ONLY OUTSIDE THE HEAVILY PERFUMED HOTEL ROOM COULD DREA FINALLY BREATHE. She always tried not to leave too quickly, afraid of what might be said if she showed her eagerness to get out of these visits to the Capitol— afraid of what Snow might say if one of his esteemed customers complained about Drea ruining the illusion.
That's all this was, wasn't it? An illusion?
To Drea, yes. She didn't love any of these people, she didn't even like them, though she had once believed experiences such as these would be reserved only for someone she liked. The sex was nothing more than an exchange to her— but to the Capitol officials who desired to lie with the beautiful, twenty-three year old victor it wasn't an illusion. They paid her in shiny gems, money, beautiful clothes, but to them it was some delusional version of real. To them, Drea enjoyed these visits, enjoyed their time together, and they didn't want to see Drea's discomfort. She could scour her body of their touch later; for now, she had to act the part.
I'm all right. That's good. Oh, no, I don't mind.
She was very good at acting, now— much better than she had been when she first began this victor's journey over five years ago, when she was crowned the winner of the 69th Hunger Games. Five years of limelight and four of unwilling prostitution. Thank you, Mr. President.
Swallowing with her mouth dry as bone, Drea fiddled with the halfway laced corset she wore around her waist. In her haste to leave, she'd forgotten she couldn't fasten the corset on her own, but there was no chance she'd return to her client's room and ask for help. No, no, they'd think she was back for more, which was the last thing Drea wanted.
Breathing was easier outside the hotel room though; yes, because the hallways were not near as perfumed as the rooms, but also because she was finished for the next few weeks. No more returning to the Capitol for anymore late night visits like these. No more awkward afters or uncomfortable durings. Just weeks of home in District Four, ocean air and seafood and Annie.
Drea breathed in the cool, crisp hallway air as she made her way to the elevators. If she hurried, she could catch the last train leaving the Capitol and make it back to District Four by dawn. Her tall, glimmery heels in hand, Drea hurried towards the silver doors, hoping her makeup hadn't gotten too messy but also only halfway caring. Her reasoning for visiting the Capitol every few weeks was no secret to most— especially not to the crew of Capitol officials that frequented this floor of the luxury complex.
Every step away from the room of her client was a step towards momentary freedom, and Drea's shoulders tensed in anticipation with each one. She slipped into the elevator, her long, twisted hair bouncing on her shoulders as she turned to face the doors again. Just as they were sliding closed—
"Hold, please!"
Out of instinct, Drea listened. She stretched and pressed the button to hold the doors open for whoever it was that requested she do so, and she prayed it was not her client, back to beg her to stay. This voice sounded much younger, deeper, and a hint familiar...
He slid around the corner of the hall and Drea's heart jolted in her chest. Panem help her, it was Finnick.
He was handsome as ever, even at this time of night. His skin glimmered slightly, that beautiful tan color he claimed was all natural— and mostly was— and his bronze hair a glorious mess, his green eyes glittering like the sea that bordered the beach behind Drea's house in Victors Village.
"Drea," he said, slipping into the elevator next to her. He smiled.
She nodded. "Finnick." Drea released the hold button and the doors clasped shut before them. The elevator began to move. "Any new secrets tonight?"
Finnick chuckled and gave a glimmery-eyed grin to her. "You know I don't kiss and tell."
Drea smiled, tight-lipped, and stared straight ahead, knowing looking him directly in those sea-green eyes would bring back unwanted memories for them both.
Finnick was one of Drea's mentors during the games, despite the fact that they were the same age. He'd won four years prior her games and was the youngest to ever do so at fourteen years old. He and Mags Flanagan, a sweet yet smart old victor, helped train Drea and her district partner in all things Hunger Games, though it had been Finnick's persuasive charm that ultimately saved Drea's life.
The 69th Hunger Games took place in an arid, dry, desert arena, and Drea had simply managed to outlive most of her competitors. Most died in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, some others from dehydration, but Drea and her district partner were lucky enough to have Finnick, who got them innumberable sponsors and consequently a lot of help in the arena.
She hadn't had to kill many of the other tributes in the arena, but those that she did still appeared in her nightmares. Even worse were the ones she had to watch die...
"Would you like some help with that?" Finnick asked, knocking Drea from her memories. She followed his gaze to the half-tied corset around her waist, and on autopilot still, she nodded.
Finnick moved in close behind her, deft fingers setting to work lightly tightening the strings of her purple corset, the one that matched the dress she wore under it. Drea tensed when his breath fanned the back of her neck, and she hated how she missed him.
She and Finnick were close— or rather, they had been. When Drea made it out of the arena, Finnick did all he could to help her, to hold her firm to reality, to keep her sane. He'd been through it, he knew how it felt, and he knew what helped (not much) and what didn't (a whole damn lot).
For a while, things seemed to get better. Drea won her games, completed her Victory Tour, and returned to Victors Village to live alone in a large, empty house. But she always had Finnick, and she had Annie and Mags and other victors she met in the Capitol from time to time, like Johanna, Blight, a few others.
But when Annie was reaped for the 70th Hunger Games, it all fell apart.
Drea and Finnick so desperately poured themselves into making sure their best friend would survive that they never even considered the consequences of survival. Annie returned from her games traumatized, more so than anyone Drea had ever seen. She'd witnessed her district partner get beheaded right in front of her, and it wrecked her.
Seeing Annie hurt how she did destroyed Drea and brought back unwanted memories for them all. Drea neglected the rest of her life and focused on caring for Annie, and she was done lying down and taking it.
Her first mistake— whenvever she had the chance, she protested the games, refused to attend Capitol events, giving off-handed comments on live television whenever she could.
It was that speaking out that got her where she was now— alone, a Capitol pawn, a toy for them to play with.
President Snow ordered that she turn herself over to the control of the Capitol, that she give them her body, that she prostitute herself for the Capitol's pleasure. Drea resisted, she fought back as hard as she could, but when he threatened Annie, her best friend, her family... She had no choice.
After being forced into being the Capitol's toy, Drea and Finnick floated apart. He stopped seeking her out, stopped talking to her, and Drea always believed that her new status was the reason. She was ruined, filthy, broken, and of course, perfect, beautiful, ethereal Finnick would have nothing to do with that.
She was bitter with him at first, his name leaving a sour taste in her mouth for the longest time, but she eventually moved on. Her broken heart mended but her soul remained shattered, the bandages holding it together ripped apart and shredded on each night like this one.
But she was going home now, to District Four, to solace and waves and Annie. She had a few weeks to rest her mind before she would take on a new "suitor," and it would start all over again.
Finnick grunts a bit when he finishes off the tie of her corset, leaning to brush her twists down her back once more. "There," he said softly, smiling at the back of her head. "Beautiful as ever."
Unintentionally, his fingers caressed her bare shoulder as he brushed her hair into place.
Drea stiffened instantly.
Finnick cleared his throat and moved away, eyes cast to the floor. Finnick knew that was a sign of a rough night; he also got very tense and sensitive when he had bad nights at the Capitol. "Who was it this night?" he asked, staring ahead of him as the elevator doors finally opened.
Drea pulled on her fur coat and they walked alongside each other through the lobby of the grand Capitol building. She sighed slightly but felt better wrapped in her soft coat. It hugged her like Annie would. "Antoni Marina," she told him softly, the name sticking to the roof of her mouth. "He... gets ahead of himself sometimes. Things tend to be... Less than classy, we'll say."
"Less than classy," Finnick repeated, his lips curled into a sarcastic sort of smile. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as they walked. "I think I heard his howling three doors down."
Shooting him a half-hearted glare, Drea shook her head. "Charming as ever, Finnick... And you?"
"Alen Warwick," he answered. He gestured to his head and his mess of bronze curls. "Too rough with the hair." Drea's heels clicked on the stone floor as they turned the corner. "Are you headed home?"
She nodded. "I was hoping to make the last train..." She glanced at her watch, tutting. "I don't think I can stand one more minute in this building..."
"We'll make it," Finnick assured her with a nod of his head.
He was right. They made it to the train headed to District Four with plenty of time to spare. They parted ways at the door. Drea made her way to the showers first, eager to wash off the pungent cologne of Antoni Marina before it permanently stained her skin. The water was cathartic, and warmed her to the core.
After the shower, she pulled on a purple sweater, loose, flowing pants, and her favorite pair of boots. Immediately, she felt better, having ridded herself of the Capitol's influence, if not for just a moment.
Drea took up a seat by the back windows, staring so intently out at the dark world passing around her that she almost didn't notice when Finnick entered the car.
It seemed he, too, had liked the idea of a shower, because his hair was damp and a darker bronze than usual. He poured himself a drink— some scotch or brandy, she wasn't sure— and settled onto the plush seat next to her.
"Did you want one?" he asked when he caught her gaze lingering on his condensated glass.
Drea stared for another moment at the shimmery glass of brown liquor, his neatly trimmed fingernails, and she shook her head, folding in on herself. Knees tucked close to her chest, she directed her attention to the televison playing softly in the background— one of the many late night Panem news recaps Caesar Flickerman enjoyed clipping together.
Drea and Finnick watched in silence for a long time, the volume of the television soft, the clink of the ice in his glass a quiet interlude, the rush of the train traveling through the snowy districts the only other sound surrounding them.
"And what a sight it was!" Flickerman commented wildly, as a short video clip of Peeta Mellark on one knee, proposing to Katniss Everdeen was shown. "The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve, ladies and gentlemen!"
Drea's eyebrows gave an involuntary raise when the program ended. Peeta and Katniss were the victors from last year's Hunger Games— the first time two victors emerged from the games, soley because it seemed the Capitol couldn't bear to part with their gloriously tragic love story. She hadn't known they were getting married already; Drea tried not to pay attention to Capitol dramas like that. It must have happened earlier that day. It was odd they were marrying so young... Katniss and Peeta were only seventeen.
Still, she smiled fondly, thinking about how Annie must have reacted. Her best friend was always a hopeless romantic and rooted for Katniss and Peeta from the start. She was probably delighted to hear about the wedding.
Finnick, however, gave a hum of disapproval. "Poor things," he groaned, rolling his neck. "Have no clue what they're getting into..."
"They'll have it easier than most, though," Drea replied, returning her dark gaze out the windows again. The snow was starting to disappear, the tips of trees and patches of grass starting to peak through. They were getting further west, towards the sun and the ocean. "They'll at least get to have a family. They won't have to do what we do."
"But they'll never be happy just the same," Finnick answered between sips of his glass. "She doesn't love him."
Drea's head popped up, her eyes lifting to his in surprise. "What? How can you tell?" She'd had her suspicions, but the way Finnick said it...
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's in the eyes."
When Drea narrowed her own skeptically at him, he shifted to face her better, his knee knocking her socked foot. He smiled lazily. "She cares about him, sure. But all in all, she did what she had to to survive." He raised his glass. "A true victor."
Marinating on it, Drea pursed her lips and looked out the window again. "I think everyone underestimates him," she admitted, thinking of the young boy, Peeta. "He's smart. Even if he does love her, it was brilliant to bring the star-crossed lovers thing into the interviews. I'm sure it got him plenty of sponsors, and everyone loves a show..."
Finnick was quiet for a long moment, and Drea found him with his head tilted in question.
"You think he loves her?" he asked. "Really?"
With no hesitation, Drea nodded. "I do." She reached a hand to the base of her skull, kneading the muscle there, and Finnick observed the curve of her neck when she leaned over.
She could feel a migraine settling in. "It's possible for love to exist in a world like ours, you know."
Finnick hummed, his gaze lingering on the hands that worked over her neck. He knew she was in pain; he remembered every single detail about her, even after all these years, such as how distinct her pained expression got when she was struggling with bad memories and migraines.
So, carefully, not wanting to startle her, he reached up and pulled the pin from her hair, letting the thick twists fall around her face and shoulders. Drea held her breath as he settled them around her face, running his fingers through them until they were positioned just right.
The interaction was wordless, but it said enough.
Enough to send Drea spiraling backward in time, enough to have her frantically grasping for something to hold her to the present. And as much as she wanted Finnick to relive those memories with, as often as she used to see herself being happy with him someday... It was too much, too late.
SIX YEARS AGO
THE 69TH HUNGER GAMES: THE VICTORY TOUR
It had been two weeks since Drea Moreno last smelled the salty sea air in the place she called home.
From the moment the train carrying her on her Victory Tour left the station in District Four, headed to Twelve, her head panged relentlessly, and she was convinced it had something to do with the lack of salt in the air, the lack of gentle sea breeze. She'd never been away from home as long as she had in these last few months, being paraded around as District Four's second living Victor.
The last two weeks she'd been on the Victory Tour, passing through each of the Districts, making half-assed speeches to the bereaved families of the tributes passed, speeches that felt like foreign languages in her mouth.
At last, they were headed home— they, meaning Drea, her District escort, and her mentor, Finnick. Her escort lived at the Capitol, of course, but was to accompany Drea home for the final part of the Victory Tour: the feast in the home district, celebrating her survival, her big win.
Drea didn't feel like celebrating. She didn't even feel like eating. She couldn't sleep, either, though she desperately wished to. Nightmares plagued her mind each night, nightmares of trekking through that horrid, dry desert— nightmares of mirages in the distance, of huge scorpion mutts and venom and burning, melting flesh— of dying children and screaming, so much screaming...
The train was due to arrive in District Four at any moment now. Drea was prepped already, adorning a beautiful cream colored dress that brushed the tops of her feet when she walked, even in the strappy sandal heels she'd been shoved into. Delicate, ornate gold makeup painted her eyes, matching the gold bands in her hair, which was done up on her head in a tight knot, one that was definitely not helping relieve her of her migraine...
She took a deep breath and tried to gather herself, when she heard the doors of the dining car open. Finnick appeared, looking angelic and devilish all the same. He smiled when he saw her. "Have you eaten?"
Eating, right. Food. That was why she'd been brought into this car— to eat something.
Though she very much hadn't, Drea nodded and avoided his eyes. "Yes..."
Finnick narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."
Her shoulders dropped. "How did you know?"
"You have this thing you do," he explained, making his way over to the table filled with exquisite foods— snack cakes, biscuits, what have you. "Just a little pinch of your eyebrows. It's small, almost unnoticeable, but it tells me more than your words ever could."
Drea shook her head, huffing.
He gave her a daring smile. "Eat something, Dre. For me."
"I don't owe you anything, Finnick Odair," she said, turning up her nose. It wasn't true; she owed him her life.
His hair flopped when he tilted his head in amusement. "Of course not," he replied. "But you look miserable. And I find that food— especially sugar—" He plucked a small cake from a delicately ornate plate at the corner of the table. "—is always a nice mood-lifter."
Drea rubbed at the back of her neck, shaking her head as he leaned his hips on the edge of the table and took a large bite from his cake. She watched him for a moment, the curve of his jaw as he chewed, the delicate pinch of his fingers on the snacck, now coated in powdered sugar.
"I'm not hungry," she declared after a second of silence. She shook her head and started to pace, feeling sick with the thought of having to face her District soon and pretending she was proud to be alive. A pang of hurt flashed through her brain and she winced. "I think I'd throw it up anyway... My head's been pounding nonstop from the moment we left District Four..."
"Stress, you think?" Finnick asked with his mouth full.
"Could be." Drea clenched her teeth as she rubbed harder at her neck, pacing still. Finnick's sea green eyes followed her as she walked back and forth in front of the window. "Or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Nightmares, dehydration..." She continued to furiously rub the knot of tense muscles from the base of her neck, tired of the constant ache. "Also maybe from hunger..."
Finnick stood and dusted his fingers off on the corner of the table cloth (that heathen). He gestured with two fingers. "Come here."
Mindlessly, Drea obeyed. She'd follow him anywhere without a second thought.
Facing each other now, her eyes only came up to the line of shoulders, Finnick's height towering over her own. She watched him intently as he reached up, eyeing the up-do her stylist had put her hair in and poking his tongue into his cheek, deep in thought. Then, with gentle hands on her shoulders, he turned her around.
Drea held her breath, feeling him hesitate behind her now. She strained her eyes to try and see what he was doing in their reflection on the window, but the sun outside was far too bright.
When nothing happened for a long moment, Drea grew impatient. "Finnick—"
In one swift motion, he leaned over her shoulder and pulled the pin from her hair, letting the knot come undone, the braids falling around her shoulders gently. Finnick smirked, amused by the slight, relieved flutter of her eyelids.
"Feels better, yeah?" he asked, voice rich like chocolate.
Drea nodded tiredly, eyes sliding shut. With her hair not tangled into an up-do, she felt like she could breathe again, if just for a short moment.
Finnick chuckled. "May I?"
Without even realizing what he was asking about, Drea just nodded again, and a moment later, her heart jolted at the feeling of his calloused hands on her bare shoulders. Slowly, surely, confidently, his fingers work at all her harsh edges, at each knot and tense muscle, large, warm hands working over her shoulders.
Drea's eyes slide shut again and she leans into him without realizing, the warmth spreading throughout her body enough to coax her into relaxing for the first time since her name was called on the day of the Reaping.
For Drea, Finnick had always been comfort— but that first moment, six months after the games, six months after her life irreparably changed, she was just now beginning to grasp that Finnick was so much more than that. He was warmth and sunlight, he was saltwater and sugar, he was love and happiness in a time when she didn't have much left of either, and he was everything.
It had taken her six months to even grasp a hint of any indication of what Finnick meant to her, but that moment was the first time she consciously acknowledged it— she was falling in love.
Little did she know that Finnick had fallen in love long before that day.
Little would she ever know it.
PRESENT
Drea had to drag herself from the memory this time, because Finnick was content to gaze at her all night long, his sea green eyes shimmering in that way they always did.
It took a minute for her to reorient herself in the present, when it was so similar to the past. On a train, with Finnick and his warm hands, her panging headache, his soft gaze, the hair pin...
Six years, though. It had been six years since that first glimpse of feelings shared between them. And a lot had changed since then, a lot was different, though the situation was jarringly the same.
One important thing Drea was sure had changed, however— Finnick did not love her anymore, not like he used to.
She was damaged goods now, and he knew it.
Drea swallowed thickly as a flash of pain through her skull nearly blurred her vision. "I'm... going to go lie down," she told him, her voice soft and hoarse.
Finnick began to protest, but she was up and across the train car before he could get a word out of his mouth. He simply watched her go, regret and longing in his eyes.
The truth was, it would have never worked out between them, even if they had kept in touch. No one wanted to see Capitol Darlings like Finnick and Drea married and committed to each other. No, no...
They were the Capitol's to have and to hold. For better, for worse— for richer, for poorer— in sickness and in health—
Til death do them part.
A/N:
chapter one! more of a prologue honestly. before we get into all the quarter quell stuff, we'll get to know drea, her games— such as who this district partner was— and her relationship with finnick ! but that won't last more than 3 chapters at most bc I can't wait to write the games lol