Finnick Odair's Story: Dark Secrets (The Hunger Games Fanfiction)

Meeting Johanna

As soon as I saw that Zac was dead, I abandoned Grace and immediately called a taxi back to the mansion, where I found Tricia in a melancholy trance, tears flowing from her eyes. Eli was comforting her, shaking his head and rubbing her shoulders. I'd never seen anyone so distraught.

Back in my bedroom, I quickly switch on the television to see that there has been protests and complaints to the Capitol for Mona's brutality in murdering Zac. The newsreader looks bored and unconcerned as they report protests in District 4 that broke out when he died. Candlelight vigils were held, and people petitioned the mayor to request some form of punishment for Mona. However much we disliked each other, I can't deny that the image of Zac's corpse haunts me as I pace my bedroom. Thankfully, I sent Annie a parachute containing all she needs to get her revenge on Mona.

Earlier on, Snow sent me a message this morning saying that the next 'client' would come and collect me tonight. Dread immediately filled me when he uttered those words, but I knew the one way I could get through this. Without hesitating to think about what I'm doing, I run to the kitchen. Eli and Tricia have been glued to the television screen ever since the Games began, so I doubt they'll catch me.

I find what I'm looking for almost straightaway. A large, ornate bottle filled with transparent liquid sits on the bottom shelf of a cupboard. I don't even care about the taste anymore, I swig it back as if it is water, and feel more alive as the vodka burns my throat. Dizziness hits me when I stand up too quickly, but I brush off the feeling and have another drink. Damn, I've missed this numb feeling - the way that everything seems so much bigger and brighter and better under the influence of alcohol. Perhaps I won't be so sad tonight, perhaps selling my body won't feel like torture.

At seven o'clock, just as the moon is becoming brighter and clearer, there is a knock at the door. I can only pray that this person isn't as dreadful as Veronica. To my surprise, it is not a withered old woman at the door, but a young, pink-haired girl of about eighteen. Dressed head to toe in candyfloss-coloured sequins that flash and blur before my eyes, she takes my open hand and introduces herself as Lucie. She is wearing six-inch pink stilettos, but walking with complete ease, and jewellery drips from her slender arms.

"Come on, Finnick," she says, pulling me out into the cool summer air with a laugh of glee. I follow her round the corner, stumbling slightly, to where a large, black car is waiting to take us somewhere.

"Let's just go back to my house," she suggests, and the driver follows instructions with a simple, obedient nod. As we ride in complete silence, I wonder how I got myself into this mess. Being handsome, famous and rich has only brought me loneliness and misery, haunted by nightmares and tortured with this slavery.

Being drunk is the only thing that gets me through the day. I guess I deserve it; there's not much difference in this to what I was doing before I became a mentor - seeing a different girl almost every night. Except then, I didn't have someone to be in love with; I didn't have Annie, so I didn't care.

The car journey only lasts for a few minutes, and then we arrive at Lucie's house. It's more like a castle than a house, with turrets and spiralling staircases around every corner. Each window is oddly patterned with coloured glass, like a medieval palace.

Lucie's bedroom is typically girly and princess-like, covered in fluffy animals and fuchsia accessories. I sit on a grand chair whilst she goes to the bathroom, telling me to wait. Candles illuminate the room, providing the only light and creating an eerily romantic setting.

Eventually, Lucie emerges from the bathroom in a silky white nightgown, not dissimilar to Annie's. I accidentally grin as I remember catching Annie wearing the revealing pyjamas, to her horror and my great amusement. Why is everything so much funnier when you're drunk? Unfortunately, Lucie misinterprets my smile to mean something entirely different.