Summary: A one-shot about Finnick being forced into prostitution.

Rating: Rated M because of prostitution and sexual references.

Disclaimer: I don't owe the Hunger Games.

A/N Thanks to amg06113 for reading through my work. Reviews are highly appreciated.

Levels of Intimacy

Level 1

To the first woman who bought me.

I feel uncomfortable under your hungry gaze that sweeps over my naked body. I want to cringe away from your hands when they reach out to touch me. I feel sick to my stomach when you lean over to kiss my mouth. I have never felt so naked. Never felt so vulnerable. Never felt so intimidated. I try to look anywhere else but at you, but you force my face towards you so I have to look you in the eyes.

I can count on one hand how many woman who have seen me naked in my short life. I don't want you, a stranger more than twice my age, to be one of the few who have.

Afterwards I feel dirty and ashamed. I want the ground to swallow me whole. I throw up and shower for hours. My skin are red and sore from the too hot water and the hard scrubbing. But I don't feel any better.

Level 2

To the first man who bought me.

It feels wrong. I want to scream. I want to fight you of my back and make a run for it. But I don't. I clench my teeth and stay still. I shut my mouth and stay still for the sake of my loved once at home.

You are the first man, but I have been with several different woman by now. The self-loathing has, if anything, gotten even worse than it was after the first time. But I'm not so ashamed anymore. What's left to be ashamed of? I hate myself instead.

I don't throw up anymore, but after every appointment I almost drown myself in the shower. It still don't feel any better.

Level 3

To the man who tied me up.

You stepped over my limits when you tied my hands together behind my back and my feet to the bedpost so I couldn't move. I don't like to be restrained. It awakes bad memories. I feel helpless and out of control. There are ghost following me and I want to be ready to fight them. But I can't fight with my hands tied at my back. But none of this I can tell you. I can't tell you to stop.

My limits doesn't count. I don't have the right to say no.

I rarely cry anymore, but when I come home I can't help it. The memories I don't want to face are too real in my head. At least it can't be much worse.

Level 4

To the guest at the party where you bought me to strip down naked for your entertaining.

Your gazes are burning holes in my body. Your laughter makes my skin crawl. And your cheering are not helping.

I hate you all, but I smile and wink and moan in pleasure whenever you touch me. I'm like an obedient well trained dog. I jump when you say jump. I wags when you throw me a treat. But when you tell me to play dead I don't have to play; Inside I already am.

When I come home, I just go to sleep and hope I don't have to many nightmares. I'm exhausted by living a lie. But it feels a little better; No one forced me to have sex today. They just wanted to look at my body.

Level 5

To the man who bought me for his virgin daughter.

For the first time it isn't uncomfortable only for me. It is for your daughter as well. I feel ashamed again, something I haven't felt in years. I'm gotten used to people staring, people touching, people acting as if they owe me; I guess in a way they do.

But your daughter makes me feel like the rapist and her like the victim. She's even younger than me and I can see the fear in her eyes. I never thought I could feel like the abuser when I am the one bought and paid for.

Afterwards I feel more filthy and loathsome than I use to. I'm disgusted with myself in a completely new way. I'm almost happy to know that tomorrow the roles will be back to normal and I'll be the victim once again. In a strange way that feels better.

Level 6

To the countless of people who has bought my body.

I no longer care how old you are, if you are male or female, if you want me for sex or just for my company. At least that is what I tell myself to make it feel more livable.

I don't owe my own body anymore. You do. Every one of you owns a little bit of what used to be me. Of what used to be a young boy named Finnick Odair.

Body is just body. Limits of intimacy is a joke. I have learned to close off my mind. That part of me I won't give you. That part of me I can still hide away.

Just do what you paid me for and leave me afterwards, so I can go one with my life. It all feels better over time, but deep down I know it isn't.