𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ⚔ 𝘑. 𝘉. 𝘉

𝟎𝟕

TW: Mentions of death and murder.

[Oats In The Water - Ben Howard]
1:40 ─〇───── 2:13
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

I jerk awake with a sharp breath, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands are cold with sweat, and the room feels too hot, suffocating, like I'm still trapped in the nightmare. I can still hear the sound of Finnick's voice, his voice so full of pain and betrayal as I—I—hurt him. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I can't move. I can't think. It was just a dream, wasn't it? But the guilt hangs heavy in the air, like it's real, like I actually did it. I was forced to do it. I had to.

The sound of the blade tearing through flesh echoes in my ears, and I shudder violently, pulling the blankets around me like a shield. But the nightmare won't let go. It clings to my thoughts, keeps me awake. I know what I'll have to do tomorrow—what I'll be forced to do—and it terrifies me.

I sit up in bed, the soft sheets falling away, and stare at the dark room around me. The clock on the bedside table tells me it's still late—too late for this, too late to be awake, too late to let the fear creep in like this. The night before the Games. Tomorrow, we'll enter that arena, and everything will change. I can already feel it in the pit of my stomach—the weight of the Capitol's eyes on me, the expectation of the Games, the knowledge that I might have to kill. Again. And if I have to kill, will I be able to stop myself? Will I be able to hold on to who I am, or will I become just another monster like the rest?

I don't know how long I lie there, my mind spinning in circles. I can't escape it.

With a sigh, I swing my legs off the bed and stand, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I don't bother to turn on the lights. I don't need to see the empty walls of our apartment in the Capitol. I know them too well by now.

I move into the living room and sit by the large window, the cool glass against my cheek. The lights of the Capitol stretch out before me—blinding and endless, like they're watching me, like the city is waiting for us to fight. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for us to make our move. I lean back into the chair, trying to steady my breathing, but it's impossible. The nightmare lingers in my mind, the twisted image of Finnick, his face haunted and bloodied, staring at me. I want to push it away, but I can't.

Tomorrow, we go into the arena. Tomorrow, I'll be forced to do things that no one should ever have to do. I don't know how I'll survive. I don't know what kind of person I'll be when it's all over, if I even make it out alive. But I do know one thing: there's no turning back now. The Games don't give you that option.

I take a deep breath, the cold night air filling my lungs, and I stare out at the city. I'm alone with my thoughts, and there's no one to talk to, no one to make sense of it. I can't stop thinking about the others—about Finnick, and the other tributes, and all the terrible things we'll be forced to do. Tomorrow, I'll be standing there, a part of the spectacle. And in the end, maybe it'll be me who becomes the monster.

The thought sits heavy in my chest.

I try to shake it off, but I know it won't be easy. Nothing ever is when the Games come knocking.

The quiet of the night is almost suffocating, the kind of stillness that makes every creak of the floorboards seem impossibly loud. The nightmare still clings to the edges of my mind—the image of Finnick's face, so full of pain and betrayal—and the fear that I'll have to hurt him. The fear that I might lose myself in the Games, in all the violence that's coming.

And then I hear it. A soft sound, like the lightest footstep against the marble floor. I freeze, my heart thudding loudly in my chest, thinking it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But then, through the darkened doorway, Finnick appears. His silhouette stands in the hallway, framed by the faint light from the city's glow creeping through the windows.

"Hey," He says softly, his voice thick with concern. "I heard you... screaming. You okay?"

I blink, startled, and look up at him. His face is shadowed, but I can still make out the worry in his eyes. Finnick, always the one to keep a calm exterior, but I can tell he's unsettled by something. By me, maybe.

"I... I'm fine," I say, but the words feel hollow. I'm not fine. I haven't been for days.

Finnick steps closer, his movements deliberate but gentle. He doesn't need to ask if I'm really okay, because he knows I'm not. He sits beside me, his presence warm and solid, like a lifeline thrown into a storm.

I don't know why, but all at once, the floodgates open. I lean into him, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared, Finnick."

He doesn't say anything at first. Just wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer. There's no judgment in his touch—just comfort. It's what I need, more than anything. He's always been my anchor, even when we were both trapped in that hellhole of the Games.

"You're scared?" He asks quietly, his voice steady. "You've been through worse than this, and you won your Games. What makes this one any different?"

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "It's not the Games I'm scared of," I admit. "I'm scared of losing you."

Finnick doesn't say anything right away. He just tightens his hold on me, as though he can squeeze all the comfort I need into this one moment. But I can't shake the gnawing fear in my stomach. It's not just the Games, it's not just the Capitol's twisted spectacle. It's everything that's hanging over us. "I'm scared that the rebellion won't work," I continue, my voice trembling now. "That we'll die or be caught, or worse. I can't do this without you. I don't want to."

Finnick pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes steady and unwavering. "We're in this together," He says. His voice is firm, but there's something gentle in his gaze, something that reminds me why I trusted him back then and why I still trust him now. "You're not going to lose me. We've got each other's backs. That's the one thing I know for sure. We'll fight together, or we'll die together. But I'm not going anywhere."

His words settle over me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my fear. I take a shaky breath, leaning into him again. "I don't know what's going to happen," I whisper. "But I can't lose you, Finnick. Not now. Not when it feels like there's nothing left."

He rests his chin on the top of my head, and for a moment, there's nothing but the quiet hum of the city outside and the warmth of his presence. "You won your Games before," He murmurs. "This time, you've got a reason to fight harder."

"I know," I say, though my voice still feels fragile. "But it's not the Games I'm afraid of. It's what's beyond them. The Capitol. The rebellion. And you... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Finnick's hand gently cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. "You're stronger than you think," He says, his voice low, steady. "And so am I. And together? We're unstoppable." He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We'll survive this, okay? We'll make it through. Whatever happens, we've got each other."

I close my eyes, taking in the comfort of his words, trying to push aside the fear, the uncertainty. Finnick has always been there for me. And maybe that's enough for now. Maybe it's all we need to hold on to.

For the first time tonight, I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm inside of me. Tomorrow, the Games begin. But right now, in this moment, I'm not alone. And that makes all the difference.

———————————————
PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT