BLOOD ON MY HANDS || Finnick Odair

twenty-one; a forced conversation.

His hands.

For days now, whenever he left his home Eden had wound up shaking hands with nearly everyone he crossed paths with. Some looked at him with respect while he knew others disapproved of what he did to Darius — there were moments where he felt the same way about it — but regardless, he just shook their hands. It was the easiest way to be left alone. Once they had their moment of acknowledgment people usually wandered off.

He only ever refused to speak to people when he was alone with Narcissa. If Eve or Gramps was there to hold her then fine, he would be polite, but never on his own. He didn't want someone congratulating him for being a murderer whilst he held his baby girl in his arms.

Flora's parents were surprisingly helpful, though Eden knew it was solely for Cissy's benefit. If she wasn't part of the story he lived now, they wouldn't be either. But they were a piece of her, Flora's parents, and he would keep them in his life no matter what it cost him.

It did cost him a lot, because it was quite obvious to see that Arlow Flint blamed Eden for his daughters death. For not protecting her well enough. Violet, on the other hand, was grateful her grand daughter had made it through the horrors of the arena.

As the days went by he spent one week out of each month in the Capitol, watching doctors look over his baby to ensure she was perfectly okay. Everyone adores her, Valynn explained the first time, we can't allow anything to happen to her.

Eden wanted to tell her he wouldn't be letting anything happen to Cissy regardless of what the Capitol thought, but he didn't have enough force to put behind the words. He was too tired.

For the entirety of that week, Eden spent the days under intense supervision by Peacekeepers, and the nights dressed up fully for dinner parties held by the richer families in the Capitol. He ate ridiculously large meals and drank copious amounts of a fruity wine that he avoided enjoying.

Every night of that week, Fawke dressed him in a different colour theme that ended up matching perfectly to the decor of the evening; first red, then blue, green, orange, purple, white, and finally gold. He had all the same shining powders meant to accentuate his features.

Realistically, they wanted him to look pretty in the eyes of their guests. Eden Koyle, the latest Victor of the Hunger Games attending their dinner parties, dressed up just for them. The perfect accessory.

Narcissa was five months old now, and spent much of her time reaching for things like buttons or necklaces, moving her head and wriggling in the travel carrier the Capitol doctors provided. She could hold onto his fingers quite tightly when she wanted to, and just days ago had rolled from her back to her belly for the first time.

He had cried in that moment, naturally.

But now here he sat in the living room of his apartment, a pad of paper sat on his lap and a cup filled with different coloured pencils on the side table to his right.

Two peacekeepers were stationed at the front door while another two were positioned out in the hallway, and a fifth one in the kitchen in case he decided to make food. They didn't want him unsupervised in a room full of blades.

Eden had become quite comfortable with drawing in these last weeks spent in the Capitol. He wasn't overly good at it, but he couldn't care less.

The first picture he ever scribbled out on the pad in front of him had been done in the midst of an episode, Valynn called them. It was dark outside still, somewhere between late night and early morning, and Eden had been dragged from sleep by a nightmare.

They were sitting pressed against that massive rock again, Lara groaning and crying out beside him while Cissy laid silent in the grass.

In less than a blink he was back on top of her with that jacket held over her face. Her hands clawed at his arms and chest, and a split second later the jacket was gone and those empty eyes were staring up at him. You did this to me, she hissed at him. My blood is all over you, all over the hands you hold your daughter with. You killed me. Murderer.