She was running through the humid space of the jungle, breathing hard.
"Peeta! Peeta, I'm over here!" She yelled desperately, hoping that the remaining careers would be lured by her voice instead of his. She could hear him in the distance, calling for her too, but her legs started to feel heavy. She pushed through the undergrowth, sinking to her knees. Why did she fall? She felt so tired, and confused? What was happening, had she missed an attack? These questions fluttered through her brain, slowly becoming incoherent. She couldn't have known, of course, about the gas that the gamemakers had pumped into her area of the arena, but she would soon find out.
…
It wasn't like in the movies, where the protagonist awakes with a start, bright eyed, conscious and ready to overtake the aircraft. Katniss awoke slowly, her thoughts a jumbled, chemical mess. She acknowledged the doctors who passed in and out, pulling her and prodding her. She knew that they stuck needles in her, she watched as they extracted a vial of blood out of her arm, watched every pass of the needle as they stitched up the empty tracker wound. She was unable to move, unable to process what this all meant. It would be days later, where she would awake, cold and finally sober; finally coming to terms with what her future would hold.
…
I was hyper-aware of my own nakedness. I felt so embarrassed. I had woken up in a 12ft, derelict, concrete room; thick metal bars spanned the length of one wall. Outside my cell: a hallway, just as neglected. The only light that came into the room was from a single, bare bulb, hanging in the middle of the hallway. The cell across from mine was empty. I had kept my eyes peeled, and so far, no one had crossed past my cell.
…
Time was becoming hard to measure. How long had I been in this room for? My mind was racing. It couldn't have been longer than an hour. I chew on the inside of my cheek. There's no sunlight to judge the time. It's probably been a few hours. My heart is jumping out of my chest. I'm going to die in here. Sweat covers my body. I know that this is a Capitol cell. My ears are ringing. My punishment will come.
…
After the panic comes silence. Everything in my body shuts down. My bones ache and my eyes slide right through the bars to the wall across the hall. I don't see him enter. It's his boots that catch my attention; heavy metal soles that thud against the concrete. I don't look up past his pristine black laces. I refuse to acknowledge the present.
"Do you want to know what I hate most?." His voice is deep, he's past his 40's.
"Lazy people. So many people around here just sit on their ass and expect everything to just fall in their lap. Look at you, you haven't gotten up all day." I look up at him. A shadow of facial hair covers his cheeks, but it's his eyes. They're light blue and piercing. When our eyes meet I start and force my eyes back to his shoes.
"Well I've got news Sweetheart, things are going to change around here. People like you are the reason why this world is falling to shit. Now get up" I get up slowly, my knees popping, my body stiff. I'm so naked right now, and there's absolutely nothing to shield myself from him. He doesn't say anything for a moment, so I look up to his face. He's looking right at me, all of me, and he's not impressed. I look back down.
"Snow wants to see you, but I won't have you spoiling his day with your stench. You'll shower off the grease you fucking Pig, then you're the stylists problem." I inhale slowly. The last time I had cleaned myself was in the arena, when Peeta and I had- No, I can't think about him right now. Everything will fall apart, and I need to keep it together. I shut my eyes, my hands balling into fists.
"Didn't you fucking hear me?" I look at him, confused, not knowing where he wanted me to go. I step towards the door built into the bars of the cells. Surely the showers are somewhere down this hallway.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He's smiling, I don't want to play his game, but I answer anyways.
"Going to take a shower." I'm grateful that my voice didn't break from misuse.
"Not like that you're not." Im already naked, I think.
"No way you're just going to strut down my hallway without your cuffs Bitch. See these?" I hear the metal and know whats coming. He grabs my arm, spinning me around, pushing me up against the wall. The arm that he's holding is twisted something awful, but I can't let him get to me yet, so I hold back my protests. He's got me pinned, and leans in. He smells of soap and fresh laundry.
"You'll get used to these Sweetheart. Infact, they might just become your best friend." His voice is sweet. He's enjoying this too much. I hear them click into place, cold around my wrists. My arms are locked behind my back. He steers me roughly from the room, down the hallway. I count quickly, half a dozen cells ahead of me, three on either side that look just like mine, maybe more behind me. We turn down a hallway, and instead of bars, there's dirty green doors lining the walls.
We pass another male peacekeeper in white uniform. Neither guard acknowledged each other and we fly past. Down the hallway in no time, when we come to another set of doors. He pushes a button, the doors slide open, and we step onto the elevator. My heart is finally awake again, and it's beating fast, but I speak anyways.
"Why does Snow want to see me?"
"That's President Snow to you, disrespect him one more time and you'll get what's coming for you." I shut up for the rest of the ride.
As we walk the rest of the way, I try to memorize our route, evaluate for possible exits, but it wouldn't even matter. I would never walk these halls again.
…
The unknown stylist works quickly, drying my wet hair. The question slips from my lips.
"What happened in the Quell, who made it out alive?" I sound pathetic, hopeful. He just shakes his head back and forth. This room is probably bugged. His face in the mirror looks worried, so I drop the matter. I don't want him to get into any trouble because of me. I get a look at my own face in the mirror. I feed on the reflection, glad to see a familiar face, unhappy with the changes that I see. My face is sunburned, a few freckles on the bridge of my nose. Some blemishes remain from the poisonous fog. The stylist moves on to covering this with makeup. My eyes though. I just stare at myself. Same shape. Same colour. But the expression is empty, nothing I've ever seen on myself before. The stylist clears his throat, gesturing to a table behind us.
"I've got an outfit prepared over here. I'll leave you to get dressed and then I'll let him know that you're ready. 'Him', it turns out, is that same guard from before. He leads me down a staircase then up an elevator. Finally we stand outside of a set of oak doors.
"President Snow is waiting for you."