Hello everyone! I'm back from Florida complete with awesome tan lines and a crippled limp! But had an awesome time for the past two weeks and now I get to write again!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, only Stell.

The sea water stings my feet as it washes over them, though I ignore the pain like always. The sea wind blows the long skirt that I wear, as well as the button down blouse. Tight clothing still hurts to wear, so I try to stay away from them when I can. My hair is always down as well, the damaged skin under my hair hurts when I try to put my hair up at all.

It's been a month since I first came home to Four, and so far, things are going…well I'm not dead at least.

Mags brought over the rest of my clothes for me from my home, as well as some of my other belongings. She had spent an afternoon cleaning up the house I now live in, and placing the two pictures I have above my fireplace.

I run to town each morning, going through when only the earliest of the fishermen are awake. They raise their hands in greeting or nod to me as I pass now, which I return. I make sure to be around my home by sunrise still. Mostly due to the flashbacks.

They still come, and they come less often, the intensity of them has only increased. I've become thankful for the fact that my home is somewhat far from any other and from town, so that people cannot hear my screams. They usually come twice a week, sometimes three.

I have also not seen Finnick once since coming home. I should get a damn medal or award for that. Though I have a feeling he is staying clear of me as well. He knows I'm back, everyone knows. Mags speaks of him often, apparently she has dinner with him every Wednesday and Sunday. I've been invited multiple times, though I always turn her down.

Mags keeps my temper in check as well, which has gotten worse since before. I snap at her more often, and the topic of my flashbacks is strictly off limits. She tries to help, she really does, and I can see how it hurts her to see my suffering, but I insist that I am fine.

The worst flashback I had, it started and by the time it was over, three hours had gone by.

I let out a breath as another wave crashes on the shore and rolls over my feet. It has been two days since my last flashback and my body is still tired from it. The scratches from the glass I had broken in my state are still red on my arms.

At the sound of voices my head snaps around, my gaze locking on the three figures walking on the hilltop above my home. It's a family, and they're far away, though the child's laughter carries down so I can hear them. People walk on that path most days, and I have noticed mothers call their children closer if they stray too close to my home.

I don't mind them at all, though I guess most people think of me as a hermit now-a-days. I still have the underlying discomfort of having people behind me, so I watch the family until they are out of sight.

When I look back to the sea, I see one of the fishing rigs making its way back to port. I have almost the whole boat schedule memorized by now in my head. Which ships go out when, when they arrive, what they fish for.

This one goes out for the deep water groupers though still being one of the ships that go out later in the morning. I watch as it comes closer to shore as it steers towards it's port.

My hand comes up to shade my eyes when I catch a flash of bronze hair standing on the starboard side of the vessel. Though it's been months, I can recognize his broad frame even from almost a mile away.

Finnick stands, talking to someone beside him. I can tell he's laughing by how his shoulders shake and he claps the man next to him on the shoulder.

I don't know how long I watch, but the ship is closer when someone else walks up to the pair, saying something shortly to Finnick. My hand drops when Finnick turns and looks right at me. I can't make out his face too much from the sun, but I surprise myself when I raise one hand.

Slowly, he does the same, sending a slight wave. My arm drops back to my side, though my eyes don't leave him. I don't find myself scared really, cautious, yes, but scared?

No, not really.

There's something else there too, something that I can't place inside of myself. I nod at Finnick before turning and walking back towards my house.

"No! No!" I scream as I watch Annie fall bloody on my living room floor. Her body lies there, covered in blood that seeps from her head and onto my carpet. I stagger backwards as Johanna appears next, standing in the corner, perfectly fine, before she collapses to the floor, blood pouring from her eyes, her mouth, her ears. "No!" My hands clamp over my ears as I scream, the voices of the dead filling my head.

The dead. Their dead. All of them.

"You're dead, you're dead, you're dead." My own chant comes from my mouth as I sink to the floor. "This isn't real." I lie to myself. They're not here, even if I can see them. I can hear them.

I wake up, sitting up instantly in bed. My body is drenched in sweat, and my house is too small for me all of a sudden.

I don't even put on shoes before I'm out the door. It's the middle of the night, but I don't care as I push my front door open and start walking towards town. The air is still warm, even in the darkness, and the full moon illuminates the world enough that I can see where I'm going.

I wrap my arms around my bare torso. I only sleep in a sports bra and baggy pants to reduce the amount of clothing against my skin. I had to have sheets sent in from the Capital, the original sheets were hurting my skin.

Everything still caves in on me, so I start running, pushing my legs faster and faster until I can see the ocean and the dock that I always ran to as a child. I don't notice the light on in one house in Victor's Village. I don't notice the figure that watches me sprint by.

He shows up after I've been sitting on the dock for only five minutes. I don't say a word as Finnick sits beside me, leaving two feet of space between us. I keep my arms wrapped around my knees, starring out over the water.

"You okay?" I had forgotten what his voice had really sounded like. He has gotten some of his accent back since I last heard him.

"Fine." It comes out softer than I expect it too and I feel his eyes on me.

"You can't lie to me Stell. Maybe to everyone else, but not me."

I can feel him looking me over, and I know he can see the scars. I know he can see how horrendous my back looks, the lines that seem to create an endless pattern all over my skin. The small sections that are still red that was ripped off as I had been launched onto the asphalt.

"Watch me." I snap without thinking and hear him let out a soft snort.

"You're a bitch you know that?"

"And you're a jerk." My eyes stay trained on the ocean, but snap to the side when I see him move his foot as he moves it, disrupting the calm of the water's surface. I envy him, being able to do an action as simple as put a foot in the water without having to worry about the pain it may cause.

I envy him for not having to worry about all the pain that I have. All that I go through. I envy him for being able to sit next to someone who was your best friend, and not having to worry about if they're going to attack you or not.

"What was it about?" he asks and I shrug in response, knowing he's referring to the nightmare I had.

"Nothing you would get." He hums in response, letting my ignorant response stay. I risk a glance at him, only turning my head slightly, to see him starring at his foot as he glides it through the water.

His face is different than I remember. More mature, more structured than the last I saw of him. Finnick actually looks older than twenty five. Without his stylists he's left some of his facial hair, the hair atop his head more unruly than before as well.

He glances over at me, a smirk on his face. "I understand more than you realize."

"Sure, call me once you get tortured for six plus months. We'll chat then." I snap back.

"Or we could chat now. Get it over with and all that crap. I get it Stell, you're a different person and so am I, but we'll have to start somewhere."

"Start for what?" I snap at him, "What exactly do you think is going to happen? Anything between us, because I can't see it."

"But I can. Hell, you are talking to me." He points out.

"Bullshit," I shake my head, "so I can carry a conversation with you now, doesn't mean I've already planned ten ways to kill you any second." I see his face change and assume he's raised an eyebrow at me.

"But-"

"You're the one who left anyways." I interrupt him before his sentence even begins. "You're the one who gave up."

I don't get a response from Finnick, and when I glance at him, his jaw is set as he glares out over the water. "I hate this. I hate life. I hate that I sit here and have that constant worry in the back of my mind. You'll never know what that feels like."

"I know exactly what that feels like." He speaks as I stand up. I look down at him and for the first time in months, his eyes lock on mine. "I worry about you."

"Fuck that, it's a waste of energy." I turn and walk away from him, leaving Finnick alone in the dark.

I don't go home though, I walk down further on the beach, my bare feet sinking into the cool sand. His words ramble in my head, all of them. His words and his memory ramble together in my head.

The memories come back, of us, together. Happy. I was happy. I've seen the footage, they've showed it to me countless of times. So many times that I feel like it's just another Capital soap opera. Which it was, for the Capital.

But the private moments are the worst. The relaxed moments when we just joked around. Those stand out. And the hurt stands out. The pain stands out. The pain of knowing he didn't try. He left.

And that's all that matters in the end.

He left.

He gave up.

And that's something I refuse to forgive, to forget. My feet sink deeper into the sand as my steps get harder.

One thing I am certain of. I don't love him. I don't like him. I'm cautious of him.

Just like the first time I ever saw him. As Riptide has thrown an arm around my shoulder, laughing as I glared at the bronze haired boy who had made fun of Cephas days before behind our backs. I was cautious of him them, knowing that if we picked on him, we could get in serious trouble since he was from the richer part of Four. I didn't like him, but I was cautious. We all were, and all surprised when he won his Games.

I didn't like him then either.