A/n: I deeply apologize for the length of this chapter and I hope y'all don't hate me! I couldn't find a logical place to stop without it being a cliffhanger and even though I know cliffhangers are everyone's favorite things, I decided to not do that again. Thank you for the reviews! Your thoughts are always appreciated :)
I regain consciousness on a hovercraft and Finnick is not with me. I am not going to the arena. I am not coming out of the arena. I wake up on a hovercraft, and why am I here?
I panic at first. I'm in a seat and my entire body aches. I try to stand, to figure out where I am and what's going on, but either my body has given up from going so long without food and proper sleep or whatever they injected into me is still affecting me, because my legs give out almost immediately. I fall back down into the plush seat, fear creeping up along my arms and down my spine and through my heart. I'm in some small holding area and no one else is in here. There's not even a window. The only door in the entire metal room is right in front of me, but I'm sure if I were to try and push it open, it'd be locked.
I decide to try it anyway, because what do you do when you can't do anything at all? You do whatever you can. My head is spinning and my eyes are burning and I don't understand. I'm not this dangerous. I'm not mean. There's no reason for them to knock me out and put me back in this cell-like area. All I want is to see Finnick. That's all I care about. As long as they aren't hurting him, I'll do whatever they want. I don't care.
I grip onto the arms of the chair and slowly hoist myself up. My legs begin shaking almost immediately and my knees lock up, but I take a few slow, careful steps forward and I'm able to walk. I take three steps to the left so I'm leaning against the wall and use it as support as I walk towards the door. The steel of it is freezing when I set my palm against it. I grip the handle and give it a shake, but just as I already knew, it's firmly locked and no amount of shaking will change that.
I carefully make my way back to the seat, and when I'm in it, the panic sets in full force. I pull my legs up into the chair and wrap my arms around them tightly, my breathing coming in short, strangled gasps. I hate hovercrafts I hate the Capitol I hate Peacekeepers I hate whatever they injected into me that makes me feel like a train has slammed into my body I hate that they have Finn I hate that Poseidon is all alone I hate that I'm too weak to fight any of these things that I hate. I'm wheezing and sure I'm about to have one of the worst panic attacks I've ever had when a loud click fills the room. Just that one noise fills me with dread and I find myself cowering back into the seat, because I don't know who this is, and I don't know what they're going to do to me. I'm suddenly hit with the realization that perhaps Finnick isn't the only thing I should be worried about. Perhaps I should be worried about the fact that they have me here and essentially they can do anything they want to me because I can't protect myself. I should, but I can't. My worry for Finn and my blind fear are taking up every ounce of energy I have left.
The handle lifts and then the door is pushed open. I hadn't realized it was dim in this holding area until natural sunlight begins leaking inside of it, and now my eyes are burning burning burning with the sudden brightness. I wince and turn my head to the right, grimacing even more when I hear the door close after whoever just entered.
I stay with my face turned away and my eyes shut for a few long moments, gripping my legs even tighter to my chest, trying to ignore the heavy breathing I can hear. Suddenly I don't want to look, I don't want to know who is in here. I just want to stay like this: arms around myself, eyes squeezed shut, mind rocking and liable to disappear off into another world at any moment.
However, my visitor must not want the same thing, because I can hear the smack his heavy boots make against the floor as he approaches me. I lift my eyelids a bit, just enough to peak past the dark web of my eyelashes, and I know it's the man with the snakes by the awful white Peacekeeper pants he's wearing and the metal-toed boots. The smell of cologne is overwhelming and I don't know why he even bothers with cologne when his job is to "maintain peace". I'm sure everyone in District 4 will sleep better tonight knowing that the Head Peacekeeper flew personally from the Capitol to take away The Mad Girl. Peace has been restored.
He walks so close to me I'm edgy and trying my hardest to not scream or jump up and run away. His stomach is right in front of my ducked and turned head and averted eyes, and I'm sure if I even turned my head a centimeter, it'd slam right into it. If I were stronger I could maybe headbutt him and try and make a run for it, but then what? I'm in a hovercraft. I know this from the gliding sensation and the seat I'm in. What would I do—jump out of it? I suppose I could, and if I thought they were just taking me prisoner, I probably would. But they might have Finn (and I hate myself, but I'm starting to believe they do) and how would it help him if I was a bloody pulp on the ground? It wouldn't. If I were Johanna Mason or Katniss Everdeen maybe I could try to take on the people in the hovercraft singlehandedly. I could see them getting away with something like that. I could see them taking over the aircraft and turning it back around and returning to their homes.
I'm not Katniss or Johanna, though. I'm Annie. And so I sit here perfectly still, my head turned and my stomach rolling, trying to keep my eyes shut as if that will make all of this disappear. That's all I can do. This is all I have the ability to do.
A few seconds tick by, and then the Peacekeeper's hand barely ghosts over my skull. I flinch visibly and I can't help it. The combination of his hand on my head, his body practically imprisoning mine, and his cologne clogging my entire head makes me sure I'm going to panic and start kicking him at the very least.
His hand tightens suddenly in my hair and then he's pulling fiercely, yanking my head so it's lifted and I'm facing forward. My scalp is burning and I'm gasping—more out of shock than pain—when he calmly extracts his hand from my hair and looks down at me. The snakes appear to be moving, but I think that's just because I'm dizzy.
"There now. That's better. I prefer to talk face to face." He says, a smile that I just can't trust on his face. Maybe it's that it doesn't look like a smile at all; it looks like a tool, a leering trap to earn my trust. Or maybe it's just that when he smiles the snake tattooed on his face opens its mouth wider.
I purse my lips, sure that if I say anything at all it will either be a cry or scream. He peers down at me, the smile trickling off his face so quickly I'm suddenly doubting it was there at all. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slowly and sadly while peering down at me. My heart is practically beating out of my chest and I'm trying my hardest to take deep breaths, but it's just not working.
He reaches out again and I move further back instinctively, shying away from his hands. I haven't forgotten how slimy they were on my Victory Tour. His hand freezes midair when I do, his eyes hardening, and then he's got his hand rooted in my hair once more. He gathers it in his fist and tips my head up so his face is right above it, and I never wanted my face this close to his ever. I can see each scale on his tattoo and every different shade of brown in his eyes and his breath is hot and sticky as it fans out across my face. I keep my lips pulled together tightly and peer nervously around the room, terrified to meet his eyes, because he's terrifying.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you." He demands, his nails suddenly digging sharply into my scalp.
Is this how every victor who has to be taken to the Capitol is treated? I'm unsure. Am I treated like this because I'm mad, because I'm me? Did I do something wrong? I didn't resist getting taken. Not really. But still I'm here and he's treating me like I'm a prisoner but what would I have done to be arrested? I don't do anything beyond loving Finn, talking with Mags, piecing together puzzles, gardening, and reading. What is wrong with those things? What is wrong with me?
My eyes are swimming when I finally move them slowly to meet his. He smiles when I do, his nails retracting from my scalp and his hand lowering. He straightens up a bit, but he's still too close for my liking. I'm afraid to move, afraid that it will make him angry, so I stay just like that: my head tipped back against the seat so I'm peering up, my hands clutching my legs so tightly my fingers are white, my muscles shaking.
"There we go." He says softly, his eyes dancing over my face and down my body and then around the room. For someone who was insistent that I make eye contact, he seems to not care too much about keeping it. His eyes fall back on mine a few moments later. "We're almost to the Capitol. We're going to take you straight to Finnick Odair. Don't fight with us or we'll have to knock you out again, and I have to warn you: it feels even worse the second time."
The way he says this—regretful and almost kindly—makes it sound like I started fighting venomously the first time they tried to take me and they were forced to knock me out. My head throbs as I try to discern whether or not that is possible. I remember being in the kitchen. I remember Henry disappearing—where is Henry?
I look around the small room as if I think maybe he's in here too, but of course he isn't.
"Where's Henry?" I question, my voice feeble and cracking.
The Peacekeeper smiles and he is a predator. The snakes only reinforce that image.
"Henry had something to attend to in District 4." He says calmly. He continues, returning us back to our previous topic. "Do you understand?"
I open my mouth, the next question about Henry's whereabouts perched on my lips, but then he reaches forward and grips my chin tightly. The bones in his fingers press so powerfully and painfully into my jaw that I am honestly afraid he's going to break my face.
"Do you understand?" He asks again, his voice low and dangerous.
I nod my head as much as I can with his hand gripping my face. He lowers his hands and my entire jaw is throbbing with pain. I worry then that he's left bruises, bruises that Finn will see, bruises that will make him furious. Isn't Head Peacekeeper Dougal frightened of Finnick? I suppose maybe he would be if Finn wasn't on his death bed right now.
That thought puts things back into perspective. The Peacekeeper's rough handling doesn't matter. In the grand scheme of things, it's miniscule. What matters is that Finnick is hurt and we're almost to the Capitol and I can't be without him. He can't die.
Peacekeeper Dougal smiles that same leering smile and all I can do is breathe in relief when he finally walks out of the room, locking the door back behind him. I lower my legs and press my palms into my thighs, leaning forward and breathing like I've just run a mile. My heart is pounding like I have. I feel sick and I hate this. I'm scared. I'm scared for Finn, and now I'm scared for myself, too.
I don't resist in the least when the hovercraft lands and they come to retrieve me. Two other Peacekeepers grab on tightly to my upper arms and I let them drag me through the hovercraft. I don't even look up for fear of enticing someone's anger with my eye contact. I stare at my socked feet as they stumble over the carpeted floors of the hovercraft, over the slick metal of the ramp, over the warm concrete, over the threshold to a building, over glittering tile that looks like it's mopped three times a day, over and down steep and black granite steps. Finally we come to a stop. I'm standing on white, dingy tiles, and when I raise my head to take in the rest of the room, my heart is immediately jumping up my throat, because there's Johanna! And Peeta! And Enobaria! And they were with Finn, so Finn is here, too!
The Peacekeepers drop my arms and I hear a door shut loudly behind them as they leave and another lock turn. But I don't care, because my Finnick is here somewhere. It wasn't a lie. I peer around the room and take in the dirty white walls and floors, the metal benches secured with concrete to the floor, the yellow, flickering lights that line the ceiling, and I'm suddenly confused. This doesn't look like a hospital waiting room at all. It's too dirty. And the sparkling tiles I walked over before descending down the stairs didn't look like the floors to a hospital, either. They were too nice, too expensive. They looked more like floors to a ballroom or fancy government building.
Johanna is sitting by herself on a bench furthest from the door. Her back is to us and she's hunched over and I slide on my socked feet in my rush to run over to her. I stop running immediately, teetering and almost slipping and falling down to the ground, but then a hand reaches out and grabs onto my arm to steady me. I stop my rush to Johanna and turn. My eyes meet Peeta Mellark's. He's seated on his own bench, too, and he looks forlorn and downcasted. Where's Katniss? I examine his eyes more, and suddenly I understand. He's sad because Katniss is hurt, too. She must be hurt like Finnick.
Peeta lets go of my arm and doesn't say anything, and I can't say anything to him, either. So I continue making my way to Johanna, but slower this time. I'm halfway to her when I begin to register just how cold it is. It's July so there's no reason it should be so cold. The floors are especially frigid and I can feel the bone-aching chill through my socks.
"Johanna!" I cry when I reach the bench she's sitting on.
She lifts her head immediately and turns towards my voice, her eyes wide. Her gaze lands on me and she curses loudly, flinging her hands up in the air.
"Oh, lovely! They've got Annie! Just fantastic." She exclaims. She lowers her head once again and rests it in her hands, mumbling things under her breath. I catch Finnick's name twice.
I stop moving completely, staring at her, feeling fear once again because I don't understand. I haven't understood anything since the blue light and I still don't. What is she talking about?
Maybe she just doesn't like me. I always thought she didn't, but maybe she dislikes me more than I originally thought. Perhaps her outburst was just her distaste at being stuck here with me. Whatever, that's fine, I don't care. I want to know where Finnick is, though.
"Where's Finnick?" I ask her. My voice is shivering when I do, and it's then I realize that this isn't right. This isn't right because she looks like she might cry and she mumbled Finnick's name and Peeta looked so sad and no one is taking me to Finnick when supposedly he was refusing urgent treatment until I was there. If he was on the brink of death, wouldn't they take me to him immediately so he could get treatment?
Johanna looks up again and her eyes look dejected when they meet mine and I'm reeling back immediately, crashing to the ground and gasping, because he's dead. Finnick's dead already. He died and it's probably my fault. I should have left with the Peacekeepers immediately. I should have walked outside the minute they knocked on the door. He died without seeing me ever again. He died waiting for me. And I'm going to die. I can feel the salt of my tears burning on my face and I'm going to be sick. I want to die. This can't be happening, this can't be, this is just a hallucination, it's just—
"Where is he?" I demand again, my voice hysterical and choked when it flies out of me. Johanna turns a bit on the bench so she's facing me, and her face is hard and unemotional once again.
"Not here. And you shouldn't be here, either." She replies shortly. She curses again after that, averting her gaze and glaring at the dirty white walls.
Her words make no sense to me. I'm digging my nails into my arms and trying to take this entire situation apart piece by piece so I can re-piece it in the right order again like a puzzle so I can see what it makes, so I can see what it is. Finnick told Marv to get me out if something odd happened. Marv tried to take me away on the boat after the arena was destroyed. Peacekeepers arrived. Peacekeepers did something with Henry. Peacekeepers said they had Finn and he needed me. Peacekeepers said Finn wanted me in the Capitol, but Finn never wants me in the Capitol. Peacekeepers knocked me out and took me here and locked the door. Johanna and Peeta and Enobaria are here. They look sad. I don't see Finn anywhere. It's cold and dirty and it almost looks like a prison.
Why would Finnick want me out if something strange happened? To protect me. But to protect me from what?
I see someone walk up beside me from my peripheral vision. I turn a bit, my eyes blurred by tears, and Peeta Mellark extends his hand. My own quakes as I reach up hesitantly and take it. He pulls me to my feet, his hand steady, but how is he so steady when Finnick might be dead? How is he so steady when Katniss might be, too?
He helps me sit on the bench beside Johanna and he sits on the other side of me.
"Annie Cresta, right?" He asks.
I nod and wipe at my tears, trying to clear my vision enough to try and see what other pieces of evidence I can gather from Peeta's expression.
"We're in the Capitol. We're being held prisoner. Finnick and Katniss weren't picked up from the arena with us." He starts carefully. His blue eyes hold mine as he talks, and I can hear a slight quiver in his voice. His words chill me.
"Where is he, then?" I demand, frightened because the only thing scarier than what Peeta is saying is the knowledge that Finnick and I are separated, that he's somewhere that isn't with me, that it might always be that way.
Peeta looks across me at Johanna, and his expression is almost accusing. She won't meet his gaze. She stays looking at her knees, her expression an odd mixture of anger and sorrow.
"That's all I know." Peeta says finally, looking back at me.
That can't be all he knows, because that still doesn't make sense. If they weren't picked up from the arena, are they still in the arena? Why would they leave them in the arena? Finnick and Katniss aren't disposable victors. I'm a disposable victor, but yet I'm here. So that must mean that the valuable victors are somewhere else. They got picked up by someone else. But who else would there be to pick them up? There's the Capitol and then there's rebels, but are there rebels? I didn't know rebels existed any longer.
I'm confused and things aren't making any sense. Things hardly ever make sense, but they especially don't now.
"I don't understand." I say, turning to Johanna this time and pleading with her with my expression as much as I can. I need to know where Finnick is and if he's safe. Peeta looked at her, so she must know. She must know what we don't.
She finally meets my gaze.
"All you need to know, Crazy, is that Finnick's a hell of a lot safer right now than you are." She snaps.
Oddly, her words calm me. I can breathe easier and my nausea wanes. Finnick is safe. Finnick is somewhere away from me, but he is safer than me, so that's a good thing. Our separation is good because I'm here as a prisoner and he's not.
A few minutes pass in silence as I focus on regaining a normal breathing pattern. Once I feel less dizzy and less liable to burst into violent sobs, I turn back to Peeta.
"Why am I being held prisoner?" I ask him. "What did I do?"
His eyes hold mine and he sighs a bit, looking unsure how to answer that.
"Nothing." He finally says. "None of us did anything."
He speaks kindly and it reassures me although I'm not sure why. His kindness doesn't change the fact that I'm here, being punished for something I don't yet know. It does help to know that kind people still exist, though. That always helps.
The pieces still don't fit and I'm about to throw the puzzle. I can't stand this.
"Then why are we here if we didn't do anything wrong?" I inquire, desperate for answers that I don't even know if Peeta can give me.
Peeta falters and Johanna laughs bitterly.
"Oh boy," Johanna mutters under her breath. "This is going to be extra tough for you, Crazy."
I don't get what was so odd about my question. Don't they wonder that, too? There has to be a reason we're being held here. You don't just get taken prisoner just because. So I did something bad, something I shouldn't have done, though I'm not sure what. I've done a lot of bad things (killing Twine, letting Chiron die, causing my family to die, and on and on and on), but I can't see the Capitol caring about those things. The Capitol caused a lot of those things.
Perhaps I'm in trouble for loving Finnick. One of the only right things I've ever done, and I'm getting punished for it.
"They don't need a reason, do they? It's the Capitol. We're victors. That's reason enough." Peeta tells me, sharing what him and Johanna already know, that I used to know but suddenly I don't any longer. The knowledge that there is no balance, there is no right and wrong, and fairness doesn't exist. Those things belong in the world of children and I'm an adult now. I know because I'm in my nightgown and socks in a dingy room on a metal bench and Finnick is somewhere I don't know.
But he's right. We're victors. Our crime is living, our punishment is having to do whatever the Capitol wants us to do, and that includes being held prisoner.
It's quiet for a few more minutes, and then Johanna speaks up again.
"Your crime is being precious to Finnick Odair."
I turn to look at her and she won't meet my eyes. If Finnick isn't here, why would I be punished for meaning a lot to him? Or maybe that's it. Maybe I'm here because Finnick isn't and I mean something to him. Maybe I'm here so he will be here, like bait, like a trap.
Johanna speaks up again, and her voice almost sounds apologetic.
"And you're going to be punished for it."
So no, not a trap. Half of the pieces fit now, and the picture they make is hideous. I'm here just for the purpose of hurting Finnick. I'm here to be used against him, and isn't that what Johanna said would happen in that faux lighthouse a few years ago? She said she'd rather her loved ones die than be held against her. Maybe she was right after all.
Peeta speaks up a while later.
"What do you think they're going to do to us, Johanna?" He asks her.
She laughs humorlessly.
"Torture us for information we don't have. Hurt you two for the purpose of hurting Finnick and Katniss. It's safe to say we're in for a shit time."
This revelation weighs heavily on all of us for a while. I try to imagine what is going to happen to me, but all I can picture is Osmium beheading Chiron. I'm sick again.
"But they're safe, right?" Peeta asks a while later, his voice desperate. I turn to look at him and I know what he is feeling so well. He wants Katniss safe just like I want Finnick safe, and it doesn't matter what they do to us here as long as they don't touch them.
Johanna turns to meet his gaze.
"Until they come storming the Capitol like a bunch of idiots, yes. They're safe." She says.
Her words make me panic. Storm the Capitol? What does she mean? If he's safe, he needs to stay safe. He needs to stay there, wherever there might be. But I'm realizing what Johanna says next at the same moment it's leaving her mouth.
"Don't look so surprised. They guaranteed that Finnick and Katniss would come here the minute they took you and Crazy over here. What, did you just think Katniss was going to sit back and fight a rebellion while you were being tortured? And sure, say you could make yourself believe that, but did you really think Finnick would rest for a moment knowing they have his precious Annie?"
Johanna's bitter words wash over us and we know they're true. I look at Peeta and he looks at me and we both know that we have just become the most dangerous things to the ones we love most. I hope they kill me. I hope they kill me and I hope that they tell Finnick that they did. Then he will stay safe and my pain can't hurt him anymore. And did Johanna say rebellion?
I'm mulling over that word and what it means and how that ties in with the arena breaking, and I've almost got the pieces all pieced together when the door opens. Enobaria speaks up for the first time since I've entered the room.
"Can I go now?" She demands crossly.
Whoever it is ignores her. Johanna and Peeta turn around to look but I can't. I'm on the hovercraft again, frozen in fear, peeking out from underneath my eyelashes and feeling fear prick my skin.
"Up. Let's go." A deep voice commands.
I can't rise from my feet. Johanna and Peeta stand and I only find the strength when Peeta gestures for me to follow. I grip the seat of the bench and rise slowly and unsteadily. A Peacekeeper stands stoically in the doorway, unmoved by everything, his hands on a gun. Enobaria walks up to him and waits, an annoyed look on her face like she can't believe she's here. Johanna, Peeta, and I join them a few seconds later.
The Peacekeeper turns wordlessly and leads us out of the large room and back into the stairwell. I look around now for the first time, since before I kept my eyes on the floor. The walls are the same black granite as the steps. We wind down and down and with each flight I get the distinct impression that we're falling down into the earth. The blackness of the stairwell—only lit by small lights on the wall every few feet—makes me nervous and even more frightened. I have to grip onto the walls after only three minutes of winding down the stairs because my legs are shaking so badly.
We finally come to a stop in front of a steel door. I stare at the Peacekeeper's badge in the dim, flickering yellow light, wishing he'd just shoot me now, trying to think of ways to get him to do just that. But something tells me there's nothing I could do to get him to shoot me. I'm here to be tortured and that's what's going to happen. I exist now just to hurt Finn. I have never hated myself more. I hate myself for being a seashell so easy and simple to snatch up, one that has value simply because it belongs to Finnick Odair. One that's broken fragments are going to cut him until he bleeds to death.
The Peacekeeper presses the pad of his index finger into a small hole in the wall and a red light flashes, and then the doors are sliding open. It's damp and cool down here. We walk through the doors and into what appears to be a dungeon. We've all seen them in storybooks. The prison in District 4 looks a lot like this as well, only it's above ground and it has windows. This is unique in its dedication to the image. It has stone floors and stone walls and a domed, stone ceiling. We're standing at the head of a long hallway with what must be individual cells lining it. Each cell has one heavy steel door with a small window only big enough for someone's arm to fit through. Three vertical bars are set in each window, although I have no idea why. It's not like anyone could fit through them. As far as I can see, the only light is a small one on the ceiling right in the middle of the hallway. It's so shadowy down here that there could be people hiding in the corners of the hallway and I would never know.
We're all silent, peering around us carefully. I know then that the purpose of this dungeon is to do what it is doing now. It was created to look like this just to scare, to frighten, to make people get this distinct feeling that they're no longer in the Capitol or even in Panem at all anymore. If they'd taken us to cells with white walls and bright florescent lights at least we'd know we're in the Capitol. It'd be familiar somehow. This is alien and terrifying, with cool stones and almost no light at all.
The Peacekeeper walks forward, but we don't follow. He stands in the middle of the hallway and turns to face us, peering down at a handheld computer in his hands.
"Peeta Mellark." He says.
Peeta looks up and we all follow his gaze as the man points at a door to his left. It's the second cell on the left. Peeta swallows and then takes a deep breath, walking forward bravely. The Peacekeeper presses his finger into another hole—this time in the stone—and the same red light flashes. The door to Peeta's cell clicks open and I was right. There's no light in there that I can see.
He steps in and he's only just met my eyes when the door shuts loudly.
"I'm not going in there." Enobaria speaks up.
The Peacekeeper looks up at her with a bored expression. He looks at his screen and presses a few buttons, and then he glances back up.
"No, you'll be coming with me." He tells her.
She smiles smugly at all of us, her pointed teeth glinting in the sparse light. I can't help but move closer to Johanna, even though I don't think Johanna would even step in if Enobaria decided she wanted to attack me.
I might be wrong though, because Johanna senses my presence and then turns around, glaring at Enobaria.
"Put your disgusting teeth away, it's making me sick. We'll see how smug you are in a few months."
Her words don't make much sense to me, but Enobaria snarls at her.
"Johanna Mason." The Peacekeeper continues dully.
He opens the door to the cell right beside Peeta's. Johanna storms past all of us, stepping into the cell with a huff. She glares at the Peacekeeper as the door slams shut after her.
I'm fighting a blackness that I believe is separate from this hallway. It's inside of me and it's threatening to take me under. It's pointless, I know, but I'm terrified. It's dark and cold and I'm alone and they're going to do things to me, things I can't even imagine because all I can see is my district partner's head being removed and it makes me sick and I'm sure I'm going to pass out right here.
"Annie Cresta."
I look up and the Peacekeeper opens the cell that's second on the right side of the hallway, right across from Peeta's. I just stare at him for a few moments, and then I somehow find the strength or sense to move forward. I step slowly through the threshold, and I've just had enough time to think to myself that it's freezing, and then the door slams shut and I'm in almost complete darkness.
I blink against the blackness, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark, but no matter what I do I can't see much. There's the small, dim square of light from the tiny window near the top of the door, but that's it. I can't even see how large the cell is. I want to travel around the room and explore it with my hands, but I'm afraid. How do I know I'm alone in here?
I slide down to the floor instead and lean with my back against the door. My legs are cold cold cold against the stones and I hate that I'm in this nightgown. I only ever changed out of the layers of Finn's clothing because I needed access to my legs so I could dig my nails into my skin. I shouldn't have done that, though, because I can register how sore my injuries are and I'm worried they're becoming infected. That paired with my lack of food and sleep and I make the ideal prisoner already. I'm always too weak to fight, but now I'm almost too weak to even stay conscious.
I pull my legs up once more and hide my face in my knees, keeping my eyes shut and trying to keep myself calm. I must be channeling my mother and sister because all I can think is that a panic attack is pointless and useless. It won't change the fact that I'm stuck here. It will just make me feel worse. But I've had anxiety problems my entire life and they aren't something you can just whisk away with logic.
I succumb a few moments later. I lie down on the stone floor and try to fight against the weight pressing my chest, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, my nails pressing into my arms. I'm gasping and I miss Finn. I miss Mags. I miss Poseidon. I miss Marv. How did I get to this point, locked in a cell, suffocating on the cold, stone floor? How does one even get to a place like this? What did I do to deserve it?
The cold from the floor is seeping into my cheekbone when suddenly I'm not there anymore.
I'm in the snow. That's why it's so cold. It's snowing in District 4 for the first time since the winter after my Victory Tour.
Finnick's gloved hand is wrapped tightly around mine and it's the only part of me that's warm. We must have been making snow angels, because we're sitting on the ground and I can feel melting snow sliding down my back and seeping through my coat. Finnick's laughing and when I turn to look at him, I'm laughing too.
"Your snow angel looks absolutely beautiful." He tells me with a wink. "I'm a fan of your shape."
I blush and it makes my face feel strange, like it's numb almost. The heat from my cheeks and the cold that was already there don't mix well.
"Flirt." I accuse him, dropping my eyes and looking down at our joined hands. Mags knitted us these gloves and I remember that we never thought we'd get to use them because it doesn't get cold enough, but then it randomly snowed, and Mags claimed she did it herself. That happened this morning so I don't know why I forgot.
He moves a bit to his left and then slides over to where I am. I watch him curiously as he climbs over into my snow angel with me. He wraps his arms around me and hugs me tightly, pressing a kiss to the frozen tip of my nose.
"You ruined my snow angel." I tell him, tipping my head back and grinning up at him. His cheeks are flushed and beautiful and all this white makes his eyes look ever greener.
He pulls me back against him and sneaks a freezing hand up my shirt and coat, laughing as I cry out in protest and try to squirm away. He ducks his head and his lips are warm as he kisses my cold neck.
"You're my snow angel." He coos. I groan at his cheesy comment and reach up, setting my hand on the back of his head. He rubs his cold nose against my neck playfully and then laughs against my skin, his breath warm as it travels over me.
It occurs to me then that we're sitting in snow, but it's warm, because he's here. I think about how cold it would be if he wasn't here at all, and then I am in so much pain and so scared and I don't know why. I'm so scared I immediately tense up and Finnick raises his head, peering at me in concern. He reaches up and straightens the hat I'm wearing, a frown on his face.
"What's wrong? Are you going away?" He asks.
I'm shaking and he thinks I'm cold so he begins unzipping his jacket. I shake my head, my teeth chattering, because I am cold but it's not something his jacket could fix. He pulls it off anyway though and pushes my arms into it, zipping it up over my own.
He rises from the snow and pulls me up to my feet, dusting snow off his jacket and my pants once I'm standing.
"Let's get you inside where it's warm." He says, his mouth still turned down in concern.
I'm nearing hyperventilation as we enter his home and I can't let go of his hand. He goes to step back but my grip is almost painful. He stops trying to leave and instead moves closer, looking at me in worry.
"What's going on, Ann?" He asks. He waits patiently for me to answer, his eyes studying mine. He busies himself with removing my steel blue cap (also knitted by Mags) and pulling my hair out of its bun, as if he thinks I'm still cold and that will warm me. I find the words as he's unzipping both jackets.
"I miss you, Finn. I miss you so much and I'm scared that I'm going to die without seeing you ever again." I gasp.
My tears are burning as they drip down my face. Finn quickly removes the jackets and then pulls me close, pressing his mouth to the side of my head and kissing me once for every word that makes up the only truth we know: I love you.
His lips tickle my ear as he whispers reassurances, his arms secure around me.
"I miss you too. I always miss you, even when you're here with me. But I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and I'm never going to leave you."
I shake my head, lowering my face and hiding it against his shoulder, because they took me away and I will never see him again and I will never hold him like this and he is going to die violently from the inside as they kill me slowly from the outside.
"I'm sorry, Finn. I'm so sorry." I weep. The collar of his shirt is wet with melted snow that must have slid underneath his jacket. The chill of it bites into my cheekbone.
And then my arms are empty again and I'm in the dark.
Peeta says something loudly as I cry, but I can't make out exactly what it is. He talks a bit with Johanna, their voices traveling from the small windows, but I can't hear anything over the pounding in my head.
I don't stop crying until the door to my cell suddenly swings open. I lift my head and sit up, scrambling back away from it immediately because nothing is safe anymore. Everything is a threat.
I can just make out Snow in the dim light from the hallway. He walks further into the cell and then pokes at the wall, and then there's that brief flash of red light, and the entire cell is illuminated. I shut my eyes immediately against the light, but a few seconds later I'm slowly opening them back up and blinking rapidly against the change in lighting. It turns out there are lights in here. Long, bright ones that line the ceiling. Only I guess you have to have the right fingerprints to use them.
I can see what I couldn't see before. I wish that I couldn't now, or ever. There are only two things in this room: a metal chair that Snow occupies and a flat metal table with restraints welded into it. I can't tear my eyes away from it. It's for torture, and that's why I'm here, isn't it? So why am I so shocked and repulsed to see it?
Snow clears his throat a few times before I finally rip my gaze away from the table. He's peering at me thoughtfully, a frown on his face.
"I'm sorry we have to meet again like this, Miss Cresta." He starts.
His voice does hold regret, but I highly doubt it's regret over this. It must be regret over that word Johanna said earlier. Rebellion.
I just stare at him, huddled on the floor, my eyes sore from my tears.
"I must admit this was not what I wanted, nor was it ever in my plans. But it seems that your beloved along with other victors have decided to change my plans for the worst." He shakes his head slowly, mockingly. "A very poor decision on their part."
"Where's Finnick?"
I don't even recognize my own voice at first as it bounces around the room. It's small and meek and terrified, but really I should have no problem recognizing it, because that's why I am, too.
Snow peers idly down at the cufflinks on his shirt, his expression one of mild interest even though I know he must be burning inside.
"He is with the other rebels. He was part of a plan to overthrow the Capitol, along with the other victors who went into the Quarter Quell. A foolish plan. As far as I've found out thus far, all the rebels are in District 13—which is very much alive, don't trouble yourself with the specifics—and their plans to get everyone out of the arena didn't go quite as planned. But they have Katniss Everdeen, the person they wanted all along, the person they all agreed to die to let live. And I suspect they are doing with her whatever they can to rally support for their misguided and wicked cause."
My initial shock is shock at the fact that Snow is telling me any of this. People don't typically tell me things of importance. Even Finnick is bad about doing that sometimes, but he does it to protect me and everyone else does it because they think I'm too mad to understand. Snow seems determined that I know this though, and I can't understand why. It's not difficult to accept that District 13 still exists, maybe because I have an entire other world that exists. It is difficult to believe that Finnick was part of this plan, though. But the more I think about it, the more I know it must be true. Him allying with Katniss and Peeta, Mags sacrificing herself for Katniss. Both those things don't make sense unless I take into consideration that he was part of it. He didn't tell me. That hurts me, even though I know he would have only kept it from me to protect me. But now that I'm sitting here in this cold cell with President Snow's eyes on me, I feel like perhaps it was more for the cause's protection than my own, because I'm here and I'm going to be tortured for information I don't have anyway.
Snow is smiling and I can't understand why. He looks like I've just given him something he really wanted, or perhaps walked into a trap he laid.
His voice is falsely kind when he speaks next.
"I know you don't know anything, Miss Cresta. You were just as confused by all of this as I was."
I just stare at him, because of course I don't know anything. I think I was more confused than anyone by all of this.
Snow sighs almost dramatically, his eyes filled with fake sadness. I know it's fake because he looks like he could laugh in glee at any moment.
"He always lies to you, doesn't he? Poor, mad girl. He uses you and you don't deserve that." Snow mutters, his voice dripping with a pity that makes my eyes burn. That's not true. That's not true. Finnick loves me. Finnick wouldn't lie to me, not unless he had to. He never lied to me about these Games. He doesn't lie to me.
But then I'm feeling even more upset, because actually, he did lie. Not to hurt me, but he did. He told me he would come home, all the while knowing he was planning on dying if need be for Katniss, for the cause. He looked me in the face and swore he would come back to me but it was a lie and he didn't and now I will never see him ever again.
Snow's smile widens at the sight of my tears and I think I would hate him if I didn't feel so empty.
"He loves me." I whisper, but my words come out sounding just as pathetic as I must seem.
Snow's smile disappears and when he speaks next, it feels like a slap to the face.
"He abandoned you. He left you alone to be arrested and tortured on his behalf. He doesn't care about you at all. He's safe in District 13 and you're here. You don't have to be sane to realize what that must mean."
No. No, that isn't right, because he told me he loves me and he was going to marry me and he kisses me like I mean more to him than his own life. Memories keep resurfacing, memories like the night he told me he was scared for the very first time. What was it he said to me? He said he was scared for me, that things wouldn't go the way he planned, that I would get hurt. And then he kissed my hand and apologized ten times. I am realizing now that he was apologizing for lying, for telling me he was going to come back to me when really he knew he would die in that arena. He was scared for this reason; scared I guess that no one would get to me before the Capitol did. But the important thing is that he was scared. You aren't scared for someone unless you love someone.
"He would never try to hurt me." I tell Snow, and my voice sounds much more confident this time.
Snow just sneers at me.
"And yet you're here."
I don't know what to say to that.
Snow doesn't seem bothered by my silence. He continues, his eyes locked on mine and cold as ever.
"You've been living a life of lies with Finnick Odair. As the first part of your punishment, we're going to help you see the truth. The Capitol takes care of their victors after all."
His eyes are laughing at me and I can't stand them. I look away and when the next words drip from my lips, he's laughing.
"What am I being punished for?"
"Finnick Odair's stupidity." He answers coolly, after his laughter has died down. He rises from the chair then, pausing to look down at me. He crosses the room and sets his hand down on my shoulder and I'm clenching my fists to keep from moving away. He smells like blood like always.
"Poor Annie Cresta. You don't have much longer until you break, do you?" He asks.
I can't meet his eyes. His words make me aware of all the tiny cracks running along under my skin, the cracks that Finnick only ever held together, the cracks that I am sure are going to completely shatter and make me fall to pieces on the floor.
"I bet you wish you would have a long time ago." He says, and I do, I do. I wished that the moment I was pulled from that arena. I've always wished to be all the way mad. How blissful that would be, how free. But then Finnick loved me and I loved him and I no longer wanted to be mad, because we had each other.
And now I'm alone again, freezing, mad mad mad (but not enough for my liking) and worthless.
The door seals behind Snow and the lights go out. He pauses outside of my door and says one last thing to me.
"Get a good night's rest. The life Finnick left for you begins at sunrise."
Not real. Not true. Finnick didn't leave this for me. Snow did. This is all Snow's doing.
I curl back up on the floor and try to exit this world, but I can't get myself to do it on demand. After a few minutes of trying, I'm crying again, and this time it's loud enough that it's echoing and bouncing around the walls and slamming back into me.
"Annie."
Peeta's voice is faint. I can't find the energy to get up.
"Crazy!" Johanna yells a few minutes later.
Something about that gets me to rise. Maybe because I feel more like a Crazy than I do an Annie right now. I climb to my feet and walk over to the door, rising on my tiptoes to peer out the small window.
I can make out Peeta and Johanna doing the same in the faint light. Johanna looks tired and Peeta looks worried.
"He said those same things to me about Katniss. Don't believe him." Peeta tells me.
"Yeah, he's just trying to hurt you in any way he can. I tried to tell him that even you aren't crazy enough to buy that Finnick wants to hurt you, but he just ignored me. Slimy bastard." Johanna sneers.
I can't say anything because that's not why I'm crying. I don't think that Finnick wanted to hurt me. I'm crying because I'm afraid my other world is lost to me and that's the only defense I have now. That's the only way I'll ever see Finn again. That's the only place the people I love exist. I can't tell them this, though, so I force a watery smile and thank them for the reassurance.
I sink back down to the floor and Johanna and Peeta talk for a while longer, speculating what sunrise might bring. Johanna makes weak jokes and Peeta talks lightheartedly as well, but I can tell they're both scared out of their minds. I am, too. What did Snow mean by show me the lies I've been living? It sounds like I am going to endure something psychological, and that has me even more frightened than before. All I have left is a small amount of sanity. Not enough to be messed with. I don't have the ability to even begin to worry about the fact that he said the first part of my punishment.
I fall into a fitful sleep that's filled with nightmares. I'm not the only one. Peeta and Johanna wake with sudden cries all night as well. By the time the hallway door is sliding open, I'm shaking and we're all silent.
The footsteps are ominous. There have to be at least ten people. For some reason the multitude frightens me. What do they need this many people for? We're only three.
When footsteps stop outside of my door, I'm backing up into the corner of my cell. I crouch behind the metal table, wedged between it and the wall, even though I know that won't help anything at all.
The door swings open and I watch two sets of heavy black boots walk into the room. They're both facing me, so I know they see me. They push in some sort of black metal cart with a television on top and another cart with a small, orange box. They turn the lights on after that.
I watch the feet of one as he crosses over and then he's standing right in front of me, peering down. I look up at him and I only have a few seconds to take in his curly black hair before he's reaching down and gripping my arms tightly. He yanks me up and sets me down on the metal table like I'm some sort of rag doll. I close my eyes and lock my arms around myself, because I'm not here, I'm not here. Really I'm on the beach with Finn. Why can't I hear waves? All I hear are the wheels of that cart against the stone floor. Why can't I hear his voice? All I hear are their voices mumbling to one another. Why can't I feel the sand against my skin? All I feel are their hands as they force me down on my back and the restraints as they lock tightly around my wrists and ankles.
I'm fighting against them almost immediately, hysteria rising and rising and rising until I'm screaming. The other Peacekeeper—this one has a gold hoop in his nose—slaps a hand over my mouth.
"Shut up." He orders.
I fall silent almost immediately; encouraged to do so by the hateful way he's looking at me. My heart is pounding in my chest and I know I'm going to be sick. It's going to happen. I'm going to die.
Peacekeeper 1 with the curly hair walks over to the carts and I'm helpless to do anything but watch and try to guess what they're going to do to me. He pushes the cart across the floor until it's right in front of the table and then crosses back over, grabbing the other cart and dragging it behind him as he makes his way over to me. He fiddles with a lock on the orange box and then he lifts the lid. I'm cringing away immediately. The box is full of what must be at least twenty needles and syringes, all shining and new, and rows and rows of glass vials filled with things I don't know, things I don't recognize, things I don't want to understand.
Peacekeeper 2 with the golden hoop leaves my side, pulling his hand off my mouth, and walks over to the door of the cell. He mumbles something to someone outside and then grabs a large glass of a thick, blue liquid. He crosses back over to me and reaches onto the cart, grabbing what's essentially a long straw. He sticks it into the glass and then holds it, pushing the straw between my lips. I keep my teeth locked, but then he reaches down and sets a hand on my stomach and presses down with all his weight, his eyes angry, and I'm gasping out in pain and opening my mouth fully. He lets up the pressure on my stomach and I'm left feeling like something important has been crushed.
I want to ask him what it is, but there's no point. Wasted words, my mom used to call them. These would be wasted words. Because it won't kill me (I wish it would) and if it's going to cause me immense misery, there's nothing I can do to avoid it.
I begin drinking it and I'm surprised to find it doesn't taste bad. It's sweet, almost sickly sweet, and all I can think to compare it to would be milkshakes if they were hot instead of cold. It's got the same consistency, but it burns the back of my throat going down.
When I've drained the glass, I feel sick and heavy. He moves the glass away and mutters something to Peacekeeper 1.
"Caloric needs met for day one. Mark it down."
I guess starving myself isn't an option either then.
Peacekeeper 1 has what looks like a hair clipper in his hands and he's walking towards me, but the other Peacekeeper stops him.
"No, that's not on the list." He tells him.
The other Peacekeeper frowns. "That's always on the list. You shave the prisoner's head at the beginning of every session. They're shaving Johanna Mason's right now."
Sure enough, you can make out the faint sounds of the electric buzzer and Johanna's snide comments.
Peacekeeper 2 shakes his head and points at the screen of a handheld computer attached to his wrist like a watch.
"Not Peeta Mellark or Annie Cresta." He tells him.
Somehow this terrifies me. I'm not relieved in the least that I get to keep my hair, because why do they need it? They would only keep it if they needed it. Why do Peeta and I need our hair while no one else does?
"Fine. Get it out of the way then." He snaps. He sets the buzzer back down while Peacekeeper 2 gathers my hair with some sort of string.
I catch his eyes as he drops his hands from my hair, and something he sees makes him look away, a frown on his face. I want to ask him to not do this, or maybe at least tell me what he's doing, or why I have to keep my hair, but Peacekeeper 1 is reaching into the orange box before I get the chance.
He pulls a needle out and then peers at the screen of his small computer, humming as if he's reading something very peculiar.
"She's lucky she's not getting what Mellark's getting." He tells the other Peacekeeper.
He looks at him and then at the vial he's just picked up.
"I don't know about that, Nigel."
Nigel—Peacekeeper 1—laughs at that, nodding along like the other Peacekeeper's just brought up a good point. My throat and lips are too dry to ask them what they're doing to Peeta. I can only remember how kind he was to me and it makes me want to cry to think that he's being tortured right now.
I hadn't considered that I'd have to hear anyone else being tortured. That thought doesn't cross my mind until I hear Johanna's shrieks, muffled a bit by the stone walls, but loud enough to make out with ease.
Nigel winces, reaching into his pocket and pulling out small foam balls. He then reaches up and sticks them into his ears. He pulls two more out of his pocket and turns to the other Peacekeeper.
"Here, Gene."
"Thanks."
Gene takes the earplugs gratefully and sticks them into his ears and I'm crying because I can't understand this. They're listening to shrieks of pain and misery, and instead of helping, they're just muffling the sounds. Doesn't this hurt them at all? How can they stand to hurt another person? How can they do it?
The vial in Nigel's hand is filled with cloudy liquid. I watch as he attaches a long needle to a syringe and then sticks the syringe into the vial. He fills it, carefully eyeing the line already marked on it. I have to wonder then whose job that was. Who was given my age and weight and told to mark every single syringe with the correct dosage just for me? Did they know what I was being given? Did they care? I would have cared. I would have.
Nigel holds the syringe while Gene pulls a triangle of solid foam, not unlike a pillow, off the bottom of the cart that had the orange box. He walks over and lifts my head, setting the foam underneath it so I'm partially propped up. It's very uncomfortable with my neck stretched up and my wrists and ankles secured down. But as Nigel approaches me, I know it's only going to get more uncomfortable.
My vision is swimming and suddenly I can hear my sister's voice.
"Breathe. This won't kill you. Breathe through it. You can do this." She whispers.
I don't go away, though. I'm still here, and Gene is messing with the television, and Nigel is rubbing something on the inside of my elbow.
I'm gasping for air, fear weighing me down, when he sticks the needle into my vein and presses the plunger down.
Immediately, forceful, fiery pain fills my arm. I flinch wildly, most likely bruising my wrists as I fight against the restraints, but there's no point. The burning travels and travels and soon I am certain I am burning alive. I'm unable to move a minute later. I don't know if that's a side effect or if I'm just in so much pain I can't. It is unlike anything I have ever felt and I am sure I'm going to die. It feels like I've pressed my skin against a burner, but inside, every organ, every muscle, every vein, and then someone's attacked that burned, raw area with sandpaper, rubbing back and forth back and forth until every bit of skin is rubbed off and raw and bleeding, but still they keep rubbing until it's just down to bone. I'm sure it's happening, I'm sure, but then my eyelids are pulled open and tapped up and I can see clearer than I've ever seen before, and no one is burning or sanding me down. It's just my quivering body, pale and small and chained. It's in my veins and it's making everything sharp and my mind is present and I can see the screen clearly.
When I realize exactly what is on the screen, I'm trying to pull my eyelids down, to fight against this, but I can't. Whatever they've used to tape them open is strong and all I manage to do is make the muscles around my eyes ache.
I can hear Gene and Nigel's comments clearly.
"How much did Dougal say he had to pay to get this one?" Gene asks.
Nigel snickers. "Enough that the woman could buy a new apartment."
She doesn't need a new apartment, though. Her apartment is just fine. Especially her bed. It's a water bed and it moves like the waves and she's got her hands all over Finnick. She's got her nails in his skin, and her lips on his neck, and I can't go away. I can't because whatever is burning me right now is keeping my mind so sharply in focus that I am sure I was never even this present before I went mad. I don't know but I think the pain is there for the purpose of keeping my mind anchored, or perhaps they're both separate tortures paired together just for the purpose of causing me misery. I'm screaming screaming screaming, but it doesn't help the pain I'm in at all. I want to thrash around because I think maybe it could help, maybe I could push away the layers of sandpaper rubbing away on my skin, inside of me, everywhere, but I can't because I can't get my muscles to cooperate.
The foam keeps my head facing forward and I can't look away. The horror flowing through me is just as awful as the pain, but I can't turn, not when she's saying awful things to him, not when he's inside of her, not when she's locking her legs around him, not ever.
I think it can't get worse than this—chained, burning alive, watching my lover essentially raped while two men sit beside me and watch too—when they start talking. At first I think they're talking to each other, but then I realize they're talking to me, really.
"That's who he really loves. Would he be doing that to her if he didn't love her?"
"Listen to how he says her name."
Not real not real not real. Not true. Not true. He doesn't love her. I can't look away. I want her to get off him. She doesn't love him. He doesn't love her. This isn't Finnick. Finnick doesn't touch me like that, ever. He is gentle, kind, loving. This isn't loving, and so Gene and Nigel are wrong. They are wrong. He grabs her hair and pulls it. They're wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong and I want to die, I want to die, why can't I die?
"Breathe."
My sister's voice comes back to me again and it's reminding me to do something so pointless and I'm writhing in pain and anger now too because how will that help me? How will breathing help me? How? How?
I listen to her, though, as I always do. I inhale as deeply as I can and then exhale, and it does help a bit with the pain. I find that if I focus on breathing in and out and counting how long I hold each breathe, I'm just staring blankly at the upper corner of the screen, I'm not taking in what's happening, I'm not having to see that, it isn't happening, it never happened, it won't ever happen again, it's not true, Finnick doesn't love her, he loves me, and that's not love, that's not love, that's not love.
"She's beautiful. I don't know why you'd ever think he'd love something as mad and plain as you."
I don't either, but he does. He does. It's true I know it's true and they don't know because they don't know Finn. They are lying to hurt me, lying to make me think he doesn't love me, but he does.
"Breathe."
In and out. Minute by minute. How long will this last? In and out. Minute by minute.
Johanna is still screaming and Peeta is screaming too, but his screams are different. He's yelling things, like he's hallucinating. The longer I listen, the surer I am that that's exactly what's happening.
How odd. They're making him see things that aren't real and they're making sure that the only things I see are real.
When the tape finally ends, I'm sure it's over. I think they see that on my face, because Nigel grins.
"Don't worry, you and your friends have us reserved for six whole hours."
Six hours to lie here, burning, listening to their words and wet moans and sudden shrieks and Johanna and Peeta's screams. I will not live through this. I will not.
"You're fine, Shell. It's just now. It will all be over eventually. Breathe."
Cora won't stop talking to me, but she won't take me away, so maybe she doesn't love me at all. If she really loved me she would let me go into my other world. And I know it's not her fault, but I've never felt pain like this, and my heart has never felt pain like this, either. I'm stuck in reality for once and reality is atrocious.
And who would have guessed that in the end, the worst possible torture would be forced sanity.
