Five Times Annie Cresta Remembered
001: Five Months After The 70th Games
Her head hurt.
It wouldn't stop hurting.
Pounding. Clawing. Screaming. Too much blood. She didn't know how to make it go away. Smashing. Ripping apart. Teeth. Metal in skin and bone. Shouting. Protests. Desperation. Nails drawing blood. Hair and follicles on the ground. Insanity.
Annie Cresta lets out a blood curdling scream, as she forces herself to wake up. The nightmares haven't let her out of their dark grasp ever since the Games had ended. Ever since she was pulled out of the arena where her sanity is lost. Their dark arms held her tight, constricting her, suffocating her in her own mine. Trapped in her own mind. Dancing around her, making sure every goddamn ray of hope in her heart is extinguished. Trapped, suffocating, suffering. Death would be better then this.
Her fingers are curled around the soft silk blankets, her nails bitten down to nubs. Her eyes are filled with such a madness, the shadow of one once sane inside. She couldn't do this. She can't do this. Her fingers raise from the blankets, tugging and pulling at her hair. Her breathing is raspy, uneven. Barely being able to take in one small breath, she feels pain as she tears out a piece of hair from her own skull. Bloody. Pain. It hurts. But it helps her focus. Her physical pain kept her from completely losing it. She couldn't even scream, because the first scream made her throat so goddamn sore breathing hurt. Her lungs weren't getting the air it needed, and she suffocates, trapped in her own darkness, trapped in her own mind-
"Annie?"
Him. Finnick. Finnick, she thinks his name is. She looks up from the three or four hairs that she's already pulled out, blood staining her blanket. He's dressed in a white t-shirt, and a pair of blue pyjama shorts, though his eyes are bloodshot. His hair mussed, it's clear he hasn't been sleeping either. Approaching her bed, her stops when she whimpers in fear, too scared to let him even closer.
"Annie, please. Breathe."
Why breathe when it would be better to die? Why breathe when she couldn't even decide what was real or not?
"Breathe..."
She tries to do it. She really tries. She lets the hot tears run down her face, as the pain in her throat protests her attempts to breathe. But she does. She takes one short, harsh breath. Then another. And out. And in. It becomes a pattern. Her broken mind could comprehend this. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
"That's right, Annie."
Annie. Her name felt so right coming from him.
"You're okay."
He's beside her now. She doesn't flinch when his hand rests against her back, rubbing tiny circles. His touch didn't feel unnatural. It felt familiar, for some reason. Though her mind is shattered, his touch is soothing. Her breathing begins to even out. The screaming and the shattering and the pounding begins to go away. Replaced by silence. Beautiful, pure silence. Her mind becomes quiet. The blood is washed away by water. The pain begins to ebb away, into peace. Her mind is quiet.
"I'm here, Annie."
That's all she needs to know.
002: Eight Months After The Games
Her fingers curl around the soft silk material. Her hair is prim and proper, pulled back with a lovely seashell pin. Her eyes sparkle, a sparkling white powder spread across her lids. Her green eyes are lined with dark green pencil. Her sleeves are short, reaching her elbows, and the dress she wears hits just below her knees. Annie Cresta is beautiful, appearing prompt and put together, even if her mind isn't all quite there yet.
She smiles absent-mindedly, as she wanders the party. Some party for someone important in Four. She can't remember the person's name, but she was a lovely girl. Maybe a few years younger then her. She was introduced by her stylist when they arrived, but the girl didn't ask her questions she didn't want to answer, or try to kiss her cheeks like the funny people in the Capitol. She just stood with her, nibbling on the seaweed bread they were offered. The girl wore a purple dress, with white ruffles. Once she leaves, Annie is left alone. No one bugs her or questions her as she walks like a ghost amongst the party goers, through the elegant ballroom and the many sitting rooms. No one goes after her, or tries to force her to go somewhere she doesn't want to go.
She stands at the edge of a balcony, the dark night surrounding her. She could breathe out here. The moon is high in the dark sky. In the distance she can see the oceans that supply Four's fishes and resources that power Panem. Her hand reaches out, as though she could fly to the ocean and stay there. She cannot fly, but in her mind, she is there. She gives a funny little smile to herself, relaxed. She was happy to be alone here.
"Nice night, isn't it?"
Finnick. She turns to see him smiling at her, his golden hair swept to the side. He walks over to her side, taking the moment to take in the view. Annie watches him, her previous smile having dimmed, but still there all the same. Her mind is quieter when he is around. It was strange how it works. In the party, her mind is filled with static, not quite clear, and not quite understanding. Alone, here, her mind is clearer, like a shallow shore. But with Finnick, it seems to rumble, moan slightly in the silence. Not quite full of static, but has the soft noise of an ocean. Finnick didn't make static but he didn't make silence either.
"Do you like the party, Annie?"
He grins when she nods slowly, as though contemplating the density of the guests or the flavoring of the food. He smiles at her, his teeth as bright as the moon in the distance. Her heart seems to soar, and she lets herself smile back. With him, there's no fear or panic. She doesn't associate that with him. She associates happiness, peace, and maybe some excitement with him. He didn't make static. He makes her happy.
In the depths of the party, they could hear a violin begin to play a sweet melody, high and rich. The two turn their heads as couples inside the party begin to pair up and dance together. Her cheeks flush when she begins to think of the possibility that they could do that, that he might ask her to dance. She couldn't dance. She wants to leave him there, so her mind can extinguish the static. But she couldn't force herself to leave. Though she's afraid, her heart is brave and she stays.
His hand takes her own in the moonlight, and he slowly brings her into his arms. She is about to pull away, afraid to let him into her mind, when his hand lifts her chin. Her breath quickens, and she locks her eyes into his. Insanity staring into shattered glass. She could see it in him, too. The fear and the hurt she holds in herself that come from her broken mind. She could see it in his eyes too. Her trust, usually so constricted and unseen, suddenly wants him. She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. In his arms, she didn't have to be brave anymore.
003: A Year After The Games
Where is he?
She paces the length of the beach, a few meters at a time. Her breathing is slow, but it's beginning to quicken. Her knee length summer dress sways as a warm summer breeze twirls around her, knotting her hair and warming her skin. But she couldn't care less that today is the nicest day in Four since the summer season began. The sea is a stormy grey, but the sky is clear, no clouds. But the sun seems to hide in the midst of the blue. The beaches of Four are bare, except for the occasional rock or stump. Annie is alone, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean lapping at her feet. It calms her, to feel the ocean's waves dampen her feet, but it doesn't erase the suspicions that begin to grow in her mind.
"Does the poor girl know?"
"I suppose not. Mad one, and all. She wouldn't know what he gets up to in the Capitol."
"She's better off, not knowing. He's sweet on her, the mad girl-"
"Oh, yes. We've all seen the way he looks at her."
"That's why he does what he does. Snow threatened him personally, and he doesn't need her dead, too."
Annie is mad, but not stupid. The conversation sticks out in her crazed mind, echoing. Mocking her with the words. Finnick didn't keep secrets from her. He told her everything. About how he won his Games. How the nightmares won't go away for awhile. How even he needs some rope, too. He was the one to give her some rope, so she could distract herself from the static in her mind. Knots. Tying knots. That always helps. But her hands are now empty, as she waits for him to arrive. She bites down on her lower lip, almost drawing blood. Where is he, where is he, where is he...
"Annie! Annie, it's me!"
Off in the distance, she hears him, running towards her. She turns her head to see his figure, the only one in the premise, sprinting towards her. He sounds alarmed, but when he finally arrives at her side, he's relaxed. Happy, even. He smiles at her, but she doesn't return it. She gives him a solemn nod, before sitting down on the sand. Puzzled, Finnick follows her example, and is silent for a moment.
"How're you, sweetie?"
"Okay."
Awkward silence. Annie begins to play with a branch in the sand, dry and brittle. Breaking it into tiny pieces, she ignores the look he gives her. One of questioning.
"Annie, are you okay?"
"No."
He raises his eyebrows, and tries to turn her chin towards him, to look at him. But she refuses, snapping it back to look out at the ocean. She's angry, and it's clear he doesn't understand why. But of course he wouldn't. He didn't know what she's heard, he doesn't know that she hears the stories and the rumours. Famous Finnick Odair, the Capitol's darling, slave and victor. Trading his purity and integrity for the safety of his lovers. Annie is mad, but she isn't stupid as people think. She understands and makes connections. Obscure, maybe, but connections all the same.
"Annie, c'mon...I can't fix this unless you tell me what is wrong."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Huh?"
"Why...why you're always late whenever we meet..." She manages to get out, her anger coming out in her soft, sweet voice, "Why...you're always in the Capitol...you...you act like you care-"
"Annie-"
"Y-You...I can't believe I believed you...wh-when you said I am special-"
"Annie!"
"How many more, Finnick?!" She finally yells. "How many more are you saying are special...h-how many more do you hold and kiss and-"
"Annie, look at me."
"No! I...I'm not dumb, Finnick!" She stands, pulling away from his hand that grabs at her arm, "I...I hear the stories...and...it makes sense. Why...why didn't you tell me about everything?!"
"Annie, I tell you everything!" He finally explodes, coming to a standing position beside her, "I've told you everything you need to know! If you have more to ask, then go ahead! I'm an open book at this goddamn point!" His voice suddenly dies, becoming raw after so much arguing and protesting. "Annie..."
"What about the people in the Capitol?" She asks, not quite angry anymore, but not quite forgiving. "What about...me?"
"Those...people...don't matter to me. I do it because I have to...Annie, please, just listen to me."
She does. She listens to him as he tells her the stories that only the damned could hear. The nights together with strange women, their strange sexual appetites. How he doesn't accept their lavish gifts of wealth or beauty, but something more precious. Secrets. The foundation of a nation. She understands the horrors he tells her, the threats Snow has made. Her heart shatters as she hears these stories, and she feels the tears begin to slide down her face, hot tears that grow as he continues to tell her the stories. Every goddamn tale he tells, she listens. And when it's all over, he has tears, too. He stands, and with a loud cry, throws a stone from the beach, and way out, into the ocean. They see it land in the water, and without another second, he breaks. Finnick Odair, who helped Annie Cresta, breaks. And she holds him as he does.
"I'm here, Finnick..."
"Annie, please, don't pretend you love me after hearing this..." He groans, "Don't pretend you can stand me."
"Finnick, breathe."
"Annie, please. Breathe."
"I'm a monster! I'M NOTHING! I don't deserve you!"
"Breathe."
"Breathe."
"I have nothing! Not even you, Annie!"
"I'm here, Finn."
"I'm here, Annie."
And with those words, his head raises. His eyes, bloodshot, meets hers. He slowly eases into her arms, and she lets him cry into her shoulder. The way he let her that night. He had been there for her, and now, he needs her more then before.
"I'm here."
And that's all he needs to know.
004: Right After The 75th Annual Hunger Games
She's alone.
Loneliness.
The screaming is there.
She can't breathe. Too many roses.
"Ms. Cresta, you are to be detained in the Capitol until further notice-"
Where is he?
"For the safety of your own health and of others."
They aren't telling her where he is. Where is Finnick?
She screams. And screams. And screams. No one hears her scream.
They dress her in beautiful gowns. Coat her face in powders and creams. Tug and pull at her hair until it's in beautiful knots and curls. Her escort urges her to smile as they enter the room, where there are Capitol citizens, and not one District citizen. Men pass her around, dancing with her, laughing. Drinking. The smell of roses too bold in the air. Snow smiles at her as she dances with another man. She doesn't want to, but it's clear she must. She wants to scream. But she dances with them. Wishing they were Finnick. When she tries to get some fresh air, the Peacekeepers force her to stay behind. When she fights, there's a fist that crashes into the side of her head. Blood. Blood drawn from her head.
"Miss Cresta, I thought we agreed we'd behave until you're safe. Not many are as lucky as you are."
This is hell.
Trapped in her own bedroom, she is alone. Locked in. Screaming. And screaming. Hair is torn from her follicles. Blood cleaned from the satin sheets when she wanders. She's forced to swallow down food, as she refuses. She wants Finnick back.
They send in her escort, trying to calm her down. But she's not Finnick. Where is Finnick?
WhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnickWhereisFinnick.
...
Roses.
005: The Wedding
He's here.
That's all she needs to know.
He holds her hand as they dance together. The violin music is familiar, with their first night together. It's sweet and bold, kind and loud, chaotic and soothing. The kind of music where you would dance to it forever and ever and nobody can ever stop you. Where it brings you to the heavens and never lets you back down. His hand on her waist. His lips briefly meeting hers, as they dance the night away. He looks beautiful. He's so beautiful. The suit is fitted, and his smile is the truest she's seen. No more lies or anything to hide. He is an open book, and she's there to help him write their story together. A ring that symbolizes their love on both of their fingers.
She is so lucky to love him.
The girl who helped her find a wedding dress, Katniss, she thinks her name is, is dancing with a little blond girl. They look happy. An old woman and a handsome dark haired boy twirl and twirl around them. But it's the cake, the beautifully frosted cake with sea boats and waves, reminds her how lucky she is to have survived this long. Reminds her of everybody she's ever loved. Her mother. Her father. Her sister. Friends who have died. Her fellow tribute. And him. Finnick. The boy who's helped her through so much. And she helped fix him, too. They fought their inner demons together. He silenced the static in her head. She helped him out of his own darkness. She is as happy as someone could possibly be. She is as high in the sky as a comet, sparkling like a star. She is Mrs. Annie Odair, and she can't ever be happier.
Later, that night, in the dark, when they lay in their bed together, he kisses her cheek. Giggling, she cuddles into him, her head resting on his bare shoulder. He plays with her locks, tangling the brunette strands within his fingers. They are quiet for a moment, before he speaks.
"Annie?"
"Yea?"
"I'm never going to leave you." He turns, and though it is dark, she can see every curve of his face. The tiny dimples that appear with his smile. The way his eyes dance whenever he's happy. She sees these things, the details nobody else seems to see. A promise made. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah."
"No matter what happens. I'm always going to be here, Annie."
She knows it.
"I love you."
And she will always know it.
"Love you, too, Finn."
And she always loves him.