The water rushes up to meet her, making her flinch when it slips over her feet, and continues to move. Breathe, Annie tells herself. She has to force her breath out through her pursed lips as the water recedes and she sinks a little into the soft sand.
Six months later, and she still can't go more than ankle-deep in the ocean.
She lets one more wave roll over her feet before shaking them out and walking back up the short stretch of beach to her house.
It's still strange to think of it as her house. For her entire life, all she's had is a small bedroom in a small apartment, but now this entire building belongs to her. Two storys tall, with a full kitchen stocked with food, two living rooms, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms; it's more than she'll ever need. Every bedroom faces the ocean, like they picked this one specifically for her so she'd have to look at it everyday.
At first, she could barely sleep, knowing it was out there. It's so quiet at night in the Victor's Village that she can hear the waves. Or maybe it's just her imagination. Either way, for the first month or so of living there, the waves would turn into rushing water every night. They would sweep in, over her entire house, and drown her.
And then she would hear the noise. That awful noise from the Arena. The one that drilled into her ears and her bones and her brain. The one that meant something bad was about to happen. She'd wake up screaming then, kicking her way to the surface of a tidal wave that didn't exist anymore. She'd gasp for air that she had plenty of and then start crying because she felt so stupid for crying over something like that.
She still feels stupid, every time she cries. Every day, she tries to swim in the ocean, and, every day, her body seizes up once it touches the water.
Early on, she made it pretty far in. She kept pushing herself, through the protest of her muscles and the tears streaming down her face, until the ocean crept through her swimsuit and touched her stomach. Panic took over then. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on her back porch with her hands pressed over her ears and Finnick's hands resting on her knees.
Just like on the day her parents died.
She stops then, only a few steps from the porch, and takes a deep breath.
Of all people, she finds Finnick's company the most comforting. She sometimes thinks she'd be happy never looking at him again, but she sleeps better next to him.
There's some part of her that still feels the same way she felt before she went in the Arena. There's a bigger part of her, though, that hates him. No, hate is too strong. She wants to scream at him. If he had let her die, her parents would be alive, and she wouldn't have nightmares about dead people and huge waves.
He was the one who found her, after Snow had her parents shot before her eyes, after the clean up crew came in to dispose of their bodies. She only sat there, through all of it, watching their blood creep across the floor until the pools combined into one huge one. Then people came in, and removed them, and cleaned up the blood. Their faces were mixed bags of pity and disgust, daring her to make any sort of move, to prove herself. To be the person she was in the Arena, the person who, just a few days earlier, had been covered in Lark's blood, or Ivory's blood, or Sebastian's, or Hera's. She couldn't stand the looks they were giving her, so she stared at nothing, just a fleck on the wall that wouldn't come off no matter how hard she scratched it, until Finnick was kneeling in front of her, taking her hands and repeating her name over and over. He helped her up and took her to his house, where she slept in his bed for the first time. She'd been sleeping there, a lot of nights, ever since.
She can't think about that now, though. She takes another deep breath and pushes open the huge ornate doors that lead directly into her kitchen. She's greeted immediately by the smell of garlic.
"How far today?"
Mags stands next to the stove, stirring a large pot. Her long gray hair is tied back today, and she's wearing an apron. She sets down her spoon when Annie walks in, and walks over to give her a hug, making her smile for the first time today.
"Ankles," she tells her.
"For how long?"
"Five waves." Annie lets out a breath and crosses behind Mags to grab a glass from the cupboard above her head.
"Hey!" another voice exclaims. Annie stops herself from flinching. She didn't know he was here. "That's great!"
"A year ago, I was—"
"This isn't a year ago," he says.
Annie fills her glass with water, keeping her eyes away from Finnick. She takes a long sip and turns back with a smile to meet Mags' eyes.
"Time?" she asks. Annie nods.
"The whole crew will be here soon, and I want to do this before my makeover."
"Do you want any company?" Finnick asks. She still hasn't looked at him. She can see the rope in his hands from the corner of her eye.
She shakes her head no and walks out of the kitchen, through the front living room, out the front door, and onto the main road running through the Victors' Village.
The road is bustling today, bursting with people and camera equipment. A few of them look up from their jobs when they hear the door open, but quickly return to whatever they're doing. Some of them seem to be laying down a track. Some are placing cameras in various spots around the exterior of her house.
Tomorrow, she leaves for her Victory Tour. Tonight is her interview, so the country can see how crazy she still is. She chose this persona. Now she has to stick with it. She's been putting off thinking about the tour, though, for as long as possible. Seeing the crew set up makes it hard to ignore. She trains her eyes on the ground and keeps walking.
Annie glances at Finnick's house, right across from hers, and slips one hand up her neck, towards her ear. She hates being so cold to him, but she also hates being surprised by his visits. His choices, his advice, landed her here, just as much as hers. She still can't forgive him for everything, just like she can't forgive herself.
She walks down the street, past all the empty houses, to the cemetery at the back. She stops short when she sees the gate, reminded of why she's there.
Her crying father on his knees. Her mother, with nothing but anger in her eyes. Two gunshots. Two pools of blood, slowly mixing into one.
She can't breathe. The world is too small, and she's too big, and all she wants is to not exist.
I can't, she thinks. I can't do it.
Their deaths had been covered up, of course. The day after they were murdered, there was an announcement: There had been a horrible boating accident. Her parents were out to catch some fish for her victory dinner when they capsized. No survivors. There was a small public funeral, where only a few of their friends showed up. Annie didn't go to that one. She couldn't sit through a gathering like that. Fishing on your own is illegal in District 4. They died criminals, according to the whole District. She couldn't face that.
On top of that, Sebastian's funeral was the day before. She went, but didn't say anything. His family kept shooting her dirty looks. They didn't want her there. They didn't want any sort of association with the Poor Mad Girl. She left before the ceremony ended.
You can, a voice tells her, but it's not her own. She doesn't know whose it is.
She takes a deep breath and moves herself, step by step, to the cemetery. She walks toward the back, and, when she finds their grave, sinks to her knees.
HERE LIE
BECK AND MILA CRESTA
BELOVED PARENTS AND FRIENDS
Her two shells, the only decorations she could bring herself to add, sit on either side of their names. As she watches, the shells turn into bullet holes, and begin to ooze blood. She shuts her eyes and grabs her ears before the noise can start.
She remembers when she said goodbye to them, before she left for the Games. Her mom was so proud of her, and her dad told her to be safe.
I hope you're still proud, she thinks. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe.
She makes a mental note to add more shells. The funeral isn't really over until the graves are covered with them. It had all been too fresh at the time, and the service so soon, that she didn't take the time to decorate. She regrets that now, as she stares at the two white shells she glued on. They deserve more. They deserve better.
Sebastian's headstone was beautiful, dotted with shells of all colors, swirling around his name like a kaleidoscope. The whole family had worked on it. Her parents deserve something that grand.
After a long time, she stands up to leave, and realizes her face is wet.
She walks home quickly, or, at least, it feels quick to Annie. The crew is setting up huge lights now, taller than she is. She ignores them as she walks in the door, and they ignore her.
"Annie!" An excited shout, followed by a pale pink blur pulling her into itself, can only mean one thing.
"Hi, Mena," she says, patting her on the back to avoid really hugging her. "Is the whole crew here?"
Her former escort dislodges herself and holds her at arm's length. Her wig, like her outfit, is pink. Everything about her pops. The lightness of her clothing, with her dark skin, makes her glow. This was probably the point. Her eyes are painted the same color, her eyelashes inhumanly long with little pink gems at the corners, but her lips are blended in with the rest of her face. The contrast is a little jarring.
"Yes," Mena answers, looking her up and down. "And they have some work to do. If you want to point me to your jewelry, I'll get it all set up for you."
The next few hours are a haze. She shows Mena the bin with her necklaces in it, and the spot in the living room she was going to set them up in. She starts to help, but then Stella, her stylist, sweeps in, flanked by her prep team, all dressed in slim black clothes. They pull Annie away after a few short greetings, all the way into her bedroom upstairs.
She remembers the first time they worked on her. She was a different person then, a whole lifetime ago, but she sits, silently, in the same way while they brush her hair and wash her and wax her and pluck her and paint her. She doesn't remember their names, and she doesn't care enough to ask. They barely even talk to each other this time. She is the Poor Mad Girl, and everyone, even the people on her team, believes that story.
When they finish, Stella puts her in a long dress covered with shells. Her skin is smooth and flawless, her makeup shimmering in the light without overpowering her face. Her hair is braided in a long circle around her head, like a dark crown dotted with pearls and small shells.
She's lead downstairs, where Mena is waiting, chatting with some of the camera operators. Annie's fitted for a mic, and then it's show time.
They start by following her around for a quick tour of her house. They linger on the table with her necklaces, all made from shells and wire and twine. Those are her talent. That's, supposedly, what she's doing with her time now that she's a Victor. She speaks half-heartedly, always making sure there's an edge to her voice. She is the Poor Mad Girl, and the whole country has to know it.
They move on quickly. No one wants to be there for longer than necessary. She's lead outside. The sun is just beginning to set. They give her an earpiece, so she can hear Caesar Flickerman's voice and respond to it.
The interview is short. She looks in various cameras and answers benign questions. Yes, she's excited for her tour. Yes, she's grateful for everything the Capitol has given her. Look fragile, she reminds herself throughout. Look scared. You could crumble into nothing at any second, and the whole country needs to know it.
When it's finally over, the camera crews quickly leave. Mags invites Stella, Mena, and the prep team to stay for dinner: a thick beef stew, with some of the green seaweed bread of District 4 on the side. Annie can feel Finnick dart several quick glances at her, but she still doesn't look at him. No one talks much, not even Mena. When it's over, everyone stands up, thanks Annie and Mags, and heads for the front door. She's so anxious to get everyone out that she almost pushes them out.
The door clicks shut, echoing around the room. Everyone is gone, including Mags, and she's alone again. Exhaustion suddenly settles onto Annie's shoulders. She turns, without saying anything, and heads for the stairs.
"Are you going to bed already?"
Annie winces. She didn't know he was still here. He was supposed to leave with everyone else. She stops and turns to look at him, really look at him, for the first time tonight. He's almost ragged. His cheekbones stick out more than they should, like they always do when he comes back from the Capitol. He barely eats while he's there, he told her that once. His eyes are puffy and ringed with dark circles.
This was almost her fate. They could've come home together last night, both of them starved and depressed and crying. Instead it was just him. He saved her from that. He saved her from the Capitol citizens, from their demands, and all the ways they'd use her body. She wants to run to him now, and wrap her arms around him and just hold him. She wants to kiss his face and tell him he's safe, he's not there anymore. He's here, and he's home, and he's safe with her.
But….
"Yeah," she says, placing her foot on the bottom step. "I'm exhausted."
"Yeah, I guess that's understandable."
"Thanks," she replies, awkwardly.
He takes a tentative step towards her, then another when she doesn't move.
"Well," he says. "Let's go to sleep?"
She nods and turns to walk up the stairs. Of course he wants to sleep here tonight. He would've last night, too, but he got home so late that he didn't want to wake her. Or so she assumes. She can feel him moving behind her, each step he takes, up the stairs and down the hall, until they're in the same bedroom, only a few feet from each other. She watches as he chews on his thumbnail.
"Do you want the wall tonight?" she asks.
"Yeah, if you don't mind."
"No, that's fine."
Finnick pulls open a drawer, his drawer, on her dresser. He pulls out some sleeping clothes and walks back out the door. He changes in the bathroom, always, even at his house. Annie doesn't know if it's for her privacy or his. She pulls off the interview dress and tosses it on the floor, where it clatters into a heap. She grabs her night dress off her dresser and slips into it, then undoes the decorations in her hair.
She climbs into bed, leaving a large gap between herself and the wall. This bed is a lot bigger than her old one. Even with her and Finnick sharing it, they could easily fit another person in with them.
After a few minutes, there's a knock at the door.
"Come in," she calls out, and Finnick enters the room again. He shuffles across the floor and slides into the bed with his back to the wall.
For a long time, neither of them does anything. There's nothing but the sound of gentle breathing. Not even the ocean noises are coming in tonight.
"I really missed you," Finnick says, finally, breaking the still, silent air between them. Annie turns over so she can face him.
"I know," she answers.
"I miss you every time I go… there."
"I know."
He reaches across the small space to smooth his hand down her cheek and curl his fingers between hers. Instinctively, she pulls her hand away.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothing, I…." She looks at him. His eyebrows are knit together. He looks so thin and so tired…. "Nothing."
"Okay."
"I had a rough day."
He almost laughs at that.
"Yeah, I guess you did."
She shakes her head as best she can.
"Not like your day was any easier."
He reaches, again, for her hand, but stops halfway and pulls back.
"Maybe I should let you sleep alone tonight," he says after a short pause.
Her initial reaction is relief. Yes, good, she thinks. Go to another room. Give me some space. But, then, she feels a light breeze on her face, and remembers the ocean outside, and her nightmares. What would she do, if she woke up screaming and he wasn't there? It's different when he's in the Capitol, but to have him here, at home, and not sleeping two feet away from her?
"No, please," she replies. "Stay here."
To her surprise, he lets out a short breath and pushes himself upright.
"Here's the problem, Annie," he begins. "You can't have these things both ways. You can't hate me or punish me or blame me for your problems, or whatever it is you've been doing to me, and then also have me cater to your needs."
"What does that mean?" she snaps, also pushing herself up.
"It means… we need to figure out what we are. We need to figure out what we're doing and how we… really feel." There's a long pause and then he adds, "I'm going to sleep in the other room tonight."
He pushes and slides himself out of bed and walks across the room with slow, deliberate steps.
"Finnick?"
He stops.
"What, Annie?"
"What if the ocean floods everything while I'm sleeping?"
He looks back at her, but she can't make out his face from where she is.
"Then you deal with it, Annie. Like the rest of us do."
The door creaks open and clicks when it shuts, and, for the umpteenth time in six months, Annie Cresta feels really, truly alone.