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“I feel like I don’t have any control over my mind anymore,” says Annie, blinking back frustrated tears. “There’s not even any water in this bathtub.”
Finnick doesn’t seem fazed by the fact that Annie has spent the last three hours in her bathtub. Her face has been pressed against the cool porcelain, the part that’s free from the sun beaming in through the skylight. Because her bathroom has a skylight now.
She doesn’t know what set her off this time. It could have been any number of things. The sun on her face as she stepped outside. The dryness of her mouth when she first woke up in the morning. Her knife left out from cooking yesterday’s dinner, because yesterday she was able to handle a knife and today she can’t even leave the bathroom. Is she supposed to be getting worse?
It’s been almost a year since the arena. She regressed after her Victory Tour, but that was to be expected. Now summer is approaching in District Four and it reminds her of all the things she’d rather forget, including the arena, which was a climate so warm she’d almost felt right at home.
Finnick, who’s been dutifully sitting next to her throughout her bouts of vacant silence, says, "I know it may not feel like it, but being slightly out of your mind is sort of a requirement to live here.”
She sends him an unimpressed glance. “Seriously?”
“I’m serious,” he asserts. “You’re not the only victor who’s struggled after the arena.”
“Just the only one who’s broken down on national television,” she mutters, weakly kicking the side of the tub. It doesn’t budge, obviously.
He sighs. “Yeah, but that was a matter of luck and bad timing.” At Annie’s glare, he says, “not on your part. What happened wasn’t your fault. I’m trying to say that you’re not alone in it. We all have our things.”
Annie shakes her head. Here he is, looking perfect and saying all the right things like he was born with all the wisdom in the world. “Sorry if I find that hard to believe.”
Finnick deftly climbs out of the tub and extends his hand to Annie, who takes it warily. Her joints pop with protest and she lets out a small groan. She’s gotten out of shape. “Come on,” says Finnick. “Can I show you something?”
She follows him all the way to his house and up the stairs, because she has nothing better to do. It’s only when she gets to his bedroom that she clears her throat and says, “It seems early for you to be taking me to your bedroom.”
It’s a joke, but heat rises in her cheeks anyway. If she’s being honest, she’s not experienced in the romance department. She’s messed around with a few people at the Academy, but once they made it to sixteen, dating was seriously discouraged. The only thing worse than watching your partner go into the arena was having to kill them yourself.
Annie flinches, and if Finnick notices, he doesn’t call her out on it. “I’m not trying anything, Annie,” he says, so impossibly gentle. “Look.”
He opens the door and her eyes instinctively land on the large, pristine bed. It’s perfectly made, which seems unlike Finnick, and it’s only when she follows his gaze to the floor that she sees what he’s getting at.
It’s no wonder his bed is so neat. He obviously doesn’t sleep in it. There’s a pile of blankets on the floor next to it. She recognizes one of them from Mags’ house, a colorful knitted thing that Mags apparently foisted onto Finnick.
“I don’t sleep in my bed,” Finnick says simply, like it’s just a fact of life. “Basically ever. Sometimes I take the couch, but when it gets bad, I just go straight to the floor.”
Annie nods slowly. It seems nonsensical to an outsider, but so does lying in a bathtub with no water in it. “Can I ask why?”
“I was hoping you would,” he says easily. “The bed…it’s too soft. It feels wrong.” Pain flashes in his eyes, and it feels so personal that Annie has to look away. “I just don’t like it.”
“And it’s not weird?”
Finnick shrugs, offering her a small smile. “Maybe in other places, but not here.”
Okay, she can admit that Finnick was right. There’s some comfort in knowing that her weird habits are just an accepted thing in Victor’s Village. Annie opens her mouth to say something but finds that no words come out. Some feelings are just wordless.
He seems to understand. “If you feel comfortable with it, you should talk to some of the others. They’ll have more to say. They’re all pretty smart around here.”
“You seem pretty smart yourself,” she says, before she can hold it in.
Finnick grins. “I’ve had five years to get used to everyone’s wisdom. I just picked it up by osmosis. Just wait, when the next victor comes in here, you’ll be giving them the stellar advice.”
“I wouldn’t say stellar,” Annie cuts in. A smile twitches at her mouth.
“Keeping me humble,” he replies sagely. “See, you’re learning already.”
She goes to Dylan first.
Right now, the last person she needs is someone entrenched in the Games. As much as she trusts Mags, her mentor is a stark reminder of everything that happened. On some days it doesn’t bother her, but today it does. That also means Calder, who mentored Annie’s district partner Caspian, is also out. She’s not ready to talk to Nerissa, who trained Annie for ten years before she embarrassed the entire Academy.
But Dylan, who never goes to the Capitol and who Annie has never really met, is a choice she can live with.
He’s in his front yard planting some flowers when Annie approaches, which spares her the embarrassment of knocking on his door. “Need any help?”
“I would love some,” he answers, inviting her to sit beside him. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”
Annie nods. He’s obviously letting her steer the conversation, which she’s equally relieved and pressured by. “Finnick said I should talk to you,” she says, because she may as well get it out of the way. There’s no point in pretending that she’s a normal person who can have a normal conversation that doesn’t focus on her trauma.
She’s inspecting the dirt under her fingernails when Dylan says, “We can talk about whatever you want.”
“How did you get into gardening?”
“It was my talent for my Victory Tour,” he says. Of course. All roads lead to the Games. “Nerissa suggested it, actually. She thought creating something would help me deal with the guilt I was feeling.”
Annie’s breath catches in her throat, and she swallows uncomfortably. “The guilt?”
Dylan sends her a smile, but it’s not pitying. “Yeah. This was before your time, but I didn’t volunteer for the Games. I wasn’t prepared for how killing would affect me. It’s not as simple as it looks.”
“It’s not,” Annie agrees softly. “But you seem comfortable talking about it.”
She doesn’t really talk about her time in the arena. She’ll talk about the aftermath, but not the Games themselves. Whenever she tries, a lump forms in her throat and it’s like there’s a weight pressing down on her chest and she can’t breathe and she’s drowning—
She doesn’t talk about it.
“I won thirty-two years ago,” he reminds her. “I’ve had a lot of time to process. You’ll get there.”
Annie huffs. “Everyone keeps saying that. I mean, you all saw what happened. How I reacted.”
Dylan pauses his work, hands still in the dirt. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Annie. You’re human. You reacted to an awful situation the way any human would.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” she corrects him, barely registering the vitriol in her voice. “It’s different for you. You didn’t train for it. Everyone wasn’t counting on you.”
His eyes soften, somber. “I have my regrets. Everyone does.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie says, guilt settling into her chest. Dylan may not have been a volunteer, but his son Leander was a tribute a few years before Finnick won. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” he says kindly. “You’re right that I didn’t train for it. Neither did you, in a way. There are some things the Academy just can’t prepare you for. No amount of training can erase your instincts, and that’s good. It means they haven’t taken everything from you.”
“I…haven’t thought about it like that,” she admits. They work in silence for a few seconds before she says, “What if I never go back to the Capitol? What if I can’t handle it?”
“It doesn’t have to be a question of whether you can handle it,” he answers. “You shouldn’t have to. Besides, I don’t go back to the Capitol. Coral and Callie don’t mentor at all. You don’t need to put that expectation on yourself.”
Annie nods. Some of the tightness in her chest has dissipated. “Thanks. This helped.”
Dylan smiles. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Annie’s been spending most of her time inside these days.
It’s not that warm out, especially not for Four, but summer has brought the Games close to the surface. Most days, it’s better to just stay inside and not risk anything.
So she’s almost expecting the knock at her door, because Finnick never lets her wallow for very long.
She opens the door with a creak, and it’s not Finnick standing on her doorstep. It’s Callie. “Hi,” Annie says incredulously. Callie gives a wave.
She gets along with Callie a lot better than when she first got to the Village and all she could see was the competent Career. They play music together now; Annie plays the piano while Callie sings. They have a routine that she likes. But today’s not a day that Callie usually comes over.
“Did Finnick send you?” Annie asks.
Callie brushes a curl from her eyes, blown astray by the wind. “I don’t take orders from Finnick.” Annie laughs and steps back to let her inside. “Do you want to make cookies?”
“Uh, sure,” she says, leading Callie into the kitchen. “Is chocolate chip okay?”
“Whatever you want is fine.”
They gather the ingredients in silence. This would have been weird a few months ago, but Annie’s gotten used to Callie’s presence and her particular brand of companionable silence. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she begins as they roll the dough into small even pieces. Annie realizes belatedly that she doesn’t know what she’s asking. It’s hard to form the words. “I feel like I failed.”
It’s not a question, but Callie gets it anyway. She may not be the most talkative of the victors but she’s aware in her own way, and it’s something Annie’s never been more grateful for. She nods slowly and lets Annie continue.
Embarrassingly, her eyes prick with tears. “And everyone keeps telling me that I didn’t fail, but that doesn’t help, and I don’t know why it doesn’t help, and I can’t stop feeling it.”
“You’re not wrong for feeling that way,” Callie says. “It makes sense that you do. The Academy taught us what it means to be a good tribute, and if you don’t feel like you fit that mold, it’s natural that you’d feel like you failed.”
Annie hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear those words until a sob climbs up her throat. She turns away, facing the kitchen sink so she doesn’t cry into the cookie dough. Callie keeps working, stoic and steadfast.
“If it makes you feel any better,” says Callie after Annie’s composed herself a little more, “I don’t think any victor—from any district—comes out of the arena feeling like one.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “Ten years ago, I would not have been making cookies. I couldn’t do something fun like that just for the sake of enjoying myself. It took Calder a while to convince me that the world wouldn’t end if I tried to have fun every once in a while.”
Annie nods. When she was training at the Academy, her life was regimented and almost completely determined by some higher authority. And if she wanted to be the best, which she did, Annie needed to follow the rules and stay focused. It’s hard to let that go.
“You’re making cookies now,” she points out, and Callie laughs.
“Yeah. So maybe you’ll believe me when I say things will get easier.”
They slide the cookies into the oven and Annie says, “The worst part is that it’s my fault. This wouldn’t have happened to me if I hadn’t volunteered for it.”
“Yeah, I used to think that way, too. But the guilt isn’t good for anything. The only person it hurts is you, and you’re hurting enough already.”
Annie nods, letting her words sink in. “Want to play music while the cookies are baking?”
Callie grins. “Absolutely.”
Annie trudges through the gates of Victor’s Village, barely registering where she is.
Today had been a good day. She woke up with a clear head and made herself breakfast. She took a walk on the beach and found some seashells to put in her bedroom. She went to the market and saw her friend from the Academy, Mira.
And that’s about where the good day ended.
She’s always gotten along with Mira, but the Games changed everything. She doesn’t see her old friends anymore, at least not on purpose. But Mira had approached her, so cautious and hopeful, and Annie tried. She really did. She smiled and said hello and she could see the gears turn in Mira’s head and feel her relief that Annie was back to normal.
They carried on like that for a few minutes until someone ran into the butcher’s stall and a knife fell off the table and skittered to her feet. Annie doesn’t know what happened after that but she can’t imagine it was pretty.
“Hey, Annie!”
She blinks, trying to pull herself from her thoughts. It’s Coral, sitting on her porch with her wife.
“You okay?” Coral asks as Annie approaches.
“Fine,” she says, but her voice sounds distant.
Coral’s wife, Isla, stands up. “It’s warm out here. Do you want some lemonade, honey?”
Annie thinks she nods, and Coral and Isla lead her inside.
She’s never been inside Coral’s house, and the novelty is enough to bring her back to her body. Annie slumps down at Coral’s kitchen table, suddenly exhausted. A fresh glass of lemonade is placed in front of her and she takes a tentative sip.
“Better?” Coral asks, and Annie nods.
“I saw one of my friends today,” she says. “From the Academy. I don’t think she liked what she saw.”
Coral’s eyes flash with understanding. If she’s feeling any pity, she doesn’t show it. “Friends from before don’t always know how to react.”
“Are we even still friends?”
“That’s for you and her to decide,” she replies, resting her elbows on the table. “If that’s a relationship you want to maintain, she’ll need to understand that you’re not the same person as you were before.”
Annie can’t get Mira’s dismayed expression out of her head. “What if she doesn’t understand? It’s just over?”
“It’s one of the hard things about being a victor,” says Coral dryly. “I had trouble with that, too. After my arena, being alone really scared me. You can ask Nerissa if you don’t believe me. She’s the one who would come over during all hours of the night and talk to me until I fell asleep.”
It’s hard to picture Coral struggling after the arena, maybe because she always seems so nonchalant. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not something I talk about often,” she explains. “There are going to be some people who aren’t in your corner anymore, but you know what? You just gained eight people who will always have your back.”
Annie lets the cold lemonade fizz on her tongue. Strangely, her mind goes to Finnick. She thinks of all the times they’ve gone swimming or taken the boat out or baked something at her house.
Yeah, Coral’s not wrong about that.
One of the weirdest things about Annie’s mind since leaving the arena is that time doesn’t mean much anymore. She doesn’t comprehend the passage of it like she used to. Even events whose dates she knows feel foreign and out of place. When Victor’s Village celebrated the new year, she realized she’d completely forgotten that such a thing was coming.
Nerissa knocks on her door one morning in early summer, about a month before the next reaping. “Morning, Annie,” she says. “Are you going tomorrow?”
Annie blinks. “Going…where?”
“To the Academy banquet.”
Her heart sinks. Every year at the beginning of summer, the Academy holds a party to recognize the senior trainees and officially commemorate the beginning of Games season. Just a year ago, it had been one of the biggest events of her life. Even before she was a senior, kids always tried to sneak in. She and Piper Rivera even managed it one year. And this year, it completely slipped her mind.
Another thing about the banquet is that many of Four’s victors go, especially if they were trained at the Academy. Even Coral, who was reaped before her time, makes an appearance.
“I don’t think I should,” Annie says after an uncomfortably long pause.
Her talks with Callie have been helping her not feel like such a failure, but it’s one thing to change something within her own mind. It’s totally different to show up to the banquet like she’s on the same level as Nerissa or Finnick or Mags.
Nerissa never misses anything. “You’re a victor, too. You deserve to be there just as much as the rest of us. I won’t push you if you don’t want to go, but it’s fun, Annie. And Finnick goes crazy over the desserts.”
Annie tries not to laugh at the image. “I don’t want to talk about the Games.”
“Don’t worry about that. Mags is already making sure nobody asks. Besides, this isn’t a Games event. It’s for the district.”
“I don’t know,” she tells Nerissa. She shifts on her feet uncomfortably. How can she possibly put into words the dread she feels at the thought of facing the Academy again? Or, worse, the cowardice of not showing her face at all? “I don’t want to disappoint people.”
“Speaking from experience, you’re the only one here who’s disappointed,” says Nerissa. “Trust me. I’ve been mentoring for a long time, and I have a long list of kids who entrusted me with their lives and who I didn’t bring home. I know how you feel.”
Annie frowns. “How do you stop it?”
“You take a step back,” she replies. “Think about what you have accomplished. Focus on what you did well. You don’t have to worry about what you’ll do next time because there will never be a next time. Besides, you’re not a student anymore. There’s not going to be a test on where you went wrong.”
She huffs a laugh. Annie was always good at those tests.
“There is nothing disappointing about you,” Nerissa says seriously. “I don’t care what the Capitol thinks. Treading water for as long as you did is a proper victory to us.”
The blatant disregard for the Capitol’s opinion is what convinces her. It’s no surprise to Annie that Nerissa’s such a good mentor. “So what kind of desserts did you say there were?”
Annie’s sitting on Mags’ porch watching the sun go down when she asks, “Why do you keep mentoring?”
It’s not a question of her capability, because she’s never had a reason to doubt it, but rather her hope. Mags must get what she means because she says, “If I can save even one, it’s worth it.”
“I can’t imagine,” Annie admits. “Going back year after year…”
A violent shudder works through her body. The thought of going back to the Capitol leaves a sour taste in her mouth. From beside her, Mags places a gentle hand on Annie’s. “You’re still less than one year out. Nobody is expecting that of you.”
“Am I always going to feel like this?” she asks softly, barely daring to speak the words. “Like my mind doesn’t even belong to me?”
Mags’ eyes are shining as she shakes her head. “When you’ve been around for as long as I have, it’s hard not to find things that give you hope. You will find happiness again, Annie. It may not be what you imagined for yourself before, but you will find it.”
“Find what?” Finnick asks, his hair still dripping from his nightly swim. He approaches the porch and sprawls out on the bench with a sigh. He's not even wearing a shirt.
“Find a shirt,” she tells him. She tries to keep her eyes away from his bare chest.
He huffs in protest. “I was swimming!”
“Annie’s right,” says Mags. “And you’re dripping water on my cushions.”
“If I knew I was going to be attacked, I would have gone to Callie’s house,” he says.
“It’s not too late,” Annie says sweetly.
Finnick’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Fuck you.”
“Language,” Mags says with a startling lack of passion. “I’m going inside. I should have gone to bed an hour ago.”
She presses a kiss to each of their heads and closes the door behind her.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” says Finnick after Mags leaves.
Annie just shrugs. “It’s nothing we haven’t talked about before. I have been talking to the other victors, by the way.”
“Did it help?” Finnick asks.
She gives a begrudging nod.
“I knew it,” he grins. “Mags better watch out. I’m taking her role as the Village’s resident genius.”
“Does it count if all of your wisdom came from Mags?” Annie asks dubiously. “Because that seems like cheating.”
Finnick shrugs good-naturedly.
Annie’s not sure how long they sit there, and for once it’s because she allows herself to relax and not because time slips away involuntarily. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to sit here like this and not worry that she’s doing something wrong. “Finnick?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to go to my house and make fun of Capitol TV?”
He grins at her. “I’ve literally been waiting for you to ask.”