I'm sorry that I didn't update sooner. I lost the motivation to write this story and I've been working on other stories too. I'm not sure when I'll update again, but hopefully it won't be another month.
Chapter 4: Cold Embrace
Theme Song: Soda by the Cinematic Orchestra [Listen as you read, before, after, or whenever you prefer.]
When Katniss's eyes flutter open, the room is pitch black. The candle on her bedside must've went out a long time ago due to the cold atmosphere. The sound of creaking footsteps walk across the floorboards silently, and the dark begins to materialize to form a shadow figure edging toward her bed. She can't describe the person, she doesn't know who they are, but something tells her to be afraid of them. Her heart starts to race at an incredible rate and her body becomes ice cold in fear. She's in no control of her limbs; they feel as though they are not there, but her eyes are open. How are they open? When she tries to blink against the dark shadows in the room, her eyelids won't even budge. There's someone in her room and she can't even save herself. It feels as though her body is strapped to the bed by these invisible ropes, leaving her helpless.
The shadowy figure moves toward her at an even pace, taking meaningful steps in her direction. They pause at her bedside in moments. Everything in her body tells her that whoever this is, radiates with evil intentions. An eerie glow seems to surround this person or thing as they move their face down to hers. Then in a swift movement, they clamp a rough hand over her mouth as she starts to scream. The next thing she knows, she's standing in a vast and dimly lit room that's not hers. This isn't her small home anymore. The walls are painted white, the tiled floors are a caramel color, and there's nothing else but emptiness. She can feel the walls closing in on her, literally, and soon she's squeezed together like a sandwich. A voice that's all too familiar is screaming her name. Then the scene materializes until she's somewhere else, her bones no longer being crushed. She can see Peeta now, being strangled by a Peacekeeper in a dark hallway. As she tries to run for him, they both get farther and farther away from her reach.
"Peeta!" she screams, trying to run to him. Her legs pound as fast as they can but they will never take her closer to the boy with the bread. Then hands, someone's hands. They've got her by the shoulders and they are trying to take her away. She begins to thrash wildly, screaming and scratching, in an attempt to get away. There's no way she's letting them take her. She's not going to be a Capitol slave.
Then a voice. "Katniss!"
How do they know her name? Where is she?
Their hands pin her to the bed, not before she can get a scratch down their arm, drawing a slight bit of blood. Then Katniss realizes that she's no longer in that dark hallway with a strangled Peeta. She's in her room. The light from the candle on her bedside is moving steadily, still burning strongly, giving the room that just bit of glow. She sees that the Peacekeeper is not a Peacekeeper at all. It's a familiar face. "Peeta…?" she asks groggily. She sees his blonde hair. It must be him.
He releases her wrists as she reaches up with her hand to touch his hair. No, that's no blonde. That's bronze. She retracts her hand from his hair to run it down his arm. Tan. Peeta doesn't have a tan. Then she notices the scratch going down his arm. She did that. "I'm sorry…" she murmurs quietly.
Finnick shakes his head. "It's fine. You were dreaming," he says.
"But I hurt you," she says, feeling the guilt begin to gnaw at her insides. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Come on." She picks up the candle on the desk and takes it to the bathroom, with Finnick following more slowly behind her. When they're there, Katniss sets the candle on a platform and takes out a rag from the cabinet under the sink. She runs the water over the rag until it's soaked and she cuts off the sink.
Finnick grazes his hand through his hair beside her and lets out a low sigh. "It's fine, really. Doesn't even hurt," he says.
Katniss ignores him as she wrings out the cloth a bit. Then she begins to dab at his arm gently. When she sneaks a look at him, she sees that he's looking uncomfortable. Maybe embarrassed that she's cleaning his minor wound. "I'm sorry I keep you up at night…" she murmurs, seeing how tired he looks.
"Don't worry about it," he says. "If I went to sleep I'd be having nightmares myself." He tries to give her a weak smile but it doesn't work because of his tired expression.
"Maybe I should just go sleep at the cabin so I won't keep waking you up," she says.
He looks at her now. "What? No, that's senseless. You can't stay out there by yourself," he says.
Maybe he's right. Besides, she did encounter a coyote the other day. Who's to say she won't come across another dangerous animal? "Okay," she mutters.
"It's best if you stay here," he goes on. "I don't mind not getting any sleep."
"You'll have to sleep sometime," she tells him. "I'm used to holding Peeta at night when I sleep. We manage to keep the nightmares away when we do that."
Finnick nods slowly in understanding. "Same here. I use to do the same with…Annie." He seems tense whenever he talks about Annie like its torture just saying her name.
Katniss stops dabbing his wound, the blood all gone. It's not a deep scratch so it won't bleed anymore during the night, therefore she won't have to wrap it in bandages. She grabs the candle and the two of them head back into the bedroom. The candle flutters sharply as she sets it down onto the desk next to the bed. She climbs into the bed reluctantly. She doesn't want nightmares to haunt her mind again. That last one really left her skin crawling and that dark figure still lingers in her mind. She can see its dark, eerie face looming over her body, and feel its skeletal hand cover her mouth. A shudder runs down her spine.
Finnick gets ready to lie down on the floor but she catches his wrist. He gives her a questioningly look. "Can you sleep up here with me?" she asks hesitantly.
"What?"
"It just makes sense," she says. "I don't think either of us will get much sleep if we don't…" she hesitates, feeling uncomfortable in the situation. "…adapt," she says finally.
"You sure you want me to get in the bed with you…?" he questions, eyeing her in uncertainty. She isn't sure why he's acting strange. Shouldn't he be glad to be getting into a bed with a girl? His demeanor is off, as if he's unsure if she'll let him. Not that she genuinely wants to share the bed with him, but they aren't strangers to each other. But they aren't friends either. They don't really have much of a choice here, not enough plausible options to choose from. Other than separating and sharing the bed, she sees no other way out of this one.
"You use to hold Annie, right?" she asks. "To keep the nightmares away?"
Finnick shrugs his shoulders lightly, avoiding her gaze. "I did."
What's the matter with him? He doesn't usually act this way. Where's that cocky arrogance?
Katniss pats the bed next to her. He's tired so he doesn't seem to be in the mood to refuse any longer. He climbs into the bed next to her. She notices how he keeps his distance from her – at least three inches away from her. Then she starts to wonder if this is a good idea. What if he tried to do something to her in the middle of the night? The thought sounds too unrealistic though, so she brushes it away like so. He seems too odd tonight to be thinking about stuff like that anyway.
When her eyelids flutter shut, her mind becomes dark in seconds and the nightmares start to resurface….
In the morning, the sun wraps around the room in a warm, bright light coming through the window just hanging over the bed. The usual morning sounds don't come with the morning. It's as though the whole world has become silent, only the sounds of easy breathing coming from the room. Katniss blinks open her eyes slowly, adjusting to the brightly lit room. She still feels quite drowsy and her body is very stiff, as if she hadn't even slept a wink. Her arm is tucked under her body as she lies on her side and it feels incredibly numb. She can feel the movement of thumping against her ear and her head is rising and falling at an even pace. When she tilts her head upward, her eyes meet Finnick's sleeping face. Somehow during the night, they cuddled up together, his arms around her shoulders and her head resting on his chest.
Her belly twists in uncomfortable knots at being this close to the handsome District 4 victor. His arms are folded around her and they feel slightly warm, adding to the warmth of the blanket over them. The air is chilly but this position gives her warmth. She tries to move, but Finnick's arms squeeze her body involuntarily in his sleep.
"Annie…" he mumbles sleepily.
Katniss rests her head on his chest again with a huff. Doesn't look like she's going anywhere until he decides to wake up. She breathes in deeply, taking in his scent. The ocean. She starts to wonder what it's like in District 4 and if everyone there smells like him. Or is his scent special and above all others? It's a nice smell, she'll have to admit. Very soothing. This may be why the Capitol girls like being in his presence because just him being here is calming. But Katniss isn't one of those Capitol girls and she isn't going to fall for his charm.
When Finnick's grip loosens a bit, she starts to remove his arms from her body. She wriggles away from him and slides off the bed, stepping onto the cold floor. Her white socks look a lot cleaner compared to the wooden floorboards. She makes her way toward the bathroom, combing through her hair with her fingers. The mirror shows her tired reflection, bags under her eyes and messy hair. Going back to sleep is not an option, because she doesn't feel comfortable getting back into the bed with Finnick. They were too close for her liking.
She divides her hair into three sections and starts to weave them together. She's not going to take a shower today, because she already took one yesterday and she hasn't done anything that would've made her smelly. Her hand still throbs painfully from when that coyote bit her, so she's careful with it as she braids her hair. When she's done, she decides to check her bandages. Her skin is peeling at the end of the bandage as she pulls softly, feeling the sticky part ripping slightly away from her skin, causing a bit of a stinging feeling. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when it's finally off, and she tosses the remains into a trash.
The wound takes in a fresh breath, tingling in the cool air. There's a smidge of dried-up blood coated on the small bite and it still pulses slightly. Katniss turns on the sink, letting the water run across her hand, washing off the crinkled flakes. After drying her hand and wrapping it in clean bandages, she heads down the hallway to the kitchen. The sound of someone adjusting cans around in the kitchen enters her ears. Whoever it is, it can't be Finnick, because he was still sleeping last she saw him. When she enters, she sees several cans scattered about across the floor with all the cabinets wide open. And inside one of the cabinets, is that large cat, rummaging through the compartment with its big body.
"Get out of there, dumb cat!" Katniss snaps. She waves the animal away wretchedly, not wanting to touch it. Buttercup opens its mouth to let out an indignant hiss and doesn't even attempt to move. "Get out," she says, fed up with its stubbornness. "I don't know what Prim sees in you. You only cause trouble!"
"Why are you shouting…?" Katniss turns to see Finnick in the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"This is why," she replies, gesturing toward the mess.
Finnick blinks at the catastrophe. "That cat did this?" he asks.
"There's the culprit." Katniss narrows her eyes at the cat still rummaging through the cabinet. "I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance."
"Don't be so harsh, Mockingjay," Finnick says in amusement, pushing his fingers through his bronze waves.
Mockingjay? Katniss grits her teeth at the nickname. He has no right to call her that and especially now that she's in a bad mood.
"It's just an animal," Finnick goes on, making his way over to the cabinet. Katniss steps to the side to let him by. He reaches into the cabinet, pulling out Buttercup, and holding the devil to his chest. "It doesn't know a better."
"I'm starting to think you don't either…" Katniss mutters under her breath.
"Hm?"
"Never mind."
Finnick sets the cat down and it hurries off as soon as its paws hit the floor. Katniss climbs to her knees and starts to gather up the cans. The District 4 victor kneels in front of her and begins to help pick up the cans.
"We should try and eat something," he says. He doesn't sound like he's suggesting it, more so stating it as a something that's bound to happen. "Before we know it, we'll be dead and that cat will still be here. It survived the bombing, who's to say it won't survive a little starvation?"
"The cat won't starve and I don't want to eat," Katniss murmurs. "I can't stomach food right now."
"I know, but sooner or later you'll have to eat," he says.
"You can, but I won't," she says.
"I'll have to force you then."
"No you won't." What's he going to do? Feed me?
He just chuckles. She glowers at him. He seemed different last night, like a different person, but now he's back to his old arrogant self. She's not sure which she prefers; a weird Finnick or a cocky Finnick.
She reaches for a can with her injured hand without thinking.
Finnick notices instantly. "What happened to your hand?"
Katniss immediately hides her hand under her arm. "It's nothing."
"That's not nothing. What happened to you?" he asks again, reaching for her.
She moves away from his reach. "I told you, it's nothing," she snaps, getting irritated him. Why'd she have to be so careless? She should have made sure her hand was out of sight and blood has started to seep through the bandages. It had started bleeding again without her noticing.
"That's not nothing," Finnick says seriously. "Tell me what happened to you? Did something happen when you were out in the woods? I told you not to go out there alone."
"Nothing happened in the woods," Katniss snaps. "It was…" she hesitates. She can't tell him that a coyote attacked her. If she did, he won't allow her to go out into the woods alone again. Not that she needs his consent, he'll just probably follow her wherever she goes and she doesn't want that. She wouldn't be able to stand 24/7 of arrogance. "The cat. It bit me," she says.
"That cat bit you?" he says in disbelief. "When?"
"This morning," she says. "I was trying to get him out of the cabinet but he took a big chunk right out of my hand." Her hand is throbbing for some reason. It's hurting more than it was the other day. "But it's nothing serious," she adds hastily. That's a lie. She doesn't want him worrying over her or babying her. She stands up, preparing herself to go to her room.
Finnick stands up as well, blocking her path. He gazes at her through narrowed eyes. "Let me look at it."
Katniss shakes her head, backing away from him. "I told you, it's nothing."
His hand darts out and he wraps it around her wrist strongly. She struggles to pull her wrist free, but he's stronger than she is. Eventually she stops struggling and allows him to glance down at her hand, his grip on her still tight. He narrows his eyes at the bandage that's now getting warm with blood.
"How hard did he bite you?"
Katniss shrugs casually, like it's nothing. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."
Finnick loosens his grip on her wrist. "You're going to need to put something on this before it gets infected."
"I don't have any disinfectant…" she murmurs, pulling her wrist away from him.
"You're going to need something."
"It's fine," she nips. "Stop trying to act like you care."
"I do care," he insists. "Now let me help you."
"I can handle it myself," she growls, moving around him and heading to her room. She's glad that Finnick doesn't follow her for once as she swings her room door open. Anger is boiling within her, reminding her of how angry she is with not just Finnick but with everyone who thinks she's the Mockingjay. She's not the Mockingjay. And Finnick only cares about keeping the Mockingjay safe, but not her, not Katniss Everdeen. So how can he say he cares? They aren't even friends. They're nothing to each other. He may as well be a stranger to her. A stranger in her house, telling her what and what not to do. He's not her father.
Even through her anger, she has to admit that Finnick is right. She'll need to put something on her wound before it gets infected. It was fine this morning, and it only started bleeding again for no apparent reason. She must not have been handling her hand carefully enough as she gathered up the can mess. That damn cat, always causing mischief. But she can't blame her wound on the animal though, even if she told Finnick it was Buttercup. Telling him about the coyote would only stir him more to look after her and she doesn't need to be supervised. She's no child. Though when she thinks about it, she is a kid to Finnick. She's seventeen and he's twenty-four. Is that how he sees her? A little girl who doesn't know how to take care of a simple wound?
He's an idiot if he does think of her that way. After all she's been through, she's proved herself more than once that she isn't just a child.
Her hand seems to be thumping, like her heart, as she stands in front of the mirror in her bathroom. She shakily lifts her bandaged hand to her face, where the blood has started to trickle down her arm. The liquid has reached her sleeve and it's soaking it up slightly. She pulls her sleeve up until it reaches close to her shoulder, as she hovers her hand over the sink. Her hand has started to quiver steadily due to the pain and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep from whimpering. She's suffered worst pain than this, so she better start acting like it. There was a time when she got burned in the arena and that pain was nothing compared to this. She almost doesn't want to see how her wound looks underneath the coverings. What if it was infected already?
When she was younger, whenever she got a wound, her mother would help her clean the wound thoroughly with warm water and soap and then she would use 'rubbing alcohol' to keep from infections. Katniss always hated that stuff because it would always cause this unpleasant burning. They would also use snow sometimes, but that was only during the winters. Unfortunately, Katniss can't be sure if there is any rubbing alcohol in here. Her family took almost everything they owned to the house in the Victor's Village and only left behind irrelevant supplies. Then again, she never even looked around this one to see if there was any.
She starts to peel at the bandages, feeling frustrated with herself. Her hand was fine this morning, hardly bleeding. Now it's probably infected and she might have to chop off her hand. She's heard of a few people who couldn't afford to go to the hospital that they would go as far as chopping off their limbs when they had infections. The thought of cutting off her own hand sounds bizarre and unacceptable. She'll need her hand for hunting and operating. There's no way she's cutting it off even if it is infected. She'll have to find another way if that's the case.
The bandage pulls from her hand, the sticky part ripping slightly from her hand. The pain makes her wince. When she takes the bandage all the way off, she throws the bloody wraps into the trash. She examines her hand closely, making sure to hold it over the sink as it still leaks with blood. To know if wounds are infected, it will become red around the area and swollen with pus seeping through. Fortunately for her, she sees no difference in her bite from when she last checked it this morning. Why's it bleeding so much then? Perhaps she knocked it against some hard object causing it to start back up again, breaking off the healing process.
Katniss turns on the water and lets her hand run under the warm fluid. A sigh of relief escapes her lips at the touch of the warmth. As the water washes away the blood, Finnick eventually enters the bathroom holding a small bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hand.
"Where'd you get that?" Katniss asks.
"I found it in one of the bathrooms," he replies, pulling off the cap.
She narrows her eyes at him. She doesn't like the idea of him snooping around her house and she doesn't like the fact that he's trying to help her either.
"I know you don't want my help," Finnick says, echoing her thoughts. She peers at his face. "It's a way of saying thanks for helping me last night when I thought I didn't need it."
Katniss nods, remembering when she scratched his arm the night before. She turns off the nozzle and dabs her hand dry with a cloth. The blood still leaks from her bite but it's only slightly, not as much as before.
Finnick has a cloth of his own and he pours some of the isopropyl onto it, dampening the cotton. "Let's see," he says, gesturing toward her hand. She reluctantly lets him hold her wrist gently. "It'll burn for a moment, so brace yourself."
I know what rubbing alcohol does. She thinks in annoyance. She keeps her thoughts to herself though as Finnick starts to dab lightly at her bite. The stinging, burning sensation comes almost instantly. She grits her teeth to keep herself from making any noise, clenching and unclenching her hand.
"Relax," Finnick says. Then he blows onto her bite for a few moments and the pain slowly starts to ease away. Katniss watches him through narrowed eyes. She doesn't like that she's being helped. He reminds her of her father. Whenever her father applied the rubbing alcohol to her wounds, he would blow on it until the pain went away. Now watching Finnick do it, brings back sad memories for her. Why is he concerning himself with her anyway? They aren't even friends.
After doing the procedure a few more times to ensure there won't be an infection, Finnick starts to help her bandage her wound. "I got it," she says hastily.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, thanks," she says curtly.
"Alright," he says. He heads toward the door but then pauses to say, "I'll be in the kitchen." Then he leaves.
I'll be in the kitchen if you need me; Katniss figures he wanted to say. I won't need you, thanks; she thinks.
She wraps the bandages around her hand firmly, making sure it's tight, but not too tight to squeeze the circulation out of her. When she's satisfied her job is completed, she exits the bathroom, and heads to the kitchen. Finnick's on his knees gathering up the remaining cans the cat spilled. He doesn't look up when she arrives. She starts to help, storing them away into the cabinets as Finnick hands them to her.
"Look," Finnick says, holding up a single can to her. "Your favorite."
She takes the can from him and examines the labels; Lamb Stew. "How'd you know this was my favorite?" she asks him. She doesn't recall ever telling him anything like that.
"During your interview in your first games you told Caesar that it was your favorite meal," he says, shrugging his shoulders lightly.
Katniss snorts. "You have good memory, Odair." Honestly, she wouldn't remember if he ever told Caesar his favorite meal. Perhaps he mentioned it once, at some point, but then again she's sure he's mentioned a lot of things. Things she doesn't even bother to remember. In fact, she can't remember anything good about Finnick, she was so young at the time of his first games – seven to be exact. All she can bring to remembrance is his cockiness and incredibly good looks, nothing about his personal life. Why's he remembering things about her that's not at all important? He must have a brain wired like a computer that stores memories into folders where he can open and take out whenever he wants.
"I like to think I do, if the information appeals to me," Finnick says. There's that arrogance she thought vanished.
"There's nothing interesting about my favorite food," she says.
He moves his shoulders lightly.
"Right," she murmurs. "We'll have lamb stew for breakfast then." She pauses. "Unless you want something else…"
"Hm…" Finnick thinks for a moment. "I'll try the lamb stew. See what you've been talking about."
"You never had it?" Katniss is surprised with him.
"No," he says casually. "The Capitol had many offerings to choose from, many food options, and let's just say that my attention was more drawn to the seafood that was available." He stands up to place some cans into the cabinet. "I hate to admit it, but whatever Capitol chef cooks the food does a swell job."
"They don't cook seafood well in District 4?" she asks. "Isn't that where it's shipped from?"
He nods, handing her another can of lamb stew. "It is, though not everyone has the right ingredients and sides to make the meal perfect," he replies. "I usually prefer the honey coated salmon and catfish above all other fish."
"I never tried those, or any seafood other than red snapper," Katniss says.
"You should," he says. He leans his back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest in a casual manner. "It's really good. It's the way they melt the honey and lather it over the warm, finely cooked salmon that makes it taste scrumptious."
She snorts. "I'm sure it's not as good as you say."
"It is," he insists. And he looks genuinely excited about this.
Maybe attempting to change his mood, isn't the wisest idea. But she doesn't exactly want to create "small talk" with him, but she doesn't really have a choice. They could be here for a long time, they can at least get to know each other.
When she thinks about it, she realizes that she doesn't really know anything about Finnick Odair. For one thing, he has a complex personality. Sometimes he can be arrogant and annoying, and other occasions he can be kind and composed, like this morning and after the crash. He didn't cry or show any emotion at all after that horrific incident. Peculiarly enough, she can't even tell if he's just as hurt and as indifferent as she is. If he's feeling anything, he truly knows how to hide his emotions well. Other than his personality, she doesn't know much, except that his favorite food is salmon and catfish and his preferred weapon is a trident.
That trident was the most expensive gift ever given to a tribute during his games, or any games for that matter. That weapon was the one that kept him alive for the remaining of the games. Katniss remembers seeing him use the trident. He was very skillful at using it, even at such a young age, proficient and scrupulous movements. It was like the instrument was his life, the only thing that pushed him forward and made him continue on. Katniss doesn't really remember much about it, though, or how he was able to use such a weapon so precisely. Now that she knows Finnick use to fish with his dad using a trident, it all makes sense now. No wonder he was able to use it so well.
"Maybe you should take me out to dinner one day when this is over," Katniss murmurs.
Finnick doesn't seem to take notice of her sarcastic tone because he starts to chuckle. "I'm sure you would like that, Everdeen." He throws her a flirtatious wink.
She rolls her eyes at him but then tenses when her stomach rumbles. She clamps a hand over her tummy instantly to sustain it, but it's already too late.
Finnick's smiling at her mischievously. "Someone's hungry."
The embarrassing feeling forms in her belly and with it her cheeks begin to feel warm, turning a light shade of pink. "Because of you," she snaps trying to hide her embarrassment. "I wasn't a moment ago until you started putting thoughts of food in my head."
His smirk only widens. "Then my job is done." He pulls his weight off the table. "I'll start the fireplace." He brushes passed her, exiting the kitchen, leaving her stunned.
Did he just…? She snorts, knowing it's true. Yes, he did. She didn't even realize what was taking place until after it was over. She can't blame him though. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have allowed herself to eat in days. He was helping her for the second time today and she was completely oblivious to it.
She starts to rummage through one of the cabinets as she tries to retract the smile that's beginning to form on her lips.
~Finnick~
Thinking about fish reminds Finnick of his father. When he spoke to Katniss about his favorite foods being salmon and catfish, he didn't expect himself to feel those regretful feelings all over again. Just when everything was becoming light and jovial – if calling flirting with Katniss jovial, which is in his book – everything starts to turn upside down. As he rubs his hands together across a stick to get the fire going, he decides that maybe bringing up that topic wasn't the wisest idea. Images of his father rush across his brain; them on the boat fishing, swimming in the ocean, running on the beach, trading goods. Then once the good memories come, the bad ones replace them in only seconds, and Finnick can once again see his father's dying form. Wounded, bloody, and nearly torn to shreds. Finnick can still see himself hovering over his father's body, not even able to recognize his father anymore due to the severe damages of his face and skin.
Then the fire starts brusquely, almost touching Finnick's palm. That brought him back to present world, erasing away all thoughts. He moves his hands away, letting the fire catch onto the partial wood pieces that he inserted into the fireplace. The flames begin to blaze slowly and eventually starts to pick up. Finnick leans back until he's resting on his heels. He didn't realize how cold it was until he felt the heat of the fire. After seeing the figure of his father on his mental screen, he's a bit shaken up. So many emotions twist around inside of him, threatening him with painful knots.
He can remember all too clearly, as if the incident happened yesterday. He broke the news to his mother and one of her close friends. They had just finished shopping at the time and were at home putting away the groceries. He walked into the house, with his father's blood stained on his clothes and all he said to them was, "He's gone." And that was it. That was enough for his mother to collapse to the floor, enough for his mother's friend to cry herself. He didn't cry until after their tears were shed, after the funeral, after he found himself in a place of solitude.
Finnick was out fishing with his father that day, at seventeen, three years after his games. It was just a normal, sunny day. Large fish don't usually come in that area, which made the whole ordeal peculiar. They didn't see the white hump looming in the water toward them, more toward Finnick's father. There was nothing that could have attracted it, neither of them got cut on anything, no reason for the beast of the sea to make itself known. His father was indeed a good swimmer but no man can out swim an animal born to tread the waters. Then Finnick can see the deep shade of red mixing in with the water in a pool. He can hear the screams of his father.
Finnick's hands are clenched in fists resting on his knees, quivering slightly. As much as he tries to push the thoughts away, they keep coming back up. The mind naturally wants to mess with you for reasons that are not obvious. When Katniss enters the living room, he immediately puts on his mask, not wanting her to see that weak side of him. He has become so accustomed to doing that, it's like automatic to turn it off and on.
Katniss doesn't say anything to him as she makes her way toward him, toward the fireplace. She settles onto her knees, holding a pot in her hand. Since the stove isn't working, they'll have to use the fire in the fireplace to cook their food from now on. Finnick smirks at her at their closeness, but she insists on ignoring him, keeping a firm look on her face. She always looks that way when she's concentrating, or trying to pretend he's not there. Usually Finnick would be hurt by this, but after being around her for a while – before the games and during the games and now – he's use to her rejecting him, but that doesn't mean he'll stop pestering her.
Those images continue to appear in Finnick's mind, but he's been living like this for so long, dwelling with negative thoughts, the only way to escape is to pretend to be someone else. That's the only time when he can't be himself. Only when he's someone else his mind goes elsewhere, his mind belongs to someone that's not him. He's this seductive man that he hates himself for. And when he wants to get away from himself, he can't help but be this person. It's only natural for him now, for all this years. For ten years. Ten years wasted on fulfilling Snow's evil, twisted deeds…
The sound of emptying contents enters Finnick's ears. Katniss is pouring the cans' food into the pot. He watches her, deciding she's better to think about than his own thoughts.
When the food heats in the fireplace, they eventually start to smell a wonderful aroma from the food. A loud fit of meowing fills their ears. They turn at the same time to see that large cat called Buttercup entering the room. It lets out another loud meow of desperateness as it brushes against Finnick's leg.
"He smells that food," Finnick chuckles. And that lamb stew does, indeed, smell quite delicious.
Katniss, however, is glaring daggers at the cat. "Too bad," she says unfortunately. "No food for you."
"Don't be that way, Mockingjay," Finnick says. "He's hungry, like you and me. We can let him have some."
"Are you blind?" Katniss asks. "That looks full fed to me." She gestures toward the cat's belly. Finnick only laughs again. They watch as Buttercup inches closer to the fire. Finnick attempts to grab it and pull it away before it burns itself, but Katniss stops him by touching his arm. "Wait. Let's see what happens."
He leans back on his heels as the cat moves closer toward the flames. It pushes its nose close to fire and immediately jerks away, wrinkling its nose. Then it retreats away, nearly bumping into Finnick on its way to the kitchen. Katniss rolls her eyes at the whole scene, at the cat's cluelessness.
"That was ice cold, Katniss," Finnick says, shaking his head, as he stands up. He should go after the cat to see if it's alright.
"Don't go after it," she says. "The stupid thing learned its lesson. Should know better than to play with fire."
"And of course you know everything there is to know about fire, Girl on Fire," he teases. When she scowls, he smiles. "I'll be back." He makes his way into the kitchen where he saw Buttercup disappear to.
Turns out the cat is fine, so he returns back to the living room.
Ultimately Katniss retrieves the pot from the oven, wearing a mitten over her hand as to not burn herself. Finnick holds two bowls out for her and she starts to pour the stew into each of them. Then she goes into the kitchen to put the pot in the sink and returns with two spoons. She hands one to him and he gives her grateful look, which she only nods brusquely to. They sit across from each other; Finnick casually leaning his back against the sofa's leg and Katniss sitting on the rug with her legs crossed over one another. Finnick takes the first spoonful of the lamb stew and he is amazed at the taste. It's actually rather better than he expected, with its tangy taste to it. Scrumptious. But he won't compare it to the salmon and catfish. Nothing beats those meals.
"Do you like it?" Katniss asks him, putting a spoon into her mouth.
He nods his head. "You were right, it is pretty good," he replies. "I should've tried this a long time ago, when I was at the Capitol."
She only nods tersely. He can't tell if she's satisfied with his answer, or even cares if he likes it or not, because her face remains still. Sometimes he wonders why she has to be so terse all the time. She doesn't talk much, not to him that his, and rarely shows her emotions around him. He really doesn't know what he did to make her dislike him. It's probably because of his reputation. She didn't like him from the start, he knew. When he spoke to her at the Opening Ceremony for the first time, she made it clear she wasn't very fond of him, and didn't hesitate to reject the sugar cube offer. It's only on rare occasions when he gets her to laugh, like the other day when he used his Capitol accent and the fence incident. There was also one time in the arena when they actually shared a laugh together when they gave Peeta a scare.
"But it's not better than seafood," Finnick adds.
Katniss rolls her eyes.
"You don't believe me?" he says, feeling a challenge in the air. "I'm willing to change your mind when I take you to District 4 one day. You'll see what I mean."
"If," she says.
"If?"
"If,"
"You're already turning down my offer, that's a shame," he says. "Usually any person would accept my dinner invitations without a second thought, but you…"
"I'm not those other people," Katniss says, glowering at him. "And there's no guarantee we'll be alive for that to happen anyway. We're not going anywhere."
He stares at her for a moment without blinking. Did he say something wrong…again? He was only trying to lighten up the mood and maybe even learn something about her, or get her to say something interesting other than curt words and terse nods. She's impossible. With a sigh, he proceeds to eat his soup, brushing off the matter like so.
It took Finnick a moment to realize that Katniss stopped eating. Her bowl is set on the rug in front of her, hardly even touched, and he notices her bottom lip quivering slightly. Her gray eyes that were once narrowed are now wide and slightly wet.
"Hey, are you alright?" Finnick asks. If he's not mistaken, he thinks she's about to cry.
She blinks her eyes before the tears can fall. "Uh…yes," she says. "I…just can't eat right now…"
"You only had two bites, are you sure?"
She nods slowly, keeping her head low. "I…can't stop thinking about what happened and eating isn't going to do me any good," she says. Her eyes are welling up again.
No. She's about to cry, he thinks. What do I do? Should I hold her again like I did last time when we were at the hovercraft? Then he shakes his head, thinking better of it. She probably doesn't want that. Instead he moves toward her and touches her hand. "I know. I think about it too," he says. "We're going to get through this, Katniss, okay? Don't let this tear you apart."
But she's shaking her head at him, while pulling away her hand. "No…" she says. "You don't know that…" She stands up. "You don't know that." And she walks down the hall before he can stop her. She returns a minute or two later, wearing her hunting boots and holding her bow.
"You're not going out there alone, are you?" Finnick asks her, remembering her hand. How will she be able to use it with her hand in that condition?
"I have to get out of this house for a while," she says, wiping away an invisible tear. "I'm going hunting."
"No you're not," Finnick says, setting down his bowl and standing up. "You can't hunt with that bite on your hand. I think you should stay here at least until it heals."
"No," she says brusquely.
"Katniss." He gives her a serious look.
"Stop trying to control everything that's happening," she snaps. She adjusts her quiver of arrows over her shoulder. "You have no place to do that, or do anything for me at all."
Finnick admits that he was taken aback from that, but he tries not to show it on his face. What was that supposed to mean? He's not trying to control everything. He opens his mouth to say something, defend himself maybe, but Katniss is quick to continue.
"Don't follow me." She's already making her way toward the door. "I need to be alone. And hopefully even you can respect that." With that said, she slams the front door shut, leaving Finnick there befuddled. He doesn't go after her; probably because he's not sure what just happened, his mind is still trying to work around it. She was fine not a moment ago, eating and talking, even though she wasn't being particularly friendly with him during their short meal.
What did he do? Whenever he tries to help her, or cheer her up, she always pushes him away and turn everything into a mess so she can have a reason to be upset again. It's understandable what she's going through. She lost her mentor and being here with someone she despised the moment she met, and that just makes everything that much worse for her. Maybe if he hadn't come off like a insolent douchebag, then maybe she wouldn't be as untrusting toward him as she is now, and she wouldn't have this unchangeable grudge against him. But neither of them knew that they would end up in this situation. They couldn't see the future. Finnick didn't know he'd find himself stranded in the dilapidating District 12 with no one else to talk to but her. To be honest, he thought he would've died in the arena trying to protect her for the rebellion.
He shoves his bowl away, rather more aggressively than he intended, spilling the contents over the crimson red rug. Perfect. One problem following the next. He moves into the kitchen, wets a rag, and returns to the living room to clean the mess. As he attempts to scrub the soup from the rug, his mind travels to all of the people that died in that crash. The people that he spoke with, that he came to know, and some he wasn't even fond of, like Haymitch. He didn't realize how good of a person he was – despite being an alcoholic – until death took him away. And Plutarch Heavensbee and everyone else who was on that hovercraft.
Something wet and salty slips into the corner of Finnick's mouth and he quickly uses the back of his hand to wipe it away before returning to scrubbing. No more wetness comes. He has to be the stronger person here, for as long as it takes, and allowing those depressing feelings to take root will only make him weak. He's the man here and must be strong. Even though Katniss isn't here to see him at his weak point, he still won't feel the same when he looks at her.
There won't be any tears for him today.
To be continued…