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“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” I ask.
“No.” A long time passes before he adds, “She crept up on me.”
I open my eyes and glance around the room. The last effects of the drugs used to sedate me have begun to wear off, which unfortunately brings me back to the present. Where I don’t want to be. Especially since that last conversation I had with Finnick before the attack decided to replay in my mind while I was under. Just what I need right now. Another reminder of what I’ve lost. I wonder if it would be too soon to ask for another dose of the morphling.
“Well, look who’s awake,” comes a voice from somewhere beside me. I turn my head and see Finnick, stretched out between a chair and my bed. He’s grinning at me, but it’s not a very cheerful grin.
“Finnick,” I say. I guess his presence explains why I revisited our conversation in my dreams. I must have heard him talking to someone while I was asleep. A nurse or doctor, or maybe even my mother or Haymitch. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d check on you. See how you’re doing,” he says. “I see you’re doing about as well as I thought.”
At one point, I would have frowned at this. Maybe even shot back some sort of biting comment. But I don’t have it in me to do that anymore. All I do is turn my head back to stare at the ceiling.
A long silence ensues. I don’t know if Finnick feels bad, or knows he needs to give me my time, or maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. “How’s Annie?” I ask, but even I can hear how flat my voice is.
“Better than she was,” he says. I can hear the serious tone his voice takes on without even looking at him. “The Capitol really did a number on her. Though I’m grateful it wasn’t anything like…” his voice trails off. Good. He should feel bad for what he was about to say.
“Katniss, I’m sorry,” he says at last. I don’t acknowledge him in any way. I just stare at the ceiling. If I squint my eyes just right, the patterns almost look like Snow. My mantra promising to kill him plays over and over in my mind.
“I saw him today,” Finnick presses on. “He’s only being treated by strangers, natives of 13. They’re afraid anyone he knows could set off a dangerous memory in his head.”
“Oh,” I say. Is that supposed to be comforting? I find that pattern on the ceiling again.
There’s another long silence that lasts I don’t know how long. It’s the closest to comfortable I’ve been since the assault – maybe even since I’ve been here. With the silence, I don’t have to think, don’t have to speak or do anything. My mind can turn off completely. I will kill you, I tell the spot on the ceiling again and again.
Finnick takes a deep breath. “I knew Annie before the Games, but not very well. I didn’t really get to know her until she was reaped.”
I raise an eyebrow. I have no idea what possessed him to tell me that. “You don’t say,” I tell him dryly. Finnick ignores it.
“She was beautiful then, just like she is now, but I didn’t see beyond that. I was nineteen when she went into the Games. I had already been bought and sold more times than I could keep track of. Beautiful people were nothing. I saw them at every turn, on every corner in the Capitol. And I had long since learned not to get too attached to your tributes as a mentor.” There’s a bitter note in his voice. “The closest thing you have to friends as a victor are other victors.”
I think of Haymitch. I think of Finnick and Johanna; Beetee and Wiress. I also think of Peeta, even though I would rather not. And myself. Six months went by after our Games with little more than a few words said to each other. Six months I would give anything to have back now, to do over again. Because no one could understand what it was like during my Games like Peeta. No one.
“She didn’t volunteer,” he continues. “Her name was plucked out of that ball purely because the odds were in her favor.” His voice drips with sarcasm at that last bit. “But she was from 4. We’re trained there. Taught that the Games are something of an honor to be in. And even better if you can win them.” He sighs. “Annie was as confident as she could be. But no one truly wants to go into the Games, Katniss. Not even the most confident of tributes.”
I think back to Cato, and how he had shown such an eagerness to play in the Games, and win them. And then I think about the thing he turned into at the end, the whimpering piece of flesh that couldn’t even beg to be killed out of mercy, he was so badly mauled by those wolf mutts that held Peeta and me prisoner the last night in the arena.
“Yes, Annie seemed confident. And on our first day in the Capitol, she really impressed me with her intelligence. The District 4 suite has these ornate fish tanks, you see. All kinds of crazy fish in there. Some are what you might find in the wild, but a good many are Capitol-engineered. And Annie, she knew them all.”
There’s a silence where I think Finnick might be waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he continues.
“The next day, when she came back from her first training session, the veneer of confidence was gone. She fell apart while her district partner was in the shower and everyone else was caught up in preparations for the Games. I had to console her. I took her back to where the fish tanks were, and it seemed to calm her down. And I reminded her of how easily she knew the name of every last fish in them. She was terrified, but she was smart.”
Finnick sighs and is silent for a long moment. When he continues, his voice sounds more shaky. “That night...” he pauses. “That night,” he starts again, “I had to go out on one of Snow’s arranged appointments. Annie caught me coming back. She wanted to know why I seemed so beaten down. Wouldn’t accept any assurance that I was fine. So finally, we went to the roof. It’s windy and loud up there. No one can hear you if- “
“I know,” I cut in. I don’t want to think about the roof of the training center. Not when every single memory I have of the place reminds me of Peeta.
There’s another moment of silence before Finnick continues. “Well, anyways, I told her. I confessed everything to her, about how Snow sold me to the highest bidder on a regular basis. And maybe it was a mistake. She was already scared enough over dying--she didn’t need to hear that surviving the Games can be even worse. But she was the first person actually willing to listen to me since I had been thrust into this hell, that...” Finnick lets out a breath. “I trusted her.”
“Annie stuck close to her partner all through training. And she was beautiful the night of her interview with Ceasar. She really floored the audience with her charm. It was nothing like what you or Peeta ever did, but she was wonderful all the same. Then, as you know, the next day she entered the arena.”
“Just like in the training center, Annie stayed close to her district partner. I don’t know if she felt something for him, or if he just made her feel more secure, being from home. But the two remained allies and even joined up with some of the other tributes for a while. And I did everything I could for her, watching from the control room. I worked harder to secure sponsors and send her aid in the arena. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she had already gotten under my skin. It was selfish maybe, but I didn’t want her to die out there. Not that I wanted her partner, or any other tribute I’ve trained, to die. But it was different with her.”
“Then...” Finnick stops, and I can hear his breathing grow labored. “Then her partner was beheaded. It was gruesome by any standard, but Annie... watching Annie crack was the most agonizing of all. I didn’t question her in the least when she hid for the remainder of the Games. But I was impressed when she fought for her life once the arena was flooded. There was still something in her, even after all she had been through, and her mental state had been compromised.”
“I stayed by her side as she was rehabilitated after they took her out of the arena. I only left when Mags insisted I get some rest. Annie was a mess. She only got through her final interviews with some heavy prompting. She shut herself in her room the entire train ride home, only coming out to eat. And even that she did very little of. She made it through the media circus on our return only with help from Mags and me. And then she locked herself away in her new house for months. The only time I would see her was when I had to leave for the Capitol. Then I would catch her watching me from a window of her house, always with the same sad expression.”
“It wasn’t until a few weeks before the victory tour that she finally emerged. She found me one day, sitting on the beach as I made knots. She asked me how I stood it. I gave her the rope.”
“Just like you did me,” I say.
“Just like I did you,” he confirms. “Only Annie was no stranger to knots, growing up in 4. Soon she was making them intricately. When I could tell one of her episodes was coming on, I would urge her to find her rope. And she listened.”
“Then, it was time for the victory tour. The media frenzy arrived in 4 once more, and whisked us all away on our tour of Panem. Only it was much harder for Annie to keep her composure this time. She would barely hold it together for the audience during the day, and wander the train at night. The nightmares kept her awake.” Boy, do I know that feeling well.
“One night, she came and woke me up, they were so bad for her. We spent the rest of the night tying knots in front of the TV. I managed to get Annie to get her mind off of her nightmares by telling me about fish. Naming all the ones she could remember, telling me what they looked like - anything. We spent every night after doing that. It was almost nice, if you could forget the reason we were on the tour. And then came the party at Snow’s mansion, when I had to watch her dance with men who were obviously interested in buying her. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That I would do anything in my power to protect her. Those same men, I began to tell lies to. I told them she was crazy, that there was no pleasure to be had in sleeping with her. Anything that would get them off her case, I would tell them.”
“So that’s why she’s known for being mad,” I say.
“Yes,” Finnick confirms. “It was my fault. And maybe it wasn’t the kindest thing I could do to her reputation. But it was the only way I knew how to protect her, Katniss. You have to play dirty when you’re a victor.”
“Was it worth it?” I ask.
“Yes.” I hear him shift his weight, pull his legs off my bed so that he’s sitting up straight. “Even after the agony I went through knowing she was being tortured by the Capitol. Even when I know her mind has been compromised, and she’ll never be the same girl she was before she was arrested, or even before the Games. That kind of love is worth fighting for.”
Finnick is on his feet now, and at the side of my bed. “Don’t give up, Katniss,” he says. I want to tell him that it’s too late for that. That I’m going to kill Snow, and then there’ll be nothing left for me. But I can’t seem to make the words come. It doesn’t matter anyways, because Finnick will know soon enough. For now, I quietly bid him goodbye, and go back to my stupor until the next visitor shows up and tries to convince me there is still reason to hope.
---
“Here you go,” Haymitch mutters as he throws a package down in front of me. It lands on the table, just barely missing the supplies I have laid out.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“How should I know?” he responds. “I just went to pick up my liquor. They told me that came for you, and asked me to bring it to you.”
Peeta picks the envelope up and looks at it thoughtfully. “It’s from Annie,” he says. We exchange a glance.
“Go ahead and open it,” I say.
Peeta does, carefully lifting the flap so that he doesn’t tear the paper. Then he pulls out its contents. When we see what’s inside, we both become quiet.
“He’s beautiful,” Peeta says at last.
“Yeah,” I agree. But there’s a knot in my stomach. Finnick’s baby boy stares back at us from the photograph Annie sent. I wonder how she’s handling it. If the sight of her little boy comforts her or haunts her. Or maybe even both. I feel tears well up in my eyes at the thought. Feel my chest tighten and my throat thicken as the onset of hysteria begins its familiar course through my body. I have lost so much, that I know I would not be able to handle it.
Then I feel Peeta slip his hand into mine. I look over into those blue eyes of his, the scars that still line his forehead and brows. They’ll be there forever, but already they’ve begun to fade. “Let’s put it in the book,” he says. “And promise to live well, since Finnick can’t.”
“Okay,” I nod.
And we do.