Hello again! I got this done WAY faster then I was hoping, so I hope you enjoy it! Warning: There is minor swearing in this chapter, but nothing too horrible. To all my reviewers: Thank you, thank you, thank-you! Other notes: Urstory, thanks SO much for reviewing for practically every chapter! It always makes me smile! Howlynn, ugh, you're damn right no one would do that to lovely Finnick. It's just not fair. I will FULLY believe in your theory that it's a misprint! Pasdoll, no I LOVE your story! and HA, as if only this was as good as A drop in the ocean! So, I JUST reread Finnick's death. Officially. I couldn't see the pages for another 10 minutes cause my eyes were so full of tears. Sigh. What a tragic ending for such a lovely, lovely man. Anywho, I digress - here it is!
Can't close my eyes
They're wide awake
Every hair on my body
has got a thing for this place,
Oh empty my heart,
I've got to make room for this feeling
so much bigger than me.
Can't Take It In; Imogen Heap.
FINNICK'S POV
My face is blank as I stride down the hall, hands clenched tightly at my sides. A million thoughts surge through my head. But that's normal.
I hate the Capitol. I hate Snow. I hate, hate Snow. I will kill Snow.
I hate Stark; I hate everyone who buys me.
I round the corner.
I hate myself.
My fingernails dig into my palm.
I am disgusting. I am worthless. I should be dead.
I repeat the mantra over and over as my steps melodically hit the floor, as if my brain is determined to keep the words in time with the movement.
I wish I was dead.
Door 39 is in front of me. Door 39 is Stark's door.
It would be easier being dead.
I silence my inner self, glancing down at the floor. I take a deep breath. I take another. I know it is a few minutes past 9:00. I know she is waiting for me.
The mask that covers my face is no longer my own. It belongs to other Finnick. Their Finnick. The Finnick they want to see. The glaze that covers my eye is one she will see as lust, but its real purpose is to censor the disgust that hides within. My smile is not my own. It's a smirk they love, one of superiority and sexuality. I perfected it years ago. I know how to slit my eyes, how to move my lips, where to put my hands.
It's all done robotically by now, my body is wary but it knows what must be done. So does my face; it knows when to mimic and when to create. I can hate myself freely inwardly while I have to love them physically.
I knock. She opens the door.
I am leaning against the door frame, shirt stretched tightly over sinewy muscle. My elbow rests against the wall, but as she beckons me into the gilded room I push off with its force. Her eyes hold such excitement I struggle to not pin her aqua body against the neck and strangle her.
Her hands wrap around my neck, setting me on fire. It isn't a good fire. It is scorching. It hurts me. I hate it, I hate her. I want to rip her hands off of me.
For I minute I think about doing it, think about walking out and never looking back. Defying Snow. Defying the Capitol and it's tyranny.
My hesitation does not go unnoticed, and her painted fingers begin to draw out of my hair.
I know this won't do. I don't know if Snow asks for performance reports, but it wouldn't surprise me. Fucking bastard.
I push her against the wall, and she tears at my shirt like an animal. My hands are all over her, as if I can't get enough, as if the curve of her waist and the trembling of her thighs is my sanctuary. She is not my sanctuary.
Her clothes are off. I took them off, growling in her ear. She likes aggression. I give it to her.
I struggle to hold back the black demon inside me. She wants it rough. I can give her rough.
The demon snaps on its leash, snarling and howling. It whispers to me to hurt her.
I hate her.
I do.
But I can't. I cannot hurt her.
I whip the demon, and it roars, a low guttural sound that resonates through my body. It subsides, for now.
Her body is under me, we're moving in what she believes is one motion. All I can feel is how desperately alone I am. How far away I am from Stark, this false love and passion. Briefly faces of the other buyers flash through my mind, and with each one comes a stab at my heart. A face that doesn't belong in this book of hatred flashes through, and I push it away. I don't know why she came to my mind. Her green eyes don't belong in this place of repulsion. Temporarily, she makes my body stop aching so harshly. I suppose it's because she's pretty.
I still push her image away.
I force myself closer to the blue skin, to roll with her like the waves beat the sand. Tears almost rise to my eyes, the physical torture of being with her. It's worse than normal. My hands start stinging as I run them over her. When she isn't looking I bring them to my eyes, checking for a rawness that would explain the pain. There is none. It's so very much worse than normal.
When she is done, her face contorts with bliss and she grasps my body with claw-like hands one last time.
I roll over. She sighs. She runs her hands up and down my abs. It tingles, but not pleasantly. I turn on my stomach and a real smile almost lies underneath my false one. This was the time I got my revenge. On her, on the Capitol. On Snow. Face drawn close to hers, breath hot, I ask that one simple question that means so much.
"Do you have any secrets worth sharing?"
ANNIE'S POV
Laughing, Leif drapes a hand across my shoulder.
"I think we really did well today." He smiles and I can't help but return it. Leif's smile is infectious like that.
"Thank-you so much for this, Leif. It means so much to me that you want my opinion." It really did mean a lot. I had seen previous District 4 tributes before. I had seen how many of our girls were shoved into uncomfortable sea-shell bras and little else, smiling awkwardly all the while.
So when Leif had approached me after dinner and asked if I would like to do an outfit consultation, I couldn't help but be surprised. The even more surprising thing, he had meant it. The past hour had revolved not only around my choice of fabric and colour, but Leif and the Pastels figuring out my personality in order to accurately portray it in clothes.
Of course, I knew the Pastels names now. But when I mentioned the nickname I had given them, they were too ecstatic and enforced that I continue on calling them by the generalized term. It made me feel slightly uncomfortable, but they assured me I could call them by their real names one-on-one.
The first to introduce herself had been Antoinette, who prided herself on her light pink skin. She was slim and relatively unchanged apart from her painted body, and really very pretty. Her hair was a creamy blonde, perfectly coiffed to end just above her chin. Her face was trusting and she gushed over my hair.
"We never get pretty tributes," She had confided conspiratorially. "You're the first in, like, forever!"
The next was Flicker, who was a few shades lighter than Stark's azure blue. She had feline eyes that constantly searched you, leaving you feeling almost vulnerable to her inquiring gaze. She was just as outgoing as Antoinette, squeezing me tightly to her large bosom after a short introduction.
Petal was the last to approach me, and with her lavender-coloured skin I couldn't help but comment on how appropriate her name was. With that, apparently I had solidified our friendship, because she squealed and began to cover my entire face with light, airy kisses.
They were all beautiful girls, a few years older than me and with a very different mindset, but despite their obsession with beauty and the Games, they were very sweet. They kept telling me how beautiful I was, how exciting I would be to work with. Leif eventually quieted them down my starting the interviewing process, sentencing them to diligent note-taking and sketching as I answered his questions.
"We're going to make you look so gorgeous!" Petal called after me as I was accompanied out the door by my stylist.
"Not that you aren't already!" Antoinette made sure to blurt after her, as if Petal's reassurance would offend me.
"I know you will!" I called back, waving goodbye over Leif's shoulder.
"Go try and rest kid, we'll be at the Capitol within the hour." The jade eyes winked at me before his body spun and returned to his pastel-coloured adorers.
Laughing softly, I shook my head and began to make my way back to my room.
Capitol within the hour -
The noise was an echo, barely detectable within the confines of my twisting mind. It wasn't my voice that had spoken, but nonetheless I heard the words as if they had been.
"Within the hour," I whispered to myself, imaging the strange faces and structures I would see upon arrival. It began to occur to me how very real this whole ordeal really was. The Opening Ceremony, which I had been forced to stay up late for years at a time, would hold my image this time. District 4 would be watching my face. I was their representation. And who would I be?
I decided I should find Finnick. He would help me. And it was about time I apologized for my earlier moodiness.
The train rattled precariously as I crossed from one car to the next, the one which held Finnick, Mags, and Stark's chambers. It was identical to the one that housed me and Amphitrite, with red carpet and ornate gold ornaments decorating the wall. The lights were off in this hall however, and with the sun's light almost completely faded, the whole train was bathed in twilight.
I passed several doors, marked 35 - 40. I struggled to remember Finnick's room number, and his voice rang through my head in response -
"I'm in room forty-three," He grinned, handing me a bowl of sugar cubes. "Just in case you plan on making a late night visit. You know my door's always open."
Before I could respond he was gone, moving in his ever-silent footsteps.
"Room forty-one.." I whispered, speaking under my breath. "Forty-two..."
The doors were identical, and Finnick's magic forty-three was no exception. Hesitantly, I brought my hand up.
I stopped. What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he's busy? Asleep? Finnick's words began to resonate in my brain - he had said his door would always be open. It may have been said flirtatiously but I doubt he would lie for the sake of teasing me.
I knocked; Once. Twice. Three times.
No response. No shuffling, no voice, no nothing. I stood there, stupefied and unsure of what to do.
"Finnick?" I called out, my voice soft and hoarse. "It's - It's Annie." I thought maybe clarifying my identity would magically make the door fly open. It didn't.
My heart sank, and my stomach began to twist uncomfortably. I curled my toes and bit my lip, pressing my ear to the door. Nothing.
With a sigh and a shrug, I turned around and began down the way I came.
Looking at my feet and absorbed in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear the door open and shut softly in front of me.
But I did look up.
It was dark, his visage was distorted, his body just a silhouette. But immediately I knew it was him. But that room - it wasn't his, was it?
"Finnick?" I question, my head cocking. "Is that you?"
The dark image brings his face from the floor to my own, and I can't quite see his eyes, even as he moves towards me.
"Annie?" His voice is disbelieving and a little unnerved, far from his normal purr. I decide I like his voice better this way.
"Yeah," I laugh. "I was just looking for you!" I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips, it rises involuntarily as my body recognizes I found the person I've been looking for.
"Oh? Whatever for?" There it is again, he's recovered from me shocking him and is back to his flirt-voice. I can't help but giggle at his sudden change in tone.
"What?" By now he's right in front of me, and I can just make out his disheveled appearance.
"Your voice, it's always changing." I say, observing him earnestly. He really intrigues me.
His response is a beat too late. "Well, I'm an ever-changing man." He smiles, and it seems genuine - until he steps into the light.
His sea-green orbs, which are only a few shades darker than mine, are squinting at me in what he obviously thinks is sensual. And it is - but there's something else. It's not the look his eyes are giving but what is actually in his eyes. It's sad. Horribly melancholy and confused. Why?
I decide to temporarily ignore it. Perhaps I'm imagining it.
"Uh, I just really wanted to say I'm say for how I acted earlier today. I don't know why I was so moody."
His eyes temporarily fill with genuine surprise. Soon they reglaze. Why do they do this? Why doesn't he like emotion?
"Really?" The voice is not his Capitol rumble, but the other. "I can't imagine why. I was much worse after my Reaping," He admits, and I can't help but be interested as he reveals a fact from his past. It was the first time he'd really said anything about himself all day.
Immediately after he realizes he's done so, he clams up and his eyes get an extra coat of vacancy.
"So you were upset too?" This small factoid from his past has peaked my interest and I can't seem to let it go.
"Why are you creeping out to my room at such a late hour, Annie?" He turns the conversation back on me. "Lonely, perhaps? Surely that wasn't the only reason for this lovely visitation." His body suddenly is pressing into mine.
Electricity shoots through every limb, and it's hard to pull myself off of him. I suppose it's just... he's so beautiful.
"No, that was it!" I smile, swallowing hard.
"How disappointing." His smirk is back on his face. This would be an idealistic point to end the conversation, but my body doesn't want to walk away just yet.
"I guess I had your room number wrong, huh? I thought you were over there," I laughed, pointing over my shoulder.
He shifts his weight. "No, that's my room." His face reveals nothing, so I'm left with shock.
"Oh," I quickly try to figure out where else he could have been. Only Mags and Stark have rooms in this compartment. The others are for supplies and such.
His rumbled clothes... his bronze hair in a tangle.. Stark at dinner...
Oh.
He sees the realization cross my face but does nothing about it, simply shifting his weight again. But the pain is in his eyes again, this time much stronger.
"Are you alright?" I can't help but ask. It's in my nature.
"Don't I look alright?" He raises an eyebrow and once again comes towards me. "I think I do."
I search his gaze back and forth, but it reveals nothing more.
"Melancholia doesn't suit you, Finnick." A smile plays across my lips.
His eloquent eyes hold unbarred confusion as I'm moving past him. "We're arriving at the Capitol within the hour!" I spin around to say, careful I don't hit anything while walking backwards. "So I'll see you again soon." I can't look at him anymore. I don't know why.
He doesn't respond, and we continue our separate ways down the hall.
Although I don't look, Stark's door enters my peripheral vision.
I can't seem to fight the aching in my chest as I pass by.
Ahhhh, angst-y Finnick and jealous Annie! Don't you just love it? Make sure to read this: the thing about Annie is, she's good at reading people. She is a genuinely caring person, and she sees Finnick as a person and not as handsome Hunger Games Victor. She she sees what Finnick is really feeling in his eyes because she's actually looking. His lovers, Snow, the Capitol - they see his outwards facade because they want to. Annie can tell when he is putting on his flirt voice and covers his real emotions. She's not superhuman, she's just a good soul.
And how did you like my quixotic foreshadowing?: I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips, it rises involuntarily as my body recognizes I found the person I've been looking for. YAY FOR SOULMATESSSS!
Please review if you liked this chapter - I'm especially anxious with Finnick's POV because it was a writing style I haven't really used before. So let me know if you did or didn't like it! And any subtleties you found in this chapter, do leave them in a review! I want to see how observant you guys really are;)