Blaine Abernathy: A Canary Caged

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games

Chapter 62: Fighting water with –

Blaine's POV

Cleo wasn't like other girls. I don't think she considered herself a girl. She was in her late twenties with a statuesque figure that she could have been a model, though her toned body probably had her declined. The only thing Capitol about her was her pixie cut hair in dark scarlet and Egyptian-inspired eyeliner around her deep brown eyes. She eyed me from head to toe, analyzing any possible flaws in my figure, sometimes poking me to see how my muscles reacted. I had to grind my teeth, forcing my reflexes to be still and not grab and break her hand.

"When was the last time you worked out?" she asked, her Capitol accent noticeable.

"A month ago?" I answered.

Cleo nodded, as trauma can burn the energy out of someone. I still felt exhausted and weak. I used to work out in my private gym to fill out the time back in Twelve. I did not like being stagnant, as I tried to be productive. But with all that has happened, I try to motivate myself to get out of bed. Even though it has been a month, I can feel it in my body that it has been off.

The redhead came over as she measured my body on its density. "Well, since you're still being watched, we'll start from the beginning."

"And that would be?"

"We'll do the basic exercises—sit-ups and pushups—followed by yoga to move your muscles. Next, we'll work on cardio, running, and endurance. We'll lift weights once you can breathe properly to strengthen your muscles. Afterwards, we'll get to the fun stuff—combat. Is there anything I should know about before we begin?" she asked, removing her sweatshirt.

I thought about it. She is probably aware of my episodes. A part of me wanted to disclose this, yet my pride was stubborn. Thus, I shook my head. I need to control the episodes. If I start having these hallucinations while out of the field, I need to ignore them.

After getting the data Cleo needed, including measurements and pictures, She led the way to the gym. The gym wasn't big like the Training Center. It was decent, with equipment and other things. A glass door separated a pool on the other end, which was empty at the moment. Cleo and I went to the mat to do some stretches. She was flexible and not afraid to show off by doing backward bridges, leg overheads, splits, etc. I winced a few times when bending forward, feeling my back protest in certain angels. Sometimes, Cleo would order me to touch my toes, and as I did this, she pushed my shoulders down, adding more weight. Seeing the electrical scars contrasting over the dark gym uniform.

My breathing became pitched as I felt my muscles tighten. I tried counting backwards in my head, thinking about anything except the interrogation room. Ignoring Cleo's hands as she added more pressure to my back, I let out a whimper, trying to process the discomfort as a good thing.

I'm not being tortured. I told myself. I'm stretching.

Until there was a loud pop.

I gasped, panting from the shock.

"Hurt, doesn't it?" she asked.

"In a good way," I lied as I did a lower back stretch, feeling tension on my right thigh over my left leg.

"Alright, now let's do sit-ups," she declared as she adjusted in front of me and held my ankles. "We're going to start with ten."

I nodded as I lay down, getting into position. I took several deep breaths before using my core muscles to start doing sit-ups. However, after doing one sit-up, I felt a shot of discomfort in my abdomen and collapsed, turning to the side.

"Fuck," I hissed.

"What's wrong?" Cleo asked as she moved to my side.

I moved away from her and, out of frustration, punched the mat.

"Easy," Cleo murmured.

I took several deep breaths. I spent months getting in shape with my team, and all that effort is gone. I could feel Damon punching me in the stomach repeatedly. My eyes watered, yet tears don't fall.

Cleo took a deep breath, "It's never easy when something traumatic breaks the routine."

I stared at her, wanting her to explain.

"You think being from the Capitol, my family would be rich," she said, with a bitter chuckle. "We were middle class, yet we were close to poverty when my dad made poor investments that he could not afford our higher education. So, when I turned eighteen, I joined the peacekeepers. Twenty years, be out by thirty-eight. Find a girlfriend and live like that. Although I was ambitious…hoping to be an officer by the time I retire."

I nodded as I listened to her story.

"I was assigned to District Six and found that the recruiters lied to me. It is not what the propaganda gave. Giving the impression we were protectors. The moment I signed up, I was given twenty-four hours to give my goodbyes and be sent to training in District Two. Everything seemed promising until I was deployed to Six. At first, everything seemed good, and the factories were secured. But when it came to the Hunger Games, at the Reapings…I saw what the television fails to show. Seeing the mothers sobbing as their sons and daughters are selected. And when their bodies came back…. I had never heard a mother wail in such a way that I wanted to break formation and comfort her and her surviving children. To give my condolences.

"I got so attached. The first thing they tell us at the Peacekeeper Core is never to get attached." She gave a scoff. "Sometimes, peacekeepers would abuse their power on the weak, men bribing women or raping them. A teenage boy was beaten up for being close to curfew when reaching his home, even barging into civilian property without a warrant or cause. Five years in the military that didn't follow the code. I joined to protect the innocent, not let them get hurt. However, I couldn't quit."

"So, how did you get out?"

"I didn't," She muttered bitterly, then sighed. "I reported that the Head Peacekeeper violated regulations, and he did a code red."

"Code red?"

"Unofficial military order," she clarified. "Two of my female comrades attacked me in my bed, tying my arms to the bed frame, shoved a sock in my mouth, and shaved my hair. They managed to cut it before I fought… accidentally killing one of them by grabbing the razor and slitting her throat. I couldn't see in the dark and slashed out. The other screamed, shouting killer, calling for the guys to capture me. So, I ran to the train station, trapped on top of a bridge and five peacekeeper guns aimed at me."

"How did you escape?"

"I took a train." She chuckled harshly. "Made it look convincing like I slipped and fell on the impact of a cargo train. The Head Peacekeeper declared me dead, saying my death was an accident so he wouldn't have to tell the chain of command that he ordered a code red. I spent months wandering districts through trains until Jason found me. Thanks to him, he got me back on my feet, and I owe the Insurgents. "

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

She gave a sincere smile, "I recovered for many months. Even though I had strength for survival…I was not in the best of shape. It took many more for my body to recover to gain back strength. So, take your time."

"But we don't have time," I sighed, thinking about those dying in this war.

Thinking about the Covey and everyone in Twelve who didn't have a chance. I don't know if there are any survivors. With Thirteen cutting off communication…I don't know anything.

Cleo sighed, "If you want to help, you must regain your strength."

I took a deep breath.

"Let's try crunches and build our way up."

I sighed and nodded. I got back into position as Cleo held my legs. It was easier doing crunches than sit-ups. We did several reps, as Cleo helped correct my position and change it to an easier exercise. After some time, she started getting personal again.

"So, what's your complete story?"

"Dad's an alcoholic, and mom's dead," I answered instantly, lying down.

The redhead shook her head, "Oh please, enough with the vague answer to which everyone knows. What is your story? What got you here and everything the shit you have been through?"

I closed my eyes, sighing, "I was destined to die in the Games so the Capitol could torture Haymitch even more. Force in conspiracy, scandals, and mentor tributes only to watch them die. I could have gone into the Quarter Quells if it wasn't for Snow and his connections to Lucy Gray. And you'd save my sorry ass. There's nothing to say. Everybody here knows everything about me, so what else is there to say?"

"Oh, how about 'He's different, somebody like a black sheep. At first, he intrigued me… him being a brilliant, enigmatic, lovely person.'" Cleo teased.

"You bitch," I grumbled, grabbing a sweat rag and tossing it in her face.

"What, we're girls, and what do girls do?" she laughed, falling backward. Once she calmed down, she sighed. "Just because we're in a war doesn't mean all of our focus is on strategies. And everybody here knows about you and Cinna have a fling, but c'mon, why aren't you shagging each other already?"

"It's complicated," I answered. "And not all relationships are about sex."

"Do you love him?"

I didn't say anything, avoiding her stare. I do love him, but I have trust issues after being brutally tortured and used. Cinna said he was sorry; he didn't plan for me to get involved, let alone the mission being compromised. So, our relationship is complicated, but we are slowly getting back together.

"I do care about him more than friends. But after everything…"

"Oh, nice and slow?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

Cleo nodded, not saying another word. Instead, she said, "That's enough for today, and tomorrow, we'll go on the treadmills."

I nodded, got up with a stretch, and left the gym. Although I stink, covered in sweat, and knew that a shower was in order. My pace took longer when heading back to my quarters, trying to prolong the shower. With each step I took, my body began to shake, starting with the hands reaching their way up and consuming me. Until I made a wrong turn on purpose. I can't do it. Even thinking about water has me nervous. Thus, I just wander down the halls, trying to remember locations and mapping them out.

I considered visiting Cinna, but I haven't seen him this morning. When I got to his studio, he was absent, let alone how organized it was…like the wall of fabric that had never been touched and a trash bin full of crumpled papers. Not wanting to invade his privacy, I left the studio and headed to the cafeteria, where everybody gathered for lunch. Still, Cinna was absent again at dinner.

.o0o.

By lunch the next day, I was starting to feel irritated, asking Varick if he had sent Cinna on an errand or whatever he gave to the stylist. Varick wrinkled his nose and asked Caduceus. Dr. Caduceus said he recently talked to Cinna in a private session. I asked him about the session, only to say, "That is private." Along with, "How is your condition? I see you aren't taking care of your hygiene." Okay, I get it. I stink and am oily. How about we waterboard you and see if you come out aquaphobic? Although it pissed me off how Dr. Caduceus grinned amused, writing notes on everything I said. Is it essential to write down what I say, including where Cinna is?

By dinner, my patience was gone. I no longer accepted his avoidance, so I banged on the door to his room. A minute later, there was no response, so I continued to bang on the door until he came out. After a half hour, I slumped against the door, knees to my chest, waiting. Jason walked out of his room, slightly surprised to see me across the hall in defeat.

"He's at the pool," Jason announced with a smirk.

"What?" I asked, looking up.

"Cinna, he's at the pool," he answered. "He practically goes there when he's in a funk or something's on his mind."

"Thanks," I mumbled, quickly getting up and hurrying to the gym, barging into the pool only to stop.

Shit, I thought. Pool means water.

Instantly, my body tensed as I looked ahead to see somebody doing laps in the pool. The chamber was completely dark, only illuminated by the pool, giving an intimidating atmosphere as the rippling water reflected on the tile walls. The person continues his laps, hardly paying attention, doing freestyle strokes. I walked in closer, realizing it was Cinna. The fear that was growing stopped me from remembering why I was there.

I walked toward the edge, picked up a kickboard, and waited for him to come closer. When he was close, I smacked him in the head with the foam board. Cinna stopped, almost jumping, if possible, as he stood up, coughing.

"You got a lot of explaining!" I growled

"Mind…. letting me take… a breather?" he coughed before covering a hand over his mouth to suppress something from coming out. Once he was able to breathe, he removed his goggles. "You were saying?"

I scoffed, arms crossed, "Why have you been avoiding me the past few days?"

"Who's said I was avoiding?" he asked.

"Oh, how about I don't see you during meals or anywhere else?" I sarcastically replied. "Was it something I said to make you avoid me?"

"It's not that," he assured me, pulling himself up from the pool and splashing water everywhere I stepped back. "I needed to clear my head."

"By swimming?" I asked.

He shrugs, pulling himself up to sit on the ledge, though splashing water.

I dodged the splash again. "Watch it!"

"Care to join me for a swim?" he asked, offering a hand.

"I can't…." I struggled.

"You can't or you won't?" he corrected.

I rubbed my arms sheepishly, "It's not just the water...I can't swim."

Cinna stared at me or looked in my direction before pulling his goggles off completely. "You can't swim?"

I sat down, crossing my legs close to the edge and nodding to his answer. "There are no local pools or lakes in Twelve…inside the fence."

He nodded, tracing wet fingers over my arm, the droplets sliding down, leaving a trail. I cringed slightly, taking deep breaths, trying not to snap. Slowly, he took my hand in his, leading it into the water. Before I could protest, half my hand was in the water.

"Cinna…"

"Trust me," he murmured, letting go of my hand, sliding back in the pool to take my leg and put it in the water, followed by the other that my calves were in the water. My body began to shake as I closed my eyes to avoid the possible flashback, but it never came. Instead, all that happened was Cinna gently pouring water on my knees, tracing the joints. "There is no need to be afraid. You're letting your body react this way because you won't forget."

"It's hard," I whispered, wanting to pull my legs out of the pool.

"I know," he murmured. "I know how you feel."

That's right. He was also tortured as well.

Now I feel downright foolish, forgetting he was beaten, waterboarded, and had his fingers chopped off, yet he still acts like nothing happened. Not afraid around knives, afraid of water, or anything. I envy him for being so strong in his demeanor; then again, he can have the mind of a madman. But what if he was suffering as well… is he swimming to fight his fears?

"I think… it's late," I announced, getting up to leave. However, he had a good grip on my legs, and I accidentally fell into the pool.

The pool was eight feet deep, though it felt much deeper as I continued to sink, flapping my arms crazy. Dark memories of being waterboarded came up, followed by images of the Quarter Quell, Beetee splashing around madly, trying to stay afloat. Two arms wrapped around me, pulling me back to the surface and pushing me to the concrete ledge. I choked, coughing madly, if not crying, for my left eye socket burned from the chlorine.

"Blaine, calm down. I got you," Cinna assured loudly, gripping my waist tightly. "Grab onto the ledge and kick your legs slowly."

I managed to calm down, kicking my legs slowly and gripping the ledge tightly. Cinna sighed, rubbing my back. I coughed rapidly until a burp escaped my lips. I stopped, shocked, covering my mouth, surprised all of a sudden. Cinna chuckled slightly, wrapping an arm around my waist, gently swimming us to a ladder. Quickly, I climbed out of the pool, huddling against,shaken against the wall.

"Are you alright?" Cinna asked, concerned, sitting down next to me.

"No," I shuddered.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. "I didn't mean to grab you."

"At least you managed to save me from drowning," I whispered, though I removed my eye patch and bent over so water could pour out of my eye socket. The chemicals burned the inner muscles in the socket to the point where I was crying again. "Damn it."

"Let me see," he murmured, taking my hand, but I shook him off, not wanting him to see it.

Ever since being given the eye patch, I hardly took it off; I practically slept with it on for Miya's sake so she wouldn't be uncomfortable. Yet he gently grabbed my hand, forcing it down while the other tilted my chin to face him. The expression on his face was neutral as he examined the condition. How he can analyze in this lighting may be difficult, but he seems to see it perfectly. Afterward, he tucks the strand of hair off my face. "Does it hurt?"

"It burns a little," I admitted.

"Does it hurt when you blink?"

"No, in fact, my eyelid thinks there's an eye there." I bitterly chuckled. He traced her finger around my empty eye, which caused me to shudder and flinch. "Can you stop?"

"Sorry," he apologized and immediately retracted his hands away.

"It's late," I declared. "We should head to bed."

"Not after a shower," He corrected, standing up to head to a shower stall. "Chlorine is not good for your skin.

Didn't he once say, 'Lack of sleep won't do your skin a favor?' I thought, watching him turn on the faucet.

He turned around to stare at me, holding a hand out. I sighed, knowing I had to fight this fear sooner or later. So, getting up, I joined him by the stall to rinse off the chlorine. However, Cinna told me to remove my outer layer of clothes, leaving me in a bra and underwear. If looks could kill, he is dead already, as he took my hand and led me under the curtain of warm water. My body cried to get out and find a wet rag, but I forced myself to stay, facing Cinna as the shower sprayed my back. For some reason, it felt nice having the water soothing the tension on my back.

"Turn around," Cinna instructed.

I took a deep breath, turning around to face the sprays. However, when water made contact with my face, I panicked instantly out of the stall. Cinna stood there surprised before turning off the shower and hugged me tightly, saying it was okay, that I was not being tortured. I didn't realize I was crying or grabbing my head when a painful headache consumed me.

"This is going to be hard," I whispered.

"We're taking it slow," he assured me, rubbing my back. "At least you managed to get in a shower."

I gave a breathy chuckle. "I just don't like it on my face."

"Then let's not get it on your face," he said, wrapping a towel around me. "We'll try this again tomorrow."

"What? Drowning me?" I grumbled

He gave me a stern look that said fun and jokes were out the window. I guess it's time to be serious. I can no longer stall for letting this fear get the best of me.

.o0o.

The next evening, I entered Cinna's room. Earlier this morning, he told me to come to his room so we could work on this fear. I was tense, my heart clenching but not shaking to a boiling point of tears. The sounds of water could be heard in the bathroom, but I took my time to analyze his room. A king-size bed was pressed against the visual window set of misty forest scenery, while the furniture was dark stained wood with golden trim. There was a dresser on top with pictures. Some were of him with his family, though one with Chanel was lying face down instead of standing. There was some of Portia with him, Katniss, and one with me. My breath hitched to see it was a picture of me at my first concert.

Sometimes, I wonder if Cinna might be a little obsessed; then again, he wanted to be there for a friend…if that's what you call it for children of family friends.

Guess I have my own Peeta, I thought with a sad smile, thinking of Peeta.

"Blaine," Cinna murmured, wrapping his arms around me. "Are you alright?"

"Yes and no," I answered. "I'm just worried about my friends."

"Varick is planning a rescue mission," he said. "However, Johanna is hidden somewhere separate from the others. We can't go after one only to risk the others."

"Any news on the others?" I asked. "From our team?"

Cinna sighed since President Snow didn't just focus on the Victors. But also gone after the teams. As stylists, prep teams, and escorts are being interrogated. Especially the surviving tribute/victors' teams. The majority were excused, yet District 2, District Three, District Four, District Seven, and District Twelve were longer yet were excused. Except for District Twelve, as the insurgents reported, Portia and her team are kept in the Training Center. Effie and Cinna's team were still missing. Cinna can only assume Plutarch got them out.

Needing to change the subject, I turned slightly to face him, "What's the plan?"

Cinna gave us a neutral expression and led us to the bathroom, where a tub was set. Somehow, my heart didn't race as much as I anticipated. "You can choose a bath or shower?"

"How are we gonna do this?" I asked again. Really, how are we going to do this? Am I going to strip naked, and he keeps me in the water? Clothes, no clothes? Both naked? A blush dusted on the thought that the last time we were both naked was when we had sex.

"How ever you want it," he said, not being detailed.

I sighed, taking a deep breath and removing my shoes and shirt while sitting on the tub's rim, keeping my shorts and bra on. Cinna removed his shirt and sat next to me, rubbing my back. This sucks, as I lifted my feet, slowly dipping them in the hot water till my feet were planted on the bottom.

Nothing.

"It's strange…" I started. "Usually, I would start freaking out or feeling a headache by now."

"Maybe you're overcoming your fear?" Cinna suggested, taking my hand.

"Maybe," I whispered, sliding down more, that I was now sitting in the tub. Suddenly, my heart rate increased, and my breathing became slightly irregular. Nervous that something terrible would happen, I began to stand up, but Cinna wrapped his arms around me, keeping me down. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you fight your fear," he murmured, keeping a good grip on me as he adjusted our position so he was in the water behind me. I struggled, desperately wanting to get out of the tub, but he wouldn't let go. Water was splashing everywhere, screams echoing off the tile walls, and tears burning in my eye. I clenched on the tub's rim for dear life, practically in hysteria, trying to figure out a way to be free.

"Follow my breathing," he whispered as his hand rested on my chest.

Cinna took a deep breath, his chest expanded, and then he exhaled, sinking back in. It took a moment, but we were soon in the sink, and I began to relax slowly, loosening my grip on the tub.

"Good. Just close your eyes and breathe. I promise nothing bad will happen."

I nodded, keeping my eyes closed, and focused on his breathing as my heart rate became even. He moved one arm, sliding it up my own onto my shoulder, and removed the hair tie. I flinched, unsure where this was going, listening to his movement as the sound of water being sucked in…. suddenly poured down on the back of my head.

"Cinna!" I exclaimed.

"Trust me," he begged.

I bit my lip, bringing my knees to my chest and hugging them while grabbing the dry rag covering my face. Cinna repeats the process, pouring water over my head. I was scared, waiting for the simulation to trigger harsh flashbacks of being tortured. Hell, my body was shaking to the point I might snap. Once he was done pouring water, he grabbed the shampoo and lathered it through my hair.

"You're doing great." He complimented.

"Can we stop for a moment?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Cinna stopped, letting go of me. Immediately, I stood up and sat on the tub's rim, hugging myself for dear life, close to tears. So many emotions were wandering through my head, wanting to scream or something. Cinna kneeled in front of me, holding my arms.

"Look at me," he said calmly. "I know you're scared, but is it the water or something else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think you're putting your fears into one source," he explained. "I think you're afraid of being hurt again…by me, by the Capitol, from this war. But Love, I would never hurt or put you in danger again. Tell me what you're afraid of."

I sat silent momentarily and whispered, "I'm afraid of losing everybody I love." Cinna nodded as I continued, "I'm afraid of people considering me a traitor or a monster…death, President Snow, Damon, the past, being sold, not being able to have a normal life…"

I continue to whisper out my fears that I commonly know. As I said this, Cinna wrapped his arms around me and settled us back in the tub, slowly washing my hair in his embrace. I cling tightly to his shoulders, focusing on his breathing and so on.

.o0o.

The water started to become cold, though neither Cinna nor I cared. We just sat in the water, me in his arms while he lazily traced my back. The water seemed to be nothing now, just a clear liquid. A surge of accomplishment and gratitude consumed me. There was nothing to fear about the water now.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

"Don't thank me, thank yourself," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair off my face.

"But I couldn't have done it without you," I pointed out, giving him a slight kiss on the cheek.

"We should probably get out," he recommended, lifting his hand to see how pruned it was. I chuckled and got out of the water so he could stand up. Once we were out of the tub, we wrapped each other in many towels and cleaned up the mess I had made earlier from splashing.

I stared at his hands, seeing the scared where the missing appendages once were. Along with another scar on his wrist. Electrical burns from the cuffs, but not as severe as my own. Cinna never talked about his torture experience. Other than seeing the aftermath. Assuming he was mutilated, beaten, and electrocuted. Followed by the psychological torture of watching me getting hurt.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

Cinna stopped, not looking at me, his attention on the tile floor. I step forward, cradling his cheek in my hand, tracing my thumb over a visible scab that had a few stitches. It was going to scar, but if he keeps it clean and doesn't pick at it won't be visible unless you search for it. He sighed, leaning into my touch.

"Still adjusting," he confessed. "…with my left hand."

I picked up his left hand, seeing the scarring around his knuckles where his ring finger and pinky once were. I've seen worse from Chaff's amputated right hand from his game. Nearly thirty years ago, Chaff learned to adapt with one hand, and Cinna will get the hang of it. So, lifting his hand up and kissing both knuckles, I let him know that it's okay and that I'll be there for him as he is there for me.

Nothing else was said. We went back to the bedroom. Cinna lent me one of his shirts as he put on some sweatpants. Under the covers, he held me in his arms. As much as Cinna was helping me over my fears. I could sense his fears as he held me close in his arms.

We were broken.

But we were mending together.

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