My head is going to explode. Death surely wouldn't force me to endure much more… I hope. I'm clinging to the edge of my seat, legs pushed up to my chest, rocking back and forth to the unsteady rhythm of the hovercraft.

Someone is screaming a terrible scream that pierces the very center of my soul, severing with serrated edges. My hands are clapped hard over my ears, nails digging into my flesh. I'm desperate to feel some physical reassurance that I'm alive; that I'm not dead at the moment. Perhaps in a few moments I will be dead. It sounds like people are being tortured. I can't imagine how. Where am I going? Where are they taking me? So many wretched experiences fill my mind. I will probably be next. I don't have the strength to prepare myself mentally.

The dread dawns on me as the screaming continues, building with strength and vigor by the second. It feels like my heart is being torn in two… not just torn, but ripped; shredded into a million malicious pieces. The sound is pounding against my skull, making the edges of my vision burn with red. The screaming comes in waves and tides, washing against my head in sickening repetition. Each receding waves feels like the last until another hits with even greater intensity.

It's rather hard to breathe. I'm gasping, trying desperately to force the stubborn air down my throat. I feel myself screaming in frustration… not that I can hear it over all of the other screams. My nails contract over my ears. I can distantly feel the tiny hairs of my scalp being pulled out.

Faceless people in dirty uniforms are walking around me. They don't look like they are from the Capitol, but there is no way of being sure. A man with dark brown hair and large grey eyes bends down to my level. He's badly bleeding on one shoulder, his hand pressed over the wound, and he winces. His mouth moves, forming a question that I can't hear, and he extends a container of water to me.

I scream in response.

There are shadows swiftly passing over the water, floating behind the man, easing up and down the sides of the hovercraft. One passes over the man's face so close to me that I react instinctively, jerking my head back, and accidentally slamming it into the window behind me.

The painful sensation startles me back into reality with disorienting speed.

"Easy," he says. "Drink this." He holds out the container.

I shake my head, terrified of what lays inside, though my throat is scratched out raw from all the screaming. Speculations of poison, drugs, and painful minerals bloom in my mind. Surely it is something that will force me into a painful oblivion so horrible that I will never get back out.

"It's just water," he says gently. He even takes a sip himself. Then he holds it up to my lips.

My thirst gets the better of me and I gulp it so quickly that I almost choke.

"Slow down," he suggests.

I put out my hands to take the container, but they tremble so violently, half the water spills onto my lap. I gasp as the liquid slides down my legs. The man patiently holds another container to my lips from which I drink greedily.

When I'm done, he asks, "Annie Cresta?"

It's been so long since anyone has said my name.

"Annie, we're rescuing you."

"Res… rescue." The word burns in my throat. It sounds so foreign. The whole sensation of riding in the hovercraft doesn't seem very plausible. Everyone's voices are distant, as if they're being whispered through a broken speaker at me. People's faces keep blurring, sharpening to fine detail… and then fading to a murky mesh of colors. I've been in the dark so long.

I don't even feel alive. Nothing feels human anymore.

"Yes, you're safe now." The words are just a dull murmur. I can't comprehend their real meaning. Safe? When has anyone ever been safe?

The man continues talking. I try very hard to listen.

"…concentrate on what I'm saying? …District 12… name is Gale…"

My head swims.

"…stationed at District 13. Turns out, they're… have planned out a mission to retrieve… worry about the Capitol…"

The sentences can't fit together in my mind. I shake my head in hopelessness.

"…back on hovercraft… is there with the over citizens of… Finnick will be waiting for you."

Something clicks inside my broken brain. Some key fits into a hole correctly.

The scene in front of me suddenly focuses. I can see the face of the man—I think his name is Gale—in detail. His words don't seem to blur together so much anymore. I can even hear the low thrum of the hovercraft's engine.

"Finnick?" I interrupt. My voice sounds like metal being ground to bits.

"Of course. We rescued him before you."

I shake my head, letting it fall haplessly into my hands.

"What do you mean, no?"

I feel like someone has dropped a lead weight on my chest. There's a familiar lump in my throat that spills acid into my lungs. My mouth feels too dry, though tears are running from my eyes.

Liar, liar, pants on fire! Dash whoops. We both know Finnick's de-ad. Dash makes the last word into two syllables.

"Ahh," I choke.

"What?"

That's right, Annie, Dash continues in my head. Better not trust this guy. He seems shady! Don't you remember what they said? About how he died?

I shake my head again and a tiny "please" escapes my lips. I will myself to push away the unbearable thoughts. Of course, Dash will do no such thing.

They drowned him, didn't they? Didn't know it was possible to drown someone from District 4, but I guess when an iron bar is forcing your neck underwater, you don't have much of a choice, do you?

I tremble from the thought, trying not to convulse with sobs in my seat. What is the man sitting in front of me doing? Doesn't he know the truth? He must. Why is he torturing me?

And then they cut him up. They cut his pretty body up and the water turned red. Yuck. Have you ever seen red salt water?

"Finn…" I whisper, nearly inaudible.

And to think, Annie, he went through all of that just for you. You know that, right? A sob erupts from my chest, clawing its way out of my throat. Dash continues, crooning, He wanted to protect you, didn't he? From the Capitol? Didn't want to tell them any secrets about the rebels that might come back and hurt you? How sweet. If not for you, Finnick might still be alive. Too bad they got you in the end, huh?

A strangled sound erupts from my throat.

"Finnick is alive," Gale says slowly.

No, he's not! Dash trills loudly, his voice making my temple throb. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

I want the words to go away, but they don't. Finnick's name spoken aloud has brought me back to my senses, only to pummel me with despair.

"They… killed him," I say, squeezing my eyes shut.

"No they didn't, Annie. They lied to you."

Annie, Annie, Annie. Do you actually believe this guy? You got to be kidding me. I knew you were naïve, but I didn't think you'd ever actually stoop to believe such a dumb lie. You know that dear Finnick is dead. Dead, dead, dead! He's dead! Gone!

"No, no, NO! STOP IT!" I scream at both of them. I scream and scream. I can't take it anymore. The sense of hope is so much worse than the sense of pain. It doesn't shred my heart; it devours it.

"Calm down, Annie," Gale says. A shadow passes over his face. Like the one in the cell. A grinning guard chuckles. The whites of his eyes turn pitch black.

"Ahhh!" I recoil from him, slamming my head into the window. Once. Twice. The slamming sound drowns out Dash's next words.

Oh, look at you. Such a rebel. What are you trying to do? Knock out a few more useless brain cells?

Slam, slam.

Another man comes over with an expensive looking array of medical supplies. His fingers meticulously poke a needle into my arm before I can jerk away. A dulling sensation crawls through my veins making my muscles go weak. I don't fight it. Perhaps they have finally decided to kill me.

I couldn't be happier. This is a much easier death than I had expected.

Turns out they were just torturing my mind before they killed me; trying to pretend they were my friends, that everything was alright, that Finnick was alive…

Dash is silent, finally. Perhaps the drugs killed him first. Yes, this was a much easier death than I had bargained for.

I think of Finnick and how soon I will get to see him… his beautiful face and heart-stopping eyes. Soon… the barrier of life will be broken and I will get to see him…

Soon.

When I come to, it is only too quickly before I realize that I am not, in fact, dead. I'm lying on soft carpet, a clean sheet draped over me. The last one had gotten wet when I spilled water on it. I'm still cold. I can hear the unintelligible murmur of voices mixed in with the quiet hum of the hovercraft.

I open my eyes and discover that I am stationed at the rear end of the hovercraft, surrounded by a few other bustling people. There are a few stretchers and the lumps on top must be people. I guess I'm lucky not to be on one of those. I try to recount escaping the Capitol, but everything seems like a blur. There were lots of explosions. I covered my ears. I remember a light as the door to my cell crumbled. More explosions. Screams, too. I crouch on the floor.

I remember being carried on a tall person's back through a blurry scene, nearly suffocating from the smoky fumes. I was coughing.

I hear the usual ding that signifies the hovercraft landing. Immediately, the energy in the small space becomes tangible. Everyone is moving about, shouting, surrounding the stretchers. The babble of voices rises to a yell. People start pushing the stretchers towards the front doors of the hovercraft, though we haven't even landed yet. They must be eager to get the passengers off. I watch, bleary-eyed, from the floor, craning my head to see all the action.

The doctor that gave me the sedative leans down to my level and asks how I'm feeling. I don't like him. His shot didn't live up to my expectations of death. I frown, not meeting his eyes, and turn my head toward the doors. I sit up, even though the motion makes me dizzy. I want to run away from his as fast as I can.

"Annie, do you need a stretcher? Or are you able to walk down by yourself?"

That catches my attention.

"No stretcher," I quickly say.

"Alright, let me help you up. We need to get inside District 13 in case the Capitol decides to try and make a visit."

A shadow, thin and flat and black, whooshes through the doctor's neck.

My stomach twists. I feel like I might throw up. I stare at his neck. No blood. The shadow's gone.

"…There's also food and water inside. We'll have to get you cleaned up, though your case is not nearly as severe as the others'…"

Food sounds appealing. It's been a rarity in my life. Besides, I can't really just sit in the hovercraft all day. I take the doctor's hand and he pulls me to my feet. Upon realizing that I'm naked, I wrap the sheet a little tighter around me. I don't know where I'm going, but I have enough decency to cover up.

The hovercraft steps lead down to a broad, black landing pad that extends indefinitely in one direction. Other than that, all I can make out is a collection of low, one-story cinderblock buildings that seem to weigh heavily on the ground. We enter in the closest one and are immediately greeted (or, should I say, assaulted) by a thick group of nurses, busting around me, pulling my matted hair out of my face.

"She's fine," the doctor says, shooing them away. "Go attend to the others."

"Where are we?" I whisper. This looks nothing like the Capitol. We're walking down long hallways of a dull grey.

"District 13," the doctor answers.

I nod when he doesn't offer a further explanation. An elevator leads down several floors and we arrive at a sterile-smelling hallway that I suppose leads to a sort of hospital. I recognize many of the passengers from the plane seated in chairs or on metal tables, as nurses and doctors swarm around them like bees. Gale is leaning against a thick cement column. He winces as a nurse removes something from beneath his shoulder blade.

My eyes scan over everyone, assessing their wounds. I can see the stretchers disappearing around the corner, frantic nurses yelling over the babble of voices. Everyone is moving so fast that it is hard to concentrate on individuals.

A girl with a long braid and eyes the color of Gale's pushes her way through the crowd, tugging a tall man with bronze hair behind her.

I freeze. For a split second, my heart stops beating. Literally. Then it picks up double time, as if intent on running a marathon. My head feels dizzy, but not in the usual, sickening way.

It takes me about five seconds to assemble my thoughts.

First of all, I'm not dead… I think. For the moment, I've made up my mind that if I was death, I'd be having a better time than I am having now.

Secondly, I'm safe… I think. It's something that had never made any sense until this very moment. For now, nothing is going to harm me. I've escaped the clutches of the Capitol. I'm out of the dark room. My eyes are so unaccustomed to the artificial light, I have been blinking like mad since I got off the hovercraft. I don't think these people are going to kill me.

Thirdly… they had lied. The Capitol had lied, as had Dash, and I'm not surprised. Though I know my delusions have often times played tricks on my senses—the screaming in my ears, the dark shadows I see running across my vision—the figure in front of me I could have never conjured up on my own. Nothing in my mind could have satisfied my irrevocable need to see that face; that unmistakable complexion, that unforgettable stature which my mind could have never done justice.

It takes another few seconds to find my voice.

"Finnick." The whisper breaks in the middle. Suddenly, I'm very aware of everything in the room. I can hear every little sound, see every little detail. It doesn't seem humanly possible, and yet, I do. Still, only one thing really matters.

The next sound I make is an unearthly cry that pierces through the air, filling the long hallway with my voice. "Finnick!"

His eyes snap up to my face and I see his beautiful lips forming the incomprehensible syllables of my name.

Maybe I've finally lost it or become truly insane, because when my body acts, it does of its own accord, literally hurling itself across the room without my permission. "Finnick!" I gasp again. The time is takes me to reach him feels like ages. The nurses and wounded around me seem to part like a wake coming of a sail boat, eager to get out of the way. My momentum sends me nearly flying into his chest. He catches me at the last second, but the force of the impact sends us both crashing into the wall and then losing balance and toppling to the floor.

Finnick twists my body so that I land on top of him and not the ground. It still knocks the wind out of me and I'm gasping for air.

Finnick seems speechless and at first I'm afraid I hurt him, perhaps by cracking his head against the wall, but then he launches into an epic battle of securing me to him, kissing every inch of me, gasping my name, and all together, making sure that I am really, truly here.

It's very strange how my senses work. One moment, I can feel every detail in the room; the next, Finnick is the only thing I can hear, see, touch, and taste. The latter, especially, since he seems intent on kissing me so thoroughly, my head spins.

"Oh, God!" he cries between kisses. "Annie, Annie. Oh, God! I thought I'd never see you again. Annie, oh, God!"

I choke out a teary laugh, locking my arms around his neck in an unbreakable grip. "I thought you were dead!"

"I was… until you brought me back. Oh, Annie!" His arms slide up to form a protective cage around me, trapping my arms between us.

I would rather die than break free.

I really want to see his face. It's been so long since I've been deprived of it. I need to make sure every part of him is well. I place my hands on his chest, restraining him as best I can, bringing my lips up and pressing my forehead against his. His piercing green eyes knock the breath out of me even more than the fall. My fingers find his neck, his cheeks, his hair.

I lean forward to press my lips to his bronze hair. He inclines his head forward to kiss my neck, cradling the back of it with one hand.

"I can't believe you're back," he moans happily.

"Neither can I," I reply in ecstasy. Tears slip from my cheeks onto his. Where all of this water comes from, I have no idea. The water on the plane was the first I've drank in days.

"I don't ever want to let go of you again."

"Then don't," I squeak, as he secures me more tightly to him.

Eventually Finnick stops kissing me—we are both in dire need for some oxygen—and just holds me, still splayed out on the hard tiled floor. Lying there, feeling his heart beating so strong and alive beneath my hand, reality begins to dawn on me. I can breathe. I'm not in the dark. I'm pressed against solid ground… not floating. The feeling is unimaginable. I think one of the doctors must have poured a solution of relief over my head. It's all I can feel at the moment, next to my heart beating in tune with Finnick's.

"Annie, you okay?" Finnick's fingers reach up to caress my cheek, brushing the excess tears away.

"Yes…" It takes me a moment to assemble my words. "Because… I'm so happy you're here. Alive."

Finnick chuckles weakly and kisses my forehead.

"I love you, Annie."

"I love you too."

There's a slight, nervous cough from behind—er, above—me.

"Oh, hi, Christa," Finnick greets the nurse standing a few feet away. I have to swivel my head around to see her.

Christa smiles kindly. "Finnick, I think you'd better let Annie up. We want to check her over and get some food and water in her."

Right now, food and water do not seem like a priority. I cling tighter to Finnick.

"We have clothes, too," she adds. I realize, with a flush in my cheeks, that I'm still in the thin sheet from the hovercraft. It's not very concealing. Finnick, sensing my embarrassment, better adjusts the sheet around my slight frame.

He sits up slowly, ignoring my protests.

"Annie, we're going to take care of you now," he says, gently rubbing my back with his hand. "All the nurses here are so nice."

"I don't want the nurses to take me away," I whisper.

"Even if I come?"

That prospect lightens my mood considerably. I let Finnick stand me up, holding me steady with one arm around my waist as we make our way after Christa to a room down the hallway. Unfortunately, the energy wasted in my ordeal on the hovercraft, the long walk to the hospital, and my ecstatic reunion with Finnick has left me with virtually nothing. I slip and my knees buckle after a few steps, too weak with fatigue to continue.

Finnick gently hoists me into his arms and carries me the rest of the way as if I weigh nothing. "It's okay," he says. I lay my head gratefully against the nape of his neck, marveling at the muscles carved into his chest.

He sets me upright on a bed with a metal frame at the back of the room behind a curtain, releasing all but my hand.

Christa documents everything on a clipboard. She takes my blood pressure, listens to my heart, peers into my eyes and ears, checks over my body. I cringe when she presses on certain bruises and cuts. Finnick tenses at my side.

"Well, it looks like your most pressing concerns are dehydration and malnutrition. For the most part, all your vital signs seem fine," Christa says, scribbling a last line on her clipboard. "Finnick?"

"Yes?" Finnick says immediately, nearly bouncing up and down with his eagerness to help.

Christa cracks a tiny smile, as if unused to seeing Finnick in such exuberance. "Do you want to run to the dining hall to get some food? We have water here." She writes a note and hands it to Finnick. "Give this to the people there."

Finnick's face falls, as does mine. The last thing I want is for him to leave. He stands up anyway. My hand clenches around his in defiance.

"Annie, I'll be back before you know it."

I shake my head.

"Annie, I'm not just going to sit here, watching you wither and die."

"Please," I plead.

"You would do the same thing for me, wouldn't you?"

I bite my lip and my hand loosens a little in his. Finnick presses my hand to his lips briefly and then turns and brushes the curtain aside. 'I love you,' he mouths before leaving.

Christa is very nice. She helps me get into some clean undergarments and a hospital gown and then calls in another lady of a higher superiority named Dr. Everdeen. I recognize her name. It was a name I heard frequently at the Capitol.

A dark shape flit across the curtain as it falls back into place. I gasp.

Dr. Everdeen squints at the shadow. Then she shakes her head, quickly recovering. She smiles sweetly and shakes my hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Annie," she says. "It sounds like you're doing fairly well. With a little food and water, you should be fine in no time."

She checks over my body and asks Christa for some medicine. Christa returns with a jar of pasty yellow ointment, which Dr. Everdeen applies to the cuts and bruises scattered across my body. It doesn't smell particularly nice, but it makes the pain recede so quickly, I gladly put up with it. Finnick comes back with a thick, browned loaf of bread and a thermos of soup, immediately swooping to my side.

"Hi, Finnick," Dr. Everdeen greets him. "I'm just putting some soothing ointment on her bruises. Come over here and I'll show you how." Finnick watches intently as Dr. Everdeen spreads a thin coat of the stuff over a darkening bruise on my forearm. "Once a day will be enough. They'll start fading soon, Annie," she promises.

As soon as Dr. Everdeen and Christa leave the room, I scoot over to make room for Finnick.

"Here, Annie," Finnick says, reaching over to retrieve the food he brought. "Sorry, the soup is from lunch, so it's not particularly hot."

I am not particularly picky, since I haven't eaten in what feels like weeks. I'm not sure how long I was trapped in that tiny, lightless cell, but it feels like an eternity. Hot or cold, the soup is delicious. I don't realize how absolutely famished I am until I'm eating and Finnick has to remind me to slow down. The warm liquid helps revive my throat and I talk between bites to pace myself.

"When did you get here?" I ask Finnick.

He shrugs. "A while ago. Once we broke the force field of the Games, everything turned to chaos in the Capitol and we were able to get away."

"You broke the force field? Escaped the Games?" I ask, stunned.

"Yeah, didn't you hear it in the news? There must have been some explanation for why there was never a victor in the 75th Annual Hunger Games."

I shake my head. "They must have taken me before that."

Finnick's face is suddenly very close; his green eyes bore in mine.

"Annie, tell me what happened," he orders.

I bite my lip, deliberating; then swallow some more soup to prolong the inevitable explanation. The silence seethes.

"Well," I begin. "They told me I had to come with them… to the Capitol. They didn't say why… only that bad things would happen if I didn't come."

I wait for Finnick to respond, but he is silent.

"So I went with them," I continue. "Because I didn't want anything bad to happen to you… They locked my up in a cell." I do my best to skim over the morbid details as I describe the horrid nightmare that had become my life. "It was very dark inside and moldy, so sometimes it was hard to breathe. They brought me food and water in the beginning…

"But after a while, the guards got tired of me asking about you… where you were, if you were safe. They told me… they told me… they had killed you."

My voice breaks on the last word and Finnick's face hardens.

"Because you wouldn't give them any answers. They told me that you weren't being cooperative with the Capitol, even though they were trying to help you. I know now that it was all a lie… but the despair I felt then…" I draw in a ragged breath. "I thought I was dead."

"Shh. It's okay, Annie. It's okay. I'm right here."

"Yes," I gasp. "I'm alright now, though." I watch Finnick's face carefully as he breaks the bread into tiny pieces for me. Unlike the soup, it is still warm and melts in my mouth.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing at the little rope twined around his wrist.

Finnick tugs on the end and the figure eight loosens, falling into his lap. "Just something to keep my hands occupied." I nod, watching him tie a knot. Everyone from District 4 knows to do this, but Finnick does it so quickly, my eyes can barely keep up.

He pulls out the complicated sailor's knot in a single motion and stuffs the rope into his pocket. His hands shift to mine, toying with my fingers. Finnick talks about District 13. How different it sounds from District 4 or the Capitol. I would have never believed it was real until I set foot on it today. After all these years… He talks about the rebellion and the Districts that have refused to surrender to the Capitol. I listen with interest. Everything seems so far away, like I've been living under a rock for the past few weeks… which isn't necessarily untrue.

I listen to Finnick's voice intently; the melodic flow and ebb of his speech. I think about how much I've missed it; how I never thought I would hear it again. Too painful. I don't think I could have fared much longer without him.

It seems like we're only talking for minutes before a nurse comes around, checking up on everyone. She draws back the curtain and frowns.

"You should get to your room, Finnick," she says. "It's lights out soon for the hospital wing."

"Alright." Finnick grins mischievously. "Annie, love, would you like to go to my room?"

The nurse clears her throat. "Miss Cresta is supposed to stay overnight here… at least for the first few nights."

"Then I'm afraid I'm stuck here for a few nights." Finnick brushes his finger across my cheek, not paying her the least bit of attention.

"Finnick," she says pointedly.

"Helaine," he repeats, mocking her patronizing tone. He loses it and breaks a smile. In a softer voice, smooth as the sea, he says, "Please. You know I can't leave her."

Perhaps Finnick gets special privileges since, as he told me, he is officially branded as being mentally unstable. Either that or the nurses have realized they're dealing with the most stubborn man in District 4. Nurse Helaine sighs and sweeps out from beneath the curtain, muttering something pessimistic under her breath. I hear her ducking into the other little compartments, only separated by the thick grey curtain that surrounds my little bed and nightstand.

It's been so long since I've slept on an actual bed. The material feels undeniably soft and I feel myself marveling at how comfortable the pillow feels beneath my head. I'm not sure if I ever really slept in my cell. I remember drifting in and out of consciousness, never really knowing if I was awake or asleep or alive.

And then there were the nightmares or the voices, both equally horrible. They never discriminated against consciousness; they could appear at any moment, racking my frail body with anguish. And the screams…

I force my eyes open. I'm afraid the nightmares will ensue if I give into my exhaustion. Instead I focus on Finnick's face, trying to store every little detail in my mind. This becomes rather difficult, as does the mighty task of staying awake, when the Helaine flicks off the light.

Finnick must feel me tense up next to him because he takes my face gently in his warm hand and whispers, "What's wrong?"

"It's dark." I shake my head. "Just… scared."

"Of what?"

"The nightmares… screaming." My hands automatically reach up to block my ears.

Finnick carefully removes them. Then he kisses me in earnest so thoroughly, it all but evaporates my fear.

"I won't let anything hurt you ever again," he vows. "I'll keep the nightmares away, even if I have to stay awake all night. It would be a pleasure to stay awake all night, as long as I get to be with you."

I tremble against his side.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do," I whisper.

"Then please try and get some sleep. Helaine will try to chase me away if I keep all the patients up talking." He laughs quietly. "I promise I'll always be right here, love."

"Okay," I agree. I snuggle up to Finnick and lay my head on his shoulder in the darkness. Definitely preferable to the pillow. He throws a sheet over us so that I don't get cold.

"Sweet dreams, Annie," he murmurs, kissing my hair.

"Good night," I reply. I'm not sure if I say it aloud. It's hard to distinguish reality from dreams as I drift off into oblivion.