Chapter Text
As I see her rush forward, my heartbeat stutters. Her eyes are open wide as she charges the stage. Her voice is loud and clear, but I am able to see the tears that threaten to fall. She shoves the girl, Prim, behind her. There is some confusion as to what to do with a volunteer, but they let her on stage after a moment. Prim screams and grasps the back of her dress. My hands clench at my side.
“Why did you have to volunteer?” I whisper softly, though I already know the answer.
Mags gives me a quick glance, but I don’t acknowledge it, instead I stand up and head for my room. My tributes will be fine without me, and at the moment I don’t care enough about them to stay even if they did need my help.
I want to slam the door to my room, but I just gently close it before allowing myself to collapse on my bed. I switch the scene on the wall to the forest that reminds me of the only good part of District 12, even if I was unable to venture in it. The rope I left on my nightstand finds its way into my hands before I realize that I am reaching for it, and I just lay there quickly tying and then unravelling every knot I can think of. My fingers soon grow raw, but I don’t stop.
What am I going to do now that she’s been reaped? Snow probably already knows about us, but if anyone else notices then our families could be in serious trouble. I need to get her out of the arena; however, getting her out of the arena means letting my own District 4 tributes die. They don’t look to be much this year. Hopefully they will get themselves killed in the bloodbath and I won’t have to worry about trying to keep both them and Katniss safe.
I drop the rope for a moment and let my fingers brush under the bracelet covering my left wrist. A soft sigh escapes my lips.
Katniss will come out of the arena alive even though it means both of my tributes will die. She will come home to her family and me.
I will deal with everything else after I make sure she is safe.
…
“Strip,” is the first word I hear when I enter the remake center. Three people, though calling them people is a stretch, stand there inspecting me. The three of them look like they came from another world with their dyed skin, exaggerated make up, and larger than life hairstyles. I do not want them anywhere near me. One, who I learn later is named Octavia, repeats the word and I grudgingly comply; I remove everything except for the two-inch-wide piece of fabric rapped around my wrist. It’s impossible to take off without cutting it off my skin as it is sown in place and skin tight: there is no room to pull is over my hand.
The only man, Flavius, states, “that also has to be removed.”
“I’m not taking it off. You can work around it,” I say before sitting on a stool in the center of the room.
They give me a long look before instructing me to get in the bath that was prepared before I entered. As I slide in, I hear one of them mumble to the other two, “we’ll let Cinna deal with this.”
I need to know what battles are worth picking. I know they are going to force me into whatever outfit they want me to wear, but hopefully I can keep this small piece of fabric intact on my wrist until I win these games.
Eventually they finish and my stylist, Cinna, enters the room.
“Your prep team told me that you wouldn’t take off the fabric covering your mark. You won’t be able to wear it into the arena unless it is your token. Whatever secret you are hiding under it will be discovered,” is the first thing Cinna, my designer, says to me after telling me I could put back on the thin robe.
“I have a token a friend game me to wear, but this is more important,” I respond while trying not to glare at him. He may not look capital, but they are all the same.
“Okay then. Let’s get you ready. The band won’t interfere with any of my designs.”
…
My eyes were glued to her last night as the District 12 chariot was pulled through the Capitol streets. She was beautiful, so much more than she was the first time I ever saw her. The flames illuminated her face and even though I knew her smile was fake it still took my breath away. I can only imagine what it will look like when she smiles for real; however, that will have to wait until after the games.
Today is the first day of training and one of the few chances I’ll have to speak with Haymitch alone. Effie will be taking Katniss and the male tribute to training and thus won’t be on their floor. When the District 4 escort leaves with my own tributes I get on the elevator.
As elevator door opens, I see Haymitch at the table drinking straight from a bottle of alcohol. I walk right up, pull it from his hand, and dump it down the drain before he has a chance to open his mouth.
“Hey what did you do that for? What’s with people taking my liquor these days? Thought you’d want me to be drunk so your kids stand a better chance anyway?” he grumbles as he stands up to get another bottle.
I block his path. “You can have some after the two of us have a little chat.”
Haymitch stares for a moment before he plops back down in his chair. “What do you want?”
“I’ve heard the view from the roof is gorgeous.”
Haymitch appears to sober up at that. “Of course, you would come and bother me for that. Let me show you the way.”
When they are on the roof, I tell Haymitch. I don’t show him the mark because there are definitely cameras, but the wind will hide our voices.
“Katniss is my soulmate. I need you to make sure she survives.”
…
Training starts and I’m the only person covering my wrist. The other tributes all bare their wrists to the world: not because they don’t care that others know, but because there is nothing to know. I keep the green piece of cotton wrapped around me like a life line. I rub the thumb of my left hand against it while answering the questions at the plant station and make sure too keep it from being set on fire at the fire making station.
The other tributes are fixated on it. I know they are all wondering the same thing: have I met them yet? If I was in their position I wouldn’t be able to take my mind off it either. I avoid everyone else and go to empty stations so I don’t have to deflect their questions. This thing is going to make me a target.
Peeta joins me when I go the spear throwing stations. I start throwing the spears at the target. My aim is decent, and I have the upper body strength to throw it, but the spear feels foreign in my hand. I don’t have the technique to make the spear stick in the target. It instead bounces off after hitting crookedly near the center. After a dozen throws, I start getting the hang of it and I begin purposely missing the center of the target.
“You know the band is attracting a lot of attention?”
“People just need to mind their own business.”
“It’s going to make you a target,” Peeta says with a sigh. I throw my next spear and even though it misses the bullseye it sticks firmly into the wood.
“I’ll make it clear in my interview that I’ve met him, which is true, so it won’t make too much of a difference on the game except that I have someone to fight for,” I snap at Peeta as I release another spear. This one goes even farther into the wood. “Is that what you wanted to know? You can stop pretending to be concerned and leave now.”
“Katniss,” Peeta says, but I ignore him. “Katniss!” He grabs my arm and I quickly yank it out of his grasp.
“What?” I growl at him.
“I actually am concerned about you.”
“Go away Peeta.”
Wearing the band will make me a target, but letting the world see Finnick Odair is my soulmate will make me more of one.