Chapter 3

Three years pass in exactly the same fashion. Mags and I go to the Capitol as mentors. I sleep with women. Our tributes die. Some come close to winning, but don't.

We train them harder; they still die.

Meanwhile, I keep having sex with whoever I'm told to. I go home with ridiculous gifts. They are all convinced I love them.

But I don't.

Most repulse me with their colored hair and their altered bodies. They all want strange things. None of them want a quiet, gentle night.

Mags and I don't speak of it, but there is always understanding in her eyes. She is like my mother. I rarely see my real mother anymore. Mags is my oldest friend, perhaps my only true friend.

During the 68th Games, I find out that women aren't the only ones anxious for a moment of my time. Everything is worse.

One night during the 69th Hunger Games, the woman I'm with asks so much of me; too much of me. She doesn't want to be at the training center like all the rest. We are at her place. The things she has there are… Well, I've never even dreamed such things existed.

It is too much. When I return the next morning, I am nearing the point of collapse. I have no energy. I have no will to go on with the pretense that I am a virile young man, sampling from every walk of life the Capitol has to offer. I know what my reputation far and wide is and I can't stand it.

Mags takes me up to the roof. Oh, how I wish I could jump off, swim through the air and end it all.

But the force field keeps me there. I don't even attempt it.

Mags holds me in that garden while I weep like the little boy I once was, but will never be again. I have no hope that I will ever lead a normal life. To think that I once fantasized about being a rich victor of the Hunger Games!

I am thankful when our tributes die and another district wins the glory. That means I can go home. Home to the sea; to the salt air and damp breeze.

Once there I spend at least eight hours each day in the water. I float. I swim. I pretend I'm a fish. I imagine my life as a sea creature. I try to avoid the nets, the hooks, the spears.

It's then when I realize that is all I am. I am a fish.

I live in a world where everyone, save a few, wants to sink their hooks into me. Everyone wants me, skewered on their plates, my tasty flesh exposed.

I feel hopeless at the next reaping. My life was going to continue this way until I died or I grew too old to be wanted.

I was Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games. I am Finnick Odair, Capitol-whore.

I stand next to Mags and act like I care about the long history of the Games and the Dark Days. I am expressionless at Archibold Merryweather's voice telling the kids of District 4 that he hopes the odds are in their favor. It is the same every year.

He reaches into the ball and produces a slip of paper. My jaw tenses. It doesn't matter who is called. That girl will be replaced by a volunteer and that volunteer would likely be a corpse in less than a month. It's true that the children of District 4 train illegally for the games, but so do other districts. And District 1 can afford to send more gifts.

I was the last victor from 4.

Even if the girl from 4 wins, she'll probably be nothing more than a whore like me, so where's the upside? I don't even want to look at her. To look at her would be to grow attached and care if she was killed or spread out on a bed for Snow himself.

I shudder at the thought.

"Annabelle Cresta!"

Archibold's voice startles me even though he hasn't shut up in over an hour. I feel as though I know this name, but I can't quite place a face to it.

A girl let out a little sound from the middle of the sectioned-off area. I find her quickly as the rest of the girls back away from her. She freezes for a moment, her green eyes wide. She must remember that she's being televised because she starts to move forward. Her hands are clamped together as she makes her way up to the stage.

She is small but not short, and her long auburn hair flows behind her like a stream.

When she is up on stage the call for volunteers is made. Surprisingly, no other girl steps forward this year. It is strange, but if Annabelle thinks so, her face never conveys it.

She takes her place next to Mags. I can see the girl's whole body shake and I feel compelled to hold her. Mags takes her hands instead because it wouldn't be proper for me to comfort her. After all, according to Archibold, she should be happy and honored to represent her district.

I stare at the girl, even though I don't want to. As Archibold called the boy tribute's name, I recall this girl. She lives down by the sea, near my family's little house. She is only a few years younger than me.

The other kids used to tease her because…because why? I've forgotten.

The boy is quickly replaced by a volunteer from the northern sector. His name is Samuelson Zucker and he is bigger than most boys his age.

Without trying to, my mind starts formulating strategies. Oddly enough, almost all of them involve Annabelle becoming the victor while Samuelson sacrifices himself to save her.

After the tributes are escorted to the Justice Center and say goodbye, we eat dinner together on the train. It will take but a day to travel to the Capitol.

I stare at her all night. She rarely looks up. When Mags asks her if she has any talents, she tells her bowl of stew that she's an adequate swimmer and she ties all of the knots for her father. I watch in fascination as she picks out the contents of the bowl, separates them and eats only the vegetables.

"Is that all?" Samuelson says with a laugh.

I shoot him a scowl, but Annabelle doesn't seem to care that she's being made fun of.

"I can hide," she says softly.

And this is where it hits me. Yes, Annabelle – Annie - Cresta can hide.

I remember now. The children chased her, shouting horrible things and then she just disappeared. I never took part in it, but I remember friends of mine and a few girls who were interested in me would tell me things about her.

If I recall right, they said she'd forget important things, such as dressing properly. I never saw her, but she would apparently come to school in nothing but her nightgown. They said she was absolutely confused as to how she got there. They said she would cover her ears and talk to herself in class and told everyone her dead mother had transformed into a winged mermaid and flew away.

And her father had beaten her black-and-blue when she'd released several crates of crabs. I guess it was a habit of hers. The crabbers would bring in their lot and she would sneak around releasing them, but not after the beating.

"Annie?" I say, trying to draw her attention from away from the stew.

She didn't look up at me, but she did say, "Hello, Finnick"