Chapter Sixteen

I don't get called to the Capitol between the announcement of the Quell and Reaping Day. It's probably too dangerous to have me there. Maybe because the women who think they love me there are in an uproar over my possible death. It's sort of nice to think that even shallow, vapid women who know nothing about actual love might mourn my death.

Either way, what it really means is that I spend every waking moment with Annie and as many with Mags as she'll allow. She tries to push us away and together, probably thinking it'll be easier for us when she's gone, but we won't let her. She's not going to spend her last weeks alone. It's not allowed. So we spend our time taking care of her, making food for her, amusing her, and listening to the stories she's never told us before about her family and the days before the Dark Days.

Too soon, though, it's Reaping Day.

I lay in bed with Annie trembling in my arms and wish for a hurricane to wash us all to sea.

Aside from Annie, I never get what I wish for.

I watch her put on a green dress. I watch her fingers shake as she tugs at the sleeves. I watch her decide to go barefoot because she can't make her hands work well enough to buckle the sandals she loves. I watch her yank a brush through her hair just twelve times before she throws it out the window in frustration.

I walk away then, hoping she can find some peace and calm without me watching every move she makes. But she follows me, helping me put on a white sweater that belonged to my father, and then we go to get Mags. None of us speak as we walk to town. There's nothing left to be said. Annie made us promise that the last thing we said to her would be what we said last night and we're going to give her that.

In the Square, the roped off areas seem so small.

I stand beside Ron. Mags leans on Annie in the area beside Librae and Muscida.

I watch the glass balls. A part of me knows the same name is on every slip of paper.

Calpurnia, who looks oddly bothered this year, pulls the first name.

Annie shrieks when her name is read. She knew it would be but it doesn't make it any easier.

I flex my jaw, keeping my eyes on Calpurnia's vivid green shoes and try not to vomit as Mags pulls Annie up from the ground and volunteers to take her place.

Ron whispers that he's sorry when my name is called.

I am too.

I take my place beside Mags and try, harder than I've ever had to try at anything, to keep up the façade of who the Capitol thinks I am as I stand on that stage.

We're rushed to the train without a chance to say goodbye to anyone – but that's alright because I'll never say goodbye to Annie and she's the only one I care about.

Librae and Ron are our mentors, and it makes it all the more awkward that he apologized, but I doubt we'll listen to them. They know what to do, they know that we know what to do, and we'll all do what needs to be done. I hope Muscida will take care of Annie.

The déjà vu comes next.

Just like when I was fourteen, the first thing I do is go to my room and slam the door behind me. I bury my face in the pillow and I cry.

And in a little while, just like last time, Mags come and sits on the edge of my bed.

She shouldn't be comforting me, though. There's some chance I'll come out of this. There's almost no chance she will. I should be comforting.

"Hush," she says when I try to sit up, and pushes me back down with a bony hand.

"I should be comforting you, Mags," I protest meekly.

"Silly boy," she sighs, poking at me again until I put my head in her lap. "I'm going to die. I get to do what I want and I want to comfort you."

I should protest more. I should demand she let me take care of her.

But she doesn't want that. I knew it without hearing her say it. And yet I still feel selfish for letting her comfort me.

"Finnick," she says softly, "Finnick, stop. Relax. Don't think of it as me comforting you. Think of it as me being comforted. I have always liked taking care of you. It makes me feel like I'm doing some good in the world. It calms me."

So I let her take care of me.

Neither of us speaks for a while and I think she's gone to sleep when the pressure she's using to stroke my head increases. "Promise me some things?"

I look up at her, hoping it'll be easier to not cry quite so openly in this position. "Anything, Mags. I'll promise you anything."

She doesn't look like she quite believes me but she smiles just the same. "Promise me you won't stop fighting, won't stop living. Ever."

It's an easy promise to make. Too easy, maybe.

"Promise me you'll take care of Annie?"

It's too easy too. This isn't hard enough. I'm afraid I'm making the promises to lightly.

She brushes her thumbs over my chin – and I remember when she did that the first time and seemed so sad I wasn't even old enough to have shaved yet… she's just as sad now. "Promise me you'll remember that I love you, no matter what, and that I am so proud of you?"

My temples are wet as the tears slide down my face. "I promise, Mags," I whisper.

She shakes her head once and brushes her fingers over the line of my tears. "That's the not the hardest promise I'm going to ask you to make," she warns me, smiling sadly. "Don't fall apart on me yet, alright?"

I try to pull myself together. "Is that the promise? To not fall apart on you yet?"

"Mm, no," she hums. "I'll keep you together for now, just like I always do. There's going to be a time, Finnick, when I can't do that anymore. A time when I can't be here to keep you together. It'd come even back home. I'm old. But it's coming sooner, it's coming differently.

"I need you to promise me maybe the hardest thing possible – and maybe I'm just a selfish old lady when I say it that way – but I need you to promise to let me go." She cups her small, brittle hands around my face and leans close to me. "Promise me that when I say it's time for me to go, you'll let me go. I can't stand the thought of you putting yourself on the line to try and save me when it's no use. You have to promise me this, Finnick Odair."

I don't know what will happen if I don't make the promise and I don't want to make the promise. I want to do everything in my power to keep Mags Cohen alive forever. But I can't. So, sobbing like I haven't cried in a decade, I promise to let her die when she tells me to let her die.

"You aren't giving up right away, are you?" I demand, suddenly terrified of that. "You aren't going to step off the platform early just to get blown up, are you?"

She laughs without so much sadness this time, but there's still irony in the sound. "No, no, silly boy. I won't do anything like that. I've got to keep an eye on you, don't I?"

"Yes, yes, Mags, you do." The relief in my voice borders on pathetic but I can't help it. "Promise me you won't give up early?"

"I promise," she vows softly.

I sit up and run my fingers through my hair. "That's unfair of me to ask. You've a lived a long life, you should be allowed to end it whenever…"

"Whenever I chose," she finishes, putting a finger over my lips. "Yes, I should. And I will. By promising not to give up early, I am doing just that, Finnick. I want to spend every moment I can with you. And I will."

I embrace the woman who is at once my mother, my grandmother, and my very best friend. I hope I don't hurt her, but I don't want to let her go.