Funny, he thought. At a time like this, he should be hearing his own name in his head, magnified to impossible volumes across a dead-silent plain of eyes belonging to people whose only thoughts could be relief that the name they were hearing wasn't their own. Except for him, of course. Because it was his name that was called, but that wasn't the blow. Hearing his own name wasn't what sucked every last breath out of him and left him gasping, wondering if it was possible to have his heart sink so low. Because in that moment, the last person he was thinking of was himself. And so, maybe it made sense that it wasn't his own name looping through his mind, but rather, hers.
Well, her sister's name, really. Effie Trinket's announcement of "Primrose Everdeen" sunk his stomach, but Katniss' volunteering was what had put him over the edge. Her cry of "I volunteer!" had stilled his mind so much that he wasn't aware of anything else until Effie had already plunged her hands into the next bowl, searching for the name that would ultimately be his own.
He shamefully wiped away the tears in his eyes before they had any chance to fall and spill over his cheeks. He couldn't cry now, he'd already done himself in for nearly crying in front of the audience of District 12 as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Katniss. What a fool he was for letting his emotions show. He'd be picked off as an easy target now, for sure, as soon as the rest of the world and the other tributes saw through his shocked face. But what else could he do? His life had suddenly halted, and only two roads were visible. Either he had to die or he had to watch her die.
Groaning, he rested his cheekbones on the hard bottom of his palms and breathed slowly. At least, he could not cry in front of his family. He managed to keep his strength in front them, sitting solemn-faced as they said their goodbyes. His father stood off in the corner, grim faced, and did not say a word, only clung tightly to a package in his hands. Looking to his brothers, Peeta wondered whether or not to be angry. While Katniss had so selflessly stood up to take her younger sister's place, Peeta's brothers had watched silently while he walked the last steps towards his fate. One of them was still young enough to have volunteered, and was even stronger than he and stood a much better chance. But Peeta realized he couldn't be mad, not really. Would he have done the same for his brother? And had his brother taken his place, there was the undeniable idea that he may have had to watch his brother kill the one girl he loved.
What really grinded his gears, in the end, was his mother's last comment. That District 12 may finally have a winner. Not him, of course. His mother would never say such kind words about him, a fact he had accepted and ceased to ruminate upon long ago. The implication that Katniss would win both filled him with joy at seeing her victory and with selfish sorrow at the imminence of his own death. He would never be able to tell her how he felt.
He watched the door close behind his mother and soaked in the silence. For a crazy moment, he wondered, had the odds worked out differently and some other girl had been chosen, whether Katniss would come to visit him. It was only a passing thought. He knew she only had eyes for the older boy, whom she was probably with at this moment.
So it wasn't Katniss that came through the door next, but rather Delly Cartwright. Truly, he was happy to see her, and tried not to think about how it was probably the last time he'd watch her eyes light up as they locked on his. She was the family he'd never had anywhere else. She'd always called him a brother, after all. And so, for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be joyful. But she didn't greet him with her usual large smile, and once again, reality settled in for him as he gazed solemnly back to her.
"Peeta," she said pitifully.
For a while, neither said anything. Then suddenly, she threw herself forward and into his arms, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. Her next words were muffled through his shirt. "This wasn't supposed to happen to us," she moaned. "It's always people from the Seam who are picked, people who can't afford otherwise. Your name was only in there… what is it? Fifteen times?" Whatever she said next was unintelligible, but in time she pulled her face away and looked into his eyes once more.
"I want you to know that you've always been a sister to me," he told her.
She hesitated before responding. "I love you Peeta."
Her words were heavy with meaning, most of which he could not decipher. "I love you too," he finally responded.
"No, you don't understand," she said, and for a moment she showed the shadow of a smile. "I sometimes wondered if I loved you in more than one way, Peeta."
He'd wondered so, as well. Delly had always been there for him with a smile. He'd known her forever and felt closer to her than he thought he could feel to anyone. If it wasn't for her, he wondered how his life would have turned out. Under the watch of an abusive mother and a passive father, it was Delly that gave his days brightness. When he felt dejected and as if the world contained neither hope nor love, she always seemed to appear, smiling at his door with something cheery to say. It was an infectious attitude, and in the years he spent with her, he'd developed it somewhat himself. And he'd so much wanted to spread it to others. He knew he could choose to be cruel like his mother, but he had let Delly's enthusiasm in, and tried to emit it outwards. He wasn't as confident or as outgoing as her, though, so the most he could do was be nice, in the end. Perhaps if he'd been more outspoken, like her, he would have been able to admit his feelings to Katniss before now.
And there was the catch. No matter how much sense it made for him to be with Delly, or any other girl for that matter, his heart always led him back to Katniss. He did love Delly, sincerely, but not in the way she loved him.
He struggled over whether or not to admit this aloud. He had never spoken of Katniss to her, but Delly always seemed to know things about him before he did. Surely, she must have realized his fascination at some point. But maybe she had denied it, or perhaps he had hid his crush so well that the idea hadn't even crossed her mind. After all, she spoke so highly of Katniss. Peeta suspected that Delly was drawn to her as well – of course, in a different way. Had the world been different, maybe he and Delly could have been friends with Katniss. But, as it was, Katniss kept mostly to herself and spoke to largely no one, save for her older friend and a few others. Delly admired her bravery and fierce attitude from afar, and Peeta watched her and wondered every day whether or not he'd finally find the courage to say something. He could apologize for the bread, tell her how wrong it had been for him to throw it in the mud instead of handing it to her himself.
Once again, he told himself, this was not another world, nor another time. In this world, he would never be able to apologize, because now he and Katniss were set to kill one another. If he could keep his head well enough once the Games started, there was a chance that he could make it up to her somehow, perhaps protect her. But who knew what would happen once he was starving, dehydrated, and desperate with a weapon in his hand? Would he be like every other Tribute he'd seen in all of the other years, striving for nothing but victory, turning hostile the moment everybody ran off his or her platforms? If he even lived that long, of course.
"Delly, when I'm gone, there will be someone there for you," he promised her. He believed every word of it, even though she shook her head furiously. He shouldn't deny it; he was going to die. It wasn't a matter of survival, since he knew he could never stand a chance against the Career Tributes, whose entire lives had been leading to this moment. The only question was how good a fight he could put up, how much of his head he could keep, and whether or not he could save Katniss.
"No, it's not true, because you'll come back, Peeta," Delly said, and even though she smiled, he saw tears spring up in her eyes and knew that she was as aware of the truth as he. "You can run and hide and wait for the others to get to each other, and you're smart enough."
In reality, it took much more than wits to win these Games, he knew. A good idea of the land and the knowledge of how to stay safe could get a Tribute so far, but in the end, the best fighter won.
"I'll only play so many games, Delly," he told her, and made sure that she was watching his eyes before he continued. He spoke in a low voice – although the Capitol had ruined his life mere minutes ago, he didn't want to ruin Delly's as well, and who knew how many hidden cameras and recorders were catching his every breath and word in this room? "I'm not going to come back here. Even if I gave every fighting chance in the Arena, the Gamemakers would never allow a District 12 Tribute to come out victorious. You see what an embarrassment Haymitch is to them. You think they want another one of those? And they always lean in favor to the Careers. Face it, you knew everything before you came here, and you came to say goodbye, not to wish me good luck."
Her tears spilled over, and she paused before wiping them away. Her face turned stone cold, which almost frightened him. Never before had he seen her less than hopeful, and he'd seen her at some hard moments. But, of course, saying goodbye to your family, to someone you loved in possibly more ways than one, couldn't be easy. "So that's it?" she screeched so loudly it startled him. "You give up? The Capitol has you now? You won't even fight?"
"I'll be fighting, Delly, until the very end, whenever that may be." But something in the way she said it made him wonder whom it was she wanted him to fight. Delly had never said anything against the Capitol – though such matters had plagued him since he'd seen Katniss starving on the streets at age eleven, Delly seemed to seldom think of its oppression or control. Well, if she did, she'd never voiced her thoughts. He'd tried prompting her shortly after he'd watched Katniss pick the dandelion that spring. He asked her whether or not it was wrong of them to deny food to the Seam, only to give it to them in exchange for the chance of their lives in The Hunger Games. "Don't be silly," she'd said. "We have plenty to eat, Peeta. You live in a bakery!"
He couldn't blame her. Maybe she had enough to eat in her home, but, though he was thankful for every bite, the hard, burnt edges of bread only abated his appetite so much. And even though he'd never had the experience of signing up for tesserae, here he was, in the hands of the Capitol, despite all odds. The odds had been against Prim as well, but she'd been chosen all the same. Funny how that could happen.
But now, was Delly telling him to fight the other Tributes, or the ones who had gotten him into this mess? The answer was given to him shortly.
"Remember your enemy." He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head quickly to quiet him. "Nobody can control you but you. You will be the one making the decisions in there, not them." She spoke purposefully vaguely, he noticed. Anyone in the Capitol could interpret this conversation as being about other Tributes. "Keep your head. Remember what I told you. And if that doesn't get you through, think of her." She nodded her head to the wall to his left, to the room where Katniss now sat.
So she knew. She probably had known for a while. "I love her," he whispered.
"She's a fighter." Because what else was there to say? She couldn't tell him that he had any chance to have her, now. There was no chance for Delly to express her admiration for someone who could be dead in a week, though these thoughts were written all over her face.
Just then, the door opened and a Peacekeeper stepped in. "Your time is up," he declared in a voice much too loud for the small, stone room. Peeta imagined it wasn't often that this Peacekeeper had the chance to enforce any law. Peeta couldn't hate him like he hated the rest of the Capitol at this moment for taking the most precious thing from him, because the Peacekeeper knew District 12 just as well as he did. Sometimes, after Katniss came to Peeta's back door with a bundle of squirrels for his father, he'd casually walk over to the window and, with the pretense of checking the weather, watch her cross the street to the house of a Peacekeeper while half-listening to the rambles of his father in the other room. Though the Peacekeeper in this cold, stone room in the Justice Building now looked hardened and insistent upon enforcing the law, Peeta imagined that this same man would look as grateful and delighted as all the others if a young girl delivered a bundle of fresh meat to his back door.
"Goodbye, Peeta," Delly whispered, shaking him from his thoughts. She was beaming again, waving at the Peacekeeper and acting as if she had paid Peeta a visit to say hello rather than goodbye. He was glad for it; this was how he wanted to remember her: his family. In one quick movement, she swooped down to kiss his cheek and, with a swish of her hair, followed the Peacekeeper out the door. It shut with a loud click.
Alone now, he finally let go and let every emotion barge out of his system. How could he be here, a kid of the wealthier side of District 12, awaiting his fate? How easy it would be to think like the Careers right now, only thinking of what he needed to do to survive. But no, he wouldn't. How could he redeem himself now? After years of seeing the Capitol's oppression and doing nothing but throwing a piece of bread to one young girl, could he do anything to prove that he was more than just another dead Tribute? And could he somehow protect Katniss? All of these questions demanded answers, but they slipped through his fingers as easily and as quickly as the tears.