A/n: Thank you for the wonderful reviews! I've gotten a few inquires about whether or not this story will continue following canon. As much as I despise the ending of Mockingjay and as much as it kills me, this story will be canon all the way through. This is because my goal for this story has always been to write Finnick and Annie's story as canon as possible, and unfortunately, the emotional destruction that is Mockingjay is canon. However, someone suggested writing an alternative ending where Finnick comes back from the mission, and that's something I'd definitely do if enough people wanted it. Probably as a separate oneshot or something like that. Anyway, just wanted to answer those who were wondering!
The chiming of a clock reverberates throughout the house, and just like that, we only have one month left.
I apologize profusely to Finnick when he finds me on the floor in front of the mantel, the small gears and wheels and pins of the smashed clock spread all around me. But he is not angry and he is not disappointed in me. I am simply angry and disappointed in myself. He cradles my sliced hands in his and kisses each cut. We decide to spend the rest of the night trying to see what we can create out of the broken clock pieces.
"Let's make a new clock that goes backwards." I suggest. I fiddle with a part that has a sort of jagged wheel that's impaled with a short, thin metal rod. I spin the wheel around and around on the rod, wondering which gears this triggered, which wonderful hour it sent running away. Deep down in my mind I know it isn't the clock's or the calendar's fault that time is passing. Time would pass regardless. But I have to have something to blame, something to rage against, something to break. It's this or myself and Finnick would be distraught if I chose the latter.
I'm on Finnick's lap and he's watching the wheel spin around and around over my shoulder. I feel his eyes travel from the wheel to the side of my face and I turn a bit, meeting his eyes. We share a smile that's much more intricate than these metal parts and much more hopeful in its nature.
"Okay. Maybe it will send us back in time." He says. He says it jokingly, but we both cannot ignore the wistful undertones.
"Maybe," I agree, hating myself for the hope that's already slid into my voice and heart. Ridiculous ridiculous ridiculous, but lovely too. Very lovely.
I lean back against him and pick up piece after piece, experimenting to see which parts can attach and which cannot, which can balance and which cannot. I have no idea what any of the wheels or gears or pins mean, and neither does Finnick judging by the way he's mindlessly jamming pieces together like I am. I wonder how we're supposed to build a clock that goes backwards if we can't rebuild a clock that goes forwards. I think the answer is that we can't.
Eventually we both turn to each other again and Finnick says what I'm thinking.
"I don't know anything about clocks." He admits.
He looks disheartened by this fact, but I feel laughter bubbling up inside of me. The corners of my mouth jerk up and Finnick's nose twitches and then we're both laughing so hard the pieces in our hands go clattering to the floor. I roll off him and land painfully on some sort of wheel object, and in the throes of my laughing fit, I reach a hand under my leg and pull it free, accidentally flinging it angrier than I planned. It flies across the living room and smacks into the wall, making an almost satisfying sound. For some reason this makes me laugh even harder and I worry I'm heading around the corner that separates normal laughing from hysterical. But Finn rolls over and lays his head on my stomach, still laughing so hard his eyes are shut, and I am able to stop walking down that path. My laughter begins to die down around the same time his does, but then he nudges the fabric of my shirt up with his nose and presses a kiss to the skin of my stomach and I'm admonishing him while laughing once more. I close my hand over his mouth to keep his lips from kissing my stomach again—I think I might pass out from oxygen deprivation if I have another laughing fit—and I feel him smile against my skin. He presses his lips to my palm and I take that to be a promise that he won't tickle me again, so I lower my hand.
He makes a point of sitting up and slowly pulling my shirt back down, diligently smoothing the fabric with an overly innocent look in his eyes. I'm fighting against a smile so intensely that the muscles in my neck are strained. I try to glare at him, but when he leans down and makes a point of nicely and guilelessly kissing over the same spot, my face is overrun by a smile.
"Sorry, my darling." He hums, taking my hand in his. He tugs lightly on my arm and I sit up, my body automatically leaning towards his as if he's the north side of a magnet and I'm the south of another. I wonder sometimes when that began. Have I always been drawn to him like this? I can't remember a time when I wasn't, but then again, I can't remember much about what I was like before I went mad in the first place. It's a blur of strange comments, shy glances, my sister's hand in mine and Arnav's, nets, and sea glass.
His words warm me and fuel the smile that's still in place. I keep moving forward bit by bit until I'm leaning against his arm, my throat swollen and choking me as it almost always does anytime I'm with him (which is always, always, always, every moment of every day, just as it should be).
It should be, but it won't always be. The security of his body leaning against mine is something I will be without for a month in the best of circumstances and forever in the worst. The sadness of this has taught me yet another lesson: there is no passion quite like passion born out of fear, too much love, and the ticking of a clock. I think this is simply because you know that any inch of someone you haven't kissed before, you will never get to kiss ever. When there is little time to live, there is little time to love, and so you have to try your hardest to make up for all the years that you will never wake up to. We are running running running, trying our hardest to fly past what we know is coming, trying to pretend it isn't on our heels, but it is and we can't stop it and it's closing its hands around the things I love most.
This is normally a time that I cry into Finnick's shoulder, but instead I am filled with a bitter hatred that swells inside of me with a power I can't quell. I'm clenching my fists so tightly both my arms are shaking and my nails are biting so hard into my palm that they break skin. Finnick notices my tense posture and looks down at me, his eyes immediately reflecting back the rage I feel.
He reaches down and picks up a panel of wood from the clock.
"Let's throw it all." He suggests, his voice low and measured, like he's holding back a fury that makes him want to yell, too.
I turn to him and nod eagerly, smiling despite the anger because he always knows always knows always knows.
He rises to his feet and helps me up and hands me a particularly large metal disk. It's heavy and cold against my palm, and I find my body automatically remembering what Finnick taught me such a long time ago, and I'm flinging the disk just like it's a knife aimed for an enemy's body. I wish it was, because this time, the enemy is Snow and he deserves this.
At first the sound is so loud it startles me and I flinch, lifting my hands to my ears. But Finnick's throw makes contact with the wall and slowly I become accustomed to the way it sounds. We stand there, lifting piece after piece, hurtling it against the wall, until there are no pieces left and our hands are pink and raw from the sharp edges of the wheels and Finnick's living room wall is dinted.
We stand there for a few long moments, just looking at the destruction we've made, feeling the rush of anger leak out bit by bit. There is something else that I have learned that they don't want you to know. People will hide it hide it hide it, and probably for good reason. This secret is that destruction feels great. Any kind of destruction. Destruction of dishes, destruction of clocks, self-destruction. It all feels good. It is addictive, though. And very bad because it hurts a lot of people. But I would be a liar if I said it didn't feel fantastic in the moment. There is something so dark, so satisfying about breaking something yourself. Something that feels a bit like control, and aren't we all craving that most of all, deep down? It is easier to break than to mend. I have never been one to want to break anything, but these past few months, I have wanted to break it all. The dishes, the clocks, the picture frames, the vases, myself. Anything, everything, nothing. I am raging against a man who will never feel or care about my rage. I am raging against a world that isn't fair.
It helps in the short term. But really all I am doing is making a bigger mess.
Finnick and I turn to look at each other, silently acknowledging the fact that we have both probably lost control of everything now, even ourselves. But there is still one thing we are in control over, and that is each other. And that's perfectly fine, because if Finnick couldn't steer my soul and mind some of the time, I'd be halfway around the world, underwater, my ship and skull cracked. I know he feels the same by the way he sometimes looks at me after he brushes his lips against mine with the lightest and most cherishing of touches.
We clean up the mess together, regretting our fit now that we're at this point. But it doesn't take long with two sets of hands and we shove the pieces into a trash bag, tying it and setting it out on the back steps as if it's going to pull one of us away. Which, I guess in a roundabout way, it is.
It's not quite bedtime, but we slide underneath the sheets anyway, and it's there that I feel the safest to free my mad and troubled thoughts.
"Time is too quick. I'm scared. I can't remember a time when I didn't drift towards you." I whisper, punctuating each fear with a kiss to his neck because I can. Have there ever been two lovelier words than I can? I can talk to him, I can hold him, I can kiss him, I can feel his heart beating, I can I can I can. It's almost laughable how ugly just a small apostrophe and a t can make that beautiful word.
He tangles his hands in my hair, weaving it between his fingers until I am sure it's knotted around them. This is something new he has been doing lately, and sometimes I think he does it because it makes him feel like he can't be pulled away from me. Not as easily, at least. It's funny in a way, because one thing I do remember is that before Finnick was my source of security, my hair was. I felt vulnerable with it up and it made me feel at home. Now it's just hair, and I feel vulnerable with Finnick gone, and he makes me feel at home, but here he is going towards my hair when he's feeling scared, too. Mags was right when she said we are made of the same stuff.
His hand is warm and heavy on the back of my head. He leans down and runs his nose down the side of my face, and I'm automatically turning my head to meet his lips, but his never brush mine. He stays with his face bowed, pressed against mine, eyelashes fluttering against my skin.
"I'm frightened, Annie."
His confession has my nose immediately burning and my eyes stinging. His voice sounds so small and so broken and he has never said anything like this to me before about the Quell. He is very openly sad about it, and angry about it, but never scared. Never frightened. That's my job, I'm the one who is always scared, Finnick is the one who is brave and strong. But I used to be a girl who loved to fix things, and now I'm a girl who breaks things just because it feels good, so that doesn't mean anything at all.
I slowly pull myself away from him and sit up, the sheet gathering at my waist. I set a hand on Finnick's arm and tug lightly and he sits up as well. I hug him so closely to me that my arms ache and he lowers his head, pressing it into my shoulder. I caress the back of his neck and bite my tongue until I am certain I am not going to cry.
He turns his head to the right and his voice breaks the silence.
"I'm scared to leave you. I'm scared that…things aren't going to go the way that I've planned. I'm scared that you are going to get hurt."
But things never go the way you plan when the Games are involved. Surely he knows this? The best you can do is expect the unexpected. His worries confuse me, because why should he be worried that I'll be hurt when he's the one who is going into the Games?
I remember my words to him the first and only time we've ever fought, when I said I'd kill myself if he were to die, and I can't help but wonder if that is what he's talking about.
"I'm going to be fine, Finn. I promise." I whisper. But that's a lie, lie, lie, so I have to add onto it to make it a truth. "As long as you come home to me, I will be fine."
He lifts his head and pulls back, looking into my eyes, and I hate what I see in his. I drop my hand from his neck and it falls heavily into my lap and my heart is surely being crushed.
"And what if I don't?" He asks, the fear and guilt in his eyes so intense that mine are filling with tears.
"Don't say that." I whisper, looking away from him because I can't stand to see the possibility of that in his eyes.
His fingers are cold when he grips my chin and gently redirects my face.
"What if I don't?" He repeats, his voice serious and pleading for answers I know he isn't going to like.
What if he doesn't?
For the very first time, I allow my mind to open up the dark box that stores this possibility. I try to imagine seeing him perish in the Games, his body pulled up by the hovercraft. I imagine going to the train station to receive both his and Mags' bodies. I imagine burying them in that cemetery. I imagine walking back to Finn's house and opening it and smelling him, but knowing really I will never smell him ever again. I imagine sleeping in this bed all alone. I imagine his clothes gathering dust, his smile slowly fading from my mind, his hands never grabbing mine ever again, his laughter never waking me up in the mornings, his lips never on my skin, his voice never existing, and I'm suffocating.
I'm bawling then, my hands gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like someone is trying to pull him away right that moment. I move over until I'm in his lap and then I lock my arms around his middle tightly. I press my face into his neck and I can feel his Adam's apple move up as he swallows tears because I know this isn't the answer he wanted, the answer he needed.
He wraps his arms around me and settles his cheek on the top of my head.
"You are stronger than you think you are. I still believe in you." He mutters. "I just need to know that you believe in you, too."
I have never been able to lie and there is no way that I will start now, wrapped in Finnick's arms in our bed on one of the last nights we will have together. There is no one and nothing that could make me do that to him, to me, to us.
"Just come back to me." I cry.
His hands shake as he pulls me back, pressing a frightened and sad kiss to my forehead like he did the night before my Games.
"I'm always trying to get back to you, Annie."
A few hours later, when I'm almost asleep and Finnick thinks that I have been asleep for a while, he takes my hand between his and kisses it. I listen as he tells me he's sorry ten times, a tormented tone in his voice. The pieces of my heart settle somewhere near my toes and I drift off to sleep terrified and pained, wondering just what it is he is apologizing for and why he waited until he thought I was asleep and how I can help him.
My dream that night is a showcase of Osmium's knife-wielding talents.
The ground is soaked in blood as Osmium beheads victor after victor. Katniss' head rolls into the bushes, Peeta's blonde hair sticks to his bloody face, Johanna laughs coldly in Osmium's face the entire time he hacks away at her, refusing to let him have any sort of pleasure from his conquest, Wiress just stares at the sky, Beetee gasps until he can't gasp anymore, Haymitch curses vehemently and then spits up blood, Cecilia cries.
Finnick stares directly at Osmium the entire time, accusing him with his glance, and I can't do anything but watch as Osmium stabs the blade into every spot I've ever grazed my lips.
I wake up to bloody sheets and Finnick's hands holding mine tightly.
"They can't have your head." I gasp, my mind already drifting from all the blood sliding down my arms.
"Why would someone want my head?" Arnav asks curiously.
I lower my arm that's holding the kite string, watching it flutter down towards me. I turn towards my brother, upset for whatever reason, and shrug my shoulders.
He just kind of smiles, like he knows something that I don't know. He turns back to his kite.
"You can't take someone's head, Annie. It's attached to their shoulders." He says matter-of-factly.
I cringe as my arms begin stinging intensely, and then I'm sitting on the edge of the bath, Finnick in front of me. He's pouring what must be alcohol or something akin to it on a particularly deep scratch, his face white.
"Finn, I'm—" I try.
His head snaps to mine, his eyes grief-stricken.
"Please don't apologize. I'm the one who is sorry. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I never should have talked to you about the arena before you went to sleep."
No, no, no. That's all wrong, because he was upset, and he should talk to me whenever he is upset. Things like this happen when you love a girl who is mad and it isn't his fault, it isn't, it isn't.
I tell him all of this, and he listens, but I don't know if he hears.
The next two weeks are riddled with the same nightmare each night. But I learn quickly that I don't tear at my skin until the encore with Finnick, so I take to setting an alarm every thirty minutes to ensure I don't get into a deep enough sleep to get to that point. I try to sleep in another room so it doesn't disturb Finnick, but he absolutely refuses, clinging to me like I suggested moving permanently to the Capitol.
We treat each other like something fragile and rare that was pulled from a museum display. Our hands don't leave each other for more than ten minutes cumulative a day, and still we make love like we haven't seen each other in a very long time. We start doing silly things to make each other smile, because that sight is something I think we both need to stay strong. Finnick writes and writes and writes, sneaking at least three poems a day into my path. I read them and smile and kiss him and I'm happy. I let Finnick tickle me whenever he wants, because it makes him smile so brightly I am sure nothing is more beautiful. I cook him clam chowder every single night, promising that I will do it until he tires of it, but he never seems to. I think more than anything he likes watching me make it, because I tend to talk to myself and he thinks it's cute (but really it's mad). Mags gets more and more nostalgic as time passes, and so we are content to spend the majority of the day at her house, sitting either on the porch or in the living room, listening to story after story after story. Finnick and I cook breakfast and lunch for Mags now and bring it over, eating with her and trying our hardest to enjoy the time we all have together. I talk Finnick and Mags into going to the Training Center at least once a day. I don't go with them though, because I hate it hate it hate it. I stay home and clean until there is nothing left to clean, and then I make a mess and clean that up.
I give sleeping without the alarms another try one night, because I'm scared to damage Finnick's chances in the Games by causing him sleep deprivation. It takes three nights, but I find that if I sleep almost directly on top of Finn, I'm hardly plagued with the nightmare at all. It's silly, but I think maybe I can register that I'm shielding his body with mine in my dreams. I'm not much of a threat at all, but the dark things that lurk in my mind stop attacking him, so I must somehow be a threat to myself at least. Finnick likes the new sleeping arrangement, anyway. He says it makes him feel like I'm safe, too.
It's morning and I've woken up very early, way before Finnick needs to wake up. His arms are resting on top of me, having been secured around me when he was conscious. I lay still for a while, but eventually I'm registering that my leg is falling asleep and I can't stay put any longer. I slide off him as gently as I can, but he still mutters something in his sleep and then turns over on his slide, his hands sliding out like he's searching for something. His fingers graze my knee and his search stops. He drifts back off to sleep, I guess reassured that I'm still here, and I climb out of the bed and walk around the room a few times, trying to get the pins out of my leg.
Once I'm walking normally, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I almost miss the folded piece of paper sticking out of the pocket in my robe when I pull it on. It's still dark outside and I don't want to turn a lamp on in the bedroom for fear of disturbing Finn, so I lean against the bathroom wall and unfold the paper, already smiling because I know it's a poem.
The paper is soft and so are the words that have been carefully inked out.
"Beauty"
a breeze is coming through an open window and
night has soaked the sky.
never will I want to leave you or your
igniting eyes. I am always
exhaling with you and
craving you: the sight of the
ring on your hand, the joy of our
embraces after tears, the
sunlight in your smile, the
taste of your skin.
always is how long I will love you.
I'm smiling just like a girl in love, stroking my fingers over the words fondly, when my eyes pick up on the way he's pressed down harder with the pen for every first letter of each word, making them darker. When I realize that he's spelled my name out, I'm carefully folding the paper up and carrying it out of the bathroom with me. I set it down on my nightstand and crawl back into bed, sitting down beside him. I stretch out so I'm lying on my side facing him and lean forward, grazing my lips over his just faintly enough to make his nose crinkle in his sleep. I smile then, because a sleeping Finnick Odair is still one of my most favorite things in the entire world. I lightly caress his face until he's furrowing his eyebrows, and then I press slow, small kisses to his lips every few moments. He stirs finally, his eyes fluttering open tiredly and his lips raising into a smile.
"Mmm, good morning." He hums. "For the record, I prefer being woken up this way."
His eyes are laughing, but my heart is still fluttering from his poem. I lean forward again and kiss him deeply, smiling a bit when his hands rise momentarily in surprise. They fall back down, resting on my back, and he kisses me back like he's about to burst with affection, too, though I can't imagine why.
Heat is sliding over my skin and I'm inching closer when he breaks the kiss, turning his face to the right so my lips are resting against his cheek.
"Either you found a poem or your dreams really have been better lately." He jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of my face. I aim a light kick at his calf, but I'm laughing along with him when he chuckles.
"It was beautiful." I tell him, finding myself pressing another kiss to his cheek without even realizing it. I make to scoot away from him before I get carried away so he can go back to sleep, but he tightens his arms around me and makes a sound of protest.
"I thought you were seducing me, overcome with emotion due to my romantic poetry?" He teases. His fingers creep underneath his t-shirt that I'm wearing and he runs his fingers over my skin in a way that makes me squirm.
"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am, Finnick Odair, but I was definitely not doing that." I reply, trying my hardest to ignore his drifting fingers. But my heart rate has increased and I am sure by his smile that he knows that as well.
"Ah, well, had you been you would have succeeded."
"Really?" I ask, as if I'm mildly interested.
He winks. "Really."
"I'll keep that in mind for the future."
He nods, his eyes on mine.
"You do that."
There's a long pause, both of us just looking at each other. His fingers flutter restlessly against my skin and I'm still fidgeting.
"Oh, come here, you little seductress." Finnick finally says, his face breaking out in a smile so natural and easy that I'm grinning back. I scoot closer to him and place my lips back on his, smiling because I love him, and he loves me too, and it hurts more than anything, but it's the best thing I have ever known.
Mags teaches me how to make her famous shortbread cookies the day before the reaping.
I cry for an hour when I get back to Finn's house, still covered in flour and raspberry jam, because she taught me to keep the recipe from dying with her.
I don't want her dying at all.
Finn is upstairs, but he doesn't know I'm home yet. I can't get myself to walk up the stairs and see him, because I don't know what I'm going to do or what I'm going to say. What could I possibly say? My heart hurts so badly I keep feeling like I'm going to vomit? I am so petrified I can't move? I have honestly considered suggesting we commit suicide together now, rather than go through whatever trials we're about to have to face?
I spin the ring he gave me for my birthday around and around my finger as I try to rise to my feet, but I can't get my legs to cooperate. It takes me three failed attempts before I'm shakily rising to my feet, and even then I feel like my legs are going to collapse from underneath me.
What do you say to the one you love most on the last day you have together?
This is something I wish I could have asked my mother.
I grip the railing and climb the stairs slowly, missing my family, missing Mags, missing Finn. Missing myself.
We simply look at each other when I walk into the bedroom. He's sitting crossed legged in the middle of the bed, papers strewn everywhere around him. His eyes are red like he's been crying, and I wish that I would have come up here earlier. We could have cried together. Again I get the feeling that nothing else and nowhere else really exists. It is just Finn and I in this room, isolated by our grief, enclosed in a sorrow so great I can't think of a single spelling word that would even begin to encompass it.
I'm feeling sick as I walk over and perch on the edge of the bed, my eyes traveling over the papers filled with words that I know must be beautiful. The back of my throat aches and aches as I stack a few neatly so they don't slide off the edge of the bed.
Finnick's hand is warm when it settles on my knee. I look up at him, and he smiles forlornly, his eyes dropping from mine and sweeping over me, rising to meet my eyes once more.
"Do you remember the first thing you said to me?" He asks.
I try to think back that far. I can remember the first thing he said to me—something about Arnav threatening to kick him if he didn't teach me how to use a trident—but I can't remember exactly what I said to him. Hello, perhaps. Now the only thing I can imagine saying is please, please, please, don't go.
I push some of the papers out of my path in the same moment Finnick starts to do the same. I can't help but laugh sadly at that, because we are always always always on the same page in the same book. It's just a shame that the book is almost over.
We move towards each other and Finnick pulls me into his lap, holding me in an embrace that is both wonderfully familiar and frightening unfamiliar, my back against his chest and his arms around my waist. He's holding me like I'm hanging overboard on a ship, about to tumble headfirst into turbulent waves. I am glad because I need to be held like that. I lean my head back against his shoulder and grip his forearms that are resting on my stomach tightly. Let them try to pull us apart. I don't think they would get very far.
"You said 'I'm Annie Cresta', but when you said it, you said it like you were apologizing for something." Finnick says. "Like you were apologizing for who you were. I remember thinking to myself that it was an odd tone of voice for someone so beautiful to use. And after we had our first conversation, I left thinking it was an odd tone of voice for someone both beautiful and wonderfully unique to use." He leans his head towards me and kisses the side of my face tenderly, his eyes meeting mine. "I always thought you should have said it proudly."
My lips are trembling and what if I can't remember the exact shade of green his eyes are? What if I forget? What if I wake up one morning, alone alone alone, and I can't even think back to this moment and picture the shade with clarity?
"I think I loved you from the start." I admit quietly. I cannot remember a moment when I didn't love him anymore, so maybe that moment never existed.
"And I will love you until the end." He promises. He lifts his right arm off my stomach and reaches over, taking my left hand off his left arm and holding it. He slides the ring up and down idly like I was doing early, but when he does it, it makes me feel like he is having a quiet conversation with me.
Why is the end so close?
"When I come home, we're going to get married properly." His voice is burdened with pain so great I don't think for a second he believes his own words. It sounds kind of like the tone you would use if you were to hold the hand of someone seconds away from death and promise them that they are going to be just fine. When our eyes meet again, his hold the same amount of guilt that the liar's would have.
"Don't you dare make a promise you can't keep. Not now." I find myself pleading, because he can't make me one that he can't keep now. He can't make me lose my trust in his promises after all these years.
"I didn't." He swears.
And of course I am going to believe him.
We take a walk on the beach and openly hold hands, because who cares anymore? What does it matter?
When the sun sets, I fling myself into his arms with an embrace so tight and sudden he jumps a little. The sand is cool and the water looks like molten gold. The sky is bright yellow around the edges of the white sun that's sinking under the water, but bright orange everywhere else. I stare at it until my eyes hurt: the dim blue above us that gently fades into orange which fades into yellow which sinks into the sun. The longer I look at it, the surer I am that the sun is actually a hole, sucking the entire sky into it and burning burning burning it up. Just like it is burning up the only time we have left.
Gold water, shadowy sand, and soon I will be alone.
"It's hideous." I tell Finnick, my eyes burning because it's the ugliest thing I have ever seen, and the prettiest.
"Atrocious." He agrees, because we were never going to be gracious towards our last sunset.
We grip each other tightly as we walk back to our house, our feet dragging underneath the weight of pain that will most likely never go away.
I cook for Finnick, mumbling angrily to myself every few moments because I keep adding the wrong amount of ingredients or forgetting them, pretending that he isn't crying because I can tell that he's trying his best to hide it.
I butcher the clam chowder worse than even my sister has.
"I guess it's a good thing the judge isn't here, because he'd take my award away." I joke hollowly, letting the soup slide off the spoon and land back into the bowl.
I don't know who he thinks he's fooling, but he merely smiles and holds my hand, eating not only his bowl but a second serving too. Either he feels bad for me, or he really is mad with love.
After dinner I walk around the house, confiscating every single clock and tossing them into a coat closet downstairs. Finnick locks the door for good measure, and it's silly, but it makes me feel better. I know he knows that it does.
We have no patience for anything coming between us, so we rip the blankets off the bed when we go upstairs and pull our clothes off with a similar hastiness. Things are easier when we're holding each other, skin on skin, and I can almost breathe without pain again.
"If I'm reaped, please don't come to the Justice Building for final goodbyes." Finnick says suddenly, his voice anguished. "I honestly don't think I will be able to let go."
The tears start then, and I figured once I let myself cry it would help, that the tears would be like draining poison from a wound on my heart, but it only makes it worse. I know what he is requesting is for the best, but that means the very last time I will see him will be on stage. Some part of me tries to say that that is lovely, because the first time I ever saw him was on stage too, and it's like a complete circle. But I smother that part of me, because she is crazy.
I am able to stop my tears a few minutes later once I remember that this is the last time I will have with him. I will have plenty of time to cry. So my lips taste his and my hands map out the body I already know like a sailor knows the sea. We promised we wouldn't say goodbye again, but we both break that promise. I guess there was never any way we would make love for the last time like it wasn't the last time. There is a certain reverence when you know you will never do what you are doing ever again. You appreciate even more the things that you never want to forget, like the way someone's breath feels against your lips when they whisper to you or the way their shoulder blades feel underneath your palms. I've always felt it wrong to say or even think that I worship anyone or anything, because it just seems like such a foolish thing to do, but there is no doubt in my mind that that is the only word I could pin to the way our fingertips delicately trace over each other's skin and our lips meet gingerly again and again.
When Finn rolls off me, shaking and sweaty, I smooth back his damp hair and look down at him. I am sure now that I will never forget the green of his eyes. How could I ever? They were the only color I could ever see.
"Promise me you'll listen to me and believe what I'm about to say, Finn, because it is very important." I murmur, smiling back at him when he recognizes the words I've just said. They were his that he whispered to me the first time I saw him after my Games, when he gave me what I needed to hear desperately.
He nods in agreement, his eyes studying mine intently, and I wonder if he's scared he's going to forget mine, too.
"I love you with a love I can't control half of the time. You are the most wonderful person I have ever known." I start. My heart aches with the words I am about to utter, but I love him I love him I love him and I will give him this. I would give him anything. "I love you enough to try to swim to you when you're on the other side of the sea." Panic, panic, panic, always panic and blood in the water, but I did it over and over in my other world, because Finnick needed me to. He waits, and I remind myself that that doesn't really make much sense to anyone but me. I continue. "If you don't come home, I promise to try and be as strong as you believe I am."
He breaks at these words and when he pulls me down against him and cries into my hair, I can almost feel his worry sliding off his skin. He is crying with a relief so intense that it even makes me feel a little relieved too. He kisses anywhere his lips can easily reach, thanking me over and over again, and I cry too, because I know that the promise I have just made will be the hardest thing I will ever do, but probably also the most important. I know that no matter how brutal or savage my agony is, no matter how worthless and vacant my life is, I will have to try until I honestly cannot try any longer, because he has never broken a promise to me and I will never break one to him.
"I love you so much I want to die," He croaks out a few minutes later, tears clinging to his eyelashes and his lips on my shoulder. We have never been actually married, but we have shared many salt water kisses tonight, so perhaps that counts enough on its own.
He knows I know exactly how he feels. Some could say that life hasn't truly been lived until you've loved someone so much you almost want it to kill you, but perhaps it is best to not live life in that case.
We fall asleep with our fingers intertwined. I jerk awake every hour, frantic that I've somehow overslept and missed the reaping, but Finnick is always beside me. I think he keeps waking up, too, because two of the times I wake up to find him looking around nervously as well.
I clutch him with no intent of letting go in the shower that morning. He fights back tears when he has to gently loosen my arms from around him. I search the closet for something to wear, knowing that whatever I pick I will most likely cut up with scissors at some point. I choose an old blue dress from the back of my closet. It's frayed and faded. Finnick pulls on an outfit similar to what he was wearing at my own reaping, his eyes blank. He comes to when I cross the room and begin buttoning up his shirt for him. He wraps his hand around my fingers and nothing is said, but it doesn't need to be. I know.
He leads me down into the kitchen and kisses my lips, telling me he'll be right back. I watch him disappear down the hallway, pulling nervously at my dress because I don't want to miss out on even a minute of seeing him, but then he's walking back to me and he has a tiny kitten in his arms.
I cry when he sets it into my arms, because I know what this means. This means that he knows he is going to be called. This means he is trying to give me something to live for, just as he always is. The tiny kitten meows and nuzzles its head against my arm and Finn smiles at me.
"This is Poseidon, and he already loves you."
I stroke my fingers over his tiny head, so sorry that out of all the people to live with, he got stuck with me.
We spend the rest of the time we have left with Mags. She seems to have mastered the art of cherishing time. She laughs and smiles, hugging us like nothing is really out of the ordinary. I try to follow her example as I always do, because she is the wisest person alive, but I'm just not strong like she is. We say our goodbyes before we leave, also deciding that it is probably best if I don't go see her for final goodbyes, either.
"Thank you for taking care of me," I whisper into her shoulder, my voice thick with tears.
She pats my head and I don't have to look at her to know she's smiling.
"Thank you for letting me." She replies, her words coming out garbled but clear enough for me to get what she is saying.
I hold her hand as we cross the street and don't let go of it the entire way to the Square.
I haven't seen anyone but Mags and Finnick since the announcement, so I'm not sure how anyone else feels about this. I scan my eyes over the people of District 4, and they looked more than angry. They look bloodthirsty. I cannot yet determine if this is bloodthirst for a particularly exciting Games or bloodthirst for revenge on Snow for taking away their victors.
There's a small roped off section near the stage where the other victors are waiting. Meredith is there, chatting easily with a middle-aged victor named Caleb. The other three male victors are standing stiffly, their backs to the crowd. Dowell looks particularly scared, his face pale and his hands shoved into his pockets. He was a Career that had to kill his own district partner. I don't think I will ever forget seeing that on television.
They all look up when we join them. Meredith is the only one I've ever even said a word to. The others have had no desire to get to know me and I don't blame them. If I were them I probably wouldn't get to know me, either.
Finnick looks like he's in pain when he reaches out for my hand, only to realize at the last moment that that probably wouldn't be a good idea with the cameras all around. I don't want him blowing our cover completely because I am still relying heavily on the sponsorships I know his Capitol lovers will provide to keep him alive. They might be less willing to do that if they know they have no chance at all with him.
Annora is bothered. I can tell by her strained smile and the way her hand quakes when she sticks it into the reaping bowl. I feel terrible for her. She can't even pretend that we aren't people now, because she knows each of us personally. I hope she doesn't feel guilty. It isn't her fault which slip her hand falls on.
She's stuck her hand into the bowl with all five of the male victors' slips first this time, and my knees are shaking and my heart is pounding as she picks a slip of paper up. I'm praying then, and I don't think I've ever prayed in my life, and I don't even know who or what I'm even praying to. But please, not Finn. Please. I feel bad for it, but all I can think is anyone but Finn.
My hands are reaching out and my fingertips lightly brush the back of Finnick's hand, my fingers just curling around his, when Annora calls his name, her lips drawn tight.
My hand slides from his as he moves away from me, and I'm trying my hardest to not run after him, but I don't know if I can stop it. He turns and looks back as he walks back up to the stage, giving me what I think is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but actually comes out looking more like a frown. I'm feeling my legs move forward, my body automatically trying to follow after Finnick's, because this isn't right at all. It's wrong wrong wrong, why is he on that stage, why am I here in the audience? Mags locks her hand tightly around mine and refuses to let me budge, mumbling things I can't understand under her breath. Annora is patting Finnick's arm and he's looking straight forward, over all our heads, and why is he alone? Didn't I promise him I would always be with him? Didn't I?
Annora crosses to the other bowl and reaches in, and I'm turning to Mags, hysteria in my voice because all I want in the entire world is to be up there with him and her back safe in her home.
"Please, Mags." I beg, my hand gripping hers so tightly I'm sure it's painful. Tears are filling my eyes and I am going to die if she won't let me do this. I need to go with him. I need to die with him. I can't stay here and watch them both die. I can't do it. I can't let Mags die. I can't let her suffer for me. I can't can't can't can't can't.
She gives me a look that says we already talked about this, missy, and then smiles.
"But I love you." I say weakly, my lips barely moving in my pain. I'm hysterical then, my head spinning and my throat closing up, because I can't be without them and I was so wrong to think that I could I was an idiot I never know anything I always think things are true that just aren't like when I thought that this would ever be okay it isn't it never will be it never can be how can Annie be without Finnick and Mags that isn't possible that can't happen I don't know how to be without them I haven't been without them since I turned into The Mad Girl and I don't want to go back to being her I don't want to see my family killed again again again I don't want this to happen I can't have this happen and I can't breathe I am going to die right here right here right here.
She tells me she loves me, too, by immediately volunteering when my name is called out.
I lose it then completely, falling to the ground because there is no one here to remind me that I need to stand. There's a flash of gold, and when I look up, Finnick's got his eyes on me and there is pain in his. I gasp for air and then I set my hands on my knees, pushing myself slowly back into a standing position.
Green meets green, and more than likely, that will never happen again.
And then Finnick and Mags are led away, and I'm standing completely alone, my hands empty and my heart torn.
I stand there long after everyone has filed out, gasping for air, ignoring the people who try to walk up to me and say things. There is nothing they can say to make me feel better. I want to drift away then, but I can't because this is a nightmare I can't wake up from or tune out. I eventually find the strength to lift my feet, and then I walk back to Finnick's house, so dizzy I keep stumbling and almost falling on the stones.
I do fall down when I enter the kitchen, landing hard on my knees. I double over, sobbing into the tiles, because Finnick is gone and I may never get him back. He is going to have to go back into the Games. I will never see his smile again.
I scream and jump back when something brushes against me, because I'm more than aware of my solitude, but then I see it's Poseidon. He walks back and forth, brushing against my crumpled legs, mewing over and over again. I sit up a bit and watch him, my tears flowing, and then he leaps into my lap, curling up there. He's small and warm and he seems completely at peace.
His presence reminds me of my promise to Finnick, so I carefully lift him in my arms and rise shakily to my feet, trying to ignore how empty both I and the house feel. The world is a tilting blur as I climb up the stairs, Poseidon warm in my arms. He yelps a bit and jumps free from my grasp when I trip and land hard on my knees again—this time on the steps—and that makes me cry even harder.
I don't know what to do. I don't know how to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs. So I don't stop it. I stand in the hallway and scream and scream, pulling at my hair and scaring the poor kitten. I can't stop though, because Finnick is gone, and Mags is gone, and I'm gone, too.
I scream until my throat is so raw I can't even swallow, and then I push open the bedroom door and fall down onto the bed. But that's just worse, because all I can remember is all the times I've been with Finn here, and it still smells of him, and he was just here a few hours ago and now, just like that, he will probably never be there again.
I run out of the room and barrel back down the stairs, my knees screaming in protest. My blue blanket is resting on the couch in the living room, folded neatly, and on top of it there's a folded piece of paper. Just the sight of those two familiar things calms me immediately.
I slide down onto the floor in front of the couch and grab the paper, smoothing my hands over it because my Finnick wrote this. I set it in my lap and wrap the blanket around my shoulders, leaning back against the couch. I pick it back up and unfold it, my heart aching and my mind shaking. I read it, and after I'm done, I can't feel anything at all.
Last night I dreamed we said goodbye
I did not eat, I did not cry
I need not wait for my eyes to dry
for last night I dreamed I died
the dead don't cry and the dead don't scream
without you there is no gleam
there are no more fish in the stream
did you know you were my only dream?
I held you so close that you were I
I love you beyond sheets and thighs
the meaning of life was in your eyes
it was only for you that I ever tried
your laughter was my glee,
you were the salt in the sea,
the sugarcube in my tea
forgive me but I have one last plea
remember blue blankets and coneflowers,
puzzles, pancakes, and warm showers,
fingertips, fruit stands, and small hours
remember that all of these are ours
know that I wish you smiling and living,
gardening, picking flowers, and forgiving
especially me for leaving you
I promise the darkness will go soon
above all please know this in your soul:
it is you I love the most
like the storm-swept sailor loves the coast
only with you am I whole.
I had a dream last night, my darling
a dream both harming and alarming
I dreamed it was time for us to part
but you are forever in my heart