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

Causing Suspicion

I grab the half empty packet of pasta and hold it up to the sky like it's made of pure gold. "Only the best for Annie Cresta," I say.

She smiles and her entire face lights up. You would never guess that just a few minutes ago, she was sobbing in my arms. Impishly, she turns round so that her back is turned and I see her spine snaking through her shirt.

"Think fast," she says, and suddenly something is flying through the air towards me. Alert and speedy, my hands clutch something cold and heavy. Turning it over in my hands, it appears to be a jar of pasta sauce.

"Beautiful," I say, reading the list of ingredients.

"Is this alright?" she asks nervously.

"Of course it is," I say, shaking my head. "It's just food. No big deal."

Annie heats up water on the stove and adds the pasta, leaving it to boil. "It'll take about fifteen minutes," she says.

"That's cool," I say. Although we're laughing and joking around, I still feel stupidly pathetic at Annie's lack of openness when it comes to telling me why she was crying. I want her to be able to trust me enough to let me help her.

"Let's sit by the fire," Annie suggests. She walks calmly over to the woodpile and throws a few logs on to the dwindling flame. Within a few seconds, it has erupted in a fully-grown fire, consuming the pieces of wood in its deadly mouth.

Sleepily, she curls up on a sofa and I hesitate before sitting next to her, our bodies no more than thirty centimetres apart. I long to reach over and take her hand, or wrap my arm around her tiny waist, but I'm too afraid.

Soon, the pasta is cooked and we sit at the table to eat it. I season mine with far too much pepper, and end up sneezing loudly, much to Annie's amusement.

We just talk for ages, about meaningless things, our favourite books, films, foods, places. Time flies and I don't even realise the time until Annie gasps and points towards the clock behind me.

"It's nearly midnight," she says. "You're a bad influence, you know that? I'm usually asleep by half past ten."

Playfully, I punch her arm. "I'll let you go then," I tell her, smiling. "Goodnight, Annie."

I want her to kiss me goodnight, to wrap her arms around me and press her body against mine. Wishful thinking, I tell myself. But she did kiss me yesterday, unexpectedly but sweetly.

"Goodnight," she says, padding across the floor in little pink socks before disappearing through the door. I hear the soft creaking of the floor boards under her weight, and then make my way to my own bedroom.

I strip down to just my underwear, throw my tshirt and jeans onto the floor and lie down with a sigh. It's difficult to allow myself to go to sleep, for fear of having another horrific nightmare. Eventually, I drift off into a world of nightmares, and I let them attack me as usual.

"Finnick," Snow says in his deep, gruff voice. Underlying threats drip off his tongue as he enunciates every syllable, making each word feel like a stab to my chest.

I look down and realise that my wrists are clamped tightly to the arms of this huge chair, fixed in place so that I can't escape. For a few useless seconds, I struggle under the grip of the heavy metal clamps, feeling like an animal.

"Why have you called me here?" I ask, panicking and glancing around the office. Tall statues and pictures adorn the room, mixed with futuristic technology, giving it a surreal look.

"I want to talk to you," the President says, still not revealing anything. I want to scream and yell at him. Once again, I uselessly struggle in my chains and Snow smirks evilly.