Waves Breaking Over Rocks Part 2

Chapter 18

Finnick

Only half an hour after I had found out about Annie's whereabouts, Katniss had burst into the room, demanding to see Peeta. When no one would answer her, she charged at Haymitch, yelling at him, much like I had done.

For some unknown reason, this had filled me with rage. Katniss knew she loved Peeta. She thought he was the only one taken. She thought she was the only one hurt. She thought there was no one else with a broken heart in the room. At least that last bit was correct. My heart wasn't broken. My heart was missing. And she was in the Capitol.

But Peeta was not the only one taken. And Katniss was not the only one hurt.

She was in pain. Of course she was. She loves Peeta.

But she wasn't in insufferable agony. She didn't lose the one person in the entire world who understood and loved her. She had absolutely no right to react like she did.

So, when she turned her anger on me, it was only years of training that kept me from screaming out at her and tearing her apart.

And, only now, alone in my one-person bed at my room in District 13, do I allow myself to break down and cry.

I cry now about everything. I let myself lose control. I let myself go.

I start at the very beginning of things that I've always wanted to break down and cry about: My father's death.

I was so young when he died, so very young. He would have been my role model. He would have been my support. He would have been there for my mother and I. I think back on all those sleepless nights when I wished he would come back. When I wished he would find me awake and come sleep with me, and maybe read me a story. I think back on all those times when Annie and I talked longingly about throwing out those horrid pills on the kitchen counter and having a baby at last. I made up my mind back then to never, ever leave her alone with a child. Our baby would never grow up fatherless. Our baby would never sit alone at night wondering about me. Our baby would never miss school to help his mother, and he would never have to comfort her crying. Our baby would always have a proper family. Always.

Then I cry about my mother. The woman who did everything for me.

She was very beautiful, with brown eyes and golden hair. You have your father's eyes, she used to say. And she was so hardworking. She would have two or three jobs at a time so I could go to school and eat three times a day. Never did she let me see the damage. Never did she let me see her pain.

Whenever I caught her crying in the middle of the night, holding a picture of Dad, she would pull me in and hug me tight until I fell asleep.

She would let me do what I wanted, as long as she knew I was safe. And if I ever got hurt, she would kiss my wound and heal it with her careful hands.

Never was there a woman stronger than my mother.

All these things that she did for me, they didn't matter in the end, for her death was my fault. I was stupid and naïve. I thought I could turn down an order from the President. And he killed her. I'll never forget how I felt when I found her on the floor her head cracked open.

The Peacekeepers told me she fell down the stairs and hit her head on the table, but I knew she could never. My mom was the most careful person I knew. Someone pushed her. And it was my fault.

After that I cry about my Games.

I killed people. Six people. Kids.

I remember their eyes as they pleaded me to stop. To let them live. To have mercy. I remember how I told them I'd be quick. And I was. They barely felt it.

But I did.

I remember how I made those nets. It was so easy with all the rope Mags sent me. Six nets to trap six people. I remember how they screamed when the net went up and they realized they were trapped. And then I dove my trident into their hearts.

Next I cry about Annie.

Oh, my Annie. My beautiful, beautiful Annie. What they did to you.

I remember when we met, how she wasn't like other girls. She didn't flirt or swoon, instead she looked at me like I would look at me. She looked at me with hatred. And then she got to know me, and her face softened, and over time her smile became mine and her laugh became mine and she started to see me like I saw her: a miracle.

But no one else would see that. All they would see were her empty eyes as she stared at nothing, and all they would hear were her cries for help when her mind turned dark.

Only I could see her in all her splendor, when she swam in her sea with her dress spread out, looking like an angel, or when she laughed or when she smiled, or when her eyes got so bright they looked like shining suns.

My Annie, who sees the good in everyone, bullied and persecuted for the rest of her life.

And she cries about it, and she wakes up drenched in sweat, and she falls to the ground, and she screams until she can't anymore. But at the end of the day, she takes it in stride.

Her weakness makes her stronger.

And I know there is no one braver than my Annie.

And now she's gone, and it's all my fault. She is in the Capitol, being abused and tortured because I made a stupid deal and, after they find out she doesn't know anything, who knows what they will do to her?

I keep crying uncontrollably for hours, about Mags, about the Quell, about the Capitol, about Annie's capture. Finally, there are no more tears left.

I had always wanted to break down about my troubles, cry them out the way Annie did, but now that I have, I realize it doesn't feel as good as I had imagined.

It's all my fault: my mother's death, the tribute's murder, Annie's capture... And it will drive me crazy. And I will let it.