Chapter One
Many a day has been wasted before, and this one is falling to the collection. Even my necklace can't seem to keep me distracted. Still, I run my fingers across the ever so thin wire. I remember sitting on Mother's lap as she wove the intricate thing, but that was years ago. Ten, to be exact.
Nothing can seem to raise my incredibly low patience, so I find my eyes wandering all over the room. Then, I remember why I don't look around the room. This is our formal living area. Tokens rest on any given surface- hair ribbons, jewelry, even a miniature trident glisten as far as the eye can see. Simple gifts, nothing harmful. Not physically, at least, save for perhaps the trident. It's the reasoning behind these gifts that makes my stomach churn thinking about them. These are tokens of love…. Love. Ha. Forgive me. These are tokens of beauty mistaken for love. That's what makes it so sickening, because he has love, but has to accept these atrocities and their Capitol attachments nonetheless.
To avoid my brutal thoughts, I look to my fingers, which is a mistake. They are cut, freshly scabbed from my job. My fingernails are ragged. Even the areas that aren't covered in pinpricks of blood are colored with the shine of long healed scars. This is evidence of the massacre that wire traps could commit. I am one of the few weavers- true weavers, that is, in District Four. Theoretically, I could just dump my horrid job into the ocean. It's an unlikely idea, but possible, all too possible, what with my brother. Well, cousin. Everyone knows it, and everyone knows him. He has built quite a reputation for himself.
Haven't you heard of Finnick Odair?
The golden boy himself walks in that moment flanked by Ophelius and Roma, the mayor's two children. I stare stonily at my golden palm. He talks in the seductive purr that is his shield. I suppose it's designed to hide the fact that he is more than just a plaything for rich women. Roma sucks it in, flourishing in his attention. As soon as she sees me, she finds it in herself to leave, to which I think good riddance. Roma and I have never been on the best of terms, but that is best left for another time. Although Roma clearly means for him to follow her, perhaps to help her cry to the mayor about the mean girl from Four, but Ophelius stays, and Roma finally storms out.
Ophelius seems to talk of important things, like town safety and boat repair, but Finnick doesn't listen. I only know this because he looks directly at me and rolls his eyes. Ophelius must realize his partner's lack of response as well, because he says in a huff, "Well, even though District Four has important things to be discussed, you evidently have other obligations that seem to be more prudent than listening to me, so I will hold you no longer." He sounds noble enough in saying this, but it's obvious he's furious when he storms out similarly to his sister. The heavy, repellant scent that his temperament leaves behind reminds me of a large, ugly dog, quite to the contrary of the little ball of fluff he calls a pet. He offered me one at one point, but I believe that was before he became so incredibly conceited.
As soon as the front door slams, Finnick sits on the fancy gray velvet loveseat. He props his feet haphazardly on the small wooden table in the center of the room. He then turns to me, all of his "sexy" façade lost in the tide. Instead, his eyes are amused. "How has my darling cousin been?" he asks. I set the necklace aside and lean against his familiar body rather than the soft cushions. I much prefer his sculpted, muscled figure to the floppy things I now sit on. I inhale his familiar scent, the odd composition of ocean and jasmine. Right now, the former is overpowering, which leads me to one conclusion.
"Been swimming lately?" I know the answer, because I feel his wet hair. I run my fingers through the bronze mop, and they come away soaked. He knows the answer is evident as well, so rather than replying, he laughs and shakes his head in my general direction. I'm laughing, not at all concerned about the salt water. Like everyone else in the district, my hair absorbs it, and if it would hurt the furniture, it would have done so long ago.
We laugh and talk for a while. Together, our rather humorous personalities come out. We are relatively tight knit, him being all I have as far as family most of the time. It goes deeper than that, though. We are each other's best friends, as far as I am concerned. He is my confidant. And I am the antidote for the Capitol. I'm the one he talks to when these women have him feeling like a disgusting plaything, there simply for Capitol women and their desires. We notice everything about each other, which explains how he noticed my hands.
"Lily." His voice is calm, deadly calm. "What have you been doing?"
I sigh. "Weaving."
He tenses. "Weaving for Jace still, I presume?" His voice is hard. He knows my answer in the form of my tense fist, still under his speculation. He talks through clenched teeth. "He knows he's killing you. He knows it." There's a tense silence between us. As if to break it, he stands up lashes out, and a small glass ball goes shattering to the floor. My teeth clench, and I'm sure my face has conformed to a grimace. I was actually quite fond of that token, if it were possible for me to be fond of any of them. "He and I are going to have a little…" His eyes flash to the little golden trident. "…Talk."
This is the most terrifying thing in the world for me. I call these Finnick's rages, because that's what they are. It takes a well-directed blow to get him into one, and a certain thing to get him out of one. Unfortunately, that thing can't be acquired until he is stable. Stable does not include the consideration of murder by means of a miniature trident.
I know this has to end. I stand, probably on a pile of glass, and rest my hands on his shoulders. "Finnick. Please sit." I spend a solid minute coaxing him into a sitting position. The second I'm sure he's going to stay, I'm sprinting out the door.
Thirty seconds later, I am running up the stairs to our neighbor's house. My fist is raised, but the door slides open. A girl with a face the color of sand and a huge smile answers the door. Her smile fades upon seeing the expression on mine. "Finnick?" her worried voice asks. My nod sends her running. She comes back followed by a lithe, graceful-looking woman. I barely get a glimpse of her before she is out the door.
The remaining girl- we all call her Cal, her real name being long and difficult to remember- steps out and slides the door shut. I sit on the sandy steps, just realizing the amount of blood coming from my feet. She grimaces delicately. Blood has always been Cal's weak spot. Still, she hands me a ragged old towel, which I place under me as not to get any more of the red fluid on Cal's porch. I begin picking the glass shards out.
As if to distract herself from the now freely flowing blood, Cal says, "At least she was planning on seeing Finnick today anyway." She gently tugs at her nail beds as I see Annie slide into the open door of my house. Truth is, even if she weren't "planning on seeing Finnick today," she would still be there. That is one of the great things about Annie, but it isn't as if her willingness is at all for me. No, Annie will always be there for him. He was always there for her.
Let me explain the story behind it all. Annie was young- well, not young, sixteen- when she was reaped for District Four. She was small and terrified of everything, but ironically enough, most scared of her mentor. It wasn't really odd. Finnick had spent his time in the Games spearing people off like fish with his trident. He had scared me at first, but then he came home, and I saw the torture in his eyes whenever the Games were mentioned, and I knew they weren't as easy as he made them out to be, but I also knew he was the same Finnick. Annie, however, hadn't trusted him quite that easily. She was terrified of him at first, but he worked his magic on her. He let her into his little secret, the real him being the biggest one, and then they realized that they both needed each other.
Annie got out of the Games, but she wasn't whole anymore. Her mind, so easily sculpted, was smashed to bits by the gory mess that was the Hunger Games. She could be perfectly fine on occasion, but then, she could be doing anything when it hits. I remember her weaving a net- she was always the most skilled weaver in the district, along with perhaps Finnick and a few elders. Her fingers were flying, and suddenly, she was shoving the whole thing as far away from her as possible…as though it were coated in poison, and I suppose it could be in the mind of a victim. A victim of the Games, that is.
All of the men in our district have declared her damaged, but Finnick knows better, and so they are bonded. Don't get me wrong, I can talk him out of one of his rages as well as she can, but she's quicker, and altogether more efficient. I don't know what she does, and I'd honestly prefer it stay that way.
I don't exactly know how to respond to Cal's statement except perhaps with another question. "What would he expect me to do all day if I weren't working?" She is the one person in the world who doesn't seem jealous at the fact that there was nothing for me to do, but only because her life is quite like mine. We both finished school earlier in the year, and neither of us cares much for training, although I can't say I have never tried it. There is really nothing to do if you are doing nothing.
Cal and I sit quietly as I make sure every little glass shard has been carefully pinched out of the thick padding of my feet. They still bleed, but there is nothing that can be done about that at the moment, or rather nothing that I want to do. Instead, I bid Cal goodnight and slowly trek back to my house. I take the time to carefully diffuse my bloody footprints, old and new, into the sand. Keeping to my previous claims, I don't want to interrupt Annie and Finnick so soon. Besides, the Peacekeepers would question these marks of violence, an odd concept for a band of militants who find it acceptable to batter someone bloody for holding hands in public.
As soon as I am safely in my house, the laughter pouring out of the formal room beckons to me. However, I instead head to the bathroom, gently scrubbing my feet in the tub, wincing as the sand comes off, taking fresh scabs and at least one layer of skin with them. By the time my feet are clean, the water is maroon, and I'm digging my teeth into my lip to stop myself from crying out. I'm forced to think of the irony. Finnick was so mad because of what Jace had done to my fingers, but that was such a small scale of what my feet look like now, which he was the cause of.
When I pad painfully into the sitting room, I automatically feel as though I'm intruding. Annie is perched precariously on Finnick's knee, and a rare smile is on her lips. His arms are around her slim waist, and hers are entwined behind his neck, her agile fingers twisted into his bronze hair. I feel my face redden, and I back out before either of them can see me.
Romance is such a foreign concept to me. I have always been the quiet girl of the district, which in turn makes me one of the least…desired, you could say. I suppose I have the Odair good looks, with the famous sea-green eyes and the untraditional light mahogany curls. Still, that isn't enough. Not for me. The interest comes with the name, I suppose, and I am an Amadahy, not an Odair. I have never found anyone worth my time, and I probably never will. Anyone who has ever shown any interest ends up taking advantage of me in one way or another, so I've stopped reacting to men in general. Nonetheless, I still get an odd lump in my throat when I see any displays of affection, especially with Finnick and Annie, because they have that pure kind of love that is practically impossible to find sometimes. The real love.
I head to my room and stare at the ceiling for the hour or so it takes for the happy couple to realize I'm missing. Actually, it's possible they might have noticed a while ago, but I've only just seen the golden hand waving above my face. I realize that I'd completely lost myself in my head. "…anything in there? Lily? I know you hear me." I blink rapidly and sit up. He seems very relieved. "Lily, I'm sorry about earlier."
I yawn before saying, "What about?"
"Everything." He gestures to my feet with a grimace. "Those. My attitude." He shakes his head remorsefully enough. "Well, not sorry about considering killing Jace, but nobody needs to know about that." We both laugh, but the movement of Annie tentatively pushing back my door catches his eye. He gestures for her to come in, and she perches delicately on my bed next to him. She smiles halfheartedly at me. I've spent many a night wondering if Annie actually considers me a friend or if she only really tolerates me because I make Finnick happy. Still, I return her smile.
Finnick and Annie leave soon. He always walks her to her door, not because he doesn't trust her. Unlike her own mother, who barely trusts Annie with a spoon, Finnick had trusted her alone in a gymnasium stocked with weapons, not that he had a choice. He only walks with her because he can, and he wouldn't have the luxury for a while. I don't think too hard about that, rather stretching and heading off to the kitchen.
When Finnick returns, we eat a fairly simple dinner before going to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day for both of us, longer so for him than me. At this point, there wasn't much I could hope for, but as I luxuriously but uncomfortably stretch out on my bed, I just wish with all of my being that this will be over soon.