Chapter 2

I'm running through the woods as fast as my feet can carry me. My knuckles are white from clutching the strap on the sheath of arrows across my back so tightly. I can't seem to suck down oxygen fast enough. But I can't stop. I must dodge trees, keep moving forward. If I don't, I will die. I know the enemy is closing in on me, but I don't dare turn around. I don't dare do anything but put one foot in front of the other. Just when I think I can't run another step, the ground beneath my aching feet seems to read my mind. I trip over a bare tree root, landing flat on my face. I have just enough time to flip onto my back before I'm pounced upon by an overgrown, mutated wolf with the deep brown eyes of someone I once called a friend.

I scream and sit straight up, my blankets forming a tangled mass around my legs. I can tell from the cooling sensation caused by the light breeze blowing in from the window and across my forehead that I've been sweating. Gently, I peel myself away from my nightmare-induced cocoon and pull the window shut. The sun is just barely beginning to make its daily appearance, bathing the Victors' Village in a sleepy grey. I sigh. These horrifying dreams have gone past the point of being annoying. Even though the 74th Hunger Games are over for most of Panem, I don't think they'll ever be over for me. I consider trying to go back to sleep, but I know it will be pointless. Even if I do somehow manage it, I'll just be diving into another arena nightmare.

In the end, I decide to go downstairs. My mom and Prim are still asleep, so the house is quiet. Not knowing what else to do, I plop down on our couch in front of our fancy television, but I don't turn it on. I just sit there in silence, trying not to let my mind wander to the inevitable Victory Tour. I suppose at some point, I drift off into a dreamless sleep, because the next thing I know, there are voices coming from the kitchen. The sun is a bit higher in the sky now, bringing color to the outside world. Rubbing my eyes, I make my way over to the kitchen before stopping short. My mom and Prim are preparing breakfast for all of us, but that's not what makes me stop. They do that every morning. Helping my sister with her goat's cheese is none other than my fellow District 12 victor, Peeta Mellark.

Even though he's living right next door, Peeta and I have hardly spoken since we got back home. Honestly, things have been a bit awkward between us. It's more than a little strange to see him in my kitchen this morning. After standing there frozen for a moment, I decide there's no reason why this boy should keep me from walking into my own kitchen. So, I persuade my legs to move and continue toward the confusing scene before me. It's Peeta who notices me first. "Katniss!" he says as if he's been here all along and I've only been gone for an hour or two. My mom and Prim look up at the sound of my name.

"Morning," I blurt out, my lips working on autopilot. I want to ask what's going on, but can't find a way to word the question without sounding rude or making the situation more awkward than it already is. So, I go and have a seat at the kitchen table and wait for somebody to start explaining.

"Buttercup did the funniest thing earlier! I accidently dropped a bit of cheese on his nose and he went completely crazy trying to lick it off. It was so adorable!" Prim pipes up with a giggle. I smile at her, even though I've never actually considered anything that horribly ugly cat has done to be funny or adorable. Buttercup and I have never actually seen eye to eye on anything, other than wanting to see Prim happy and healthy.

"The poor guy. He could smell it, but had the hardest time getting to it," Peeta chimes in. I keep my grin painted on my face, but I raise an eyebrow to the baker's son, silently asking the question that everyone knows is on my mind. Peeta takes the hint. Always perceptive, that one. "Katniss, could I possibly have a quick word with you?" he asks. I nod and stand up from the table.

"All right, but breakfast will be ready soon!" my mom calls from the stove. The thought now occurs to me that my mom might honestly be clueless about the tension going on between Peeta and I lately. She's often clueless, but I prefer it that way. It's for her own good.

"This won't take long," Peeta promised before following me away from the kitchen and into the little study, where I know we won't be overheard. It's a smallish room, but pretty nice, I guess. There's a desk and a few chairs. It's not used much, but Prim does her homework in here sometimes. Peeta takes a seat as I close the door behind us. Then I sit across from him, not really knowing what to say. Luckily, I didn't have to know. "I'm sorry for just showing up like this," Peeta begins.

I feel the need to say something now, but all that comes out is "Sure." I'm not really sure what I mean by that, but thankfully Peeta is able to ignore my stupidity and continue.

"I wanted to apologize about getting mad at you once we got back to District 12. It wasn't fair of me. After all, our whole romance was just supposed to be a ploy to get us sponsors," he continues. I don't even try to say anything this time. "I thought maybe we could try just being friends. I've missed you lately."

Finally, I'm able to find my words. "I've missed you too," I admit with a smile. Leave it to Peeta to make a long period of awkwardness disappear in a matter of minutes. "Friends sounds perfect."

Peeta smiles. "It's settled, then. And just in time for this Victory Tour. You still having nightmares, too?"

I nod. "Every night. Do you think they'll ever stop?"

"I don't know. I don't think this is something people can just get over. But at least we have each other. Haymitch has had to deal with it all alone," he points out.

"No wonder he drinks!" I exclaim. We both laugh. It feels good to laugh with Peeta again, even if it's just over our never-sober mentor, the victor of the 50th Hunger Games. Peeta's fingers slipped into mine, the way they had numerous times before. It was comforting, feeling like I had him back on my side again.

"We'd better head back before breakfast gets cold," Peeta suggests.

"Lead the way."

A day later, it's all about preparing for this stupid tour. My prep team arrived first thing in the morning, and are now complaining about everything from the dirt under my nails to my unkempt eyebrows. "Well, we've certainly got our work cut out for us," Octavia was saying. My prep team is from the capitol, so they all participate in the many strange fashion trends the people there seem to like. Octavia dyes not only her hair, but her skin as well. It's currently a forest green color.

"It almost reminds me of when she first came to us," Flavius comments as if I'm not sitting in a tub about a foot away. Flavius has orange hair that he keeps in a corkscrew shape and seems to enjoy wearing purple lipstick.

"We pulled off a miracle then, we can do it now!" Venia chimed in confidently. Venia's aqua hair is kept gelled up in spikes and she has these golden tattoos above her eyebrows.

Pretty soon they get to work, scrubbing me down with flowery-smelling chemicals and running gels through my hair. Talk of my physical state soon morphs into the usual gossip about all the goings-on at the capitol. Who is dating who, who is still on last month's fashion trends, who has thrown the best parties this season, and various other topics that I know nothing about. By the time I've been plucked and shaved until my body is practically hairless, I've been told all about the fabulous dresses that my stylist, Cinna, has designed for the tour.

After several hours of prepping, I'm exhausted. Even my skin aches, but that's probably just from all of the waxing. I go downstairs to relax for a bit and am surprised to find Haymitch sitting in my living room. I would have expected him to be passed out in his filthy kitchen right now. "Hey there, Sweetheart," he calls to me as I enter the room.

"What's up, Haymitch?" I ask, plopping down in a chair. Haymitch isn't one to come pay a casual visit, even with his next-door neighbors, so I know he's here for a reason. Neither of us likes to beat around the bush, so no polite conversation is required before getting to the point.

"You remember what I told you before you did your post-games interview? About having to be really convincing about your love for Peeta?" Haymitch asks. I nod, my heart skipping a beat. He'd told me that President Snow thought that my scheme during last year's Huger Games, where Peeta and I had threatened to kill ourselves, was some sort of rebellious act against the capitol. It hadn't been, of course. I just didn't want to have to kill Peeta, and he didn't want to have to kill me. Basically, my only chance to appease the president was to prove to all of Panem that it was simply a crazy act of love for Peeta. We'd even told everyone that Gale and his siblings were my cousins to explain my close relationship with Gale and squash the rumors of us having a relationship.

"Well, my sources tell me that Snow is still uneasy about the whole thing. You and the other one had better love it up during the tour, or things could be bad for a lot of people," Haymitch warns me, his voice as serious as a drunk man's can be. Great. As if this upcoming tour wasn't stressful enough, a whole lot more pressure had just been dumped onto the situation. If President Snow thinks I'm starting some sort of rebellion against him, who knows what he'll do to me? To Peeta? To our families?

"Still? Peeta and I were positively disgusting during all of our interviews and appearances after the games!" I exclaim. The two of us had been stuck together like glue. If I'd been at home watching us, I'd probably feel as though I were about to lose my lunch. I can't imagine what more we can possibly do to convince people that we acted out of love alone.

"Don't tell me, Sweetheart. Snow is the one you have to convince," Haymitch points out.

"Fine," I reply stubbornly, realizing that Haymitch is right. Arguing with him will get me nowhere. "But I want to tell Peeta what's going on this time. He was upset that he wasn't in on the messages you were sending me with the food. And he was right, he's a part of this team too." During the games, Haymitch had taken a habit to sending me food as a reward for playing up the lover's card. I'd caught on and in that way Haymitch and I had a sort of unspoken agreement. Peeta hadn't been in on it, but he'd played the role of a lover beautifully anyway.

"If you feel you must," Haymitch replied with a shrug. "Just make sure that whatever you do, you put on a convincing show."

"I'll be so glad when this is all over, and I can stop having to put on a convincing show," I say, putting my head in my hands. It was all so stressful, too much pressure.

"You can't ever stop, I'm afraid," Haymitch says simply. When I give him a puzzled look, he elaborates. "People aren't ever going to stop looking at you. People will always be following the story of the star-crossed lovers from District 12."

"And if I stop pretending to love Peeta, people will think it really was an act of rebellion," I continue, finally catching on. "I have to marry Peeta." Marriage was something I'd hardly even considered before. The idea of being 17 years old and already knowing who I was going to marry, not having any say in the matter, is crazy. It doesn't matter who the person is. This isn't how my life was supposed to go.

"Well don't sound so disappointed," Haymitch says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "You could do a whole lot worse." And with that, he gets up and leaves, presumably to return to his house and drink. I sit in my chair for a few minutes and realize that Haymitch is right. I could do much worse than Peeta Mellark.