(when you feel so tired but you can't sleep)
Black waters, white hands – dead hands, rotting flesh, pretty white dresses and dark dark eyes and they hate – they pull Annie down, clutching at the edges of her mind and sink back down into the murky depths of the Arena, taking her with them. "I'm sorry!" she screams, but they never hear her, never hear anyone, not ever again. 'Cause they're dead and "I killed them!"
It is nighttime, and the full moon's pockmarked face is reflected in waters as black as the endless sky. Stars shine above, and their light is reflected in the silver-crested waves as Finnick races across the wooden slats of their boat. He leaps down the stairs into the cabin, straight to her bed, and he wraps his arms around her, petting her dark hair. "Shhh, Annie, shhh. It's okay. It's Finnick. Shhh, now, I've got you." Her brown eyes are wide, wide open but they see nothing beyond the Arena and the day it flooded. She no longer sees friendly green eyes, but accusing black ones and clouds of red blood billowing in the dark water. "Shh, Annie, it's okay … it's okay … it's okay …"
(and the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can't replace)
She's doing better, today. Finnick and Annie are sitting on the docks, their bare feet skimming across the cool and shimmering blue surface of the water, which ripples and pulses against their skin like a cat begging for attention. Their hands, resting on the wooden planes below, are entwined, his larger hands engulfing her delicate ones.
"Finn?" she asks softly, looking down at the water, brow furrowed, squinting as if she's searching for something.
"Yeah, Annie?" Finnick may not always understand what Annie says, but her voice is always a blessing, even if it's raised in a frightened screech. Now is one of the best sorts of times, when they're quiet and okay and they, if only for this one precious instant, can escape the Games.
"I'm afraid I've lost something rather important." Her voice is steady, albeit very quiet, belying the tears that are slowly carving a sparkling path down her pale cheeks. "And I – I really want it back. Can you – can you find it for me, Finn? Can you get it back?" She stumbles over her words, and the breaths between the words seem that much harder for her take. Her shoulders shake, so Finnick wraps an arm around her, even though he knows it's not the temperature that's freezing her. Not really. "'Cause I really … I really think I need it."
"What is it, Annie? What did you lose?" Finnick's voice is low and smooth, coaxing the truth out of his broken lover.
"I think – I think I left my mind somewhere. 'Cause, y'know, they whisper it behind my back … say my mind's not working right. And I might have lost some pieces but – but I really just want to work right again," Annie's truly beginning to cry now, her sobs breaking up her words, but Finnick really just doesn't know what to say, other than a promise he knows he won't be allowed to keep.
"I'll fix you, Annie. I will try to fix you."
(lights will guide you home and ignite your bones, and i will try to fix you)
He watches her, sometimes, out of the corner of his green eyes when he thinks she's not looking. He sits on his boat as she drifts along the shoreline, and when the sun begins to set on the western horizon in a conflagration of red and orange hues, he always lights a single golden lantern. He hopes that, somehow, it will guide her home to him.
(i will try to fix you.)