Peeta

When I wake up from what felt like an endless sleep, I do not find myself in the jungle that was last called the arena for the 75th Hunger Games. I do not find myself in a hovercraft that returns me home to District 12. No, I find myself in a room that is, inch by inch, pure white.

I sit up from the cold tile floor I found myself lying on. I instantly feel a pang of agony in my head as I do, and I grit my teeth in spite of it. When I look down at myself, I see that rather in the jumpsuit I was dressed in in the arena, I am covered in a plain white tee shirt and baggy pair of white trousers. My feet are bare, omitting the bruises I can detect on them. As a matter-of-fact, I take note of the endless bruises I find on my skin.

Where am I? How did I get here?

Where is Katniss?

"Katniss!" I cry out impetuously. "Katniss!"

I receive no response as a greeting.

I bite my tongue in the name of my solicitude for her. Stupid! I scream to myself. Stupid! Why would you let her out of your sight that night? Why did you follow Beetee's stupid plan anyway? She could be dead! It would be all your fault. Damn you!

My fist makes contact with the wall adjacent to me in one swift movement. Vibrations shiver in the marble.

"Hey, keep it down, Lover Boy. I really could enjoy the sleep."

I recognize the voice, and the volume of can clearly show that the owner of it is right next to me. "Johanna? Is it really you?"

"No, it's Finnick. Who else could it be?"

I try and force a laugh, but it can't release. I drop it.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Well, my head hurts like Hell, I have cuts and burns all over me, and I'm ninety percent sure that we're in the Capitol. Yeah, I feel great!"

I gulp. I'm ninety percent sure we're in the Capitol.

Everything feels like a blur. Maybe it's the headache that I contracted, or perhaps it's because I'm lost in a maze of confusion. All I can remember is being in that hazardously humid jungle, in the silence of the night, then everything exploding, burning to crisps. And now, I am locked in a Capitol cell. Or supposedly am locked up in one, though Johanna's guess about it seems accurate enough. Back home in Twelve, the prison consisted of a small cinder block building with a small count of cells. Despite the fact that I have not the vaguest idea of what the other prisons are like in the other various districts, more than likely none of them can afford to have marble walls. Well, maybe Districts One and Two, but I can not stir up any reason as to why we'd be taken there.

"Do you remember anything?" I ask Johanna.

Nothing comes out of her for a moment. "I remember the explosion. I remember waking up in a hovercraft and asking where the crap I was."

"And what did they say?"

"Someone immediately came and gave me a shot of something in my arm. I fell right back asleep. I never got an answer."

I wait for her to add on, but she doesn't.

"That's it?" I confirm.

"Yeah. It kills me to barely remember anything."

"I know. I just...think I could figure out this whole thing if I just have some answers. If we are in the Capitol, as you said, then what does Snow want from us?"

"To use us," she hisses. "I can bet on it. He will use us for something. To get something he desires. Peeta, let your eyes open. He wouldn't just lock us in here for no reason."

"So what do we do?" I ask.

"Honestly, I don't know. If we tried escaping, it'd practically be suicide. Besides, you can't escape here. There are Peacekeepers covering every inch of the place."

"Fair point."

"Sorry, Lover Boy. I'm brain dead."

My heart drops like an anchor deep, deep, deep into my stomach. I feel hopeless. It seems to be that this is my new habitat. And I am an animal that cannot adapt.

I sigh.

"Any other questions while we're on a roll?"

"Um..." I pause after that, trying to think of even the most tiniest of a question. My curiosity brings in a question. "How long have we been here?"

"More than likely we got knocked out from the arena. Concussion from the blow maybe. I'd bet my money on at least a week. Wait, maybe you got a concussion, I didn't. I woke up on the hovercraft, and I know it didn't take a few days to get from the arena to the Capitol. Whatever medication they gave me made me sleep for a few days, I guess. That could be it."

The prediction seems good enough for me. It would explain why I felt like I was sleeping for ages. And why I believe that my stomach will eat itself due to my aching hunger.

"Or," she starts mumbling under her breath, "I could have imagined the hovercraft thing and have gotten a concussion." I get lost on her logic after that.

Johanna inhales and exhales a sigh.

"Well," she says, "if you don't mind now, I'm going to figure out a way to fall back asleep again. You should try to, too. But if you absolutely can't, try seeing if you got any playing cards in your cabinet."

"My cabinet?"

"Back wall. Just look for the silver handle and pull out like an oven."

I search for a moment before finally finding it, very well blended into the wall. When I open it, a white cardboard box that can fit in my palm rests in the interior. I remove it, open the box, and find a deck of cards.

"Found them," I announce.

"Congrats. Now figure out what you're going to do with them so I can sleep. Please. Goodnight, Peeta."

"Goodnight, Johanna," I respond, despite the fact I have no idea what time of day it is.

What seems like an hour passes. I master self-teaching myself the art of building houses of cards. Johanna quietly sleeps. I know she is because there is an occasional snore that's loud enough to hear. Frankly, her snore is hilarious, but I choose to not tell Johanna this. I don't want to loose the only companion I could have in prison.

Abruptly in a silent moment, my house of cards collapses and the cards littered all over my cell floor, and Johanna curses loudly. These events both did not occur together by coincidence.

It was the horrific scream of Annie Cresta that set us off.