Hi reader friends!
I am so, so, so, so SORRY. I know I haven't updated in forever, and I hope I haven't lost any of you because of that! This summer has been crazy, and I recently went through something really tough and personal that I'd rather not talk about, which I hope you can understand. I know that's no excuse for my lack of updates, but I'd really appreciate some feedback from you guys about this chapter, because as always review, favorites, and follows are the best. They mean the world. This wasn't really my favorite chapter to write, but it's here as sort of a necessity; a filler for all the exciting stuff to come next chapter. So I'll make this short. THANK YOU for sticking with me and here's Chapter 13.
Chapter 13
"He's watching me, Mags."
"I know, son."
Her voice is soft and lilting, but it does nothing to slow down all of the thoughts that are rushing through my head at a million miles a minute.
The room seems so cold and empty, like you'd expect ghosts to be walking around the halls. We're back at the Training Center, in our uncharacteristically cold compartment, which somehow makes all of this even worse. It seems like another lifetime ago we sat in this same room, watching the recap of the Reapings as we tried to size up the other tributes when in reality, it's only been about a month. Now, all of those others are gone, York included, even though he's sat at this table, shoveling in food and trying to convince everyone, maybe even himself, that he could somehow win those Games. And even he died.
I can't pinpoint the reason why I feel bad about that. He had always been a cocky bastard. But I think sometimes, just having someone, someone from the past who has known you just a little bit longer than anyone new you're bound to encounter, is better than having no one at all. Even if they are someone like York.
We've been in the Capitol's compartment all night, trying to come up with a certain strategy to make Annie appear as appealing and innocent as possible so that the Capitol will fall in love with her all over again. Mags came up with the idea to present her a petite, beautiful girl so innocent and kind that she needed a break from the reality of the Games to come back down to earth. It was a long shot, but it was the best we had come up with. In a way, Mags' idea made sense, but for some reason, I felt unnerved by it. We made Annie sound like some weak, pretty face without any depth at all, and she's so much more than that. She has a story of her own, of her life before the Games and people that she loved. The Games had unraveled her, but then again, how many of us go through something like this in life and live to tell about it? She's strong to have survived, and nobody in the Capitol has the right to blame her for how she's handled it. I mean, look at me. I'm basically a whore, sleeping with people again and again and again just because Snow tells me to. He has the power, he has the control. The Games affect us all in the end, at least in some way. Annie's handling of this whole thing just shows that she's so much better than the rest of us. If we all weren't so callous, maybe we would feel just as horrible about winning.
I still feel terrible about my Games. I still have nightmares. But Annie's going through something different.
She's been sleeping a lot now that she finally has warm blankets and people genuinely caring for her (basically me and Mags), making sure she eats well and bathes and talks for at least a little bit of the day. Mags and I figured it would be so much worse if she stayed silent, so we take turns about three times a day going in and making pointless conversation. It's not much, just simple comments about the weather or an old story from home, but it helps her stay rooted in reality. Sometimes, when she gets that clouded look in her eyes and her hands go to her ears, I wonder where exactly she goes. To some other, terrible world, I'm assuming, where all of her nightmares and worst fears haunt her. Dr. Hans sent sleeping pills so that Annie could sleep through the night without being interrupted, but after one night when she couldn't wake up from her screaming, she begged us to never give them to her again. And I didn't even pause for a beat before I agreed with her.
Dr. Hans calls Annie daily, mainly to ask how she's doing, but she never brings up the Games or the Capitol. I decide I like her.
She just called about an hour ago, and now Annie's fast asleep in her room, tucked in by Mags. The past two nights I've gone in to tuck her under the covers and whisper goodnight, but I had a client meeting earlier today that went well past the normal time Annie disappears to her room. I'm feeling drained from it, and the stress and anticipation of Annie's interview and the Recap tomorrow isn't helping anything. Now that we have a strategy, Mags is talking to Yvonne about different ways to style Annie's hair and outfit so that her angle is a convincing one. I don't care about what she wears because no matter what she's always beautiful, but regardless I stay in the living room as they discuss dresses and pinks and curled hair. It all sounds the same to me, so now that Yvonne's here and it's off limits for Mags and me to talk about Snow and the way he's watching Annie and I, I decide to check on Annie's room just to make sure she's sleeping okay.
The hallway's dark, and her door opens with a barely audible creak. Her sleeping form is curled into a tight ball, and I want to go over to her so badly and quietly stretch her limbs out, anything to make her more relaxed. Her brown waves are mashed against the pillow, and for a second I think about how strange it is that the little, blond girl who was my best friend has now naturally morphed into an even more beautiful, dark-haired, kind, loving, pure, genuinely good person. Here, in her sleep, the only thing that hints at the struggles she's endured over these past few weeks are the dark rings of purple under her eyes. Besides that, she is glowing. Her skin exudes a healthy brown tan now that Yvonne has been coming daily to prepare her for her interview, and she's gained almost all of the weight she lost back. Her hair, though tangled, is silky smooth and perfectly even on the ends. Her skin, her nails, everything has probably been buffed to perfection for tomorrow. But somehow, she's still so much more uniquely beautiful at home, when she wears her favorite white dress and ghosts down to the beach where her hair becomes tousled and wind-whipped from the salty air and her eyes light up at the sight of those brilliant, blue waves. Just thinking about her at home makes me want to be back at home with her, something that hasn't been real for me in such a long time, ever since my Games. I wonder if that white dress is still her favorite, or if she's gotten a new one.
Just as all these thoughts are swirling through my mind, I become aware that Annie's started to stir. She's mumbling something unintelligible, and I'm worried she's going to have another nightmare. All she does, according to Dr. Hans, is sit upright and sob silently and stare off into space until she can shrug off the bad dream. I've never stayed all night in her room to be able to witness a nightmare happening, mainly because I'm afraid of what Snow will think if somehow his camera catches me staying with her overnight, and I really don't want to complicate things between me and Annie. I mean, who knows if she'd be happy that I was trying to protect her from the nightmares or not. Maybe she'd rather be alone. I don't want to bring it up and risk upsetting her, so I might as well keep my mouth shut. Besides, although Annie is my friend, it can't be my job to look after her like that so intimately. She needs to go back to her friends and family, and no matter how much I want to be with her, she needs to move on without me. I can't keep endangering her like this by showing Snow how much I truly care about her.
But I want to. For some stupid, goddamn reason, I can't imagine letting her go. I ignored her five years studiously, never once slipping from my resolve, but now that I have her back and she's been through all of this, I can't even fathom going back home and resuming our careful, no-speaking-no-eye-contact agreement. I'm her mentor. And now I'm her friend again. And that just seems too complicated of a situation for me to walk away from.
I sigh. She stirs again. And suddenly, it's not so quiet and peaceful anymore.
She wrenches upright in the big, double bed suddenly, and before I can react and move out of the doorway, she's screaming. At the top of her lungs, too loudly; I can tell because her throat is rasping and breaking and hitching as she screams. I have no idea what to do, and I'm about to panic when reason stops me for a second and suddenly I'm confused. I thought Dr. Hans said Annie never screams. I'm positive she did. So is she getting worse, or better? That thought stops me cold. I've been hoping that she's been getting better. If she's only been getting worse, I don't know what I'll do.
"Annie?" I mumble stupidly, tripping across the doorframe into her room. "Annie, wake up. Annie. Please. It's just a dream." I'm next to her bed now, but I think my voice is too quiet to even be heard compared to her loud screaming. "Annie?"
She doesn't even blink at my words. She just keeps screaming.
And that's when I realize that it's my name she's sobbing.
Warmth. That's all I feel. And my spine tingles too. The sensation is so unexpected, so light and airy, so much happier than anything I've felt since my family was taken from me, that I latch onto it like it's the only thing that will keep me alive. And maybe it is.
I can't help but reach out and touch her arm. I'm shaking her gently, desperately trying to ease her out of this stupor. "Annie, sweetheart, wake up." The foreign endearment rolls off my tongue surprisingly easily, and for a moment I stop, thinking about all the different things that word could imply, until she's screaming even louder and I have no choice but to focus on that scary, clouded look that's entered her eyes.
"Annie, remember Dreamland? I told you about it a while ago. It's beautiful there, and you and I were there? Annie, please wake up. I'm here. It's me, Finnick."
Immediately, her screams cut off. Silent sobs still rack her body, but she's no longer running her throat ragged. Her eyes are also clearing, focusing in on this real reality that surrounds us instead of the one inside of her head.
"Finnick?" It's just a whisper.
"It's me, Ann. It's Finnick." Before she has a chance to respond, I crush her to me, trying to warm her cold, tiny body with my broad arms and shoulders. She clings tightly back, and it feels so good to be wanted, to have her attached to me, needing me just as much as I need her. For once we fit together and are bonded by this strange, comforting sensation that we understand each other. We've been through the same thing. We know each other. I'm here for her.
And despite all that's happened to her, when she reaches up with her free hand to simply sweep my hair off my forehead, the gesture is so unbearably sweet paired with that innocent, sleepy look in her eyes that I instinctively know she's here for me too.
XXX
She's almost ready.
I can hear Odiva fiddling behind the paper-thin door, rambling on and on about how exciting it is to finally be seeing the highly-anticipated Recap. The nervous excitement from the crowd tittering away can be heard even though we are below the stage in the standard, dimly lit area they use every year as the launching place for all interviews. Five years ago, standing in this dark room with Mags' hand on my shoulder, I'd never felt more alone, despite the fact that I had my aging mentor whom I already loved. It was like somehow I knew it was too good to be true, that just a week later my family would be gone.
The door's opening now, and I hold my breath. Mags', beside me just like always, puts a ginger hand on my shoulder. She knows how shaken up I am, how much this night means for Annie. She has to do it right, or else Snow will not be happy. Hell, that's putting it pretty damn mildly, too.
It doesn't matter though. For a moment, I let myself bask in the utter relief that somehow, Yvonne has managed to make Annie look like an immensely fragile yet soft, kind-hearted doll of a seventeen-year-old girl, despite that a faraway look still looms in her natural-shaded, emerald eyes. Her bronze skin is dewy, casting a warm, almost pinkish glow that matches her lovely, blushing cheeks perfectly. The cheek color has obviously been enhanced with makeup, but it's such a perfect, rosy dusk color that I find myself fixed on it. It matches her pale pink dress perfectly, which is flowy and stops about mid-thigh, with thicker straps attached to the top that enhance Annie's dainty yet beautiful curvature. Her long, chocolate locks fall in soft curls and frame her high cheekbones nicely. Everything about her reminds me of something so beautiful and innocent and kind that a part of me almost aches with sadness that I can't have that.
She's not mine. I'm not hers. She'll be fine eventually without me.
I have to remember that. For her sake.
Mags is hugging her now, and that's when I realize that maybe I've been staring for just a beat too long. Annie's cheeks have turned even redder under my gaze, and Mags turns around to shoot me a knowing, toothy smile that makes Yvonne chuckle lightly.
"Such a pretty girl," Mags drawls, stroking a shiny, smooth curl back behind Annie's ear.
"Thank you, Mags," Annie murmurs quietly. Back to being reserved and a little quiet now, probably because she's nervous, and also struggling to fight that shiny, other world that's her own torturous form of reality. She's been doing well today, making small conversation at lunch and draining her bowl of soup if only to please me and Mags. Now, I can see the fear in her eyes as she tries to stay present.
It's my turn to reach out to her.
I gingerly brush past Mags and wrap Annie in my arms. She hugs back tightly, almost like she's clinging to reality, and I listen to her shallow, erratic breaths. For some reason, hearing the air whoosh in and out of her lungs makes her seem so aliveand present and real that it's like a soothing lullaby.
"Take deep breaths, Annie," I whisper gently, my lips almost pressed to her ear. "You can do this, okay? I know you can. I'm going to be out in that audience. Look for me. Watch me if you feel yourself slipping."
Her delicate lids softly flutter closed.
"Okay." It's only a breath.
Her voice, low and shaking because of her nerves and this whole unstable reality, suddenly makes me realize just how amazing it is that Annie is actually here, alive, almost home, where I'll be able to keep her safe. If only from a distance, I can still be that protector for her. I can make sure Mags checks up on her. I can bring Mags fish that she can pass on to Annie. I can make sure that I never come around again anymore. I can make sure that we don't speak, that things go back to the way they were before Annie's Games. Before I made the mistake of dragging her into this mess and allowing Snow to realize that is Annie isn't some tribute stranger to me. She's my friend. One of the only people who really truly understands me and can listen with open ears and an open mind, with the most beautiful, sympathetic smile on her face, all while making you feel wanted instead of pitied. This girl who has so easily forgiven me and accepted me for who I am is so different from that little five-year-old that I used to run in the sand with. She's more aware, so much more exposed, and has lost so much of that innocence that it makes my heart ache. She's seen the Games, and she's lost her mind before because of them. And that little girl in the pretty white dress knew nothing about something as horrific as the Games.
But Annie's also stayed the same in a lot of ways. Her hair, even though it's become much darker since she's grown up and spends less time in the sun during the summer, is still that soft as silk, wavy texture that's so familiar I can almost imagine the salty air of the beach blowing the wisps around her heart-shaped face. She still carries that kind heart, the one that feels for anything and everything around her. Just yesterday, she noticed that Mags had fallen asleep on the couch and without a second thought, removed her own blanket to drape it over the aging woman, even though Annie's been freezing ever since she's returned from the hospital. She's just so good, through and through, that anyone couldn't not help but want to protect her. At least that hasn't changed.
I don't really think it ever will.
I still haven't let go of her yet.
Her body has relaxed against mine, her delicate arms still wrapped tightly around my neck, but her stance is more slumped as she leans her frame heavily onto mine. Her hand is just touching the hair at the nape of my neck and as it slides down my neck to gingerly cup it, a shiver runs through me. Quickly, before it becomes impossible to let go, I pull away and try not to notice the look of subtle disappointment shining in Annie's eyes.
"Good luck, Annie Bananie. You'll be golden." The familiarity of the words almost makes me laugh.
She manages a strained, slight smile, and then she's guided away by Yvonne, preparing to be lifted up onto the stage.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
She's there on the stage, looking even more breathtaking if possible under the glow of the fluorescent, studio lights, and she's waving with a resigned smile. It hurts, a sharp pain that is surprisingly deep, to realize just how much she's pretending for these cameras when yesterday she could barely stand she was so disoriented. She'll never stop giving things up for the sake of Snow's game, and neither will I.
Caesar is clearly trying to help her out by laughing and playing up the crowd like usual. The Recap starts pretty smoothly, and the only noticeable difference is the fact that Annie's eyes narrow and her throat looks a little tighter, her shoulders more tense. I don't think anyone from the Capitol cares enough to notice though.
She's doing fine. She's doing great. Until Rye.
When she watches him die, sees the way his blood spatters, she crouches over and clutches her middle in pain, eyes immediately unfocused and shimmering. Caesar realizes what is happening but before he can offer a small whisper of reassurance to make sure Annie keeps her performance first in mind, she's on the ground heaving. Big, gasping sobs that wrack her body and contort her face. I have no idea what to do.
She won't look at me. She can't see my eyes pleading with her.
I know how hard it is, Annie. I know you want to give up. But you can't. He's watching. He's watching both of us.
That's what I want to say. For some damn reason, I want nothing more than to let my lips brush against her ear and whisper those words that will reassure her. But I'm too far away, and she's already been escorted off the stage by two, burly-looking, aggressive Peacekeepers that are obviously not happy. The lights have dimmed as the Recap continues, while Caesar tries to keep the crowd watching attentively. Annie's off the stage now, and the audience, although they are murmuring and gasping, is keeping themselves in check because they know it's what Caesar wants.
In the seat next to me, Mags' hand grips mine tightly until I can't stand to sit still any longer. I rise out of my seat so abruptly the woman behind me throws a hand to her heart, and when I start to climb around the aisles to find the door to the stage, the pressure of Mags' hand on mine is the only thing keeping me from screaming out loud. We find Annie, deposited in the back cradled in Yvonne's arms, and before I even know what I'm doing I'm reaching, and Yvonne's giving. She knows what I'm asking for. Annie's head rests in my arms as I cradle her, pressing s delicate kiss to her forehead. Mags looks surprised, but I'm not even going to try to read into what I just did. She's alive, for now. She's weak and hurt and lost, but with me. And according to a message that arrives in the form of a white-haired, stern woman, the President has asked that we return to District Four now that Annie's duties are over as a Victor.
Mags looks pleased, but I think we both know better that Snow can't really be done with us.
"What do you think he's going to say, Mags? You know he has to talk to me."
"I know, Finnick. Only time will tell."
We're on the train now, rain sheeting against the cold glass and night air filled with a chill that smells like an engineered and enhanced flower garden. Annie's still on my lap, passed out on the couch after she woke up only to try to understand what had happened to us back at the Recap. She's too tired and muddled to fully even understand what happened to us or how much danger it could mean, so I let her sleep. The only thing I won't do is let her out of my sight.
And in the morning, when I'm still fighting the heaviness of my eyelids to hold Annie's drooping frame in my arms, I've never been more happy to see my sea, my father's sea, glinting a bright blue-green color in the early morning sun.
We're home.