𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙁𝙄𝙑𝙀

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
I was definitely going
insane.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

That night I got the most sleep I'd ever had since the Games — a whole five hours without stirring or terrifying myself awake with my nightmares — because I finally had control over something in my life, for once. For months, it was like I'd been living a life that had been robbed from me, my autonomy ripped from my grasp. But now, I held the reigns. And that was all down to Finnick.

In any parallel universe, I would prefer to pretend to form a relationship with the blond-haired Victor over Snow's proposal, however it still left an unwelcome emptiness in my stomach. It was no secret that I didn't like him much but that was completely irrelevant — I'd have to get over that as soon as possible, because for the plan to work, we had to seem deeply in love.

I'd never prided myself on being a good actor; my Dad would always be able to tell whether I was lying or not. I just hoped I could be convincing.

Jameson had been pacing around all morning with his head wobbling like a chicken on drugs ranting about all the tedious things that needed to be done today — a complete contrast to Finnick and I, who were currently lounging on the sofa counting every time he swore. I counted 34, but Finnick was positive it was 35. He was wrong, of course, because I was always right.

"Every Victor needs a talent — something they can interview you on," Jameson rushed, now on the topic of the interview with Caesar I was expected to do tomorrow afternoon.

Finnick chuckled. "Good luck with that."

Vexation flickering inside me at the boy next to me, I turned towards him with a scowl, hoping and praying he would take his smart comments as far away from me as possible.

"Why are you here, again?"

"To annoy you."

"Well, maybe that's your talent," I replied airily, lying back in the sofa and smirking at him when his eyes narrowed playfully.

"As if I would dare dedicate that much of my life to you."

Something I'd realised when it came to Finnick, was that I couldn't hold useless resentment for him anymore, even though I desperately wanted to. Perhaps he was an outlet for my anger, or it was his optimism, not because I hated happiness, but because he saw the light when I didn't. He barely ever took anything to heart, and viewed the world as though it were some sort of hilarious joke. And so I wasn't going to hate him anymore. Or try not to, anyway. The odds were he'd probably make me hate him again within three seconds.

"You're only offended because your talent is actually catching cod."

"What's yours?" he scoffed. "Fixing a plug socket? Turning on a light switch, maybe?"

"Better than styling your hair with fish oil..." I said in a sing-song.

"Even if I did, I'd still look better than you."

"And smell like a—"

"Come on, kid, focus," Jameson clicked before huffing at me. He was still pacing like a man-man, his stress winding him up so much I was certain he might explode. Yvette was somewhere upstairs, completely oblivious to the complete chaos that was the living room at ten in the morning.