Katniss and Annie Conversation One-Shot:
When the hovercraft stops over Four on its way home from the Capitol, I know what I have to do. Despite my state of mental and physical disorientation, I manage to sit up straight in my chair and speak to Haymitch. My voice cracks at my first words, but I continue with my question because I feel a deeply indebted to Annie Cresta. Maybe I'm not completely heartless. How can I consider my self a selfish mutt if I am really about to take action here? Is this not considered selfless? I could easily fall back asleep in my restrains in the hovercraft, but my mind is set on this and I am going to follow through, no matter how painful this may be for me. It wouldn't be fair to Annie if I didn't stop here. I suppose that I, despite being locked in a cell for God knows how many days, have the answers to everyone's questions. Questions. My mind goes to Peeta. Great, he's the last thing that I want to think about. I don't plan on seeing him ever again. I don't need him. I am better off without him. He is better off without me. I try to think about other things, but my mind keeps going to him. "Snap out of it, Katniss," I say to myself and I am not sure if it was in my head or out loud. Either way, Haymitch must think that I'm mental, because I stopped talking to him mid sentence.
"I want to be dropped of here." I say quite frankly.
"Go back to sleep, Katniss," says Haymitch as he takes a drink from his flask.
He adds, "You're still delirious."
Still? I don't have time to dwell on his comment, so I brush it off.
"No, Haymitch. I want to see Annie. I need to tell her what happened," I continue.
"She knows, sweathheart."
"I need to tell her."
He seems to understand the implication that I need to rid myself of the guilt I feel over the death of Finnick Odair. Maybe I am just doing this so I feel less guilty. Maybe I am selfish. Probably. Haymitch swishes this thought around in his head like he does with the alcohol in his mouth.
"You're restricted to Twelve, Katniss."
I wait for him to continue because I know that he will figure out a way to get me in.
"We'll make a stop. Let me go tell Plutarch," he says.
He rolls his eyes at me and stumbles out of his chair as I slump back down in mine, winded from the three sentences that I spoke since the assassination. I begin to think about what I will say to Annie. How will she react? She is probably already deranged. Deranged. Peeta. I think about him and a rage flares up inside of me. I know that I should not be mad at Peeta. I know that my anger at him is deeply misplaced, but I can't control it. I'm angry with Peeta, and I don't want to see his face for as long as I live. At least, I think its anger that I feel towards the boy with the bread. In the back of my mind, I know none of this is his fault. Everything that I'm blaming him for is far out of his control, and completely to do with me. He needs help. He needs my help. I will not help him. I am selfish. The feeling starts to feel less and less like anger and more and more like sadness. Longing for something that I can't have. I still do not want to see Peeta when I get home, that is not what I long for. I long to have the old Peeta Mellark back. Maybe I would talk to the boy with the bread. The baker's son. The boy with the glowing blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. The dandelion in the spring. But I can't have him. He is gone, dead, forever. I wonder if I should add Peeta to the list of people I killed in the past three years, but I decide against it. Is it because I haven't lost hope in the fact that I could once again look into his crystal blue eyes and see the boy that I saw on the day of the reaping three years ago? The boy in the cave? The boy who sat with me on the dark cold beach? The one who kept the nightmares away? The boy with the bread? No. I still have no interest in seeing Peeta. We are better off alone. We'll kill each other, surely. He's unstable, and I'm no better off. Who knows how either of us will react if we meet again anytime soon. Anytime ever. My head starts to throb, but I can't shake the thought that he needs me. He needs me for answers to the simplest questions about his life, the answers that no one else could provide. I know that he must have many of these questions; almost all of his hijacked memories were the ones of me. But, I am selfish. How could I even think otherwise? I will refuse to speak to Peeta, fearing that I'll have to answer questions that I do not want to answer. I can't bear to look into his foggy eyes as his pupils contract searching for lost memories of the boy and the girl that are now nothing but memories in the past. I can't retrieve the past for him. I will not answer him for my selfish reasons. I can't stand the pain of reliving the memories of the boy that I can't have. I remind myself again that I do not need him. I shake the thoughts of him out of my head. Whatever I felt inside of me, whether it was rage or hatred or longing or lust, does not matter. What matters is Annie. So I continue shaking my head, literally now so that I can focus on the conversation that may, no, must, take place between Annie and me.
"Katniss!"
I scream to myself as I finally focus my thoughts clearly. No, this time I am sure that my scream was out loud because I notice Haymitch, who must have returned to his seat, standing in front of me my grasping my arm.
"What's going on, Katniss?" He asks.
Now I know he thinks I am crazy because I can't come up with a decent response to justify the fact that I just yelled at myself.
"Nothing," is all I say.
But Haymitch knows better. He somehow manages to decipher my two thoughts perfectly in his drunken brain.
"We don't have to go. You don't need to do this." He says, addressing the first one.
But we both know that I need to have this conversation with Annie. He knows I feel responsible, so he walks back to his seat when all I say is, "I want to."
"We don't need to go to Four to speak with Annie, but we do need to go back to Twelve."
He knows the other thought. He has me all figured out even when I can't figure myself out. He didn't mean simply going back to Twelve because I am confined there. No, he meant going back to Peeta. But that sentence will not change my stubborn, damaged, teenage mind because even though I will be going back to Twelve, I will not be going back to Peeta. This time, my thoughts make the shift from Peeta to Annie. As I try to piece together the words that I need to speak to her, I let out a yawn. Why am I tired? Why am I so drained of energy? The old Katniss would wake at the crack of dawn every day and sprint to the woods to go hunting. I remember that I am not the same person anymore. I am no longer the girl from the seam, the girl on fire, the mockingjay. I'm just a mad teenage girl who is responsible for the deaths of an endless list of people. I yawn again as I give in to the exhaustion in my mind and in my body as I drift off to sleep with out deciding how I will address Annie. Haymitch shakes me awake and I smell the alcohol on his breath as he informs me that we are in Four. I exit the aircraft under close watch by security guards. They watch me closely as I walk, as if I might explode with every step I take. But they are not the only ones watching me. I turn heads as I walk. Everyone who is here stares at me as I pass, wondering why I am here, wondering why I am alive. I don't even bother to try to conceal my face. It's useless. Everyone in Pamen has an image of me ingrained their brains forever, me at my first interview twirling in the flames, me in my dark mockingjay costume as I load my bow with a plan to kill Snow, me as I am now. Broken. I silently apologize to the entire country for leaving them with that last image. Avoiding all the gazes cast my way, I continue staring at the ground until I reach the house with the name Cresta on the front door. Haymitch, Plutarch, and the guards stand at the door with me as I knock. Annie answers, carrying a little baby boy in her arms. The sight of the child who will never know his father almost brings me to tears. But I smile at Annie and she manages to smile back. I wonder how she is raising a baby. Isn't she still just a poor mad girl? How is she okay? She invites everyone to sit down in the kitchen and pours glasses of water. She's really holding it together. I am thoroughly impressed. Haymitch gives me a nod and I know it is okay to be alone with her. So Annie takes me up to her room, the one she shares with her baby boy and was supposed to share with Finnick, and we sit down on the foot of her bed. I can now see her shaking as she puts the baby down in his crib. She joins me again on the foot of the bed but seems to have forgotten that I was even here.
"Hi Annie." I say to shake her out of her confused mental state.
"Hi Katniss." She replies, still staring into space, not making eye contact. This is not good enough for me, I need her to look right into my eyes and be fully aware of my presence. I speak anyway starting with "Finnick," but I am interrupted because she finally becomes fully aware of me and looks me in the face, as if she is finally part of the conversation. And I don't even have to say the words that I have been dreading.
"Is dead," Annie says with a pained look, and I know that she has never admitted the truth out loud.
"H-how did you find out?" I mutter. I assume she was told immediately, but still, I regret that I was not the one to break the news. It would have been a nice punishment.
"He didn't come home to me. He always comes back…" she trails off, leaving me feeling as if I owe her a further explanation as to why her husband can no longer hold her in his protective arms.
"He died before we made it to the mansion. He died protecting the rest of us, protecting me."
I say this to Annie and I feel guiltier than ever before because I know that it is true. He died as a result of my stupid mission. The one I made up to ensure that I kill Snow.
"He died before we even captured Snow. I'm so sorry Annie."
The poor mad girl starts shaking. It's not until she begins to cry softly that I realize I am crying too. She pulls her knees to her chest as the tears continue to flow. As I try to stop my own tears, I put my hand on her back in an attempt to comfort her. I'm not sure if I'm crying for Finnick, or finally just allowing my self to cry for the sad crumble of pieces that are my life. When her tears cease, I remove my hand from her back as I look at her face through wet eyes. She does not return the eye contact; jut gets up and runs out of the room. Before I can think of Haymitch or the guards sitting down stairs, I run after her. I chase her until she finally collapses on the shoreline of a beach and my legs give out from underneath me just as I reach her. She is definitely going crazy now, if she had not before, because she is throwing sand around the beach as she sits. Out of breath, I try to talk to her, to bring her back like Finnick probably could have, but my efforts are futile. This whole process drains the energy out of both of us because the next thing I know, I am being shaken awake by Haymitch. I look around and the first thing I see is Annie's head in the sand right next to mine. I think about how we must look as Haymitch and the guards come to collect us; just two mad girls, passed out together in a puddle of tears in the sand. We are helpless, hopeless, and emotionally damaged beyond repair. Haymitch helps me up, but I collapse in his arms. Before I black out, I see a face in my mind. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Peeta Mellark. I hear myself scream. His is the last face I need to think of right now. But for some strange reason, I think I feel my heartbeat quicken and my cheeks flush. Then, I feel nothing for a long, long time.