For those of you who're curious, there's more Johanna/Finnick coming up, but not for a few chapters.

Fidelity

(ANNIE)

I press my lips to the rim of the green bottle and take a sip, only to spit it back out on the sand. "That's disgusting!" I say.

Broadsea laughs. "That is beer, Sweet Annie."

"It tastes like medicine," I say. I shove the bottle towards him. "Get me a scotch or something. Something that doesn't taste so bad."

He snorts. "Some people would've said scotch was bad and beer was good." He hands me a scotch bottle. "But I guess you're not some people."

Broadsea and I have been hanging out in the past few days. He's actually not the worst guy in the world. Granted, he is an alcoholic and occasionally pops pills . . . Still, I think he's glad to have a friend. And he's started calling me "Sweet Annie." I guess it's a nickname.

We drink in silence for a while.

"What do you think Finnick's up to?" I ask.

Broadsea turns his head towards me. He gives me that you-don't-want-to-know look. "I'm sure he's wondering the exact same thing about you."

The Games officially start tomorrow. I don't really think I'll watch them. And the interviews were over an hour ago. The only other thing that'll be on tonight is Claudius Templesmith's analysis of the arena. It's always very boring.

I lay down on the sand and look up at the stars – at the cancer constellation. "Why do you hate Finnick so much, anyway?"

Broadsea sighs and lies down beside me. He scratches that red scar on his cheek. "It's a long, depressing story that you'll probably feel weird about hearing." He shakes his head.

"Please?" I stick out my lower lip and bat my eyes.

"You remember the girl Finnick went into the arena with?" Broadsea asks.

I remember that she was frightening. And sixteen. She, like Finnick, was a Likely. Since she was sixteen, it was her year to go in. Finnick wasn't meant to for another two years. But he did. And he stole all of her sponsors. Mags chose to keep him alive. They fought the entire Games – she even stabbed Finnick at one point. They were the last two left. And Finnick killed her.

"Yes," I say. "Her name was Xandria, right?"

"Yeah," Broadsea says quietly. He looks up at the stars.

Then I think I get it. "Did you love her?" I ask.

"Yeah," Broadsea says again.

"Oh. I'm sorry." I push the bottle of scotch towards him.

"Thanks." He takes a small sip of scotch and then finishes off the last of the beer. "Now what do you want to do?"

"I have no idea," I say.

Broadsea proceeds to kiss me. It's an average kiss. Not great, but good. I don't totally hate it. But I know that I definitely shouldn't like it. Should not. It takes me a second to respond, and when I do, it's not violent. I just sit up.

"What?" asks Broadsea.

"I'm not comfortable making out with somebody else just because Finnick's not around," I say. Isn't that sort of obvious?

Broadsea walks his middle and forefingers up my arm like legs. "Well, I've got a pretty good idea of what he's up to. And if I'm right about what's going on in the Capitol, then I can safely assume that you are entitled to do whatever the hell you want to in his absence."

"Is the concept of fidelity really that hard for you to grasp?" I say. I pick up the scotch bottle and take a sip.

Broadsea's leaning in again. "It is for Finnick."

"That's enough," I snap. I stand up and dump the scotch bottle over his head. "You know, I keep thinking you're a nice guy and then you go and act like an ass. Do you want to be nice, or do you want to be a tool? Make up your mind!"

I storm back to my house, up the porch steps, and slam the front door behind me. Io and Britton are eating on the couch.

"Hey, Sis," says Britton. "Hungry?"

"No."

I stomp my way up the stairs and fling myself onto the bed. Then I scream into the pillows. How could Broadsea say that to me? He's an ass! He's a huge, giant, rude, annoying ass and I hope he just drinks himself to death.

It hurts when I think about what Finnick is doing. It hurts me. What if he forgets about me?

I pull my face out of the pillows when I'm out of breath. My pill bottles are set in a neat configuration; all stacked one on top of the other. I hate having to take them. But they're necessary for me.

All I can do is pack a tiny bag and go.

Soon after I met her, Finnick told me she was sweet – the shoulder you could cry on. He also said she could and would kick some ass if the situation called for it. And right now, I don't need an ass-kicking.

I knock on her door. As soon as Mags opens the door, I start crying. She just wraps her arms around me and shushes me.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you, but I don't have anybody else I can talk to," I say.

Mags shushes me. "You came to the right place, honey. Come inside and we can talk."