A/N: This is my first Hunger Games series fic. I just finished Mockingjay recently and I knew I had to do a Finnick and Annie story. Be gentle, this is my first time ;)

Summary: I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed/And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane./(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Characters are from the Suzanne Collins series Hunger Games. Italics is the poem - and title's namesake - Mad Girl's Love Song, by Silvia Plath. Also, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

It's the only way she can hold the bit of sanity she has left. There are times when she can still see the flashing lights. She still sees the cameras and the blood. She still feels the water rising up as she battles for a life she knows isn't hers anymore.

When she feels it rise up again, there's only one more thing that she can do. With her hands to her ears, she shuts her eyes and the whole world falls away. IT blocks out the cannons and the painful cries. It's only her and she can imagine that this nightmare she's living doesn't exist at all.

And then she feels him.

For a moment she's disoriented. His hand is on hers and she's forced to see what she wishes that she could block out for eternity.

But he's there.

She opens her eyes and Finnick's meets hers in a collision of sea and brine.


He's beautiful. Too beautiful. He holds her hand but all she wants to do is cry.

"You're not real."

Hurt flashes across his face, but it's paired with familiarity. He knows this.

His hand eases up her arm. She wants to squirm away. He is too familiar with her.

He's not real. He can't be real.

"Annie," he pleads sadly.

Her name. It's as though he knows her. But he can't. Not when she's fabricated him to make her feel better. Not when he's just a phantom.

She opens her eyes again and his are as sad as hers. For some reason, she feels safer. She lets his arms come around her and she clings to his shirt.

"You can't be real," she whispers. "I can't have someone like you."

"You do have me," Finnick promises. "You'll always have me.

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

The sound of the cannon boom is deafening in her ears. But she doesn't need to hear it to know that a body has just dropped. His head rolls off his shoulders.

He had been her partner for the cameras.

Now he's just dead.

Her ears ring again, but this time, it is from her own screams.

Everything goes black.

All she knows is that she's running until she's sure that her lungs will explode. Unaware of even what direction she took or where she is, she collapses to the ground. Her body is wracked with tears and it's the only thing that she can process.

Her mind is a mess of crossed wires and confusing images. All she can hear is the constant booms that reverberate through her brain.




It doesn't stop.

It never stops.

And she remembers to look of shock on the face of the person she used to know as his head tumbles to her feet.

Her body can't stop convulsing and she can't stop thinking. Image after image flashes through her mind until she's too tired to go on. But it doesn't stop.

It never stops.

On her back she sees the familiar face projected on the sky. Her eyes see starbursts of color and nothing else. For a moment she's sure it isn't real.

But the moment passes and she doesn't know anything else. She curls into a fetal position in a foreign place when she knows it could be days, hours, minutes, seconds until she's decapitated as well.

She does the only thing she can think to do. She closes her eyes to shut the whole world away.

But she never stops hearing the cannon fire.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

When she sees him again, she's sure he's her phantom—the boy who entered her thoughts and dreams in the arena. But she knows him not. He is too beautiful and to faint in her head. She had seen him as a child, but now he grows fainter and fainter.

She is sure he is just a victor that she's seen on a screen and nothing more. She's seen his image and woven lies about him to make herself feel better. As though a beautiful and capable winner could ever want her.

Her own victor's crown is placed on her head and her meticulously styled hair is ragged as she pulls her nails through it.

What she has won by mere coincidence is tossed on the floor and she crouches, willing the graphic images to leave her alone.

But one image isn't like that. One is beautiful and calms her. But now her head is just a mess of blood and gore she can't place him. She knows she's seen him before.


He smiles.

He sits next to her on her bed. She knows it's like his, the way that her house is like his now that they've both won something that isn't like winning at all.

"I knew you couldn't forget me."

His voice is smooth and confident. If she could hold all of the information in her head, she would call it arrogant. But the girl that left months ago isn't the same one sitting in front of him.

"You're in my dreams."

She expects more of the same tone, but instead, his eyes soften. He's close and she doesn't have the instinct to run anymore. She's been running since she could remember. For some reason, he makes her want to stand still.

"Were we friends?" she asks.

She knows he's important. She knows he's something. But with herself so lost, she isn't sure how she's even supposed to know who he is.

"I don't know what we were," he says. "We're us."

She still wakes up screaming. She claws at herself in the sleep. But Finnick is the one to pull her up, and take her nails where they've imbedded themselves in her forearms. He wraps her up, strokes her hair, and she knows that whatever they are, it's something great.

She shivers in his arms, perspiration making her hair slick. But he just holds her and rocks her.

He sings the same song every time. After awhile, she learns to hum along. It makes her heart calm. But for some reason, when she looks up at him, it starts pounding away again and her face flushes.

She doesn't know what it means. She doesn't know what the squirming in her stomach at his effortless grin means. She doesn't know what it means when he looks at her like that.

"I dream of you," she whispers again. She doesn't tell him exactly what her dream entails but she thinks he knows because that's when he kisses her.

She grips his face, her mouth opening and limbs entangling. She's white hot and she doesn't know where this sudden ferocity comes from.

It scares her.

She can't breathe.

But then he speaks.

"I dream of you every night. I dream of being here with you."

"Are you scared?" she asks.

"Not of you."

He's on top of her and his muscles are straining. For a moment, she doesn't remember how she has gotten to where she is, like everything else in her life.

She's seduced.

He's kissing every part of her and she squirms so much she can't stay in her own mind. But since the arena, it's the only time that she's felt whole. Pieces of her have been torn from away the moment she heard her name called. And when she saw that head roll towards her was when something was confiscated from her permanently.

But here is different. With Finnick is different. She feels something unidentifiable with him. She recognizes being overwhelmed, unable to process information being given to her. But not like this. She's overwhelmed, but she's not lost. She's scrambled but she grips him in passionate pleasure.

She wants to hate him for it.

"You did this."

She doesn't know what she's accusing him of. But she's moving beneath him and she loves it and every time he kisses her, her mind sears in something that isn't pain.

"I love you," he tells her.

She doesn't know why.

All she knows is that she could adjust to this organized chaos. She wakes up in his arms and she knows it's exactly where she's meant to be. She embraces his heated wickedness.

He smirks when she moans.

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

She hears her name and she screams.

He's already up there, refusing to look at her. Even as she comes undone, hands holding her up as a haggard woman walks up to the stage supported with a cane, she has a sense of self-awareness. Her place is taken quickly and she knows what he's done.

She knows the deal he's made to preserve her life. But the only thing she wanted preserved is him.

He's whisked away.

When she sees him again in the Justice Building she beats his chest with her fists. All he does is hold her tight whispering softly in her ear. All she can do is shut her eyes tight and made it all go away. She is shrouded in blackness but it isn't enough this time.

She can't make it go away. The pain in her heart is worse than the chaos in her head. And they sink to the floor together, clinging to each other for dear life.

For once he doesn't just feel like her anchor but they're falling together because he just keeps whispering and holding her. She's sure she feels his tears against her head as well.

I love you I love you I love you.

They have to take him away.

This time she really is left in blackness.

His promise to come back for her falls on deaf ears.

She isn't sure if the scream is just in her head.

They don't let her watch. She doesn't have the desire too. But she just misses him so much that when she hears him shout her name, she can't help but run.

She knows that it couldn't have really been him. For some reason the television is on. He's sprinting through the tries.


He's screaming for her desperately, following a voice that she knows should belong to her.

But it isn't her.

A dark haired victor on the television screen breaks a bird's neck.

The screaming stops – for the day.

Then they come for her in the night.

She thinks it's one of her nightmares, Capitol people and President Snow grabbing and tearing at her. But this time Finnick doesn't hold her close and sing in her hair.

This time she's slapped and pushed to the ground, kicked until she breathless. She sees in her mind how bruises will bloom on her ribs.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't cry because she knows this isn't the worst.

She doesn't blame him. She knows he's done something. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what they do to her or why. She knows the worst is to come. But all she's scared about is what has happened to him.

As they administer each electric shock and each blindingly painful blow, she's thankful. Because she knows as long as they're torturing her, he's still alive.

She's grateful when it's dark. The dreams could come and attack her in her sleep, but she can also form new memories in the dark. The world is quiet and she think of where he is and what he's doing.

In the dark, she can see him happy.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

She's lost. The chill of her cell shakes her to her bones, but it isn't the only thing.

It's the screams. She hears them from across the hall and it's the only thing left that she can remember—that and his name.

It reverberates through her mind like a useless echo. She can imagine him holding her in the dark.

I love you I love you I love you.

He promised her he'd come back for her.

For her.

Now all she can hear are the screams. Familiar voices that she's sure she's heard before.

But all she can see is black. It isn't a comfort anymore. She doesn't remember where she is or what she's doing there. All she feels is confusion that is so familiar to her. It's almost as painful as the cold cutting into her like icy knives. All she has is a sheet to cover her numb skin with.

She doesn't even remember where her clothes went.

She remembers a name in the darkness. It's woven between the mess inside her head. She remembers the sea. She remembers the song caressing her ear.

She remembers a name.

But the only thing that is real to her here is the darkness and the cold.

The screams. Sometimes they are understandable words.

But mostly they are just unintelligible screams of pain and anguish. She remembers them. She remembers trying to keep her head above water while she trips over dead bodies of people who thirst for her blood.

The name fades. It skims in and out of her head.

He's just a phantom. When the only real thing she can hold onto is a captivity that she can't even comprehend, he becomes a shadow. She remembers something. She remembers him coming for her.

But she's sure it's just a fantasy—just another coping mechanism.

There is no Finnick. There is no bronzed savior with sea-green eyes that sings to her in the dark. She's just another mad girl who has to sing to herself to keep above water.

She doesn't hear a named screamed in torture across the hall anymore. There's just silence.

And then there's light.

Painful and bright light scalds her eyes as her cell door is thrown open. She attempts to shield herself and cover herself and save herself.

She tries all of it but she was never very good at that. The only thing she has ever been good at is being a mess. Hands bring her to her feet. She expects more pain but she feels warmth.

She doesn't recognize her surroundings, but that isn't anything knew. She has to ask anyway.

"Is this real?"

All she gets are sad looks. Eyes that pity her so much that she wonders if she hasn't concocted this at all. The landing is rough and they pull at her wrists, made fair by months in darkness.

But she doesn't mind the redness. She's dizzied by her surroundings, pulled underground in a fashion that is reminiscent of the horrors she left behind. She pulls the sheet tight around her. No one tells her anything and it's the only thing she has to hold on to.

She can't even trust her memory.

But then everything stops.

She hears something that she is sure she's heard before. She turns and she never had any idea that confusion could turn so easily into conviction.

He looks as lost as she does.

Finally she understands.

Finally he isn't just her anchor, but she is his. They don't just fall together but support each other. It's the first time she's seen him since he's called her name in pain and terror and she knows without a doubt that this is real.

She shouts his name and they are suddenly entangled in each other's arms.

No doubt. No confusion.


She knows that they're names are meant to be entangled forever.

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

When she feels the stirring in her stomach, all she feels is dread. Her left hand feels heavy, the silver band cutting into her finger.

She knows something is wrong.

When she finishes the morning with nausea—so violent it reminds her of the weeks in the arena—she knows exactly what's wrong.

She should be happy.

She's not.

The last time she was happy was eating a cake made for her occasion in a dress she would never wear again.

But he's gone again.

She doesn't need them to tell her.

Katniss, Peeta, and Gale come back—inflicted with an abundance of wounds, physical and mental.

Finnick doesn't.

They needn't have come. She sits on her bed, staring at her hands. Her wedding band is cold and thinking of the night when he kissed her in front of everyone for a solemn vow that could never be broken…

She doesn't need it.

The squirming in her stomach tells her all she needs to know.


She hates it. He'll never say her name again; never sing in her ear; never make the shadows go away.

The only desperate hope she can cling to is that this is another one of her fits. She easily convinced herself that he was just a figment of her imagination. She could have just as easily concocted this. He just hasn't pulled her out of it yet.

But he never will.

She can tell by all of their faces.

"Where did he go?" she whispers.

"I'm so sorry…"

Their voices blend together. She could never tell which was which and now she can feel the familiar roar in her ears. She's being pulled apart like she always has, but this time there is the certainty that no one can save her ever again.

They can't catch her fast enough. She bolts the bathroom door and cowers on the floor.

She has no crown. And she has no one to remind me who he is and who she has become. But they are the same nails raking through her hair until her scalp grows red with irritation.

"Where did you go?"

She only emerges at night. Then no one is pounding on the door and she can slip into the bed they used to share.

The darkness is comfort and the darkness is her undoing. She closes her eyes and wishes she were in a cold cell or just being restricted from the television.

Then she could pretend that she had made him up. Now that's all she wishes. She wishes he weren't real. She wishes he never made her love him, never made her squirm inside, never implanted a part of himself inside of her.

She clutches her stomach, feeling her son move inside her womb.

The only piece of him she has left.