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There is a kinship among the Victors. Something that can only be seen in their eyes no matter how brave or funny or sweet they act. Behind the words, the makeup and the made up hair, there is a hatred buried in the depths of their eyes. Behind the bright smiles and flirtatious behaviour, there is a darkness that can be seen as an undercurrent of every movement and word.
Johanna didn’t understand Victors, not until she became one.
She thought she hated the Capitol and all that it stood for before she had been reaped, but that feeling was nothing to the disgust and pity she felt for all those who surrounded themselves with stylish products after she was brought to the very city that wanted her dead.
She realised with a pang that they were ignorant of the pain and suffering that was caused by the games. The people lived in their little bubbles, detached from the real world as they continued to play pretend with others who were just as good with their imaginations.
The Tributes knew some of it. The Victors knew better.
Tributes entered the city with bright lights shining in their eyes. They are waxed, plucked and dyed to the perfection that they can be. Then they are out on parade before they are sent to their deaths.
Victors have seen death. They are the survivors who have broken necks, stabbed a back, thrown an axe and have watched another person’s blood drip down their fingers. They have been starved and hurt and then polished so well that only the internal scars remain.
One thing the arena teaches her is not to trust anyone. The game she played paid off, but she was no longer viewed as an innocent.
She is now the deadly player with an axe. She likes that title more than she can say.
The first time she sees him, he is radiant. He stands tall, all smiles and all wiles, his sea-green eyes holding amusement in their depths as he befriends all those who stand around her.
Johanna scowls.
She scowls when other Victors introduce themselves to her, she scowls when she is offered food or a beverage, and she scowls when the Victor of District 4 offers his hand in a very friendly way.
When she crosses her arms and continues to scowl, he only smiles wider, looking unperturbed by her behaviour. Others walk away when she glares, Finnick Odair wraps a strong arm around her shoulders and says, “I like you. You and I will be friends one day, Mason.”
She continues to scowl as she shrugs out of his arms and turn to leave, trying to ignore the flutter of excitement she felt at the pit of her stomach when he had said those words. His eyes had been full of laughter and his voice lower than most.
She should have paid heed to his warning. She should have stayed away from him of all people.
Whenever she enters a room, he enters a few minutes later, whenever she leaves a room, he practically walks beside her. He’s chirpy and fun, the exact opposite of what she wants from life. He walks like a god among the people and she sits sullen in a corner, unwanted by the company she detests. He smiles, she doesn’t. She believes that there is no question as to who is more popular between the two of them.
“Miss me?”
She rolls her eyes as she drinks the white liquid she had been handed. After the Games, after the nightmares, liquor holds a special place in her heart.
“Shouldn’t you leave to give me the chance to miss you?” she asks curtly, her voice full of venom that no one can misunderstand.
There is something about him, because he deliberately misunderstands. “I do leave. There are times when we don’t spend any time together.”
“Really?” She downs the last of the liquid and eyes him warily. “Why can’t I remember that?”
His smile is wide, but his eyes follow the movement of her hand as she gestures for an Avox to fill her empty glass. It’s an odd shaped piece, the edges cut her every time she holds it too tight.
“I could think of several reasons.”
She snorts. “Go think somewhere else.”
“I would love to,” he says in a friendly voice. “But, I’m afraid you would miss me.”
She snorts and orders another drink too soon. Finnick watches her silently as she puts away another two drinks before he orders his own and joins her without saying a word more.
The first time they fuck is supposed to be an accident. She doesn't know the story and she doesn't want to. All she knows is that he grabs her with a firm hand to the back of her neck and kisses her roughly, his hips pushing into hers and his fingers bruising her. She doesn't care... much. She let's him have her so that she can have him. He leaves her breathless, almost begging for more, but she won't, because she's proud. Instead she meets him thrust for thrust, digs her fingers into his skin, and when he hisses against her neck, she comes so hard she almost cries.
She thinks it's going to be a one-off thing. But it isn't.
He fucks her when Annie gets injured and again when she becomes close to death. On the table, against a wall, but never on a bed. Maybe she should care more that he doesn't come to her when Annie has a good day. Maybe she should feel something other than numbness.
She begins to hate him for good measure.
But, he is still persistent, still stubborn, and still Finnick Odair.
So, when he comes to her floor, smelling of vile perfume and sweat, she doesn’t say a word as she leads him to her shower. He spends an hour in there scrubbing his skin until he is raw and tender to the touch. He doesn’t mention anything but the newest television show and the latest fashion of the Capitol.
She stays silent, listening to him prattle on about things neither of them care for before she finally tells him that there is still a mark on his ear.
He wipes the lipstick away furiously and his smile becomes non-existent.
They don’t talk much about real things such as home or people who they know. But that night, Finnick whispers the words that no one expects him to say.
“I hate this.” His voice of full of venom and goes deeper than the hatred she feels.
She winces when she hears it. Sometimes all they need to do is learn to forget.
She straddles him easily, letting the tips of her fingers play with his clothes as she places warm, soft kisses along his neck. His breathing becomes faster and his breath hitches when she nips against a sensitive spot behind his ear.
They don't speak for the rest of the night, but he lets her touch him, his tongue tasting like strawberries when he kisses her deply.
She rides him hard and quick, and when they are done, they share a smoke and laugh like best friends at a sleepover.
They don't talk much whenever they visit each other. It's simply a meeting of mouths, her hands clinging onto his shoulders as he props her up against the nearest wall and slams into her again and again. They don't talk about their Tributes or the poor kids who would be seeing their deaths. They don't talk about the losses each of their Districts go through. But when a loss is suffered, a quick fuck isn't too far away.
"What if I was to tell you that something was changing? Something new was going to happen?" he asks her this in a soft whisper while he gets dressed.
Joanna leans back on the bed languidly, uncaring that she is as naked as the day she was born. "I would say that I don't give a fuck."
"Trust me," he says, and his voice is so sincere, his eyes so serious, that she stares at him. "You'll want to know about it."
"Oh?" she asks as she lights a cigarette and puffs out the smoke slowly.
Finnick leans over her, his hand going between his legs as he whispers three words softly in her ear. "Speak to Haymitch."
That's all he says before he takes away his hand and winks at her before leaving. Johanna shrugs, thinking that this could be interesting. Her life was too boring and predictable as it is.