Sorry for being so slow at updating. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta belong to Suzanne Collins


"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She repeats these two words over and over and over. Each time she pronounces a syllable I feel a slight stab of pain. She continues to say those words until her voice becomes hoarse and scratchy. Eventually, I don't even hear her words and just focus on those beautiful eyes that don't avert themselves away from me.

"I know it wasn't your fault. I needed someone to blame. I'm sorry."

This time I hear her speak to me and the stabbing hurts so much worse. It was my fault. She was right in blaming me, but I'm too selfish to say tell her my intentions. To have her hate me even more is excruciating. But to have her live with the guilt of blaming someone who didn't deserve it is unbearable.

"Annie. Stop."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Her tears are starting to come back. She should be using that liquid to help her throat.

"Annie. Shut up."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She doesn't hear me through her unneeded guilt.

"Annie. Shut up."

She stopped apologizing. But now she's looking at me with a horrified look on her face. Does she know what I'm going to tell her? Was this what she was aiming for?

"Annie, I have to confess something. I killed your sister."

With my head held low, I let this information sink into her for a moment. I sneak a glance at her face and see that she's actually smiling at me.

"Mr. Odair, don't be stupid. I saw that boy kill her. I saw you kill the boy. You avenged her, not killed her."

She doesn't understand. She thinks I'm lying to her. She thinks I'm actually a good person. How ridiculous.

"You don't understand. I was going to help her. To let her win. To kill the other people and then kill myself. I was going to try to keep her alive. But I let her die. I could've stopped the spear, but I didn't. I let it…" My voice grew quiet as I recalled that warm, sunny day that disguised all the horrible things that happened, "run right threw her." Annie let out a small whimper as she, too, remembered watching the events unfold. "I'm responsible for her death. I killed her."

I waited for the slaps and small punches that would surely come. But instead, I heard crying.

"I hate you."

I expected that.

"But I don't hate you."

Now I'm getting confused.

"I had to either choose between the person I love most, or the person I couldn't help but think about every day since I saw him on the pier. I hate myself for being relieved when she died because at least I didn't have to see you two fight each other. And how do I appreciate your coming back alive? I tell you I hate you. That I wished you had died instead. And I kind of do. But I'm sure that if she was back here, I would have wished that you had not died. That she had. And I can't help but bring out my anger and frustration for being such a horribly ugly person on you. You can't change the fact that she died. You didn't kill her. You avenged her. And I love you for that."

I blush at her last six words. But I shouldn't. Not even when her turquoise eyes stare into them as she drills her words into my heart. I wish she wasn't so frank. I wish she would blame me like she did. And I wish that I could hold her in my arms like I did moments before. But I'm sure that she would hate me and take back her kind words.

But now I feel these strange things streaking down my cheeks. My eyes are constantly blurring and I can't help but furiously blink to see straight. I lightly touch my cheek to see what the thing is, and I find that I have an ocean in my eyes that is currently overflowing. I attempt to wipe my eyes but she softly touches my hand and I immediately freeze.

She quietly speaks to me, "You have let me cry my heart out. It's time for me to let you."

Crying. Is that what it's called? I see. So I am now the one overflowing with emotions that can't be contained by my eyes. Where do I get this extra water? Will I dry out if I cry too much? What do I even have to cry about?

She strokes my cheek and I wonder why she is being so kind. Then I recall her words. I love you. My ocean begins to pour out into the real world and I can't stop it. I can't look at her. I can't let her see me in this state. But she tilts my head up and smiles.

Out of nowhere, she takes my cheeks into her hands and stretches them as far as they will go.

"Oh dear, Mr. Odair, what would all your beloved fans say if they saw you like this?" She says, teasingly. I couldn't care less about the selfish Capitol people, it's her I care about.

As if my body were moving on its own, I reach out and take her face into my hands. My head is going to explode as millions of thoughts run rampant in it. There are about a million things I want to do with that lovely, lovely face. I choose an option that won't possibly make me spontaneously combust out of embarrassment and slowly touch her forehead to mine. Damnit. I made the wrong choice. My face is burning up even more than before, and I'm pretty sure that I'm scaring her.

But I don't want to let her go. I don't want to leave her without clearing up what I'm doing. So I whisper a feeble thank you to her and kiss her on the nose. I hoped that she would be satisfied by this and it would explain my actions. But, instead, she seems unsatisfied and as I pull my face away from hers, she suddenly grabs me and pulls me even closer.

"Mr. Odair, I think that in a situation like this, you're supposed to kiss me on my lips."

And of course, I blush. Her statement baffles me, like so many other things today. But I comply, and I lean in toward her, nervous that I'll make a tragic mistake and our relationship will become even worse. Because, of course, this is my first kiss.

I lean in ever so slightly, her lips millimeters away from mine, when she suddenly says, "Is this really how you want our first kiss to go?"

I stutter, our faces still as close as before, "I thought you said that I should kiss you right now!"

She laughs lightly, "I would only want it this way if I didn't have to tell you. Now," she sighs dramatically, "The moment is ruined. Gone. Lost. You'll have to find another time."

She is rather irritating now. First, she orders me to kiss her. Now, she complains that I've lost the moment. To hell with it. If she wants me to kiss her, then I'll kiss her. If she says that this would be our first kiss, that means there are plenty more to come.

And so, against her latter wishes, I subtract the last few milliseconds from the equation and stay there, her lips locked in mine. And now I feel extremely stupid as I look back over the things that just happened.

And now I'm suffocating. How do people breath as they eat each other's' faces? I feel the color draining from my face, but I don't' want to let the 'moment' be gone. I hear her muffled calls for help and I want to slap myself for being so stupid and forcing a kiss onto her. So I separate from her, only now realizing how much I want to stay with her.

"See, you didn't need my orders to do that." She smirks. "Were you trying to kill me by not letting me breath?" Of course she means this as a joke, but she must see the lack of color in my face, only now returning as a bright shade of red.

"I just thought…" I can't complete the sentence. I don't know what I was thinking. So I play around with a few words that don't quite mean anything, hoping she'll realize that I have no idea what I'm talking about.

And she does. She grins and kisses me on the cheek. After she pulls away, I feel the heat now emitting from the spot her soft lips were just touching. Now, I look at her face and see that she, too, is bright red.

"I thought you were so much more experienced in this area," I say, attempting to get back at her for her taunts from before.

"I only know as much as my sister told me!" She exclaims, clearly embarrassed by the thought of having an expertise in such an intimate topic.

"Well you fooled me," I stick my tongue out at her. Why am I doing this? Only moments before, I was 'crying' at the memory of her sister's death. How can I laugh so calmly while her sister lies six feet under?

As if answering my thoughts, Annie looked toward the window and quietly said, "It's nice not to be hung up on others' deaths all the time." And, as if she spotted something alarming on the other side, she quickly looked away and told me, "You should go."

I was hurt. We were finally getting closer, and now she pushes me away. At least I will always have the memory of the day where we weren't so distant.

As I'm about to walk out the door, she calls out to me and holds my face in her hands, her eyes frantically searching for any form of guilt on my face. I smile at her, tilt her head towards mine, and softly kiss her, attempting to relieve her. Knowing that this would probably not be enough, I still did it because… Because… I wanted to.

"I regret nothing."

I hope these words will reach her. That in her dizzy and red state she'll understand what I'm saying. That she'll hear my last three words that I don't have the courage to say while she's thinking clearly.

"I love you."

The volume is almost nothing. I'm sure that even a mouse two feet away would not be able to her my words. Now, I do regret something, I regret saying those words when I'm not even sure about how I feel. Victors aren't supposed to have feelings. Or loves. Or children. Victors are supposed to tower above all else, and now what is best for all. A victor who falls in love is unfathomable. It just isn't supposed to happen.

But now I have. I think. I hope.

Now she's slowly meeting her eyes to mine and her gaze pierces through me. As if she knows exactly what I'm thinking. But a grin quickly grows on her face and she balances on her toes to whisper in my ear.

"No you don't."