Special AN at the end.

Music: "Youth" by Daughter.

Katniss

I walk away before Peeta can see me cry. The tears stream down my cheeks, hiccups sneaking out from between my lips.

Shh.

But it's no use. As love washes through me, I continue making sad, pathetic noises.

Shh.

I'd forgotten what my voice sounds like. Hearing myself speak again had been akin to hearing a stranger talk, someone worn out and incomplete.

But shh. Now.

As I near the street fest, I swallow the rest of my weeping. I scrub my face dry and take refuge in the color and music, retreating back to my spot on the table.

It never happened, I tell myself. I've been here the whole time. It's Peeta who walked away from the square. I never danced with him or said his name. I don't want him anymore. We are over now. We couldn't have ever been permanent. This would have happened anyway.

Finnick and Madge are still dancing. She's enjoying herself, learning the steps as my boyfriend teaches them to her. She thinks he's beautiful, that much is clear, but she's gracefully strict about keeping one hand poised on his shoulder and the other within his grasp. She shows little interest in letting her fingers roam. She's a trustworthy girl who will not betray Peeta.

My eyes burn. The aftertaste of his name lingers on my lips.

Stationed by the band, Jo and Tigris notice me sitting alone and look concerned by whatever expression I'm wearing. They start toward me. I shake my head, urging them to stay put.

When the music ends, Finnick detours to chat with Sae's husband, while Madge returns to the table. Her skin is rosy. In comparison, I must be a terrible sight because one look at me causes her to frown, her brows punching together.

"Where's Peety? " she asks, scanning the area.

Nonchalant, I flap my fingers, mimicking two legs walking away. Then I pump my thumb behind me, in the direction of the trees across the street.

Madge understands. Skeptically, she glances toward the alcove, then at me. "What else do you like to do besides swim and dance, Katniss?"

Her timing couldn't be worse. Against my better judgement, I snatch my notebook off the table and consider what sort of answer will fluster her the most. Then I write the truth. Read. Daydream. Eat. Sleep. Fuck.

She flinches and valiantly sticks up her nose. It's impressive how hard she's trying to not be offended. "Well, I enjoy dancing myself," she pipes. "I've taken ballet and gymnastics."

I know how to spear a fish. And skin a mutt.

"You see, I'm not blind. I know what you're doing."

I'm sure you'd like to know a lot more.

"Your boyfriend deserves someone who won't lie to him."

I practically snarl. Judging any portion of my life is unwise. It does not sit well with me, nor will it end well for this prissy American girl. Leave Finnick out of this.

"Oh, I think you already have. But fine. Let's talk about Peety," she says, regal and superior and utterly calm. "I live ten blocks from him, did he tell you that? We've known each other since elementary school. Our families know each other. I've been there for everything that matters to him. I saw his first painting. I've cheered at every one of his basketball games. I've rallied for him in wrestling meets."

I've kept him from drowning.

"Commendable," she concedes, fiddling with her P charm. "Thank you for taking care of my boyfriend. He means the world to me. We've grown up together, so it wasn't a surprise when things sped up between us. In fact, before he even finished asking me out, we had our first kiss."

He saw me naked within an hour of landing.

Madge's pretty blue eyes bulge out of their sockets. Her features scrunch together in outrage. "Why, you...you are...are a..." With a huff, she flounces off to find Peety.

My triumph is quickly outlived. Once she's gone, Finnick approaches. His brittle, knowing stare bores into mine, hinting just how long he was watching us. He offers me his arm. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Dramatic as it sounds, I feel his intentions in my bones. I don't want to take the kind of walk he means. I know what he's going to do once we're out of earshot. And I'm selfish. As much as I burn for Peeta, I don't want to lose Finnick. I never did. I long to remain right here where nothing has changed and I still have a chance of redeeming myself to him. But Madge is right. I've overstayed my welcome in his life.

So I grab my notebook and loop my arm through his. When he leads me into that alley where Peeta punched him, I wonder whether Finnick has a sharper agenda for choosing this spot. He withdraws from me and leans against the wall, his shadow slanting behind him and narrowing into a vanishing point. More cords of light dangle above us.

"This is where I knew" Finnick says. "I was suspicious from the beginning, of any guy living with you. I questioned his loyalty to Madge right after meeting him."

I remember Finnick doing that. On the beach, he attempted to goad Peeta into admitting that he might possibly cheat on Madge.

"But I knew for sure that he liked you when he came charging at me like some little white knight. I'd expect no less, mind you. You're too magnificent to be treasured just by me." Finnick's reserved tone softens around the edges. "I just didn't want to believe that you felt the same way about him."

I didn't, I scribble.

"It would really help if you stopped lying to yourself."

I didn't! I mean, I didn't know that I felt the same way back then.

"That's right. You usually don't see what's in front of you."

He couldn't be more correct. Until tonight, it seemed impossible that Peeta yearned for me, not while his porcelian girlfriend existed. Even so, discovering his desire hasn't eased the pain. It has intensified it.

"In the last year, the only times you smiled or cried were because of him," Finnick says.

My eyes must be red. It's clear that he's figured enough out on his own. I still need to explain some things, but ever since fate let Madge out of her cage, I've felt stripped of energy.

"Were you using me to make him jealous, Katniss?" he asks.

I shake my head. No!

"Because I thought we were a team. I thought you meant it at Christmas, when you promised me that it was still us. Just you and me."

The notebook falls to the ground. I drop my face into my hands.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

I nod into my palms.

"I'd understand if you were using me. I still remember what it's like to love someone."

I raise my face to his broken one. His irises glint in remorse. "After Annie died, I didn't know how to get better. But then...you and me...we found each other. I used you to recover." He laughs bitterly. "When Peeta came to live with your family, I got nervous. I was afraid he'd steal your attention and I'd be alone again. I kept you from being with the one you wanted."

Finnick.

"This was never right. What we've been doing. I should have stopped this before it started, no matter what I felt."

The confession chips at my conscience. I used you as well.

"That doesn't excuse me," Finnick says, his voice watery, defeated. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I was so wrong."

I cross over to him. Me, too.

The first time we were alone, I was nearly sixteen, self-destructive and angry at everything that got in my path. He was eighteen and had dared to block that path, his bronzed body strung as tight as a net, strong and unbreakable, which got my attention. What did Finnick Odair gain from hanging out with plain Katniss Everdeen?

He swam with me that day, both of us lost in grief and memories. Nothing happened, but from then on, the rhythm of my breathing changed for good. He was the first boy to ever find a route into my dreams. The first one to ever disarm my friends, earning his place in our dreamer world. The first one to touch me.

Neither of us have an excuse for what we've shared, how we've attempted to cope with things, how we convinced ourselves that sex could somehow help us forget our losses. We should have known better. But perhaps we can still learn. We can heal as friends.

My hands cup his face. And I give him a kiss. I kiss him chastely, lightly, sweetly, telling him goodbye. The difference between this moment and the last one with Peeta is that my eyes are going to stay dry once it's over. I'm crushed and ashamed, yet I'm free of tears.

The sound of Cray barking threats from the square forces Finnick and I to wrench apart at the same instant. We rush toward the commotion and halt at the lip of the alley. Cray and his uniformed minions are stationed at various points throughout the square, armed with black sticks. We'd known that Cray would break the street fest up again. But none of us expected him to do it this soon, with all the crime in the east shore usually keeping him busy.

As he and his snaggle-toothed cronies start closing in on the villagers, his high-pitched voice honks through a megaphone, its wide rim sprouting from his face like a snout. "Leave this area now. That's an order!"

The music trips to a halt and the dancers stumble over one another's feet. The crowd ripples with tension.

Cray sneers and tugs a pair of handcuffs from his belt. The police don't have enough shackles to do the job. But there are enough to punish a handful of people on everyone else's behalf, to make examples of them by locking them to the nearest surface.

He threatens, "Or we can detain you right where you are. Starting with your little mockingjay activist."

Me. The one responsible for all of this.

The villagers explode, their shouts overlapping through the square. The police move forward. The villagers stay put, pumping their fists in the air, hollering their own demands.

They're only yelling. Nothing else. It's okay.

Until it isn't. I'm unsure how things escalate from hazardous to disastrous, but they do. Someone bumps into someone else, and that someone thinks it's a push, and they push back, and this action gets repeated and repeated, spreading like a disease. Like fire. Bodies collide. Others scamper away. Two women get shackled together. Gale Hawthorne throws a punch at someone. An arm raises one of those black sticks and brings it down.

My gaze darts wildly across the chaos, hunting for Jo and Tigris. Where are they? Where's Cinna? Where's Uncle Haymitch?

Where's Peeta?

Cray snatches Greasy Sae's husband by the collar and forces him to drop his guitar, which gets stampeded by frantic feet. Old Man Sae used to entertain Primrose and me with that guitar. He's my neighbor and my friend. And he's being handcuffed to a pole.

I blink from my stupor and launch myself ahead to help him, but I'm instantly yanked back. Finnick's hands clamp around my waist as he hauls me away. I make it difficult for him, alternating between kicking and clawing at the air, and grinding my heels into the pavement.

Let me go! Let me gooooo!

Finnick hoists me off the ground, tosses me over his shoulder, leans over to grab my notebook and pencil, and then rushes down the alley while I beat my fists against his back. A short while later, I sag, pretending to have given up as the sounds of the uprising fade, replaced by the whoosh of the surf. The second Finnick is certain that we're out of harm's way, he drops me to the ground.

And I sprint in the direction we came from. And he catches me again.

I manage to get in a few smacks before he seizes my arms. "You can hit me all you want. You're staying right here. Katniss, it's too dangerous to go back."

I stab my finger into my chest repeatedly.

I started it! It wasn't supposed to come to this. I owe our people.

"This isn't about you, remember? It's about everyone."

I pause. Peeta once said that very same thing to me.

"The fishing permits, the hunger, it's everyone's fight. You didn't force anyone to be there. It was our choice. You started it, but you couldn't have stopped it. You're not thinking straight, dammit! You won't do anyone any good by getting yourself trampled on. Nobody wants you hurt. I don't."

Haymitch! My friends! I mouth.

"They can take care of themselves."

Old Man Sae!

"Old Man Sae knows what he's gotten himself into."

Peeta! my lips cry silently.

Finnick winces. "All right. I'll go back and help. I'll make sure he—everybody is safe. As long as you stay away, you can go from house to house and spread the word about what's happened."

Only adults came to the protest. Children were left with other family members and neighbors who volunteered to watch them. Many of them don't have phones. They need to be told in person.

I can't disregard the people who have no idea what's going on. Warily, I give in.

"Good, " he says, trusting me to keep my word. He collects my writing materials from the ground-they must have fallen during our scuffle-and offers them to me. He starts to leave, but then twists to give me one last kiss, rough and rushed. "Goodbye, Katniss."

Goodbye, Finnick.

It takes all night trudging into homes and trying to reassure families with scrawled words on paper. It's difficult to explain, to find the right words, with the guilt churning inside me. My hands shake as I write. There was a riot...Cray came too soon...but it will be...everything will be...too many people..I couldn't be sure...I don't know...Finnick said...yes, I saw your son...no, I didn't see your aunt...yes, if I see them...yes, I will tell them...I will look out for...I promise...I'm sorry...

I have to erase and rewrite my thoughts so often because I'm not good at this. Peeta would be. He should be here.

As the hours pass, faces show up, meeting me on the road on their way home. They say it's over. Some people are in the hospital. The villagers who return are tired and battered, but they're proud, their smiles rising with the sun. They squeeze my shoulder, not blaming me for abandoning the scene.

When I spot Old Man Sae hobbling down the lane, I fling myself at him. He hugs me back as best he can with a broken wrist and a patchwork of bruises all over him. Finnick got him out of the shackles, but Old Sae doesn't say exactly how, nor do I care. My eyes water at the loss of his instrument, and I long to apologize for leaving him behind, for not helping somehow, for favoring my safety first. But he merely pats my cheek.

"There is enough music for us all," he says. "There is only one of you."

I promise myself that someday I will sing for him again. Then I probe him for information, but no, he didn't see Peeta anywhere. No, none of the people dragged to jail or carted to the hospital were him, or Haymitch, or Joanna, or Tigris, or Cinna. Old Man Sae believes Peeta wasn't in the square at all.

Once my visits are done, I race to the cottage. Mama is sleeping because she wasn't there to begin with, but no one else is home. I pull on the roots of my hair. Finnick said he would look out for the ones I love. I believe him, yet it isn't enough for me. I set off on my own search, checking back at the alcove where I last saw Peeta, then in the square, and then at Madge's hotel. I comb through the nearby trails that he's most likely to use.

Nothing. It's just past dawn. I can only hope that he and Madge went somewhere far away, before the mob even started, and haven't returned yet. My family and friends are missing, but they too may be wandering around.

My pulse slows as I force myself to breathe. A strange, numbing calm oozes into my blood, sedating my thoughts. Peeta is fine. They're all fine. I know it. Peeta is with Madge. He's safe.

My arms and limbs droop with exhaustion, but there is only one cure. One place. It's the same place, the only other place, that I might find Peeta. The sea is calling, so I answer it.

But he's not there either, I discover.

Standing at the beach, I stare ahead at the horizon. Primrose used to say that if either of us ever drowned, it would be her. I never believed that, nor that I was better at staying afloat. She was the one who conquered the waves, slicing through them, graceful as a dolphin. She made me proud. Not once had I doubted her abilities, foolish girl that I am.

It dawns on me that maybe my love for her is untrustworthy. Maybe it has obscured the memory. Maybe my sister insisted she would be the one to drown because she wanted it to be true, not because she expected it to be true. The possibility stalls me halfway across the sand. Why has it taken me this long to consider all the tiny ways in which she tried to protect me? Was I too preoccupied doing the same thing with her to notice?

She looked out for me. She was strong and self-reliant. I taught her to be those things, although it turns out that I didn't need to. They were already a natural part of her, like her wisdom and selflessness. She did not worry about herself in the water. She was too skilled for that. But the water found a way to take her anyway.

Maybe I could have saved her if I had been there, but maybe not. I couldn't have predicted what would happen. And I couldn't have controlled the sea that day, any more than I can control the beats of my heart, or this island's heart, or my mother's heart, or Finnick's heart, or Peeta's heart. I can't control the ocean, nor the sunset or the cliffs or the direction a mockingjay will fly. I can't control who loves me or who I love. I can't control whether people leave me. I can't control many things, so I need to stop trying.

Slipping off my sandals, I tilt my head toward the sky. I inhale the salted wind as it pushes against my clothes and hair, more aggressively than usual for this early hour. Because the sun has barely risen, I'm alone. Just me and my naked feet. And the bleached sand dunes rolling down the coastline, the blooming bromeliads, the palms, and the waves shifting from green to blue like the eyes of two very different boys.

I race toward the color, my legs pumping, building momentum the closer I get. My arms spread like wings as I hurl myself into the surf, sprays of water jetting around me just before I dive into an oncoming wall of water. Surfacing for air, I feel resistance as the ocean slams against me, then an invitation as it withdraws into the horizon, tugging me with it.

Though my dress clings to my thighs, making me a little less agile, I'm undeterred. I join the sea's rhythm and swim. I leave the heartbreak behind and swim. And swim. And swim.

And then I see her. I gasp out loud and accidentally swallow salt water as the sight unfolds before me. Bobbing ahead, amongst infinity, is my sister. My beautiful little sister.

My body gives out, causing me to slip beneath the water briefly. Shocked, I struggle to the surface just as a wave knocks me back down. The second time I recover, I expect her to be gone. But she's not. Her silhouette floats within reaching distance. So near. So very near.

My eyes sting from tears and from the onslaught of salt. No. It can't be her. It's impossible. Please no. Please.

Primrose.

Although I didn't speak, she turns as if she heard me call out to her. When she sees me, a precious smile splits her face.

The scream begins in my spine and vaults into my chest and up my throat, but I plug it shut. This isn't right. It's not her. It's not real. I need to go. But I'm tired. Her smile makes me painfully tired, and her laugh transfixes me.

Happily, she shouts, "Katniss!"

She wants to play like we used to. She looks like she's in the mood for a race, but she has a head start on me.

I've missed this so much.

I surrender to the vision, kicking hard, my body working to against the tide. With each stroke forward, I pray. Don't go, wait for me, I'm coming. Yet no matter how much distance I cover, she remains just as far away as she was when I set out. I'm failing to reach her. And worse, she's getting darker, her features blurring. In terror, I fling myself ahead, desperate to stop her from vanishing.

My side is beginning to ache. It tightens each time I move.

Then the ocean betrays me. It roars like an animal, flexing, cresting, and sweeping me underneath its wide, foaming mouth. Everything goes quiet except for the wretched, gurgling echo of bubbles. A mantra forms in my head. I'm Katniss Everdeen. I'm sixteen years old. I'm most likely about to die. But I won't die peaceful or spent, nor will I die willingly.

I will die fighting. I flail, wild but disoriented and grabbing at nothing. As I spiral further into the well, away from my sister, away from every person I love, I think about finding my voice again. And how much I'll miss using it.

So I decided to post today because, well, it's my birthday and I wanted to celebrate with you guys! I am astounded and beyond grateful by the response to this story. I read every review, and listen, and smile.

As for birthday treats in the name of Everlark, many heartfelt thanks to the illustrious Court81981 (All for One) and the delightful Baronesskika (All the President's Men) for the dedication chapters.

Also, some of my favorite people have gifted me with beautiful stories:

Looking for a Lifeline by Chelzie (WIP! Gypsy Katniss and small town boy Peeta)

Reel Love by the Court81981 (WIP coming soon! Everlark as Hollywood BFFs, with a special nod to my story Rebel)

And the Book by iLoVeRynMar (timeless Post-MJ)

Paradise Lost by TomiStaccato (Everlark as Adam & Eve, which can be read if you donate to streetlightlove's charity s2sl)

You guys are stardust. I don't know what I'd do without you!

Until the next update, dear readers. *wink*

I'm at: andshewaits (d0t) tumblr (d0t) com.