The day of the Reaping comes too fast. The sun is too bright. The air is too warm. The salt smell of the ocean is too strong. Normally, Annie loves these things about District 4, but today they're stifling her. They could be traps. If this were the Arena, they would be.
Finnick's arms are loose around her waist, his breathing deep and steady against her neck. He only got home two days ago, and now he already has to go back. She lays one arm gently over his, trying not to wake him, but she feels him stretch and pull her a little closer.
"Good morning," he murmurs. She moves onto her other side so she can look at him. His hair is messy, his eyes red and tired, but he's smiling.
"Good morning," she replies.
She likes waking up next to him. She likes when he holds her. She likes breathing him in. All of it is almost enough to make her smile back at him. Today is the Reaping, though. Today is the day she has to help send two children to their deaths. Just like her and Sebastian.
"Are you okay?" he asks, suddenly concerned.
She forces herself to smile and sits up.
"I'm fine," she lies. He looks at her skeptically but doesn't push it.
This is basically how it's been since they returned from her Tour. Neither of them wants to upset the other. Neither wants to get too close to the other. Neither wants to lose the other.
The past few months have been… rough. Rougher than the months before them, even. Finnick spent more time in the Capitol than normal. He was gone for two months at one point, then he was back for only a week. He came home shaking and not wanting anyone to touch him. He barely ate. He barely moved. He'd sit on the beach and tie knots, and at night he'd climb into bed with Annie and turn his back to her.
Mags went in and out of the hospital a few times. Annie was usually the one who had to call the car service to get her there, and she'd always sit in the lobby, like Mags must have done for her after the Arena.
This is my fault, she'd think every time as she watched Doctors wheel Mags back to the care rooms. Snow said every action has a consequence. This is my consequence. I have to watch Mags die slowly.
She almost took up knot tying, but it didn't work for her the same way it worked for Finnick. The only thing that made Annie feel better was swimming, but she couldn't do that, either. Every time she tried, every time she pushed through her fear to go out into the water, to feel the salt on her skin, to feel free for once, the waves turned into the big wave in the Arena.
Snow had taken that from her, too. He took away her family and her friends. He took away her sanity and her voice, and any chance she'd ever have at regaining those things. And he took away the ocean.
Finnick tucks some of her hair behind her ear.
"I know you don't want to go," he murmurs. "I don't either. It'll only be a couple weeks, though, and then you can come back here."
"Knowing that I helped kill two children." She pushes herself up and out of bed. He sits up but doesn't follow her.
"Or knowing that you helped save one."
"One. Out of twenty-four."
She leaves the room and glances down the hall. There's no noise. After Mags' last hospital trip, they'd decided to move her into one of Annie's empty rooms. She tiptoes down to the door and pushes it open, just enough to peek in.
Mags sleeps peacefully, snoring slightly. Annie lets out a breath she doesn't remember holding. The nurse will be here later today, to stay during the Games.
When I come back, Mags will probably be dead, she thinks. That's what Snow wants. It'll be the same as last time. Nothing ever changes.
She walks back, pausing outside her room. She wants to talk to Finnick. She wants to sit down and talk until they know everything about each other. She doesn't, though. She keeps walking, down to the bathroom.
She can barely even focus on her shower. She washes her hair and scrubs her body. The motions are forced, almost mechanical, like someone else is controlling her.
A year ago, she was doing the same thing. She was getting ready for a Reaping that should've been like any other Reaping. She swam in the ocean like it was nothing. She even beat Finnick at a race. She almost smiles when she remembers that. She took a bath in her old tub and her father cooked for her. Her mother brushed her hair. She should've gone back to that life.
But that girl was Reaped. Twenny Clearing. Annie can't ever forget her name. She doesn't know why she felt the need to volunteer for that girl, but she did.
She was crying, she reminds herself. She was scared. She was going to die. I saved her.
It cost her everything, but she saved that girl.
She gets ready in a blur after that. She doesn't have a stylist or a prep team anymore, those are reserved for Tributes and Victors. She has to get ready on her own.
Finnick's gone when she gets back to her room, probably back to his own house to get ready. She chooses a simple outfit for the day. A green pantsuit. Nothing flashy or fancy. She skips makeup. She pins her hair back so it's off her face, but otherwise doesn't do anything to it.
She's not a Tribute anymore. She's not on her Tour anymore. She has no one to represent but herself, and the entire country already has the lowest opinion of her possible. It doesn't matter how she looks. There's a small comfort in that. No one cares what she's wearing.
Eventually the nurse comes. Annie gives her a quick tour of the house, and, while she prepares lunch, says goodbye to Mags.
"I'll see you soon," Annie tells her, taking her hand. Mags is only barely awake, but she squeezes her hand back.
"Love," Mags says. She can barely talk these days, even less than before. Her grip is strong though. That's a good sign.
"I love you, too," Annie murmurs, and kisses her on the forehead. Please don't die, she thinks.
And then it's time to go.
Finnick stands outside, waiting with the car.
"You look nice," he says. Of course he does, too. His hair is tousled, and his shirt is cut low to expose his chest. Annie doesn't say anything; she gets in the car, sliding over as far as she can so Finnick can sit next to her. They don't speak for the duration. Annie watches the city. The buildings move quickly, only letting her see flashes of people through windows.
There aren't many people on the street just now, at least not this street. A few of them look at the car as it drives by, but when they see Annie's face staring back at them, they turn away. The big main boulevard that leads right into the city square must be clogged. She's glad they're not on it now.
The car is stifling, even as she rolls down the window to breathe in the city air. Fried fish, and salt, and sea air, and sand. She'd almost forgotten those smells. She's barely gone into town ever since….
Finnick fidgets next to her. She wonders if he came from this city, too, or from one of the smaller towns. She's never thought to ask.
She wonders where the new Tributes will be from. Just the reminder of them, that one quick thought, is a punch to the gut. Soon enough, she'll learn who they are. She'll know their names and their faces, and she'll have to help them in their own Arena. She'll be on cameras again, even with Finnick's promises that he'll do all the interviews. The Capitol gaze can't be avoided, not when she's in it. The cycle is repeating itself.
She drums her fingers on the window frame and glances over at Finnick. He was right, she thinks. The Victory Tour never ends. It's my life now.
Annie looks back to the street. More faces stare at her with uncomfortable expressions before turning away.
Just a year ago, this city was her home. Now she's a stranger in it.
The set up for the Reaping is all the same as last year, but this time Annie's sitting on the stage. They wait for a long time as the citizens of District 4 file in. The kids crowd up in the front, most of them hoping their name is called. Last year, she was there with them, dreading every second.
Finally, Mena steps up to the microphone, smoothing her dress down. She's also wearing green today, but a softer green with hints of blue. Her eyelashes and shoes and wig all match. Bright pink lips spread over bleached white teeth in a beautiful smile. Her skin looks a little darker than it usually is, too, but that might just be a trick of the light.
"Welcome!" she calls out, her voice reverberating all around the square. "One and all! To the District Four Reaping for the 71st Hunger Games!"
Lots of cheering. Mena waits for it to stop before the video plays. The same one as last year, the same one as every year, reminding them that the Games are a punishment for the crimes of people who are now long dead. Annie folds her fingers together and tries not to cry.
When the video ends, the cheering kicks back up. Mena has to silence them this time.
"They're more worked up this year," Annie whispers to Finnick, who sits next to her with his hands also pressed together.
"We won last year," he says.
"Yeah, but, it was me. I'm crazy now, didn't you know?"
"It doesn't matter." He shakes his head, ignoring her bad joke. "It was still a victory. They want another one."
"Ladies first!" Mena's voice is all sunshine and sugar today, like it usually is during the Reaping. She steps up to the huge bowl on her left, and fishes through it for a moment before pulling out a slip of paper. Whoever this girl is, Annie will have to see her through the Games as far as she can. She's dreading the task already. How can she help someone else survive if she can barely survive on her own?
"This year's female tribute is…." Mena reads the paper, but pauses for too long. One second, two, three. It feels more like an eternity.
Every action has a consequence, Snow reminds her.
Mena glances, for a fraction of a second, back at Annie, and turns back to the microphone.
"Sorry," she says, clearing her throat to cover her long silence. "This year's female tribute is… Twenny Clearing."