My grandfather didn't talk to me much. Luke was the favorite, the golden child. I was just the little girl who tracked too much sand into the house.
But he did tell me something once. Something I'd forgotten until now. He told me to count to three.
"You're too rash with your actions," he said after he'd thrown me to the ground and pinned me there with his foot. "You run into an attack without knowing what you or your opponent will do. You'll die in a heartbeat with that kind of attitude. Count to three. Observe, analyze, and strike!"
But I never listened to him. What was the point? He was just going to knock me back down again. I charged into every fight with my fists flailing and was always confused when I failed.
Not this time. I close my eyes, breathing in the salty air.
One.
It's Capitol business.
Two.
It's not his choice.
Three.
I can't yell at him.
And yet my body still shakes with anger. I can't yell at him. I know that. But I still want to.
It's lucky Marius showed up when he did. I'm not even sure what I would have done.
"Annie?" I whirl around and see Mar standing there, shivering in his ragged pajamas.
"Mar, what are you doing here?" I rush down the stairs and wrap my arms around him. "Don't you know what time it is?"
He looks up at me. "Do you?" I realize that I don't so I ignore the question.
"Why are you out here, Mar?" I demand. "It's almost two miles to your house. What were you thinking? Your parents must be worried sick."
"I think I was sleepwalking," Mar says. "Annie, I'm cold."
With his hand held in mine I lead him to Mags' house. I grab a blanket from the living room and wrap it around his thin shoulders. A tear streams down his cheek.
"Hey," I whisper, wiping the tear away with my thumb. "It's okay Mar. It's all right."
"They picked me," he says, voice hushed and strained. "For the Hunger Games. They called my name and no one volunteered. They picked me."
I hold him close to me, running my hands through his soft, feathery hair and making shushing sounds. Eventually his crying softens and I pull away, holding him at arm's length.
"Mar," I tell him. "They won't pick you. It's your first year."
"But what if they do?" he asks.
"They won't," I repeat. "It'll be okay, Mar. I promise. Now stop worrying. The Games are four months away. Do you really want to do this every night?"
Mar shakes his head. "Okay," I say, smiling. "How about we go outside? We can watch the stars and listen to the ocean."
"I love you, Annie." He says, hugging me.
"I love you too, Mar." I reply. "Love you too."
They come stumbling out of the house before the sun has completely risen, arm and arm, leaning on each other to keep themselves upright in their drunken stupor. I watch them through sleepy eyes while I sit on the porch. I tell myself to go inside, because seeing him makes me feel sick, but Marius rests his head on my lap, stuck in a fitful slumber. I don't want to wake him.
The Capitol woman titters about something, gesturing wildly. Finnick's eyes are far away like he isn't listening. They stagger out of sight in the direction of the train station, and a few minutes later he returns, alone.
Finnick walks to his house like he's being lead to his execution. He pauses at the doorway, looking at it like he's not sure where he is or how he got there. He slams his head against the door and I flinch, waiting for the next thud, but it never comes. He just stands there, leaning against the door until he pulls himself together and enters the house, letting the door swing shut behind him.
I couldn't make myself go see him. I tried – multiple times – but I'd always end up standing in front of his door, remembering the look in his eyes and then running away like his house attack me.
I'm not mad at him. I'm just afraid that he is.
I want to talk to Finnick. Maybe I even need to, but I can't do it. I feel embarrassed and angry thinking about him, but some part of me still needs to see him, some part of him, and for a while I have no idea what to do.
Then I get an idea.
It's surprisingly easy finding Finnick's parents. I only have to walk to the housing section where people are generally better off – shop owners and ship captains – and ask a passerby where the Odairs live. They point toward a house nestled in a private, shadowed area. I wait until they leave before approaching it.
The house looks empty. I try to walk past it nonchalantly, all the while peering inside the open windows. I'm not sure what I came for. Talking seems pointless; they don't know me, and I don't think I could talk about the only two subjects I know we're both aware of – Finnick or my father – without screaming at them or crying.
I don't need to speak to Finnick's parents. I just need to see them.
I pause in front of the house, looking from left to right. It looks so imposing. I realize that this was a stupid idea, that I don't even know Finnick's relationship with his parents and how he was treated by them. There's no way I could just walk up to it and-
"Are you lost, dear?"
A woman appears from behind a large bush growing along the side of Finnick's parent's house. Her bronze hair looks gold in the sun and her sea green eyes blink at me, appearing concerned. She's definitely Finnick's mother, I realize with a shock.
She's also in a wheelchair. I didn't notice it at first – I was too distracted by her striking resemblance to Finnick. But once she starts to make her way to me I can see it clearly. The wheels of the chair scrape across the rocky earth and she pushes it forward effortlessly as if she's been doing it for quite a long time.
"Yes," I lie easily. "I was just looking for my friend. She got assigned a new house in this area last week and she gave me directions but I can't, um, find it."
Finnick's mother frowns. "I don't recall there being any new assignments here for months," she says.
"They were some pretty bad directions," I laugh, forcing a sheepish smile onto my face. I tell her Lana's address with the right amount of uncertainty and she kindly points me toward the smaller, less grand houses where most vendors live a mile or so away.
Smiling, I thank her for her help and walk away, heart hammering.
"Have you seen him at all today?" Mags asks. I look up from my book to see her staring out a window at Finnick's house, her old fingers nervously twisting a chain around her neck.
"No," I say slowly, not counting our confrontation this morning.
"I'm worried about him," Mags says.
"Why don't you go see him, then?" I absentmindedly rub my fingers against the pages, creating a soft breeze.
Mags shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "No," she sighs. "I shouldn't."
"Alright then," I say, looking back down at the book. I try desperately to lose myself in the words, but I can't focus. It's like there's a wall in my head keeping me from doing anything. I push the book away from me, irritated.
"Annie," Mags is holding a plate full of food in her hands. "I want you to take this over to Finnick. He probably hasn't eaten anything all day."
"What?" I demand, feeling my mouth go dry.
"Go on, then." Mags says. "Take it."
What can I tell her? That I saw him this morning already? That I know what he was doing? That I'm not even sure I can look him in the eye now? That I'm not sure if he even wants to see me?
There's no point in telling her. I can't have both of them be mad at me.
I take the plate from her begrudgingly and exit. When I get to Finnick's house I hesitate at the front door again. I can see his stormy eyes, the Capitol woman's wandering hands, the bottle held in his hand.
I can't enter through the front door. Not yet. So I'll have to use the back.
The door isn't locked like I expect it to be. I push through into the house slowly, apprehensively. There aren't any lights on, and it's dark.
"Finn?" I call softly into the house. "Finnick?"
There's a quiet crash upstairs, like someone knocked over a bottle. I set the plate on the first table I see and climb up the stairs quickly, following the source of the sound.
At the end of the hallway a door is ajar. A crack of light escapes from it, providing a small amount of light. I pause, not sure of what I'll find. After taking a deep breath I step through.
Finnick leans against a wall underneath a window. Dark circles dust the skin under his eyes and his hair sticks out at odd directions. He looks down at his hand, cursing.
This is when I notice he's bleeding.
"Finn," I gasp, kneeling next to him. I grab a shirt off of the ground and press it to his hand. "What happened?"
He looks at me with dull surprise, as if he didn't realize I was here. "There was broken glass," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to. I just…" he trails off like he isn't sure what to say.
"Here, just put pressure on it," I tell him. "Do you have any gauze?"
"Bathroom," he says. I hurry to the bathroom and find the strips of fabric, forgetting my worries about him being mad at me. When I come back Finnick seems more alert, and watches me with interest while I wrap the wound.
"Thanks," he whispers. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Let's just get you in bed," I say, guiding him to the mattress a few feet away. He flops down on the bed, making a relieved noise.
"Annie," Finnick singsongs. "Annie, Annie, Annie." He pushes himself up, smiling. He looks nothing like he did this morning. I almost don't recognize him.
"You're drunk," I say, because it seems like the only safe topic to comment on.
"Yes," he admits gruffly. "And you're Annie."
"And you," I back away from the bed. "Need to get some sleep. I'll-"
"No," Finnick interrupts. "Stay. Please."
"Okay," I sit down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, as close as I can be without touching him. I reach forward to push the hair out of his eyes. Finnick grabs my hand, holding it against his cheek.
"You looked at me," he murmurs. He closes his eyes and his brow furrows. "I thought… I thought maybe if I could look at you and you could look back at me you might…"
"I don't understand," My heart flutters for no logical reason.
"Sorry," he says, letting go of my hand. I don't draw it back to me, just let gravity do its job and let it slip down, resting in the bend of Finnick's elbow. He doesn't seem to notice.
"Annie," Finnick whispers. His injured hand tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Her runs his thumb across my cheek, the rough gauze on his palm scratching my skin. I hear a rustling sound and realize it's Finnick moving across the sheets to be next to me. He tilts my chin and he shuts his eyes, his breath tickling my face. His lips part and he moves closer and closer and…
And I turn my head away at the last second. Because I'm confused. Because he's drunk. Because it's Finnick.
Because I want him to. Kiss me, I mean. I want Finnick Odair to kiss me.
His head falls into the crook of my neck and stays there. I gently push him away from me and he falls back onto the bed, asleep.
He wouldn't have even remembered it.
I throw some blankets over him and stumble out of the room, vowing that I'll make him eat later. Tomorrow. Next week. In a year. Whichever.
The humid air feels salty and warm when I leave the house and wobble to the beach, feeling as drunk and unsteady as Finnick was. I fall to the ground near the water, not letting it touch me. I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them to me, needing the pressure. I need to feel something that will cancel out the other sensations, cancel out the image of Finnick's eyes and his smile and the sound of his laugh. I need to forget the blooming emotion in my chest that rooted itself there weeks ago.
The tears come gently at first. Then they're stronger than a storm.
Disclaimer: It's called fanfiction.
A/N: Don't hate me.
Sorry! Not about the chapter. No amount of apologizing will make up for that. But I'm sorry for not uploading yesterday like I said I would...I got a little overconfident and thought I could write this chapter in a pinch. I was wrong.
I didn't really know how to deal with this chapter, I admit. There's a lot of dialogue that got cut and some scenes I stuck in to indulge myself, but yeah. ARTISTIC FREEDOMS! *shakes fist*
Anyway, enough of my deranged babbling. Love you guys! See you next time!
-Kate