VII
It was a good thing, I suppose, that his role as Victor and mentor required that he be at the Reapings because I never could get through another one without Finnick. He and Shad. They were the only ones who could calm me.
Though it may have gone unnoticed by others, Finnick seemed to dread his return to the Capitol, more so than before. I could sense he wouldn't talk about it anyway if I asked, so I told him to write to me. I meant it in a friendly sort of way. Mail, receiving and sending it, was a luxury then, but as a Victor (and the most celebrated Victor in years) Finnick could afford it. But I didn't expect him to take me up on the offer.
He did, though, and for good measure he wrote to Mother and Shad as well. But for me, I felt his letters were more open-hearted, especially after he began sending me two letters at once. You see, Mother, Shad, and I would share our letters with each other. They were a luxury, after all. But after a few months, Finnick sent me two, one "for show" letter and the real letter. The real letters were troubling to my mind.
The burdens are too great for one person to bear. I'm sorry to ask it of you, but you have the strength, Annie. I think you above everyone, even Shad, have the strength to help me bear these burdens. I think I might go mad here if I don't tell someone. I don't know what to do, I don't know who to be anymore. I feel like how they want me to feel. I feel defeated.
I remember every word of that first letter. I can't repeat the worst of them. But you know what your father was forced to.
I was young, maybe too young, to help him carry his fear and pain. I answered in the only way I could: I wrote him stories. I wrote about the ocean. I wrote histories of sea kings and queens. I wrote a story about a little brown seahorse far from home. I sang him songs and painted him pictures. I sent him a necklace with a lengthy note about how, when I found the perfect shell, I had to coax the crab from its home and persuade him to move into a newer, roomier residence.
I hoped he would laugh. I hoped he wouldn't be so homesick. I hoped he could still hope.
There were more stories, lots more, enough to fill all the paper he sent home twice.