The sheets become unbunched and unfolded under the pressure of limbs slowly stretching out underneath them. The windows in our room are open, letting in the swift scent of sea brine that gave me comfort. Cold air hits my arms with full force as I reached up, arching my back. I grip the cold, wooden headboard of the bed momentarily before falling back flat, air billowing out the thin yellow covers from the impact. Those were Finnick's idea. He said I needed something happy. A cheerful color. Something to remind me that not everything is dark, and he was right, like he always is.
Finnick. My thoughts echo his name as my fingers splay over to his side of the bed. They met only empty space. My eyelids lift, taking in the messy blankets and the pillow shifted to an odd angle. He must be in the kitchen, he must already be awake. He always makes us breakfast. I swing my legs free and sit on the edge of the bed, toes curling from the coldness of the wood floors. They press into the grains and I stand, pulling at the end of my nightgown. It only reaches about mid-thigh when I'm standing and I don't quite care for that, but it's Finnick's favorite. He says he loves the light green color on me and the feeling of the silk. I only keep it to make him happy.
I round the end of the bed and head towards the door, absentmindedly twiddling with my long messy hair. I should brush it sometime. I will do that later.
The hallway blocks my view of the kitchen, but the pictures hanging on the wall distract me for a moment. A family photo from Finnick's side, from way back when he was younger. Both his mother and father are present. A black and white photo of Finnick and I. A picture of Finnick out to sea. There's one picture of me holding some young baby boy, but I can't place him. His name eludes me and I give up trying to chase it, instead coming into the open kitchen that leads into the living room. I find the kitchen to be empty. There's no trace of Finnick here, no pan left dirtied from baking, no ingredients misplaced or moved. The island looks to be untouched. I switch my gaze to the side with the living room. He's not there, either. My heart starts pounding. Finnick. It echoes again, reverberating off the insides of my head, filling my mind. Finnick, where are you? A terrible thought comes and I try to evade it but it ensnares me like the tight traps District Four is known for. They came and got him. The pain demands to be felt. They came and got him, and killed him, and now they're going to kill me. He's not coming back. I'm all alone and Finnick is gone. I'm all alone. I'm all alone. My hands clutch the island, turning my knuckles white. My breathing comes hard and heavy, and my stomach feels as though it wants to eat itself. Maybe it will. Maybe it should.
I stumble to the sliding glass door leading out to the beach. I throw it open, hearing the instant sound of waves breaking. I run out onto the soft sand, grains of it being thrown everywhere by my feet. My hands grip my head and I can feel my too-long nails digging into my scalp. The waves fill my ears. I curve my back and bend my knees. The waves are too loud. There is no comfort anymore, no feeling of security and warmth. The waves. I cover my ears and drop to the ground. Too loud. He's gone and he's not coming back. I'm all alone. He's not coming back. Alone.
I clamp my eyes shut, blocking out as much as I can. It doesn't work, and I try harder, harder, harder. The sunlight invades my eyelids anyway. I can't escape. They'll find me and I will be dead. Or worse, I'll get away and I'll be alone. All alone forever. I give up and open my eyes, staring at the dirty sand beneath me. I find a hermit crab walking lazily along the shoreline. How slowly and carelessly it goes. Nothing coming after it, nothing posing a danger. How easy it lives. It can retreat into its shell and be safe at a moment's notice. I wish I had a shell. I watch the crab continue on right past me. Tears fall as I stare. It goes and goes for no apparent reason. It is soon far away, but I keep my gaze focused. Then something catches my eye. Someone is standing there on the beach with me. A person, a human, standing and watching me, barefoot. I look up and assess him. He wears blue shorts designed specifically for swimming and a white t-shirt. His legs look muscular and lean, and his arms are nothing short either. His collarbone is clearly visible. I make my way further up, to his face. A strong jaw, a perfectly proportioned nose, deep sea-green eyes. Eyes I could never mistake anywhere.
"…Finnick?" I whisper incredulously. No, it can't be him. It can't be. They took him and he's gone. Gone from me forever. "Finnick?" I call out louder this time. He gives off no sign that he heard me. My legs shuffle under me as I begin to rise slowly. I don't believe this. I don't trust it. But he's right there in front of me, isn't he? He's right there, alive and well. His blank look turns into a soft smile. I smile back. "Finnick…" My voice comes out faint and airy. I go to him, sprinting down the beach. He's there, he's okay, he's alive. "Finnick!" Glee and joy. That's all my cry was made of. Glee and joy. He's only a few feet away from me now and I open my arms to embrace him. "I thought you were gone!" My tears fall even harder than before. "I thought they—"
My musing stops short. I went right though him. That isn't what was supposed to happen. It all dawns on me then, crushing me harder than before as I spin around to see where he went. He isn't there. He's not okay. He's not alive. They took him.
Somewhere inside, a baby cries.