𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
You hadn't asked.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

Anger was something that had always fascinated me; as someone who'd never associated myself with the emotion, the rough surge of fury lighting in my chest was enough to shock me into complete silence. Not speaking — not sharing. The only thing I could do was allow it to simmer inside of me, hoping it might subside.

I refused to be Snows puppet any longer.

So I supposed anger was a necessary emotion if it meant freeing myself. But that was the terrifying part, the part that lingered in my head in the middle of the night, with only the company of invading thoughts to lull me to sleep. Those thoughts were the most tempting of all; the forbidden kind. Kill Snow. Find your family, Lynx. Take Finnick with you.

As I said. Dangerous.

"We're almost in Three," the rough voice of Jameson spoke. He hadn't dared make eye contact with me after our fight in District Two, and considering this matter hadn't resolved yet, I couldn't see it righting itself anywhere in the near future.

There was always something so tiresome, so cruel about the future in that it was never specific. There was no time, no place guaranteed, nor even the person if they were to have survived that long. I used to love thinking about the future, imagining the day away and losing sight of what really mattered in front of me. These things were pointless. Thinking about something that may not even happen, and yet every single inch of your soul was bombarded with the hope that it might.

And so I concluded Jameson would be quicker to sprout wings and fly over the Capitol with a magic wand than ever apologise to me, although Finnick was owed the largest apology of us all.

"Right. Yeah," I said, rather awkwardly. "Okay."

"Are you two ready?"

Finnick grinned up from the newspaper he'd been reading, no doubt full of stories of our supposed romance. The two of us never tired in reading over those, laughing at the theatrics of it all. "Always am."

"Sure."

It took minutes of blissful silence for Finnick to speak, as he always did. That was something I could always rely on — the irritating presence of his voice, although I think I'd be more irritated if it wasn't there at all. "How are you?"

"You've never been one for small talk."

"This isn't small talk, Sparky. I believe it's called a genuine question."

I gasped. "Is it now? I had no idea."

"Well, that wouldn't be the first time would it? I think you'd better get your wits about you if you want a fighting chance of surviving the interviews that are coming," he joked. But then his voice lost all of its humour. "You've been very quiet lately."

"I'm a quiet person."

"Not around me."

"Well, you sort of force me to be," I quipped. "Its like some sort of contract you have with Jameson where you try your best to talk my ear off so he doesn't have to hear any of it."

He shot me an amused smile. "How do I force you to be?"

"Well, if I didn't talk, my ears would probably burst into flames with all the words they're trying to process."

"You know, I'm not even offended."

"I didn't think you would be."

But the light in his eyes seemed to dim as he spoke, his next words rooting themselves in my stomach. "Im serious, Lynx, what's up?"