What the hell was that?

I run away from my problems. It's easy, and I'm good at it. But for some reason, I don't think I'll be able to run away from this.

Maybe it's the net. I heave it over my shoulder and experiment with lengthening my strides. It helps, but only just. I near my house, about to pass out from exhaustion. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, and they're all about Finnick Odair.

He's arrogant, self-absorbed. He's egotistical and takes everything for granted. He doesn't work and bums around District Four whenever he isn't in the Capitol, which is often. He doesn't brush his hair. He has a long list of Capitol lovers that he's never faithful to. He always finds an excuse to take off his shirt.

But I don't know him. Or at least, I don't think I do. Everything I think about him is based off assumptions, stereotypes, and the way he acts when cameras are pointed at him. Maybe underneath all that flirting and bravado, there's a person who hates the Games and what they've done just as much as I do.

And if I'm being honest with myself, the thing I hate most about Finnick Odair is that he's alive. And Luke isn't.

I stumble into the house, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Groaning, I drop the net onto the floor and drag myself into the kitchen for a drink of water. I'm just bringing the cup up to my lips when I freeze. Something isn't right.

I turn around slowly, looking at the couch. It's empty.

"Mom!" I call. No answer. I yell again. Nothing. Worried, I check every room in the house, but they're all deserted. My bottom lip trembles when I shout her name for the sole purpose of hearing noise. It's no use. The house is empty. Mom is missing.

I need to find Lana.

I sprint to her house, fighting the fatigue and panic. I knock on her front door repeatedly until she answers, a perturbed look on her face. I'm probably interrupting dinner.

"My mom," I say, and then burst into tears. Lana steps outside and shuts the door behind her.

"Annie, what's happened?" she asks.

I sniff loudly and try to compose myself. "S-she isn't home. I don't know where she is," I tell her. "I can't lose her, Lana. I can't."

"Calm down, Annie." Lana says. "Just breathe. We'll find her, okay? I'll… I'll go look for her in the market. And you go down to Victor's Village. She might've tried going to your old house. It's going to be alright."

I nod, wiping the last of the tears away. Lana's assuredness has calmed me, and I pull her into a tight hug. We break away and stare at each other. "Don't tell the Peacekeepers," I say. "Whatever you do."

Lana understands and tells me she won't. If they find out about my mother they'll take her away from me and force me to live in a group home until I come of age. Lana runs off in the direction of the market and I pivot on my heel and sprint to Victor's Village.

The Village isn't familiar to me. There are twelve houses in all, each identical to one another with the same pale blue paint and big, sweeping porches that wrap around the entire house. I have hazy memories of the place, either forgotten deliberately or warped by time, but I manage to find the house we lived in easily enough.

I snoop around back, expecting to find my mother hiding there. She isn't, but I search the bushes underneath the raised porch anyway, not ready to admit to myself that she might be floating face-down in the ocean.

The door to the back porch opens suddenly, and I flatten myself against the wall. How could I be so stupid? Of course grandfather's house wouldn't still be empty, not with all the victors District Four has. Someone must be living here now, and if they look down over the railing they'll find me hiding here. I've got to get out of here.

I start to crawl away when I hear someone say, "What are you doing?" I freeze, sure that I've been caught, but then another voice answers them.

"Just getting some fresh air," they explain. Wait. Is that Finnick? Of course. This would be his house. Just my luck. I lean against the side of the house and close my eyes, hoping he'll go inside soon.

"No," the other person, who I think might be Mags, the old woman who lived next-door to my grandfather, says. "I mean what are you doing?"

I hear the sound of wood creaking, which might be Finnick leaning against the banister and looking out at the scenic view of the ocean. He sighs. "I don't know, Mags."

"I saw you at the beach today," Mags says. "With the girl. What's her name?"

"Annie," Finnick replies begrudgingly. My eyes snap open. I'm not one to eavesdrop, but when you overhear someone talking about you, you can't really resist.

"Cresta?" There's a pause. "I knew her. She used to live here with her grandfather."

"Really?"

"I mentored her brother," Mags says. My stomach tightens. That's right. She did. "She was a sweet little thing."

"You'd never guess that now," he blurts.

"Finnick!" Mags admonishes. They chuckle quietly for a while before slipping into silence.

"It's just…refreshing," Finnick says finally. "To not have a girl flinging herself at me. To not have someone look at me like I'm a hero. It's nice to have that. Even if she is insolent and has violent tendencies."

"Violent tendencies?" Mags questions.

"She bit my hand!" Finnick exclaims. "I was only trying to help her carry some nets, for crying out loud."

Mags chortles. "Is that what you were trying to do?"

"I got a little bit overzealous," Finnick admits. "I've been trying to do good deeds, like you suggested."

"Oh," Mags says. They're quiet. I bite my lip furiously, trying to process it all. I didn't think Finnick could be so human. Maybe he-

Wait. What am I doing, listening to this? I have to find my mother.

I start to move away as quietly as I can. I've almost made it to the front of the house when I hear Finnick's voice. "Ma'am!" he yells. I jerk around, looking at the beach. A figure stands on the shore a few hundreds of yards away. My heart fills with relief. It has to be my mother. It just has to be.

I no longer care if I'm seen. I race towards the beach, cutting across my old – or I guess Finnick's – yard. The sand is unsteady and I stumble when I reach it, but I feel like I've never run faster in my life.

My mother looks out at the ocean, wind blowing through her hair. She doesn't notice when I approach her. Her brown eyes stare unwavering at the water, and I worry that I won't be able to get her to move.

"Mom," I whisper, and her eyes slowly find mine.

"Luke's late home from school today," she says simply. "I'll stay out here and wait for him. He gets distracted by the water."

Once again, her clarity is frightening. She's never been this focused before.

"Mom," I repeat. "Luke isn't here. We have to go home."

Mother shakes her head. "No,"

I can hear Finnick and Mags nearing, and I tug on her hand urgently. "Mom, we have to go."

"No," mother says, pulling away. "Luke."

"Luke isn't here," I murmur. "Mom. Please."

"Have to wait for Luke," mother mutters, her eyes shifting back towards the sea.

"Mom," I cry. "Look at me. Mom, look at me."

"Luke," mother repeats, rocking back and forth lightly on the balls of her feet.

Mags is at my shoulder. "Annie dear," her voice is full of pity. I hate it. I step away from her, closer to mother.

"Mom," I repeat. She won't look at me. She never looks at me.

I gasp when Finnick brushes past me. "Excuse me," he says, stepping up next to my mother.

"What are you-" I start to yell, but I cut off suddenly when he scoops her up into his arms. Mother doesn't react. She's disappeared inside herself again.

"Where to?" Finnick asks casually, mother cradled in his arms.

I blink at him stupidly. "Uh…" I say. Finnick looks at me expectantly. "My house. It's over that way."

Finnick nods and starts walking. He looks over his shoulder. "Go rest at the house Mags," he calls. "I'll be back soon."

Mags nods her head at me before making her way up to the house. Finnick keeps walking, holding my mother carefully.

I have no choice but to follow.

We walk in relative silence. I quietly give him directions when necessary, but otherwise we don't talk. It feels like a weight is hanging over us, and I don't know what to say or do to make it go away.

When my house comes into view Finnick sighs in relief. I hurry forward to open the door, but realize that I'd left in swinging open in my panic to leave. Embarrassed, I hold it open for him.

It's odd seeing Finnick here without the flash of cameras or his infamous smirk.

Finnick clears his throat. "Where should I uh…" he shifts mother in his arms.

I realize I've been staring at him this whole time. "Oh! Uh," I point at the couch. "Over there is fine."

Finnick lays her down gently, like she's a child. He steps back quietly as if he's afraid to wake her, but she won't. She's retreated inside herself and won't come out for a while.

"Thank you," I tell him softly. It's hard for me to say. I'm not used to accepting help.

"It's fine," Finnick says. He pauses, obviously fighting with himself about whether or not he should say something. "Your mom…said something on the beach. About someone called Luke."

I look down, not sure how to respond. Part of me is angry. Who does he think he is, intruding on something like this, so private and painful? But another piece of my mind is telling me that I owe him this, an explanation.

"Was he your brother?" Finnick prodded.

"Yes," I whisper.

Finnick is silent. He's waiting for me to speak.

"He volunteered," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice from breaking. "For the 61st Hunger Games. Luke Cresta. Career."

"I-" Finnick starts to say, but I talk over him.

"Everyone thought he was going to win," I continue. "I remember… I remember he told me right before he left that he'd be back before the tide could rise. I believed him. I really did. And then…then he died and-"

"Annie," he murmurs, walking toward me. I step back, determined to finish.

"It was such a waste, Finnick. There wasn't a point to it, there wasn't any reason. People say it's honorable to be a tribute, but it's not. The Games aren't something you should be…proud about. Not when it's glorified murder."

Finnick looks at me intently. I try to avoid his gaze, holding my arms tightly to me. Tears are trickling down my face but I don't acknowledge them. "I hate the Games, Finnick. I hate what they've done and I hate what they do. So that's why I hated you. And I'm sor-"

I'm in his arms before I can protest. Stunned, I let him hold me, knowing that he might need this more than I do.


Disclaimer: It's called fanfiction.

A/N: Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Or terrible. It was probably terrible. *dances awkwardly* Anyway, sorry for the delay. Hopefully this is soon enough for you guys. My rule is to only upload when I have the next chapter ready, and I suffered from a brief bout of writer's block after finishing this chapter. Thankfully, I've written enough of Chapter Five to feel comfortable uploading Chapter Four.

BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER. My friend said it "murdered me(her) right in the fangirl". So...hopefully that's...good...?

-Kate