Aria Mitchell, victor of Panem's 70th Hunger Games, wanted it all to end; the pain, the nightmares, the exhaustion of living in hell under the devil- President Snow himself.
Capitol darling Finnick Odair comes stumbling into her life, allowing Aria...
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___________________ ARIA'S POV - Present Day -
I wake up with a start, an animalistic sound leaving my lips.
My body is aching with soreness; whether it be from the disgusting white growths that make me want to throw up, or the amount of times my body collided with the earth. I must've passed out whilst rolling down the hill.
I groan when I try to move my body from laying on my back. It's like a searing pain has been ignited within me from these stupid blisters.
I hear the sound of moving water, rather close by too, but something I don't hear is the voices or grunts of my allies. It's quiet— too quiet. I don't hear anyone, and that scares me incredibly.
Finnick, please be safe. I need to protect you.
I'm here alone, barely able to move and I have no weapon. I didn't have enough time to grab it when the fog struck our little camp. I'm utterly defenceless and vulnerable in the spot I lay.
I refuse to die right here, knowing that I have to keep Finnick alive. So with that as motivation I flip myself onto my stomach, hissing in pain of course.
I'm in an area where the canopy is blocking the moonlight from shining through, so it's relatively dark. A few metres away I see slight glimmers from a small stream.
I need to get to that water.
I think that it might help with the blisters, but there's only one way to find out.
Using my arms to drag myself forward I begin to crawl towards the stream, my mind not leaving Finnick as I do so.
Dirt, rocks and sticks dig into my skin and scrape against the cyst-like lumps. It's torture, but I have no thoughts on stopping for the pain. I need to find Katniss, Peeta and Finnick— mainly Finnick —and to do that I need to endure the pain.
After what feels like an eternity do I find myself alongside the flowing liquid. I smile to myself in achievement, but it soon drops realising that I'm helpless in this arena now. I need to get myself up. I just hope the water will help me.
I slowly edge my puffy hand towards the water in caution, unsure of what'll happen when skin and stream make contact.
I cry out lowly, biting my other thumb as soon as the liquid soaks the blisters. My instinct to be quiet is a lot stronger than the screams that want to escape from the burning agony inflicted by the water.
Once I've slightly adjusted to the pain do I remove my thumb from in between my teeth. I lightly rub the back of my hand and slowly does the fog revert into the deadly white cloud it went into my body as. My pores are on fire, secreting the mist which disappears within the stream. When it's all gone my hand looks brand new; clean and no sign of the blisters.
