Earlier update than usual, I hope you enjoy it. All of you reviewers are wonderful people, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to them this week. I don't own the Hunger Games.
Chapter 14:
Finnick knocked on the hard, wooden door for the second time. His fingers rubbed against splinters but he ignored it.
The door opened halfway, and before him stood a sturdy looking, unshaven man. His eyes narrowed, and Finnick swallowed, wondering why it was him that had been assigned this task. If he was Dana's family, would he hate him? Probably.
"Hi, sir," he said, stumbling on his words, unsure of what to say. "I'm...I um just came to give you, to bring you this."
The man's face relaxed slightly as he rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a small pouch.
"It was her district token," Finnick explained, "We thought...well, you should have it."
His heart slammed itself against his ribcage with the force of a caged beast.
Dana's father reached his hand out to take the pouch from his grip. The gentle nature of his movement seemed uncharacteristic in contrast to his large stature and rough appearance.
"She said to tell you, I don't know if they showed it..." Finnick trailed off, and he could feel himself rambling, to try and get the words out quickly and never have to face this man and family ever again. He was a coward, he was such a coward. "Well, she loves you." There was silence between them. He then added quietly, knowing he wouldn't really get the chance to tell him ever again, and feeling that he should say something useful. "She was really brave."
And he turned to walk away.
"Thank you," the voice croaked from behind him.
He was so confused, he didn't know what to think, what to feel about anything anymore. Anytime he felt bad he attempted to logically reassure himself about everything that had happened to him. Then every time he felt something close to relief a storm of guilt would sweep over him. Then disgust, then a deep resentment for the Capitol and all that they have done. He found himself with days and days of free time with nothing to do, which he had secretly yearned for before when there never seemed enough time to do anything he wanted.
But being with his friends was different. They still had to work on the boats now, with many of them turning fifteen and a great deal of their time being preoccupied with that and other things. He felt himself and his old friends drifting apart. He felt himself being held at a distance. Now he was a victor, someone to be revered, yet at the same time, no, feared, maybe? It was unclear, but he was sure that that was the only way to explain it. They just didn't understand.
Not like Annie, who still held that special quality of being able to fathom and discern what he was feeling when even he himself could not. Finnick found himself wondering what it must be like to see the world through Annie's eyes, to see the way in which even hopeless cases can be fixed. To see those little things in people that have become so lost inside their being that even they themselves do not see it. To constantly carry a spark of hope and empathy wherever she went.
He found the time he spent with Annie to be almost therapeutic. It must also have something to do with the bay, because their visits there seemed to muffle out the screams and snarls which remained embedded in his memory. It was her idea to teach him how to net.
"What's the point?" he asked bluntly as she tugged some knotted cord out of her bag.
"To keep your hands busy," she replied.
She had glanced over and her gaze had hovered over to his hands. His nails had been bitten to the bone, and she realised that she could benefit from tying knots as much as she could. Little did he know how helpful it could be.
"What happens when I'm done?" he asked.
"I'll tell you that when you're finished. It won't be for a while."
Finnick was surprisingly attentive when she explained and showed him how to make the net. His hands deftly picked up the knotting technique and in no time at all he had begun the net. Annie carefully pulled her only recently started tapestry out of her bag, the one she had begun making with her new threads. She had picked the image carefully, making sure it would be something to compliment the especially beautiful blues and greens she now had at her disposal.
"What's that?" Finnick looked over from his own simple knotting.
"It's a tapestry," she replied, without looking over from the board and needle.
"What's it for?"
A small smile crept onto Annie's face.
"Nothing, it's pointless, but they're lovely," she said, "You sort of weave the threads together to make a picture. You'll see when it's done."
"Oh," there was a pause, "When will it be done?"
She shrugged.
"Depends how much time I have," she said, "It's not too big, a few weeks or so."
They each continued for a while, until Annie set down the unfinished work.
"It's too hot," she said wearily, "I'm going swimming."
That past week the temperatures had soared, a heavy humidity descending on the District. It was hard to tell whether it was worse to be inside or outside. Finnick nodded his agreement, feeling his hands going sweaty with the heat.
"I'm coming too."
Annie took off her skirt in blouse so that she was just in small shorts and a singlet. She made straight for the ocean, feeling delight as the water cooled her nearly sizzling skin. She waded out until she neared the drop and dove, the water rushing past her, surfaced and blinked away the strong light. It certainly had been a relief to be able to swim and not have to just endure the intense heat like she had before. She felt suddenly sorry for all the fish-mongers, who would no doubt be slaving away under the unrelenting sun.
Finnick emerged from the water a few metres away from her and splashed her. She glowered at him as she coughed and spluttered gracelessly. He was grinning.
"You're not funny, Odair," she scowled at him.
"I know, I'm hilarious," he said, "Cresta."
"Shut up."
She splashed him back lightly. He kicked back to lie on his back, while she dove again and again to feel along the sand for any particularly interesting or pretty shells, or maybe some sea glass. She seemed to be having no luck this time, for every time she rose she would find the shells plain or broken. Once, though, she felt the strangest twinge of sadness tossing them back. They couldn't help it they didn't shine so bright. In fact, that's probably how people saw her.
Stop being stupid, they're just shells. And she nearly scoffed at how ridiculous she could be when she gave herself too much time to think.
In the water Finnick had transformed into a completely different boy to the one Annie had had to rouse from bed earlier that day. He kicked, he dove, he splashed, he swam, and he'd disappear for what she swore were minutes at a time before breaking through the surface, gasping for air.
But back on land, be it from growing tired from the swimming or maybe just feeling solid ground beneath his feet, and with it the rest of the world around him, he grew quiet and slightly withdrawn. It was on that day Annie noticed the way which his eyes always caught the light. Now his eyes had dimmed to a dull glow, the way the sand may reflect the sun's rays, but before they had been breathtakingly elated, iridescent with the scattered shine of water which fell and was constantly being manipulated by shifting waves.
He seemed so much more grown up, like he had lost a year or two years or five after coming out of the arena. He settled himself down next to her on the sand and sat with his legs partly drawn up and his arms resting idly on his knees, fingers absentmindedly fiddling. She glanced over at them and saw his nails bitten to the bone.
She was used to listening. Finnick always had something to talk about, something exciting or hilarious to tell her which could make her laugh like nothing else. Or she would have something interesting to tell him, about the things she had seen happen in the market which not many other people saw, or something interesting that she might have read or heard. They, of course, had grown used to sitting in comfortable silences. Annie wondered if this silence would ever subside, however. It's not that she had nothing to talk about with Finnick, it was just that she didn't feel like any of it would matter. What did he care of some stupid happening in the marketplace, when he obviously had much more important things to think about?
She tugged at her tapestry, undoing a small mistake.
"Come on, there's something that I have to do," Finnick nudged her and rose to his feet.
She looked up at him, the sunlight behind him, and squinted.
"What is it?"
"We've got something to look for."
His eyes looked full of intention, so she stowed away her work and took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up, his skin warm and oddly rough as though he still worked out on the boats.
They walked back from the bay, over the hill back towards the town, Annie asking uncharacteristically few questions. Only instead of going to the town centre, they stopped up and veered left slightly, to the poorer section. Here Finnick took a turn to a place that Annie had only spent a short amount of time in.
"Your old house?" she asked.
He nodded, and bit his lip trying to remember a time when Annie had been here. As though reading his mind she went on.
"I came here a few times to watch… you know," she couldn't help feeling like talking about the Games had become taboo. Ever since their first day back together after Finnick's return, neither of them had ever brought it up.
"To watch the Games," he finished for her.
Annie turned to him to try and read his face, but found it blank, his gaze set straight ahead of him as his hands rested on the rotting, damaged wood of his former front gate. He didn't seem upset by the reminder of the Games. But, Annie thought to herself, just because they weren't talking about it doesn't mean that he wasn't thinking about it. She shifted her stare from his face to his abandoned house.
"Why are we here, Finn?"
He furrowed his brow, "There's something I've gotta find… come on."
He pushed open the gate without answering her and made his way into the house. She turned to take a look around at the nearby ocean and at the sun, which signified that the afternoon didn't have long to go before the end of the day. Still she turned and followed him into the house.
A lot of it actually remained intact, as the Odair's house in Victor's Village came with much of their new furniture. Still any photographs or personal belongings had been packed up, leaving the place feeling highly vacant. Finnick was pulling open drawers and cupboards – in the kitchen of all places.
"Finnick, what are you looking for?" Annie tried again.
"Look for a box," he said, without turning to her. He was searching around the dusty fireplace and the mantelpiece.
"Ok," she said unsurely, "What colour?"
Finnick paused just before checking a chest of drawers.
"Black," but then quickly adding, "Wait, no, brown, it's leather, I think…" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter, you'll know when you see it."
The look Annie gave him looked concerned but he ignored it. It wasn't in his new house, he had never been more sure of anything after searching everywhere, so it had to be here. The drawers were all empty, and so he left the small living room and kitchen and went into his father's room, the only other place it would be.
Annie didn't follow him at first, there was something disconcerting about watching him so distracted and intent. That was until she heard a loud bang from the room and she hurried in.
Finnick had kicked the chest of drawers in frustration and was desperately trying to think of where it could be. An idea occurred to him and he got onto his knees to look underneath the bed, his hands feeling in and around it, only to be sorely disappointed. That was until his finger felt a gap, and he stopped for a second. Slowly, he felt the gap, slipping his fingers in between the boards and tugging. It came up. He pushed it to one side and put his hand in the hole, his fingers grasping the box, which apparently was made of wood. He pulled it out and set it on his lap, sitting on the ground with his back against the old, dust covered bed.
"What's inside?"
Annie settled down behind him and peered at the box as he opened it.
"Pictures," he said quietly, and drew out the top photo.
It showed a woman with blonde hair smiling warmly, her eyes alive with a glow familiar to Annie. She didn't need to ask to immediately realise that it was Finnick's mother. She glanced over at Finnick, not thinking of anymore questions except for wanting to know what he was thinking. Unfortunately, those green eyes had now become well accustomed at hiding everything, and she could find nothing in his expression as he stared at the photo, nothing at all.
My brain = dead. I'm caught in the constant struggle of wanting to get enough of my writing done but wanting to make sure it's good, so most of the time this story just ends up being a bit of a mess. Anyway let me know what you think, I hope it was good enough.