A/n: I'm really sorry about not getting back to everyone's reviews/PMs yet! I have to be done with this story by the 23rd at the very latest, so I'm kind of stressing out about it. That being said, I'm going to be spending any time I can writing so I don't have to ditch this story and leave it uncompleted. So if I don't get back to you for a while, please know that I appreciate the support as much as I always have, but I'm just trying to make sure I can finish this story without rushing it! Thank you to those who always take the time to share their thoughts :)
The children in 13 are fizzing with excitement.
Finnick and I are sitting on the edge of a raised platform together, hands intertwined and bodies leaning against each other, when they're led in by a man who is presumably one of the teachers in 13. He's grinning ear-to-ear, looking almost more excited than they are. The air becomes electrified as he leads them in, their little hands gripping each other's and their smiles so ecstatic I can't help but grin myself. The teacher instructs them to sit down on the large carpet directly in front of the platform Finnick and I are sitting on, and then he crosses over to us.
Finnick rises immediately to shake his hand, but I'm unmoving, because a little boy looks so much like my brother for a moment that I'm stunned. He's sitting quietly in the second row, his light brown hair messy and his cheeks rosy with liveliness. He's peering around the room with interest, his expression one of light wonderment, and am I going to cry or laugh? I'm unsure. My heart is doing funny things, and my face is hot, and then I hear them talking about me.
"And this must be your bride?" The teacher's asking. His voice is soft and gentle and I like it. I try to lift my gaze from the second row, but still I am stuck and I can't move and I don't know how I feel about this at all.
"Yes, that's Annie." Finnick says, and I can hear his smile. He must turn to look at me, because a second later I can just feel the shift in the air as he grows concerned. He says something to the teacher and then he's by my side once more, the side of his body pressed against the side of mine and his hands wrapped around my hands that are gripping tightly to the hem of my shirt.
He follows my glance, and he doesn't ask me if I'm okay. Maybe he can sense that I have no idea, or maybe he just knows that this isn't a conversation we can have right now, anyway. He presses a kiss to my cheek instead, and somehow that helps so much. The soft pressure of his lips and the smell of his hair climbs right inside my mind and pulls me back out, and then I'm peering up at the teacher.
"Nice to meet you." I'm saying, my voice casual like nothing just happened.
Perhaps he's just used to oddity, being around children all day, but he doesn't seem too fazed at all. He only blinks at me in confusion once, and then he's back on track.
"Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Cresta. The children are so excited. They never get to do anything like this, you see, because we don't have holidays. They've been restless all morning and all but bounced down here." He explains. He turns to look at the children as he talks, his eyes scanning over the multitude of rows. I follow his glance, careful to keep my eyes far from the second row, and I'm smiling again and then Finnick's leg is bumping against mine and he's pressing a kiss to my cheek again, his lips curved up in a smile, blatantly uncaring to the fact that anyone else is in here. I turn to look at him, and his eyes are so joyful when I meet them that I can't help but smile wider.
"I hope they have fun." I say when I finally pull my eyes from Finnick's.
The teacher nods.
"They will, I'm sure of it. I'll be in the corner back there, just to make sure they don't get too rowdy. Good luck!"
Finnick and I smile at him, and then he makes his way to the far right corner of the room, where a chair is already waiting. Finnick rises, pulling me with him, and I am relieved when he starts to speak because I don't know if I would have been able to say anything. There are so many small eyes on us and it's fairly intimidating.
"Good morning!" Finnick tells them cheerfully, an almost too-practiced ease to his voice. But there's a gentleness, too. A gentleness that I hardly ever hear in his voice except when he's talking to me or Mags.
"Good morning Mr. Odair!" The children chorus, their voices happy and thrilled. There's one little girl near the back who is exceptionally excited. She's got the hugest smile on her face and she's actually bouncing up and down.
"I wasn't told the rules like you guys were, so who can fill me in on what we're doing today?" He asks, his voice painted with a confusion that would seem real to anyone but me. I turn to look at him and smile, because he knows full and well what we're doing today. I wonder when he learned how to deal with children.
Dozens of hands jump into the air, quivering with a childish eagerness. Finnick's side knocks lightly into mine, and I know he wants me to pick one. I scan my eyes over the springing curls, the missing teeth, the sparkling eyes, and then I'm calling on the little boy on the second row who has a smile just like the little boy who will never smile again.
He freezes for a moment when everyone falls silent, staring wide-eyed at us, but then I'm beaming at him and he's beaming back and he's inhaling deeply and opening his mouth.
"We've gotta learn the wedding song, so you two can get married. We're gonna learn it and then sing it at your wedding. And my mommy says that I can sing real good so don't worry!" He rushes out, his words almost as vibrant as his exhilarated spirit.
I can't help but see Arnav, and I try my hardest not to, but it's almost impossible. I'm seeing him racing towards me on the beach, tripping over a pile of sand and landing on his face, and then jumping back up with a smile like it never happened and continuing to race towards me. I'm hearing his laughter when he finally crashes into me, and feeling his arms hug me tightly, and remembering what it was like to have someone small, someone fragile who looked to me for protection, who depended on me, who needed me. Someone who I let down in the end.
Finnick's hand finds mine wordlessly as he continues chatting with the children, and I stare at the ceiling and close my mind to anything but the sensation of his hand wrapped around mine. It's not my fault, remember? Snow did that. I did all I could. I was mad and broken-down, incapable of doing anything but what I did. Even if I would have known seeing Finnick would have resulted in that, could I have sent him away? I don't know, and standing here in front of this platform with Finnick's hand being the only thing keeping my mind from floating up to the ceiling, I am unsure that I could have survived without him. The memories of that month after I was pulled from that arena are hazy and dim to me. All I can really remember are the overwhelming sense of darkness and hopelessness, and the utmost lack of color and warmth, and the fact that the only time I remember feeling at least a little okay was when Finnick was there with me. No, I don't think I could have made it home without him there. Either way, I was never going to see my family ever again. Sometimes we are gifted the most amazing people, but we aren't meant to keep them for as long as we'd like. It makes my heart ache to know that you can never see the expiration date someone's presence in your life has. But even if you could— would it matter? No no no, I don't think so. I don't think it would at all. I would have loved them all the same, if not more.
My mind expands and then refocuses once more, falling back on the present location and present company. Finnick's rubbing his thumb lightly over the back of my hand, and I know that's what's pulled me back home again.
"This is how we're going to do it: Annie and I will sing a few lines, and then you guys sing it back to us, okay? And then we'll keep doing that until the whole entire song is over, and then we'll do it one more time. After that we'll sing the whole thing all together as many times as we need to. Got it?" Finnick asks them.
They mutter excited affirmations and nod their heads up and down. Finnick turns to me, and my cheeks are already pink, because I don't know how I feel about singing in front of all these people. Finnick reads this easily, and his response is a quiet whisper in my ear.
"Don't worry, in comparison to me you'll sound like an angel. You've heard me sing in the shower. You know what I'm talking about."
I'm suppressing laughter when he leans back, and judging by the victory in his eyes, that was his intention all along. He turns back to the kids, and I follow suit, and then he's dropping my hand and winding his arm around my waist instead. He pulls the side of my body against his and it feels better this way. I feel safer and less vulnerable.
"Today is a voyage I am taking with you/ Today is a promise and it is never too soon," Finnick starts the gentle melody, and I find myself joining him easily, because if I stare up at the ceiling and focus only on his voice, I'm sure we're alone. I am surprised that both of us remember the words, but the more I ponder that, the less surprised I become. It's hard to forget a song that has been so important to so many people. And now it is important to us, too.
I look back down at the children when they echo back what we've just sang, their voices high and pure and angelic. A chill takes over me almost immediately.
"Today is a voyage I am taking with you/ Today is a promise and it is never too soon." They echo, only a few stumbling over the words.
I find myself glancing at Finnick, my heart rising like the tide and my stomach fluttering like a sail in the wind. He meets my gaze with the most contented smile I have ever seen on his face to date.
"Today is a risk and today is a chance/ Today is a day that I will never forget." He continues, his voice a bit softer now and his eyes only parting from mine after his last note trails off. I keep my gaze on him, though, even as the children sing it back to us. Because I love him love him love him love him love him love him like I might scream it at the top of my lungs love him love him like I am mad mad mad love him love him like I am going crazy because of it and guess what? We're getting married.
He bumps his hip against mine playfully as he continues, and I join him once more, unsurprised to find that our voices actually sound nice together when we sing. We sing line after line, grinning like fools at each other as the children sing it back to us, and an hour later they've got it just like we do and it's imprinted in our hearts. We ask the children to sing it to us alone at the end of the session, and when they do, I have to lean fully against Finnick because I am overwhelmed with happiness suddenly, happiness that I cannot handle.
We're grinning just as the children did when they entered the room as they leave, and I honestly don't mean to, but as soon as the door shuts behind them I'm grasping the fabric of Finnick's shirt and pressing my mouth against his firmly, my head tossing around from wave after wave of mad happiness and mad love and our skin hot like we've been lying out on the beach all day.
"I'm going to die I love you so much," I breathe against his lips, and his hands are tight around my waist when he replies.
"Don't you dare."
But a minute later he's laughing, and I'm laughing too, and the tension sliding underneath my skin can be forgotten in spite of the childish happiness I can still feel skating on the surface of me. We walk hand in hand back to our compartment, chatting about the children in 13, and I can't even get my mind to wrap around the little boy and how he reminded me of Arnav, because I am filled to the brim with happiness and there is no where for sadness to go. There's no room for it.
It isn't until we're lying on top of the covers, hands gripping each other and an easy conversation filling the room, that I realize what I'm feeling: fear. That thought stops me completely, my sentence dying on my lips and my smile fading, because why am I scared and what exactly am I scared of? I stare at the wall behind Finnick for a few minutes, dizzy and confused, when it all makes sense with a burst of imaginary blood in front of my eyes. I'm scared to get married, but not because I'm not sure it's what I want. Because I am sure it's what I want. There is a certain degree of vulnerability involved in loving someone, and I know it must have been the line in the wedding song ("today is a risk and today is a chance") that has me thinking of this.
I am scared to be without him, scared to take this step only to find him missing from my life. But I'm always scared of that. I'm always terrified to be without him. That's nothing new. I just know I'm falling even deeper into this relationship, and while I'd never change that for anything, I do feel a little apprehensive about it.
Finnick's lips are on my collarbone and his heart is with mine.
"I feel like that, too. Like I love you so much it might kill me." He tells me, his breath hot as it warms me from the point it touches all the way to the tips of my toes. My fingers thread into his hair and I draw my fingernails over his scalp, thinking deeply and trying to wrap my hands around the slippery words inside of me.
I'm sideways and seventeen and lying in a field staring at bright red flowers.
"Are you going to stay?" I ask him, hearing that same question echo along in my mind from when I said it in my memory so many years ago.
I don't know exactly what I'm asking yet. I'm not really sure. I think I am searching for something he can never give me: the expiration date on his presence in my life. He can't give me that. No one can. I wouldn't want it anyway, would I? No, I am sure of it. I am picturing knowing it and feeling sick and scared. No, I wouldn't want to know.
He presses another kiss to me, and then he's replying easily.
"Really stay. Never leave you stay. Stay no matter what." He promises, just like he did that day long ago, and I'm smiling.
He lifts his head and places it beside mine on the pillow, and when he sees my smile, he's pulling my body flush against his and holding me tightly.
"Do you know what I'm going to do once you're my wife?" He asks quietly, his voice filled to the brim with an intense love I understand deeply.
I've got a few ideas all right, and when I press my face into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, I know he can feel my blush. He laughs a bit, running his hand down my back and tugging me even closer.
"I'm going to kiss you once for every day I've known you." He tells me, and I'm giggling almost immediately, because that's absurd and his hand has found its way under my shirt and his fingertips are tickling as they draw over my skin.
"You are not!" I say immediately, gasping around my peals of laughter. I reach down and grab his forearm, pulling his hand free and bringing it back around me again. He rests it lightly on the middle of my back, but I know it's only a matter of time before it's moving once again.
"Am so!" He tells me.
I lift my head and lean back a bit, peering at his face. He takes this opportunity to slide his hand between our bodies and I yelp and roll away from him before he can really tickle me. I keep my back to him and pull my knees up to my chest, and he's quiet for a moment, and I'm unsure why, but then I realize he thinks he's actually scared me.
"Annie, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"
I roll over and move back into his arms, throwing a leg over his and sliding my hands underneath his shirt.
"Don't forget I know your ticklish spots." I warn him, tracing my fingers down a bit threateningly. His body relaxes immediately as he realizes what I'm telling him: that I'm fine, that he didn't upset me, that everything is still okay. He lets out a breath of air and takes a second to compose himself, but then he's replying indignantly.
"I'm not ticklish! I'm sensitive!" He insists, his eyes bright and his cheeks just a little pinker than normal.
"Your sensitive spots, then." I clarify.
He leans his head down and presses his lips against mine softly, parting them bit by bit and grinning when my hands fall slack against him.
"Threaten me all you want, but the fact reminds that I am going to kiss you that many times when we get back here after our wedding." He tells me once he pulls away.
"But we've known each other for almost six years now. Do you know how many days that is?" I demand, fighting back laughter.
"You're the smart one in this partnership; you tell me." He says.
But he's sabotaging me because right as I lift my eyes to the ceiling to try to figure it out, he's drawing me closer and sliding his hands back underneath my shirt. I try to ignore his fingers as they caress over my skin for a few moments, but it's pointless. My thoughts keep jerking around wildly, on numbers one moment and Finnick's hand's path the next. I give up, leaning back and looking at him again.
"Cheater." I accuse. "But it's something around two thousand days."
"I meant what I said," He sings, pressing a kiss to my forehead and grinning against it when I shiver a bit in his arms.
"You can't—" My words die on my lips, because his roaming hands are becoming more and more oblivious to my clothing and more reckless as the minutes pass. I swallow and continue, trying to decide whether I want to move away from him and finish my sentence or just forget about what I was going to say. I settle for a halfway, staying near him but shortening my statement. "You can't do that. Not possible."
I almost feel like his hands are challenging that statement and he doesn't even need to say anything at all. A few more minutes underneath his touch and I'm trying to remember exactly what it was that he couldn't do again. Something about numbers and kissing and weddings.
"Two thousand times, because every day you have given me has been a gift." He tells me.
Wrong again, because the real gift has been the days he's given me.
I convince Finnick to go see Johanna while I go to my therapy session. He mentioned wanting us to visit her again, but I admitted to him that I wasn't sure if I wanted to. It's nothing against her as a person or her company, it's just that I feel so strong and so happy right now, and I don't want her saying anything to ruin that. I do want Finnick to still see her though, and after a few minutes of talking about it, he decides he will go.
It feels strange to be away from him, as we've been touching somehow ever since yesterday. We held each other this morning, we gripped hands through breakfast, we held hands and leaned against each other while we taught the children the wedding song, but now I'm in Dr. Malone's office and my hand is empty and my body is alone and I can't help but feel like I'm missing something, like I've left something crucial and highly important at home and I can't quite function without it. But the good thing about Dr. Malone is that I know her well enough by now to be able to carry on despite. I can talk to her easily now, as easily as I could talk Mags. It's freeing and lovely. I haven't skipped even one session, and even if one day she does decide I don't need to come anymore, I think I might still try to be her friend. Because she has helped me a lot.
I spend the first half of my session trying to decide if I should tell her that Finnick and I made love yesterday. I don't know if that's relevant to my recovery or mental health. Somehow I feel it is, because that was a big step for someone who has been through something like me, but at the same time it is something intensely personal.
I think she notices that I'm hoarding words inside me, because her next question is pointed.
"Has anything odd happened lately? Did your nightmares come back?" She asks. Her question breaks the long silence that has fallen over us.
"No," I say slowly, my eyes falling away from hers and landing back on the floor as I think some more.
"Did something happen with you and Finnick?" She guesses carefully, and when I look up to meet her eyes, she looks concerned.
"Nothing bad!" I say quickly, almost in a panic, as if her thinking that something bad happened will make something bad happen. "Something good." I finally say, and then heat is flooding my face and I'm looking back down at my knees.
"Ohhh," She says, realization filling her voice. I peek back up at her, and she's smiling knowingly. "Well? How was your mental state? Any flashbacks or nightmares?"
I wonder briefly if I would have ever had a conversation a little similar to this one if my sister hadn't died. She was my best friend, and when Finnick and I first had sex, I would have told her. I have never talked to anyone but Finn about our relationship, partially because I never felt the need to talk to anyone else about it, and also partially because the only girl I would ever girl talk with would have been my sister. It's silly to me suddenly, to be in this office, talking about this with someone who isn't Finnick. But I don't feel quite as mortified as I thought I would, because I do trust Dr. Malone.
"Good." I finally answer, and then I feel brave enough to meet her eyes again. Once I do that, the words are easy. "Great, actually. I didn't think about the Capitol at all. I was scared for a moment when I first woke up this morning- because I remember waking up without clothes in the Capitol- but it only lasted a minute at the most and then I remembered where I was and I was completely okay."
I am surprised to realize that she hasn't touched her pen once this session. I wonder if that means anything, or if she just got tired of writing stuff down. She's still smiling, and she honestly looks happy for me.
"I don't have to tell you have great that is. I know you already know." She tells me, and I do.
I'm inspecting my fingernails, willing my face to return back to its normal color, when I hear the sound of a drawer opening and footsteps, and then Dr. Malone is standing beside my chair.
I look up, and she's standing with her hand extended out, a white card in it. I hesitantly reach up and take the card from her, turning it over and peering at it. It has her name in bold print with her office hours underneath that.
"We have no more sessions scheduled until a week after your wedding. If you need me for any reason, or if you feel your progress regressing, you can come by at whichever time is most convenient for you."
I look up from the card and meet her eyes, trying to understand why she's doing this. I thought I had to have my therapy sessions every single day?
She must read my question, because she's answering it soon enough.
"You have been working very hard and you've made it so far. You can miss a few sessions. Consider it a wedding gift."
I'm unsure what to say because I'm unsure how to feel. I run my fingers over the edges of the card, trying to pull from myself my opinions on this change. Uneasy, first. Then maybe a little proud. I'm a bit scared of being without these daily sessions, but I am glad that she thinks I'm sane enough to go without them.
"Thank you." I finally say, looking up from the white card to meet her eyes.
She smiles.
"Just make sure to come by if you need to." She says.
I nod, and I'm halfway to the door when she gives me another gift.
"And Annie?" She asks.
I stop and turn around, meeting her eyes again.
"You really aren't mad. Try to remember that." She tells me, her words honest and concerned, like she fully believes what she's saying but worries that I don't. I just stare at her, my mouth slightly agape, her words replaying over and over in my mind. You aren't mad, you aren't mad, you aren't mad.
"I look forward to your wedding." She smiles, and then she begins filing things away, and I'm turning somehow and walking from her office, my head in the clouds.
Finnick is back in the room when I arrive, and I stare at the wall for a few moments, hovering uneasily at the door, before I can express what I'm feeling. He's standing beside me nervously, concerned as always, and I know my words aren't what he expects.
"Dr. Malone said I'm not mad." I tell him softly. It takes a few seconds, but then I'm looking up to meet his eyes, and I find he's smiling calmly. How can he be so calm about this? A head doctor just told me I'm not mad, and I don't think she was lying to me.
"You have never been mad." He tells me, and he doesn't even act bewildered when I start crying in what could only be extreme relief.
He pats my back and holds me tight, and I realize then that he has never said I'm sane out of love or pity. He has said it only out of truth. I knew that he always believed himself that I was sane, but I was certain that he only thought that because he loved me. Not because maybe it was true. The minute I'm letting myself realize this, I can hear the words Dr. Malone told me two weeks ago, the diagnosis that was complex post-traumatic stress disorder but only sounded like mad mad mad mad mad mad to me. Maybe they aren't the same, after all. Madness is complete derangement. Maybe I'm just ill. Maybe I'm just broken.
I'm not mad?
I'm not mad.
Did you know that?
The Mad Girl isn't even mad after all.
I'm smiling suddenly and then I'm laughing and it feels strange to smile while crying. Finnick leads me over to the bed and helps me lie down and I curl up in his arms, crying one minute and laughing the next and trying to put words to why I am.
"All these years and I'm not even mad." I finally say, my voice threaded with bitter humor.
Finnick gently turns me over so I'm lying on my back and he presses a kiss to my forehead. He locks eyes with me and brushes my hair out of my face, and this simple gesture has both my laughter and my tears slowly dwindling down.
"I tried to tell you that," He reminds me gently, and I start to say something smart back to him, but then I'm hiccupping. Finnick grins at this.
"I know." I finally say, because I can't get much out between each hiccup. "I feel- sad, kind of. Because- because all those doctors and no one has- no one told me that once."
Finnick's smile fades down into a frown, and then he's leaning back over me, kissing me in that slow way that practically bleeds love. He pulls up a bit and then presses his nose to mine. I flutter open my eyes for a moment, long enough to see that his are still shut, and then I close mine back again because I want to see what he's seeing.
"Did that help?" He asks me a few moments later.
I know he's referring to the kiss and whether it helped me feel less sad, and I can't stop a smile from taking over my face. It makes my nose scrunch up, so I know he can feel it.
"Maybe a little," I hedge lightly. His nose scrunches up, too, and then his lips are on mine once more.
"You have always been the saner half of me," Finnick mutters against my lips, and then he's kissing me once, twice, three times, and on and on until my world is just him and just his lips and nothing matters beyond that. I lose count easily, and I'm thinking to myself that perhaps he was right and he can kiss me two thousand times in one day, and then he's lifting his face up from mine.
"Still sad?" He asks.
It's very cold without his face above mine, and so I bite back a smile and try to force a frown on my face.
"Dreadfully so. I think I need a dozen more kisses before I can make it up to melancholy." I say.
I lift my eyelids a bit and peek out from underneath my eyelashes, taking in his amused expression and fond eyes, and then I'm shutting them again because I know he's going to kiss me. He slides one hand under the back of my head and the other under my back and rolls us over on our sides, pressing his lips to mine once more. When I finally pull back, my lips are tingling and my heart is warm. I glance up at him and my smile matches his.
"You are a form of therapy, Finn." The words come out easily, and I feel like I've heard them before somewhere, but I can't place it.
He pulls his hand off the small of my back and taps my nose instead, the corners of his eyes crinkled from his grin.
"I happen to believe you were happy forty-eight kisses ago." He says suspiciously.
I feign innocence, lifting my eyebrows and frowning.
"What? No way. And you should stop estimating numbers." I tease.
Finnick's hand returns to my back and his fingers dance teasingly over my skin.
"Annie's a liar!" He sings suddenly.
I reach up and push lightly at his chest.
"Am not!" I say hotly.
"Are so!" He argues, leaning his face forward and pressing another kiss to my lips, his still stretched up into a smile. I think I hear him hiss a number under his breath, but I don't catch it.
"Am not!" I demand, inching my hands underneath his shirt because he can say whatever he wants, I still think he's secretly ticklish. I have laughter beating around my stomach along with butterflies and I'm trying so hard to appear angry that it's actually tiring.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" He continues, but then his words break off suddenly as I gently run my fingernails over that one spot in the middle of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. His muscles jump a bit and his eyes look darker suddenly. Okay, so maybe he isn't ticklish. I guess he isn't a liar after all.
"What were you saying about pants on fire?" I ask innocently, switching tactics. He's fighting back a smile so valiantly that it makes mine break through.
"I was...I was saying that..." He struggles, and then I'm laughing because this is definitely pay back for earlier. "ThatAnnieCrestaisaliar!" He rushes out quickly.
I've only traced two words of the three word phrase over that same spot before he's pulling back, his cheeks reddening.
"Okay, okay, not a liar!" He says quickly.
I set my hands nicely on his cheeks and give him a short kiss, and then he's laughing and pulling me back into his arms, his happiness washing over me in a wave so strong I'm almost floored by it.
"I love you." I remind him softly.
"I love you too." He responds.
Of all the things in the world to doubt, this is not one of them.
We're in a room called Command with Plutarch Heavensbee when he tells me Katniss Everdeen volunteered to take me to her house in District 12, where she has some evening gowns her designer left there that I can use.
I glance at Finnick after he says that, uncertain about being without him, but he seems to think it's a good idea. He tells Plutarch to tell Katniss thank you for him, anyway.
We're walking back to our compartment when his hand finds mine and my fears find a voice.
"Finn, I don't know." I tell him, and I know he knows what I'm referring to.
"Don't worry about Katniss. She looks a lot meaner than she actually is." He reassures me.
It's not that, though. I'm not scared of her. I can't figure out how to word how I'm feeling until we're sitting at the small table, and even then the words are shaky at best.
"I don't want her to think I'm insane. I know she's your friend." I admit.
So far, I haven't done such a great job of getting Finnick's friends to like me. I haven't done such a great job getting anyone to like me, actually.
Finnick frowns at this, leaning forward a bit to take my hands in his.
"First off, I don't care what anyone thinks of you. You will always be wonderful to me. Secondly, that girl has no room to be calling anyone else insane." He says.
I stare at him uneasily for a few more moments, and then he takes to making odd faces until I'm feeling a slow smile take over my face, and then laughter tumble out. He rises a bit from the chair and leans over the table, pressing a kiss to my forehead and laughing along with me.
"I wouldn't let you go anywhere that I didn't think was safe." He reminds me softly.
That's true, I guess.
An hour later I find myself sitting in a hovercraft across from Katniss Everdeen herself.
She's smaller in person. Sadder, too. She looks absolutely exhausted, like she wishes she could be somewhere sleeping, but when she tells me hello, she doesn't sound angry to be here.
I realize I've been staring at her for a few moments instead of saying hello back, and heat is crawling up the back of my neck. I know then that I'm going to mess this up big time.
"Hello," I finally say, and at least that comes out right.
She seems uncomfortable. She toys with the bottom of her braid for a moment, her eyes chained on the hovercraft window, and then they slide back over to me. I shift in my chair a bit, trying so hard to remember how to be normal. I try to picture how Finnick talks to people, but all I can pull from those memories are feelings of love and the green of his eyes.
"Excited for the wedding?" She asks me finally, her voice uncertain too, like she has no better guess of how to talk to me than I have to talk to her. She probably doesn't.
I nod for a moment and then find words to reply with, meeting her eyes hesitantly. They're a pretty shade of gray. I remember Peeta telling me about her eyes.
"Yes. Thank you for letting me borrow one of your dresses." I reply, and when she smiles a bit, it's easy to get myself to smile, too.
What isn't easy, though, is fighting back the panic that hovercrafts issue inside of me. Almost every single memory I have of a hovercraft is traumatizing. In particular the memories of Peacekeeper Dougal in the hovercraft keep creeping up on me, and it makes it hard to focus on what Katniss is saying. She asks me a question, but suddenly all I can do is feel that same feeling of trapped panic that took over me the very first time I was ever in a hovercraft, and I'm peering at the wall in a blank panic, trying to breathe deeply and fight back the images that are threatening to overtake me. I count in my head and recite some of Finnick's poems over and over in my mind until I feel stable enough to look back up at her.
"What?" I ask, and she looks at me for a moment before repeating her question.
"You and Finnick. When did you meet?" She repeats.
An easy enough question, if the circumstances weren't so poor. It takes another extended moment of focus, but I'm able to reply.
"He was my mentor." I tell her.
She grimaces, oddly, her eyes meeting mine once more.
"Sorry, I just keep thinking about Haymitch and...ugh." She trails off, shuddering again, and I'm about to shudder too, because it is very hard to keep from panicking right now even though I know I'm not going anywhere bad. It's just that I'm on a hovercraft, and they're taking me away from Finnick, and that has never meant anything good.
When I'm calm enough to process what she said, I realize it was actually funny. I find myself laughing, because that is a pretty disturbing but hilarious mental image. I laugh until I notice she looks uncomfortable again, and then I let it die down, trying desperately to recount the minutes I've been silent. I can't do it. I have no idea.
"Our situation was definitely different than yours." I acknowledge. "We were just friends to begin with, though, we didn't-"
My voice trails off, strangled to death by a sudden feeling of impending doom, and then I'm pressing my hands tightly over my ears because I realize what the problem is. One of the members of Katniss's prep team who is accompanying us has boots on with a metal heel, and it sounds just as loud and just as imposing against the floor as she walks as Peacekeeper Dougal's boots did.
The prep team joins the conversation and once I'm looking back at them and lowering my hands, they introduce themselves to me. They're kind. I wish they were my prep team. Their names are Venia, Octavia, and Flavius. Venia has golden tattoos above her eyebrows, and they're absolutely lovely. I compliment her on them, and somehow this means a lot to her, even though I'm sure she hears that a lot. She is very nice the rest of the trip, taking over the conversation when I suddenly find myself fighting back flashbacks once more.
By the time we make it to 12, I'm sure Katniss thinks I'm the oddest person she's ever encountered. She shoots me strange looks, but she doesn't seem hostile, so I can only hope that she doesn't dislike me like Johanna does.
Regardless of it all, I still feel uncomfortable around her, and I know it's just because she's the Mockingjay. It's hard to not feel uneasy around someone like Katniss, who seems so much braver and lovelier than me and most anyone else.
She opens the large closet, and I'm heartbroken when Octavia falls to her knees and starts crying.
"It's been so long since I've seen anything pretty," She whimpers into the skirt of a dress. I feel bad for her, but I can't help but wonder if maybe she just hasn't seen Finnick since she's been in 13. He's prettier than anything.
Venia pulls Octavia up and tells her to get a grip, and Octavia dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her gray shirt. She steps back and Venia nods at the closet.
"Why don't you pick your favorites, Annie, and you can try them on and we'll all see which one looks best?" She suggests.
"Okay." I say.
I cross over to the closet and push back hanger after hanger, running my hands over the material. It's difficult, because they're all absolutely gorgeous. Cinna was phenomenal.
I finally pick an ivory one with lace in the front, a lavender one with beads covering the sleeves, and a silk green one that's many hues darker than the shade of Finnick's eyes, nearer to emerald green than anything else, but still reminds me of his eyes somehow.
Flavius and Venia help me into each dress and then they all stand back and look me over, making comments to each other about the pros and cons of each dress. Katniss seems less than a little interested in the dresses, but she does make a comment right after I have the green one zipped up.
"I like that best." She speaks up.
I don't know if the prep team is just going along with it because she's the Mockingjay, but they're agreeing with her almost immediately.
"Oh, definitely!" Octavia agrees.
"This one is perfect. Your eyes look striking." Flavius tells me with a smile.
"This is definitely the one." Venia agrees.
I look down at my body and eye the green dress- the shine of the silk in the light, the lovely color-and I decide that this one is my favorite, too. It'd be hard for it not to be, seeing as though it reminds me of my groom's eyes.
This decision is only solidified when I'm led over to a full length mirror. I could tell that the dress was beautiful on the hanger, but what I couldn't tell was just how right it is for me. I've only ever had this happen one other time in my life, when I put on a piece of clothing and just felt like I was meant to wear it, but I do feel that way about this dress. It fits perfectly, the bottom hitting the floor just right. I imagine it must have been made to drag the floor quite a bit more, seeing as though it was made for Katniss and Katniss is a few inches shorter than me, but it looks fine at this length, too. It's got thin, delicate straps and a modest v-neck cut in the front. The straps travel over my shoulder and down my back, joining to the back of the dress that begins right above my lower back. The dress is drawn and fitted at the waist and tumbles down to the floor after that in a waterfall of green silk that feels impossibly good against my skin. I know immediately that Finn will love it, too, and that convinces me even more.
"I love it." I tell them, and I can't help but grin like an idiot, because I'm standing in my wedding dress. I'm Annie Cresta and I'm wearing the dress I'm going to marry Finnick in, and it's green and beautiful and the dress I never pictured myself getting married in when I was younger, but now that I have seen it, I couldn't picture getting married in anything else.
I change out of it and they carefully put it into a garment bag. I'm quiet the ride back, my head consumed with images of how amazing tomorrow is going to be. I'm so overwhelmed with happiness and excitement that I don't even think about the bad memories associated with hovercrafts once this time.
Finnick is waiting for me when the hovercraft lands, and I try to walk slowly at first, but then I'm dismissing that and running into his arms once more. He lifts me up and kisses my cheek, his face so happy happy happy. I'm happy happy happy, too.
"Will my blushing bride be wearing white?" He asks me later, when we're sitting on the floor of our compartment, checking over the net for any mistakes that might need to be fixed before tomorrow.
I smile and lift the net a bit, peering at what I initially thought was a loose knot, but it's fine. I lower it back down and then look up at Finn.
"You'll just have to wait and see." I tell him.
I want to tell him it's a color much nicer than white, but he'd be able to guess it right away if I said that. And the groom isn't supposed to know about the dress before the wedding, is he? That's what Plutarch told Finnick, anyway, when Finnick tried to get permission to go with me to Katniss's house.
"Well, whatever it is, you're going to look beautiful." He tells me.
I lift the net again and look pointedly at it.
"I'm glad you feel that way, because I should probably tell you that we couldn't find a dress and I'm going to wear the net." I say seriously.
I realize by his cheeky grin a moment later that that didn't exactly have the effect I wanted. I wanted to make him think I was wearing something very inappropriate and ugly for a wedding, but probably he wouldn't think the net was atrocious seeing as though he likes my body for whatever reason.
"Fine by me!" He grins.
We roll the net up nicely and place it into the box. Finnick leaves to take it to Plutarch so he can put it with the rest of the stuff that Dalton, a man from 10, can have up front when he performs the ceremony. People in 13 have been decorating for the wedding all week, and I've wanted to help, but Finnick says they want it to be a surprise.
I'm thinking to myself that time passes quickly as Finnick slips back into the room. I climb up onto the bed and hold my hands out, exhaling heavily like I've been holding my breath since he left (which I might have been) when his hands take mine. He sits beside me, pulling me against his side, and when I look back up at him, he's smiling like I am.
"Do you remember the night of your twenty-second birthday?" Finnick asks me suddenly.
I find myself laughing at the question, because who exactly would have forgotten that night? Certainly not me, and certainly not him.
So of course I respond: "No."
He looks hurt for a moment, but then he has his hand on my stomach and he must be able to feel how tense my muscles are as I repress my laughter, because he's narrowing his eyes.
"I'm marrying a comedian!" He says sarcastically, his eyes still narrowed.
I blink.
"What in all of Panem are you talking about, Finn?" I ask.
He warns me with his eyes right before he suddenly leans forward, pressing me into the mattress and sliding his hands up my shirt. I'm shrieking with laughter and hitting his back, trying to cease his tickling, and he's laughing, too.
"I remember, I remember!" I finally relent, my face on fire and my heart pounding. He sits back up as if nothing happened, adjusting his shirt and fixing his messy hair. That makes me laugh even more than the tickling did. I stay on my back, peering up at him, and then he's speaking again.
"What do you remember about it?" He asks. I can tell his question is leading me towards something, but I'm not sure what.
I kick his thigh lightly, the color in my face never dimming.
"All sorts of things." I evade.
He smiles at that. "What sort of things?" He pushes.
I huff and lift myself up on my elbows, peering at him with faux irritation.
"Naked things." I tell him, but then my lips are twitching and his are as well.
"Okay, that's a fair answer, I guess. What do you remember other than that?" Finnick asks.
I'm trying to understand why we're playing the guessing game. I'm not very good at them. My mind is too scattered. I close my eyes to concentrate and this makes Finnick laugh loudly. I lift up a hand to silence him, surprised when he actually does fall silent, and then I'm giggling because of how silly that is.
"Do you have it yet?" Finnick whispers a few moments later.
"Before or after?" I demand. Where exactly should I restart the memory? These things are important to know. I open my eyes a bit and spot Finnick's mischievous grin. "And don't you dare say before what, you know what I'm talking about."
"Before." He clarifies. "Sorry, that doesn't make your mental replay as fun."
I start to say something witty back to him, but then I realize what he's talking about with a rush of love. The moon was high and he smelled like soap and he told me that he had seen more of the future. I asked him what he saw, and he told me that one day, we were going to be so happy we wouldn't know what to do with it. That we'd be free and everyone would know just how much we loved each other, and we'd get married and it would be the best day of his life. He weaved a picture of the night before our wedding with his words, just as he did earlier that day when he told me all about our future. He said that he'd have butterflies in his stomach just thinking about how beautiful I would look, and his heart would feel like it was going to fly away because he was so intensely in love with me. He said his last thought before he went to sleep would be that he would never be happier than he was in that moment, but he would be wrong. Because the next day when he saw me walking down the aisle, he'd reach a point of happiness that he never even knew existed.
I open my eyes and sit up, reaching forward and setting a hand on his.
"I remember."
He smiles, and I know exactly why he had me remember it. It's fresh now, and new, and I feel like he's just whispered the words in my ear.
"Well, I just wanted you to know that I was wrong. I feel a hundred times happier right now than I ever could have imagined." He says.
When I kiss him, I hold on extra tightly, painting a memory of this moment in my head. Because we're getting married tomorrow, and I feel a hundred times happier than I ever could have imagined, too.