Chapter 39

Annie

I sit, frozen as the screen whirs to life. My eyes start to search the crowd for Finnick because surely he won't let them do this to me. He has ties here, can't he make them stop? I can't find him because the lights are so dark and now Caesar is saying something but I can't concentrate, I can't move. I can hear it now, the screaming of my victim—the one I murdered for the capitol's entertainment—and I want to murder them all, right now. But…that would only make me like them, which gave me no way out. My head is spinning and from a distance I turn to watch the beginning of everything in the games; from my opening ceremonies to the training scores to the ringing of the bell at the cornucopia.

The whole time I look for Finnick and never find him, did he really abandon me like I've been told? Dr.C said I would see one day and my heart drops as I feel it come through. He was never by my side, or is this just something they made up? I can't breathe. On the screen, Marcel and I are fighting in one of the first nights in the arena. Subconsciously, my finger goes to where the scar used to be on my arm from the very first five minutes I was even in the arena. I watch; entranced at our time together and in the corner of my eye—something changes. In the hospital, I had had these dreams all of Marcel and all so real that I never knew when I was awake or really dreaming. Dr.C said it must be the medicine so I didn't question it but I wasn't on any right now, they had taken away all of my supplies. So why was it that I was dreaming? Marcel was standing behind the curtain, dressed in his reaping clothes and waving at me. I resisted the urge to wave back knowing it would make me seem insane and give them another reason to not send me home. On screen, the camera has cut to two tributes fighting but all I can see is Marcel a bit past the screen. Happiness floods me—why did they tell me he was dead? That was a cruel thing to do considering he is right here, right now. As if in response to my thoughts, real Marc smiles and makes a silly face as if to say "Silly them", and before I can stop myself a giggle is bubbling up and over the threshold of my mouth and coming out to paint the stage air. I see Caesar look at me strangely for a moment and realize that I am seemingly laughing at the violence on-screen but I don't care what he or any one else thinks because for most of the rest of my games, Marcel is in front of me keeping me sane.

The games wind to an ending and I have to avert my attention to the screen. I need to be sure that I was just dreaming and Marcel is real, or that the capitol is playing tricks again. The fight after our kiss stabs me full on like I'm in the arena all over again, or I'm a young girl getting rejected for her first kiss. I relive it and don't focus back again until the big fight, the one that I remember with such intensity that my hands go up without me noticing to cover my ears. I start to hum now and pull my knees up, rocking back and forth. I'm searching for Marc, for him to tell me everything is okay, but he's gone from where he has been standing and the next thing I know a curtain is dropping and peacekeepers are pulling and shoving me, yelling that I ruined the show. Chaos is everywhere backstage as they pull new entertainment out, obviously they had prepared for me to go mental. I still can't bring myself to care because I'm searching for Marc, but he isn't there and as I start to wander away by myself I feel myself humming, whimpering, just wanting him to come back. I'm unsafe again and vunerable so when someone grabs my arm I shudder like I'm convulsing and immediately I'm pulled into a strong embrace in this dark corner of the room.

I look up, half expecting to see Marcel and I don't know whether to be elated or disappointed that it's Finnick, crushing me to him. All he can say is "sorry, I am so sorry." And I want to soothe him but can't find words until we're being ushered out into the street and into a car. The whole time he shields me in a very mentor-y way and I remember the way he held Pippy, that night that I saw them together. Would he ever hold me like that? Or was I just a tribute to him? My head hurts as I try to piece this together and for the first time I miss the sterile walls of the hospital and the doctors who knew what to say even if I didn't like it. I'm losing my grip on reality and the whole way to our train I curl up and place my hands over my ears—blocking out the noise of the dead children's chorus playing on repeat in my brain.