i.
Your name is Peeta Mellark.
You do not speak, because you've got a metal-leather bit in your mouth.
Oh. How did that get there. You think about it, but can't remember.
The light hurts your eyes. The wall is white and blank like freshly fallen snow. You try to blink and you can't, can't, it hurts.
You groan pitifully and try to shut your eyes but they're held open by something. A lot of somethings. Many somethings. Tiny needles in your eyes holding the lids open and they burn like fire. You want to compare the pain to something else. You want to struggle but your arms are weak, stuck to the chair.
Stop , says a voice. Ignore it. Think.
You are seventeen years old. You are parentless, an only child. You weren't always alone. There was an accident and now you're alone. Why are you alone.
You were alone, you are still alone. But not always. You have—had?—a friend. Katniss Everd—
Freeze.
The name. It's wrong. Can't remember why. Hurts to think about it. And you miss her more than you hurt, physically. Care about her. Can't remember why.
Is she alive? You don't remember.
Peeta , says the voice.
You moan.
Something in your arm. Like a needle, a stinger. Oh.
Stinger.
Something jogs in your memory.
No.
Get it out.
Get it out of me.
You know what's coming. Panic seizes your mind but you remain torpid and useless.
Do you know where you are, right now?
The voice wants an answer. You won't give it.
Get it out of me.
Peeta.
A hand on your face and you can't bite with the leather in your mouth. You can barely move, barely think.
Nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?
You won't. You won't do anything for the voice. The voice doesn't do anything. That's what you think, but actually it sighs.
Something jolts you, and you can't breathe. Shock. It's a shock. Electricity. How do you know this. Your eyes sting from the colors of the room and your shout is muffled.
Hate yourself.
You hate yourself.
Katniss?
Hatred. You hate her more.
Why do you hate her?
She left you to die, Peeta. Didn't she?
Didn't she.
There was an arena. We saved you from the Mockingjay.
Stop.
Tell me the truth, Peeta. Nod or shake.
Wish you could shut your eyes. You leg is shaking of its own accord and a rancid, bitter smell hits your nostrils. You know what it is but won't think about it. You want to sleep.
Another shock. You shake your head violently. The smell gets worse. Not a simulation.
Shock. You snarl into the restraints, shake your head like a wild animal.
Never. She'd never leave you. She's too stubborn to leave you. You know. You know that more than anything in the world that Katniss Everdeen is an obstinate—
Why did she leave you, Peeta?
The voice will keep asking, you know. Why.
Why are you asking me, you think, but you know they don't want an answer.
You aren't supposed to win this game. You have to survive.
And you will. For her, even if you can't remember why.
ii.
They keep you in restraints. Don't drug you as much. They are not the Captial's doctors but you don't trust anyone.
She walks into the room and she is different. Older, somehow. She looks tired, indifferent to you. Her neck is pale, strapped in a brace, splotched purple.
You remember how she got it.
"I must have loved you a lot," you say. She stiffens almost imperceptibly, but you see that little moment of weakness and another emotion that is not regret twists in your empty chest like a knife. You know her so intimately by now it is almost dreamlike.
Another lie.
"You did," she says, and doesn't look at you.
"And did you love me?"
Katniss avoids your gaze. Looks at the floor instead and the feeling that is not regret festers, cements. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me."
You wait for the glint of scarlet in her eye, the white of her Mutt's teeth. "What about Gale?" It comes out hollow.
There's a pause. "He's not a bad kisser either," she says after a moment.
"And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?"
"No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," she says.
And you laugh, and the feeling bursts, blooms into derision, disgust. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" You've struck a nerve and feel nothing. Wait for her to turn on you, show her true face.
She doesn't. Just leaves.
iii.
It's quiet in the ruins. The earliest time of morning before the sun rises, still dark. You cannot sleep.
Katniss is there but you don't know if she is watching. You can't always remember.
"Your favorite color...it's green?"
She hasn't expected you to speak, you figure. You really can't blame her, even if you don't know how you feel. There's a silence. Finally she says:
"That's right. And yours is orange."
"Orange?" You frown. Just orange?
"Not bright orange," Katniss says. "But soft. Like the sunset. At least, that's what you told me once."
"Oh." Close your eyes. Try to remember, can't. Don't want her to worry. Open them again and you know how to pretend for her because it's just another simulation. Give her the answer she wants to hear.
"Thank you," you say quietly.
Silence builds between you like a wall. Then Katniss says: "You're a painter." A delicate pause, then: "You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
You wait for more information but she doesn't give you anything. She gets up and goes into the tent and leaves you alone with the ghost of a recollection.