The Reaper | F. Odair

Twenty-nine

-—-
Aaron
-—-

I feel worse than I did yesterday, and it's not because of Finnick being gone.

I don't understand the obsession of these people wanting to cuff me like some prisoner of war -- they tell me to trust them then go and shove me in a room alone, chained up like an animal. My eyes sting from all my crying and my wrists are starting to ache from the metal shackles they clasped around them. Picking at my nails is all I can do since the chain is locked onto the table I'm now sat at.

The room is black, entirely black -- it's almost the polar opposite of the exact chamber I was placed in for months, but instead there's a table and a much more comfortable chair. And there isn't just one chair, but another across from me. The light above me is dull, the bulb needs to be changed from both its obvious dullness and its buzzing. The buzzing is making my ears hurt, but it isn't as bad as the Capitol.

"Coin wants to speak to you," Dr Aurelius told me less than maybe an hour ago.

I stared at him and wasn't given a choice, I was cuffed and led here.

I've never met Coin. Not consciously, at least. I've only heard of her, I can only imagine what she looks like. Dull and boring, boring like every other person in this place. Maybe she's worse -- I can only assume worse because what sort of person would have a name like hers? Coin. Yeah, very fun sounding. Coin is such an interesting name. Honestly if you were to tell me that was her name when I wasn't insane I'd probably laugh, assume it was a joke or something.

A sigh pours out of my mouth and I lean back as far as I can, ignoring the short length of the chain as my head leans back against my chair. I can barely see the door behind me. If Coin wanted to see me so badly then why isn't she here yet? She probably thinks it's funny to waste my time.

Not like I have time to spend though.

The door suddenly jerks open and my eyes lock onto a dull set of gray eyes, very dull gray eyes -- I recognize this for some reason, they're eyes that belong to someone who has no purpose. No life left, no reason to exist for themselves. Well, I suppose my suspicions of Coin were true, she is a very dull looking woman with the obvious gray she has on. Unlike everyone else though, she isn't exactly in slacks, it's more like a dress shirt and pants.

The woman raises an obvious brow at me as I look her up and down. She's probably in her late forties or early fifties, it's hard to tell with her gray hair. There's mixes of white streaks in it. I blink, realizing how perfect she actually looks.

Coin walks around me and I sit up, still staring as she takes a seat. How can I woman look so dead yet perfect? There's nothing wrong with her hair, nothing wrong with her clothes -- even the small wrinkles of her face somehow look right.

This doesn't feel right.

Coin clears her throat, "what's your name?"

I blink and my mouth drops, "what?"

"What is your name?" she repeats.

"Why?"

"Security reasons."

"Aaron Smith." I mumble, "what's yours?"

Coin frowns, "Coin."

"Coin is not your name." I mumble again, "you can't have just one name."

Her frown deepens, "Alma Coin."

I hold back a snort and put my hand out as much as I can, "hello, Alma, I'm the psychotic traitorous bitch you asked to see." I say venomously, her obvious uneasiness is leaking into the room. I don't know why but the second she stepped inside I didn't like her.