After a glorious hour spent in a small coffee shop with Annie, I return to my assigned room to watch the games. The President will look for me here, and my absence, however temporary, could trigger an attack. Several woman wave and blink their eyelashes as I pass, other stand in awe, and one or two wave a friendly greeting. I enter the room, holding my emotions in check.

President Snow is standing near the front, eyes fixated on the screen, where Katniss is feeding some kind of berry to Peeta, who is focused only on keeping it down. I close my eyes for a moment, waiting for what is to come. I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. Lyme, another victor, and mentor for the tributes from two, looks deeply into my eyes. Then she gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and I realize that she understands what I am going through. I wonder what the Capitol has forced upon her that is enough to make her understand my pain. I place my hand on top of hers and nod, accepting her gesture of encouragement. It is nice to be understood.

The President begins to turn, and Lyme removes her hand and begins speaking to her district partner, as though she had never noticed me. Luckily, is does not seem that Snow noticed the exchange, and we are both safe. He comes up to me, and hands me a slip of paper, with an address written on it. His snakelike eyes meet my own, and I nod once.

"Now," he states, simply,"They must get what they paid for."

I cringe at his words, and meaning. That I am just something to be sold and bought at will.

And really, I am.

But I nod anyway.

His eyes bore holes into me, reading me, searching me. I shiver involuntarily, and he smiles. He lives on the fear of others.

The scent of roses and blood catches my nose.

Finally, he releases my gaze, and I know I must go. Lyme gives me a last glance, nodding once. I don't acknowledge her, as President Snow's eyes are still looking my direction. She will understand.

Leaving the room, I walk slowly down the long hallway to the elevator, keeping my breathing steady. One would think that after years of this, you would get used to it. But I never have, and I know I never will. This is President Snow's way of sending a message. That even the victors, the strongest of the districts, are completely under his control. Of course, no one outside of the victors themselves knows what goes on behind closed doors, but it is enough for us ourselves to know that we are helpless.

The long elevator ride down to the ground floor seems to pass in an instant, and once again I am stepping outside. The sunset has long since passed, and a chilly wind sweeps the city. I step quickly onto a city bus, and give the driver the address on the paper. Again, it does not take us nearly long enough to reach the destination. I step out into the cool evening air and stare at the massive, luxurious residence that will be my home for the night.

My home.

My prison.

Once again, I am drowning. My breathing slows until I realize that I have altogether stopped. I wonder if I could hold it long enough to faint, so they would have to take me to the hospital. I would be given one night of freedom. But he would know. He would understand. Always his threat hangs over me.

It was so much easier before Annie came into my life, before the threat of her death hung over me as well. The only consolation I have is that he has not harmed her. No one wants to spend the night with a poor, lost, mad girl.

Except me. I would give anything to be with her tonight.

Besides, there could suddenly be many people wanting to spend the night with her, if I resist. So I don't.

I take another moment to calm myself, and to calm my breathing. I begin to shake again, and I stick my hands into my pockets to warm them. I can't enter the house like this.

My finger touch something inside my pocket, and curl around a small object.

I pull it out and examine it, my heart filling with warmth and memories at the sight of the words on the paper and the object that accompanies them.

Our last days together in District Four, before her own reaping. The days I considered her to be only a friend. But one moment in particular plants itself in my brain, and flashes through my mind.

It was a week before the reaping. I had not seen Annie the day before, as she had been busy at home. That night, I had gone to her house and stood outside her window, tossing a few small pebbles to wake her up.

She came to the window, her hair tied back in a tight bun against her head, wearing a nightgown. For a moment she looked confused, and then she saw me, a few feet below her, on the ground. Surprise filled her eyes, and for a moment, fear.

She shook her head, quickly, and pointed away, telling me without words that I could not be here. I shook my head, crossed my arms and held my ground. I needed to talk to her.

She rolled her eyes, and pointed to the beach, holding up her right hand.

The beach. Five minutes.

I nodded to her, and headed down to wait, sitting against a tree, watching the waves. Her birthday was coming up, and I wanted to do something special for her, but I had decided that she needed to know first. The truth. From me.

Exactly five minutes later, I heard a branch crack behind me, and turned my head. It has always amazed me, how quickly she can come and go without being heard.

"Finnick," her tone is full of chastisement,"You know what my father would do if he found us out here at night. He doesn't consider me to be to old for the strap. Besides, he doesn't even approve of our friendship. You know what he thinks about you."

I nod,"I needed to talk to you, Annie. I wouldn't have come at night if it wasn't important. You know that."

The frown and chastising look leaves her face. She gives me a small smile.

"I know."

I take her hand and lead her a few feet from the water. The sand is warm and soft underneath us, having not yet released the warmth that it holds from the afternoon sun. I sit, cross legged on the beach, and she does the same, facing me. Her hair is down now, swept here and there by the wind, and her eyes, as always, are a beautiful, shimmering green.

Now is the time.

"I have not slept much for the last two weeks," I tell her," Meeting you, well, it has brought back memories of my past, and of my future. It feels wrong to tell you the truth, yet it almost feels worse to keep it a secret. So you have to promise. No matter what. No one else ever hears about this. I am trusting you with my life, and possibly with yours as well."

Annie's face is serious as she speaks the words, "I swear it, Finnick. No one will know."

I nod, and then pause for a moment, staring at my hands.

Calloused from years spent practicing with a trident, and still carrying fading scars from when they were caught in the line of a belt. I don't know where to start. My story is a difficult one to tell.

Finally, I meet her eyes, which have not left my face.

"My father was my enemy, and yet my lifeline. I would never have won the games without him. Would never have felt the need to train and practice without him. I owe him my life, really. The truth, though, is so much harder to tell..." I stop, but only for a second. And then, in a long, run on sentence, that lasts for what seems like hours, I pour out my story. Everything. Well, almost everything. I leave out only one detail, the one that I should not care about, but that hurts me the most. She seems to read my mind though, because when I have finished, she asks the one question that forces me to confess.

"Did you ever try to resist him, Finnick?"

I close my eyes, not wanting to respond, but knowing that the question merits a reply.

"Yes," I tell her,"Once. Only Once."

Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time in my life, I put into words what occurred that first night. The night I lost my father and gained a new one.

It was the second hunger games after my victory. I had not yet taken on the challenge of mentoring, as we have more than enough older and wiser victors to do so in District Four. But I was at the Capitol. I was left alone until the Games began, and it was then that the President first came to me. Or, had me come to him.

I was summoned to his mansion, and brought to a room full of all kinds of roses. At the time, I thought it was the most beautiful room I had ever been in, and the scent was one of heaven. Since then, I have grown to hate roses, and their scent has become putrid to me.

He met me there, and we sat down in the middle of his garden. It was there that he explained to me what it meant to be a victor. How many of the citizens of the Capitol were in love with me, and how he could not disappoint them. How it was his job to make sure his citizens were happy. He asked me what my price would be, and I told him I wouldn't do it.

"Finnick, my boy, I don't think you understand. You will do it. You do not have a choice in the matter. I am being kind to offer you some sort of recompense for your troubles."

I shook my head,"I will not. You can't force this on me."

He shakes his head, and when he speaks it is like he is correcting a disobedient child,"Finnick, Finnick, Finnick. You do not understand what the consequences will be."

I did not understand. I was only sixteen, still a boy really. It was that night that I became a man.

He led me to a room, where two peacekeepers tied me to a post. Then my father entered the room. He was dressed in his simple fishing gear, and looked as though he had just come from our District. But his eyes were somehow different. They were not his eyes. I didn't realize it at the time, but I later became wise to the fact that he was not truly my father, but a mutt. A creation of the Capitol. For me, this moment was horrific.

He began to uncurl his belt, and President Snow laughed softly. He never spoke, though, just raised the belt as he always had, and brought it down on me again. I will never be free of him, or his last touch.

My hands were tied, keeping me from using them to suppress my screams. And my mutt father was far stronger than my real one.

After a while of this, the President got bored. I was sobbing, my fists clenched. I tried to be strong, but being strong is almost impossible in the face of perfect weakness. He spoke then:

"What say you now, Finnick, my son," the President's voice was teething with anger and madness.

I didn't respond, I was not going to give in after that.

He shook his head, and had the guards untie me. I thought it was over, I thought I had won.

How naive I was.

The guards held my mutt father, who I believed to be the real one, against the wall, and handed the President a gun. He did not hesitate, and shot my father through the chest. He fell in a limp pile on the ground.

I stopped crying. I stopped breathing. I have always wondered if my heart stopped in that moment as well, for just a moment.

The President gestured to the guards, who dragged me out and brought me to the hospital to be cleaned up and given a full body polish.

They left my scars, though. To remind me of that day, and of my perfect weakness.

That night, I slept in my own bed.

The next, the torture began. And has not ended.

When I came back to my district, I was told that my father had been killed in a boating accident when I had been gone. I pretended to be surprised, and I never told.

But I have never resisted again.

And so it goes, the strong man, sex-symbol of the Capitol, is actually only a weak boy, longing for love, longing to be free.

I am weeping again by the time I finish the story, and Annie wraps her arms around me, speaking words of comfort. We sat there on the sand for a long time, crying together.

That is the first time that it occurred to me that I might love her. I didn't know, though. I was still to wary of anything that had to do with love.

Finally she got up and whispered that she had to go. I didn't want her to leave, but I understood. I stayed there for the rest of the night, not going back home until the grey light of dawn began to cover the horizon.

When I finally did stand up, my hands were frozen from shaking and tears, so I slipped them into my pocket. What I found then, standing on the beach of District Four, is the same thing I find now, under the eerie streetlight of the capitol.

An object and a note.

Four simple words

"I love you, Finnick."

And a sugar cube.

I may be able to face the night, after all.

A/N Thanks again for reading! Please review, let me know what you think! I really appreciate the feedback! :)