𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙏𝙒𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙔 𝙊𝙉𝙀

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
Forever in my favour.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

I don't think I'd ever been this petrified of a door.

Although I'd had barely been introduced to the emotion of anger, by now, I'd been well aquatinted with angst: the overbearing parent, leaning over me, breathing down my ear, whispering doubts and fears into my impressionable mind that didn't stop to see reason. But I kept telling myself the facts. The facts that broke the cycle of nerves.

I was in District Five. Dad and Elio were on the other side of this door. Finnick was here. Jameson was here. Yvette was here. Dawn was here.

"How do you feel?"

Finnick entwined our hands together as I stared at the brass door knob.

"I don't know, Finn."

"Your family are right behind here, Sparky."

I frowned. "I know that."

"So why haven't you opened it?"

A pause.

"Lynx?"

There are some points of life that seem like the unknown is your enemy. The moments when you wish the world would stop spinning so vigorously, when your mind stop racing and your heartbeat simmers... But they don't. Your mind is invaded by an unwelcome external thought, be it anger, sadness, longing, or in my case, fear. These emotions try to overwhelm you, they try their best to live permanently in the space where happiness and love were supposed to sit. And they do, for a time.

The temptation to succumb to them was always far too overwhelming. So you wallow in them for as long as it takes for the intruders to ebb away. You let them overthrow your thoughts. It can be paralysing, fixating on the one thing that troubles you with a helpless disregard for anything else, and the only thing you have to cling onto is the hope at one day, these feelings would flee. And it would be soon, you always knew it. The problem was how soon?

I was sure the door handle was mocking me, grinning up at me as though he knew I could never bring myself to open the door. "I don't want them to think I'm any different."

Finnick tilted his head. "Are you?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "For better or for worse?"

Worse. The answer was worse, surely. I couldn't possibly be better than I was originally, when I was innocent of murder and of lying to an entire country. But one look at Finnick's expression, a knowing smile shining below those caring eyes and I knew immediately that that was the wrong answer. But I'd changed so much since the last time I'd seen my family.

I used to think I was a monster, that I was the most despicable human in Panem because I'd been forced to kill people. The thought would drag me down and haunt each torturing moment I was conscious, and attack the blissful moments of unconsciousness that became a rarity after the Games.

And so, to stop the cycle of self hatred that had been consuming me for the past three months, I told myself the same thing I told Finnick.

There is the monster, and then those under its control.

I wasn't the monster. I don't think I ever had been, either.

"Better," I decided.

"Exactly."

Despite the pride glowing in Finnick's eyes, a slither of fear was still there.

"I'm scared."

"You can turn around," he replied softly.