White Blank Page: Taylor Swift Version.
The next morning I woke up in my Capitol bed with Ursula banging on the door. It was almost like everything with Finnick from the night before had been a dream, except for his blushing at breakfast every time I looked his way. His bronze colored hair fell in his eyes, it was getting shaggy and he needed a shave. He didn't seemed too concerned though. He seemed worried. "Alright, so how are we going to do this?" He asked gruffly to Mags. She looked to us and sat down in front of both Thomas and me. Mags was a sweet, older woman. She looked so frail, but in all actuality she was stronger than Finnick, Thomas, and me combined. She knew how to survive and that's how she won, through her strength, endurance and want to survive.
"Ok, you two, here are your options: you can train together or separately…"
"Separately," Thomas insisted before Mags could finish. Finnick looked taken aback and I felt a new worry spark in me. But Thomas saw and understood our reactions, "I would just prefer it," He added.
"Alright, Miss Cresta, do you have a preference on which mentor you'd like to train with?" Mags asked, hands folded as we sat at the round table of our quarters.
I felt meek and pathetic next to Thomas. I remembered him when he and Finnick used to taunt me. I remember the intensity in his eyes when they competed...when he wanted to win. Training would be no different. My nerves rattled at the thought of Thomas murdering me, "No. I don't," I said quietly, shaking my head.
"Mr. Reed?" She asked with such patience that I didn't believe she could ever hurt anyone.
"You," Thomas said firmly. He didn't hesitate with his demands. He was straightforward and didn't waiver. He didn't even so much as glance at me.
Mags frowned, "Not Finnick here? Weren't you two the best of friends?" She asked, obviously remembering the days when Finnick and Thomas caused mischief in the main square or when Finn was a "young" victor and in need of friends.
Thomas frowned. His lips folded in thinly, "Odair has his own agenda here in the Capitol, and there are no friends in that arena," His voice was harsh and cold.
The room grew quiet and Finnick spoke up and slammed his hand down, "Shut up!" He growled. The table shook at the force of Finnick's fist. He was ready to fight, and Thomas didn't seem to flinch or even oppose the idea of a brawl.
But I came to Thomas' defense before I could stop myself, "He's right," I squeaked. I watched my hands, knowing Finnick's gaze was on me.
Mags cleared her throat, "Well, that's enough of this, Finnick you will train Annie…we can swap off later in the week if you'd like or I can just give you some pointers later if need be," She directed to me, "but we are wasting very valuable time here arguing." She said, motioning to Thomas. They left Finnick and me alone, Thomas storming out angrily and Mags following him with her same steady tread.
The apartment was quiet. Finnick seemed bent on not speaking first. "So, you don't talk to Thomas anymore?" I asked softly.
Finnick popped a sugar cube in his mouth and leaned back in his chair, "That's not really any of your business," He said just as cold as Thomas had been earlier.
Anger surged through me, "Really? Now's the time you want to keep secrets?" I snapped, reminded of my impending doom, especially now that Thomas was bent on destroying me.
Finnick chuckled, still hollow with a hint of anger, standing up and dusting himself off, "It's as good a time as any."
I scoffed, "I bet these 'secrets' are just little ditties you're too embarrassed to talk about," I muttered as he walked me to the elevator. I was getting under his skin and he was already irritated with me. But in true Cresta fashion, I blurted out every thought, unable to keep them under wraps. "What? Did Thomas beat you in a game? Are you scared he'll steal the spotlight from District Four's heartthrob, Finnick Odair?"
"You're so arrogant," He growled as we took our descent to the training room.
I laughed again, haughtily, "You're one to talk, now aren't you?" Anger was surging through me, boiling inside me. We stood as equals. Each one taking a side of the elevator. Both standing our ground.
Finnick watched me, appalled, ears turning a shade of red. In an instant he looked down at the elevator buttons, refusing me any eye contact. "I'm not playing games with you anymore Cresta." Finnick became truly angry with me. The last time he was this mad at me, our friendship ended. This would end everything…and just in time too.
I felt a pang of sadness hit my chest, mixing with a spurt of anger. I watched him, looming. His tall, lean, muscular form was slumped in a brooding stance. His strong jaw and handsome angled features were clenching and tense, but then relaxed in a hauntingly sad way. He was just looming on the opposite side of the metal box, only a few feet away from me. I wanted him angry. "Well, good Odair. Because the last thing I want, are more games," I snapped. I felt my throat threaten to close and decided it was time to move on. "Why aren't you speaking with Thomas?"
Finnick didn't fight me anymore. The elevator beeped as it passed the several floors, but we were still traveling to the depths of the training center. "It's easier that way." He turned to face the numbers lighting up, instead of me.
I felt a new emotion pulse through me as I saw Finnick's harsh glare at the mention of Thomas' name. "To say goodbye?" I asked in disgust. "You're such a coward." The elevator stopped and I thought Finnick's heart did too.
He watched me with a new fury, one that frightened me more than the last wave that overcame him or the ones that threatened our existence when we were on the beaches of District Four. Finnick turned around quickly. "Me? A coward?" He bellowed. "I'm Finnick Odair!" My bones shook at the sound of his temper.
"I know who you are," I told him in an even voice. Anger was certainly rising, along with my disgust towards him. "Don't shout at me." I pushed past him, storming out of the elevator.
Finn followed, his fists beat against the metal doors as he caught them before they closed. "Do you want to win these games or not, Annie?" He asked fiercely. "Just let me know. I need to make sure I'm not wasting my breath here." He stood between the doors of the elevator, waiting.
"Well you are," I said, walking dejectedly towards the training room. But I stopped and turned to face him, "I would much rather see Thomas Reed come out a victor than me."
Finnick marched past the elevator doors to me. "What are you talking about?" He snapped, standing further from me than I would have liked.
But I didn't think, I just let words pour from me. "He would be a wonderful victor for the Capitol." I explained irrationally. "Handsome. Young. Charismatic. Far better than me," I said, almost hysteric. I didn't even look to Finnick for reassurance. I knew he agreed. "I'm just here by sheer dumb luck. Sheer, dumb, unfortunate luck," I sighed. "What would you lose if I didn't come out of that arena? No one would blame you for my death." I forced myself to make eye contact with him. His green eyes held this inexplicable ferocity, but his jaw, lips, muscles had all relaxed in a painfully sad way.
"I would. I would blame me," He said in a small voice.
"That's stupid." I laughed at him. "You can't fight odds."
That ferocity spread, "I don't need odds Annie! You know what I would lose if you didn't come out of that arena?" He asked, grabbing my shoulders. His eyes bore into me, reminding me of the Finnick in Four. "You. I fought odds to get back to you and I don't know when you decided you were going to die in the Games, but you will come back. You will walk out of that arena." He said sternly. The hall was quiet and I all I could hear was my heart beating. "And Thomas knows that." He admitted. Finnick's despair broke my heart. "He hates me because I've sacrificed him. My best friend… and he's good as dead for some ungrateful little girl." His voice caught in his throat, but he ignored it.
"So what am I?" I asked quietly. Finnick's admittance of giving up his best childhood friend, frightened me. Our relationship was rocky and stressed at most times…He could easily bet my death. Pretend to prepare me and then watch me die, winning whatever he put at stake, my imagination was disturbing.
Finnick watched me and the wild look that had been burning in his eyes had subsided. The sadness for Thomas somehow became misplaced. "Impossible, and someone who needs training." Finnick marched to the doors of the training center, opened the door and waited for me to walk through. "You are the only tribute from Four who can't put up a decent fight and it doesn't matter if you're from the same district…allies don't exist for long in that arena."
He grabbed me and handed me a spear. He taught me to throw spears, knives, nets… He taught me how to effectively catch and kill. "Fight Annie!" He shouted, and I tried. I pushed him, struck him, tried to take him down, but I was weak against him.
Frustration was an old battle I couldn't win. "I'm trying!"
He fought off my advances. I threw a punch at him. He blocked me. I tried to escape him but he caught me. "Fight!" He growled, holding me. "They won't keep you alive this long." He said as I struggled against his strength.
"Get away from me Finnick!" I shrieked as I tried to push him off me. He only held me tighter.
"Fight back!" He shouted.
Adrenaline raced through me. I tried to fight him and I couldn't. I couldn't fight off his strength. I was trapped. I grabbed a stick that we combated with and I stabbed him.
The air was knocked out of him. He instantly released me and fell to his knees. A bruise was starting to form around where I hit him. "Good. Maybe now you'll win." He forced.
But it was silly…silly to think that that was all I needed to win. "I'm not ready for this arena," I muttered, sinking down to the mat with him. "My training scores are bound to be poor." I lied down beside him, hand on my abdomen and legs bent.
"They won't be," He said once he could sit up. "Wow them." He said in true Finnick fashion, smiling at me for the first time in awhile.
I laughed with a smirk, "How? There isn't exactly a tank to swim in." I sighed a heavy breath and let my hands cover my eyes.
"Improvise." Finnick suggested. "Set up nets, traps, anything…you're a master at catching things!" He became enthusiastic, hoping I would catch on. And although I tried to be, I preferred being a better fighter. So we continued training. I fought him off, but I still was no match to him. I threw spears and knives, nets and punches. I trained to survive, knowing what to eat, how to camouflage, how to live. I tied knots around Finnick…and after a few more intense sessions they threw me to the wolves called gamemakers.
I walked in the training room with the rest of the tributes. I was no fighter. I didn't throw spears or knives like a lot of the other tributes were notorious for. But after a few days of combating and planning and testing new survival skills, when the time came...the true test was to impress the gamemakers. I trembled as my nerves overcame me. I grabbed rope, not making eye contact with the gamemakers, and I tied knots. Within minutes, I had set a snare good enough to trap a grown man with nothing more than a net and a rebounding spear. The game makers dismissed me without a word.