Katniss POV

I don't know what to do with my life. I'm sixteen and I just moved from the warm, sunny Los Angels to cold, foggy Chicago. My parents...don't even get me started. My mom took drugs since she was 23 and she...she murdered my dad when I was only 7. I was left in custody of my Aunt and Uncle with my traumatized brother, and best of all, myself.

I didn't know what to do with my life. Everything that mattered was taken away from me in the span of one night. My dad, my wonderful dad had been taken away from me by my psychotic mother. Can I even call her my mother? The woman who took everything away and left me in charge. She is a monster.

Back to the present. We had to move to gloomy, rainy Chicago. This was the perfect thing to help me with my severe depression. Packing up wasn't much of a hassle. I have nothing of much value left, besides my brother, Dylan.

Sixteen.

It is the number that signifies the years that I have spent on this planet. Nine years have gone completely to waste. Someday's I wake up feeling like I have no purpose on this Earth. Like if I disappeared and never showed up again, nobody would care. I think about suicide. About how it could be my outlet. How I could leave all my pain and fear behind and be engulfed in a sea of nothingness. I kept thinking this way for nine years. Nine.

I still can't believe all of that fear, pain, anger disappeared when I stared into those green eyes.

I didn't know what was going to happen at first. I thought it was going to be like every other first day of school. Waking up extra early, taking a shower grabbing a muffin and heading out the door. Little did I know, but that day was going to be the first day of the rest of my life.

We arrive at Chicago at 4:37 in the morning. All I have with me is my suitcase, messenger bag, and sketchbook. Everything else is being moved to the house as I speak. I'm not tired because of the time change and all I have on my mind right now is getting "home", lying down, and counting down the minutes until Summer vacation ends.

"Kat?" Dylan asks. I silently laugh at the nickname Dylan gave me.

"Yeah Bud?" I answer.

"Is everything going to be okay in our new home? I mean, will we be okay?"

"Of course it is, as long as we're together everything will be fine." I say reassuringly. I kiss the top of his head. I've been giving this kind of feedback since the second my father's death had been announced. Not only was I affected when he died, but my brother had tremendously changed. He was more quiet and kept to himself. He opened up to nobody except myself. I always hoped that he would succeed on getting over my father's death (though I knew I could never do so myself), but he continued to lurk in the shadows of his past, just as I did.

I got out of the cab and put my hood on, it was pouring buckets. This was the perfect weather to greet me. I quickly skipped to the doorstep, trying to avoid any rain puddles. My Aunt came beside me. She was a short pudgy woman. She had a kind soul and learned to give us our space. She opened the door. This house was much more magnificent compared to our run down apartment in L.A. I took one step inside and the house smelled just like mahogany and...cherries, my favorite. Maybe this city wasn't going to be as bad as I thought it would be.

Finnick's POV

I see her walk into her home, the one just across from mine. Her hazelnut hair swishes back and forth behind her. Her eyes, oh her eyes, are a beautiful shade of grey. She has curves and full chest. She is mesmerizing. From my first glance at her, I hope that someday, maybe someday she will be mine.

Katniss POV

I walk into my room which is painted my favorite color, green. It has a small bed, just the size for one person, a desk with a lamp, a closet, a nightstand, and a small bathroom right behind dresser. It might be small, but it is perfect. I drop my stuff on my bed and walk out of the door, into the hallway. I see Dylan's room just across from me.

"How is it?" I shout to Dylan who is unpacking his suitcase

"Way better than Los Angeles!" he says, with excitement in his voice. I can't find words to describe the way it feels to hear happiness in somebody's voice who hasn't been happy in nine frickin' years. Dylan was only four when dad died. I was considered the big sister for the time. Now, when I look back, it seems like a dream. Waking up that night to the sound of a gunshot. All I remember is running into Dylan's room, gathering his little body into my small hands, and running. Running through the back door. Running across the street. Running right into the police station. Running until my little heart almost gave out. Nine years. I felt nauseous at the thought of it.

I started rummaging through my bag. I took out my phone, my wallet, by IPod, my laptop, and most importantly, my picture of dad. I miss him. I miss him so bad. I wish that night he would have stayed at work a little longer, went to the store, would have done something to stop that fucking bitch from killing him.

But, alas, the past is the past, and it cannot be changed. You can only change your future.