This Chapter is dedicated to my best friend JasSpaz. Thank you so much Jas for everything, especially reading all my books and being my editor (joint with ilovedoodle). Love ya ;)
Chapter Four
I wake with a start, sprinting from my bed to the bathroom and vomiting up most of yesterday's dinner. Finnick holds my hair out of the way, his face full of concern. "You okay?" he asks, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Yer. Rich food," I say. I brush my teeth and then get dressed. Finnick slips out of the room to go to his cabin. I take a few minutes to compose myself, then head out to breakfast. Chris is up, talking to Finnick about strategies, with Grandma and Stan listening in. I go and take the last seat, between Finnick and Grandma.
"Morning," Grandma smiles, then frowns. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Better now," I say weakly. Then my eyes meet the plate of food, piled up high, lying in front of me and I resist squealing with delight. I pick up the bacon and stuff it in, forgetting all about this mornings mishap.
"Wow, easy," Finnick says. "Don't want to feel unwell again do you?"
I shake my head, managing to slow a little, but still finishing the entire plate. Only the do I realize it shouldn't have. "Excuse me," I say and rush back to my bathroom there I vomit up my meal all over again.
"You should pace yourself," a voice makes me jump. Chris. He must have snuck in after me.
"I'm fine," I grumble. Well, as fine as you can be after being sick.
"Really? You don't seem it."
"Fine. Never been better," I snap, and immediately feel bad.
"Okay, sorry I asked," he says, turning to sit on the bed. I'm surprised ge doesn't walk out like he usually does when I'm in this mood.
I walk over to sit next to him. "Sorry. Rich food and nerves don't mix."
"Tell me about it," he sighs, putting his arm around me.
"We need to stop freaking out," I say, resting my head on his shoulder.
"We? More like you," he says.
Grabbing a pillow I bash him round the head. Laughing, he grabs one too, and soon we're breathless and laughing so hard tears roll down our faces. He won. Now I know who will win the games, but whom better to die for than Chris?
I haven't yet accepted my fate. I'll survive for as long as possible. You never know, he might just die before me and then there'll only be me left, but I know that we're in this together. Like he said, Chris will never hurt me.
Truth aside, he has managed to cheer me up. Maybe Chris is the key to baring the games.
Planting a kiss on my forehead he grins. "Come on Mrs Odair," he pulls me out the door.
"I wish," I mumble.
"Maybe one day," he says. That's if I survive, I think to myself. And even then it's highly unlikely.
Back at the table no-one asks anything about my abrupt escape. My plate has been refilled, but with much less food, and only the dishes that are gentle on the stomach. This time I slow down, stopping when I feel full rather than pushing it, and succeed in keeping it down. I have to fight against all instinks that tell me to continue, but even with half a plate still full I have to force myself to hide my grin.
"Training starts today, so you've got to be on top form," Finnick begins. His next question puzzles me at first, since he should know already, but then I realize it's more for prying ears and eyes than actual curiosity. "What skills do you have?"
"I could sword fight my brother and win every time, but since he's younger than me and it was play I doubt that helps much," Chris offers. He's playing it down of course. All of us with the exception of Stan knows he is our District champion at stick fighting.
"I can swim quite well," I shrug.
"She's excellent, and she leaves out that she can throw spears. Chris can wrestle too," Grandma chips in.
"Biased much?" I smile fondly.
"Well, in that case, you should both stick together. Go to the weapons section to show off, be careers. Neither of you are, but what 1 and 2 don't know can't hurt them, or in this case it can. Just make sure you go to some of the other stools - the survival stools - ones careers don't often visit. They can be very sloppy when it comes to which berries are poisonous or not. Besides, the information will come in handy, especially if you don't share it," Finnick instructs.
I can't help but smile as I know how Finnick likes to be in control. It makes him feel safer, so if controlling me makes him feel like I'mm safer, and with his expertese I don't doubt I am, then thats alright with me. After all, he is my mentor, boyfriend or not. Don't get me wrong. Never in a million years will I be a heatless killing mashine, but it could save both our lives and to be honest, do I have a choicee.
After excepting his advice as orders, we're sent to dress in our training outfits. Black tops with red sleeves and the number 4 on it. Then we pull on plain black trousers and boots and we're off.
We're one of the first people down there. Chris nudges me. "Look confident. You're a career, their a career. Mingle," he begins walking over.
"What?" I protest, but grabbing my hand he drags me over to where District 1 and 2 strand discussing. "Hi. I'm Chris, this is Annie. District 4," he says brightly, holding out his hand. Offering us as Allies. But I don't want to be Allies. I just want Chris.
The boy from one looks him up and down, looks at me, smirks, then takes his hand. "This is Vine. I'm Tiger."
"And we're Butch and Marla. What do you think?" Adds the girl from 2, a maliciousness to her voice, sending shivers down my spine. I know already that Marla and Tiger are the most evil of the four, but with one will be leader I don't know.
I wonder what she means. What do I think of their names, because to be honest, their absolutely ridiculous. Luckily Chris is on the ball.
"Not much. District Six had a strong one for once, but even then I don't think there's much to worry about there. The rest will be easy," he nudges me again.
"Oh, yer, same," I say, but to be honest I have no idea.
Tiger smirks again so I glare at him. He raises his eyebrow which agitates me more.
I stay quiet. I know that we were instructed to be careers, and if we didn't, Finnick would kill us for sure, but was it necisery to pretend that we can kill as eaily as them. And Chris hasn't even given the other kids a chance. Hopefully its for the best and we'll survive for as long as possible. That is, if they haven't slit my throat within the first five seconds of the games.
Soon the entire room is full, all twenty-four of us here and mingling. We're sent to specific pads on the floor, so that we can be weighed so the instructed explains. I look up to the balcony where the games makers sit, surveying us. They point at the little girl from 12 and laugh, which sends a cold knife through my heart. They've already written her off.
Then they point to the careers. From Tigre to Vine, Butch to Marla, then Chris and finally me. They seem excited when they see Chris. "An excellent candidate for winner. With a victor like that Snow could make truckloads of money," I see one whisper. They're already thinking for making Chris into a slave just like Finnick. A sex slave. They know he has family. They could easily force him to be one of them. But I don't think he'll agree. I'd better warn him anyway.
Then they see me. One old man raises his eyebrow, as if thinking the same as Tiger, but he keeps quiet. The others mutter to themselves, look down at a little screen they have in front of them and then look back again. Oh no, please say they don't know about Finnick and me.
I turn my attention back to the instructor. "Although we all know you want to grab a sword, hand to hand combat will only kill a few of you. Make sure you check out the survival stations, they can be the difference between life and death."
I look at Chris, who nods me over. "Let's go with the careers to the weaponry and then spend tomorrow at the survival stools after we've established ourselves as one of them."
"But we're not one of them," I protest.
"Not yet," he agrees but heads over anyway. I heave a sigh and follow him anyway. At the weaponry section, the other careers are already sizing up the weapons. Vine and Butch are experimenting with the weapons they don't recognise, but they all have at least one weapon they are familiar with close by.
Tiger takes a mace and begins battering a dummy until the fake blood spills out, making me gulp. I hope I don't die to that. And then there's Marla, spinning an axe around her head, a deadly, greedy grin on her face. It even shows up her muscles almost bursting from her arms. Vine takes some knives, throwing them accurately but nothing to shout about. Butch plays around with different weapons and seems confident with all of them. They'll all secure at least an eight in training, if not more. Me, I have hardly any skills. Swimming isn't exactly going to save my life and neither is running. There is no way I can win this.
Instead I deside to make my grandma proud and cherish the last few days I have with each of them while I can. I'll do as grandma always says. Try my best and know I can't do any more than that, and then who cares what happens.
I know I'll never see my Grandma again, the woman who has raised me since I can remember. Or Finnick, my boyfriend, the boy who has changed my life and to top it all off, I will die infront of my best friend and nearly it get any worse? Aparently it can, not that I know this just yet.
Chris points to the spears and then heads to the swords. I pick it up and study it, from the head all the way to the tail. Despite that this is most like weapon I'll use, I don't yet want to use my tool of death. I pick up a bow and arrow and give it a go. I manage to shoot at the person and manage to hit the dummy properly, enough to give the enemy a wound, but not well enough to kill. I will never kill malisiously, just in self defence. I pick up a sword and almost immediately drop it, so I decide against that. In the end I practice shooting with a bow and arrow until I hit the target right where the heart should be. An instructor walks over and watches me. "You're good. Now try this," she says, pulling a lever so that the dummies begin to move. I take aim, and shoot. I hit the leg on each one so that they stop struggling, then I shoot them in the heart. "Good. How are you with other weapons?"
I glance at the spears. "Give it a try," she says and hands me one. I throw it and hit it straight in the heart first time. She pulls the lever again and I still take them down in one throw. She smiles, impressed by my skill, and then walks off.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I knew I could spear, but I had no idea I had such talent. I didn't practice much at home. Occasionally at the weekends when I was annoyed I'd go to the beach and practice, to let off some steam, but surely you have to practice to be good at something. Maybe I'm wrong.
Chris comes to stand by me. "Not bad. Like your grandfather," he smiles sadly, and then he's gone. I frown. I don't remember much about my Grandfather, which is strange, since he died when I was twelve, so you should have some memories at least. Besides, Chris is only one year older than me, so surely he would have fewer memories than me. I wish I did have memories. Everyone I know said he was a great man, that he was there for me when my parents died in a boat accident. I make a note to talk to Chris about it later, see what he meant.
The day is over quicker than I expected, so we head back to the apartment. I sink into a chair, curling up to get comfy, smiling at the instant relief. I'm exhausted. My arms ache from all the throwing and shooting. Chris sits across from me, ingrossed in some fancy electronic thing from the capital.
Finnick joins Chris and I. "What happened?"
Chris opens his mouth to explain, but for once I take it, after all, I wouldn't want people thinking I lean on him. "We mixed with the careers. They seem to have excepted Chris, but not me yet."
"They were impressed with your shooting and spear skills. Asked if you were the dark horse, they did," Chris breaks in.
"What did you say?" I ask sitting up slightly.
"I said of course you were. Luckily for you they took it lightly. They're not worried about you..."
"Which means?" I ask.
"It means you won't be their first kill. They want the strong, but not those who will turn on them and kill them easily," he says.
"You know I could never do that," I say.I'm not like that. I could never kill for the sake of it.
"But they don't know that. For all they know you could be playing weak."
I open my mouth to say something, then don't. "I need to convince them what you see is what you get with you," he sighs.
I look away. Finnick and I are both thinking about the same thing. Everything but my relationship with the famous victor, Finnick Odair. Apart from that...
"Why would you do that for me?" I ask.
"How can you..." he begins then gets up and walks out.
I stare after him. "To protect you," Finnick says quietly, making me jump. "You're all he's worried about. Are you denying you have the same troubles? That you know you can't win so you want to save him instead?"
I look into my hands. That's exactly what I thought. But I didn't think I could do anything about it. "Don't get me wrong. He wants to win too. But he wants to win more. I've never seen him so determined before," his eyes cloud over.
"I'll do the same. Protect him I mean," I say, mainly for my benefit.
"Won't work. Like I said, he's determined. He made me promise to stop you from doing that. He knows how things will be for you afterwards, even knows about how it will be for him."
"Did you promise?" I ask.
The look that Finnick gives me now almost breaks my heart. It says 'I had to. I owed him that much. He introduced me to you, what more could I want. This isn't his game, it's yours'.
"So in all honesty you owe him an apology and your thanks. He just made your life a whole lot easier," Finnick says in the end, this time out loud.
I nod, but it feels like life has lost it's meaning. Its strange, I know. To have someone fighting for my life in every way possible, someone willing to sacrifice himself for me and yet still I feel depressed about it. I stand and leave the way Chris left. Next door to my room there's a room almost identical, if you ignore the mirror image feel it has. Rather than being on the left of the room, the bathroom is on the right, with the bed on the left, the opposite of mine. Chris lies on the bed, fiddling with something. A box lies open beside him, with photos and shells, small jars of sand, other objects that remind me of home. I stand awkwardly in the doorway. "I'm sorry," I mutter, feeling like I'm invading his thoughts.
"What for?" he asks quietly.
I sigh and make my way to the bed, perching next to him. "For being unfair. Un-thoughtful. Ungrateful," I say gently.
"Then you shouldn't be sorry. You're only being you," he snaps. I nod, looking away. He's right. Everyone that knows me, the teachers at school, the village people or even the other village people say I'm a sweet girl, thankful for everything, fair and thoughtful, but those who know me better know I'm the opposite. "Then again, your also caring, generous and brave. How can anyone be both?" he sighs as if he's sick of it.
I feel the sides of my mouth twitch. "You mentioned my Grandfather in training today. What was all that about?" I ask.
"Don't call him Grandfather," he says.
"Why not?" I frown, after all, that's exactly what he is.
"Call him Paps. That's what you used to call him."
I frown. "I did? Huh, I don't remember."
"Do you remember why he died?" he asks.
I gulp and nod my head. "In a boat accident like my father." He turns back to his hands, as if he disapproves my answer. "Why?" I ask.
"It was the year of Finnicks games. He was seventeen, you were twelve. You're first ever reaping. Your Paps held your hand through the whole thing. Boy, were you shaking like a leaf. Then, the girls names were called. It was you."
I gasp. "Me?" How do I not remember this?
"You began to walk up to stage, but your Paps wouldn't let go of your hand. Said the Capital had already taken both his daughter and that they couldn't have you. He gave you a hug, whispered in your ear to run away. As he suspected he was beaten up on live T.V. You ran, just in time too. He was shot," he says gravely.
I inhale suddenly, the memories coming back so painful. My Paps died for me.
"Once they were done they turned to get you, but you had run, so instead of wasting time they reaped someone else. Your Grandmother was forced to go to the Capital even though she was greeving and you were missing. We found you one week later. Starving, dehydrated, almost dead. You'd banged your head. No-one made a big deal of your return. Otherwise you'd be shot. Thing was, the bang to your head had erased many memories, almost all of your Paps, and every one of your parents. You didn't even remember the reaping. So they kept quiet.
"The two of you used to go fishing together you know. He taught you how to swim and how to spear. He also trained you. He trained your mother and then he trained you too, just to be on the safe side. He was the best fisherman you'd ever meet," Chris finishes.
I feel the tears roll down my cheeks, showing no sight of stopping. They are all flooding back, every memory I'd lost, just by being told the story. If they had told me sooner would it have helped me greave him, or would it have got me killed. I guess I'll never know.
"You weren't reaped again. Not until this year. What are the odds of being reaped twice huh?" he asks.
"Few," I squeak.
"Rigged, that's what I think. You survived your own mini hunger games while you were missing, but they're still not satisfied. Well we'll show them."
I want to cry, scream, choke until I die, for my Paps and for Chris. I stayed safe while some other girl took my place and died and even now, five years later I'm going in for real this time. What a waste of that girls life. I make a promise to myself that if I do win, I'll watch Finnicks games, to find out about him, about me and about Paps. One things for sure and that's that the 65th Hunger Games are suddenly of more interest to me.
"Hay, what have you got there?" I ask, sniffing.
"A shell you can hear the sea with. It was my moms," he says. Once again I feel a tightening in my chest. Chris's mom is dead.
I pick up the box and flick through the photos. Ones of Dekklan when he was a baby, ones of Mr Rif with Chris, a few of me and Finnick, but most of his mother. "What is all this?" I ask, pulling out a jar.
"A jar of sand from my first trip to the beach. My mom started this collection, one for each of us, and when she died I carried it on. Dekklan bought it for me on reaping day. Thought it would be comforting," he says softly.
"And is it?" I ask.
"No," he sighs. "But yes too. I'm just very confused that's all."
A buzzer goes for dinner. "We'd better go eat," I say, standing up.
"I'm not hungry," he says sullenly.
"Well I am and you're coming too," I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. At the table he's back to smiles and laughs. Putting on a brave face. All of a sudden I admire him much more than I did before. So I copy, even though I'm scared inside, and missing my Paps to hell and back. I copy, even though I miss Finnick and how we used to be. I copy, even though I'm missing my parents. I will have a brave face too, for Chris.