A/N: Guess Annie wanted to say something today.

I closed the door softly behind me. For a few moments I stood there with my eyes closed, allowing the darkness to wash over me, to bury me, just for a few brief moments. There was a strange humming pulsing through my ears. I wondered if it had been caused by the sound of the final cannon firing in the arena - or maybe it was just my imagination. Not real. Not really there. But still able to hunt me down and haunt me, just as the nightmares always did.

A feathery breath escaped my lips, my eyes flying open instinctively. Automatically my gaze was on the move, sweeping from one side of the hallway to the other. Right now all I wanted was home - with the warm fire and the sound of the waves crashing against the beach in the distance. Instead, I'd been taking to this house that they proclaimed as my home - but it was not. It was an empty shell, built to host a shattered soul. To stare silently down through vacant empty windows at whoever survived the horror others looked on as something to celebrate over. Victors' Village. The little secluded circle of houses in every District to lock the broken survivors away. To be never seen again, except at interviews. Even then we'd be painted up again and put back together, expected to smile for the cameras. People had no idea. No idea. And that was what killed me the most.

I took a few staccato steps into the kitchen. My stomach growled. How long had it been since I'd eaten? How long had it been since I'd been escorted off the train, back home safely in District 4? Time bent and stretched as it so pleased these days. The days I'd spent in the arena had gone on forever and ever. I'd spend the daylight hours praying for nightfall, to hide in the familiar cloak of darkness - and spent the hours of the night praying for daylight to see by. The only conformation I had that time was still ticking by was the frantic pounding of my heart - slower now. Was time moving slowly? Or was I really calm enough to assume a slower heartbeat? I shook my head slowly.

The cupboards were not bare as I'd thought they would be. It felt as if they had been expecting me - I liked that. I found some bread rolls and munched on one, wandering slowly from room to room. The walls were all the same colour - a light shade of cream that I instantly detested. However, the carpets were fluffy and sunk slightly with every footfall, which reminded me of the sensation of walking across sand. There was an upstairs part to the house which I was not used to. I'd moved into one of the smaller houses - there were only two bedrooms and three bathrooms, which was nothing compared to some of the other places. Speaking of which... the doorbell reverberated through the house, and I flinched readily. Who could it be? I hesitated uncertainly, unsure whether to answer the door or not. The moments slithered by. The sound of my heart was vibrating against my eardrums. My breath caught in my throat.

"Annie?" The moment his voice sliced through the atmosphere was the moment that everything changed. I took the stairs two at a time and wrenched open the front door, with its slightly ajar letter flap. Finnick Odair stood there. The only one who would be able to understand how I felt because he'd been through it all before. Concern was written all over his features - from the tightness of his jaw to the clouded gaze in his eyes. I examined him closely, his skin that same creamy complexion - although perhaps it clung a little tighter to his cheekbones than how I remembered; his bronze hair, tousled after clearly running his hands through it many times. A few moments of tentativeness passed between us. Then we fell into each other's arms.

"You okay?" he whispered to me.
I nodded; my throat ached too much to be able to speak. Dozens of brutal images danced across my consciousness - blood, death, pure, concentrated animal instincts to kill each other. Somehow I'd survived it all. I'd survived because of him. Because of Finnick Odair.

Anybody else and I would have been ashamed to say that I owed them a debt - but between Finnick and I it was different. Our relationship had changed so much: from two frightened teenagers who dreaded each Reaping, to a lonely girl desperately waiting and hoping for her childhood sweetheart to come home safe from the arena to her; two teenagers forced apart by the boy's memories and all the things he had seen, to a lonely boy desperately waiting and hoping for his childhood sweetheart to come home safe from the arena to him. Now we completely understood each other again. Our love now was new and fresh, yet oh so bittersweet. Because the reason why we could both completely empathise with each other was because of the torture we had endured. Two shattered hearts stitched back together and dusted with glitter for the cameras.

As I shut the front door behind us, his hand pressed tightly in mine, I knew that, although I'd lost myself a little during the arena, I'd find most of those shattered pieces hidden in a place where only I'd be able to find them: behind Finnick's eyes and lodged in the stitches that held his heart together.

A/N: For more of my stuff please check out my deviantArt LeRachParade.

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Rach