Hi there!
This is my first fanfic that I have ever posted publicly and I think about the third I've written ever, so I really hope you like it. When it comes to writing stories, I'm fascinated with penning little instances that impact an overarching story or the way a character thinks, so this one-shot is a collection of instances that lead up to Finnick realizing that everyone, including himself, is a "pretender." Of course, there's Finnick/Annie because I love love love that pairing! They are just so intriguing, so I love exploring their relationship. Actually, I'm planning on writing a multi-chapter story on them which, for now, doesn't exist yet. Enjoy! :)
- abovethesurface
Nails almost as sharp as knives trail along his bare chest and elongated eyelashes bat against his cheek. Those hands, that face, her lips, her body... all are much too close to him. Her skin is dyed purple and her hair hot pink with neon green streaks, and her teeth are sharpened to resemble fangs. Those fangs start nibbling on his ears, and all Finnick wants is to push her off, to tell her she doesn't look pretty like that, just freakish, to finally stand up to Snow, and to tell him he can't be taken advantage of anymore.
But he can't, so, instead, he pulls the Capitol woman closer to him who he is sure is almost double his age of twenty-one. He plays with her hair with one hand and strokes her skin with the other. He purrs into her ear, "I want you. So bad."
He forces a seductive smile when she looks away shyly and says, "More than the others?" She means his other customers.
He lifts himself up slightly from the bed with rumpled sheets. He tells her breathlessly, "You know I can't play favorites." Their lips are an inch apart. There are no boundaries between their bodies. None at all.
"You seem like the type, though, to break the rules," the woman retorts. Finnick raises his eyebrows and the woman giggles, pushing him down roughly back onto the bed. Her lips crash onto his and he can feel her tongue exploring the insides of his mouth enthusiastically.
Finnick pulls away suddenly and chuckles, "Whoa, we've already just done this," swinging his legs off the side of the bed. His eyes survey the floor for his clothes. "You didn't pay for extra." He stands up, willing his body not to shiver at the sensation of cold air surrounding his naked form. He looks back at her, and he can see she's getting panicky. She doesn't want him to leave. It's working.
"Wait!" Her fingers close around his wrist. She's unaware that her fingernails are digging into his skin so hard, he's sure it'll leave a mark for at least a couple days. "I can pay." He turns around slowly. "I can pay," she repeats, "in secrets."
He makes it appear as if he's pondering her deal. He does this only for a second before he grabs her and kisses her and trails his kisses down her neck. "Sounds good to me," he says against her skin as she moans.
He doesn't want her. Frankly, he's disgusted by her. His body and surely his heart don't belong to her. But he keeps on pretending, to ensure Snow doesn't harm his loved ones and to get secrets - secrets about the Capitol that will help with the upcoming rebellion to take Snow down.
Finnick's next customer looks like her. Not just anybody. Not any one of his previous customers. Her. Annie. And when he sees the young, petite Capitol woman untainted by surgery, with her healthy sun kissed skin, long wavy brown hair, and piercing green eyes sitting on the bed in a glamorous suite, he wants to murder Snow. Strangle him. Because it's enough to force him to sell himself, but to make him deal with this? Taunt him with someone who looked like the one person he wanted to give everything to but couldn't bring himself to touch like he did with the others? It was torture.
"What?" the woman says.
Finnick blinks. "Excuse me?"
"You were staring at me."
It was her voice that did it. She may look like Annie, but it was her voice that brought him back to reality. It was too husky, too deep. "Oh," he says lamely.
A long silence passes between them. "So are we going to do this or not?"
Without a word, he walks up to her and kisses her, slowly pushing her down onto the bed. It's a long drawn out kiss. When she pulls away and opens her mouth to say something, he stops her quickly, "No, no, no. No need to talk." She takes that as her cue to exercise her liberties with him. At least she's not talking, Finnick thinks to himself, because then, I can keep pretending she's Annie. That way, it'll be more bearable.
Later, he confronts Snow about this and asks him what game he's playing. Snow smiles from behind his desk, and Finnick is as sickened by the smile as he is by the office that smells of blood and roses. Snow replies sweetly, "Now what are you saying? I don't know what you're talking about." Finnick spots a glint in Snow's eye that he doesn't like. Snow's pretending. Just like everyone else.
The next time he sees the Annie lookalike at a Capitol function, he's disappointed when he notices that she dyed her skin a pale blue and her hair bright orange. Why did she feel the need to destroy herself when she looked beautiful before? He turns away. He won't ever be caught staring at her again, that's for sure.
During his trip back to District Four, Finnick visits Annie's house. He rings the doorbell, and Mags answers the door. Mags looks at Finnick solemnly and steps aside, allowing Finnick to come in. Immediately, he knows today isn't a good day.
He rushes upstairs as he hears an agonizing sob. When he swings the door open, Annie is curled up into a little ball on the bed, rocking back and forth, back and forth, her hands covering her ears, chanting to herself, "He's dead. I couldn't save him. He's dead. I couldn't save him." Her eyes are squeezed tight, and her hair is tangled and knotted.
"Annie," Finnick breathes.
Her head snaps up. When she spots Finnick, her eyes widen and her pupils dilate. She looks wild. "Who are you?" she squeaks out shakily.
"It's me. Finnick." It's the same answer he always gives her when she doesn't recognize him during one of her episodes. Usually, it's the same line that has her drift slowly back to reality from her own world she creates to escape the horrors she has witnessed. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he only has to say it once to bring her back. It seems his luck is running short today.
"I don't know you!" Annie screeches. She runs towards him and bangs her fists on his chest. It hurts, but he doesn't budge. When she sees he's not moving, she screams, "Get away from me!" She shoves him aside, and he stumbles to the side, taken aback by her strength. She reaches for the doorknob.
Quickly, Finnick grabs her and holds her tight to his chest. She struggles and kicks and yells, tears streaming down her face. "Stop it! Stop it!" Annie doesn't tire easily, so he has to wait for a few minutes before she gradually starts to give up on escaping. Her limbs stop flailing, and she chokes out one last "Stop it." She's just crying silently now.
He pulls her to the little couch she has stationed by her window - the window which Mags usually covers with a curtain to conceal Annie when she's having her breakdowns. "Annie," he whispers soothingly, tugging his fingers through her hair, attempting to rid of the tangles. "Annie, I'm here. I love you." Her hands are covering her ears again. He gingerly pulls them away from her ears and drops them on her lap. "It's me. Finnick."
He waits for a while, and Annie looks up at him. "Finnick?" she echoes.
Finnick smiles. "Hi there."
She doesn't reply. She sleepily lays her head on the armrest of the coach. "I'm tired," she murmurs, more to himself than to him, and he finds he can rest easier once her breathing turns steady.
He watches her sleep, and he can't help it when a tear rolls down his cheek. He can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt him every time Annie is like this. He's not that strong.
The next day, Annie is the one to wake Finnick up. She shakes him. "Finnick! Let's go to the beach!"
Finnick groans as he sits up in her bed where he fell asleep the night before. He smiles. Today is one of Annie's good days. He chuckles, "Whoa there, it's way too early. It's not even seven yet."
"I know," Annie laughs, "but that's the best time to visit the beach. That's when the air feels the freshest!"
Finnick doesn't put up that much resistance. He never refuses to spend a day with the happy, energetic Annie that she was before the Hunger Games, before her District partner was beheaded, because those days where Annie is that person are few and far in between.
They are frolicking in the clear turquoise salty waters of the sea when a wave knocks Finnick over, resulting in him falling face down. When Finnick looks up, Annie is laughing at him. "What?" he says rather defensively, slightly embarrassed, wiping sand off his face as he stands up.
He's surprised Annie is able to manage to answer him, what with her laughing so hard. "You just fell!"
"No," he scoffs. Annie raises her eyebrows at him disbelievingly. "Okay, fine, I fell," he admits, "but I meant to do it."
"You meant to fall?" By Annie's tone of voice, Finnick could tell she didn't buy his cover-up. "Face it! You got pummeled by that wave!"
"The waves are pretty rough today, aren't they?" he observes, watching the waves crash onto the shore. When Annie gazes out into the direction he's looking in, nodding in agreement, he charges towards her and tackles her, and they both end up lying on the sand, the waves lapping against their toes. "Now I guess we both fell, didn't we?"
"Fell?" Annie sputters in frustration. "You pushed me!" She punches him on the arm playfully as they both sit up and look out into the sea. Long seconds pass by in silence. Not the awkward kind of silence. The comfortable kind. Finnick notices how serene Annie looks, then she speaks. "You're right. The waves are strong today," she mutters. "You could say that waves are like guilt."
Finnick looks at her, confused. "How so?"
Annie pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts before answering. "You know how wave energy is a build up of concentrated wind energy since waves are created when wind blows over the surface of the water? How that energy is stored and stored until it results in a massive force of water that's practically unstoppable? It's like guilt. How it just builds up until boom. There's an explosion of regret and you're left to pick up the pieces." She stares out into the distance. "Guilt."
Finnick studies Annie. He knows instantly what she is referring to - how she blames the death of her District partner in the Hunger Games on herself. Annie has a beautiful mind, she really does. She was extremely intelligent. In fact, one could say she was one of the smartest people in District Four, and that statement would hardly be an exaggeration, but he wished she wouldn't overwhelm her mind with these kind of thoughts. He senses that she is drifting off into her own little world again where she can go pretending that it's possible to escape reality. "Annie..." he breathes, calling her back. Back to him.
"Finnick, don't," she says, stopping him. She shuts her eyes and inhales the sea breeze and exhales, fighting her inner turmoil. She stays like that for a few minutes before she opens her eyes and sighs.
Finnick decides to take her mind off things. "Look! There's a group of crabs!" He points.
Annie whirls her body around to where he's pointing and smiles. "A cast," she says.
"Excuse me, what?"
"A cast of crabs. Not a group," she corrects, turning her head to face him, smiling when she finds him glaring at her.
"So you're the expert now?"
"Well, between the both of us, you could say I am," she giggles.
They spend the day like that, carefree, without a care in the world. Together, they're one. Together, they're magic. Together, she can keep pretending that she isn't mad and that she's a typical normal girl unaffected by the traumatizing events of the Hunger Games. He can keep pretending that there's only one girl in his life that he has to please and that he's not in the midst of planning to enact revenge against Snow. Because in a world full of pretenders, they've found each other to lean on.