lost | the hunger games

• xiv •

ONE YEAR AGO

— THE SEVENTY-FOURTH HUNGER GAMES — 

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DAY 11

"What the hell is this."

Finnick stood next to me with one arm tucked into his side and another raising a glass to his lips for a drink. I could smell the alcohol without even reaching for it. Must've been a Capitol special. I glared into the fizzy pink drink Finnick handed to me moments earlier. It reeked of sugar and was so opaque I couldn't see the inside.

Must be a Capitol special too, I thought bitterly.

"A 'cotton candy fizzy' for the youngsters," Finnick reports in a thick Capitol accent.

"I can feel my teeth rotting just by looking at it."

I gagged and set it down on the standing tables. I looked around if any of the other Victors had similar distastes. We were currently at an day function hosted by one of the Capitol's wealthiest sponsors for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The aforementioned games being projected onto a giant wall at the front.

As a career district, I never had it particularly rough. Especially living in Victor's Village all my life because of my mother, I grew up in luxury. But my experiences were nothing compared to the Capitol. And being in the garden of one of the richest people in the country was absolutely mind-melding. Everything was decorated in gold and jewels so expensive I was almost afraid to touch it. Even after two years in the Capitol and making my way through events like these I still couldn't get used to it. But every time without fail, awe shifted into discomfort within the first hour of being there.

And yet everyone else seemed to belong. Even Finnick. I suppose I did too. After last year's games, when I had gotten so upset over one of my mentees deaths during a party and people had begun to dislike my "ruining the party," I realized that I shouldn't have shown how attached I was. I was supposed to be like one of them now. I was one of them now. The Hunger Games were nothing more than a show. People died, but who cares. I was still alive. Anything that even remotely related to the Hunger Games I faced with something akin to cool indifference.

I stole Finnick's glass and downed the entire glass in one swift motion. The alcohol burned all the way down with nothing to chase it; my pursed lips were the only sign of pain. My fellow mentor sends me an amused grin. We'd known each other long enough to recognize each other's tiniest tells.

"What did I just drink."

"I don't know," Finnick laughed under his breath. "But you probably shouldn't have done that. It was strong. Even for me."

"I'll be fine."

He scoffed. "Tell me that when you're slurring your words and drunkenly falling into the bushes. Probably poke your eyes out on the straws here."

I frowned, mostly because he was right. I'd never got drunk before either. For my first time drunk, the Capitol is the last place I'd want to be. But then again, the prospect of going through another Hunger Games in the Capitol sober made me crave more of the burning liquid. It seems to especially apply to this year's tributes.

If there's one absolute fact you could count on, it was that there was always, always one tribute left. I almost pitied the two tributes who believed they could survive together. If a rule is not set in stone in the Hunger Games, it's validation is useless. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark wasn't going to win together. If not for the rule then for the boy's beyond repair leg. They should've known better.