A/N: This chapter is not related to the song by Anberlin with which it shares its name; although I do love that song.

ALSO, I am so terribly sorry for the lapse in update. To anyone who thought the story was over, it's not. I promise it's not. I don't even know where I'm ending the story yet. I just haven't had a chance to write in FOREVER…and last time I did, I used it to update my other story. Sorry!

In this chapter, you'll start to really notice that the narrator is an actual character, not just some omniscient narrator. I promise their identity will become more and clearer as the story progresses.
JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER TILL THEY ACTUALLY MEET. Yayyyy! Now, enjoy, my lovelies! : )

"Now, now, Mr. Odair, let's not be so hasty," Snow says as Finnick turned to leave. "You've still got quite a large family back home, don't you?"

Finnick nodded, but he did not let himself think of them—all his little cousins and his aunts and uncles—he only thought of the nieces and nephews he'd never meet because of the man who stood before him. He held his tongue; he held onto his fury.

He sat in the plush loveseat with perfect posture, displaying the utmost composure. He wouldn't give Snow the satisfaction of watching him squirm. He was a Victor; he knew how to hide his fear and grief. He knew how to play his part and play it well.

He agreed to the deal—sell yourself to save your family—like so many Victors did before him and would do after him.

(The most tragic part is that during the rebellion, the entire Odair clan perished; his agony was all in vain. He never knew this, though; the mutts got to him before the news did.)

Mags turned him over to Haymitch Abernathy who, despite being middle-aged and a complete drunkard, was much more helpful to the new Victors than he ever was to his tributes—until Katniss and Peeta, of course, but that really had nothing to do with him.

Haymitch taught him the tricks of the trade—how to give everything you have to your clients, without actually giving them anything personal; how to compartmentalize the hurt, anger, and frustration from the Capitol façade you must present to the world; and most importantly, how to still be able to find yourself under all of it.

At first, he hated Haymitch. Finnick didn't understand why Mags brought him there; he saw Haymitch as a washed-up old man too hooked on drink to know what was going on. Finnick didn't know that Haymitch helped because he cared. Finnick didn't know that Haymitch was the most qualified, because he was the example. Finnick didn't know that Haymitch, being an ignorant and cocky teenager, lost everyone he loved because there was no one to make him understand how to be a Victor; no one to teach him how to make it out of the Games with a family. Finnick didn't know, and no one could blame him for his ignorance; it's something expected of new Victors.

It took years before Finnick understood, but that's a story for later. I promise to share it with you all soon, but not now. We've got a couple years to go until then.

The 67th Hunger Games had never been seen by Finnick. During the Games, since he wasn't officially mentoring, he was always with clients. He was young, beautiful, and oh-so charming; it wasn't any wonder as to why he was constantly booked.

The history books will teach you that he was an "escort," but that's not the word anyone would actually use to describe Finnick Odair.

Finnick Odair, the boy with the trident, the child Victor of the brutal Games he helped to stop, was more than an escort. Finnick was a slave, beaten around and used, then thrown to the streets to find his way home afterwards. He never sought out payment, never complained; never even so much as created any doubt in his handlers' minds that he was anything but theirs. He had a job to do: save his family. He did it perfectly, no matter the cost to his body and mind. His mind never dodged the abuse of a client; constantly asking him to "love" them, thinking he wanted to be there, wanted to be with them. His body often avoided it. Many clients were too afraid to leaves marks on his skin; afraid of lessening his beauty. But sometimes, they weren't. Sometimes, they'd cut him and whip him. They'd beat him within an inch of death, and leave him on the street with a punctured lung. They'd kill him again and again, but never let his soul move on to the freedom that awaited him; never let his body truly rest.

The only form of compensation he received were the small secrets he'd overhear; the tidbits of information they'd whisper to others when they thought he was out of earshot, or the more straight forward ones they'd reveal out of guilt.

After years of torment, he'd finally use those secrets. He'd lead a rebellion with the aid of those secrets.

(I'm getting ahead of myself once more, and I apologize. There's just so much for me to say, it's hard to keep all these thoughts in order.)

Time became obsolete. The sun rose and set over the Capitol, but all Finnick knew was his schedule. He slept when he could, but would fall victim to nightmares. Crystal would haunt him most of all, but so would Jullican. None of you remember Jullican, but he was Finnick's final kill. He was 16 and a career, the epitome of brutal—but his kill had been the hardest on Finnick. "You're one of us now, Pretty Boy," were words that Finnick could never shake. Although he hailed from District 4, Finnick never trained; never wanted to kill. But he did, he killed more than anyone else ever did. He killed. It was bloody and messy, and painful. The innocent child became a calloused killer in a matter of days.

The Capitol would see to it that he never forgot that. Everywhere he turned there was a reminder of his games, from the trident-themed décor of every room they check him into, to the billboards of his face plastered around the shining city. He could never escape it. Not when he was choked into oblivion by his handlers—that only reminded him of when Clarissa held him down under the water, where he gasped for air until he finally overpowered her and snapped her neck—and especially not when he slept. Nothing was better when he slept; but that's the same for all Victors.

He never saw the 67th Hunger Games.

During its airing, he was literally tied up and far too preoccupied with his duties to even try to watch the recaps; as far as he was concerned, since 4's tributes died in the bloodbath he didn't have any reason to watch 22 other kids slaughter each other.

(Even in the years that followed, he never requested the tapes; never even really contemplated watching them. I think that if he were here now, he'd watch her tapes with her; all the Victors re-watched their tapes after the Capitol fell. It was healing, in a really tortuous way.)

When Johanna Mason was announced as the Victor, Finnick had been sipping some orange juice with Mags in the Mentor's Café. He almost choked on the acidic liquid when it spewed out his nose from his utter shock.

He remembered seeing her before the Games; in reaping recaps, training scores, and interviews. He thought she was a goner for sure. Mags told him—quietly, of course, because there's no such thing as privacy for Victors—how she had won.

Finnick Odair, who was already sort of a heart-throb to all of the Capitolites—but not quite as much as he would soon become—was for the first time in his life completely nervous about meeting a woman.

Somehow, he had to figure out how to talk to, and hopefully one day, befriend the sly, cunning, tragically brutal girl that killed almost as many children as he did; someone who would understand how much like a monster he felt; and most importantly, someone who defied the Capitol and kept their will to live.

He had only six months until that very woman would be welcomed to District 4 on her Victory Tour. He had only 6 months to muster up the courage to speak to her. At the time, the feat was unattainable to him.

But Finnick Odair was a victor in all of his endeavors, not just the Hunger Games; and this was just one more quest in which he'd succeed.

A/N #2: I'm not going to promise a speedy update, so I'm going to again apologize if it takes a while for the next chapter.
Thank you for being so understanding! I hope you like this chapter.