Trapped, Finnick Odair

꧁11꧂

STANDING IN FRONT OF THE HOVERCRAFT that would take me to the arena made me sweat. I couldn't tell if my anxiety attack was from the long sleeve and long leg bodysuit or the nerves I would get from going back into that arena.

It felt as if I were spending the last few moments of my life there. Like that hovercraft was my fate of death and I was just facing it. Flynn's supportive hand on my shoulder had me at some kind of comfort.

One thing I'd learned since I got reaped for the Quell: Affection is nice. Feeling Mags' and Finnick's hands on my face or on my hands was a new feeling I was enjoying.

"Come on, Ameria," Flynn said, gently shoving me by my shoulder. I looked over at him and nodded. I was really close to him as we walked.

I let out a terribly shaky breath as we walked onto the bridge that connected with us with the hovercraft. I paused in the middle of the bridge as I made eye contact with one of the peacekeepers. Flynn moved his hand off my shoulder and moved his hand over to mine. He interwined our fingers and squeezed my hand. I looked down at his dark chocolate hand, which contrasted nicely with my pale skin. It brought me comfort knowing he cared.

I gulped down the nerves and walked over the bridge with him, and the second we stepped onto that hovercraft, the peacekeepers stepped in behind us. The door's of the craft violently shut. That was it. There was no leaving.

Flynn looked to the peacekeeper, who stood confidently by us. He moved his eyes off of him and onto me, "You got this, Ameria. Don't be nervous."

I could tell Flynn was worried about my PTSD and panic attacks by the way he looked at me like a bomb that was soon to erupt. He looked at me nervously as he kept telling me to relax. It was weird to have Flynn be so nice to me when he was part of the capitol and was friends with Alexie. It felt nice to have someone who didn't ever bring it up. Sometimes people only spoke to me about Alexie, and I kind of forgot I was even my own person before all this.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly and sat down in the ship's chairs. I buckled the seatbelt they supplied for us and awkwardly rested my frail hands in my lap. Flynn sat down in the chair that was connected to the wall next to me.

The peacekeeper stuck out his arm, his voice monotone, "Tracker."

I looked over to Flynn nervously. His small little nod assured me as I put my arm out onto the metal armrest. The peacekeeper violently yanked my arm towards him and held out the huge thick needle injection that stuck the tracker into us.

Peacekeeper is kind of an iconic name for them, huh?

I could tell this guy hated me by the way he squeezed my forearm as he shoved the obnoxiously thick needle into my arm. It was like, 1/4 of an inch thick. He had no grace with it, which made me flinch a little. He took the needle out, and as he walked away, I spoke to the peacekeeper, "That wasn't very peacekeeping of you."