I used to think that nothing could feel worse than not being able to fall asleep. Then I met Finnick. And falling for him had hurt worse than any other pain I could imagine.

But not being able to sleep and being in love with Finnick? There is no sensation that could be more awful.

My sheets are too smooth and I crave the uncomfortable scratchy feeling that the blankets back home had. Twitching under the covers, my legs are practically begging me to put them to use and go on a long, hard run that will leave me breathless and empty except for an overwhelming burn. Then there's my head, which won't stop bringing up every tiny detail of my argument with Finnick and playing them over and over, only to be interrupted by a fleeting memory of happiness that feels like ice in my chest.

With a curse I sit up and swing my legs off of the bed. I grab the shoes I had discarded recklessly after I came back to the house from Finnick's in a flush and told Mags I would be going to bed early. That was two hours ago, and the summer sun still hangs steadily in the sky.

Silently, I slip out of the house, managing not to disturb Mags from whatever is currently occupying her time. During the short walk to the beach I pull my hair into a sloppy braid, wondering if Finnick can see me from his house and whether or not I want him to.

I know as soon as I begin running that it won't be satisfying. Something is off, my brain is elsewhere, and it frustrates me so much that I push myself harder until I feel like my feet aren't even touching the ground.

When the sun sets the burning in my ribcage is too much and I have to stop, but the clouds in my mind are still there. Breathing heavily, I walk down the beach, figuring that if I put as much distance between me and Finnick as possible all of my problems will magically disappear.

Before I can realize that it's futile, I'm approaching a small mountain of branches and spare bits of wood near a secluded cove. A small group of boys surround it, adding more to the pile while a gaggle of girls and a few guys lounge near them and sip inconspicuously from bottles.

Spender Yule is among them, and when he notices me he waves for me to come over. My feet move on their own accord, and before I know it I'm standing in front of him just as the bonfire blazes to life.

"Hey Annie," he says. "I thought you were too good for bonfires."

The retort is ready on my tongue, something about his likeness to cavemen and their fascination with fires. But I hesitate.

"I thought so too," I admit, remembering what Finnick told me. That I was born a Career. "But I guess I was wrong."

I sit down next to Spender and the fire crackles in the background over the sound of rowdy conversation. He seems shocked. I recognize some of the others from school, and they greet me with various forms of friendliness. They all look like frowns to me.

Realizing that this was a pathetic lapse in judgment, I stand to leave. Spender grabs my wrist. "Hey," his voice sounds lighter than I've ever heard it. "Stay awhile."

Then he's pressing a bottle of spirits into my hand and I raise it to my lips because I can't think of any reason not to. I down it in one go, gasping as the liquid burns my throat. Spender gives a cheeky laugh that I reciprocate before grabbing the first unopened bottle I see. It's some kind of fruity cocktail imported from the Capitol.

A voice in my head tells me that this is a bad idea. But isn't everything I do?

My conscious is silenced with a few sips of the beverage, and I tell myself that this is exactly what I need to let go. People are scattered around the bonfire, lost in their own little discussions. The sound of their voices gets louder and louder and it feels like the swell of a tide, and suddenly everyone is on their feet. Some are dancing, but others are shouting and showing off to anyone who will pay attention to them.

Spender twirls me around in the sand, and I shake my head, trying to figure out how I ended up in his arms. I feel light and warm and detached. But the warmth is probably from the fire. And everything else is definitely from the booze.

I try stepping away from Spender, but he holds me closer to him and I giggle, which is weird because I don't feel happy. Maybe angry. But I don't want to be angry, so I take another sip of my drink except the bottle is no longer in my hand. I look at it, confused. Then I laugh, because it's funny, I guess.

Spender chuckles too, and the light feeling dims. I twist away from him, but he grabs onto my arms, just above my elbows. It should hurt, but it doesn't.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Stay for a while. Don't leave. Aren't you having fun?"

I don't answer him, just kind of shimmy from side to side because I figure I'll get out of his grasp eventually and in the meantime, why not do something that feels nice? My eyes flutter shut and my ears roar. Everything is shaking and moving and twisting, but that's just me, right? Anyway, all of my senses are dulled and that's all that matters.

It takes me a second to feel the lips moving urgently against mine. I stand completely still and at first I think it's Finnick but then I remember that he isn't here so it must be Spender. Then I'm confused, because why would I ever let Spender get close enough to kiss me? I have no idea.

So I slap him. Because that's what people do when people kiss them and they don't want to be kissed. At least, I think so.

Spender holds his reddening cheek. He calls me a name that would've made me furious if I weren't so bubbly right now. Then he raises his hand and I wonder what he plans to do with it just flopping in the air like that when a big wall of person blocks him from view. I start to teeter around it because I still want to know what Spender's going to do with his hand, but then I realize the big wall of person is actually a big wall of Finnick.

"Finny!" I exclaim, testing out a new nickname. It sounds funny, so I laugh. I think I'm supposed to be happy or mad to see him, but I can't remember which. "What are you doing here?"

He's too busy glaring at Spender to answer me. I try stepping around Finnick to glare at him too, but he takes my hand before I can remember how to squint my eyes.

"Mags is looking for you," he say, frowning. "Let's go."

He starts to lead me away from the bonfire, and my feet stumble in the sand, trying to find traction. "But Finn," I whine. "I was busy, I was-" I stop abruptly and try to recall what exactly it was I was doing. "I was drinking."

"I can tell," Finnick comments, pulling me along. "But now you're going home."

"Home," I repeat, trying to remember the meaning of the word. "I don't know where that is. Is it close? I'm tired."

"You aren't tired," he answers. "You're drunk."

"Yeah," I agree. "I am drunk. And you're Finnick. Or you were."

"What do you mean?" I trip over some damp seaweed and Finnick catches me.

"Now you're Mr. Grouchy Face," I slur "I miss Finn. When is Finn coming back?"

"I'm right here," he says.

"But you aren't," I mumble, and then I face plant onto the sand.

Finnick pulls my face off the ground and rubs away the grains of sand that hug my skin. Everything is spinning and I can't see straight so I think it's just my imagination when I hear Finnick chuckle.

"No laughing," I groan. "Laughing is mean. Like you."

Then I'm flying. No, wait. Finnick is just carrying me. I wish I were flying. Then I wouldn't be with Finnick, and then I could forget about how he won't look at me. And how mean he is. And how lovely he is. Was. Whoops.

Someone turns the sun on too bright, and I snap my eyes shut and groan. "What happened?" a voice asks. Mags. We're inside her house, I realize, and the sun is actually just lights. I feel very silly.

"Career bonfire," Finnick responds. "She had a little too much to drink."

"I'd say," Mags says. Finnick hauls me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where he sets me gently on the mattress. He sighs and pulls a blanket over me and starts to disappear out the door.

"Wait," I cry, but my voice comes out barely above a whisper. Finnick stops in the doorway. "You have to stay. It's your turn."

He pauses, and the part of my brain that's still capable of intelligent thought thinks that he probably doesn't remember much of the night when he was drunk and tried to kiss me. Ooh, kissing.

Finnick moves cautiously toward my bed sits down even more tentatively. I scoot over to accommodate him, but he stays where he is. He brushes a lock of hair out of my face without looking at me directly.

"You," I drawl, rolling over to see him completely so at least one of us is looking at the other. "Are obviously going through some serious emotional…" I forget the other word. So I make a noise that feels like it fits and continue. "I mean, a week ago we were friends. Great friends. But now," I make a rendition of Finnick's grimacing face. "What happened?"

Finnick mutters something that I don't bother listening to.

"Now we're back in a bed, like last time." I say. "Remember last time? I do. Want to know a secret?"

He grits his teeth and quirks an eyebrow. Maybe he wants to leave. I should probably let him. I snuggle deeper into the pillows and sigh.

"You, Finnick Odair," I hum. "Tried to…Well, almost did…But I didn't let you…Why didn't I let you? Stupid."

"Didn't let me what, Annie?" Finnick asks.

"Kiss me, stupid." I say. "You were going to."

Then it's dark.

I come back to consciousness with a groan. The headache that presses against the backs of my eyes is enough to make me want to keep laying in bed, but the dryness in my mouth forces me out of it, wobbling out of my bedroom to the kitchen where a glass of water must await me.

Memories from last night flash in front of my eyes. The bonfire. Drinking. Finnick carrying me home. Kissing Spender. The last one makes me want to vomit, but I try to be optimistic and remind myself that I at least didn't throw up on anyone.

Right?

There are voices in the kitchen, and I instinctively on the staircase stop and listen. Mags' garbled voice and Finnick's deep one, immersed in what sounds like friendly conversation.

"…haven't been here in a while."

"What do you mean?" Finnick scoffs around a laugh. "I'm always here."

"No," Mags says. "You haven't been in a while. And I'm too old to beat around the bush so you might as well say why."

Finnick is silent. Mags speaks softly, and I have to strain my ears to hear, "…because of her, isn't it?"

"Does it matter?"
"Obviously," Mags responds. "You haven't been yourself, Finnick."

"I'm trying," Finnick blurts. "Really hard to…to not feel it. But I can't." She murmurs something to him that doesn't quite reach my ears. "But it is useless, Mags!" Finnick retorts.

"What makes you think that?" her voice is calm.

"Because I don't deserve her," he says simply. "I'm not… I could never be with her and only her. I'd always have to leave her and hurt her. I've done unspeakable things… I- There's no point in…in wanting her if I can't have her. I can't even look at her anymore. It hurts too much."

I gasp, and in the silence that ensues I'm sure they've heard me. But then Mags says, "If that were true, Finnick, then why is she still here?"

I creep up the stairs as silently as possible. I've heard enough.

Disclaimer: It's called fanfiction. Has this gotten through you yet? SUZANNE COLLINS! NOT ME! OKAY!

A/N: Aaah! Finnick does have a heart! Who would've thought? I was beginning to think he was a soulless mutt created by the Capitol to make Annie miserable and take her on boat rides that almost kill her. Speaking of Annie, she should be drunk more often, don't you think? I had to keep her from nuzzling into Finnick's shoulder and calling him "soft Finny" on more than one occasion because, well...because I am strange and that is the kind of thing I would make a character do. Especially when I'm writing at two o'clock in the morning. Bad idea.

Anyway, I've rambled enough for one Author's Note. I'm sure you're all sick of me. And if you aren't, would you pretty please review, or blink twice if you can hear me or something of the sort? *puppy dog eyes*

-Kate