"Chin up, dear. You're doing great!" Effie gushes as I stumble for what must be the hundredth time. I can't do this. I can't walk in high heels and look dignified. It's impossible. I could lose my balance at any moment and fall to the floor in an embarrassing heap.
I decide it's time to quit when the ache in my feet becomes too much to bare. "Can we take a break?" Anymore of this and I'll have these ridiculous shoes to blame for my untimely death in the arena. Blisters the size of golf balls won't get me any sympathy from rich sponsors or my fellow tributes.
"Once more around the room. You need to look your best for the interview tomorrow night." Effie Trinket is going to be the death of me. I give her a curt nod before starting my trek around the room. My hand stays plastered to the wall in case I need to steady myself. Can't risk getting injured so close to the Games.
Peeta's voice echoes through the halls as he chats with Haymitch about what he should say during the interview. I envy him because he doesn't have to spend hours learning how to walk properly in high heels. I'm so focused on their conversation that I step down too hard and twist my ankle, which causes me to yelp in pain. I sink to the ground and forcefully remove the shoe from my injured foot.
Effie barely has time to make it to my side before Peeta and Haymitch burst into the room, both of them gasping for breath. "What's going on?" My mentor kneels down to inspect the damage. "You injured her just a few short days before the Games?"
"Not on purpose," she says defensively.
Peeta gently pulls the other shoe from my foot. "I'll take her back to her room." He scoops me up and carries me away before I can protest. I bury my face in his shirt, humiliated. The last thing I want is for my district partner to see me so weak and vulnerable. He might decide I'm easy prey.
I mutter a quick 'thank you' when he sets me on my bed and props my foot up on a pillow. Why is he being so nice to me? He should be glad I'm at a disadvantage. My injury means one less person will be after his life. "I'm dead."
"You're not dead." He politely instructs an avox to bring us some ice before returning his attention to my swollen skin. "I won't let anyone hurt you." The sincerity in his voice startles me. If I didn't know better I'd think he actually cares about me.
The red-headed avox girl places an icepack on my ankle, then exits the room. Peeta takes my uninjured foot in his hands and begins massaging the soreness from it. I'm stunned into silence by the kindness he is showing me. Why is he doing this? We're supposed to be enemies. We're supposed to kill each other in the arena.
"Just relax," he says ever so sweetly. "You'll feel much better once I'm done."
I will be lying if I say this doesn't feel good. He knows how to apply the right amount of pressure to melt away the tension in my muscles. I lean back against my pillows with a sigh of content as he works his magic. He finishes one foot and starts on the other, taking great care not to touch my injury. "Think I still have a shot at winning?"
He glances up at me with eyes as blue as the sky itself. I could get lost in those eyes, lost in the emotion I find in them. Happiness, concern, and maybe a little fear. I don't understand him. The closer I get to him, the more mysterious he becomes. "Of course. Nobody stands a chance against you, not even me."
The other tributes will have an easy time finishing me off with my hurt ankle, but I want at least one of us to make it home alive. The boy who gave me the bread, the boy who is taking care of me now deserves to live. "If for some reason I don't make it, you have to win. Promise me that you will win."
He moves his fingers closer to my injury, massaging the stiffness from my ankle. "You'll win. I'll make sure you see your sister again."
"Don't you want to see your brothers again?" I know he has siblings who care about him and want him to come home. How will I ever face the baker and his family again if I have to kill Peeta? No. I can't think like that. Someone else will kill him. Someone else has to kill him. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I killed this kindhearted boy. The thought of shooting an arrow through his heart sends a chill down my spine.
Peeta rubs the sides of my foot tenderly. "It doesn't matter how much I want to see them again because I'm never going home. I'm going to die in the arena, Katniss. I only have a few more days left to live." He finishes with my foot and places it back on the pillow. It feels so much better now that he has massaged it. "Try not to walk on it."
He gets up to leave but I catch his hand before he can go. I owe him again, and I hate owing people. I will repay his kindness with some kindness of my own. He doesn't deserve to spend his final days alone. There's no point in treating him like an enemy before the Games have begun. "Stay." It's more of a command than a request. I won't allow him to leave after everything he has done for me.
Peeta takes a seat on the edge of my bed and repositions the icepack so that it covers my swollen ankle. "I'll convince your stylist to let you wear more comfortable shoes for the interview."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I blurt out in frustration. Is this a strategy to get me to lower my guard? Can't be. He's already got an advantage over me. Does that mean he is genuinely concerned for my well-being?
"You're in pain," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Those words topped with the adorable look on his face cause my carefully built walls to crumble, exposing my heart to this boy. Maybe, just maybe he is being honest. I decide to trust him. He is my district partner. He did give me the bread that saved my life. "Friends for now?"
"For now," I agree. We can worry about killing each other later. Right now, I will allow him to care for me. I will allow him to be my friend until the day we enter the arena. I just hope I won't be the one to end his life.