The next morning I wake up early, as I never do now. Victors need not attend school, and will never need to get a job, so I tend to sleep late and go to bed early. It leaves less time to think and try to deal with a past I will never come to terms with. A past that instead of falling behind me, keeps reoccurring in the present.

Nevertheless, I try and suppress the thoughts as I head towards the school. I have not walked this route since I myself was a student here. It hold to many memories for me. I do what I can to bury the past, though it is never enough. As I step onto the field in front of the school, the flashback blinds the present, as it so often does.

I am seven. I am short, skinny, and smart. I have always been picked on for this. And then I become this boy again.

Three boys emerge from the school and walk towards me. I try to pick up my pace, but they catch me before the edge of the field. The teachers don't get involved in these fights for fear of the peacekeepers, and the peacekeepers don't get involved because they say what happens on school property stays on school property. Truly, I think they enjoyed watching a good fight as much as the other students did. Not that it was good, or fair.

The smallest of the three holds me, arms spread eagle, so I am unable to protect myself. The bigger boys throw punches to my face and my abdomen. I am not given a chance to fight back. Not that I could. I am covered in blood and bruises by the time they are done. Then the peacekeepers get involved. They take me home, and complain to my father about how I always get involved in beginning fights at the school, and tell my father he needs to deal with me. I plead with him that it is not true, but he does not believe me, and besides, he has no choice. What the peacekeepers say, goes. They only laugh as he slowly unstraps his belt.

I wince, still able to feel the sting as he strikes me over and over with the rough leather. I shove my fists into my mouth, sobbing, until it is finally over. I am sent to bed without supper.

If my mother were alive, I am certain this would not have happened. But she wasn't.

This happened repeatedly for months. Not every day, but at least once a week. Finally, I made up my mind that I would be so strong, they would not dare pick on me. After school I would run to the beach, if I could make it before they saw me. I would run, heave heavy stones, and practice throwing an old trident I had found when I was little. Slowly, little by little, I became stronger. And finally my day came.

After school, instead of hurrying out of the school yard, I waited. I was now twelve. The three boys came out soon after me, and spotted me. They had been leaving me alone all year, but today I was ready.

"Hey," I shouted at them, knowing that would be enough.

Immediately they came towards me. One of them stepped out from the rest to hold me back, and I punched him in the nose. Blood spurted from the wound, and his head snapped to the side. He fell to the ground, unconscious, but with no more damage than a broken nose. The other two stalled for a moment, staring at their fallen comrade. But they were both bigger than he, and this only made them angry.

They came towards me together, and one struck out with his fist to my head, the other to my stomach. I ducked the head blow, and reeled as the other boy caught me in the chest. Using the momentum from the blow, I spun around the caught the biggest one on the side of the neck. He to, fell over unconscious. I was about to hit the other, who was standing shocked at this turn of events, when a strong arm grabbed my upraised one from behind and spun me around. Raul, our head peacekeeper at the time, help me with an iron grip. Two other with him bent down and heaved up the two boys lying on the ground. Marcus, the third, had sprinted away the moment Raul had appeared.

I lowered my head, as Raul motioned for the other two to take the boys home. He flung me to the ground unceremoniously, and voice hard, spoke:

"Look at me, boy."

I slowly raised my head to look him in the eyes. His gaze was hard, cold, and...all of the sudden, he winked, his lips upturned in a playful smile. Immediately his face was hard again. He offered me a hand, and helped me up, gripping my arm again.

"Let's get you home."

I was the happiest boy around, walking home with Raul's arm around my shoulder. I had proven myself. It was his job to make sure these things did not happen, but I had finally proven to them that I was not a weakling. And he had noticed. He was not, angry, but proud of how I had handled things. My father would be too. He had always hated having a weakling for a son, and I knew that he would love me when I proved myself to him.

We entered my home to my father standing tall and angry in the doorway. Raul motioned to me, "Got in another fight again."

My fathers expression grew colder,"Finnick, I thought you had finally outgrown that childishness. Will you never learn to act like a man?"

Raul shook his head slowly," He beat up all three of his attackers. I will leave you two alone." He smiled at me and my father, knowing that this last statement would change my fathers mind about my manliness. "Your son is becoming a man, quickly," he stated, and left the house.

My father's expression did not change, and I wondered why. Surely he would be proud, and finally accept me, as I had always envisioned happening when I was finally able to prove myself to him. Instead, he took my arm and led me to my room. I did not understand what was happening. I should have.

He closed the door to my room. "Let this be a warning to you, boy. I never want to see you get in a fight again. I am ashamed to call you my son."

His hands began slowly unwinding his belt, as they had done so often before. I shrunk back immediately, back against the wall. "Father...Raul...I, I thought you would be proud. Please, father. I just wanted you to be proud..." I pleaded with him.

"Silence," his voice was filled with ice. He twirled his finger in a circular motion, once around. Closing my ears, tears streaming down my face, I turned around, took off my shirt, and placed my hands against the wall.

I heard him curl the belt in his hands, like he always did, flexing it, running the smooth, hard leather against his calloused hands. The silence as he raised it. The sickening strike of the leather against my skin.

I still bear the scars from that night.

A sudden voice jolts me back to the present. A hand is placed on my shoulder and I wince spontaneously, as though the touch stings me as the whip did. As normal, I bury the memory into the deep places of my mind, and remember what I came hear to do.

Students surround me now, some already entering the school, others milling around talking. I hope I have not missed her.

Then I spot her, surrounded by a large group of friends. They are laughing and talking. I know I should not interrupt them, but I do anyway.

They make way as I pass through them, but I head straight for the girl on the edge of the group, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and laughing.

"Annie." I speak quietly.

Her face grows immediately wary, and she turns to where I stand. Her voice is cold when she speaks.

"Finnick."

I wince at her voice, having heard that tone and all it was associated with too many times before. She notices the flinch and backs off slightly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," I say," I wanted to ask if you would go for a walk me with, when you are done here."

The group surrounding her begins to giggle like a group of five year olds. Annie turns bright red.

"I am sorry, Finnick, but I will have to decline. I have other things to attend to after school, rather than walking with a boy I barely know, and with a reputation...well..." She smirks at her friends, who laugh again.

I turn and walk away, not looking back. It was then that I first realized that I was not above being hurt, not above being broken. I had put trust in other person, if only for a moment. She had broken my heart.

I head straight for my place in the woods, and sit. Hours pass, without me moving. It seems like days before I finally stand and head towards the water. I plunge in without worrying to take off my shirt. The water is still cold, not yet willing to relinquish its ice to the warmth of summer. It numbs me. I never want to get out. I swim along the bank for what now seems like hours, but I know it must be only a few minutes, or else I would probably have gone into some state of hypothermia. I stand on the bank now, overlooking the river. I wonder what would happen if I built a raft, and let it carry me out to the far unknowns.

They would find me, bring me back, and kill me publicly as an example. That's what.

I don't let myself dwell on the thought.

A/N Once again, thanks for reading! Please review :)