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dewdewick · 26 days ago

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Shadows in the dust |

Chapter 10

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use, Disassociation, exploitation of minors, underage drinking, descriptions of PTSD

A/N: OK BESTIES! Under the cut may be upsetting for some readers, please be cautious and if you have experience with SA please don’t read if this will upset you. Your peace of mind and mental health means more than fanfiction. With that being considered, I love you all and thank you for reading!

Word count: 4.1k

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She burst awake, screaming and clawing at her skin as her heart hammered against her ribs like it might break free. Forty floors above the city, her penthouse bedroom seemed to sway, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of lights scattered across the darkness. The dream's desert landscape still pulsed behind her eyes, made worse by the vertigo of being so high up. The apartment was so beautiful, decked out with all the same amenities that she had at the tribute center. Decorated in a burnt orange, gold and navy blue color scheme, none of which she particularly adored, although It seemed standard for all so called working victors.

Her silk pajamas clung to her skin, damp with sweat despite the climate-controlled air wafting through hidden vents. The sheets beneath her were tangled and twisted, a consequence of restless sleep. For several seconds, she couldn't move. The nightmare's paralysis lingered in her muscles, making even the simple act of lifting her head feel impossible. The soft blue glow of some electronic panel cast dim light over the room: 5:47 AM. She forced herself to breathe – in through the nose, out through the mouth – just like Enobaria had taught her. Each exhale carried away fragments of the dream: the endless corridor, the whispers that came from everywhere and nowhere, the sensation of something always just behind her, reaching to snap her neck. She would see them in her dreams, Finch, Caspian, Dutchess and Ammo. They were almost always gruesome in nature, so much blood that she despised the color red. She knew that she had caused that though, she had caused everything.

A helicopter passed by outside, its searchlight momentarily flooding the room and reflecting off the polished marble floors. The glass wall of her bedroom seemed to vibrate with each thrum of its blades. Below, the city stretched out like a circuit board studded with tiny lights, both familiar and bizarre at this hour. The automated blinds, sensing movement, began their silent ascent, gradually revealing more of the cityscape. The smart home system activated a gentle ambient lighting sequence, a soft warm light gradually flooding the room. These modern comforts, all responding to her distress, somehow made her feel more alone.

She sat up, running trembling fingers over her sweat-dampened face. Her bedroom slowly settled back into its familiar luxury: the curated art pieces on the walls, the Eames lounge chair draped with a cashmere throw, the rare orchids arranged on a marble side table. Even here, surrounded by everything money could buy, nightmares found her.

The fear was never gone, not entirely. It had just transformed from the sharp terror of the nightmare into something more diffused – a lingering unease that she knew would follow her through the rest of her life. She reached for the crystal water carafe on her nightstand, hands still shaking slightly. Moving to sit on the edge of the mattress, she kicked her sock clad feet weakly. Her head ached, a mixture of lack of sleep and a set of uncomfortable foam contraptions that were rolled into her hair. Hebe had said something about looking extra pretty for a photoshoot when she put them in the night before. She hated how everything seemed to revolve around beauty, it was the biggest commodity in society, and everyone wanted a piece if they could get it.

Standing up, she grabbed the robe she had dropped on the floor the night before. Its fibers were soft against her skin. “God, I'm a mess.” She murmured to herself, taking a few large sips of water and padding over to her ensuite bathroom. She turned the handle of the sink to ice cold, shivering as the water touched her fingers and pressing it to her face. Maybe for once it would be enough to shake the disgusting feeling from her bones. The feeling of being so loathsome for her actions. Of course a bit of tap water couldn't solve those problems, not one thing in the world could. Tap water couldn't erase the looks of hesitation in her family's faces, it couldn't erase the fact that not even the dog came to greet her as she stepped off the train.

Her bare feet met heated marble floors as she padded to the kitchen. She needed coffee, not that she liked it much. It was bitter and acidic, but it did help her wake up a bit faster in the morning. Since coming back from district 2 it seemed like a free moment was a pipe dream. She was swarmed from the time she woke up until the time she went to sleep at night. Stylists, entourage, paparazzi, fans, and the wealthy who all wanted her attention. She seemed to draw the eye of everyone she met without even meaning to, and yet she felt more alone than ever before. While the coffee dripped, she moved to her floor-to-ceiling windows. The city was just beginning to stir – delivery trucks making their rounds, early risers heading to events, lights flickering on in neighboring buildings. By the time the last drops of coffee filtered through, the horizon had started to blush pink.

She looked over her shoulder, the smell of coffee hanging in the air. Walking back into the kitchen and taking one of the many mugs down from a cabinet, she filled it. Taking as many large sips of the bitter liquid as she could before the heat stopped her. It would’ve definitely been better with milk or sugar, but with how large the kitchen was, she had no clue where to find it. Her stomach growled, but god forbid she were to eat breakfast by herself alone at home. Furisha might have a fit if she wasn't seen eating at both of the breakfast time events planned for her. The food was always amazing but sometimes she craved something simple. A bowl of oatmeal, an apple, or a slice of toast. She missed the beans, eggs and potatoes that her family would eat on Sunday mornings.

She placed the half full mug on the marble counter, turning and hopping up next to it. The stone surface was cold against her thighs, but distractions were always welcome. Silence was a treat, but she could still hear her heartbeat. In times like this it seemed to thunder against her eardrums, unrelenting even if she sometimes wished it would. She slipped silently on the coffee, watching the city wake up from that oh so high apartment. She slipped off the counter eventually to pour herself another cup, frowning as she realized it was now cold in the pot. A sharp knock sounded against the door before it opened. Hebe smiled tiredly and she motioned for other helpers to floor her inside. “Morning sugar! I'm glad to see you didn't take those rollers out, your hair is going to look gorgeous!” She said in a sing-song voice. And suddenly the morning was no longer her own. She was sitting in a familiar chair under a ring light, Hebe standing behind her taking the plastic and foam out of her hair.

After what felt like hours and a few scoldings for almost falling asleep in the chair, she was once again perfect. A so-called perfect victor, their diamond. Furisha as always, mulled around the apartment, scribbling notes in perfect cursive onto a tablet. Her schedule seemed packed, 2 separate breakfasts, 4 photoshoots with a small lunch in between and then her first quote “assignment” from President Snow.

By 10AM she was already done with the day. Paparazzi had swarmed her as she was leaving her apartment. A photographer almost ripped her dress trying to get her to stay in place and smile for them. She had a few scratches on her arm.

By 12PM she just wanted to curl up on the floor. The designers had both complemented and scrutinized her to no end. Each photo seemed to show a fictitious person, a dreamlike creature created by cosmetics and photo editing.

By 2PM the day felt like it had lasted for years, satin no longer felt soft, denim felt like burlap. Furisha gave her a yellow bubbly drink to keep her energized.

At 4PM she was headed back to her apartment, Hebe had set out an outfit for her to wear that night as she dined with some random capital elite.

As she was dressed, she could hear the stylist assistants murmuring, spreading gossip between each other about different victors before her. She heard a few familiar names, rumors of a scandal involving a rich sponsor and a late night with Cashmere from district 1. There were mentions of a few things she didn't quite understand either, what she could only assume were medications and where to get them. She had heard mentions of a substance called morphling and maybe she was given it during her recovery but she didn't really remember. According to this conversation she was overhearing, it was extremely popular.

The stylist assistants fluffed up her curls, tugging at a few bits of fabric before deeming that she was done. “That buyer is a lucky man.” one of them murmured to the other, earning a sequence of giggles. Her brow furrowed, lucky to be seen with her in public? She smoothed out the dress she was zipped into. It was a little black strapless thing with a belt and white bow on her waist, not ideally what she would've picked out but she did look good.

Furisha bounded into the room as the stylists notified her that her charge was done. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a mess of curls. Her dress was silver, short and sparkly. She grinned with that expression that meant Y/N wouldn’t like what was about to happen. “Sweetheart you look amazing, just sweet enough to eat!” Furisha said happily, rushing up to inspect the victor with purpose. “You’ll be having dinner with one of your sponsors tonight, he sent that medicine to you in the arena. You'll need to be on your best behavior, none of that backtalk like you do with me.” The taller woman chastised, her finger waving in the air. “Do I at least get a jacket?” She asked, her hands coming up to her biceps in a makeshift hug. “It's already September, it's getting chilly at night.” She asked with a slight scrunch on her nose.

Furisha waved her off, “You'll be fine, I don’t think you'll be too cold.” she said dismissively, prying her tributes hands off her arms.

Her nose wrinkled further as Furisha led her to the door, she made some sort of funny little noise in the back of her throat… She didn't really mean to make it but it seemed the anxiety of the day was getting to her. The two women walked out the door and to the elevator. Her hands wrung together, her slightly dull nails digging into her palms once more.

What if she said the wrong thing? Laughed too loud? Revealed too much? The endless possibilities of potential humiliation churned in her stomach like a violent tide. Her mind raced through previous public encounters—the awkward silences, the judgment in their eyes, the way her words would tangle and trip over themselves when she thought too much about them. Anxiety was a familiar companion. It whispered worst-case scenarios, she’d be boring. They'd think she was weird, she’d make a fool of herself or worse - she’d make a fool of the capital.

She couldn't afford to disappoint President Snow, not after what he'd said at their little impromptu meeting. The glass of the elevator prompted the last remaining sunshine of the day to dance across her skin, it was warm as it passed. A few crystalline rainbows flew by as she and Furisha made their quick descent to the car waiting below. It was spectacular how beautiful the smallest things could be in the capital, but oh how fleeting the beauty could be as the anxiety rose. She wished she could have a hand to hold. Her mother maybe? In all honesty she wished it could be Caspian, she didn't understand why she missed him so much. They had only spent that one day and night together. Something about his presence haunted her though, just as all of the other careers did.

When she looked in the mirror at the glittering jewels or luxurious furs, she thought of Dutchess. Every once in a while she would see a little blonde boy who she supposed lived in the area. He looked so much like Ammo, his little smile always made her stomach churn. She didn't think much of Meena. However the young girl's screams haunted her in late nights and stifling nightmares. And then there was Finch, he haunted every waking hour. She saw him in the faces of everyone in her district, the true winner of the 69th games in their eyes. Killing her district partner was the most unforgivable sin in a district so steeped with capital ideals and familial values. It had always seemed a bit odd to her how much they preached about family values while sending their children to volunteer for the games at their own benefit.

The elevator doors opened and she was once again accosted by a few different photographers and fans. A couple with a young daughter asked her to sign the girl’s dress. She looked down at the child who couldn’t have been more than 5 years old. The child with 3 gems implanted in each of her cheeks to match her parents. She choked out a hello to the child, signing the dress that cost enough to feed an entire family back home. She smiled as a photographer took a few shots of her and the small girl together. Furisha took her arm before she was forced into more conversation.

Furisha began talking as they got into the car, something about some party that she went to the night before. She was ever so upset about how her outfit clashed with some other capitalites. A ridiculous notion of how a woman copied the design of a dress she had worn previously. She wondered if Furisha had been to any district but 2. She had heard stories of the hunger of District 12 and the lumberjack injuries in district 7. In comparison, she was just as privileged as Furisha. Her family always had food growing up, usually stews of grilled parts of the cattle that nobody else would buy. It was still food though, and compared to the rumors she heard in the capital, she had it good.

Furisha snapped in front of her, an annoyed look on her face. “Hello? Are you even listening to me? I swear you do that so much I can barely get a word in!” She complained. The escort leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to be helpful, you need to know how this little dinner is going to go.” She huffed before continuing “Be sure to finish all of your food and drinks, and smile and laugh as much as you can. There’s no need to ruin your perfect image with any of this gloomy energy. I’ve worked too hard on you for tonight to go badly.” Furisha lectured, a serious look on her face for once.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the comments of Furisha’s so-called work. She decided to plaster a fake smile on her face instead, giving a sickly sweet response just as the escort herself usually did. “Of course, I’ll be sure to take all of your hard work and advice into consideration. Wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste.” She grinned, lying through her teeth. Furisha, ever the brainiac, smiled triumphantly.

They pulled up to the opulent restaurant, fresh flowers and fountains outside. The driver stepped out of the car, walking back to open her door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning!” Furisha beamed as the door closed behind her. Tomorrow? This was just dinner, maybe she was supposed to stay in the hotel connected to the restaurant?

Walking into the restroom, she looked around at the scenery. The floors were dark wood and the chairs were a dark velvet. The entire place was only lit by candlelight and gold chandeliers. A woman quickly came up to her, wearing a low sleek ponytail and red lipstick that matched the velvet chairs. “Good evening Miss, I’ve been designated to take you to your table and instruct you on the menu. Will you please follow me?” She asked, her hand outstretched into the restaurant.

She was led to a corner table overlooking the city. A few guards stood around the general area, showing that the man she was meeting was in high standing. The man stood as she approached, he clapped his hands and reached out to her. Taking her by her shoulders, he kissed both her cheeks. “Oh my darling, you look divine!” He gushed, spinning her around to get a look at her dress. “I’m Amund Price, I sponsored you in the games. You were too beautiful of a flower to let wilt.” He grinned, his hand coming up to pet her hair. It would’ve been condescending if it weren’t so creepy. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, soulless and cold.

She smiled, her gut screaming at her to run from this man. Instead she sat when an Avox pulled a chair out for her. She let Amund Price hold her hand throughout dinner and she made pleasant conversation as they ate. She wanted to puke by the time dessert was served, the food was just so much all at once. Dessert was a small chocolate cake, only about the size of an egg. It had a blueish purple sauce drizzled on top of it, it smelled familiar, like something from childhood that she just couldn’t remember. Maybe something from a dream?

She looked over to see that Price had a different dessert. Something with strawberries and cream, it looked far more appealing than the small cake in front of her. She looked down, taking the 3 bites of dessert in front of her and sipping her glass of wine. Amund droned on about something or another, political standing and where he thought he might be in the future. What a silly notion for an older man, a long away future plan.

She could feel her body relaxing as he spoke, maybe she had a bit more wine than she thought. As he lectured she fought to keep her eyes open, her head spinning and her movements more clumsy. Amund smiled as he noticed, reaching out to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, he said something but it seemed to go in one ear and out the other. She didn’t even notice as her eyes closed and she slumped over unconscious.

The first sense she felt was pain, nothing too overwhelming but it still ached. Her eyes opened wearily, feeling slightly crusty from dried tears on her lashes. Her throat was almost painfully dry, she wondered if she had fallen asleep with her mouth open. In all honesty, she didn’t remember much after the restaurant. Swallowing what little spit she had in her mouth, she moved her body to the side. Her lower stomach hurt, almost like a period cramp. Her hand found her stomach and she curled into herself a bit. Tears pricked her lash line, when had she become such a wimp to a little pain? She looked around at the white silk sheets, they were ruffled up and slightly twisted.

Her legs felt wet, her body felt sticky, she didn’t know where her clothes were. She didn’t know where she was in general. Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she let out a small groan. Her muscles felt stiff, protesting the sudden movement. Looking down at her body she moved the thin sheets off herself. Little round bruises littered her hips, then she saw blood. Her nose wrinkled and dread pooled in her stomach. Her stomach lurched and she gagged. Coughing as she felt her mouth water and acid in her throat. She understood it at that moment, the arrangement with Snow. She was to be sold, that’s what the stylist assistants were talking about, they all knew.

Standing only caused more pain, she took a few deep breaths as she held onto the bedpost. Still gagging and sputtering as her legs shook underneath her. Glancing over to the desk in the room, she saw a thin box, an envelope and a dozen red roses. Oh goodie, a gift from Amund. She lurched again, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the floor. A sob broke through as she retched onto the tile.

Stumbling into the bathroom, she climbed into the bathtub. Starting the tap in a hurry and letting the heated water run over her body. It burned, but it was good. She didn’t feel so sticky anymore at least. She let out a poor excuse for a scream as she sobbed into the blood tainted water. Snatching up a body brush, she began to scrub. She needed to feel clean, anything to feel clean again. Her skin burned as the near boiling water touched its raw surface. Her hand cramped up, her skin raw and angry under the brush. Her shaking hand let go and the brush dropped into the bloody water. Staring into her reflection in the ripples, She let herself sit in the tub until the water was cold. Crying softly to herself as she laid back. She didn’t know how long she had been in the tub, she didn’t care that much. Her mind wandered to better times before the nightmare of the games took over her life. When only her mother would complain about her clothes and hair. When she was free to love and be loved. When she could have so much dirt on her face that nobody cared about her looks. She only got out when a knock came to the door. Stepping out of the tub and leaving a trail of pinkish water from the bathroom to the door, she opened it in a daze. Hebe and Furisha stood outside.

Upon seeing her they made various noises of mortification. They barreled in to attempt and preserve any dignity that could remain. Her mind seemed to be escaping her but her reputation didn’t have to. Hebe let out a horrified sound as she saw the state of the room and bathroom. quickly draining and filling the tub again, before leading her charge back to the sweet smelling warm water. She was silent, letting Hebe wash her hair for her in gentle circular motions. She didn’t speak, she just sat as the Matts from the night before were detangled. She wanted to cry, a gentle touch was something she craved more than she cared to admit. She just sat motionless however, blank, hallow and silent. She let her mind wanted as she stared ahead, bringing herself to another moment in time when she wasn’t in so much pain.

After her hair was washed, Hebe wrapped her in a few fluffy towels before sitting her on the bed. Furisha had stripped the sheets off, piling them in the corner of the room. The vomit was covered with a few towels alongside the blood on the floor. She had also packed away the gifts, note and her clothes from the prior night in a small bag. A soft knitted dress was set out on the bed, that dreaded Red Oxide color that her apartment was decorated with. She slipped it on thoughtlessly, sitting still and letting her mind wander further as Hebe did her makeup and Furisha did her hair.

Hebe and Furisha gave each other another wordless look. Standing her up and slipping black tights and kitten heel boots onto her legs and feet. Hebe took her arm and began to lead her outside of the room, hoping she was still fit to smile for any cameras that might spot her. Furisha took the bags, hurriedly going ahead of them to get the car ready to take them to a late lunch.

She looked back in the hallway as they waited for the elevator. A few people milled about, hotel employees and a few people she swore she had seen before at different events. They pulled a man out of a room, his bronze hair catching her eye. She forced herself back into the pinhole of reality, blinking forcefully a few times as she watched the man being pulled forward. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his head hung. She was able to catch his eyes before he stepped into an elevator at the other end of the hallway. She knew the sly grin he gave her, she had seen it before, in what seemed like another life. It was Finnick Odair.

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