CHAPTER 7

Not So Unexplainable Feeling

Lined-up next to the stage, with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, Olive waited with the rest of the tributes for the show to start. The costumes were as stereotypical as always, not leaving much room for the tributes to stand out by themselves. Actually, all the contrary. They were all so similar to one another that she could tell at first glance who would play flirty, fierce, humble, or innocent.

When they were finally allowed to get on the stage, they sat on the chairs, carefully aligned to let everyone see them perfectly well. Caesar Flickerman, the Hunger Games' host, joined them on the stage, cracking a few jokes before he called the girl from District One. For the interviews, the girls were interviewed before their male partner. And, as usual, District One was the first while District Twelve was the last.

After twenty-one long minutes, Olive managed to get to the centre of the stage for her interview without suffering from a panic attack. What a show it would have been. A tribute having a panic attack in the middle of the stage. With the cameras. With the people analysing their every move, trying to figure out if they were enough to sponsor. How sick she felt of those looks. The seemed to have no end since her little brother's name was called back in the reaping.

"Well, Navin, before anything else, I'd like to ask about those gorgeous dresses you've been wearing since the opening ceremony. Could you explain the reason behind them?" Caesar asked once she was by his side, shaking his hand, though she had the urge to slap it.

Olive sighed softly, not dramatically enough to let anyone see it. She looked at Caesar's hair and tried her best to imagine the person she had chosen to replace him in her mind. "I think it would be as simple as reintroducing myself," she joked, bowing slightly to the crowd before adding with a smug grin. "I am District Four's other female tribute, Navin Olive Cresta."

I'm so not glad to be here or meet you. She thought, glancing at Caesar as he seemed to be processing the information in his mind, which seemed to click quite rapidly. He made a few joked and proceeded to say how curious he was about her. However, the interviews weren't for that. And, if she won, they could talk about it in greater length during a visit.

"It's a shame I can't share it with you and everyone else right now. It's actually a fascinating story. I suppose we'll have to leave it for now," she commented, shifting her position to show off how proud and confident she supposedly was about herself.

"The suspense is killing me!" He exclaimed, laughing his own frustration off at the end to make sure everyone understood it was a joke. "All right, let's rewind to the reaping. When your brother's name was drawn, and you volunteered. Could you tell us anything about him?"

No. In fact, I would rather list every little detail I hate about you, the damn Capitol, and the stupid Games than that . . . But, I half-told Finnick, and I would absolutely tell him if he were to ask. Olive thought, putting her best smile the same moment she dismissed her own thoughts. "His name is Theodore, but my family and I simply call him Theo. He's an unbearably sweet twelve-year-old. And I love him and my family more than anything in this world."

"What did they tell you after the reaping?" Caesar asked over the dead silence in the City Circle. Everyone had gone silent in mere seconds after her reply. Perhaps because they were so into whatever she was saying, that they didn't dare to speak, to not miss a single word.

Olive chuckled softly, glancing from him to the crowd, while trying to focus on imagining Caesar as Finnick. Something that was getting trickier with every stupid question he asked. "They urged me to win. And I went as far as to promise I would." She answered, taking a second before adding with the cocky tone she had heard Finnick use millions of times in the last few days. "So I'm not going down without a fight."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you," just as Caesar uttered those words, the buzzer signalled the end of the interview. Her three minutes were up. If she would have sponsors in the arena or not, had already been decided in that short amount of time. "Sadly, we're out of time. Best of luck, Navin Olive Cresta, tribute from District Four."

Olive went back to her seat, drifting off reality for the rest of the interview, still being careful not to give in to her worries and have a panic attack. She didn't care if the others acted flirty or vicious. In the end, they were all the same. Scared kids with the hope to survive, knowing perfectly well that only one would be lucky enough to do so.

After the boy from Twelve returned to his seat, the anthem played, which meant all tributes had to stand up. With her feet killing her, and the blaring sound of the anthem, Olive wished nothing more than to return to the room where she would patiently wait for her transportation to her death.

As she reached the Fourth floor with her district partner, a majestic meal was waiting for them. Both sat at the diner table and ate with their mentors. My last grand meal before going back to starving. It's been years since then. She thought, playing around with her food as she felt her hunger slowly slipping away.

"You put on a good show," her partner muttered, causing Olive to look up from her meal.

"Thanks, you too," she lied. After all, she hadn't been paying any attention to anyone, not even her district partner. Now she was slightly curious. A person that was clearly aiming to go with the Career group would surely play a fierce approach, right? Or perhaps there was another one more fitting for her?

"I don't know where all that confidence came from, but I've got to say you're good at acting," the girl continued speaking, making it the longest conversation both of them had ever had.

Are you trying to pick up a fight? Girl, please, I don't understand you a single bit. First you act weak, then you seem actually skilled, and now you're congratulating me for supposedly acting my confidence like you're praising your little sister? What's the matter with you? Olive wondered, looking back at her plate, as she decided that was enough conversation with anyone for a while.

"Well, I wouldn't want everyone out there to know how uncertain I am about myself, would I? If I want the slightest chance of going back home, I should at least act and pray for them to ignore my incompetence later in the Games," she said while getting up from her seat. "You did really good, though, best of luck . . . I'm not hungry, so I'll go first. Goodnight."

Perhaps the odds will never be in my favour. However, I doubt they'll be on yours either. I hope I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that alliance you've got yourself into won't keep you alive for long. She thought, opening the door to her room.

Her dark, though gigantic room was just as welcoming as the first day she laid eyes on it. Just, this time, with the promise of death so close to her that she could no longer feel her anger, just her sorrow. She was breaking. Slowly. Bit by bit. Letting her life's absurdity drive her to the point where tears threatened to leave her eyes.

Her feet slowly made it next to the bed, letting her body fall next to the pillows. She had no strength to move or get up. With her eyes stuck to the ceiling, she saw the faint light from the sunset slowly disappearing. How beautifully cruel it was. The sole thought that she might never watch another sunset again, caused the first tear to roll down until it reached the sheets.

Then, another thought appeared in her mind, causing the next tears to escape her tightly closed eyes. Her family. Her beloved family. Watching her die. What a bitter-sweet thought. Because, although for their own safety it would be better for them if her never became a victor, they didn't know it. How hurt would she be if Annie went to the Games and committed suicide for no apparent reason?

She could always ask Finnick to tell them later. That she had done a rash decision based on their pure safety. However, would she really commit suicide during the Games? Not even Olive herself knew the answer to that question. Her family's safety was her number one priority, which couldn't be obtained by becoming a victor, but so it was their happiness, something that could never truly happen if she died, much less from suicide.

The indecision was driving her mad. Despite her character, Olive had always thought of herself as a rational person, using rationality as a way to make decisions. Nevertheless, that attribute seemed to have disappeared a long time ago. Perhaps because there wasn't anything rational in the Hunger Games. Kids forced to kill other kids. What reason could that have?

Her right hand griped her sleeve tightly and used it to clean the few tears still rolling down her cheeks. Her lower lip was quivering as she tried to stop the sobs. No one should know about her mental breakdown. She wouldn't allow it. Pity was the last thing she needed. Hatred would be much more welcomed.

As she raised her hand from her eyes, she realised she was still wearing the dress and make-up from the interview. The make-up had probably been destroyed during the mental breakdown. However, she wouldn't allow the dress to get messed up too. It was too pretty. It was the same colour as her family's eyes. Shades of blue and green. Between them, sea blue and sea green.

With a sluggish gait, she got to the shower, where she left the dress by the dry sink. Using the buttons she already knew, she tried to scrub every little Capitol detail in her skin. Not even her nails were spared. By the time she stood in front of the mirror, no Capitol traces could be seen. However, there was nothing from home either.

How could she accept that the person in front of her was Navin Olive Cresta? A boy who identified as a girl. A seventeen-year-old that had been fighting to survive since her mother died. An event that left her behind with a broken father, a baby, her twin absolutely numb from the loss, and her older sister trying to put up a strong facade for them.

Where was that person? In front of her, there was only another tribute. Another pig ready for slaughter. Personality. Hopes. Aspirations. Nothing was important. Everything that mattered since she volunteered until she left the arena, either dead or as a victor, would be how intelligent she would be to survive. Her own life had been stripped away from her right in front of her eyes, and she hadn't even realised it before.

Reluctantly, she put on the first pair of clothes she found and buried herself under the covers. It was warm, a feeling she had to remind herself to appreciate, as it would disappear as soon as night came upon the arena. Even if she didn't make it to the night, death was notoriously cold. Everyone she had seen die always said the same. "Cold, it's so cold." Those same words. Over and over again.

There was a memory she had of her mother, a healer, bringing a bloodied person to their home. The poor person had the bad luck of encountering the Head Peacekeeper with illegal game. Their punishment was flogging.

Olive was only five years old, a curious little kid without the faintest idea of what was going on. While her father made sure Annie and Gianna went back to the nursery, so they wouldn't watch blood slowly dripping on their table, Olive slipped by him to stand next to her mother, who was doing her best to cure the person with the little she had from the herbal store she worked in.

The person had a weird spasm, in which Olive's hand was caught in. They wouldn't let go of her, mumbling incoherent words to the little girl. "Cold. Such cold . . . Warm. Please."

Something happened after that, which she couldn't remember too well, but the person ended up dying in front of her eyes. With her own eyes, Olive watched the light slowly leaving their eyes while still asking for warmness. There was nothing they could do.

"Mum, why do good people die?" The innocent child asked, not daring to slip her hand away from the body's, as she felt it as if she was glued into her position.

"Because when we're in the Meadow, and Annie and you pick flowers, which ones do you pick?" Her mother questioned, taking the little one away from the corpse.

"The prettiest ones," she answered.

"Exactly," her mother muttered, stopping in front of the nursery's door to tell a last thing to her daughter. "Death is always said to not discriminate, Olive. It is said to take sinners and saints equally. Sometimes that's true, but sometimes saints suffer worse ends than death itself. Don't fear death, my dear. It's not your enemy. It's just another step in your path. There's no life without death, and no light without darkness . . . I pray that you'll never have to find this out by yourself." Such words could never be fully processed by a five-year-old. Only years later, after suffering from pain, fear, and hatred, did Olive finally realised the meaning.

Embrace death, not as an enemy you've been fleeing from, but as a friend that's always been there, waiting for an opportunity to free you from life. Olive thought, raising her head from her pillow. Perhaps she wasn't ready to do that yet, though she was a step closer.

There was only one last thing she needed to do if she decided to fully embrace death in the arena. Saying goodbye to her one and only friend, Finnick Odair. Perhaps two, if she counted leaving behind a message to her family. With the same sluggish moments as before, she made her way to the roof, enjoying the view and breeze, as it would probably be the last time she would see it.

Her thoughts and heart were racing, her palms were still sweating, and her body was shaking. Just like the first day, it had been a bad idea to come all the way up to the roof without a jacket. With her hands gripping tightly onto her arms, she walked around the roof to find her friend, eventually ending up in the garden, where he was sitting next to a tree.

With a forced smile, she sat next to him. The irony of the situation hitting her for the first time since she realised she could consider Finnick as a friend. Who wouldn't find it ironic that, the same Games that would separate them, were the ones that joined them to begin with?

"Did you forget your jacket again?" The cocky tone, which she was so used to, resonated in her mind. Looking at her side, Finnick had the same sad look in his eyes. His cocky tone could trick anyone, but not his eyes. Not her, at least.

"No, it's just invisible, Finnick," she answered with the same tone, smiling as he laid a very convenient spare jacket over her shoulders. "What are you doing here? I expected you to be at the edge, or perhaps in your room. Not next to a tree. I thought you were a water-boy, not a tree-boy."

"I knew you'd end up coming here. And, since you're a hunter, I thought that maybe a tree could cheer you more than the sight of the Capitol," he muttered, chuckling with a light tone of bitterness in his voice.

"You still have to tell me how you know that," Olive said, resting her head on his shoulder as she gripped the jacket closer to her body.

"And I said I'd tell you once you came back," Finnick insisted with a light tone, doing the same as her, although on top of her head.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," she breathed, trying to find the strength to say the words. However, she couldn't utter them. Despite her countless attempts, she couldn't form a single sound. She was stuck. Unable to do anything. Her thoughts began racing again, filling her head as her mouth shut firmly. Although she tried to hide it with her hands, her quivering lips had completely given her away.

Two arms carefully hugged her, bringing her close to the person. An embrace. It had been so long since she had one. Those types that told her it was all right to break down and cry. That she could confide in the person hugging her. That she could drop her exhausting facade to acknowledge her fears.

"Don't. Don't pity me," she choked through her sobs, hitting Finnick softly on his chest as she hid her face on his shirt's collar.

"I don't," he whispered, hugging her closer as he rubbed her back. "I pity myself, because there's nothing I can do for you. And that's a reality I should have accepted a long time ago, but didn't."

Olive managed to control her sobs, letting a weird-sounding chuckle scape her lips as she said, "We're so narcissistic that we only suffer from self-pity, huh?", which caused Finnick to snicker.

"Well, we're talking about two very self-centred people. There wasn't much else we could expect, was it?" He answered, smiling as he saw Olive slowly going back to herself, though she still hid her face on his neck.

"Yeah, you're right. We're a lost cause," she joked. Her voice was clearer this time. The sobs had stopped to make way for the occasional sniffs. As seconds passed by, her trembling hands let go of her friend, falling onto her lap as she felt the need to convey what would be obvious to him. "I'm so scared. I don't know what to do."

He remained silent, not letting go of her, as if she would vanish. Disappear completely from his sight. There were no words he could utter at the moment. How could he say anything? What right did he have to change her views of life and death? He better than anyone else knew what a victor's life meant. If Olive, from the little she had told him she knew, didn't want it, who was he to ask her to survive? For what? For whom?

For her family? The same that would be in danger once her name was called as victor? Or maybe even dead if she did anything wrong during the Games. For him? The person she barely knew? The one that had only thought of using her for his own benefit since he saw her volunteer? How ashamed he felt of letting Olive call him her friend. Was he truly worthy of such title?

"If I don't . . . If I die. Please don't blame yourself―" she began, although he quickly stopped her, which worried Olive, who looked up to meet his eyes. "What's the matter? . . . Finnick, what's wrong?"

"You shouldn't be worrying about me," he breathed. "From the very start I wasn't training you to help you, I was trying to help myself. I thought that, if you made it, perhaps I could at least have one person less haunting me during my nightmares. I saw more potential in you than your district partner. That's why I approached you. Nothing else. I'm not exactly a good friend."

Her eyes were stuck on his, staring intensely, as if at any moment he would crack up and admit it was all a joke. But it wasn't. It would never be a joke. That was the absolute truth and she knew it. From the very moment he joined in the conversation the first day, she knew that. Mentors were supposed to be impartial, helping each tribute equally until they were in the Games, but that never truly happened.

Perhaps she should thank him. Not only him but the rest of mentors as well. All of them had seen something in her that not even herself saw. Something that could make her a victor. That could keep her alive to see her family once again.

"Indeed, not exactly a good friend," she agreed, nodding along. "But you have been an incredible mentor. One I trust and respect. If you thought for a single second that I would get mad at you for that, you clearly still have a lot to learn about me . . . It's alright, Finnick. I don't blame any of you for wanting some mental peace. From the beginning, I already knew you were testing me."

Finnick sighed exhaustingly, resting his head on his hands as she completely lifted her head from his shoulder. "It's not just mentor-type judging . . . When I met you, I thought, 'Oh, she might just make it'. And after that, I constantly caught myself looking after you." he stopped, gulping before continuing. "The night I carried you to your room when you were asleep. During the opening ceremony. The jacket incident. I blamed it on how funny it was to tease you, but deep down I knew there was more than just that."

"More? Like what? We don't even know each other that well to be anything more than friends." Olive questioned, keeping her eyes on his as if she was in a daze.

"I'm not saying exactly in what way it is. To be fair, I don't know it myself," he declared, resting his head against the tree's log while his eyes glanced upwards, enjoying the beautiful night sky. "You should go back. Sleep is very important now that you're hours away from entering the arena."

Olive shook her head and held his hand. "I won't go without you."

"Why?" He asked.

"Because nobody should be left alone with their thoughts," she answered simply, taking his hand to help him get up. Between peaceful silence, they reached her room's door. She doubted whether to bring him in or to say goodbye there. However, just a look at her friend told her she couldn't leave him alone.

The first hours passed like days, letting Finnick explain every little survival detail he could think of to make sure she knew how to defend herself in front of any obstacle. As time got closer to dawn, the departing time, hours passed like minutes, even seconds.

"Remember you said you couldn't describe your feelings?" Olive asked just as the first rays of light peeked through the curtains. "I found a description to mine. Fondness."

"Affection or liking for someone or something," Finnick muttered with a light chuckle. "Yeah, that sounds about right."