Annie won't speak to me all day. In fact, I don't really see her. She appears for supper, stays silent, ignoring my attempts at conversation, and then slips back to her room. My mind is running in circles, trying to figure out what is wrong. She must understand the truth about last night, meaning her pain goes so much deeper. I thought we had it sorted out yesterday. Before the ceremony. Apparently I was wrong. She told me I was everything to her, that she couldn't live without me. I wonder if that was just meant to comfort me.

And then I shake my head. Of course not. I am overthinking this. She is just hurt, that's all. Not that there was anything I could do about it, but I can understand that it must not be easy being the love interest of Finnick Odair. As difficult as it is for me, it must be difficult for her as well, only in a different way. She suffers because she can't bear to see me with anyone but her, but more so, she suffers for me. She suffers because she knows how much I suffer. And she told me once, that what hurts her most is that I am not truthful with her. That is the one thing that I guess really is my fault. That I can not bring myself to tell her the truth. That fear of the future, and of what the truth may bring, is holding me back. I wish it wasn't, but that is just the way it is. I have far to many secrets to tell.

I wince at that, even though it was I myself who thought it. So many secrets. My clients, as the President claims them to be, used to pay me with riches. Jewels, gold, whatever I wanted. I took it, and gave it away to those in my district. But district four is not as bad as many of the others, eleven, twelve. There aren't as many people in need, and I collected far more money than I would ever have reason or need to use. It became a source of gossip in my district, not that they didn't talk about me before. I am both hated and loved by the people. Loved, in that however disliked I may be, I am good looking. I wish I wasn't, I really do. It would make things so much easier. I have been asked to give presentations in the school before, and have seen pictures of myself filling the lockers of the students. I hate it. But I am also hated, even by those who are supposedly in love with me, because of the image I have had to put on. The "above it all, better than any of you, sex symbol of Panem image." I hate that even more. Only in the Capitol am I loved by everyone. Well, not Snow. But he doesn't fit in with everyone in my mind. His evil sinks him lower than the dirt. I can't even think of him as a person, because what kind of person would do the things that he has done? No person, that's who. I wonder if I am the only person who has spent time imagining ways to kill the President. And yet, there is a part of me that knows that even this is wrong, because how I am any better than him in that circumstance. I am not, really. I'm not.

I shake my head to clear it and try to remember what began this line of thinking. That is the funny thing about thoughts, if you don't guard them closely you can end up somewhere you never planned or desired to go. And then I remember.

Secrets.

That started a few years ago. I was sick of gold, and jewels, and of feeling so above it all. So, instead of asking for physical payment, I requested from my hosts to know their secrets. Their deepest, darkest, most awful truths. And they were more than willings. Because, no matter who you are, it is always good to have a confider. Especcially when that confider is a boy from district four, who will never have the ability to tell without swift punishment. I wrote everything that I heard down. Not that it will ever do me any good, but it gave me satisfaction somehow. In a way that physical payment never could. Each one of my clients have taken away a piece of me, and so it seems only fair that I should leave with a piece of them.

I have heard the saying, an eye for an eye. In this case, taking their secrets in no way replaces what they have taken from me, but it is something, at least. Something that they can never take back. No measure of physical or verbal abuse can remove it. Because secrets are something that have know been engrained in my mind, and though I still keep a record, I could tell you every secret I have ever heard from any person, if you just gave me their name.

That is why it is so difficult for me to tell the truth to Annie. Why, though it breaks my heart, I can not be honest with her. Because I am so used to keeping secrets.

I never told her that. What I do know, why the money has stopped flowing in. And she never asked. It is just another secret that I have added to the list.

Someday, the weight of everything will break me. No, that isn't true, I guess. It has already broken me.

But the secret to remaining whole is not that you do not allow yourself to be broken. Everyone will break at some point. And when you have gone through what I have gone through, it is an every day process. Breaking, and healing. But it is the healing that is important. You can be broken, and still be whole, you just need to realize that life is worth living, and that even though there is bad in the world, there is good too. You need to hold on to every moment of good, every moment that is worth while, and let go of every bad one. Life is to short to hold grudges, to spend time hating. Those who do become just as dark and evil as those that they hate. Instead, find what is beautiful in the world, and tell yourself that even if you will never be innocent and even if you will never be fully healed, tell yourself that it is worth moving on to make sure that what is good and innocent stays good and innocent. It is worth moving on to make sure that there is always good in the world. And that will always be true. Good is always worth fighting for.

A wise woman once told me that. Mags. I swallow hard when I think of her. When I think of losing her. She has been my best friend, beyond Annie. In some ways, better. I love Annie, but of course, she needs me as much as I need her. We put each other back together. Whereas Mags has somehow managed to retain a wholeness of self that I know I will never attain. She is genuinely good, and wise. And she has never given up on me.

And so, when I hear her voice scream, as though in pain, and hear the sirens go off all throughout the train, I am frozen. I don't understand. And then I realize that something has happened. To Mags. Something bad.

I sprint off the couch where I have been sitting, and push past attendants to where I know her room is. People already crowd the door, and I see the white robe of what must be a doctor. My throat sinks into my stomach, and my heart begins to beat fast like never before. No. No. Not Mags. Not now. Please. My thoughts silently beg for this to be a mistake, for it to have just been a bad dream.

I push through the crowd in front of me, and see her on the bed. Her eyes are closed, and she is white, and so, so still. I fall to my knees, and then notice it. Her chest, rising and falling. Slowly, but steadily.

She is alive. She isn't dead. I haven't lost her yet.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and look up to see the woman who must be the doctor, her white robe giving her away.

"She's had a stroke. It's not good. She may not survive."

Comforting words.

I stand and hiss,"You have to keep her alive. You don't understand. I'll hurt you, I'll-"and then I am sobbing, and it takes the meaning from my words. The doctor is not fazed, I am sure she has heard worse. Instead of responding in kind, she smiles gently, but I can tell it is forced.

"We will do everything we can. She's strong. She'll pull through."

I nod, but the tears are streaming down my face, and I can't stop, I can't stop. My vision is blurred, and I am drowning, I am drowning. Black spots dot my eyes. I can't, I have to be strong, for Mags. For Mags. For Annie.

But I can't. The stress of the last few days. The President's threat, the Quarter Quell, Haymitch's plan, the girl on fire, Annie's absence, and now this. The imminent possibility that I may lose Mags. It is too much, and though I try to fight it, my body is to worn physically to put up any fight, and gives out on me.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

I succumb to the blackness and the peace that it brings.