Author's notes: Thanks again for reading. I promise to pick things up quickly.

I slowly open my tired eyes. I'm at the beach, the wind softly blowing the sand through my hair. The moon seems bigger than usual, almost like I could reach out and grab it. I would do anything to save this moment. I am at peace, with not a care in the world. The waves crash against the beach, just before my bare toes, leaving them buried slightly as they recede into the dark abyss. I fold my arms against myself, trying desperately to hold on to this feeling.

Suddenly, a light catches my eye from down the beach. It's a flashlight, mostly stationed on the sand, but every once in a while, lifting slightly to shine upon my face. Why did my moment have to end? I'm trying to zone out again, to get back to my previous gaze, but it's no use. The light is much closer now. I stand prepared to confront the person responsible for my loss of serenity. However, once I see his face, I am completely speechless. I find myself caught up in a pair of familiar blue eyes.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting for you." He asks. His voice just as soothing as it had been during our first meeting. I open my mouth to answer, but I'm still at a loss for words. What is wrong with me? SAY SOMETHING!

"Come on, I want to show you something." He finally responds to my awkward silence, lending out his hand to mine. His skin is softer than I imagined, as my hand seems to glide over his until our fingers intertwine. As we turn to walk, following his lead, I glance back over my shoulder to remember my origination. But my eyes can't stray for long, as soon I find myself staring at him once again. His arms are strong, leanly built muscles covered in golden tan skin. His shoulders are broad yet gentle, as if he could lift me effortlessly. His face, oh my goodness, that face, the perfect balance of masculinity and childlike wonder. And his eyes, the stories they could tell. They look much more mysterious in the moonlight. He must notice my fixated gaze as he responds with a smile.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask. It doesn't really matter, I'd follow him anywhere.

"You'll see, we're almost there. Trust me." It had never occurred to me that I was putting my trust in someone I didn't really know. To be perfectly honest, I knew nothing about him other than the fact that he prefers to do his shopping late at night and live in the city. I don't even know his name. I decide not to ask him, I didn't want to ruin this moment with him.

We continue walking just along the breaking point of the waves. The bottom of my dress is soaked, lightly weighing it down against the wind blowing against it. I glance over at his feet, exposed by his equally wet, rolled jeans. Even the way he walked was perfect.

Before I know it, we have stopped. "It took me a while, but I found it. The perfect spot." He says with a light smirk upon his face. I look just ahead a see a grouping of large rocks, the waves breaking upon them, and spraying upwards into the air. Then it occurs to me, he is right. Ever since I was a little girl, I've always wanted to know what it was like to stand on rocks like these, as the waves break behind me, just like in all those stereotypical romance novel covers and princess movies. I never dreamed about meeting prince charming at a ball or dancing in a beautiful gown. I always pictured this as a truly romantic idea. I know it's cheesy, but a girl can dream.

I can't contain myself. I leap forward into his arms, smiling against his cheek until he turns his head so that his lips meet mine. It's the most gentle kiss I could ever imagine, full of passion, yet careful. His hand runs through my hair, my curls flowing in the breeze. I try to take it all in, but it's too much to process. In this moment, I come undone in his arms.

How could he possibly share my feelings? Wait, what are my feelings? I just met him. Is he thinking the same thing? He initiated the kiss, right? How did he know about the rocks? He couldn't. No, there's no way for him to know. Wake up.

I open my eyes.

The clock in my bedroom reads 4:13am. It was only a dream, yet I could still feel the warmth of his embrace, the sweet smell of his skin. Why did I have to wake up? Why couldn't I just stay there in my dreamland, where no one could get to me? It was too good to be true.

My door is still locked, so I know safe for now. I assume my little lie had fooled Cato since I didn't wake up from another nightmare. I must have laid on my face wrong because my cheek is throbbing where the bruise was trying to heal. I consider getting a damp wash cloth to ease my pain, but I decided against it and instead just try to fall back asleep, hoping to slip back into my dream.

Much to my dismay, the next thing I see is the sun shining through my sheer green curtains, warming my cheek ever so slightly. I lay there for as long as I can, trying everything and anything to remember my sweet dream. I have nothing to do today so hanging onto that sliver of happiness seems like the best thing to do at the moment. It's Tuesday, around 10am or so, Cato is already at work by now no doubt. I, thankful for a peaceful night as I glance over and see my door still locked.

I wished I could fall back into my earlier dream. For that brief time (though not real), I was free. Not afraid of anything, free to breathe and live my life. Oh I wished I could be with him. How ridiculous is this? How do I know what this guy was really like? For all I know, he is some creep who just puts on a charming front to attract girls. What if deep down he was no better than Cato? It's not like he was cruel when I met him. Sure, they all start out nice, it's not like I woke up one morning and said "I think I want to smacked around. Better yet, why not destroy myself completely?" No, this guy couldn't be like Cato. I know it sounds cliché but I could see it in his eyes.

His eyes. Just thinking about them makes me yearn for their gaze. A warm feeling overcomes me and I find myself cuddled around my pillow as a deep sigh escapes my mouth. The euphoria I feel is overwhelming. All the possibilities that lie with him. Perhaps it's the unknown, the slight chance of my happy ever after that, while completely unfounded, brings a smile to my face. I don't care if it sounds ridiculous, I can't help it. A girl can dream, right?

I slowly rise myself from the bed and make my way to bathroom. I would like to add that one of the greatest things about this new house is that I have my own private bathroom within my bedroom. Sharing with my brothers was torture.

I reach inside the shower and turn on the hot water. Steam quickly fills the small room as I slip out of my night gown. I've never been comfortable in my bare skin: too many scars. Scars are constant reminders of our past. The ones on my shins tell the tale of a die-hard softball player, on my arms, days of climbing trees and falling off my bike. It's not like they are bad memories, I just don't like to remember anything. It makes forgetting the bad memories much easier.

I catch a glance of my bare form in the vanity mirror. I don't know why I'm not secure with myself. Sure, I'm no supermodel, but for a girl who has never formally worked out or dieted, I have to admit, I look pretty good. I really should embrace my looks. When I'm older, I'll look back of these days with envy.

One day. For now, I wake myself from my stare and step into the shower. I let out a small gasp as the scolding hot water hits my shoulders, rubbing them as the instantly turn red. I know it sounds sick, but I love this feeling. It makes me feel alive, like I'm in control over my body. Plus, I think it beats creating more scars.

I stand under the water for what seems like forever before I realize I'm daydreaming again. Only this time, I don't remember what I was thinking about. I've been in here so long that the hot water is running out, slowly becoming mildly warm. I hurry and wash my hair and body, shutting off the water the second I am rinsed clean. In contrast to the hot water, the air is brisk and cold in comparison, and I quickly wrap myself in my towel.

For whatever reason, I decide to take the time to do my hair and makeup today. Usually, my hair is swiftly put into a briad and my face is left bare. Why should I bother taking the time to make myself look beautiful? It's not like anyone would look at me like that. But today is different. Maybe it's my dream from last night, but I feel empowered. Like I matter and am worthy of attraction. I style my hair so my curls cascade down over my shoulders and my long bangs frame my face by way of a side part. For some reason, when I style my hair this way, the chocolate hue of the strands seems to pop. For my face, I gently paint an array of earth tones, finishing with a pale pink lip gloss. In the end, even I am amazed at my transformation. It's been a while since I loved the way I looked. It's funny to think that a silly dream can inspire such feelings.

I dress myself in my favorite jeans and a black tee. I know it's not the most lively of colors, but I think black is definitely my color. Without much more thought, I grab my purse and head out the door of my room, down the stairs and out of the house. The leather of my car seat feels cool through my jeans, and it's this shocking feeling that reminds me that I'm alone. I start the car and back out of the driveway. Taking one last glance of my house, I shift into first gear and speed away, leaving behind my personal jail.

My house is not a home. Home is where your soul lives. It's where you feel safe and can be free to love life. Somewhere to be with the ones you love and embrace them. But there, I'm not safe, I'm not free. And though I'm sure my family loves me, they are still blind to my pain. They don't understand me. My mom tries. I've always seen her as my closest friend. If anyone matters in my life, it's her. But as much as she cares, I don't think she honestly knows me. I don't think it's really her fault. I have become quite the shut in these past few years. My dad on the other hand makes no effort. Growing up, I was the perfect little daddy's girl. I played sports, he coached my softball and basketball, I helped him with every construction project he had around the house. Then I lost it. And though my diagnosis was a relief to me, my father denied it. "This whole thing is crazy! It's all in her head! Just because she gets stressed doesn't mean she has a 'disorder'!" I heard him yell at my mom the night after my first appointment. You see, my dad grew up in a home where you don't believe in psychology. "It's all in your head." "There are no such things as mental disorders." "People on meds just want a quick fix because they can handle life." I can't tell you how many times I've heard these words. I don't think he means to sound cruel, it's just his upbringing. I think it's his whole opinion on my situation that has made him oblivious to my current troubles.

I tried talking to my parents about Cato when he first began pushing me around, but I think they just dismissed it as me overreacting. Anyway, I'm sure they mean well…

I don't know where I'm going. I'm just driving, enjoying the wind in my hair from my open windows. Where we live, there is a strange combination of city, suburbia and urban landscape. We were right dab smack in the middle of a suburban town. Go about 20 miles south on the main road and you hit the good old Capitol. Five or six miles north on that same road and you are surrounded by the acres of farms and 19th century houses that make up District 11. Every turn brings on new discoveries. An always changing landscape.

I start my journey with a left turn off our street and head north into the country. I think I just want to be alone with my thoughts. Something about driving down those winding roads just puts me at ease, and I can really think. The fresh air and sounds of the wind breaking against my open windows, just feels right.

I'm not sure how long I've been driving, but it must have been a long while. I'm gas gauge which started out at the 1/3 mark is now flashing a red light. I decide to make a stop at a small gas station. It must be family owned. There are only two pumps and the attached convenience store is partially in ruins. After my car is refueled, decide to reverse my direction and head toward the city. Thank goodness for GPS. I have no idea where I am, let alone how to get out of here.

As I regain my bearings, I suddenly decided to turn towards the beltway, making my way towards the beginning of the metro line. For sure, this meant I wanted to go into the city. Why? I was never comfortable in the city. Too many people I suppose. And while I loved the idea of city living, I was without a doubt no city girl.

I park my car at the park and ride and proceed to gather only what I can fit into my pockets. I just didn't want to be weighed down by my bag. I had slipped my phone and wallet into my jeans and grab my hoodie from the trunk, locking the car as I begin to walk away. It's late June, but the air is cool, around 70 degrees, if I had to guess. I make my way down the path, towards the platform and purchase a day pass. I'm alone at the station, but it's not long before the train arrives and I board.

There are twelve stops between here and the end of the line, and I decide on number eleven. Where I'm going exactly or why I'm going there has finally crossed my mind, and I don't know the answer to either question. All I know is that I didn't want to stay where I was.

I must have spaced out again because the next thing I remember is reading out the window…

Welcome to the Capitol.