my head’s under water but i’m breathing fire / self-para
The ship stopped. It was both a relief, for the floating hadn’t been as smooth as when it was in good conditions, and a reason to panic. Regan’s heart started beating like a drum in her chest, looking all over the deep, endless blues waiting for something to happen. As the voice of a woman broke in the silence before the storm, the tribute ran inside, just in case the ships would return to bomb their safe place. At the end of her speech, Regan’s eyes lit up. They were invited to a feast. Every and each one of her worries were going to die, because a knife had to be waiting in the dining room for her. She was probably the first and most eager to climb down the stairs and rush into the most classic trap of them all.
The first sign that it was going to be more difficult than initially planned was the water cutting her way to the second level of the ship. The stairs were, from a point, sunk in cold water, and Regan thought this was a joke, but nothing was happening as she stepped on the wet stair. The water didn’t drain to make way for her. It didn’t split in two in the biblical way, to let Regan reach her purpose. It was there to stay. The District One female tribute looked around helplessly before deciding that there was no decision to make. She needed to sink, too. Undressing her rain jacket and placing it comfortably on the dry stairs and hesitating only a bit before taking off her bathing robe - heavy and dirty to begin with - she peeled off her skin to the bone and remained naked, only the golden bracelet on her wrist covering her body. Swimming had to be like taking a bath. She felt powerful and unstoppable, looking even at the water she used to shudder at as if it had to perish under her cold sight. As if she could make all of it evaporate through the glare alone. Regan took off.
She climbed down the stairs taking her to the dining room, holding her breath, but no longer than twenty seconds later, she returned to gasp for air. As much as Joy taught her the very basics of swimming, they haven’t practiced much about breathing, and Regan’s resistance was lower than everything that fell under water. Yet, she had to try again, and fast, before the dining room had to welcome different guests who possibly knew how to swim better than her. She tried to move fast and keep calm, as those were lessons Joy delivered with such warmth and patience that Regan felt, for the first time in her whole life, envy.
There she was, in the said room, blue from the ocean’s kiss, but she could feel herself drifting away in a dizzy state. The blonde moved her arms clumsily to get to the gifts. At first, she eyed Carter’s pack with hatred - how dare he live with Stella dead? - and wanted to take it too, but she could barely swim without baggage. Even her own gift was too heavy, but she cracked the sack open regardless and found, as expected, the most beautiful golden knife. The water was causing her to lose her conscience, constantly feeling like choking. Every second, she would swallow more and more water, and sink, too, like the anchors.
But in those moments of adrenaline in which she wasn’t sure of her own life, with a knife in a hand that she used to move water aside as she was returning, Regan managed to swim better than before, making it back to clean air, just before the floor started shaking. It was a dizziness that pressed against her head and caused it to ache and boom, but she knew for a fact that that was an area of interest and she couldn’t stay there feeling nauseous and lost. She stood up, hugging her knife, and put on her robe and jacket, shuddering as a result of leaving the water all of a sudden. In a zombie state, she kept walking and walking until she found a more isolated corner to breathe in.
Everything was hurting and her skin felt like ants were crossing it all over. Although Regan tried her best to scratch, she barely had any nails left, and the gesture didn’t help the feeling. With that, she took the knife and scratched herself as gently as she could, but in the end, though she couldn’t feel anything but the itch, she discovered her palms to be red from scratches here and there where it dug into skin superficially. She just needed to breathe and she was going to be fine, eventually, though. Now she was back in the game with a knife, at least.
