Chapter 28
Rescue
Updated: 5/15/2014
"Are we getting closer?" Haymitch asks impatiently, treading loudly behind me across the forest floor.
"Almost," I say.
I stashed a box of booze out here for Haymitch a while ago in case of emergencies and I know that they don't give him enough to drink so he must be miserably. Earlier the rescue team left as soon as Coin announced the soldiers who would be going. Gale, Boggs, and a few other soldiers that I didn't bother to remember the names of. I hate Coin for sending out Gale. Though, I know it's not her fault that he volunteered to go, but it's not a mystery why she agreed so quickly. She doesn't like me and she's made that pretty clear the few weeks I've been here. I don't think we'll ever have a solid, friendly relationship.
The last time I was in this forest, was when Gale decided to go berserk on me with sick accusations and insults. My body still crawls with anger about that argument we took part in the other day. Gale's voice hasn't left me yet and I should be more concerned about the mission he's going on rather than my anger towards him. However, I know he can take care of himself, so I shouldn't be too worried about him getting hurt. His voice constantly rings in my ear, how he accused me of sleeping with Finnick. Yesterday, I found it hard to believe that he would dare to pin something like that on me after everything that's happened and what's happening now. I didn't sleep with Finnick. I couldn't do that. Especially not when he has someone already.
The forest is quiet today, except for me and Haymitch's footsteps trudging through the undergrowth. The sun is bright overhead, bathing us with its warm and brilliant light. I trail around a corner to a tree that has a large hollow inside. Haymitch stops next to me with an annoyed expression on his face, foot tapping on the ground consistently. I smile at his impatience, slowly reaching my arms into the hollow on purpose to irritate him further. He groans and I laugh. I then pull out the box at normal pace. I set it down in front of us and pull off the lid. Inside are two rows of six bottles of drink. It's some clear liquid of some kind of alcoholic beverage with no labels or names. I manage to sneak this out of the district without being seen a while ago and it still amazes me that I wasn't caught doing it. No one found out they were missing.
I shake my head in amusement at Haymitch as he snatches a bottle from the box and flips off the lid. "Dammit it's about time!" he says, chugging down the fluid. Only when the bottle is empty he stops to take a breath. "Shit," he sighs in relief. "You don't know how long I've waited to drink an entire bottle!"
"I can't imagine," I say sarcastically, grabbing a bottle for myself.
Haymitch snatches it away from me before I can even take off the lid. "You're too young to drink," he says, holding it out of my reach.
I grasp at the bottle only for him to pull it away from me again. "Says who?" I say. "After all I've been through? I think I deserve at least a swallow."
He stares at me a moment and then chuckles, shaking his head. "You make a good point, sweetheart," he says and hands me the bottle.
I snort as I take off the top and start to drink it down. The liquid burns my throat for a moment, but as I keep drinking it goes away a bit. It has a funny taste too. Kind of bitter. But I don't care. I pull the tip from my lips and hold it to my chest, feeling the fluid flowing and burning down my throat. When the sensation is over, I stare down at the bottle thoughtfully, wondering if it's whiskey or vodka or something.
"I know you're upset about your friend Gale going out on the mission," says Haymitch. "But you shouldn't worry over it. Everyone has a purpose to fulfill even it means sacrificing." He drinks again.
I tap the glass with my finger gently. He's right, but I don't want to believe it. "I don't like that people have to make sacrifices for me," I murmur. "I should be the one making the sacrifices. I've already gotten enough people killed."
"Live with it," he says. "It's what we're all doing."
"I'd be dead if I wasn't."
He chuckles. I narrow my eyes at him as his chuckles turn to hiccups. The alcohol is starting to get to him.
"Do you think Peeta will ever wake up?" I ask.
He sighs, as he pulls the bottle from his lips. "I don't know," he admits with a grim expression. "Hopefully he does when this whole thing blows over. He doesn't need to know what's going on."
I nod slowly, staring down at my own bottle. "I don't blame you. I was just mad. I'm sorry I…tried to stab you," I murmur.
"I knew you weren't going to kill me, sweetheart, so stop apologizing," he says, chuckling.
I nod.
"So tell me…" he says. "What's going on with you and that Finnick Odair character?" He raises his eyebrows in curiosity.
A nervous smile is pulling at the corner of my lips. "What do you mean?" I bring the tip of the bottle to my lips and drink before the grin can fully take form.
Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't take me for an idiot. I saw you with him in the hospital and I notice how you've been visiting him a lot at night lately as well."
I swallow down the liquor in surprise. "How do you know about that?"
"So it is true."
My cheeks start to flush lightly.
Haymitch points an accusing finger at me. "Ha! It's all over your face."
"I thought you said you didn't care what I did with him…" I mumble, pressing the bottle to my lips. I wish I would stop blushing already.
"I don't." Haymitch shrugs. "But if it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to talk about it."
"Good." I take another swig, the liquid burning my throat on impact.
"But…" my mentor goes on. "You do know that he has someone, right? Ah, I don't know." He rubs his head. "I don't who that girl Annie is to him anyway. I assumed they were together because it was something he always talked about buuut…I don't know."
"I'm not sure either," I say. It's not something that I cared to think too deeply about lately. Things have been changing. I'm not going to start concerning myself with it now. I have to think about Prim anyway and what condition she'll be in when the rescue team brings her back. Then again, I don't want to imagine what condition she's in either. Makes it seem like she's roughed up and scarred for life, at least based on what my nightmares created in my mind.
Haymitch lets out another odd laugh. "So tell me," he says, his voice sluggish. "What's it like? I mean what do you guys do? Do you cause a ruckus or break the bed occasionally? What's the experience like?"
I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness. "You sound like Gale," I say. Except Gale was angry when he accused me of sleeping with Finnick. Haymitch isn't at all angry let alone sober. He gets drunk pretty quickly. It's no wonder they only let him have half a bottle. He's already on his third one now.
"Now, don't you go comparing me to that boy," he says, shaking his head. "I don't know what's truly going on between you and him and pretty boy, but I'm going to find out one way or the other. Mark my words."
I have to roll my eyes at him. "You're drunk."
"If that's what you want to believe." He hiccups. "Listen though…" He points his bottle at me. "I don't want you getting hurt. And if – when Peeta wakes up…you'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions and don't come crying to me when that happens."
I stare down at the liquid in my bottle. My reflection looks back at me through the hole. I hate it when he's right. I try not to think about what's going to happen after Peeta wakes up, if he'll ever wake up. He won't be happy knowing what I've been doing with Finnick, after the way he reacted when he caught us in the arena. I would hate to see that pained look in his eyes again, filled with so much hurt and betrayal. I don't want to think about it as I chug down some more alcohol. Maybe getting stewed will cloud my senses and block all other thoughts.
Haymitch and I stay out there drinking until we become really drunk. We chat, laugh at jokes that don't make sense, fall all over each other, and slap each other on the backs as we crack up in crazy laughter. Then we're staring up at the sky now, talking about how funny the clouds look. I dare Haymitch to stare at the sun for three seconds. When he does, he starts laughing and blabbers about seeing pretty colors in his vision. Then I guess several minutes go by and we're still staring up at the sky in a daze. I hear footsteps making their way toward us and I turn my head slightly to see two familiar faces.
It's Castor and Pollux.
They pause beside our drunken figures. "What's going on here?" Castor asks, staring down at us.
"Just enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. Have one!" says Haymitch sluggishly as he hands Caster a drink.
Castor declines it with a wave of his hand. "I'd rather not."
"Don't be that way. It's just alcohol," I say, letting out a strange laugh. Where'd that come from? Must've had too many to drink.
"You two better pull yourselves together," says Castor seriously. "We need to create a diversion and we're going to need the Mockingjay to say a few words for the video. I don't think anyone would want to see an intoxicated Girl on Fire."
I shift uncomfortably, growing serious now. A diversion, huh? I suppose I'd better get ready then and hopefully I won't feel so hazy in the next few minutes. When I stand up, my legs are a bit wobbly but I manage to stay standing. There was twelve full ones in the box not a few moments ago. Now there's only two full ones left. How many did I drink…?
"We'll give you time to get ready. And please come in sober," Castor says and he leaves with his brother.
(o)(o)(o)
The lights in the room blind me slightly for moment and I have to blink quickly to adjust to the lighting. People are all around, some clumped together and others scattered about. The camera lens are facing directly at me, with a red light at the corner of the lens. The director, Cressida, stands behind the camera with her hands on the technical contraption. I'm lucky I'm sober enough to do this. I still feel somewhat hazy. I went to hospital earlier to get fixed up and the doctors gave me something. I'm not sure what it was but if it weren't for that then I wouldn't be able to sit still right now.
"And we are live in five…" says Cressida. I sit up straighter. "Four…three…two…one…!" The red light starts to blink and then I know that I'm being recorded.
I start off talking about my childhood with Prim. "After our father died, we become really close," I say. "My mother fell into a deep depression leaving me to take care of Prim alone. She couldn't even take care of herself so how did I expect her to take care of Prim?" I pause, thinking. "We were very poor, like most people in District 12 and we lived in the poorest part of the District which was in the Seam."
"Tell us how you felt when your sister was picked for the games," says Messalla. He's not in camera view as to keep all the focus on my face.
I shift in my chair slightly. "Terrified," I say. "There were so many kids who could've gotten picked and it was her first Reaping. So why weren't the odds in her favor? I couldn't let her go out there in that arena. She didn't know how to fight, she didn't even know how to find edible food. I was around to do that for her. I did the hunting, I fed her. Now suddenly she has to fight for her life in a game between twenty-three other kids?" I'm staring directly into the camera. I shake my head. "No. That's why I volunteered. I loved her, still do, too much to let her die."
Messalla asks me a few more questions but he doesn't deter into the games because he knows I don't want to talk too deeply about that. I already described my feelings with Caesar Flickerman after the games were over. When I'm done, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands, realizing that I was crying. Cressida stops me by putting a hand on my shoulder. I gaze at her.
"You did good," she says. "Don't beat yourself up. I'm sure your sister will be fine."
I nod, wiping away the last of my tears. How can she know that for sure? How does she know that Prim isn't dead yet? Then I shake my head. She's just trying to help and I shouldn't be angry with her about it. I walk over to Finnick who's engaged in a conversation with Castor.
"You're going up next, Finnick," Castor is saying. "This is all just to keep everyone distracted. So...you remember everything you're going to say?"
Finnick looks distant for some reason and he nods his head.
"Sure you'll be alright with it?"
"I can handle it."
I know that's a lie, because even after he told me what he was going to say he wasn't fine. I approach him as he turns to look at me. "You don't have to do this…" I say almost hesitantly as Castor walks away. "I know how painful this must be for you, believe me, I understand what pain feels like."
Finnick shakes his head. "You have no idea what this pain feels like," he says. Then he gives me a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me though. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Do you genuinely care about me, Girl on Fire?" he gives me a playful look.
I narrow my eyes at him. How he's able to change from solemn to mischief is a mystery to me. "Don't push it," I say. Then I hesitate again. "But, yes, I do care about you. You know that."
Finnick nods taking my hands and giving them a squeeze. "Thank you." He releases my hands as Cressida calls him over. He takes his place in the chair where I was sitting before, the lights and the camera facing him directly. I can see his eyes flicker against the light, sea green beauty. I pause to stand beside Castor who has his hands shoved in his pants pockets.
"We are live again in five…" starts Cressida. "Four…three…two…one…!"
Finnick starts off by stating his name and the District he grew up in. He goes through his childhood very briefly up until he gets to the 65th Games. He goes through that hastily as well, not wanting to go into detail on how he won the games by killing a bunch of kids with his trident. Once he gets to point when I know I dread the most, he starts to talk more slowly and steadily. I can see him trying to appear strong behind the camera but his eyes give him away.
After Finnick Odair became a victor, many people – Capitol especially – took a great amount of interest in him. One would've thought that'd be a good thing, but this was far from good in Finnick's case. He became desirable…far too desirable to many women. President Snow decided to take advantage of this for his own personally gain. He forced Finnick to sleep with various Capitol women for his own sick, twisted gain and threatened Finnick's loved one's lives if he didn't comply. Year after year since Finnick was sixteen he had to sleep with many women he didn't even know in order to keep his loved ones alive. And all this time I thought Finnick was doing it because he wanted to but I was wrong. He was doing it because he had to and everyone was completely oblivious to it all. Even me.
I know that Finnick disgusts himself and he probably thinks I do too. I feel stupid. How could I have ever had bad thoughts about him? I wish I could go back in time and strangle myself for being such an idiot. I was hostile toward him when we first met, thought he was just a Capitol sex symbol, a show off, a man-whore. All those times Gale and I spoke about him in the woods, calling him various insults, and we didn't even know him. How can I be that blind? Finnick was in a large amount of pain, throughout his whole life, and he practically had no control of his own life, while I looked at him as a nasty lady's man.
"And I wanted…" Finnick's voice cracks. I can see that he's not looking directly at the camera but at the floor instead. "I…" he tries again but it sounds more like a whimper more than anything. He can't even talk right. For once he's at loss for words.
I hurry over there, even as the camera is still rolling and embrace the man who has been in pain all his life.
"Cut," says Cressida rather quietly. She doesn't scold me for getting in the shot. The blinking red light on the camera lens stop abruptly. We're not being recorded anymore.
I can feel Finnick's arms circling my waist and he holds me tightly, as he starts to weep. I'm taller since he's sitting and I rest my chin on top of his head as I rub my hand up and down his back. "It's okay…it's okay…" I say soothingly. I know it's not though. And I know he knows it too as he grips the back of my shirt very tightly with quivering hands.
(o)(o)(o)
I shift awkwardly for a second, in an attempt to get comfortable in this hard stone seat. Why wouldn't anyone put real seats in here? This waiting room is like a dungeon. My hands move endlessly with the rope in my fingers, not at all concentrating on the knot I'm trying to make. The noose doesn't turn out correctly anyway. I turn at the person positioned next to me. Finnick is sitting with his head low, shoulders slouched, creating some kind of knot that I don't know of. He's moving slower than usual. This doesn't worry me however.
We're currently waiting for first notice of the rescue team returning. I hope our diversion distracted the Capitol successfully. I try not to think about what condition the rescuers and the others are probably in. What if Prim lost a limb? What if Gale got decapitated? Then I shake my head. I have to stay positive before I go crazy. I try to pull loose the knots I created that seems too tight. Finnick has better luck than I do, undoing his own knot without much effort. He's been using his hands for tying knots and making nets all throughout his childhood, from what he told me. He became addicted to it and it soothes him from bad thoughts and keeps him sane.
I don't know how he was able to cope with living a life after he turned sixteen. Coming and going to the Capitol, for ten years, to sleep with various women he didn't know. He became too captivating that was taken advantage of and he had no control over his looks or where it would take him in the future. I know he can't help being so enticing, but he didn't deserve what he got. Snow took advantage of him, threatened him, and he had no way of defending himself. All those years. Anyone can feel bad for Finnick, and I feel ten times as guilty. I hate myself for all the horrible insults I threw at him in the past, and the way I treated him. I was terrible to him without even knowing who he was. A twenty-four year old man, broken and pained inside.
He pretended to be this flirtatious, arrogant guy. It's no wonder I haven't seen much of that side of him since we've been pulled from the arena. Now that he's no longer under the Capitol's watchful gaze, he became himself again. Then I remember the signs in the arena. Sometimes when I insulted him, I noticed the looks he gave me. He pretended to be fine with it, but…why was I so blind not to see the pain in his eyes? I'm a complete idiot to not see that. And the whole time I thought he was being nonchalant and emotionless, but I was wrong. He was a man put back into the horrendous games, someone I assumed was a man-whore who slept with women for pleasure. No. He's just an ordinary man who cares a lot about a mad girl named Annie Cresta.
Why do I get this burning sensation in my chest when I think about Finnick and Annie togehter? There must something wrong with me. I should be happy for them, happy that Finnick is getting Annie back. For some reason, I just can't seem to conjure up the feelings of happiness for him. Maybe that makes me cruel. No. Maybe that makes me confused, cloudy. Or maybe I'm just envious, that he'll be with her and not me. What will he do now? Will he go to her now and abandon me? All of those nights we held each other, all of the wonderful kisses. What will he do…?
I turn to Finnick, whose head is bowed low, eyes focused on the rope in his hands. I consider saying something. But…I don't know what I can say. We both knew that this was coming and now that it's here…we can't talk to each other. What's wrong with me? Why do I feel different?
I open my mouth to say something but he speaks first. "Katniss," he says cautiously. "Before you say anything, you need to know that─"
"When did you find out you were in love with Annie?" I interrupt.
Finnick looks startled. "What?"
I twist the rope in my fingers. "How long?" I ask.
Finnick glances down at his unfinished rope in thought. I wait tensely for his answer. He takes a long, quiet moment until he finally decides to respond. "More than two years…" he says quietly.
"That's a long time…" I murmur.
"…Yeah."
I nod slowly, trying to ignore this pain in my chest. "That's good then," I say steadily. "That's good…"
"Katniss…" Finnick touches my arm. I flinch but I don't move away. He notices and pulls his hand away. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" I ask.
"Hurting you."
I stare at his eyes, wondering what he's thinking. And to think I thought that things would change, but I was terribly wrong. I turn away from him as the door to the room opens.
It's Boggs. He tells us it's time.
We get up from our seats and move to follow him out, me guiding Finnick by his hand and thinking, maybe…just maybe holding this grip will keep us together…
To be continued…
