Chapter Eight

There are several days that I try going back to Mags's house, to take her up on her offer of support. But it's hard to get out of bed, and even harder to tear myself from the nightmares that continue when I wake. I worry that I'd just be a bother to her most days anyway. I know I am to my father—he seems to avoid me as much as possible when he's home now.

The day I wake up feeling more like myself, I make my way down to the beach. It's a cold day, the breeze blowing hard off the ocean, but I'm determined to find some new shells to build up my collection again. When I finally get to the water, I hesitate. The last time I was submerged in the water was in the arena, when I was named Victor. I sit at the edge of the beach, watching the waves continually fold over themselves. My bare feet are cold in the sand, and I can feel water from the damp ground beneath me seeping into my linen pants, but I can't make myself move anymore. I just stare as the light sparkles off the waves, hearing nothing but the sound of water. It's loud in my ears, and I swear I can hear the boom and crash of the dam breaking, again and again.

I'm not sure how long I sit there, but the waves are much closer to me when I hear a commotion to my right. I glance over, and see a sailboat docking on the shore next to me, a handful of people stepping out, laughing and talking. Among them is Finnick Odair. They walk toward me, talking, and I hear the tail end of their conversation.

"And that's how I knew without a doubt that this child was Topher's—never stays still when we're out on the ocean." A young pregnant woman with flowing brown hair says with a smile, her hand resting gently on her protruding belly.

"Amazing." Finnick laughs, reaching out to touch her stomach. She grabs his hand and holds it in place on her stomach.

"See? And now he's stopped moving that we're on shore."

Finnick spots me and says his goodbyes to his friends before walking over to me. "Fancy seeing you here, Annie." He smiles and sits next to me. "Actually, it's good to see you out of the neighborhood. Is this your first time since you've been home?"

I look up at Finnick, his green eyes reflecting the ocean. Finnick really is the one who notices everything. "Yeah," I say, "I was hoping to do some diving, but… I couldn't bring myself to get in the water."

Finnick nods slowly. "It took me months before I could go back fishing after my Games, and I love fishing. But the act of spearing with the trident, it scared me to even think about it."

The question that's been on my mind the past few weeks spills out. "How do you do it, Finnick?"

"Do what? Be so handsome all the time?" He says with a wink before his smile fades and he looks down at his lap. "Sorry, things like that always come out of habit, but it feels wrong when I say them to you."

"It's okay. I understand." I don't understand, I think. You've been through so much more than I'll ever know. "I mean, how do you continue on with your life, after the Games? How do you still find things to laugh about and be happy about, even with everything you're forced to do?"

Finnick nods, his fingers tracing circles in the sand beside his knees. "Mags told me something once. She's been around since the start of the Games, you know. I asked her pretty much the same thing you did, and she told me that it's best to accept the way life is now. Fighting against it will only cause you more pain. Accepting that this is my life now, and that there are things that I can't control, but that I do still have control over some things, that's how to cope. I can't control how often I have to go to the Capitol, what I have to do there, or which of my tributes lives or dies, but I can control small moments. Like sitting here, with you. I can control what I do when I'm here in the District. I can control what I get from the Capitol, and how I see the Capitol. I'm not saying I'm good at it. It's really hard to accept some things. But ideally, that's how I try to cope." His serious face then turns into a strangely teasing smile. "Now in reality, I cope by laughing at things. If I don't take the Capitol seriously, they can't hurt me as much, you know? Gallows humor makes things go down a lot easier than letting myself feel the full impact of the Games each year."

I think about what he's said. About humor and accepting life. I think about how since I left the Games, I've been fighting against the damage it's done to me, and how fighting it has never stopped the episodes from coming, or made me feel any better.

"I'm not saying any of it comes easy," Finnick continues. "It took me a long time to get here. I really was a mess for a long time— not that I let anyone see it, other than Mags. And honestly, sometimes I still am. But I think it's possible— to find things to live for. There's so much the Capitol takes from us. I try to claim whatever I can."

I nod, silently, still processing what he's said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Annie." He looks at me and gives me a brief smile. "I know I'm not Mags, but I'm happy to talk, or just listen, whenever you want. We Victors have to stick together."

"Thank you, Finnick." I say. I see a glimmer peeking out from the sand, just beside Finnick's feet. Slowly, I reach forward to grab it—a beautiful white shell with deep ridges. "I don't think I'll be able to get in the water today," I say with a sigh, confirming what I'd been too afraid and disappointed to admit to myself before talking with Finnick, "But I still found this shell. That's something, right?"

Finnick smiles, "It is."

I polish of the shell, and place it in the woven pouch I brought with me. This is something the Capitol can't take from me. This conversation with Finnick. This shell. The feel of the sand and the sound of the ocean and the spray of the water in the air. This moment is mine. And that can be enough.

"C'mon, why don't we give ol' Mags a visit? I'm sure she'd love to see your shell. And I'd be happy to introduce you sometime to the Gaskells—that's who I was with earlier. Technically, being a Victor I'm not allowed to work, but the Gaskells let me come out on their boat with them and if I catch a few fish, they'll never tell."

"I'd like that," I say, taking Finnick's arm just like before. "You can tell me all about your illegal fish trading."

Finnick makes an exaggerated gasp, "Don't let anyone hear you say that!" He protests, but there's no one else nearby who could actually hear him and I can't help but laugh with him.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Finnick asks, "So tell me about shells. What draws you to them?"

Nobody has ever asked me about that. I have to think for a minute before I answer. "Well, honestly, they're beautiful. And I think I have a weakness for beautiful things." I feel my cheeks flush as I think about the implications of saying that to Finnick Odair of all people, but luckily he doesn't say anything. "But I also think there's something special about these shells. They've been discarded—no longer of use to the creatures that once lived in and used them. But even so, they're still worth something. They still offer beauty, and there's endless possibilities of how they can be used and repurposed. Their lives aren't over just because they've been abandoned in the sand."

Finnick reaches out his free hand. "Can I see it?"

I pull the shell I found from my pouch, and place it in his hand. We stop walking and Finnick examines it closely, the light sparkling from its iridescent curves. "I don't think I've ever truly appreciated the beauty of shells before, Annie. Thank you."

I smile, and a warmth fills my chest. I gaze at Finnick's bronzed face in the same way he just examined the shell, hungry to remember each and every detail of the man who has made me feel this way. To have someone appreciate my thoughts and take interest in my interests is something I've never experienced before, but it makes me feel so much lighter than I've felt in a long time.

The sun is beginning to set by the time we make it to Mags's house in the Victor's Village.

"I was hoping I'd see you today, Annie, come in, come in!"

"Hey, what about me?" Finnick asks in a mock-hurt tone.

Mags turns to look him up and down, trying to stifle her smile. "Yeah, I guess you can come too." But she can't keep the charade long and pulls us both into a deep hug. My face is pressed over her shoulder, Finnick's arms wrapped around us both.

"Come, have a seat," Mags says, gesturing to her sitting room. There's a worn blue sofa flanked by two woven rattan chairs surrounding a lit fireplace that pops and crackles. The orange glow from the sunset spills into the room, creating an atmosphere of life and warmth.

"Now, Annie, you know that you have your Victory Tour coming up in a few months. One thing we need to do to prepare for it is to determine your talent. Since you've won the Games and now have the privilege of not going to school or working, you're expected to develop some sort of talent to fill your time—something you can show to the Capitol. It can be anything, really. Is there something you'd be interested in doing?"

A sinking feeling settles in my chest as I think about how I've spent the last several weeks at home, barely able to grasp onto reality, and I'm not sure how I'd find the energy to actually develop any kind of talent. But, if this is my life now, I have to at least try. "Can you give me some examples?"

"Finnick, here, chose to write poetry for his talent. I've seen people do basket weaving, painting, singing, dancing, wood carving… I'm sure I can think of more ideas if you need."

I imagine each of these options. "No, no I think that's enough." Somehow, my mind keeps getting drawn back towards dance. I'm reminded of some dancing shows I watched as a child, and remember being mesmerized by the way the dancers moved their bodies. "I think I'd like to try dancing, at least to start, and go from there."

"Excellent." Mags says.

Finnick, who I'm learning is never one to stay silent or serious for too long says, "Dancing? You mean, like this?" He gets up from the couch and strikes a ridiculous pose, his hips swayed to one side, his hands slowly wiggling his fingers in the air.

I reach my hand to cover my eyes for second as I laugh, and then surprise myself when I get up and say, "No, like this!" I jump up to create my own ridiculous moves, flapping my arms in the air and spinning around on one foot. "Do you think the Capitol would like this?"

Finnick laughs. "They might! But wait, do that again—what was that move?" His eyes are light and his dimples deep as he looks at me, and I do the move again. This time, he follows me, trying to mimic my actions.

I turn to look at Mags, and she just sits there, watching us, smiling but shaking her head slightly. I think for a moment that she's going to scold us, tell us we're behaving poorly, but instead, she stands up too, her small frame swaying as she says, "Learn from the master, children. You've really got to move like this." She puts her hands on her hips and kicks her feet out one at a time, tapping her heels to the ground as she does. Finnick and I try to copy her moves before we all collapse back on the couch, clutching our sides as we laugh.

Once I'm back in my dark, cold home, huddled in my bed that I know will bring nightmares, I hold onto that shining, golden moment, and know that claiming those moments of joy is how I can make it through the darkness.