I REALLY hope you guys LOVE this one!! It took me HOURS and I hope you LOVE IT!!!
I sat on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water, the sea breeze tugging playfully at my braid. Emmy was beside me, chewing on a strand of seagrass like she always did when she was bored or thinking hard. The afternoon sun had turned the waves a soft golden color, like the scales of a fish just before it disappears under the surface.
"I really hope he finds some peace," I said, not looking at her.
Emmy blinked. “Who? Finnick?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I mean… he’s been through more than anybody should. He was only fourteen when they threw him into that arena. Fourteen.” My voice cracked a little, even though I tried to sound normal. “That’s only two years older than us.”
Emmy didn’t say anything. She just watched the water.
“He deserves peace. Real peace,” I went on, fiddling with a bit of rope in my lap. “Not just surviving. Not just pretending. Real love. A place to rest. Someone to hold his hand without cameras watching.”
“Do you think that’s even possible? In Panem?” Emmy asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe. I hope. I think he deserves someone who sees him. Not the Capitol’s golden boy. Just Finnick.”
There was a long silence. Gulls cried overhead, circling above the fishing boats.
Then Emmy whispered, “You’re not like most kids.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t say that. I am a kid. I just… I listen. I see things.”
A few days later, Emmy and I were sitting under the nets behind the fish cleaning shed when it happened.
“They’re holding hands,” I gasped, pointing through a gap in the nets.
“Finnick and Annie!” I practically shrieked, nearly knocking over a bucket of shells.
“Ohhhh,” she said, catching on.
“Emmy. They’re SO cute together. Like, ridiculously cute.” I started rambling before I could stop myself. “I mean—look at them! The way he looks at her like she’s the only person in the whole world. And how gentle he is. And she smiles around him like she’s not afraid for once. That’s peace, Emmy. That’s what I meant!”
Emmy giggled. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m just right,” I said proudly. “I’m glad he finally found peace in her. I’m glad he found a girl he loves—someone he could lean on, you know?”
Emmy raised an eyebrow. “Lean on?”
I nodded quickly, my voice getting faster with excitement. “Yeah, like… when the world is too heavy and he can’t stand on his own, she’s there. He’s been everyone’s anchor, now she’s his. Isn’t that just... the best?”
I was so caught up in my Finnick-and-Annie monologue that I didn’t even notice the soft footsteps behind us.
“You talk about me a lot,” said a voice.
I spun around so fast I smacked my head on the netting.
There, standing just a few feet away, was Finnick Odair. And Annie Cresta, clinging softly to his arm, smiling like she had the sea tucked behind her eyes.
My face turned red. Like, sunburn-red. Maybe redder.
Finnick grinned, but not the Capitol grin. Not the fake one. This was real. Tired and warm.
“Thank you,” he said gently. “You’re wiser than most adults I know.”
Annie leaned closer and whispered something to him, and he laughed—quiet and easy.
“You two are my favorite,” I blurted out. “I mean—not like, in a creepy way. Just—I admire you. Both of you. You make me believe there’s still good things left.”
Finnick’s eyes softened. “Keep believing that, Coral.”
Then he winked, and they walked away, hand in hand, disappearing down the dock.
Emmy stared at me like I had just grown gills.
“Coral,” she whispered, “you made Finnick Odair laugh.”
“I know,” I whispered back, dazed. “This is the best day of my life.”
They were holding hands again.
Emmy and I had just finished untangling crab traps, but when I saw them—Finnick and Annie—walking by the shoreline, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders and their fingers laced together like vines—I dropped the trap in the sand and grabbed Emmy’s wrist.
“There! Look! LOOK at them!”
Emmy groaned. “Oh no, here we go again.”
“Emmy, I swear, if they ever break up, I will stop believing in love. Forever.” I was already rambling and couldn’t stop. My words came in waves, fast and full of feeling. “They deserve each other. They’re amazing. Just look at the way he looks at her! Like… like she’s his whole world. Like nothing else even exists.”
Emmy rolled her eyes, but I caught the smile sneaking onto her face.
“And Annie,” I went on, “Annie gets him. She’s not scared of what he’s been through. And Finnick—he’s finally happy. Like truly happy. You can see it.”
I smiled so wide my cheeks started to hurt.
“She’s at it again,” I whispered, watching from where Annie and I stood just past the fishing sheds.
Annie tilted her head. “Coral?”
I nodded, pointing toward the dock where the little girl in the green tunic was waving her arms dramatically and talking a mile a minute to her friend.
“She’s been talking about us all week,” I said, lips twitching into a grin. “Mostly me, actually. Says she’s going to stop believing in love if we ever break up.”
Annie laughed softly, her fingers tightening around mine. “She’s sweet. And bright. She watches people the way you used to when you were a kid.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “It’s strange. She sees through everything. Like… she knows things she’s too young to know.”
Annie nodded. “Maybe that’s just how we grow up in District 4 now.”
I sighed. “I hope she doesn’t have to grow up the way we did.”
We watched Coral for a while longer. She was grinning so hard now it looked like her face would split open from happiness. Emmy was clearly overwhelmed, but Coral didn’t care.
“She’s our biggest fan,” Annie said with a crooked smile.
I chuckled. “She’s our only fan.”
“Not true,” Annie murmured. “She just says what the others are too scared to.”
“I mean, really! Finnick’s been through so much,” I gushed, practically bouncing on my toes now. “And Annie too! But somehow, they found each other. That’s fate. That’s, like, magic.”
“You said that yesterday,” Emmy pointed out.
“I meant it yesterday,” I snapped, but gently. “And I mean it even more today. I saw the way he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear earlier. My heart melted, Emmy. MELTED. He looks at her like she’s the only thing holding him together.”
Emmy gave me a skeptical look. “How do you even notice this stuff?”
I just shrugged. “I pay attention.”
“She thinks you’re in love with me,” I said, nudging Finnick with my shoulder as we walked past the docks again.
He laughed, a real laugh, not the rehearsed Capitol one.
“She’s not wrong,” he replied, and I blushed even though I’d heard it before.
We paused near the end of the pier. The ocean breeze picked up, and I turned toward Coral, who was sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook in her lap now, humming and scribbling like her life depended on it.
“She sees something good in you,” I whispered, “even when you forget it’s there.”
Finnick didn’t answer for a long time.
Then: “She reminds me that I’m still human.”
I think maybe they know I’m watching them.
They deserve to be admired. Not like the Capitol does it—with fake lights and costumes and forced smiles—but for real. For the way they hold each other gently, like they’re made of glass. For the way Finnick listens when Annie talks, like every word is a treasure. For the way Annie walks lighter when he’s beside her.
They make me believe there’s still good left in the world.
And as long as they’re together, I think I’ll keep believing.
“She’s smiling again,” I murmured.
Annie leaned against me, both of us watching Coral from a distance.
“She believes in us,” Annie said.
I looked at her. “So do I.”
It was a perfect morning — the kind where the sea was calm, the sun was gentle, and the breeze didn’t feel like it was trying to take your skin off. Emmy and I ran down to the beach like we always did after chores, barefoot and laughing.
“I saw them yesterday,” I told her as we laid our nets out to dry. “Finnick and Annie. Holding hands. AGAIN.”
Emmy sighed. “Coral, you’ve said that four times this week.”
“Because it matters,” I said dramatically. “Emmy, he smiled. A real one. Do you know how rare that is? He used to smile like someone told him to. Now he smiles like his heart remembered how.”
Emmy rolled her eyes in that way she always did, but she was listening. I knew she was.
“And Annie,” I said, grinning wide, “she looked up at him like he was the only safe thing in the world. Like she didn’t have to be afraid anymore. They’re so good for each other.”
I dropped to the sand, arms flung wide, my voice growing softer. “They finally found something the Capitol couldn’t touch. Each other.”
That’s when I heard footsteps.
I looked up — and my stomach dropped like a rock into the sea.
“She’s here again,” I said quietly, standing beside Annie behind a stack of fishing crates.
Annie smiled. “And she’s talking about us. Again.”
Coral’s voice carried over the waves, full of that same fierce passion. I caught the words safe, real smile, Capitol can’t touch, and my chest tightened.
“She believes in us more than we do,” Annie whispered.
I smiled, but it faded fast when we both saw the man marching toward her. Broad shoulders, weathered skin, anger in every movement.
“Dad,” Annie said instantly. Her voice dropped. “I’ve seen him before. He’s... not gentle.”
We didn’t move. Just watched.
“Dad?” I said, trying not to let my voice tremble. “What are you doing here?”
His shadow fell over me and Emmy like a stormcloud.
“You said you were gonna be working,” he snapped. “But you’re just sitting here flapping your mouth with your little friend? No wonder no work gets done around here!”
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” I stood up quickly, brushing sand off my hands.
“Your mother would’ve done better!” he barked, and my chest squeezed tight.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t cry either. I just grabbed the rope pile, my fingers shaking as I started sorting knots and loops. My mouth was shut so tight it hurt.
“You motherf!cker,” he muttered, venom low in his voice. “When you get home, we’re talking about this.”
Then he stormed off down the beach.
I kept working. Because that’s what you do.
My fingers curled around Finnick’s arm. “Did you hear what he just said to her?”
“I heard,” he said, voice flat and furious.
“She’s just a little girl, Finnick.”
“She’s just like we were,” he murmured. “Too much weight. Too young.”
Coral was back to working with the ropes, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. Emmy sat next to her in stunned silence, clearly wanting to say something but not knowing how.
“I want to go to her,” I whispered.
“Not yet,” Finnick said. His voice was shaking.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t want anyone to see my eyes glassy with tears I wasn’t letting fall.
He always brings up my mom.
I didn’t ask to be left with a storm of a father and memories I never got to make.
I just kept wrapping the rope. Over. Under. Loop. Knot.
Emmy reached for my hand, but I pulled it away gently. Not mad. Just tired.
“She needs someone,” Annie said, voice breaking.
“She needs to know she’s not invisible.”
I stared at the small figure bent over the nets, her shoulders too tense for someone so small. “She’s seen everything, Annie. And she still chooses to love. To hope.”
“Then maybe it’s time we told her we see her, too.”
The sun was warm, but I felt cold from the moment I woke up. I’d woken with a bruise on my shoulder—the kind that didn’t come from accidents. I pulled my shirt tighter around it, hoping no one would notice.
Emmy and I made it to the beach like always. I was already rambling about Finnick and Annie before I even saw the water.
“You won’t believe it, Emmy!” I said, voice bouncing. “Yesterday, I saw them holding hands again, but this time... I swear they were about to kiss! Like, their faces were this close.”
Emmy smiled, but I could tell she was worried about me. Probably because I talked nonstop, like if I stopped, I’d break.
My heart froze. I stiffened, shoulders snapping straight. I pulled the shirt even tighter over my shoulder, hoping the bruise was hidden well enough.
Without a word, he came over and shoved a folded letter into my hand.
I unfolded it. The words hit me like a wave crashing.
Your mother passed away this morning.
“No! NO! THIS ISN’T FAIR!!” I screamed, tears flooding my face, blurring the words on the paper.
“Stop shouting!” Dad’s voice was cold, hard. “Life isn’t fair! Now get over it!”
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt.
When he let go, I stumbled back and ran—away from everyone, away from the yelling, away from the pain.
I didn’t stop until I reached the private cove. The one nobody I know ever comes to. It was quiet, safe, and for once, I let my tears fall without shame.
“She looks like she’s breaking,” Annie said softly as we watched from the shadow of the cliffs.
I’d seen Coral before, glowing with hope and fierce admiration, but now… now she was shrinking under something no child should carry.
Then her father appeared.
I hadn’t noticed him before. But the way he moved—like a storm—didn’t belong here.
When he handed her that letter, my heart stopped. I saw the moment her world cracked.
And then the scream. The shout—so raw and real it felt like it shook the earth beneath us.
Her father’s grip on her collar was the last straw. I wanted to move in. To protect her. But Annie stopped me.
“She needs space,” she whispered.
I swallowed the anger rising in me.
“We’ll be here,” I said. “Always.”
I watched Coral run. Her small frame disappeared toward the cove, tears trailing like tiny rivers on her cheeks.
I thought of all the pain I’d carried—of the times I hid in the shadows, of the fear I swallowed to survive.
And here was Coral, a girl barely twelve, forced to carry a grief she never asked for.
Finnick put his arm around me.
“We have to do something,” I said.
“But first,” he whispered, “let her have this moment. Then we’ll find her. We’ll help her.”
The ocean roared below, a reminder that life can be wild and cruel.
But even the wildest waves calm eventually.
After that day, I stopped talking so much.
I still went to the beach with Emmy, but instead of rambling like a storm, I worked. I tied nets, cleaned ropes, hauled crates — anything to keep busy and keep my head from spinning.
At night, I wrote in my diary. Pages and pages about Finnick and Annie — about their hands clasped like they were never letting go, about the way Finnick’s eyes softened whenever he looked at her. I drew little hearts around their names, and even taped a tiny photo I’d secretly taken of them laughing together.
“I hope I find a love like theirs someday,” I wrote one night, “So quiet, so strong. So real.”
“They’re so cute!” I giggled in another entry, filling the page with hearts and stars and scribbles.
But no matter how hard I worked or how quiet I stayed, Dad found reasons to yell.
Every day a bruise. Every day a new shout.
I stopped telling Emmy about it.
I stopped telling anyone.
“She’s different now,” Annie said softly as we watched Coral from behind the dunes.
“She doesn’t talk much,” I replied. “She works like she’s trying to make herself invisible.”
I caught sight of the diary Annie held carefully in her hands, its pages filled with neat handwriting and drawings—mostly of us.
I’d never felt so exposed and honored at once.
“She still believes in love,” Annie said, her voice cracking.
“She’s brave,” I said quietly. “Braver than me.”
I sometimes read Coral’s diary when she leaves it behind, her pages full of hopes and dreams.
Her words—about love, about us—are a reminder that even in the darkest places, light finds a way in.
But my heart breaks knowing the pain she hides.
Every bruise, every yell, it’s not fair. Not for a girl who sees so much good in the world.
One day, I whispered to Finnick, “We have to do more than watch.”
“We will,” he promised. “But she needs to trust us first.”
Some nights, I sit by the fire, diary open on my lap, writing about Finnick and Annie like they’re my secret lifeline.
Maybe one day, when my heart isn’t so heavy, I’ll tell them.
For now, I just hope they keep watching.
Because knowing they’re there… that’s enough.
Emmy had been pestering me all morning.
“Coral,” she whispered, tugging on my sleeve as I knotted a rope for the fifth time in a row. “Please just talk to me. Say something. Anything.”
I didn’t look up. My hands worked fast, calloused fingers flying like the sea had trained them.
“Please?” she whispered again. “I miss your voice.”
I sighed. I didn’t mean to hurt Emmy. She was the only one still trying.
“My dad is signing me up for tribute training.”
“He wants me to volunteer next year,” I said flatly. “I’ll be thirteen.”
The silence between us swelled like a rising tide.
I didn’t add that he’d said “Maybe if you die, you’ll be worth something to this district.” I didn’t say how he threw the training schedule at me like a punishment, or how he said, “You want to be like Finnick Odair so bad? Fine. Go die like him.”
I just tied the rope tighter.
“Did you hear that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Annie and I had just sat behind the old stone wall by the docks, like we did sometimes. Close enough to watch Coral, far enough not to spook her.
We hadn’t meant to listen. We’d never meant to listen.
“He wants me to volunteer next year.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest. It was the same cold I’d felt in the Capitol when they told me how they’d use me, break me, own me.
“She’s twelve,” Annie whispered. “Twelve.”
“She thinks her only way out is through the arena,” I said. “She’s going to throw herself into that hell because it’s better than her home.”
I wanted to stand. I wanted to run to her.
Because when someone’s been silenced like that, you don’t just barge in and talk. You listen first.
And when the time is right, you catch them before they fall.
Coral’s voice was different now. Older. Like the waves had sanded it down.
She was so brave it hurt to look at her.
So we stayed hidden behind the wall, watching her face as she said things no child should say.
“She writes about love like she still believes in it,” I whispered to Finnick. “But her life is nothing but violence.”
“We have to stop this,” he said. “Now.”
Because this wasn’t just about watching anymore.
This was about saving her.
“I’m fine,” I said to Emmy, forcing my voice steady. “If I’m trained, I’ll survive. Just like Finnick.”
But even I knew that wasn’t true.
I wasn’t strong like him.
I was just a girl with bruises under her shirt and love stories in her diary.
Because Emmy needed me strong.
And maybe Finnick and Annie were still out there. Still watching.
And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t let me go through this alone.
The village was asleep, but I wasn’t.
I slipped out like a shadow, silent and barefoot, carrying only my worn-out diary tucked under one arm.
The moonlight painted silver paths across the ocean, and the waves whispered secrets only I could hear. I sat down on the cold sand, knees tucked to my chest, and opened to a blank page.
The wind was strong tonight, but I wrote anyway. My fingers shook, but the words poured out like they’d been waiting all day.
Dad says I should be more like Finnick.
He says I should “stop being so soft” and “make myself useful like him.”
But Finnick was forced into everything. He didn’t ask for pain. And I don’t think he’d ever want it for someone like me.
I paused, brushing a tear off my cheek before it could stain the page.
He’s sending me to the Games, because I talk about Finnick and Annie too much. Because I love love too much. Because I smile too much. Because I’m too much.
And maybe it’s not such a bad idea. If I go, maybe I die in the arena. If I stay, maybe I die slowly anyway.
Maybe the Capitol would be faster.
My hand trembled as I stopped writing. I pressed the pen to the page, wanting to write “Help me”—but the wind picked up hard and suddenly the pages tore free from my grip.
“No!” I gasped, scrambling to my feet, chasing the fluttering book.
The diary flew toward the rocks.
We were walking. Neither of us could sleep. Not since we heard Coral’s voice yesterday, shaking but steady, talking about the Games like it was her way out.
I didn’t expect to see her here tonight, alone on the beach.
But what I didn’t expect more… was the diary.
It landed at my feet with a soft thud, pages open like it had something to say.
I bent down and picked it up.
Annie’s hand went to my arm. “Finnick…”
Each word felt like a punch. Like looking into a mirror I didn’t want to face.
“If I stay, maybe I die slowly anyway.”
I looked up—and saw her running, desperate, panicked.
She didn’t see us at first.
She only saw the wind. The dark. Her diary slipping away.
But when she looked up, her eyes locked onto Finnick’s — and she stopped cold.
We saw everything in her face: the panic, the embarrassment, the terror of being seen.
“Coral,” I said softly, stepping forward with the diary in my hands. “It’s okay. We read it. We understand.”
She didn’t speak. Her arms folded tight across her chest, like she could hold herself together if she just squeezed hard enough.
I walked slowly toward her, holding the book out.
“You don’t have to go to the Games,” I said gently. “And you don’t have to disappear to be heard.”
They read it. They read it.
All the stuff about dying. About how I was “too much.” About how I thought the Capitol might be better than home.
My face burned. I wanted to melt into the sand.
But then Finnick knelt down in front of me, holding the book like it was something sacred, not shameful.
“I didn’t survive the Games to watch kids like you be thrown into it,” he said. His voice was low, rough. Real.
“You see love in me and Annie?” he asked. “Then let us show you that love doesn’t abandon. Not this time.”
I cried because someone finally saw me.
And they didn’t look away.
I wiped my tears fast, almost angry at myself for crying in front of them. I wasn’t supposed to be soft. Not anymore.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, my voice still cracking. “I’ll go home. I can handle it.”
Annie and Finnick exchanged a look — one of those quiet, wordless conversations I always admired.
“You don’t have to go back tonight,” Annie said gently. “You could… stay with us.”
I shook my head too fast. “I—I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” Finnick said. “We’ve got room, Coral. You won’t be in the way.”
“I have chores in the morning,” I lied.
“Then we’ll wake up early,” Annie said, a small smile in her voice.
I crossed my arms, heart thudding. “My dad’ll notice.”
Finnick raised an eyebrow. “Will he care where you are, or will he just look for someone to blame?”
That stung, because it was true.
I kicked at the sand with my toe. “I don’t want pity.”
Annie stepped closer, brushing hair out of my eyes like a sister would. “It’s not pity. It’s love. It’s what you keep writing about.”
That almost undid me again.
I swallowed hard. Looked at the diary clutched in my hands.
“…Just for one night,” I mumbled.
Getting Coral to say yes was harder than surviving the Games some days.
She was tough — that quiet, defensive kind of tough — the kind you learn when no one protects you but yourself.
She didn’t speak much on the walk back. Just kept her arms folded and her head down, her fingers gripping that diary like a lifeline.
When we got to the house, Annie fixed her tea and laid out blankets. I sat across the room just to give her space.
She didn’t want hugs. She didn’t want sympathy.
Eventually, she sat on the couch, legs tucked under her, eyes flicking between us.
“You… really read my diary?” she finally asked.
“You didn’t think it was dumb?”
“No,” Annie said softly. “We thought it was beautiful.”
“…You’re not mad I followed you and took pictures and stuff?”
I smiled. “You made me sound like a decent human being. That’s hard to do.”
She snorted. Barely. But it counted.
That night, she didn’t cry again.
She didn’t talk much either.
But she let me put a blanket around her shoulders.
She let Finnick bring her warm bread.
And when she thought we weren’t looking, she smiled—tiny, shy, like she forgot how to do it and was trying again.
“You can stay as long as you need,” I whispered before we turned in. “Even if it’s forever.”
But when I peeked in before bed, she had fallen asleep curled on the couch, her diary open beside her, one hand resting gently on the page.
The house was quiet. Safer than anywhere I’d ever been.
I didn’t know what to do with that kind of safety.
But as I drifted to sleep, I thought:
Maybe this is what real love feels like.
The ocean was still gray with early light when I woke.
The house was quiet — a different kind of quiet than home. This quiet didn’t feel like something waiting to snap. It felt... soft. Like I could breathe for once.
It echoed down the beach like thunder, sharp and furious.
I slipped off the couch fast, careful not to wake Annie or Finnick. Threw on my old shoes. Clutched my diary like a shield. And ran.
By the time I reached the dunes, I could see him — red-faced, storming across the sand, drawing attention.
People were starting to notice. To look.
I ran up to him before he could start shouting even louder.
“I’m here,” I panted. “I’m sorry. I just—”
The slap came so fast I didn’t see it coming. My head snapped sideways. My ears rang.
It wasn’t in the kitchen.
It was here. In public. In the open.
“You ran away from me?!” he screamed, grabbing my collar. “HUH?! ANSWER ME!”
Tears stung my eyes — not just from pain.
Because now everyone knew.
I heard the yell from inside.
And then Annie screamed my name from the doorway.
We weren’t even halfway down the steps when I saw it:
Her face turned in the wind.
The collar of her shirt bunched in his fist.
Something inside me broke. I didn’t even think — I just ran faster.
“Hey!” I shouted, louder than I’d ever shouted in my life. “Let. Her. GO.”
It felt like the world went still.
Coral didn’t move. She just stood there, red cheek, wide eyes, collar clutched in her father’s hand like she was an object.
People were watching now. No one was pretending they didn’t see.
And Finnick — I’d never seen him like that. He looked like a storm in human skin.
He got between them fast, stepping right in front of Coral.
“Touch her again,” he said low and dangerous, “and I swear, you’ll know what it felt like to be in that arena.”
I’d never seen anyone stand in front of me like that.
Finnick’s back blocked the sun, and Annie rushed to my side, pulling me gently back, wrapping her arms around me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a thing to be dragged home and yelled at.
He looked around and saw people staring. For the first time ever, he saw he wasn’t in control.
“This isn’t your business, Odair,” he spat.
“She made it mine,” Finnick said without blinking. “You made it public.”
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because Coral was standing behind me. Watching.
And the last thing she needed was another man turning violence into an answer.
“She’s staying with us,” I said, quiet but firm. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“You don’t have that right.”
“Then try the Peacekeepers,” I said. “Let them hear why your daughter’s got bruises all over her body. Go ahead. We’ll come too.”
He didn’t say another word.
Just turned and walked off, the crowd silently parting around him.
Coral stood still in the sand, hands trembling.
“You okay?” I asked gently, touching her arm.
She just looked up at Finnick like he was something impossible.
“Why’d you do that?” she whispered.
Finnick knelt beside her.
“Because you never deserved to stand there alone.”
Living with Finnick and Annie felt like living in a dream I didn’t know how to believe in yet.
Their house was small, but it felt big because it wasn’t full of yelling. It was full of light. And warmth. And laughter that didn’t feel like it came with a knife in its pocket.
They didn’t hover. They didn’t ask a million questions.
And I existed in it, like I was allowed to.
I slept on their couch, curled up in a blanket Annie had made when she was younger. Finnick always made too much tea and pretended it was an accident. Annie would leave quiet notes near my diary, little hearts or doodles or quotes that made me smile when no one was looking.
I was still quiet. Still guarded. But my chest didn’t feel like it was going to crack in half every time I took a deep breath.
She was healing — slowly, quietly — like wildflowers pushing through cracked concrete.
But that night… something shifted.
There was a storm offshore. Wind blew in wild and sharp. A shutter rattled hard, and one of the old beams groaned near the window.
Not like someone startled.
The sound — it sounded too much like the front door slamming when he was angry.
Like footsteps in the hallway before the yelling started.
I panicked. I couldn’t breathe.
I kicked off the blanket, struggling to pull myself upright. My shirt twisted as I moved, and the sleeve slid all the way up to my shoulder.
I stood to check the window.
Annie saw it too. We both did.
Coral’s arms were exposed — just for a second — but it was enough.
Bruises. Deep ones. Faded ones. Fresh ones.
Not even an inch of clean skin.
My hands curled into fists.
At what had been done to her.
I just walked over slowly and knelt beside her on the couch.
She froze when she realized. Eyes wide. Terrified. Her hands flew to her sleeves.
“I—I didn’t mean for you to see—”
“You don’t have to hide,” I whispered.
She opened her mouth to argue. Then closed it.
“I know what it’s like to carry things that no one else sees,” I said gently. “But you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
I couldn’t stop the tears this time.
The shaking, gulping kind.
I curled in on myself, ashamed, humiliated, relieved — all at once.
But then I felt them. Annie’s arms around me. Finnick sitting close, not saying a word, just there.
They didn’t say “it’s going to be okay.”
They didn’t say “be strong.”
“You’re not broken,” I whispered when her sobs started to slow. “You’re bruised. There’s a difference.”
Her eyes — red, swollen, but still full of something that hadn’t died yet.
“I thought if I told anyone,” she said, “they’d stop looking at me the same.”
“I don’t see you differently,” Annie said softly.
“If anything,” I added, “I see you more clearly.”
That night, they brought me tea again.
I drank it with shaking hands, wearing short sleeves for the first time in front of anyone but myself.
And they never looked away.
They just loved me through it.
I REALLY hope you enjoyed it!! Sorry this was a little long, but I hope you loved it anyway!!! Let me know if you have any suggestions!!
