the crazy one. He laughed a hoarse, bitter laugh that broke the midnight's silence, no longer caring about the demons hidden in the dark. He lay on his bed, sights from the day reflected in the backs of his eyelids. One looked like a skull.
Finnick laughed again.
In his dream he was walking through a labyrinthine puzzle of rooms, each decorated with the lavish draperies of frivolous wealth. Finnick's heart turned to ice he realized where he was.
Snow's mansion.
He opened his mouth to scream, but a burning sensation choked it back. He stumbled forward, running and running...
He's really quite pretty, isn't he, Snow... How much for the week... month... Smile, Finnick, they love you... I- I can't... Your mother, she's dead, maybe you changed your mind...
And he could feel it, the poison in Snow's eyes; he'd killed her, he'd destroyed everything...
Finally, he stopped running.
"Hello, Finnick." Snow reached out and run a thumb down his lips, Finnick recoiled "Sad to see something so pretty so broken." He almost looked wistful. "But alas, not irreplaceable." Smiling, Snow continued, "It's a shame your mother died for nothing. Wasteful even."
Finnick was splitting in two, a rupture that started between his eyes and ended down to his toes. He tried again to scream, but emitted a sickening garbled noise.
"Any last words?" Snow was laughing. "Thought not," he said as his hands clasped tightly around Finnick's neck.
He woke up shrieking in the now-comforting darkness of his living quarters. He clutched at his throat, Snow's hands a burning memory.
Finnick had a fear of ghosts, and his slithering past did nothing to quell it.
A knock sounded on his door, but he was in no mood to leave his warm blanket cocoon. The knocking became more and more persistent until, with a growl, Finnick rolled out of bed.
"I'm coming! For the love of all things holy, just stop." He turned the door handle, prepared to be admonished for sleeping past wakeup, but was surprised to find the hallway was unlit.
"Finnick?"
His thoughts turned to the figure swathed in shadows. "Who else could it possibly be?" Weariness now turning to annoyance he asked, "Gale, please tell me you have a good reason for this rude awakening?"
The man opposite him reddened. "I, uh, heard screaming. And, um, wanted to make sure you weren't being, you know," his eyes searched Finnick's questioningly, "killed."
"I assure you, i'm fine." He gestured to his empty living room. "See? Just me and my thoughts."
"So, nightmares, then."
Finnick smirked. "However did you guess."
Gale returned his jaded look. "We all have our demons."
An echoing stomp that could only be the product of angry guards resonated in the hallway. Finnick pulled Gale inside, swearing.
"Well this is just fabulous," Finnick drawled bitterly, collapsing onto his white couch.
"You weren't even sleeping, you were screaming." Gale retorted, sitting down in the chair across from him.
Finnick looked at his hooded gaze. "You have them too, then. The nightmares."
"I saw my entire district burned to the ground. I would be worried if I didn't have them." Gale spoke of the events with worn anguish.
"I wish I dreamed about the arena. All that violence was so simple compared to-" Finnick cut off. "Other things."
Gale eyed him suspiciously, but had the forethought to change the subject. "So are you and that girl, Annie, together?"
Finnick closed his eyes and laughed, remembering his conversation with Johanna. "It does appear that way, but no. We're just friends." He cocked his head questioningly. "Unlike you and Katniss, I hear."
Gale replied first with a derisive snort but then explained, "Katniss is in love with Peeta, and I've gotten the message seeing that she chose a brainwashed madman over me."
"Love isn't everything." Finnick looked down. "To love is to be hurt."
Gale smiled slightly. "How optimistic, Odair. Makes me feel worlds better."
"On another note, does it worry you that we both might have insomnia?" Finnick put his arms behind his head.
"Sleep with nightmares is still sleep."
"Not good sleep." Finnick propped his legs up on the coffee table, looking at the empty walls. "I hate it here. It's so goddamn orderly; drives me insane."
"But we're not dead."
Finnick remembered Snow's cold hands and their vice-like grip on his throat, and replied, "Sometimes I wish I was."