Thank you HogwartsDreamer113, Guilia892, MsMKT68, X The mad girl back home X, Just A Guest and QuinnDeRavensborough for reviewing! :)
In response to one of the reviews, I don't think Finnick's a pedophile. He's 15, Annie's nearly 14. It's only a 1-2 year difference, but it really depends on how you view it. Finnick's still unsure and pretty oblivious with his feelings as of right now and obviously, he's in no situation to deal with romance issues in this part of the story. I know it's weird in teen years since it seems extremely weird for two people with an age difference to be a couple but y'know, "age is but a number". At least he's not like 19. I don't mind what your opinion is on their difference in age. Just keep in mind that Annie still likes Ayden ;)
XIX.
Raindrops splattered and rolled down the crystal clear window. I watch as droplets of water trailed down and gaze straight outside at my house. I can't help but shiver at the sight of the trees behind the house, which seem to give off an ominous feeling. I release a long sigh.
"What do I do?" I ask Mags, setting down a cup of tea for her.
"That's your choice," she replies. "Not mine but you can't just keep ignoring them forever. You've been staying here all week. When do you plan on going home to them?"
My shoulders slump and I slouch in the chair. "I don't know. You and Amphitrite are taking care of them fine."
She pats my shoulder, affectionately. "Rhea's your sister and you've known Annie for years."
"But I don't get it! Why didn't they tell me?"
"They're thirteen, Finnick; nearly fourteen. They may be smart but they probably don't completely understand what happened."
"They still could've at least mentioned it once or twice," I grumbled, crossing my arms across my chest.
It's not like it was my fault that I had no idea what happened. For the past week, I've been ignoring the girls. I have stayed at Mags' house, avoiding them as much as possible. I'm not only upset with them for not informing me about my mother's mental issues, but I'm most disappointed in Annie. She'd been treated like a daughter and we'd offered her a home, and she was barely affected by mother's death.
Training with them has been out of the question, though I do train by myself sometimes after school to release some steam. I fish, go to school, train and hang out with my mates. When I'm not home, Mags cooks and takes care of the girls while they're not at school. While I want to forgive them so badly, I just can't seem to find myself to be able to do that. If only they had told me about mother's illnesses, I would have been able to help, rather than walk around District Four like a fool.
I often ponder if my mother's death is a consequence of something I've done. Have I defied President Snow? I don't recall anything bad I've done since last year. If memory serves, I had actually agreed to his deal rather begrudgingly. The guilt and curiosity has been eating me from the inside out as I keep questioning myself. What the hell did I do?
"It's not your fault," Mags reprimands, as if she had just read my mind. "PTSD is normal for individuals who lose their lover. I can guarantee you that Snow had nothing to do with manipulating your mother or anything."
"Yes, he did!" I stand up abruptly, the legs of my chair screeching against the timber floor. "He killed my father and that consequently killed my mother! He's such a conniving bastard!" I spit out, my tone laced with venom and hatred.
"Finnick," she scolds, "That's what's going to get you in trouble. Stop mouthing off other people…" Her voice lowers into a soft whisper. "Especially not Snow."
I snort, "What else will he do? Kill off Annie and Rhea? If he does that, he'll have nothing against me and how would that benefit him?"
"Finnick."
The voice echoes around in my mind almost painfully. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. Slowly, the voice becomes more masculine and I open my eyes out of curiosity. "Finnick… Finnick… Finnick…" The voice trails off into a fading whisper and within seconds, it becomes audible again and louder.
"Hello?" I ask, taking a hesitant step forward. "Who's there?"
"Me."
I whip around, almost losing my balance in the process and coming face to face with Maxwell. He stares at me indifferently. His thin, lanky frame towers over my height of six feet. Arms crossed, legs stood apart, frown etched on his face and a weapon in hand - he makes me feel like a defenceless chicken about to be fried. "How are you?" I manage to ask.
He shrugs, running his index finger along the sharper side of his blood-stained sword. "Can't really say, being dead and all that, you know?"
Grimacing, I apologise. "I should have tried and sent you a sponsors gift as a message to run or something. I'm so sorry I failed you."
The hand clutching the weapon twitched and his fingers tightened their grip around the handle. "Sorry won't cut it, Finnick," Maxwell laughs bitterly. "I'm dead. There's nothing you can do about it. The Capitol may be able to bring people back to life, but they won't bring me back. You bloody killed me."
"No, I didn't!" I argue. "Althea Yule, from District One killed you. Believe me, if I could, I would have helped you. I wanted to, but it was too late by the time I searched through the sponsors gifts list."
"I don't care!" he bellows. Maxwell's knuckles turn white as he clutches onto the sword for dear life, raising it a few inches off the ground. Seconds later, it's pressing into the middle of my neck. I let out a gasp at the sudden action and look down with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"
The blade presses against my skin, enough for a droplet of blood to seep out. He laughs bitterly. "Something I should've done the moment you opened your mouth."
"Finnick? Finn-"
Two Mags' appear in front of me. I blink rapidly until there's only one figure standing in front of me. When I finally gain my senses back, I realise that I'm desperately gasping for air and sweating - and not just like normal; I have beads of sweat dripping down the side of my face. A small, comforting hand places itself on my shoulder and I receive a gummy, sympathetic smile from Mags.
"Are you okay, Finnick?"
I let out a deep breath and reply with a vague, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You go to the psychiatric ward tomorrow, remember?" she reminds me.
"I don't need to go!" I argue back. "I'm fine."
"No you're not," she denies, in a tone that I have learnt is supposed to be firm and decisive. "I'm not saying you have to like it or you'll be all perfect again like you were before the Games, but it will help, at least in the slightest."
"I don't need to go! I'm completely fine!" I exclaim, standing up with my chair screeching against the floor again. "Besides, it's weird to be a victor of the Hunger Games and to be at a freaking mental hospital."
"Language," she scolds. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be having constant hallucinations and blowing up on everyone all the time."
"I don't… blow up on everyone all the time, Mags…" Despite what I say, I find myself to not believe it. I have in fact, blown up on people: Annie, Rhea and just now, Mags. Heck, I nearly blew up on Marlene and Oliver a few days ago.
"It will help," Mags encourages.
I sigh, knowing there's no way out of this. "Fine… but I don't want to go. Remember that."
She gives me another gummy smile. "Better than nothing."
A/N: I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter - that's why it's shorter than usual - but I hope it's okay :) I have no idea what happens in mental wards in hospitals so I'll have to do a lot of research on it :/