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9/2/14 18:18He hurt. Being given to someone from One or Two was rare, but it was usually worse than being given to someone in the Capitol. The Capitol, even when they liked to hurt him, also usually loved him. One and Two didn't have any particular fondness for him. In fact, they might have hated him more than the outlying districts. They at least were used to losing tributes. But Finnick had stolen something from them. He'd taken the 65th games from them, personally killing three out of four of the tributes from One and Two when he'd betrayed the Career pack he'd been with. And then, of course, he'd brought Annie home months ago.
He was degraded every time he was sent to someone from One or Two.
And his schedule was flush with appointments, barely leaving him a night to himself.
His stylist had gotten him back to the train, a silent presence whom Finnick had come to appreciate over the years. She always cleaned Finnick up without comment, getting him back to his usual shining standard while giving short commands that he could mindlessly follow. She just got him to his room tonight, leaving clean clothes folded and two sleeping pills besides his bed. (She'd obviously and, unfortunately for Finnick, correctly put together that he was startlingly sober.)
The rest of the train was silent around them, which was a relief. He supposed that they would leave shortly after he got on board, heading toward their next destination.
He went into the bathroom, messily pushing at the handles until the hot water started. He shed the clothes without concern for them. His shirt was ripped and missing buttons anyway. It was definitely going to be thrown away. He stepped into the shower and pressed both of his hands against the tiles to support his weight, head dipping down toward his chest as he let the water stream down his back. He stayed like for as long as he could, wishing that he could just fall asleep here. Washing his body was a chore, one that he had to do as mindlessly as possible, because he couldn't catalog all the places that ached too deeply. Nothing had been broken, so he was fine, he tried to remind himself.
He barely bothered toweling himself off before he walked back into the bedroom, pulling on the clothes that had been left for him. He hated the feel of the fabric, but he didn't want to sleep naked. Sleeping in his own bed without anything on in the middle of a too-warm summer night seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Finnick sank down onto the bed in a daze, able to feel the train just kicking to life underneath him.
He was degraded every time he was sent to someone from One or Two.
And his schedule was flush with appointments, barely leaving him a night to himself.
His stylist had gotten him back to the train, a silent presence whom Finnick had come to appreciate over the years. She always cleaned Finnick up without comment, getting him back to his usual shining standard while giving short commands that he could mindlessly follow. She just got him to his room tonight, leaving clean clothes folded and two sleeping pills besides his bed. (She'd obviously and, unfortunately for Finnick, correctly put together that he was startlingly sober.)
The rest of the train was silent around them, which was a relief. He supposed that they would leave shortly after he got on board, heading toward their next destination.
He went into the bathroom, messily pushing at the handles until the hot water started. He shed the clothes without concern for them. His shirt was ripped and missing buttons anyway. It was definitely going to be thrown away. He stepped into the shower and pressed both of his hands against the tiles to support his weight, head dipping down toward his chest as he let the water stream down his back. He stayed like for as long as he could, wishing that he could just fall asleep here. Washing his body was a chore, one that he had to do as mindlessly as possible, because he couldn't catalog all the places that ached too deeply. Nothing had been broken, so he was fine, he tried to remind himself.
He barely bothered toweling himself off before he walked back into the bedroom, pulling on the clothes that had been left for him. He hated the feel of the fabric, but he didn't want to sleep naked. Sleeping in his own bed without anything on in the middle of a too-warm summer night seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Finnick sank down onto the bed in a daze, able to feel the train just kicking to life underneath him.