The Forgotten Days

▬▬ 𝟏𝟕 ∙ 𝝩𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝝜𝗲 𝗟𝝾𝘀𝘁

This chapter is written based on a fanfiction that my friends and I wrote, so the characters are new, but I tried to make it as clear as possible. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

˚✩ ⋆｡ ✩┊ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 ┊✦ ˚ · .

▬▬ 17 ∙ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙷𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

KYLE EUPHALE was the ninth victor of District 4, victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, at age 14. Only a few months older than Finnick during his Games, yet somehow, he had lost more than any of us. He had so little to gain.

So much to lose.

And some days, I still blame myself as the reason that boy died.

✯✯✯

"So, let me get this straight," I say, whirling around to face the group of male victors, none of which would meet my eye except Finnick. It was shocking how quickly we had gone back to being friends since the beginning of the year, and I have to remind myself at times that I asked for this. I'm the one who ended it. It still hurts sometimes. "You're leaving me to mentor two tributes by myself?"

"It's not my turn yet," the two older victors Oscar and Herman say in unison, looking down. They're the victors of the 49th and 23rd Hunger Games, respectively, and neither take having to go to the Capitol every four years to mentor kindly. I roll my eyes, but it's true: it's not their designated time to mentor, not that it matters much. Finnick took their spot for Annie's games when I had to mentor.

"I would go, but..." But he doesn't want to. Neptune Ayers, victor of the 49th, is perhaps my closest friend out of the three male victors, and not just because he did me a favor when I was younger.

"Come on, Neptune, please?"

He shakes his head, looking up at me. "I'm sorry, Cory."

I huff and lean back in my seat. "Really kind people we have here, got to say."

"Why can't Finnick go? It's his turn, anyway," Oscar—I haven't bothered learning his last name yet—presses.

"In case you don't remember, he mentored two years ago."

"But he volunteered to go, that doesn't mean he can change the whole schedule!"

"You— you are so—"

"I can help if you want me to," Finnick says quietly, looking like he has a headache from all of our bickering. "I mean, I'll be there either way. But I'm not going to have much time for mentoring, since I'll be spending much of the Games in hotel rooms."

I don't know what makes me snap. Maybe it's Neptune looking away guiltily as Finnick says that. Or how Oscar and Herman don't seem to feel the slightest bit bad for him. Or maybe it's how nonchalantly Finnick mentions what Snow makes him—makes us—do, even as something twists in my stomach. I know Snow overbooked him this year, so much that he barely has time to sleep before the next day sometimes. People came flocking after Johanna's win, and when she refused to be forced into it like the rest of us, they went to the other victors. He doesn't give me more than I usually get, though, because I'm mentoring.

Or so Snow says.

"So that's decided then," I say, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. "I'll do it myself, since none of you"—I give pointed looks to the three victors—"want to help out."