𓆭𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟔𝟖𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒𓆭

𓆭𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓𓆭

My sore eyes peel open, trying to blink away the grogginess of the drug that was injected into me.

Everything hurts. My head pounds, my face stings, my feet ache, and my hands are strapped to the bed like I was some sort of mutt.

That's how I'm being treated. Thrown to the ground and strapped into place, left with nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling. And to top it off, my dress is now dirty, and torn at the hem, and the leather sandals I had on are totalled.

I want to cry. I want to cry, scream, feel something-
But I couldn't make the tears come. I just couldn't.

This isn't fair. This isn't fair, this isn't fair, this isn't fair.

I want to go home.

Well, too bad. Because life isn't fair, and I'm not going back home.

Flashes of my escape swirl through my muddled head, and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to expel them from my mind. That free feeling, the weight lifted off my shoulders when I finally convinced myself I might survive-

All crushed within a second. And because Finnick stopped me.

Why did he stop me? Does he not want me to survive this?

He wouldn't have flattened me against the train tracks if he did

And for the first time, I find myself wishing he wasn't here. If he wasn't, then maybe I'd still be running.

I hear a quiet knock on the doorframe, but I only turn my head the opposite way. I didn't need to meet his eyes to know that it was Finnick standing there. He's probably here to yell at me. I don't think I can take being yelled at right now.

"You're awake." Finnick comments quietly, still standing at the door. He doesn't sound mad. Why wasn't he mad at me? I was mad at me, and I was certainly mad at him-

"Wish I wasn't," I croak, surprised by the hoarseness of my voice. Perhaps it's from all the screaming. He's still got that guilty expression on his face, which only angers me even more.

If he came here for my forgiveness, that's the last thing he's going to get.

"How do you feel?" He asks, still seemingly calm.

"Better than ever," I snap, my broken voice sounding much less intimidating than I would have liked. Just go away, Finnick. You've done enough. I want to tell him, but I don't. I only force myself to glare out the window, feeling too scared to meet his eyes.

I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't like it when he's mad at me. I don't like it when anyone's mad at me.

"Ok, that's good." He says, adding onto my sarcasm. I want to scream at him, tell him that if he was here to yell at me, he should just get it over and done with. I don't think I can take this calm and cool charade much longer. I feel the straps digging into my wrists, my scraped hands stinging, and for a second I feel like throwing a fit is the only way to make myself feel better. An angry tear rolls down my cheek and drips onto the pillow, and I wish I had a free hand to brush it away before Finnick saw I was already crying. I must look so stupid right now.

"That was one hell of a run, you know." Finnick says casually, and that's when I loose my resolve. I whip my head around to meet his eyes, feeling my temper slowly crumbling away.

"Yeah, it was." I snap, before he has the chance to say something else smart. "I don't think I would have done it if I knew this was the end result." I glance down at the restraints on my hands and feet, then quickly move my glare up to meet his eyes.
"Thought that might be the case. I tried to say something about the handcuffs, but they said it was going to be safest if they stayed." He agrees in that same calm tone. Why was it so infuriating? I scoff as I blink away the tears, biting down hard on the side of my lip. I can't believe he's still pretending to be on my side.