A/n: Thank you so much for the reviews, story alerts, and favorites! I got this chapter out as soon as I could (which was a lot quicker than I thought I was going to be able to) so I hope that can serve as a proper thank you! I cherish hearing your thoughts :)
Last night's scores are still the topic of conversation at breakfast the next morning.
Annora and Finnick hold a light conversation the entire meal, chatting on and on about some Capitol citizen or another, until they make a full circle and end up back at the numbers that will determine a multitude of things for us.
They're congratulating us again, but I'm busy wondering what Chiron did in his session to get a ten. He scored better than a lot of the Careers. He's younger than them, and not remarkably built, so I'm not sure what he could have done.
I eat quietly for a few minutes, and then the question bubbles up out of me.
"Chiron, what did you do for the Gamemakers?" I ask.
He looks across the table at me and his eyes look so tired. I'm sure he got hardly any sleep last night. I realize from everyone else's uninterested expressions that I'm the only one at the table that doesn't know what he did.
"What did you do?" He finally asks.
I'm thrown aback by his suspicion. I feel upset for a moment, sure that I have never done anything to deserve his doubt. However, what did any of us do to deserve any of the situations we've been put in recently?
"I made a net and threw a knife." I say easily. I stare him dead in the eye, showing him I have no problem trusting him with this, as if that will help him to know he can trust me too.
He nods and lowers his eyes to his plate. He talks to the plate and not to me.
"I started out using a sword and a spear." He says. "I was pretty good with those. But then I just talked to them."
My eyes search his downturned face. Talked to them? What is that supposed to mean?
He quickly begins to clarify.
"I talked to them as if they were a tribute trying to kill me. I talked to them as if I was trying to persuade them not to kill me. I listed all the reasons why they shouldn't. And then I told the Gamemakers: 'If I could convince you for even a second that I don't deserve to die, imagine what I could convince a scared fellow tribute of.'"
I'm impressed by both his bravery and his creativeness, just as I'm sure the Gamemakers were. I never could have pulled something like that off. It's a miracle he did. It ended up being the best thing because it gave him the score he needed.
"Very risky, but good job." Mags praises him again.
He smiles. "Thanks, Mags."
Finnick finishes eating and then walks around the table. I think he's going to leave the dining room, but then I feel him tug on my hair. I turn my head around and he's standing behind my chair.
"Guess what, Miss Six? You get me all to yourself for four entire hours today while we work on the content for the interviews." He says. "Your luck just keeps getting better and better."
I grasp the edge of the table. "Hold on, give me a minute. I think I'm going to faint out of excitement."
He laughs loudly and sets his hands on the back of my chair.
"Meet me in my room when you're done with breakfast." He says, a purposely seductive tone to his voice.
My face immediately flushes, which I know was his intention to begin with, judging by his laughter. I shoot a look at the other people at the table, suddenly worried they aren't familiar with the way Finnick jokes and will think he actually means that in a way he doesn't. The only person who looks even a little bit uncomfortable is Chiron. His mouth is drawn into a straight line. But then again, he always looks a bit uncomfortable.
I turn around to look at him and fake a scandalized gasp. "Shouldn't you at least take me to dinner first?"
He smirks. "I just had breakfast with you, didn't I? That's more than most girls get."
He winks at me on his way out of the room. I roll my eyes back at him.
The first two hours of interview coaching are uneventful. Finnick pretends to be Caesar Flickerman and asks me a series of questions, but since he's told me to just be myself, it's rather easy. The only time I mess up is when "Caesar" asks me what's the most startling difference between District 4 and the Capitol, and I start to discuss the differences in child bearing.
"You don't want to talk about that on TV. It's kind of a taboo topic in the Capitol." Finnick explains.
I nod slowly, worry eating away at the pit of my stomach. "Finnick, what if he asks me a question and I don't know how to answer? What if I freeze?"
He smiles kindly. He has light circles under his eyes and his bronze hair looks a little more tussled than usual. I wonder if he was up all night. He must have been.
"Just follow your gut instincts. You'll know what to do." He answers easily.
We're seated in two plush armchairs in the sitting area of his room, and I'm already feeling exhausted, even after only two hours. I didn't sleep well last night and the chairs are so comfortable. Finnick's voice is smooth and soothing as he continues talking, and I find myself nodding off.
Finnick sets a gentle hand on my forearm. I quickly snap my eyes back open, feeling guilty. He doesn't look angry though, only concerned.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
I nod and give my head a quick shake to try and wake myself back up. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. I'm so sorry, Finnick. That was really rude of me."
He gives my hand a squeeze. "You're too sweet for your own good. It's no problem, it happens."
He says this affectionately, but I know it's not as good as he makes it sound. We're going to see the full extent of that statement in the arena, I'm sure.
Mauve makes an appearance an hour later, after Finnick and I have given up interview practice and instead are having a discussion about his childhood. He grew up with just his mother. She passed away two years ago due to an allergic reaction they didn't even know she had. He seems almost angry retelling that, and I wonder if he blames himself for it. He couldn't have known she was allergic if she didn't even know, though.
It's awful and I feel terribly for him. He asks me about my mother and we talk about her for a while before deciding that my mother and his mother would have probably been friends. Somehow that makes me feel better. Talking about my mother is still difficult, so I can't imagine how difficult it must be for Finnick.
Our discussion makes me more certain of something I already knew to be true: seeing Finnick sad is awful. It makes my heart ache and my stomach drop to my toes. I grasped his hand while he was talking about his mother's funeral, and I like to think that maybe it made him feel a bit better. I surely hope so.
Once Mauve arrives, we switch gears back to preparing for the interview. The rest of the four hour session consists mostly of me standing in front of them while they circle around me and make comments about what my wardrobe and makeup should be.
"I still think we should do sexy." Mauve says. "Sexy sells better than kind."
Her words put me into a panic. I grab at Finnick as he circles back around to stand in front of me.
"No!" I exclaim. "There's no way I can pull that off!"
My mind is whirling with images of awful dresses that only cover thirty percent of my body. I'm immediately imaging what it would be like to be that exposed on stage, with the bright stage lights burning into my bare skin and every eye in Panem on me like I'm some sort of dinner dish.
He gives me a reassuring smile. "We aren't doing that." He turns to Mauve now. "She won't be comfortable doing that, and we want her to be as comfortable as possible on stage. The interviews are an extremely stressful experience and there's no reason to make them any more stressful." He turns back to the table that's between the two armchairs we were previously sitting in and glances over the color swatches Mauve brought with her. "Besides," He says, in that same voice he used on the roof that makes me feel as if he's talking to himself and not us, "Victors are known by however they present themselves in these interviews. I don't want her being known by that. Take it from someone who was."
His voice holds a light tone of regret, so light I'm sure Mauve didn't pick up on it. I did, though, and it leaves me thinking. At first I think he's referring to the toll on one's dignity being known as a sex symbol would take, but I have a gut feeling it's worse than that. I wonder then if perhaps he takes on his lovers in the Capitol not for fun or for material possession, but because it's somehow expected of him as a victor. I have no idea what it's like to be a victor. For all I know, there are certain rules of etiquette and conduct that require them to do whatever the elite of the Capitol want in order to get to take part in the victor parties and such. I'm sure that can't be the case, as victors are supposed to be the freest of us all, but something in Finnick's face when he turns back around to look at me keeps me from asking him to clarify.
I search his eyes as he walks back towards me, holding a light pink color swatch. He holds it up beside my face and stares back at me. His eyes don't hold the answers I'm looking for, but it holds enough regret for me to know that as much as Finnick Odair likes to pretend otherwise around other people, he's not having the time of his life here in the Capitol. In fact, he may hate it even more than I do.
I feel like our eyes don't leave each other's for at least three minutes. That same magnetized feeling comes over to me and I'm helpless to look away. The green of his eyes shakes me up but holds me to the floor all at once. I feel almost as if he can see that I'm screaming in my head: I know you aren't who you pretend to be. Not even a little bit. And he's yelling back: I know you do.
It's as I told my sister. It's as Mags said. However it happened, Finnick and I are the same. It's wonderful. I have never had a friend whom I could say that about. I've never met anyone I could say that about. It's a lucky occurrence that I was able to in the last few days I'll be alive.
"Definitely the dress in this shade." He finally says to Mauve, his eyes still on me.
My stomach is in knots tighter than any I have ever tied as I wait backstage.
District 1 has just finished their interviews. I feel like vomiting up every bit of food Mauve forced into me today. After eight hours total of interview practice yesterday (the four with Annora being the most draining), a night of restless sleep, and an entire morning of prep, I'm not feeling very lively.
I feel uncomfortable next to the male tribute from 3. He smells strongly like some sort of cologne and it's not helping to settle my stomach. Chiron is quiet as usual, staring forward at the wall intently. I figure he's probably running through what he's going to say if certain questions are asked over and over again. I try to do the same, but I'm so restless that all I really want to do is go for a really long walk somewhere without massive crowds of neon people, or bright fluorescent lights, or the glow of television screens.
Finnick appears with Mauve. The mentors and stylists have been drifting between the backstage area and the audience. He kneels in front of me and takes my hands after the boy from 3 is called onto the stage. His hands are warm and steady and I grip them a lot tighter than I mean to. I can feel the stares of my fellow tributes, but I don't care. I lock my eyes onto his and he gives me a smile so cathartic that I smile back.
"You're going to be enchanting. I'll be watching the entire time, okay? It's just like practicing." He murmurs. I nod. He keeps a hold of my hands until my name is called. He gives them a squeeze and then slides his hands off mine, helping me to my feet. He leads me gently to the side of the stage where I have to enter, and my heart is pounding so hard it's all I can hear.
"Good luck," He whispers, and then I'm walking forward onto the stage.
The screams of the crowd are deafening. I try to tell myself not to look at the audience, but it's like when you're at a tall height and someone tells you not to look down—you can't help but do it. I look out towards them, but luckily for me, the insanely bright stage lights lining the stage block them out. I jerk my head back around, bright white orbs floating in front of my eyes now.
I carefully take a seat in the chair beside Caesar Flickerman. He's grinning up at me, and he looks just as charismatic in person as he is on television. He waits until the crowd stops cheering.
"Hello, Annie! How are you doing?" He asks.
I nervously pull at the bottom of my dress.
"I'm nervous. And I can't see anything now because I stared at the stage lights." I say. My voice is projected so loudly around me that I can't help but cringe. My cheeks immediately redden and I duck my face. I know then that I am doomed to making a fool of myself.
He laughs and the audience laughs along with him. I fold my arms around myself, probably subconsciously attempting to make myself as small as possible.
"Those lights are a menace!" Caesar says. "Why, I stare into them every day, and it hurts just as much every time. You'd think after all the years I've been doing this I'd be used to them!"
I highly doubt he does stare into them, but I smile anyway.
The laughter dies down once more and Ceasar shifts in his chair, angling closer towards me.
"So, Annie, how have you liked the Capitol so far?" He asks.
I look up at his face—so much younger than it should be for his age—and give him an honest answer.
"It's more extraordinary than anything I expected. The colors are my favorite part. Nothing is as bright in District 4, not even the ocean or the sunsets."
Caesar smiles kindly. "Yes, we're rather flamboyant here. Just the way we like it!" The crowd obviously agrees with him. "How are you feeling about your chances in this year's Games?"
My eyes turn again towards the audience for the first time since I sat down. I stare above the lights this time, and I can make out a few dark faces in the audience. I can't spot Finnick or Mauve, though. I look back at Caesar.
"It's going to be very difficult to see people getting injured. It's going to be very difficult to injure someone else." I say softly.
Caesar's face takes on a very serious expression.
"Yes, that could probably be difficult. Still, they are necessary sacrifices to ensure we never have another Rebellion!"
I can feel the tension emitting off Caesar now. He's walking on a very thin line as he tries not to cut down my concerns but also tries not to refute the Games' necessity.
He presses on. "And they are very entertaining, am I right?"
The crowds cheer loudly, oblivious to the brief unease that just overtook us on stage.
Caesar quickly decides that questioning me about the Games will no longer do. He moves on to another topic.
"So, your mentor is Finnick Odair. How has he been as a mentor?" He asks, his eyes twinkling and his lips jerking up into an almost knowing smile.
The crowd shrieks louder than I have ever heard at the mention of Finnick's name. I'm panicking. I have no idea how to answer this question.
I decide to do what Finnick told me from the start, and just be honest.
I smooth the bottom of my dress out and search the crowd again for Finnick's face. I finally catch a glimpse of bronze, and he's smiling up at me. The cameras are on him so I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees it. I smile back without even meaning to.
I look back at Caesar. I feel that I can tell him now, because I know Finnick will hear it, and I'm just going to imagine I'm telling Finnick this myself.
"He's an amazing mentor. I wouldn't have been able to handle any of this without him." I resist the urge to look back at Finnick. "He's a great man. He's good down to his core."
I can tell this wasn't at all what Caesar was expecting or looking for, nor was it what the audience wanted to hear. They wanted to hear something suggestive, something that fits with the portrait they hold in their heads of Finnick Odair, but I won't give them that. Because I don't want Finnick to go home tonight holding in his mind the idea that I see him the same way the Capitol does. Because I don't want to give him another reason to think that the only thing he's worth is what the Capitol says he is. Because I want him to know that he is a good man, even if he doesn't think so. I don't think he does. If I can only do one good thing before I die, let it be this. Let it be me painting a new facet onto Finnick's public identity. Let it be me reminding him and everyone else that he's not just the sex symbol of the Capitol; he's also a good person.
Caesar presses forward. "It seems like you know him pretty well," He says, his tone and suggestion trying to lead me where he wants me to go.
"I do." I answer, and of course my face decides to flush bright red at that moment. Caesar decides that's the best he's going to get, and he takes it and runs with it. He shoots the audience a knowing smile.
"Well, can I just say I love what you're wearing tonight? Stand up again so everyone can see."
I shakily rise to my feet, my knees quaking embarrassingly.
"Mauve Gerald did a fabulous job, didn't she?" He asks. The crowd cheers. I'm fond of the dress as well, but mostly because I'm comfortable in it and it reminds me of home. It's a pale pink silk frock with a reef-like ivory overlay. The longer length and cap sleeves keep me from feeling too exposed in front of these thousands of people.
I sit back down.
"Before our time is up, I have one more question. What do you think your best asset will be in the Games?"
I had thought he was done asking me about the Games. I swallow nervously and look back out at the crowd, my eyes landing on Finnick once more. He must be able to see I'm lost, but he can't mouth anything to me, because all of Panem will see it. I turn back to Caesar.
"My instincts." I finally say.
He smiles. "Those are very important. Thank you for talking with us, Annie. You're absolutely delightful and I hope to see you back here soon. I wish you the best of luck."
Mauve and Finnick are waiting backstage by the time I'm there. Finnick gathers me into his arms and hugs me tightly. It warms me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I relax and hug him back, breathing in the now-familiar scent of his shampoo that seems to emit from him. I haven't hugged anyone since I hugged my family goodbye.
He keeps me there for a few long moments. I'm gripping him tightly and I feel so safe that I don't want him to let go. We break apart though, and his eyes tell me that he understands exactly what I was trying to tell him when I called him a good man on stage, and I know it wasn't for naught.
Mauve, quiet as always, tells me I was lovely. I thank her and we all watch Chiron's interview. He's obviously going for a brutal image. Caesar asks him his best asset just like he asked me, and Chiron answers with "my ruthlessness". He can play off brutality quite well, especially with the score he was given. He doesn't slip from this image until Caesar brings up his best friend, the girl from last year's Games who died at the hands of her supposed ally. He reminds the crowd of how she died, and asks Chiron what it's like to be in the place she was last year.
I look at Finnick.
"How could they know that they were best friends?" I ask.
His mouth is pulled in a tight line, and I know he is angry at Caesar for bringing that up when Chiron had been doing so well up until then.
"I think Sophia mentioned him briefly in her interview. Someone must have remembered and pointed it out to Caesar beforehand."
I cross my arms over my chest, my heart aching for Chiron.
"It's cruel to bring that up." I whisper.
Finnick nods. "I agree. But anything for the audience, right?" He says bitterly.
I sigh. "Right."
Chiron seems to lose his viciousness immediately. He stares above the audience at the ceiling.
"It's awful." He says finally. He seems to gather strength from whatever he's looking at, because he looks back at Caesar, suddenly seeming just as aggressive as before. "But it's given me an agenda that I'm determined to fulfill."
Caesar looks uneasy once again. "Oh? And what's that?"
Chiron looks at the audience. "Revenge, for Sophia."
The crowd eats that up with two hands. They scream and stomp and clap.
Caesar gently redirects the conversation again. "Revenge on the Districts who turned their backs on her?"
Chiron nods once, firmly, and I'm scared of him too.
After Chiron's interview is done, Finnick and Mauve go back out into the audience to join Mags and Chiron's stylist. The rest of the interview passes in a blur. A few tributes stand out to me, like Twine from District 7 who was the one who glowered at Chiron in the elevator after the parade, and seems to be going for an equally brutal image. The girl tribute from 6 also stands out, just because she's so young. A girl named Magnolia from 11 is obviously going for sex appeal, and she wears a dress so revealing that I can't even stand to look at her.
As the last tribute is being interviewed, Caesar brings up the fact that the Games start tomorrow in the question, and the full impact of that punches me in the stomach. I spend the trip back to the Training Center in a panicked daze, trying to figure out where the days went, desperately wishing for a way to turn back time.
I'm just as worried at dinner that night. I think everyone else is too, because no one says much except for Annora. She rambles on about how excited she is. Mags speaks up every now and then to remind us of short tidbits of advice. I know I should eat, because I'll regret not eating tomorrow, but I can't choke anything down but the cherry lemonade on the table and the rolls. The Avox seems to notice this, and she makes sure to keep a steady flow of rolls and cherry lemonade coming. I want to thank her, but I can't even look at her without wanting to cry. Suddenly everything is devastating, especially what they've done to these people.
I can't focus on the replay of the interviews at all. I turn my head when mine airs, certain I don't want to see it. I'd rather believe what Mauve said and let it go. If I watch it and I did horribly, all I can do is beat myself up over it, which won't help anything.
Finnick's beside me on the couch and he lightly touches my hair.
"It really was lovely," He says.
I thank him quietly, my voice muffled by the couch cushion I'm burying my face into.
If I thought anything I've done so far was awful, I was horribly mistaken. The real pain comes when it's time to say our final goodbyes. The only person I will see tomorrow will be Mauve. The sponsors and escorts are leaving for the Games Headquarters sometime after the tributes leave. We're taken away very early in the morning.
I stand in front of Mags, Annora, and Finnick. Chiron doesn't have much of a problem saying his goodbyes. He seems to portray genuine displeasure when he says goodbye to Mags, but the rest doesn't phase him. He walks off to bed after that, leaving me standing in front of the three of them.
My eyes are burning and I try to swallow my tears, but I can feel them welling behind my eyes.
Mags and Annora watch me sadly, but it's Finnick's face that breaks me.
He looks sadder than I've ever seen him. "Oh, don't cry, Annie. Please don't cry!" He says.
I sniff and press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying not to. Mags pulls me to her then and hugs me tightly. She presses a kiss into my hair and gives me a look that can only be described as motherly.
"I believe in you, Annie." Is all she says. It's all she has to. She smiles at me and steps back.
Annora is smiling, her eyes teary.
"It's going to be great, Annie! Don't worry! I just want you to know that I am going to hope that you win. I'm rooting for you! Even if my friends cheer on someone else, I'm going to be cheering on you and Chiron. I promise." She says.
I nod. "Thank you, Annora."
I'm thankful for her promise, even if it probably wasn't the best thing she could have said. I care about her, even if I probably shouldn't. I'll miss her wonderfully odd dresses and her laughter.
She embraces me tightly and then pats my hair.
"You're such a sweet girl." She says, sniffing and wiping her eyes.
Mags pulls her away after that and they both leave the room. I almost wish they wouldn't have. It makes saying goodbye to Finnick even harder.
He stares at me, his eyes sad and his arms tense at his side. I stare back until my eyes are blurring with tears.
"Finnick, I will never be able to thank you enough for all you've done for me." I whisper.
He steps forward, his jaw working again like it did that night on the roof. I realize now that he wasn't angry then. He must have been upset.
"You don't need to." He replies. "Or, actually, you can thank me by promising to try your hardest in the arena. Don't give up."
I wipe at my eyes and nod.
"Okay. I promise." I say.
I don't want him to say the word goodbye. I don't plan on saying it.
"And I promise to do my best to get you out of there alive." He says.
I smile. "That's something I don't doubt, Finnick."
He steps closer again and pulls me into a hug for the second time today. It's just as healing as the first. I lean my head against his chest and let my eyes close.
"You're my favorite tribute." He mumbles into my hair.
I can't help but laugh. "And you're my favorite mentor."
He laughs along with me. I can hear it reverberating in his chest.
"I'm not saying goodbye, so you don't say it either." He says. "We'll see each other again. Then we can go to the beach like District 4 friends do."
His words make my attempt at not crying break. I cry into his suit jacket and he tightens his arm around me. I can't help it; all of this is breaking my heart. What I want so much it aches is to be able to be friends with Finnick in District 4, to be able to do the things normal friends get to do. But I'm going to die, and I'll never see him or my family ever again.
After a few minutes I begin to feel so exhausted I just can't cry anymore. Finnick doesn't let go of me, and I have never been more grateful for anything in my entire life. If his hand or his arms kept me together before, it's nothing compared to how I feel in this moment. I feel like I'm broken into thousands of tiny pieces and he's holding them tightly in his arms. I know the moment he lets go, I'm going to go crashing to the floor.
"I'm not saying goodbye either." I whisper finally.
He laughs sadly. "Good."
He pulls back and takes my hand. He pulls me down the hallway and to my room. I let him baby me, because this is the last chance I will probably ever get for someone to care for me in any way at all. I go into the bathroom and pull my nightgown on and he pulls the blankets and sheets back for me when I enter the room. I slide into the bed and he tucks me in like my father used to when I was a child.
His eyes search mine intently. I am terrified, and I know he can see that.
"Do you need me to stay?" He asks.
I close my eyes briefly. "I don't know. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep anyway."
The pressure on my chest is intense once more and I know I'm close to panicking.
He wordlessly sits down on top of the blankets. He slides over until he's right beside me and sits with his back propped against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. It's so much warmer against his side. He reaches over and begins stroking my hair. My eyelids become heavy and my eyes drift shut, the panic inside of me ebbing away bit by bit.
"Do you do this for all the girls? Is this part of the Finnick Odair package?" I tease. My voice is thick with exhaustion.
I expect some cocky remark of some sort and a laugh. Instead, his fingers find my chin, and he gently raises my face so I'm looking directly at him. His expression is serious.
"Never. Not even a little bit." He mutters. His eyes stay trained on mine. "Do you believe me?"
It seems that he is desperate to know that I do believe him. It would be so easy for someone to think he's only saying this in order to do something kind by making me think I'm special in the maybe last few hours I have alive. But I do believe him. I believe him for the same reasons I always believe him: I can read it in his eyes that he's honest and good.
"I do." I whisper.
He leans down, his face right above mine, and I'm completely frozen, trying to figure out what he's doing. He presses his lips to my forehead, kissing me softly. The gesture makes my stomach flutter and a smile form on my face. Whether from the kiss itself or the affection I can feel lurking right below it, I'm not sure. He keeps his face pressed against my forehead for a moment and then sits back up. He resumes stroking my hair.
I can feel my eyelids growing heavier and heavier and right before I'm about to fall asleep, I push out one more sentence, probably the most important one I will ever say again.
"Thank you for being my friend, Finnick." I murmur.
The last thing I hear is his response.
"No, Annie. Thank you."