Thank you for waiting so long! I'm sorry I'm so unproductive... So here's another chapter :D

"No you don't"

Her words shatter whatever conscious I had had. What does she mean? I do regret something? I don't love her?

She looks up at me with those amazing eyes and answers the questions in my head.

"No to both."

That clears things up.

"You regret being in that arena. You regret watching people die. You regret killing. And there's no way you could love me."

Even though my mouth was closed, thousands of thoughts were flowing through my mind. What does she mean I do regret things? I have let out all of my wrongdoings. Many times. How can I still regret something? And how can I not love her? She's beautiful. She's kind. She's just so pretty. Through this mass tangle of thoughts, I manage to utter a single phrase.

"You're wrong."

She stares at me in disbelief. She thinks she's right on this? She's only twelve. She's bound to be wrong about a lot of thi- Oh crap she's only twelve. I kissed a twelve-year-old whose sister I killed. What is wrong with me?

After around a minute, she shook her head in disapproval. Her eyes, clearer than ever, untangled my thoughts, but not before she could say one last thing before I left.

"I'll be here until you change your mind."

I leave baffled. Who wouldn't? I feel like she's toying with my mind, as if she's a small kitten playing with a ball of yarn, tangling and untangling over and over as she bounced it between her paws. The walk between her home and mine was long and quiet. The leaves crunched underneath my shoes and instead of thinking of the arena, I thought of my heart and brain, being crushed by Annie. Strangely enough, it was only my brain that ached, instead of my heart.

Do I actually love Annie? I expected more pain, but there's nothing. Did I say what I said in the heat of the moment? Was Annie actually right?

The cat passes the ball between its front paws. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

How am I supposed to know how I feel if she just keeps playing?

- Time passes -

It's been almost four years since I've talked to Annie. Well, not necessarily talked to her, I've seen her occasionally when I've been in town and made small talk, but nothing substantial. Tomorrow is the day of the reaping. Annie's name will be in it 14 times. Small compared to others, but still higher chances than most. She shouldn't be reaped. It's almost impossible. And no, I don't still think about her constantly. Annie Cresta does not occupy my thoughts every waking moment. Just once every hour.

Annie's birthday passed quite a while ago. She would be sixteen this year. I have heard that many guys around her love her, but only for her looks. She has not let anyone see her true personality for four years. Well, almost four years.

Today, I decide to see her again. To attempt to get to know her again. To tell her that she was right all along. The walk to her house seems familiar, even though I haven't walked down the path for so long. Though there is no crunch of the leaves, my head aches with each step I take.

I stood in front of the door, speechless at the state the once homely house had been. Now, it's uncared for, dirty, trash everywhere. How could such a lovely girl come from such a dump?

The door creaked open, as if beckoning me in. I hesitated for a moment, but slowly stepped into the heart of the mess.

The inside of the house is similar to the outside, except in here, there were more clothes and things lying around. The dining table was littered with moldy food and remnants of homework from long ago. The walls had various writings on it, from math equations, to essays that seemed to jump from one idea to another without warning. I attempted to read some of the writings, but I soon realized that the only variable that was used for math was either f or a, and all the writings seemed to contain my name somewhere in the essay.

"Who's there!" a voice shrieked. It had not changed in almost four years.

"Finnick," I call back, attempting to keep my voice devoid of emotion.

I waited for her to respond, but she did not. I only heard various shuffling and crashing in another room while I assume she was attempting to get herself ready to make an appearance.

"Um, dear Finnick, do you mind not looking for a bit? I seemed to have forgotten my clothes in the living room," her voice was shaky, and I could just imagine how nervous she was. For some reason, I could feel my face heating up.

Even though she told me to look away, I could not tear my eyes away from the door where her voice had come from. She steadily stuck her head out, to see if I was really looking away. I prepared myself for her verbal lashing. It came.

"You suck."

A lovely, lovely statement from the girl who might die in the next couple days.

"Turn around. Now."

I continued to disobey her.

"I hate you."

Awesome. Just awesome. Well, I deserve I have not come to talk to her for so long. But it was not my fault! I could not tell what was real and what was not due to her incessant toying with my mind.

She went inside and rummaged through her room for a few minutes before she stuck her head out again. This time, her arm came out too, and she pulled out a shoe. It was tattered and old, but I imagine that it would be effective for the job she wished it to do. Too bad that she doesn't seem to remember that I won the Hunger Games.

"Turn around or else I'm throwing this at you."

Just as I expected. I stood still, waiting for her to throw it. I don't actually know why I'm defying her, I only know that I don't want to miss a single second that could include in it.

She threw it. She actually has pretty good aim, and I planned on evading her attack, but I just stood there helplessly as the shoe hit me square in the chest.

Her face started to turn red and she avoided my gaze. "Just let me change."

Now I feel horrible. I've been making her feel uncomfortable time for my own selfish reasons. To her relief, I finally turned around while she said a quiet thank you and tripped over a pile of something. I was tempted to help her up, but that would include seeing her indecently. She got up without my help, but moaned slightly in pain.

"Why would you let a man be inside the same room as you changed?" I asked, curious.

"You're not a man. You're a sex symbol," she replied. I'm a sex symbol? I've only been seen a couple times, and not enough to be recognized year after year.

I have no comeback, and can only stare dumbly when she tells me it's ok to turn around. "How would you know?" it seems that she leaves me without wit, just as before.

"Oh please, who doesn't know. The people in the Capitol love you. They're waiting for the day they can 'love' you without being creeps. You don't understand how many girls would do anything for you." I expected her to include heavy sarcasm the entire time. But she told me all of this as calmly as possible.

"And what about all those guys that would fall head over heels for you? Don't pretend you haven't noticed." It seems my wit had returned. "If there was a beauty pageant, all the men would vote for you as number one every time."

"Even you?" she asked.

"Especially me. I would be there screaming your name for everyone to hear. If you weren't number one, I would take my trident and find whoever it was that was dumb enough not to vote for you." This was a strange question. I thought she didn't care about any of those things.

She grabbed my face in her hands and asked me, with such clarity, "Why did you come here today?"

My face immediately burned up, as the memory of that day resurfaced. I stuttered out an incoherent response that even I don't understand the meaning of. Why must my wit leave me at the most important times?

Her grip on my face relaxed, and she rested her hands in her lap. I tried to blurt out a response, but I ended up asking why she had written so much on her walls. She turned red as she thought about the prospect of me seeing all the times she wrote my name, but I could see in her eyes that she quickly dismissed the thought. Does she think me too careless to not notice the flurry of f's?

"So," I attempted to say casually, "why do you use f so much? And, you know, why does this same name keep appearing?" Can she that my face was completely red? Can she tell that I had been thinking about her just as much?

"What's wrong with the letter f, Mr. Finnick?" her face was many levels of red now. "And as for the same name appearing, it just seems to be in my head all of the time." She quickly covered her own mouth, but it did not stop me from hearing her words.

I oh so casually tilted her head up with my forefinger, smirking at the sight of her red face. "Unless I'm mistaken, I must be the Finnick that seems to be forever haunting you." Her eyes avert away from my face. Her face is burning hot.

"You are mistaken." Again, with the three little words. Yet, disappointed as I was before, I tilted her face back down. But, unlike before, there seems to be a dull pain in the upper mid-left area of my chest. At least I don't think the pain was there before.

She quickly pins me against a wall and looks directly into my eyes, though her redness has yet to fade. "The Finnick that is invading my mind is the one that has yet to tell me I'm right. If he would simply admit that, then maybe the pain in my heart would go away."

I chuckled. "Stupid, stupid girl. That Finnick is still here." I grabbed her waist twirled her so that I could dip her like they do in those very old movies from long ago. "But he's never going to tell you you're right." I hesitantly pressed my lips against hers as I waited for her to slap me. But she didn't. She ran her fingers through my unruly hair and let me keep kissing her. It was embarrassing, really. To be kissing her so shamelessly. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

When I finally let her go and brought her back to her feet, her face seemed to be as hot as a hot spring. Perhaps even hotter.

"Just the answer I was expecting." She looked triumphant. "It took you four years, but you finally got here." Had she reached this point long before?

She let me go with just a kiss on the cheek. I would have to prepare for the long day tomorrow.

Please, god, do not let Annie be picked as the tribute.

- Next Day -

The mayor drones on as he does every year. I catch Annie's eye, and that cheers up my whole day. I can't bear the thought of mentoring yet another child, and having them die before my eyes. It's too cruel.

Now, it's time for the reapings. Please, please, please, god. Do not let Annie be picked. She's been through far too much.

The escort makes a show of attempting to pick a tribute. There's the way she dresses, the way she talks, the way she thinks of it as a big game. It is simply ridiculous.

She sighs dramatically and finally pulls out one slip. I stare in absolute horror for the few seconds before she announces the name, for I can see it form my place on stage.

The name called out to the horrified men and women of district four is Annie Cresta.

God must hate me.