and here's to all the boys you'll kiss
and all the scars left on their lips
and here's to all the boys you'll date
the one's we'll make sure that we hate

- JamisonParker, Anthem for the Broken Hearted

The woman, whose name he doesn't quite remember (he thinks it might have started with an 'L.' He was a little preoccupied with something other than her name), smells overpoweringly like flowers. In fact, it looks as if she actually has flowers sticking out of her skin. The smell chokes him, and he wants fresh air, but, well he overlooks that. Because damn, is she good looking.

She's eighteen, two years older than him, with long hair down her back and heavily layered eyelashes. Her eyes have been genetically altered to glow.

She waves a piece of paper in his face and then puts it in his pocket. "Call me," she says seductively. He watches her as she walks away, then digs around for the paper, hoping she wrote her name on it as well.

Annie Cresta is suddenly stomping towards him, eyes glowing, not from genetic surgeries, but from the anger that is propelling her feet forward.

He's still preoccupied with the backside of the woman that he doesn't even notice Annie until she grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him down her to her level.

"You listen to me," she growls, her lips close to his. "I don't care how many girls with glowing eyes or green skin fawn over you, you always remember who you are, where you came from, and who you belong to, do you understand me?"

He's lived through the Hunger Games and is two years older than her, but the look in her eyes and the intensity in her voice frightens him into responding, "yes ma'am."

She nods. "Good." Then she pulls him that extra inch towards her and kisses him firmly.

Without even stopping to think about it, he kisses her back.