I did not own The Hunger Games.
Finnick Odair is precious.
The Girl With The Green Eyes
*Very dark, disturbing themes here, I'm sorry. But this is Finnick's story*
Finnick's Story
He's such a hit (thankfully not literally with his 'date', you can never tell who's a sadist and who's not until the party's over and the exits are sealed) at the soiree, it's insisted he stay on for a few extra days.
And by the time he gets home to District 4, over a week has passed and he's exhausted of Capitol excess and debauchery and sick with worry in regard to Annie.
He practically sprints off the train and through the town (they all think he's a self-centered, Capitol-owned snob anyway so he's not doing his reputation any harm) to the Victor's Village.
He doesn't stop at home but goes directly to Annie's house.
Where Mags opens the door upon his insistent knocking.
And he knows from her face it's not good.
She doesn't blame him, he can tell through those dark, sad eyes of hers.
She knows his Snow-appointed lot, knows he has no control, no escape until he is allowed so.
She knows.
Annie does not.
And he can imagine . . .
Oh no.
. . . what she must think.
She has not regressed all the way to her closet.
Not yet anyway.
But . . .
"Annie?"
. . . the curtains are drawn, the room thick in darkness.
An absolutely perfect sleeping environment for some.
But it is three in the afternoon.
And she has been like this for days.
"Annie?"
His voice is barely a whisper.
If she's sleeping in peace, he doesn't want to wake her.
Only sit close enough to hear her breathe, reassure himself that she is alive.
And he does, he moves slowly, carefully in the darkness to the chair near her bed.
Eases himself down into it.
And listens . . .
Annie.
. . . to her breathe.
His eyes adjust to the modicum of light seeping into the room and sees her.
Laying on her side away from him, away from the window she has shut out again.
Blankets pulled up to her chin, hair spilling out over the pillow, body curled in on itself.
He doesn't know how she slept before the Games. But he does know this is how she slept during.
And after.
He knows from Mags she has hardly touched food or drink in the last several days.
They are considering starting IV hydration and nutriment again if she doesn't come back around to herself.
Not for the first time he finds himself considering death for all of them might be better than this.
None of them are living a life they could have lived without the Games.
All of them are trapped, will be trapped forever.
And sometimes he wishes they could all just be dead.
Because this is Hell.
"You left me and went to party in the Capitol. Real or not real?"
She doesn't move, not even a bit and he wonders . . .
"Annie, no."
. . . if she was awake the whole time.
"Real or not real?"
If he lies, she'll either know he's lying and hate him.
"Annie-"
Or think she's crazy and hate herself.
"Real or not real?"
And so Finnick Odair has to chose who Annie Cresta hates.
"Real. But-"
"You got bored of taking care of the crazy, smelly, pathetic girl from District 4 and decided to go have fun in the Capitol for a while."
She doesn't even bother with the 'real or not real'.
"Annie-"
"I guess I can't blame you. She was very beautiful. And definitely a lot more fun than me."
News of everything he said and did while in the Capitol have spread faster than he imagined and he feels that dull, smoldering, resentful defeated rage that's always with him now.
"Annie-"
Annie's voice isn't angry, it isn't self-pitying or even sorrowful.
She isn't shouting or raging like she should be.
She isn't throwing things or hitting him with her fists or demanding he leave her house or any of the things she has every right to do.
She still hasn't even moved.
In fact, if he were deaf, he wouldn't even know she was conscious.
And that, somehow, is even worse.
"You told them, Finnick."
Her voice is quiet, hardly more than a murmur.
And flat.
"You told them about how bad it was for me after the Games. You told all those awful people and they laughed at me and made fun of me."
Flatter than he's ever heard it.
"You laughed and made fun of me."
Flatter than an ocean of glass with no life at all left in it.
"They warned me about you, people before the Games. That you were a playboy, part of the Capitol. That I couldn't trust you."
And it breaks his heart.
"But Mags was good. And she seemed to like you, trust you. Even though you didn't like me. So I trusted her."
How observant she thought she had been.
"And after the Games, you were nice."
How wrong on so many things she had innocently been.
"And I thought you cared about me. I thought you were kind, had been kind. Or were changing."
He feels so ashamed he's caused her so much pain.
"But you're just like them."
And then she stops talking and she still hasn't moved.
She's still breathing and Finnick doesn't know if he's relieved or regretful about that.
But he knows . . .
"Annie, I said and did those things because I had to."
. . . the time has come to tell the real truth.
"I did them to protect you."
The real truth he swore he would never tell to anyone.
Anyone but Mags who already knew.
"The Games don't end when you win, Annie. They never end."
And now, against every shred of whatever remains but his pride and dignity, Annie.
"If a Victor is considered desirable, President Snow gives them as a reward."
He sits, Finnick sits.
In the soft Capitol-provided chair in a well-to-do Capitol-provided house.
Not proud and tall and peacocky like he is in public, in the Capitol.
He sits here, so close to Annie, so far away from her and her purity and goodness.
Leaned forward, arms on his knees, hands dangling, head hanging.
And he tells her.
"Or allows people buy them."
He tells her everything.
"If you refuse, if you act out, he kills someone you love."
The words, the truths, they make him sick to say.
"The Capitol took me a year after my first Hunger Games. Said they were sending me to a special school."
His shame is so deep, so pervasive, permeating his entire being.
"They cleaned me up, changed my teeth. Had me train in deportment, etiquette and . . . pleasure. "
It's almost a physical entity in the darkened space of Annie's room.
"President Snow doesn't like to be, uh, embarrassed. There have been . . . problems in the past."
Problems, yes.
A Victor years ago who freaked out, slaughtered his patron, hacked her body into tiny pieces and painted himself with her blood, ran naked through the streets of the Capitol, gibbering and laughing and screaming.
Until the Capitol Peacekeepers shot him dead like the animal he had been driven to become.
"I was sold for the first time just after my sixteenth birthday."
So the Capitol, President Snow, is much more careful about selecting acceptable Victors now.
"There are rules. No leaving permanent marks. No starving, no dehydrating. Nothing that 'spoils the look of the merchandise'."
Nothing outwardly, anyway.
"It looks glamorous and sometimes it is. Some of my patrons just want to be seen with me at parties, parade me around with them for a while. Be doted on, adored, loved. Some of them are nice while they have control of me."
Inwardly, so long as it doesn't affect the outward show.
"Some aren't. I've been beaten, raped, I've been debased in almost every way possible."
There's so much he wants to save her from.
"But as long as I can come back and smile pretty and keep going, nobody cares."
And so much he worries he can't.
"I'm a Capitol whore, Annie. I don't have any control of it, I have no choice. I don't want the same thing to happen to you. That's why I said the things I said. To protect you."
But he's got to try.
"My family doesn't know. Only my patrons in the Capitol. President Snow."
He's got to be worth something.
"Mags. And now you."
Other than just a whore and murderer, mentor murderer.
"I'm sorry for what I said and did against you, Annie."
She deserves whatever protection he can afford.
"But I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving you from that."
And then he runs out of words and just sits there, deep in the horror of his existence and the existence he's trying to save Annie from.
And just sits in it, in the darkness in the room.
And the darkness inside himself.
Annie doesn't move, doesn't say anything.
But he knows she's awake.
He thinks he hears her sniff.
They sit there awhile.
She doesn't speak.
He doesn't either.
And eventually . . .
I'm sorry, Annie.
. . . he leaves.
If I wrote this right, this is a hell of a chapter to deal with and I apologize.
*hugs*
What we do know about Finnick is that he was sold to people in the Capitol by President Snow and if he refuses his family will be killed.
I made up the rest.
The next chapter will be more healing, I promise.
