“Finnick,” Katniss says to me. “Did you love Annie right away?”
***
“Annie Cresta.”
When the name is called for the girls at the reaping, I scan the crowd to see who is going to step out. Not that it matters, since a lot of times Careers will end up volunteering anyway and the original tribute will just slink back into the crowd as if nothing happened.
There’s a silence that hangs in the air as everyone waits for a volunteer, but when no one does, a small skinny girl with long flowing brown hair steps out from where the sixteen-year-olds are standing. I’ve never seen her before but she seems pretty confident. She’s not very striking in terms of looks, but it’s probably nothing the stylists can’t fix. She seems like a tribute I can work with.
***
I walk onto the train and she’s sitting at a table talking to her district partner, Aiden. She laughs at something he said and when she hears me she turns around. “Looks like you’re one of the mentors this year,” she says drily.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re on the train with us, so you’re our mentor. Just stating the facts.”
She goes back to her conversation with Aiden. I take one of the plates put out for us by the Avoxes and bring it back to my room. Maybe I can’t work with her as much as I thought.
***
“You need to focus on mastering some weapon,” Aiden says to Annie at dinner.
“I don’t see why it matters to you so much,” Annie shoots back at him. “The weaker I am, the better for you, yeah?”
Aiden sighs. “I’m trying to help you, Annie.”
Annie and I barely talk. She mainly trains with Mags and she’s gotten very close with Aiden. They act like they’ve known each other their whole lives. On the days when I’m supposed to help her with combat, she either shows up late or doesn’t put any effort into her training.
“He’s right, you know,” I say. “You don’t have to be a ruthless killer, but you should know how to defend yourself.”
“I don’t see why all you boys care about my business. I’m going into an Arena to fight for my life, not yours,” she says pointing to me. “Or yours,” she adds, pointing to Aiden. She points to herself. “ Mine. We don’t get much of a say in Panem. I didn’t choose to be reaped. I didn’t choose this. But I’m going to do the best I can and I need you both to shut up about what I do.” She pushes her plate away and gets up.
The District’s escort, Leena, speaks up. “Annie, you should eat to keep your strength up.”
Annie turns and glares at Leena. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” She goes through the doors towards the bedrooms and leaves us all completely silent.
After a few minutes, I get up. “I’m done too.” I go towards the bedrooms, but instead of going to my room, I go to Annie’s. I knock on the door which is slightly ajar. When there’s no answer I push it open. “Annie?” I look around and see she’s not in the room. I panic slightly. Where could she have gone?
Then I see the familiar head of brown hair outside her window on the fire escape. I approach the window and open it. She jumps. “Jeez, Finnick. Are you trying to make me fall off?” I notice her tone is a lot less angry than before.
“Mind if I join you?”
“There’s not much room.”
“C’mon, Ann,” I plead, knowing full well there’s enough room.
She scoots over and looks out at the city. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry. I kind of know what you’re going through and I know it’s not easy.”
She looks at me. “You don’t know what I’m going through. You had The Games in the bag. You’re attractive and striking. Everyone noticed you. And then you also were incredibly skilled in combat. You were a clear winner. I’m trying so hard to win but I don’t think I’m going to.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “I just want to be remembered when I die.”
I put my arm around her. “I’ll remember you.”
***
“No,” I say after a long time. “She crept up on me.”
I think my biggest thing about being a fanfic writer with Odesta is how to go about with their backstory. Because the biggest piece of information Suzanne Collins gave us about their love was “she crept up on me,” and honestly??? what does that even mean?? Did they know each other before Annie was reaped? Were they friends? Was Finnick her mentor? Did they hate each other? Honestly, this is why I need Suzanne Collins to write a book about Finnick and Annie because I need answers.
Finnick opens the door to our compartment and I immediately spring up from our bed to greet him. He’s tired as always from his day of training and activities. I’m excused from the normal bustle of Thirteen’s scheduling, but Finnick always has a busy schedule that keeps him away for most of the day. Today, however, he looks more than just tired.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him first, but as soon as he sits on the bed I look at him with complete concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Finnick…”
He puts his head in his hands. “They’ve enlisted me to fight in the Capitol.” My entire body tenses up and he takes my hand. “Ann,” he whispers.
“You told them ‘No,’ right?” My voice is a few octaves above normal and I can feel my chest practically caving in. I know he said yes. I know Finnick Odair and I know he would never back away from a chance to fight for what is right.
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. “Ann,” he says quietly. “I want to go.”
“So you want to die?” I ask, getting up and standing in front of him. “You want to leave me without a husband?”
“Annie,” he pleads. “Don’t be like this. I don’t want to die, but I do have to fight for what’s right. Look at all the people Snow’s killed. Look at what he’s done to us. I need to do this. And I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.” He stands up and puts a hand on my waist. “But imagine how amazing our world is going to be after we stand up to him. And if I have to die to make sure you can live in a better world. That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
Ableist asshole: Ugh, I hate that a hottie like Finnick fell in love with a psycho like Annie. He shouldn’t have ended up with a crazy girl.
Me: Um, so you do know that Finnick was also mentally ill and suffered from years of sexual abuse since he was a teenager and that he and Annie’s experiences with mental illness is probably what brought them together in the first place, right? But you know, whatever, ableist assholes need to express their opinions too.
I’m laying in bed and I know as soon as I open my eyes it’s going to be one of those days where I can’t get out of bed. There’s a light rapping on my door and then the faint presence of light that signals Finnick’s presence. He normally just lays in bed with me. We never sleep in the same bed, but sometimes I feel as if we might as well considering I stay in his house more than I stay in my own. He comes into my room and stays there for most of the day anyways.
Some days when I’m well enough we’ll sit on the balcony and look out at the sea. We don’t talk much, but I never feel like I have to with him. I feel comfortable around him. When I’m around other people, especially people from the Capitol, I feel as if they’re judging my every word. They’re expecting me to be this strong Victor, but at the same time, I know they’re also expecting me to be broken. I know what they say about me. I’m the Mad Victor. I’m the Victor that went wrong. I’m not supposed to be a Victor. I’m not strong like the rest of them.
I think I must be screaming because Finnick has scooped me up into his arms. He only does that when I scream and thrash or I’m pulled out of nightmares that are so real that his arms are the only thing that convinces me that they weren’t real. “Shhhh,” he soothes putting his face to the top of my head. “It’s okay.”
“What’s it like being a Victor?” she asks me suddenly.
I didn’t expect to get this close to my tribute, but here we are, sitting on the couch with our legs intertwined and facing each other as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. “Do you want the truth?”
“Would I have asked you if I wanted a lie?”
I sigh. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t won,” I say. And I regret it as soon as I say it. But I can’t lie to her. I can’t tell her that being a Victor is great because honestly it’s not. She would see right through that. But telling her that before she goes into the Arena is dangerous? What if she decides to give up because of it? “The nightmares of killing all those kids. The endless things that Snow makes me do. None of us are happy, Annie. Yeah, we’re rich and we lived, but at what cost? So many of us are alcoholics. Drug addicts. Sex slaves.” I gulp and look down. “Snow makes it seem so glamorous because he has to have his winner. He has to have hope or the games don’t work anymore. If we all died it would just be an execution. But he wants a show.”
“Does it get better?”
“I suppose. Some of them got married. Had kids. They’re certainly never going to run out of money.” I laugh. “Mags says I’m too cynical. I probably got the worst of it. Sometimes I drag myself out of nightmares and find there’s relief in waking.”
She holds her hand out and I take it. “That sure makes me excited to go into the Arena,” she says flatly.
“Just know you’ll have me waiting for you when you get out.”
You know what really fucking bothers me about school in general?
It took away my passion.
Before high school I loved to read. I devoured books over and over, stayed up reading with a flashlight when I needed to know what happened next chapter, cherished every book and refused to crack their spines.
Now I can’t remember the last time I read a real book. In English class they would assign us Great Gatsby and Frankenstein and Heart of Darkness and Grapes of Wrath and I couldn’t bring myself to read a single one. Too many things to do, not enough time. Reading became a burden, not an escape.
So I just stopped. I stopped reading every second I had free time. I stopped picking up books in the bookstore. I gave away half my collection. I keep saying “I’ll get back into it soon” but it’s been years.
I stopped reading because I was being forced to read books I wasn’t interested in, and now I’m being forced to read 200 pages a week from textbooks to not fail my classes. I stopped reading because school killed that passion.
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