TWO

Masks are fascinating things. They can be so exquisite, so flawless; like those Venetian masks people wore to the decadent balls of pre-Panem days. People then made films, wrote novels and drew paintings of people adorned in masks. Gold, silver, hand-crafted, absolutely breathtaking.

How ugly they were. How insipid and moronic to don a mask, to hide, when you had absolutely no reason, no right, to be hiding. Now, I had a reason to hide. To escape and just forget the past year. I'd forget Peeta, forget Haymitch, forget President Snow and his stupid Games. I'd forget Finnick. I'd forget Finnick and the way he made my heart race. I'd forget Finnick and the way my olive skin flushed a deep red in his presence and how he never seemed to react the same way. I'd forget the casual touches and caresses around the others which made me feel wanted and important. Like I hadn't completely failed every single person and like I still had a secret, a piece of myself that I could keep to myself. Everyone in all of Panem knew about me and Peeta, or thought they did anyway. Everyone had seen my physical limitations tested in the Games and, bit by excruciating bit, my life come crashing down around me in an inferno. A blaze of smoke and fire... Katniss Evergreen. Girl on Fire.

"...and I know it's been hard on you both," Haymitch was saying. Like he knew. The selfish, self-fulfilling bastard.

"I know you've made...sacrifices." I wanted to hit him. The daring, the nerve- Apparently, Finnick agreed because he squeezed the small of my back then where his hand rested.

"Finnick, I'm so deeply regretful for what happened to Annie-" A strangled moan sounded from beside me.

My heart skipped more beats than I could count. Poor Finnick. Poor, poor Finnick. At least, I could pretend Peeta was fine and looking for me. In my fantasy world, I could pretend.

"Haymitch, I'm sure you mean well..." I struggled to control my voice. Anger pressed at my vocal chords, threatening to spill through like a dam bursting open suddenly. "But your words aren't going to help us. If you d-don't mind-"

Why was I still standing there? Why hadn't I punched him and made him bleed for my pain already? For Finnick's pain?

"-we'll be leaving." I said this with a determined air of finality and, dragging Finnick behind me, I led him out of the room.

His sinfully green eyes were unfocused and contained a note of sadness. Ha. Sadness. What an understatement. What a small, meaningless and overused word made redundant by those who never understood or experienced true sadness.

We managed to stumble our way back to my room, back to the beginning. He turned, green eyes pleading.

"I really am so-"

I plastered my lips to his, fusing our tongues in a fierce battle for redemption. Something neither of us would likely ever find.

I remembered what he said yesterday. I have Annie...

No, he didn't. Finnick Odair, adored by many, wanted by all, was truly alone.

"I think..." I began. My voice sounded awful. Croaky and hoarse, pitching at the end like a pubescent boy. I was embarrassed.

I turned, only to be faced with a mirror. "I think..." There. That was better.

"I think I love you...?" I posed it as a question then immediately wanted to laugh and cry at the same time at how ridiculous it sounded.

I didn't turn back around to face Finnick. To get lost in those deep aching green pools again.

Instead, I watched his unmoving reflection with something between bashfulness and humiliation twisting my features. And anger. Anger for thinking something so pure, so achingly beautiful could love something that looked like it had been found feeding on a dead carcass in the middle of the jungle back. Unrequited, that's what they called it.

I shut my eyes so I didn't have to see him laugh with scorn and derision before walking away.

Instead, I felt hand at my back, running up my bare leg to the hem of my black shorts. I felt a hand slipping under the thin black fabric of my tee shirt but not moving further up. Just resting where it lay, a coarse thumb kneading the dip of the soft dimples there.

Dimples of Venus, Finnick had once called them. They're rare, he said. Beautiful.

"I love..." he began but his voice tailed off. I was surprised to find it was as raw as mine. Somehow, it was sexy on him.

"I just need-" I tried again, stroking the fists now balled at the sides of my shoulders.

"I want..." he tried again but his voice tailed off again.

Throwing all caution to the wind, I turned around, pressing myself to him so firmly, we were practically one entity. Arms laced, hair tangled, sweat converging until we became one heap of fragile, unbridles passion. Yes, passion. It almost transcended the pain now.

Almost.

Okay, I realize this is an absurdly late update but I've had some problems (and doubts) concerning my writing recently. I suppose it's just like getting back on a bike after a while so I'm going to work on it. :)

Also if any Finnick-fans have read Mockingjay, they'll understand why this chapter is excessively depressing.