Chapter Eight
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except for the ones that weren't in Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games
Rated M for extreme violence in later chapters and language.
I know I haven't posted in a while I just felt that I was rushing the story working more of making sure I got chapter out then the actual quality of the chapters themselves so I took a short break to do some other writing and now I hope that I'm going to get back to my full potential. Thank you all for favoriting, following, and reviewing I love you guys and I hope you enjoy chapter eight.
As soon as dinner was over we left. I only briefly got to say goodbye to Thresh's parents and we were off.
Now I stand in my room on the train dismantling my hair. The whole day was a whirlwind. First the speech, the riot, the fight, the meeting, and then, finally, dinner. Looking back on it I just don't know I should feel about it. I want to be happy about Thresh's parents believing me. I want to be furious about the lives lost in the riot, but I can't help being somewhat proud that people are finally taking a stand against the Capitol. And that was just the first stop on the tour, I really don't want to even imagine what will happen in the other Districts.
Shaking my silky hair out I remember something that Cynthia had told me about. Back in my house in District 12 she had told me that if I had ever needed to talk to someone that I should call Finnick. I didn't really think about actually doing so at the time, but now I actually considered it. For a while I mulled over the pros and cons until I finally said to myself "Fuck it" and grabbed the phone in my room.
"Hello, this is Finnick Odair, what do you want?" he says rudely.
"Um, hello this is Claire Moore, I was told by a friend of mine that I should call you," I reply awkwardly.
"Yeah, it was Cynthia, right?" he asks his voice lightening. "She told me that you might be calling."
"It was her, and I just needed to talk to someone right now, and she said that you might be a good person to talk to so… um," I trail out. This was a dumb idea. What was I thinking?
"It's fine, I've been through the Victory Tour it sucks, I hated it more than the actual Games," Finnick reassures me.
"You did?"
"Absolutely, and by the way, I'm completely alright with you calling me. We victors, we have to stick together," Finnick consoles me.
"Thanks," I reply and then I begin to tell him about the day's events. He calmly listens to me and lets me vent. I had talked to Finnick before now, but he had never been so kind. When I first met him at the rebellion's meeting I had assumed he was a jack ass. He has been known as the Capitol's slut ever since he turned eighteen. After I had gotten to know him during those meetings I had come to realize that even though he might be a slut he was a friendly slut. Now while I was talking to him I felt ashamed of what I had assumed about him. I can't believe that he would just sleep with people at random, at least not by choice.
"So what should I do?" I ask when my story is over.
"Well, your tour is much more complex than mine, but the best advice is to listen to your mentors and do what they say. And if you don't agree with them ask Cynthia, she usually knows what to do," he suggests.
"She does," I agree.
"And, fair warning, the hardest part is going to be the dinners in other Districts. No one is going to be happy to see you, it's nothing against you personally…they just, well, they hate your guts," explains Finnick.
"Well that makes me feel a hell of a lot better, thanks," I say sarcastically.
"It's nothing against you personally, you were in the Hunger Games, and you did what you had to do to stay alive. On my tour someone stabbed me with a steak knife," he replies.
"That's comforting."
"There's no way to sugar coat it, it is what it is," he admits.
"Thanks for talking to me and letting me vent," I tell him. "It's getting late so I think I'm going to go."
"Yeah, no problem and feel free to call back any time, even if there isn't any trouble, like if you're just bored or something," he states.
"I'll do that, bye then."
"Bye," he replies and hangs up the phone. When the conversation is over I feel a sort of relief. I don't know what from, but ending the conversation has somehow lifted a burden from me. I try to dismiss it, but somehow it always slinks its way back into my thoughts.
I try to remember if I felt anything during the phone call that would cause me to feel this way now. At one point in my thinking I recall how my heart started to pound a little faster and how I felt my cheeks grow hot when he told me that victors have to stick together.
But why would that make me nervous? I don't get it. Could I just have been anxious that someone would discover the fact that we had met before through rebel meetings, or was it… No I refuse to go there. There is no possible way that I would feel that way towards him, not even a little. I belong to Thresh; even if he is gone, I'm his and I could never feel the same way about another person…ever. So I do what I always do when I feel something I don't like, I push it down until it's so small I can't feel it any more.
I know how terrible that is to do to yourself, and I also know that no matter how hard you shove it down it will always resurface in a horrible way. I don't know any other way to cope with these kinds of feelings, before the Games I barely felt anything. I miss that, I might've been cold, but I knew where I belonged and how to handle things. I don't know how to handle anything anymore.
That night I sleep restlessly and wake up even more tired than I was the night before. The dining car is filled with the scent of fresh coffee, no wants to be up yet, not even Effie. She tries to appear cheerful and ready for the day, but every now and then she has to blink herself awake.
Today we're in District 10. After my conversation with Finnick I start to realize that District 11 might've actually been the easiest stop on the tour. At least there not everyone hated me, as I'm sure they do in every other District. My mind travels back to the Games, trying to remember if I had killed anyone from this District.
My heart sinks when I remember that I did. Not only did I kill him, but he was my first kill. Tonight I will have to sit down and eat a civilized dinner next to his family. These thoughts eat away at me as I shuffle down to the car where Cynthia is undoubtedly waiting for me.
Cynthia is waiting patiently for me when I arrive. She doesn't chastise me for being late; she simply gives my hand a little squeeze and gets to work. When she is done my hair is pulled back into a French braid and I am wearing a simple black halter dress. My eyes are lined with dark greens and blacks. I look up at her in horror and anxiously ask, "I'm Death again, aren't I?"
"I'm so sorry."
