I guess this is where I explain not updating for several months. I decided to put the story on hiatus as I do, in fact, have a life (which, I will admit, I forgot for a while). I had my last term of school and I really wanted to focus on exams (which I was so, so happy with). I also went to the beach and before my departure discovered that, holy shit, my laptop has broken down. So now I have a new laptop and a more organised life.

Your reviews always keep me going and motivate me to write so thank you to everyone so very much.

Chapter 26:

Annie looked around again but there was no sign of Finnick. She herself had been late in meeting him and had stopped holding her breath that he would show. A flutter of irritation pulsed through her chest, though she was not sure whether it was directed at Finnick or the cause of his lateness; maybe it was this entire situation, her entire life. This world seemed hardly real and the things which happened on a day to day basis were only believable due to first-hand experience.

When had everyone accepted that this life was normal? She slipped her feet out of her sandals and set them beside her on the wall she was sitting on, her feet worming into the cooler sand below the surface. Eyes closed, she breathed slowly and deeply, the waves washing out all the other sounds.

She had read very few journal entries of her mothers. The first dozen or so pages were short recounts of daily events, sketching a vague picture of a life not so different from todays. She stopped herself when she started reaching longer ones, mentions of the man who was sure to be her father seeping in. When this journal had been started the woman was hardly older than Annie herself. She pulled the leather-bound journal from her bag and hesitantly turned to the next page.

Ever alert, Annie took note of the dates and saw that daily entries soon faded to long, weekly or fortnightly descriptions and stories. She immersed herself in the words and pretended what she was reading was just stories. She was reading about a happy, normal girl with friends and a large family. She scarcely seemed to be alone. Annie marvelled at their differences. Her mother appeared to be somewhat brazen, open and kind-hearted. There was a confidence and steadiness lying underneath her words at the start, but Annie frowned as she realised this began to fade.

…there are walls setting between us all again. The Reaping is a month away and that means a month of selfish hoping that you or the people you're close to will not be drawn from the bowl…

There was an inconsistency in entries and there were very few during the actual Games themselves. Funny, there was hardly any mention of them. Reading this one could believe that they hardly played a big part in anyone's life.

Of course that wasn't the way it really was.

"Annie?"

She looked up and jumped to see Finnick had materialised right in front of her, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" he said, taking a seat on the stone wall next to her as if he hadn't been almost an hour late. "Or was it just the awe of seeing my face?"

It had been a while since Finnick had been anything other than serious and Annie found herself treading with caution.

"Well, now that you mention it, you do look particularly radiant today," she answered, and felt a wave of something unidentifiable but wonderful run through her body upon seeing him grin, "But I was just surprised."

Her hands had gripped the journal firmly without her realising and Finnick glanced down in curiosity and his smile softened.

"I never would have thought books could be special if I didn't know you," he said, "What are you reading?"

She looked down at the worn leather in her hands as she spoke.

"It's actually a journal," she explained carefully, "It belonged to my mother." She looked up at him, her eyes bright as she went on, "It's not much, and I know it's stupid in a way, but it kind of feels like a way of getting to know her."

Finnick's eyes were understanding, "That makes perfect sense."

"But anyway," she said, setting it down beside her with a strange amount of effort, "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean," he asked, his eyes still, "Why would something be going on?"

Annie didn't want to remind him of his usual state and lose this happier version of him which so distinctly resembled the boy she had gotten to know.

"I just mean in general. I haven't seen you in a while," she said casually.

He relaxed and the spark came back into his eyes, "I have good news, my next trip is shortened to just a day. I mean, I have to leave tomorrow, but I might even be able to get back that same night or if not, the next morning. Then I get weeks to spend here."

This had caught her off guard, and for a few seconds she didn't say anything in pure elation. She turned so that she was sitting facing him and in a strange way missed him even though he was right there.

"That's…" she trailed off, and just managed to say. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he had taken her hands in his and she took comfort in their warmth and coarseness.

"You've been gone a lot."

Finnick's green eyes darkened for a moment but his gaze did not leave hers. He gently pulled her towards him without needing too, for she was leaning in already to press her lips to his. Everything, including her mother's journal and all her worries slipped from her mind like sand and she felt a pressure she'd forgotten was even there be released from her chest. Her hands moved up to his face, to the back of his neck, to then feel his hair between her fingers while his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. It had started off softly when he began to kiss her harder, her eyes widened for a short moment in surprise before she began kissing him back just as hard. Her heart seemed to be beating slowly, but with such strength it shocked her and made her dizzy-

He broke away, but breathing heavily he only slightly loosened his hold on her and didn't open his eyes. His face was close to hers, their foreheads touching. He let her go and gently reached up to take her hands from his face and set them down, swallowing. Annie was quiet in her confusion, searching for the right thing to say or the right question to ask.

"I…" he began, then paused. He looked as confused as she felt, and torn, too. "Sorry, I have to go get ready."

And he got up, still holding onto one of her hands, and with reluctance let it slip from his grip as he walked away without another word.

Annie looked around and saw that there was no one around and she was alone with the journal and her thoughts once more. The worries and anxieties came like a landslide and she couldn't believe she had felt so weightless just a minute ago.

Fighting to suppress the irritation which was flicker through her body, causing her teeth to grind, Annie immersed herself once more in her mother's journal. She did realise how possessive she had become of the journal and how quickly, but she felt it was justified. All that was left of their past was fragments. Really this world was only new, seventy years was only one lifetime, but it seemed to be all anyone could remember. It was natural, she reassured herself, to want to hold onto this small part of the mother she had never known. It was not like the books which had been her companions for so long, for this story not only held elements of truth but the truth in its entirety; along with thoughts, feelings, reflections. Her interest quickened as scanning down a page mindlessly to catch sight of her aunt's name amongst the slender writing. She went to the top of the paragraph to read it more thoroughly after spacing out.

I love her, but I have to laugh at Ayla sometimes. She acts so much like the older sister, acting like everything anyone else does is childish. I guess to her it is, I won't be the first to admit her maturity outmatches mine by far. We used to joke when she was younger that she was eight going on eighty. Today was different though, I guess she can fight it as much as she wants but she's still a teenager and I see her looking down at her lap and smiling down at her lap whenever Edith walks past for the fifth time that hour-

Annie, who had been lying flat on her back with her head at the edge of her bed, dropped the book on her face. It was nearing complete night outside and so the rare profanities which escaped her seemed amplified. True enough she heard a voice reprimanding her from the other room.

"Language!"

"Sorry!"

She bent over to pick up the book which lay on the ground, the cover of which had almost come off completely, and hastily stuffed the escaping pictures back in, searching desperately for the page she had just found.

…for the fifth time that hour. It's lovely but I can't help but make fun of her for how red she turns. I keep telling her to tell our parents, that they wouldn't care, but she ignores me every time and tells me I don't understand what it's like to feel something you're not supposed to. I don't know if I'm angry or sad for her for saying that. I told her that's – the next word was crossed out but Annie could guess what it was – and that she has every right to feel the way she does. She snapped at me to mind my own business. So I will.

Annie blinked in amazement. She had no idea how she had ever had no idea that her aunt had no interest in men. How had she not known this, noticed, realised? She knew Ayla ignored any man which so much as flirted with her but she always thought that this was because she didn't have the time for them. She tried to recollect memories of her with a woman, any woman, but all she saw was people Ayla was friends with, both male and female, all perfectly innocent relationships.

What must it be like to feel as though you shouldn't love someone? To fear your parents will disapprove or shun you?

A tapping sound broke into her thoughts, and in her disorientation it took several seconds for Annie to locate the source of it:

Finnick's face peered through her window. She looked up, her eyes wide in shock, and looking instinctively over her shoulder to the door she rushed over to open the window.

"Finnick," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

He was very still and quiet when he spoke.

"I have to see you. I need to talk to you."

"What's this about?" her voice was surprisingly stiff and she didn't know why. It was a sudden strain, Finnick had never acted this unpredictable, his actions never this ineffable. Combining this with his random distance earlier that day, Annie felt utterly muddled.

"Nothing, I just want to see you."

Annie become suddenly conscious that she was wearing her night gown, and though it was not revealing she felt blood rise to her cheeks.

"Wait a minute," she ordered, before leaving the room to go tell Nonna and Ayla goodnight – not before staring at Ayla for a few long seconds. When she returned she doused the gas light and candles. The yellow glow disappeared and all the colour disappeared. The moonlight streaming through the window replaced it bathed the room in dull, grey light, making everything appear black and white. When she strode over to the open window, Finnick's face was that of a ghost.

"You're breaking curfew," she muttered to him in concern.

"They won't catch me," he reassured her, "And even if they do, what more can they do?"

He had a point.

He cupped both of Annie's hands in his and stayed searching her gaze for a long time; for what, Annie didn't know.

"Finnick, you should go home, we can see each other in less than two days," she said. In truth he was beginning to frighten her, this was a side of him never before seen by her. "You're leaving early tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep."

He wasn't looking at her, and he shook his head slowly and with his eyes closed as if he were dizzy.

"Can't sleep."

She took his face gently in her hands to hold it still.

"Come on, I want to show you somewhere," there was a glimmer of light returning to his eyes. In the grey light he still managed to hold colour, in all of him; skin, hair, eyes.

"Now?"

He took her hands and held them once more, nodding.

"Finnick, there's curfew"-

"No one will see us, I promise; it's safe, and it isn't far. I can bring you back safely in less than an hour."

Annie bit her lip and felt as if she was underwater as she held his gaze; it was steadier now, solid. The temptation to leave was too great. Telling the part of her brain screaming at her that this was a stupid idea to shut up, she gestured for Finnick to be quiet, and crawled out of the window.