Sugarcubes // Finnick Odair - Hunger Games Fanfic

VII.

Austin and I are kept apart for the rest of the day. Blight stays with me, and Austin is granted with the pleasure of having Eero as his company with Rosaline hovering nervously between the two warring parties. I eat dinner in silence with Blight sitting on the opposite end of the table. It's a slow rest of the day. Nobody angers me, and in turn, I don't threaten to kill anyone.

Anger still courses through my veins at the accusations Austin made at me. I can't believe that that is how I come off, but then again, with no explanation everybody in the Capitol – or the whole of Panem must think the same way. Does Lia? Or Danny? Surely Terry would have explained to them why I did what I did? But that might make Danny feel even worse knowing I am risking my life for a chance to save his.

The Capitol must like me because I volunteered. I must appear just as blood thirsty as the district 1 and 2 tributes to the Capitol. And that in itself, in some twisted way is enough to like me. They believe that I am capable of killing these kids in cold blood. That is ultimately what getting a lot of sponsors means – it means that a lot of powerful people believe that you are a cold-blooded killer.

I'm taken aback by my own thoughts.

I can't believe it never struck me before.

I'm taken back to my room by Blight who hovers by my door after dropping me off.

"You're a confusing person, you know?" Blight says, finally speaking up.

I scoff.

"Yeah, I know. Having to be a mother, a father, and a bigger sister to three young kids – one of who's parents are still alive yet ignore her – that's confusing too." I snap back, looking into my closet for some clothes to wear.

"And you want to get back to them? Your siblings, I mean." Blight says, coming into my room.

"Yeah, I do Blight. I love them. This isn't some suicide mission. They can't do it without me." I say softly fingering the locket around my neck.

"Tell me about your siblings, Ria." Blight says.

I frown at the nickname but accept it. It feels right rolling of his tongue.

"Danny is 14. He's the oldest, after me. He fell sick after the games last year and has been losing health steadily. No one knows why he's sick. Lia's the sunshine. She's twelve. It was her first reaping this year. She has a little sheep actually. Pinky, I think her name is – she's very fond of it." I laugh a little thinking of the stupid little thing with a small pink ribbon tied to it's tail that I had skipped a day of my meals to be able to afford.

"And the other one? The one you volunteered for?" Blight prompts gently.

"Johanna. Johanna Mason. Her older sister died a few years back – the only person from her family that she cared about. Her mom and dad, they were affected pretty badly by her death, stopped treating Johanna like a daughter. Treated her like a ghost. She still loves them, of course, but they were never able to give her the affection she deserves. Enter me. She's known my sister since they were both babies. She's thirteen."

"How did her sister die?" He asks, though I can tell this wasn't prepared. His curiosity is the reason for this question.

"She died in the games three years ago. Jenna Mason. She was always a sickly child, so she never worked in the forests like the rest of us , just weaker than the rest, plus she was thirteen when she was reaped. She didn't really have a very big chance of winning anyway. I watched those games, and felt guilty every second that I didn't volunteer in her place."

"I remember her. Jenna." Blight says softly. I'm stunned for a moment that he might have been sober enough while mentoring her to remember her name.

"Yeah. But I had to stay strong for the people I cared about. Lia, Danny, Anna." I say.

"And they're the ones you feel happy when you think about?"

"Them, and Terry- Terrence. He's my best friend. Has been for ages." I say, pondering whether or not Blight even remembers his son.

"I have a son named Terrence."

Go figure. Probably was too drunk when Terry used to exit the house to talk to me.

"That's him." I say with a slight laugh at his ignorance, plopping myself on the bed alongside the furry white onesie I found in my closet. He puts his hand to his head and laughs gruffly, sitting right next to me.

"Well, those people, the people you care about, are going to be your lifeline in the arena. At the end, sponsors, physical strength, alliances, nothing matters. The Tribute that can keep their head enough to play smart instead of hard is mostly the tribute that will win. Keep them in your head when you feel yourself slipping. They should be the thing you are fighting to get back to. Even the greatest warriors need something worth fighting for." Blight says some truly inspirational words for someone who's half drunk.

"Is it worth it? Living through the games? Do you regret it?" I say after a few moments of awkward silence envelope us.

"Everyday I regret not slitting my throat when I got into it. But that's just me. It depends." He says slowly.

"On what?" I ask apprehensively, not expecting this kind of an answer from him.

"It depends on what you have to live for. It's part of the reason why Terry saved my life. Gave me something to care about, even though I'm sure he doesn't know it. I haven't exactly been the best father."

Something to live for.

I'm glad Blight and not Eero is mentoring me.

I smile at him.

"Thanks Blight." I say, getting up from my place on the bed. He seems to get the message, because he gets up too, moving towards the door.

"Tommorow is the start of three days of practice tributes get before the games. I want you to think of an angle before starting training. Do you wanna make them think less of you or intimidate them? That's up to you but whatever the angle, you should stick by it." Blight says.

After Blight exits the room, I lay on my bed and sigh. It's no surprise that the Hunger games are draining, but I never expected them to be draining to this extent just outside of the arena. Tensions run high everywhere – between Austin and I, between Eero and Blight, even between Rosaline and us all because I'm pretty sure each and every one of us wants to slit her throat while she's sleeping – the Capitol born thing.

While I lay on my bed looking at the artificial forest beside me, I think about my angle. I volunteered for a young girl nobody knows means the world to me, snatched the microphone from my escort when she got my name wrong and chucked a knife at my mentors' head. On the other hand, I waved when entering the Capitol, caught roses in my parade, blew kisses and raised a fanatic up in the crowd. Any angle that I take will be contradicting. If I take up the angle of sweet and innocent – I will be underestimated and probably overlooked for the first half of the games – but it will appear fake with my rebellious actions at the reaping. If I take up the angle of deadly, it contradicts with my actions on the train, waving and blowing kisses. The only other angle I can think of is the silent killer. Sweet but deadly. But will that angle sell in the Capitol. Will the crazy puffs of smoke buy it?

I don't know. I think that's the problem with these games. So much is uncertain. Will the crowd like me? Will I get a good weapon in the cornucopia? How will the arena be? How will my fellow tributes be?

But in the end it doesn't really matter. What really matters is that I come back. That means that I'm vowing and wishing for the boy in the room across from me to die – but I will be willing to do anything for my family. For Danny, and for Lia, for Anna and Terry.

Any

Fucking

Thing.

Published: 3rd October 2022

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Shout out to  daisy_cha1n and

HarryHermione93 for being the first ones to add this story to their reading lists!