Hi friends! Happy almost Easter! Once again, I've kind of been on a writing kick lately, so that's what I've been doing whenever I have free time, which I don't have a whole lot of :( Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. It's both Finnick and Annie's POV, so tell me your thoughts on it.

Oh and I can't forget: a HUGE thank you to my reviewer, XThe mad girl back HomeX! Your review made my day! Not only am I so glad you like the story, but you said I was genuinely nice?! I could say the same thing about you! That was so sweet of you! I'm sending you lots of love right now, wherever you are in the world :)

So, here ya go. Enjoy and DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW. IT KEEPS ME WRITING

Also DISCLAIMER: The usual. I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter 4: The Truth

Annie

I feel good for the first time in two days.

The crowd had been screaming my name, throwing me kisses, chanting their approval… and although I don't understand how anyone could ever simply stand there and be okay with this, allow all these innocent children to die, I am silently thanking my lucky stars when I see the crowd's reaction. They like me. And that gives me a sort of doomed hope, something I haven't allowed myself to feel at all since my name was called at the reaping. If anything, at least I have the slightest glimmer of a chance now, even if I'll never come close to being as powerful or well-liked as those scary, huge killing machines from District One this year. And I wouldn't want to be like them anyway. I'd rather die being myself; die without being a murderer, rather than transform into a brutal killer for a week or two only to have all those people I personally killed haunt me for the rest of my life after that.

It's all so terrible, it makes me sick. My mother used to say that I was as fragile as glass. I cried when a baby seal washed up on the shore next to our home dead, and labored day after day to make sure all of my seashells were spotlessly clean, each in their rightful place on my small, white-washed and worn driftwood bedside table. I loved the water, the crashing waves sounding almost like a familiar lullaby whenever I felt scared or alone. Finnick and I used to sit in the sand and draw patterns, a million different kinds: seashells, starfish, suns… All making a textured, beautiful work of art in the soft, pristine powder. He'd always tell me stories about a faraway place called Dreamland, a place that he'd apparently seen where everyone was good and there were no more bad people, no more death, no more Hunger Games. I idly wonder if he still remembers that story he used to tell me.

Now that all the Capitol extravaganzas are finished for the day, I'm staring at the bed's silken, blue sheets that are loose and bunched from where I rested on them earlier. They remind me of the ocean at home, and suddenly I'm thinking of District 4 and my family and that suffocating, immediate homesickness. Within a matter of seconds, my brief feeling of hope is diminished. I'm fragile, just like I was a little girl, not cut out for all of this. I can't kill people.

How have other tributes managed this? I want advice on how to survive, not murder, but the only person I can get that from…. is Finnick, considering Mags is supposed to be training York separately. And how much does he really know? He won his Games by doing exactly the opposite of what I'm capable of: he murdered people. I'm not even sure how I would begin to ask for his help, it's been so long. So, Finnick, I was just wondering, how did you turn off those guilty and scared feelings and turn into a pretty monstrous human being for those two weeks? Mind sharing with me your secrets? Just keep in mind that I really don't want to start killing people like you did.

I shudder at the thought. No, I couldn't do that to him. Even after all that has happened or not happened between us, I would never make him feel bad about himself. And I still don't believe he's truly a bad person. I've seen that look of lonely emptiness when he'd passed me in the District, heard that confusion in his voice when he told Mags to tell me that I couldn't come to see him anymore. He'd definitely broken my heart by suddenly cutting me out of his life, but I wasn't stupid, even then. I knew something had happened to him. I still know that. So why can't I just ask him? Why can't I just ask him why he pretends for all these people and has decided to go along with this whole different-lover-every-night agenda? Maybe he does actually want to be some idealized, male heartthrob, and I'm just overestimating the goodness of his heart. Maybe I'm completely wrong. How should I know? All I know is that when I couldn't fall asleep last night and wandered into the dining area to order some cold coconut milk to remind me of home, something my brother and I used to drink before bed, Finnick was there, tugging on an expensive-looking jacket and slipping out the door and down the stairs to the ground floor of the Training Center. But not before I caught the look of utter hollowness and loneliness etched onto his face. Seeing that, the pure exhaustion and defeat marring his absurdly handsome features, I'd almost gone after him.

He hadn't seen me, but I'd wanted more than anything to help him in that moment and offer him the love and protection and comfort that he's clearly not received these past five years, except for maybe from Mags.

I'd give anything just to know where he goes at night.

Because something about the look on his face and the careless ease with which he slipped out the door last night had reminded me of my father when he was fishing; it looked so habitual and recurring, as if it was routine. And for me, the idea of this strange ritual Finnick carries out every night repeating itself is even more concerning.

As these thoughts swirl around in answerless circles and cause a dull ache to drum against my skull, I'm in my bathroom, about to shower off the makeup and hair product from the night, when I hear a loud knock. "Come, come!" Labelle chants, that high-pitched accent piercing the still, darkening air of my compartment. "Dinner!"

I sigh tiredly, realizing the shower is pointless now. Oh well. I simply change into more comfortable clothes and leave my exquisite, much-too-revealing costume draped across my bed, not knowing where else to put it. My hair and makeup are still in place, but I don't have time to wash it all off. With a simple run of a brush through my styled curls, I'm out the door of my room and walking to the dining table.

I'm purposefully padding down the hallway, my feet making soft thuds against the thick carpet, when LaBelle's voice rings in a clear murmur through the air, blanketed in what I suppose for her is meant to be a whisper. Of course her attempt at whispering sounds more like a loud, opinionated statement, considering LaBelle doesn't seem like the type of person someone would ever call quiet. More like extremely… lively. And loud. And maybe just a little garish and fake, too, even though I can't hate her because she means so well.

"Something is going on with that…" she argues, her voice straining to control its volume. It sounds like she's maybe talking to Yvonne and Odiva, "escort to stylist gossip" as she would probably refer to it. "He stares at her constantly, and I don't even try to pretend that I don't notice. It's absurdly obvious! We must tell the poor girl!"

I crinkle my eyebrows in discomfort. I've never liked talking about people, much less when it's secretive, and I almost feel bad for whichever poor Capitol girl LaBelle's talking about. Of course, she has to find a way into the romantic lives of everyone she meets.

Yvonne clears her throat and interrupts politely, much quieter than LaBelle has been. "No, no LaBelle. That's for Finnick and Annie to work out."

I blanch. They're talking about me and Finnick? That makes no sense… We haven't even talked to each other once this entire time without an audience, but LaBelle mentioned something about Finnick… staring. At me.

Suddenly, I realize what she means. They think he's in love with me! Finnick Odair, the guy who has so completely shut me out these past five years, in love with me, his forgotten best friend? I shake my head in quiet disbelief. They can't think that. He… he left me. And I've been trying to show all of them how mad I am at him, all to no avail though. I'm not good at holding grudges, and something about Finnick's calming, humorous demeanor makes it impossible for me to stay angry with him and contain my laugh. I know they have it wrong, and I don't want to hear them discuss me and Finnick anymore as if we aren't here, so I quickly make my footsteps appear louder and rush into the dining room, only to be greeted with a pregnant, palpably uncomfortable silence. I take a seat and begin to dish the mashed potatoes onto my plate slowly, deliberately.

As I sit in the uncomfortable silence that reminds me why I'm here, in this room and in this city, my leg begins to bounce up and down uncontrollably, as if it has a mind of its own. I'm nervous about training, scared for the Games, physically drained from today, and exhausted from nightmares and sleep deprivation. Out of all of these emotions though, ironically the one thing most on my mind is so unlike all the others. Confusion, mingled with excitement and doubt and concern… and basically every other descriptive adjective in the book.

What's even more ironic about all of those crazy emotions is that they're all centered on one person, who for some reason has a subconscious power; a way of making my thoughts only about him, despite what I tell myself to feel.

Finnick.

Finnick

"You were fabulous!" LaBelle shouts, rising out of her seat when Annie pads into the living area later that night after dinner, her makeup and elaborate curls finally washed away, a fresh face and pajamas taking their place. Even when she's clearly exhausted, her dark, seaweed waves still fall perfectly and her eyes shine. She looks… soft. There's no hatred or murderous glares rooted in her bright, sea green irises. On the other hand York, who's sitting on a plush loveseat, throws Annie irritated glances frequently. He knows that all the sponsors are talking about the beautiful girl from District 4.

Annie's cheeks redden and she tucks a long, dark lock behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmurs, quietly taking the seat next to me. I feel my body tense; I shouldn't be reacting this way when she's this close to me. If she saw my taut muscles and twitching hands, she'd probably feel uncomfortable and scoot even farther down the couch then she already is. Why do I react like this? I don't know the answer to that, but I decide that for now, I might as well do what I want, consequences be damned just for these few days, so I bump my shoulder against hers, hoping against all hope that she doesn't push me away like I did her.

"You're golden, Annie Bananie," I purr as I try desperately try to convey to her that I'm just trying to be friendly. "Everybody loves you." The old nickname rolls off my tongue easily, and for a moment it's almost as if we never stopped being friends. Except now her look is confused, and maybe a little disgusted I think, until she cautiously returns my teasing smile, reminding me that the word 'friendship' doesn't really pertain to us anymore. I can tell she doesn't understand why I'm talking to her. The way I treated her after my Games; hell, she probably thinks I hate her.

"Whatever, Finnick." She rolls her eyes but lets out a little laugh, her sarcasm sounding undeniably innocent while also giving me the tiniest bit of hope. Maybe she won't push me away, at least when we're in front of others.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't think you'll ever be known as the sex symbol of Panem like me," I snicker, winking at her to lighten this frantic sensation of longing that she seems to elicit out of me. She swallows, then shakes her head slowly, a small smile lighting her face. I wouldn't admit this because it would embarrass her, but in my honest opinion, she's much better-looking than I am by a long shot. And the things I've done to people… lied to them, accepted their pleasure for money, murdered them even…. It makes me disgusting in comparison to Annie's good-natured, innocent heart. I'm charming and witty and funny, sure, but those traits of mine are immensely exaggerated for the pleasure of the Capitol, not for myself. She on the other hand, is beautifully sweet, shy, and timid, yet also a little sarcastic and hilariously adorable. Beautiful and kind and comforting and good… Suddenly, my thoughts freeze.

There's no doubt in my mind, in anyone's mind, that Annie Cresta is all those things. She attracts the crowd in a different way than I did; pulls them in by being herself and looking the way she does while also possessing that lovable, kind air that she emanates, unlike me, who had used my sexual appeal and charm to convince people to like me when I was in the Games. Capitol women loved me, but were Capitol men similar? Could Snow force Annie into the unspeakable things I've been forced into because she is desirable to some twisted freak man that can't find pleasure anywhere else? Suddenly I feel sick, and I wish our team would have decided to portray her as anything other than kind and beautiful, so that no one else would feel this growing attachment towards her like they do. But that would've only meant less sponsors and less money rolling our way, which would have never worked in her favor.

After the thought of Annie travelling to the Capitol several times a month like I do to provide the disgusting Capitol men with entertainment ingrains itself into my mind, our steaming lamb stew and chocolate covered fruit threaten to make a reappearance. All I can focus on is my worry for her. Would Snow do it? Use her like he's used me? Of course he would.

We watch the recap of the City Circle parade and then I wish everyone a goodnight to slink up to the roof of the Training Center. I'm sick with worry for Annie. It's dark outside, the night air breezing around the miniature garden, complete with lush greenery and tiny, clear-blue lily ponds that are the closest thing to an ocean in the Capitol. Wind chimes clank together loudly in the midst of the windy night air, and the coolness raises goose bumps on my skin, making me a little uneasy. So wrapped up in my own thoughts about the Games and Annie's fate, I don't even hear her until she's beside me. I'm startled, wondering how she found the door to this roof, my little safe haven from the world of the Capitol and the Games and every outside force that I've felt the need to escape over these past few years. Although I have to leave in an hour to meet another needy Capitol woman, the one who introduced herself at the parade, I pretend that I don't. That all I have to do tonight is sit and watch the stars float in the sky, dreaming of my freedom and freedom for this world.

It's so much easier to pretend.

She doesn't say anything, but just sits next to me with her legs crossed. Her hair is blowing in the light breeze and I can taste the scent of it on my tongue, a mix of sweet vanilla with bitter saltiness. It smells like home, with just a hint of that unfamiliar spice of the Capitol's much-too-thick and much-too-perfumed hair products.

"How'd you find me?" I ask, my voice flat. It's the first time I've talked to her yet these past five years without that Capitol façade tainting my voice: I actually sound like myself, tired and worthless and so sick of pretending. It's almost nice for a change.

She stares straight ahead. "You looked upset," she murmurs. "So I followed you. I couldn't sleep."

"Oh" is all I say.

Wow, Finnick. Nice way to get some conversation started.

"Finnick, can I ask you something?" She turns towards me suddenly, her tiny, frail shoulders leaning towards me. I tense up in response. "What are we doing here? Why are we acting like this?"

"I don't-" I say, about to play the part of the confused idiot when she cuts me off.

"And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," she quips. "I saw the way you were acting with Mags that night. You're hiding something from me." Her voice sounds hard, the natural sweetness in it lacking. I sigh gustily, wringing my hands. Why can she see through me when nobody else can? The Capitol is happy to continue pretending that I love them in return, so I must be somewhat convincing… I just wish I could fool her. When she sees my obvious hesitation, her face softens and she continues her relaxed soliloquy in a gentle, soft tone, just like she used to when we were kids and she would remind me for the thousandth time to not go in the boat without asking or to put on the suntan lotion my mother gave us. She had always been mature for her age, even back then, and I can tell that's one thing that hasn't changed.

"You can tell me, Fin. Last time I remember," she reasons, no malice or judgment in her voice at all, "You were the one ignoring me and cutting me off completely. Now, here you are trying to talk to me and I don't even understand why we stopped being friends in the first place. You were my best friend, Finnick. I waited around for you; I wanted you to come to me. But you never did. You simply moved on, and I tried to- I really did. But here I am, five years later, still finding myself caring when something seems wrong with you, even though you probably wouldn't care if it was me. But I just can't sit here and watch your eyes go wide and your shoulders go stiff, just like they used to when you were upset, and do nothing. I still care about you. Nothing will change that. Now tell me what's been bothering you, and then I'll leave." She sounds so oddly demanding, but at the same time her eyes are filled with an untainted, undeniably kind concern that makes me feel a little lighter, a little more like the naive boy from District 4 and a little less like the worthless, lonely Capitol slut forced to sell his body.

"You're wrong."

My whispered words echo around the now-still rooftop after what seems like minutes of agonizing silence. They soak into the air, permeating it with a tangible intensity.

"About what?" she questions softly. Her gaze is boring into mine, those bright eyes practically glowing in the dark. I shiver.

"About me and you," I mumble, liking the way those words sound together. I want to stop myself before I say something stupid, but I can't. "I've never stopped caring about you, Annie. You were my best friend, too. But the Games just—they broke me. I couldn't tell you what was happening to me, even though I wanted to. I just couldn't find the words. Then my family was gone and I was so worried I was going to hurt you… I decided to shut you out, Annie, but not because I wanted to. And God, I'm so sorry that I made you feel that way. If I could do it all over again I would—I would do everything differently."

She stares at me, concern and shock mingling on her perfect face. "What happened to you, Finnick?" she mumbles, her voice lost in thought. "What did they do to you?" She sounds horrified, and I can understand why. She's so kind I can't imagine her reacting to what actually happened to me well at all.

"It's—it's complicated," I mutter.

I can't tell her. It's too dangerous. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm an idiotic, manipulative man… She'll be disgusted. And Snow would find out, somehow…

But I want to. I want to let her in this time, to give her this part of me. I just can't.

"Finnick…" She can see in my eyes that I've made the decision to shut her out. Her voice is so strained with worry that it makes my heart melt a little, and I realize my breathing has sped. Can I say no to her? I want to let someone else just finally understand so badly…. All these years, Mags has suspected what's been going on while everyone in the District turned a blind eye to my clearly ridiculous antics, but I've never let anyone in so deep, never actually said these words out loud to anyone. Can I do it?

"Annie, I can't." My face sags and my voice sounds defeated.

"Finnick, I-" she tries to continue.

"I can't!" I yell, stopping her calm reasoning mid-sentence. "I just—can't, okay? I want to give you this; I want to tell you everything! That's what I've always wanted! All these years, I've almost come up to you hundreds of different times, just about to say sorry and explain it just to be with you again, when I remember that I can't have do that anymore. Sometimes, life doesn't work the way we want it to, Annie, and that's what's happened to me. I can't do what I want. So please, just—I can't."

Her eyes are wide in shock, but the crisp, bright green of her irises seem different. They're slowly melting, seeping down onto her cheeks as a few stray tears leak down her face. I instantly regret what I've said.

"Hey," I murmur, my voice cracking. "Don't cry. Please. I won't be able to live with myself if you do." She tries to sniffle, but I can tell she can't contain herself. It hurts me even more to see her try so hard just to placate me over this. Now, I'm begging. "Please, Annie. Don't cry over this."

"I was your best friend, Finnick," she gasps, her dark hair whipped into tendrils from the wind that had been gusting powerfully mere minutes ago. "I still am. I know you've ignored me, but no one knows you like I do, no matter how much you try to prove otherwise. You just want to shut people out all the time and become this emotionless, lonely person that just bears all of this—this pain," her voice cracks on the word, "alone. And I don't know how you've done it. Because I would have needed you. I would have wanted you. Just… don't shut me out. I'm still that little girl from the beach that you used to bicker with. You can tell me, whatever it is. Is it your family? Is it the Capitol?" She looks helpless, and I can't stand it for another second. Her eyes look like extremely large, beautiful lost pools of blue-green ocean.

I know those eyes. They've been with me for years, known me through so much. I should be able to give them this. If anything, she at least deserves to know why we can't be friends, why I can't ever let my guard down around her again after this moment… So, with my eyes locked on hers, I begin, in a small, rushed whisper, trying to hurry to spit the inevitable out. I ignore all of her previous questions, and just start from the very beginning, in a small, broken voice, trying not to focus too hard on what I'm about to say so that I don't stop myself from starting.

"Snow… after my Games, he asked to meet with me," I whisper, trying to keep my voice calm. "I knew something was wrong, but I really didn't have a choice. So I made a trip to the Capitol to see him, and what he told me... I was horrified by it. I thought that once I won the Games, I would be free to go home and only have to think about them once a year as a mentor. I wanted to escape it all. But I couldn't… I—Snow, he wanted to sell my body."My voice falters with a hoarse crack, and I shudder at my words, very careful to not look at Annie's innocent face warped into some twisted expression she processes my words. I can feel her twitch beside me, but I continue anyway.

"I said no of course. I was fourteen, and I wasn't going to do something like that… But I didn't tell my parents because I was scared they would worry themselves to death and get in trouble trying to protect me. So I told him no. A few days later, though, my family was gone, all mysteriously killed in an "accident at sea". I knew Snow had done it. He'd killed my family because I hadn't agreed to do what he wanted. So the day after the funeral, I wrote a letter to him, agreeing just to do whatever it took to keep the rest of the people I loved safe. Which included you.

"I tried to avoid you, Annie. I didn't want to burden you with this, for you to feel what I was feeling. You didn't deserve it. You weren't the one in the Games. That day when you came to my house and Mags told you I didn't want to talk, that killed me. Because that was when I realized whether I told you about Snow or not, you would still get hurt. But I was young and stupid and I didn't know how to tell you without falling apart…" I'm rushing now, talking so fast I'm not sure she can understand, but I keep going anyway. "I needed you, but I wouldn't admit it. And then when I started going back to school and I avoided your gaze in the halls and ate lunch away from our usual spot, I knew I was hurting the both of us. I was a coward. I decided to let go of my feelings. To push you away like a bad dream and forget about our friendship. I had to keep you safe," I whisper, my eyes stinging. It's suddenly quiet, and my shoulders slump. I've told her what she needs to hear.

Don't cry, Finnick. She doesn't need to see that. That's what I'm thinking, but it's taking a lot of effort to hold in these tears. Here in the steady breeze of the rooftop wind, I feel all traces of my exaggerated, sexy, and charming public persona slip away. I feel like a child again, so vulnerable and exposed, my feelings easily written across my features like an open book. That's what my mother used to call me. An open book. After I lost just about everything though, that term became the last two words anyone would have ever used to describe the real me. I shut myself up and hid behind the other Finnick, the one who loved the Capitol and courted countless, unsuspecting women. Having someone know everything so completely… It feels terrifying yet so- releasing. My chest feels lighter, my lungs not as tight. I've never told anyone about this darkest secret of mine, and this night is the first time since those Games that I have opened myself up this wide to anyone.

And now that I'm thinking about it, I wouldn't want that person to be anyone but Annie.

I just hope now that I've allowed her in I'll be able to let go of her again.