Picture Perfect Memories

"Oh, go get him already," growled Portia, shooting me a wink.

"What? No. You are crazy. That is crazy. He makes me feel repulsive," I chided, spinning around to face her.

"Effie, you're attraction is painstakingly obvious. Please relieve the tension in some way," she responded.

"Fine. You know what? I am going out there, and I am going to order him to stay away. Obviously, he just wants to get a rise out of me," I spat, standing up.

"Obviously," Portia breathed.

"Oh, come on. Do not be jealous. I will be back in a hot second, one less man following me every move," I huffed.

Eyes followed me out the door, their glances piercing my confidence like a handful of daggers. By the time, I reached the corridor connecting the stairwell to the balcony and the lobby of the library, anxiety had taken hold. This is ludicrous. Besides, he is not anywhere to be seen.

"Looking for me?" spoke a soft voice from behind.

There he was, sitting calmly on a bench in plain view. I had completely and obliviously passed right by him. He now stood; legs slightly spread apart, hands behind his back. He wore a strong and triumphant grin. His look alone set me on edge.

"Look," I began, "I have no idea who you think you are, but following me around is not acceptable."

The instant I said that, I instantly regretted it. His eyebrows shot up in confusion and a hint of amusement. He walked closer, regaining his stance.

"You think I am following you?" he mused.

"I-I don't know what to think," I whispered, taking a step away.

"You realize that I am the Head Gamemaker, the person solely responsible for every decision that the Hunger Games committee makes. It is my job to know what is going on at every part of this Training Center. I am just doing my job," he stated.

I sensed a bit of anger in his tone.

"Mr. Crane, I am so sorry for my rudeness," I replied.

"Please, Seneca," he answered, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Why should I? I have never seen you before in my life," I responded.

He looked at me with such anger and hurt that I had to look away. I could hear his mind racing a mile a minute. There were so many things that I could tell her was dying to say. I closed my eyes, attempting to think back. Did I know him?

"I see," he finally managed, "I am truly sorry for bothering you, Miss Trinket."

He turned to leave.

"Please, Effie," I called out.

He stopped.

"Effie."

"Yes."

He remained motionless for a moment.

"We were in love once."

My eyes snapped opened wider. Visions of a haunted, distorted past splayed through my mind. I could see it. The times we spent in each other's lives. Our life. I could see it all. When I regained my sense of being, he was halfway down the hall.

"Seneca!" I called.

Again, he froze. I ran up beside him and forced him to turn around. His eyes met mine and searched for something familiar. Something homely. I imitated his glance, trying to find anything that would provide a clue for what was happening.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked.

"Barely. I just know, alright? I know that I know you," I gushed.

Frustration filled me. Why couldn't I remember more? Nothing concrete or even remotely accurate formulated inside of my head. I could feel his disappointment radiating out.

"I'm just so confused, Seneca. I don't know what's happening to me. Everything used to be so clear and concise. There was a time where everything was simple, right?" I asked.

He let out a laugh, "Nothing was ever simple with you, Effie."

I smiled at his comment. Perhaps, he could fill me in on the memories I lacked. He moved closer to me, our breath becoming shared. As I took him in, his smell caught me off guard. It was so familiar, yet so overwhelming. All of the sudden, nausea overtook me. I needed to get away quick.

"No," I breathed as he moved in, "I can't."

"Why not?" his lips moved closer.

"Please, just let me go," I cried out.

I stepped back and turned toward the library. I could see eyes staring at me through the panes that separated the lobby from the library. Girls were gasping, pointing, and shaking their heads in disapproval. One girl appeared to be crying into her friend.

"Effie," he called from behind.

"Just leave me alone!" I shouted back at him.

He eyes widened in shock. He moved forward, but stopped as if something had caught him. Then he shook his head, and snapped his arm down to his side. He stomped away, leaving me all alone in the lobby.

I sank to my knees, gripping my stomach, hoping that I could escape this desperate scene. All the unwanted attention from the girls bothered me less than the fact that Seneca made me feel awful. Subconsciously, he had destroyed me. And I had destroyed him.

Portia rushed out of the library, scooping down to lift me to my feet. I threw my arms around her head, and she just hugged me. Holding me tight, everything seemed to refocus. I could understand things again. I realized that Seneca had done nothing wrong.

"I don't understand," I cried into her, "Why is this happening to me?"

"Effie, what is going on with you? This type of behavior is not normal," she asked, with genuine concern in her voice.

"He makes me feel so sick. Every time he is within a few feet, I feel awful. And what's more is that I feel like I know him. I know that I know him from somewhere. I just cannot remember ever meeting him. I cannot even remember what happened before I met the President," I explained.

"What?" she seemed so overwhelmed by my words that she had to drag me over to the bench Seneca had been sitting on.

"I talked to President Snow one day. The day he gave me the key to the penthouse. But everything before then is a mystery," I said.

Portia just stared at me. She was at a loss for words.

"I think that you have been hijacked," she finally said.