CHAPTER 8
- 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻
( 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗸𝘆𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 )

"Feathers...you're like a bird!" Caesar gasps, reaching out his hand to graze his fingers along Katniss's altered black veil that cascades down her back.

Katniss swings her arms lightly from side to side, ruffling the wings. "A mockingjay, I think. It's the bird on my pin I wear as a token."

Oh, how stupid they all are. Caesar recognizes immediately the true symbolism of her new costume, but it's obvious that the men and woman in the crowd do not. While citizens in the districts are viewing her feathers as rebellion, the Captiol people see it as innovative fashion, a lovely transformation that showcases her beauty, not as a threat towards all of Panem itself. When Cinna, her stylist, stands up to take a bow, I know nothing good will become of him. His design is too noticeable, and the President won't forget this after he shuts off his television tonight.

I can't help but look at Finnick, a look of alarm and support mixed together on his face. This is not good for Katniss. She has made herself stand out more, beyond compare, yet her dress has made an impact in the districts, giving the rebellion much more leverage than before. My shining butterflies are worthless now which saddens me, but it's for the best. The revolution is much more important than my physical appearance.

Katniss takes a seat, still letting off puffs of black smoke every few seconds, only to have Peeta replace her. He's always been charming in way that's a bit more subtle than Finnick. His words always have the power to move a crowd, especially last year when he admitted his secret love he'd been hiding for Katniss since they were just children in school. I wonder if he has anything as shocking to reveal this time.

The conversation starts out slow but picks up until they're on top of the renowned wedding. The audience begins to sniffle again as Caesar questions Peeta about his feelings, causing some men and women to blow their noses loudly into their handkerchiefs. Finnick catches my attention and acts out a perfect imitation of a young woman in the front row, wiping her eyes every so often and rubbing the excess makeup down her orange cheeks. I suppress a laugh by placing my head in my lap.

"Caesar, do you think our friends out here can keep a secret?" A wave of soft laughter and questions rush over the anxious audience. I can't help but watch him intently as well, anticipating the next words off his tongue, hoping that they too won't be some sort of deliberate defiance. Still, I don't know what occurred in either of their private sessions, but those couldn't have been as good as Katniss's Mockingjay costume.

"I feel quite certain of it."

"We're already married."

I sigh in relief, but on the other hand, Katniss conceals her face from the bewildered viewers. If I knew any better, I'd think that by her embarrassed reaction that the two weren't really married at all. Maybe, it was all an act. It was just another game, like everything else.

Caesar's mouth is open. "But...how can that be?"

Peeta explains a quick synopsis of what occurred. The two completed an unofficial marriage tradition that is done in District 12, alone without the knowledge of their families or their mentor. This was all before the Quell, and it had been done because of their unbreakable love for each other. But after seeing the look on Katniss's face, the unmasked humiliation and disbelief, this whole ordain was probably new information to her as well. Her small smile does nothing to hide her true emotion within. She's as easy to read as an open book.

"I'm not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

"Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" Caesar asks, doubt laced in his voice.

Peeta takes a deep breath, and I know straightaway that his next words will be something big. "Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, if it weren't for the baby."

Katniss Everdeen is pregnant, and the whole country erupts into a field of chaos. Capitol citizens, once avid Games supporters, shout insults and accusations against the Games, against President Snow. Whether there is truly a baby or not, the effects are surely rifting. Peeta waves the crowd goodbye, and Katniss's bright red face is aired live on every television screen. The roars and stomps of the audience drown out Caesar's voice so much that my straining ears cannot comprehend the sentences anymore.

The anthem of Panem is blasted over the speakers in an attempt to overpower the riots happening below. It is quite a show to witness, finally seeing Capitol-loving citizens scream out brutality every direction. Their beloved Mockingjay was going to have a child and evil President Snow was going to force her into a ruthless competition? I chuckle along with a few other tributes.

Suddenly, as every tribute stands for the anthem, Finnick reaches out for my hand. His palm is soft yet calloused from where his trident and swords have rubbed for all these years. Down the entire row, every one of the tributes are locking hands, so I extend my own to Beetee, who takes it instantly. For once, all of the districts are unified. We may be going to our deaths, but still, we are all one.

The tears streaming down Peeta's face resemble how I feel within. I don't want to go back to the games, and these tributes around me, they too are living the exact same lie. The room seems to escalate into more pandemonium, and the lights flicker out. But I know that the image of our connected chain reached every eye all around Panem, making the whole hectic situation worth it in the end.

Finnick and Johanna join me as we stumble through the darkness to find the Training Center. We attempt to join the lift with Katniss and Peeta, but we are stopped immediately and their elevator shoots up, leaving us behind. Finnick doesn't let go of my hand, neither does Johanna, giving me an odd reassurance all the way to my room.

We leave Johanna behind, not before I give her a bone-crushing hug since tomorrow in the arena, there's a possibility we won't survive past the gong, initiating the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Mags meets us in the hallway, rapidly telling us in muffled sentences that the Capitol is in a frenzy and the recaps of the interviews have been cancelled. Everything has collapsed all at once, just because of a few simple things that come out of District 12's mouths.

We give Mags a long goodbye, knowing the next time we'll interact will be when she sends us supplies from sponsors. Finnick gets teary-eyed, so I leave the two alone for a few minutes. She practically raised him after all.

I don't object when Finnick follows me into my chambers. His brow is slick with nervous sweat, and he finally lets go of my hand to flop down onto my mattress, letting out a long sigh. As I undo the tie at the back of my dress, letting myself breath, I observe his complexion. His lips are parted slightly, and I can tell he's trying to say something to rid the tension from the air. All I can think about is the moment from that miserable dinner, where my dreams were crushed and where all he did was run from my reaction.

"I'm sorry," he says, breaking the silence. I don't say anything, leading him into his next apology. "Sonnet, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you so suddenly last night."

A lump forms in my throat, and I will myself not to start crying. Twice, twice since the announcement of the Quarter Quell I've believed that he would kiss me, that he was actually in love with me. The way he treated me was unacceptable yet as I gaze at his scruffy blonde hair and face that is delicately applied with makeup, all I can think of is forgiveness. I can't be mad at him when in less than 24 hours, I will be trying to preserve his life for as long as I can.

"Why would you do that Finnick?" I pause, taking in a shaky breath. I have nothing to lose now. Nothing matters anymore. "You know I have feelings for you! Right? You know that I'm in love with you, but you're always break my heart!"

"Listen-"

"No, you listen! I'm tired of throwing myself at your feet and practically begging for your affection when all you do is blow me off!" I interrupt. My voice is wavering, and in the dim moonlight, the tears in my eyes must be shining noticeably.

He stares at me, first with no emotion and no words. And as I begin to cry, I see his body start to shake too, slightly at first until it builds up into something bigger. "Sonnet, I love you."

The words make time freeze. I'm stuck in a daydream; I'm lost in another romantic thought that I use to help lull myself to sleep. I want to pinch my arm, to feel the pain, to know that this is real. Finnick Odair, the Capitol sweetheart and my mentor from the beginning, is in love with me.

"It's always been you, Sonnet, and I'm sorry that I didn't kiss you. I was..." He stands up from the bed to move closer to me, his voice lowered and fiercer than before. "I was afraid that if I got to attached to you, and I lost you in the games, I would never recover. But now I realize that I was being foolish."

My feet gravitate towards him, my legs getting limp and my stomach getting weak at the sight of him. After all these years, I finally have him. His hair, his eyes, his lips... "Finnick, I don't believe you."

The movement is unexpected, and it takes me a moment to recognize that his lips really are pressed to mine. The games are forgotten and so is my name as he pushes into me, his fingers trailing to the base of my back where the thin strings of my dress hang undone. We back up until his legs hit the side of my bed. We pause as my hands go up into his hair, and he pulls me in closer.

I jerk back, taking in a sharp breath. Our bodies are tilted into each other, and he smirks at me, rubbing up and down my bare skin. "Do you believe me now?"

"Oh, shut up, and kiss me."

He obeys, and we are intertwined again, our lips moving as one. I feel his hair and the nape of his neck. I've wanted him for so long but now that I have him, my mind has gone blank. But Finnick's hasn't, and he spins me around so now my back faces the mattress. I grab onto his shirt, feeling him against me, wanting this to never end.

Finnick pushes me to the bed, breaking the contact for a brief moment, and I giggle. He grins, maneuvering so he can get on top of me. Then, as if it never ended, he's there again. I kiss him as hard as I can, knowing that this is the only taste of him I'll have for a long time. Even his actions are a bit harsh, which is unlike him, but he probably has the same ideas. Savor the time we have while we still have our lives.

"God," he mutters, his lips trailing down to my neck. "You...are...so...beautiful." I shudder in pleasure as he says each word between every peck against my skin.

We stay like that for what feels like an hour, locked in each other's arms and kissing until our lips feel numb. When we decide to go to sleep because of the exhausting day, I change quickly out of my bronze dress into my skimpy pajamas, not caring to wash away the glitter than still remains on my body.

I crawl into his warm arms. This night could have been like any of those other nights where we are comforting each other from our trauma and nightmares. But for once in my life, I'm free from the horror. I've escaped the dreadful scenarios that replay in my dreams. Finnick Odair holds me to his chest, not because of the games and not because of the government.

Just because Finnick Odair loves me.

—

Phaedra comes in, and Finnick is ushered out. It all happens at once. One second I'm still wrapped in his arms, and the next he's being yanked away from me, out the door and into his own room. The sight is too much for Phaedra to bear, and she turns to wipe her eyes on her sleeves. In only hours, I'll see him standing on his pedestal, facing the weapons and opponents. Both of us decided that we would be going to the center, which is unlike my first year where I grabbed one large backpack and ran off into the snowy woods. Thankfully, there were knives within, but this year, I'm going to need much more than that to stay alive.

The morning light is too bright for my hazy eyes when Phaedra yanks open the curtains. It's unlike her to be so quiet, but I know that she is internally upset over everything. Her golden girl is going to her death, well, so she thinks. She escorts me in silence from my rooms and up to the roof. A hovercraft waits for me and as I board, a woman injects a tracker into my arm. I wince away when the needle enters my skin. I'm not a squeamish person but when it comes to needles, I'll be trembling in a heartbeat.

During the ride, I nibble at a biscuit, which churns my nervous stomach, and drink down a bottle of water. Dehydration was never an issue in the arena my first time, considering that there seemed to be endless snow every direction, but I've seen plenty of other games to know that tributes die from it often. Phaedra sits next to me the entire time, urging me to eat more and to drink another cup, however, I can't force anything else down. I'll surely vomit if I try.

I arrive at my Launch Room. Phaedra begins her work at once, tugging my hair back into a bun and pulling on the tight blue jumpsuit. I know that she's trying to cast the thought out of her mind that in a few minutes, I'll be up there and possibly dead. She zips it up the front and attaches a shiny purple belt around my waist. Now, instead of giving me high heels, she passes me a pair of nylon shoes.

The outfit doesn't look like it serves much protection. If the arena is cold, this thin material will serve no security. The belt also must serve some sort of purpose, but no particular idea comes to mind.

"Phaedra, thank-"

Her arms are thrown around me, and she sobs like a child. It's ironic that it should probably be the other way around, me weeping on her shoulder while she whispers me words of comfort. But I don't mind. It puts me at ease to know that she really does care about me. I don't even think my father would react in such a way.

"You have to win, my golden girl."

"I'll try," I say. They're just empty words, but they mean everything to her.

She pulls back and straightens her blue afro. I try not to notice the ruined makeup running down her face. It's quiet when I step onto my metal plate, the seconds counting down until I'll be sent up into the arena. This has been my worst nightmare for years, but in the moment, I feel no fear. I'm determined to keep both Finnick and Katniss safe.

The glass door shuts up. I place my hand against the cold boundaries that encircle me. Her fingers are right over mine, only the glass serving as an unbreakable barrier between us. As the plate begins to rise, I tilt my head upwards, already seeing the blazing sun.

This is it. The moment has come. All around me is lapping water, and the wind rips relentlessly at my styled hair. I try to find Finnick, but everyone looks the same, the sun is too bright.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

word count: 2809 words
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