Anchored

The words reverberated in her ear, but she refused to acknowledge them. There was no way this could be happening to her, this had to be yet another twisted delusion meant to deceive her, to break her down.

“Soldier Cresta,” he began. The man’s features retained no solid expression, but his stare remained downcast as he spoke in the clipped, official tone. “We regret to inform you of this, but your husband has lost his life in the line of duty.”

No, this couldn’t be true. He’d promised. He’d promised to come back to her on that last night, the very same night he’d held her so close to his chest and whispered in her ear those lofty things, such as how much he loved her, how much better their lives would be once the war was over. He’d sworn so fervently that he’d find his way back to her, and she’d believed him because he’d always found his way back to her.

For a moment, Annie’s entire world seemed to shed its colors right before her eyes, becoming the same dull and drab gray as her District Thirteen-issued clothing. For a moment, Annie Cresta just knew she was going to scream, she could feel it rip through her throat, but the sound never came. As she stood there, she was frozen.

She didn’t know how to survive without Finnick.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the stranger continued, awkwardly patting her shoulder in an attempt at comforting her. “Finnick Odair was a great man, one of our best and brightest soldiers. I guess it’s true what they say: the good really do die young.”

The man’s words were kind, but Annie wasn’t listening. She was miles and miles away, back home in District Four. She was still trying to catch her breath. She felt like she was drowning, like that one time when she was just a girl and had fallen overboard off the deck of her father’s fishing boat. There was that same inescapable pressure, and though her exterior was still, unwavering, on the inside, she was flailing frantically, desperate to fight against the currents that threatened to sweep her into their depths.

Because now he was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was just as utterly helpless as that frightened little girl struggling against the tide. Gone. There was such a sense of finality to the word, but in the end, what did it really mean?

For Annie, losing Finnick felt like drifting aimlessly in the ocean. Without her anchor, she was lost at sea.

Because ever since that first day at the reaping that would later seal her fate, Finnick Odair had been her anchor, the one thing in the world that kept her from becoming lost in a sea of her own delusions. He was her grip on reality, the one thing in this world that she could be certain was real. Just the softest whisper from his lips was enough to pull her out of even her most horrifying flashbacks.

Maybe it was her shallow breathing or the way her pulse seemed to skyrocket in her chest, but it was almost as if the baby could sense her distress. Just as Annie felt her world begin to spiral out of her reach, she felt the slightest, softest nudge against her abdomen. Like the fluttering of butterfly wings, it was a silent reminder that there was still a part of Finnick growing inside of her, coming fuller and fuller into bloom with each passing day. It was a reminder that even the longest, harshest winter would eventually give rise to spring.

And it was that one simple nudge that reassured Annie that she’d never truly be lost.

She still had an anchor.