You Won't Drown: A Hunger Games story

Chapter Eleven

(Annie POV)

I don't stay asleep for long, that much I know. It's nearly impossible for me to get sleep on a good day, and with all the turmoil that's gone on in the last twenty four hours, it's a miracle I manage to go even five minutes without horribly vivid nightmares. Of course, the nightmares do come eventually, and this time they're even worse than usual.

In one of my nightmares, Finnick falls off his pedestal too early and is blown sky high by the explosion, a cannon going off before the Quell even begins. In another, he gets eaten by a pack of ravenous mutts, some awful cross between dogs and monkeys that have this ear splitting shriek as their cry. One way after another, one nightmare after another, I watch my worst fears become my only reality. Everything feels so real, and, just like always, I'm helpless in my dreams. I hate being helpless.

When I wake up, drenched in a cold sweat, heart pounding, I can see that the sun is just going down from outside the window, and I realize that Finnick would be at the tribute center by now. By this point, he will have been reaped, taken back to the Capitol, and trapped in that tower, likely feeling as alone as I do right now.

I imagine sending words of comfort across the miles of air that stretch between us, imagine that he can somehow hear the words carried on the wind as a whisper in his ear. It's silly, I know, but it comforts me all the same. He's sacrificing so much for me, more than I would ever dream of asking him to. If only there was some way I could look after him now, keep him safe, hold him close, protect him from the horrors of the arena, for just this one more year.

Except, it wouldn't just be this year, it would be every year. Every single year, we would still be paraded around the Capitol; every single year we would still have to find and train two children with the knowledge that at least one, if not both of them, would only be able to come home in a coffin. I hate the idea of that, hate the idea of the games, and, not for the first time, I wish there was a way to stop it. I wish there was someone, anyone, who could take on President Snow and win. Then I could finally be free, and I could free Finnick too, from the cage he would always be locked in, as long as President Snow was alive.

Thankfully, before those thoughts can go any further, before I betray myself and endanger Finnick yet again, there's a knock at my bedroom door. It sounds gentle rather than insistent which feels like a good sign. Maybe it's Doctor Ashton, maybe she can tell I'm awake, and that I need someone to talk to about my need to protect Finnick, a need greater than that for food or water or even air, a need that, without it I'm sure I would cease to exist.

So, I get up, and I open the door. Standing there, I see Doctor Ashton, just like I had expected. When I see the concerned look in her eyes, I realize how exhausted I must look, the dark circles under my eyes being so pronounced that they almost look like someone with no concept of how to use a makeup brush was set loose with my face as their canvas. I can't blame her for looking concerned, I would be too if I was in her shoes. Still, as exhausted as I may be, I know I don't dare to try and sleep, or even to close my eyes for more than a couple seconds for fear that I'll drift off.

"Annie, did you get any rest at all?"

All I can do is shake my head slowly, something tells me that she'll know if I lie to her. It's the same thing that tells me that no matter how hard I try, I'll always be seen by everyone around me (everyone except Finnick of course), as a poor, weak, mentally addled woman who never quite seems to be able to take care of herself.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

The gentle look on her face and the softness of her voice makes me immediately want to open up to her, and tell her everything. I wonder if Finnick felt that when he first met her; I wonder if this is the effect she has on everyone, or if it's just me. A part of me wants to ask, but that would be too awkward, too socially unconscious even for me. Instead, I simply settle for answering her question.