In Life | Finnick Odair

( 01 )

Bentley was awoken by his mother shaking his shoulder. "Ben, baby, you gotta get up. I made breakfast." She said softly, brushing a stray hair away from the seventeen year olds face. He sucked in a deep breath and squinted his eyes because of the light coming through his windows. He smiled at his mouth, starting to sit up in his bed. "What'd you make?" He asked, his voice gravely with sleep. "Oatmeal and toast."

The teen grinned at his mom's words, "Yummy," He muttered, throwing the blankets off of his legs. Wendy stood from the bed with a final ruffle of her son's hair and headed to the kitchen to start plating the food. Bentley swung his legs over the edge and stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back in the process.

He stood with a final rub to his sleepy eyes, and began the short walk to the kitchen. His dad was leaving a sweet kiss on his mom's hand when he came through the door. He heard the end of "I love you" once he got to them and grabbed the bowl that was sitting on the counter. "Good morning, dad," He greeted with a grin. Gregory gently patted his son's arm with his free hand. "Morning, Ben."

Bentley sat down at their small, three chaired table and waited until his parents were both sat as well to dig into his food. His mom made the best oatmeal, it was always saturated in sugar and cinnamon; it's one of the few things in District 9 that can cure his sweet tooth. Unlike usual, the small family ate with no talk as today, dread was washed over them, no matter how hard they all tried to hide it.

Today was Reaping day for the sixty-ninth Hunger Games. Bentley's name was in the bowl six times, but that was several less than most. After this year though, he would only have to make it one more time, then he would never have to worry about it again. "Are you nervous about today?" Wendy asked. It should've been a stupid question as the obvious answer was yes, but it was something Bentley found comfort in.

He'd never been one to mask or hide his feelings, so having parents that would let him talk about all of his emotions freely was great. "Very, more so than usual actually." He told them, taking a big spoon full of his oatmeal and spreading it onto a piece of toast. Gregory titled his head, "Why's that?" The teenager shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure, really. I almost feel as if... as if I'll know one of the people chosen today. Like, really know them." He said.

Bentley couldn't place his finger on it exactly, but those were the only words he knew how to put his prediction in. He'd kind of felt like this before, but never this strongly. It was as if maybe Hayden would be the one picked. He didn't like the thought of that, Bentley couldn't even begin to fathom the thought of his best friend's name being drawn.

A shiver ran down his spine and, suddenly, his stomach felt queasy. "Yeah," He shook his head, "I'm not liking my gut feeling right now." Wendy and Gregory shared a quick look. "Well, why don't you finish breakfast, go take a shower, then start getting ready?" She suggested. The young man nodded at his mother's words. "Okay, sounds good."

So, those things he did. He finished his breakfast just minutes after his parents — he's a very slow eater — then went and took a good, fifteen minute shower. After that, he let his hair air dry quite a bit before sitting down and letting his mom style the long strands. He ended up with two small braids either side of the crown of his head and the rest of it was pulled up into a small ponytail — the braids were pulled into it, making a sort of crown shape. He felt pretty.

His outfit was a simple off white button down, his nice dark washed jeans, and his church shoes. He looked pretty too. He got his looks from his mom, but his build from his dad; the best of both worlds in his opinion.

As the time to go to the square drew nearer and nearer, the more nervous Bentley became. His gut was telling him that something really bad was going to happen today and it was absolutely killing him. His bottom lip was bitten raw, he'd already cracked all of his knuckles at least twice, and his wrists were starting to ache from being constantly twisted around.