Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Hunger Games. Although I'm sure you know that...

Note: Hey, Burritoyum here! This is a new story I'm coming out with, but the others will still be being updated, so have no fear! I want to thanks all those who are here because they liked my other stories, and hopefully will like this one just as much! Uhh... I don't know what else to say other than LEAVE REVIEWS please. Comments, questions, even demands (within reason of course) will be taken into consideration or construction... Anywho, here ya' go!

~Burritoyum

Chapter One: Not Everything is How it Seems...

Not for the first time, I wake up and allow myself to be vulnerable. I wake up wishing that my father cared for me more than my attendant. I crave the love that I was deprived of as a child, and still long for. I wish that I lived in a small home in a district rather than a mansion in the Capitol. Not for the first time, I wish I lived a different life, had a different family, was a different person.

Then I lock my longings deep within me, and say a little chant I've developed to keep me from killing my father, and at times, myself. My name is Katniss Snow. My father is the president of Panem. The people of the Capitol adore him; I hate him and what he supports.

This reminds me that the Reapings are coming up. The thought brings bile to my throat. I've never agreed with my father on anything, but the Hunger Games is a subject that I can't even think about without feeling resentment to this man. This is the true proof that his heart is just another plastic injection that he feels he needs to fake for the peoples' approvals of him. I don't understand, because people in the Capitol are about as smart as they are colorful, and that being said, Capitol people aren't anything if not unnaturally colorful.

My attendant, Lucia, taps my shoulder once again, bringing me out of my unpleasant thoughts. I crack my eye open and smile at the girl, who is twelve at most. She has shoulder length, wavy light brown hair with crystal-blue eyes. A pang of guilt stabs me to think that she'd been ripped from her family in District Eight because she had stolen a piece of food from the bakery there, and that my father is the reason for such poverty. As much as he tried to keep me shielded from what goes on outside of the Capitol, I'd always known something was wrong with the way he ruled. It never seemed just to me.

She smiled her bright smile, and a warm smile starts to form on my face. I'm grateful that I'd managed to sweet talk my father out of turning her into an Avox for her "crime", and she tells me every day how much she loves me like I were her sister. My father allowed me to share a room with her, and I keep her from his fists, which he has no trouble delivering to my face because of the high-grade healing creams and makeups that he buys.

"Good morning," she smiles tiredly. I reply with a, "It is for now."

I know I may seem cynical and plain mean to some, but that's just my defense. I built it as soon as my mother "left", and it was meant to protect myself from getting hurt and persuaded by the lies my father has numerously tried to make me believe. I only have few true friends, ones that I trust whole-heartedly, but Lucia is like my little sister.

"You know, you don't have to act all tough around me Katniss..." she tells me after a moment of hesitation. I let out a breath of air. She knows me too well, but I've never cried in front of her. In front of anyone, really, besides Finnick.

I force a smile on my face. "I know, my little husky. I'm fine, jut a little shaken up from yesterday," I tell her, and it's not a complete lie. She nods in understanding, knowing that Snow took some of his anger out on me again. I can brave through the physical pain, but when he insults my every insecurity, I feel like I crack open a bit more. At first it was just a small hairline fracture. I tell myself that it doesn't grow, that I won't crack under his hate-filled looks that are always directed at me. I tell myself that those cracks will be pasted back together, and they do; but the paste eventually dries and gives away as well, and in the end, it just slows the process. I try not to think about the fact that my tough and guarded exterior will wear down over the time that I'm forced to stay here, because I'm not normally that depressing. I'm often depressed, but I don't let the others know or figure that out.

I glance back at her, only to find that she's already gotten up and is no longer in the room. She must have sensed that I needed to be left to my thoughts, but in reality, I actually need her, or anyone really, to be here with me. My thoughts lead me to bad places, which are often recreated in my nightmares. Deep down, I know that I'll never be able to only rely on myself. I'll always need my little husky, always need someone that I trust to be there. For now, though, I refuse to accept it, because I'm the bastard president's daughter, and that always has a price. It's already a risk that he knows a hint at how much I care for Lucia, and I try to keep it under layers how close I am to my other friends. He wouldn't hesitate to kill them if I went against him majorly.

Shaking my head, I try to pull myself out of the thoughts that nobody knows I have, and focus on happier thoughts as I get ready for the day. I think about the day I decided to call Lucia 'my little husky'. A smile pulls at my lips as I remember explaining it to her. A few years back, I'd gotten my hands on a book about dogs that existed before the Capitol came to rule. I'd been flipping through it, fascinated that dogs could be so small and how they could be so hairy. I stopped on a page about a dog named a 'husky', and fell in love with its gorgeous crystal blue eyes. It was the most breathtaking dog in the book, and I'd even saved the picture, reminiscing about what it might have been like to own such a pet. When I'd met Lucia, her blue eyes immediately reminded me of the wolf-like dog, thus her nickname was born.

Pulling my dark locks back, I start on my usual braid. I put some healing cream on the cut and bruise that have become evident on my cheek, and spread some more on the red marks that cover my biceps. Snow was particularly angry after I yelled at him for the millionth time about how wrong I thought the Games were. I look around quickly and dip a finger into the makeup cream they tell me is called concealer to hide my cuts and bruises. There are really only two people who know about how my dad truly is, and that's Lucia and Finn, and that's because they're the only ones who's seen the damage.

-Six Years Earlier-

I run down the hall, desperately willing the tears to stay down until I'm out of view. I cradle my throbbing wrist and only let go of it once I spot an open door, my blurred vision making me mistake it for my own door. I force it open and shut it behind me, letting my tears overflow out of the dam I put up as I slide down the door. Today was a bad day. I almost let out a hysterical laugh at how much of an understatement that was. I wasn't crying because of my bruises or the cut that is on my cheek once again thanks to dad's ring. While the pain of my broken wrist contributed to my sobs, it wasn't the cause of them. His words had been beyond painful. I'd of course always assumed he didn't love me, but hearing him say it along with the handful of insults he'd thrown my way with them cracked my heart beyond repair. I was only ten, I didn't know then that his words would make common reappearances in the years to come.

I hear a shuffling sound and my head shoots up from their resting area on my knees. I wipe my eyes with my good wrist, only to have them widen as I realize that this isn't my room at all. This is Finnick Odair's room.

At that, my eyes fall onto the man himself, and I quickly compose myself. Sniffling a few times, I begin to apologize.

"Oh, gosh, , I'm so sorry! I thought that this was my room, I- I wasn't seeing right. Oh, gosh, I'm- I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking, or seeing for that matter, clearly. Please," I hesitate before continuing with as much confidence as I can muster," Please, just don't tell my father about this? I'll be on my way out as fast as I can, I just-" I start rambling nervously as I think about the consequences that face me if he were to tell Snow. Oh, he would certainly insult me more- hell, if I'm lucky, I'll only end up with something as bad as a broken leg at most...

I look up at Finnick's stunned yet disgusted expression, and I get confused for a second. My eyes widen impossibly more when I realize that I'd just said that out loud. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to cover up what I'd just said, but my mouth just opens and closes like a fish out of water. Finally, I just say the first excuse that comes to mind.

"I... I'm just kidding. My daddy would never do something like that," I say lamely with a fake smile plastered on my face, which I'm sure looks crestfallen as he says, "You know, Katniss, you're a terrible liar."

I frown and reply with, "So I've been told by Snow."

It's his turn to frown. I clear my throat, and ask once again if he's going to tell my father, at which he cringes a bit as if it hurts him that I'd think he would. I can't help it though, at the age of ten, I'm thoroughly scared of my father even if I hide it the best I can.

"No, of course not, Katniss," he tells me, and for a moment I''m shocked he knows my name before remembering that I'm the prop my own father uses to sway the crowd into loving him. Apparently they think that because he has a daughter that he's instantly a great guy. And, as I chance a look from my bare feet to look at Finnick's face, I can tell he's never bought the act for a second.

"Can you just," he seems to think about his words carefully. "Could you tell me what happened? Please? I just always thought that you were just as coldblooded as your dad, no offense," he adds quickly. I give him a hollow smile, and just shake my head. "None taken," I tell him. "To be honest, he's a fucking prick," I say, my voice void of emotion. I've just said my first curse word- well, I suppose words- out loud, and truthfully, it felt great that I was using them to describe my father. I've only ever used them before in extreme anger, and that was in my head. His eyebrows raise at my obscene language at such a young age, but his face grows into a grin and he starts to laugh. Slowly and cautiously, a small smile spreads to my face. I have a feeling I'll be good friends with this Finnick Odair.

His face turns serious as he asks me once again if I'll tell him the secret that I've kept for so long, and I give in with a resigning sigh. His eyes water as I tel him my story, about how my dad raped one of the women he plucked up from a district- Twelve, maybe- to get her pregnant with his child. How when I was born, he executed her, no longer needing his play toy, telling me that she died giving birth and that it had been my fault and that I had been a difficult baby. It wasn't until earlier that day that I'd found out the truth, resulting in my injuries both outside and in. I told him how my father had started physically abusing me since age five, but mentally since I could understand and fight him on what I thought was wrong- which was since I could talk. It was when I told him how long he's been abusing me that he started crying silent tears. I didn't tell him that I lost my first tooth at age six to my father's fist, or how I cried that night because I thought that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't come for a messed up kid like me. I thought this all silently in my head, and with each scarring memory came a new fracture in my heart and mind. He wrapped his arms around me, and I flinched shamefully. He just hugged me tighter, and I knew that he'd be the big brother I'd always longed for.

It isn't until around five in the evening that I actually see my father. I always greet him formally, as he does to me. It's another minuscule thing that makes my heart ache.

"Snow," I say in a monotone voice.

"Katniss," he replies back, seemingly bored. His cold blue eyes burn with hatred.

"Father, I've been thinking-"

"I'm sure you have darling," he says sarcastically. I roll my eyes and start again forcefully.

"As I said, I've been thinking. The Reapings are in a week, but I think that something should be done about them. I think that you need to change what's going on, because I don't think it to be fair for those poor boys and girls to be worrying whether they- or someone they love- could die. It just isn't right," I tell him. This isn't the first time that I've said this to him, but this time I've just worded it differently, hoping to catch some appeal to the idea.

He sighs deeply and rubs his hand over the bridge of his nose, hiding his cold eyes, but not before fear strikes me and I see a flash of mischief cross them. What is he planning, I wonder fearfully. He glances at me and I hide my anxiety behind an impassive mask that I've perfected to keep my emotions from showing. I nod, and go to my room. I wish Finn was in the Capitol so that I could voice my concern about that scary flash I saw, but am grateful that he isn't, because that would mean he'd have to serve clients; that must be terrible for him- no, I know for a fact that it is terrible for him. For the hundredth time today, a wave of guilt hits me, but this one hits me straight in the gut. Snow, of course, did this to him. He's done it to any and all attractive victors, and it makes me sick. After I've stripped of my clothes and changed into my nightgown, I slide into my spot next to Lucia and hold her in a protective hold as I try and stay awake for as long as I can, knowing my nightmares will haunt me tonight worse than the other ones. As I fall asleep, I can't get my father's icy, murderous glare out of my head, and wake up an hour later with sweat plastering my hair to my forehead and neck and Lucia holding back tears as she always does when I have my daily nightmares. I know that she feels that she can't do anything to help me, so I tell her that she helps me so much and is one of the only reasons I push to keep alive every day. This was a bad choice of wording, but honest, and she falls asleep to my singing voice. Sleep does not come to me until the sun rises outside of my window, though, and my throat is raw. It is then that exhaustion takes over my form, and I wonder how much easier it would be to just go away peacefully, how many people I truly would affect. In its fogginess, my brain floats to a dark place, wondering if a living my life the way it is would be any better than having no life at all. I push the thought away groggily and become determined not to fall down that path of darkness that lurks just beyond the only hope I hold onto.