CHAPTER THIRTEEN
there's no helping

current day

Arella Sinclair had always grasped onto the fact that she's good at hiding her fears. Perhaps it was a little different before her Games and even for a fair bit of the start, but afterwards she adopted an attitude that was so unlike the girl other's had known. A beautiful flower shriveled up into nothing, a girl who couldn't allow others in because she knew they'd exploit her for it. Nobody had known about the boy who haunts her because none of them can see him — Arella is the only one he lingers around and torments.

"Did you want something to drink?"

Arella slowly moves her gaze to Henry who is awkwardly standing in the corner. She doesn't even remember how they got here, the two of them in the room she'd been provided by the Capitol, but she does know that he'd brought her.

"I'm okay," Arella responds quietly, playing with the edge of the blanket. Malcolm's taunting words still echo in her mind, plague her thoughts and corrupt any sort of peace she tries to embrace. Henry couldn't possibly understand that, so she simply won't share it with him.

"I believe that to be a lie," Henry comments softly, moving to sit down on the end of the bed. The boy can still see the aftermath of her tears on her pale cheeks, all colour having drained from her face. "I know that you're not overly fond of me at the moment, Ella, but I cannot help you if you don't speak to me,"

"You wouldn't understand,"

"Then make me,"

Arella watches as he hesitantly reaches over to take her hand in his, the softness of his skin brushing against her own in a way that is almost cruel — the way it makes her heart flutter. He's always been so gentle, even when she was harsh and unforgiving.

"I see him sometimes," Arella breathes, not finding the courage to look into his eyes but rather keeping her gaze on their intertwined hands instead. "I-it's like he's still here, mocking me for what happened in that Arena,"

Henry supposes he understands why she'd been so hesitant to share, most people who live in the Capitol wouldn't even think of such a haunting after effect. They believe winning the Hunger Games to be all glory and money, none of them even think about how traumatizing it is to have to kill another human being.

"I thought he'd go away, that I could make peace with what had happened, but he haunts me every step of the way," Arella adds, her voice a mere whisper.

"And what does he say to you?" Henry asks her, trying to goad her into talking about what bothers her.

"That his death is my fault, that all those tributes—"

Henry watches as her gaze becomes frantic, the brunette now fighting against his grip on her hand. "Finch! I left her,"

Henry shushes her, now moving to crouch in front of where she sits and lifting her chin with his free hand so that they're now looking at one another entirely. "Finnick is looking out for her, okay? I spoke with him before bringing you up here,"

"B-but he has his own—"

"They're already gone, Arella, you know as much. He cares about you, yes? Let him help you,"

After a few moments, the girl nods her head slowly. Of course she remembers, it's every mentor's worst nightmare. She'll be forever thankful for the District Four mentor and his ability to somehow know when she needs some sort of help and/or assurance. Not even her own mentor had granted her such kindness, to this day she only sees him fleetingly — the man much too preoccupied with his liquor to care about her.

"Do you think he'll ever go away?" Arella's tone screams vulnerability, the slight crack in her voice after the final word. "I don't know how to make him go away,"

Henry sits back on the bed, closer to the girl than he had been previously. "It seems to me, that maybe, you're the one who isn't willing to let him go,"

"You're the one who won't let me leave,"

Malcolm had said those words to her only days ago as he followed her through the halls of the training centre, his gaze harsh yet his tone even more so.

"I watched your games, Arella. You had more care with his life than with your own. You likely did things you aren't proud of just to keep him alive, to make sure he was safe. Ella, that boy only lasted as long as he did because you shielded him like you did," Henry's hand squeezes her's gently.

"And yet he died anyway,"

"Yes, he did. That was at no fault of your own, that is on the person who killed him. Tell me, did you ever meet his parents back home?"

Arella squeezes her eyes shut at the mere thought of them, the young couple standing near the front of the crowd and holding each other so tightly. Malcolm looked so much like his father that Arella had believed it to be him at a quick glance, her entire being faltering at the mere sight of him.

They were the ones who had sought her out, knocking on the front door of her newly acquired home. The brunette hadn't been sure of what to do, inviting them in for tea. The boy's mother had hugged her, latched on so tightly that Arella feared she would lose all breath. After all that had happened, they had thanked her — thanked her for trying her hardest to protect him, for being there by his side whilst he passed away.

Then she had left the room, grabbing the stuffed bear that the boy had taken in with him and handing it over. The looks on their faces were so incredibly upsetting that she had broke down in tears, collapsed forward in the woman's arms and cried.

"Yes," Arella replies.

"And what did they say?" Henry quizzes, the look in his eyes portraying that he likely already knows the answer.

"They thanked me for trying to save him, f-for being somebody who he could count on,"

"If you will not believe me, then believe them,"

Arella had returned to the viewing room not too long after to see Finnick still sitting by her monitor, sipping on some caffeinated drink to try and keep himself awake most likely. She approaches and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, the man jumping slightly as he turns to look at her.

She notices the way his gaze seems to soften, as if he may have to approach the situation with caution — to protect the little sanity she's still clinging onto perhaps. "Thank you for watching her,"

"No problem, kid. You uh- are you feeling up for this?" Finnick questions in response. "I can watch her for a little longer,"

"I'm okay, I've promised Henry that I won't stay too long," Arella's voice is croaky, filled to the brim with emotion that she still can't seem to shake.

"Henry, hey?"

Arella rolls her eyes somewhat fondly, and shoves his shoulder, the man chuckling as he gets out of her seat. She settles back into the place she'd spent so much time over the last few days and breathes a sigh of relief as she sees Finch is okay.

"I'll leave you to it," Finnick speaks, ruffling her hair lightly before leaving her on her lonesome.

She can do this, she can.

Arella simply sits and watches, managing to ignore the prying eyes around her. The brunette isn't stupid, she knows what they think of her, but in this moment she chooses to ignore it.

Arella is going to save this girl, even if it takes every ounce of will within. Finch will be going home.

She just has to.

(sign off by fireandbloods)