Finnick sat by the shore, his hands raw from twisting note after knot. He had just come home after another round at the Capitol. The 67th games had just finished. His mind has been plagued with dark murky water, his skin burned and raw with unwanted touches, bruises, undesired lipstick stains he tried to wash off and even though he may succeed, no matter how much he scrubbed...they were still there.

He sucked in a breath, the sun dipped low and hid itself from him.