I felt so numb. I couldn't think, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move, I couldn't feel any sharp pains of horrible emotions that any human, well, most humans, should feel in this situation at this moment. I wanted to stand in the middle of an enormous field, surrounded by tall grass and colorful flowers, nothing in sight other than continuous grass no matter what direction I looked in, and scream. Scream as loud as I could, for as long as I could, until my throat was sore and my vocal cords were damaged.
Angus and Jonah had visited me, Jonah crying silently into my shirt as he hugged me and Angus cursing in between rushed motivational phrases, telling me I was strong, both emotionally and physically, and reminding me of my knife-throwing skills, assuring me that he couldn't remember a time when I didn't hit my intended target. That was a lie but I could tell he was starting to panic at the thought of me fighting for my life in the arena. He didn't know about Peeta, how connected I felt to him, the special effect he had on me, the fact that no matter how determined or desperate I was, my normally calm nerves and steady head would slip away, and I wouldn't be able to kill him. Or hurt him in any way. The last thing Angus said to me before the peacekeepers swung open the door and announced that the time of the visit was over was, "You have to win, Al. After mom and dad, I can't lose you too." I think it was supposed to encourage me, make me feel better or something, but it didn't. At all. Of course I didn't tell him that even though not all hope was completely lost, the chance of me winning was extremely wary. Now he had just added to the pressure that was forming inside my head, clouding my mind and pushing its way through to my core.
Madge, the mayor's daughter, and Noah, my best friend, paid me a visit as well. Madge is a year younger than me and the only daughter of the mayor of District 12. There are a few people who judge her based on that sole fact, and I guess they can't be blamed too harshly for that because it's the misery of starvation and their everyday struggle to survive that leads so easily to jealousy. We've grown closer and closer with the years but never too close, there was always just the right amount of hostility. I wasn't quite sure why, but we both liked it that way so it worked well. Noah, he's my best friend, I consider him family. One of my favorite things about our friendship is that he feels the same way towards me. No romantic feelings, no misunderstandings of what we are to each other, no complications. As if two brothers weren't enough for me. Both of these visits were cut short, Marge and Noah were hauled out of the room so quickly that there wasn't even enough time for anyone to get emotional. To my surprise, I also got a visit from Mr. Mellark. I could always tell he was fond of me, just as I was of him, he was a very likable man. I'm guessing Peeta acquired his genuine kindness from him. I think I felt more sorry for him than he did for me, how depressing it must be for him to have Peeta be a tribute. He wished me luck, even thought I knew, and he knew I knew, that if it came down to me and Peeta, no matter how much kindness resided in his heart, he wouldn't wish me any luck in the world. The Games bring out the selfishness in people. Sometimes in life, you have to be selfish to survive. He also told me that if ever anything should happen to me, he would help Angus take care of Jonah. Another reason for me to not be able to find it in my heart to kill Peeta.
It was an enormous hassle to get through the crowd of photographers flashing their cameras and shoving microphones in our faces, yelling out incomprehensible questions. The high-speed train that would take us to the Capitol in less than a day's time was impressive. My jaw dropped when we walked in, and I didn't bother to close it. The furniture, the decorations, the contrast of colors, the precise detail on every object. And the food! Tables covered with any kind of foods imaginable, several of which I didn't know what they were exactly. I stole a sideways glance at Peeta, who also had an incredulous look planted on his face. His eyes were still visibly red, he had obviously cried during his time spent in the Justice building right after the Reaping. Anger started to bubble inside me, I couldn't bear the thought of Peeta in pain. I was hurting and the Games hadn't even commenced yet. And then a gut-wrenching realization stung me. I needed to distance myself from him, we weren't in this together, it didn't matter how I felt about him anymore. We couldn't become closer friends, especially not lovers, even if all I wanted to do was hold him, kiss every spot on his body and fall asleep in his arms, feeling safe and far away from all the troubles of the world even if it was for just a moment. If I wanted to get home to Angus and Jonah, if I wanted it to hurt less, I had to be smart. I hadn't even noticed that Effie had stopped talking. She flashed us one last smile, a smudge of pink lipstick on her abnormally white front teeth and disappeared from the compartment. There was an uncomfortable silence, like the one at the Reaping, a silence that seems to bore through you for the longest time. "How are you feeling?" Peeta asked. He sounded so... sad. This was the first time that one of us said something to the other since the day before the Reaping. "I've been better" I answered. He chuckled and I looked at him just in time to catch his half-smile that I adore so much. "So what's going on? I kind of zoned out while she was talking." "Well, we're waiting for Haymitch and dinner's at 6:30, it's just in the next compartment. Our bedrooms are down the opposite way, we each get our own bathrooms and we're allowed to wear whatever we want from the closets. That's pretty much it, she just used unnecessarily many more words to convey that message." I laughed. It was going to be so inexplicably difficult to force my feelings for him away. Haymitch stumbled into the compartment. At the Reaping, he was so drunk that he fell off the stage. He didn't seem any more sober now than he was earlier. He's our mentor, having won the Games 14 years ago. But he wouldn't talk about it, so very few people knew how he did it. I can't seem to quite comprehend all that well why so many people throw him looks of disgust and talk loudly of their annoyance with him. Some even go as far as declaring their hate for him. I've always sympathized with him, this must be his way of dealing with the aftermath of the Games. How can you blame someone for not jumping with joy at the sight of their new home in Victor's Village but preferring to be left alone and drinking abusively until their eventual death, when their victory required them to kill and watch others die, some as young as 12 years old? The Hunger Games victory may be a well-deserved one, but it sure as hell isn't a happy one. His conscience will taunt him for the rest of his life. Peeta attempted to jump right into a conversation, reciting a series of question in one breath. "So what's the plan? What's our best chance of getting out of the Cornuccopia bloodbath alive? How do we find shelter? What's your advice?" "Woah, woah, woah! Will you calm yourself? So many questions!" Haymitch took a rather large sip from his glass. "Yeah, you're our mentor. You're supposed to help us" I could clearly hear the annoyance with a hint of disappointment in Peeta's voice. Haymitch gave us an observing look and said, "You want some advice? Stay alive." And with that he burst out laughing, tiny drops of spit flying from his mouth. I rolled my eyes. I hadn't given up, not yet at least, and if I wanted to try to win, I needed all the help I could get. Haymitch was about to take another sip of his drink but his useless so-called advice must've really pissed Peeta off, because he immediately knocked Haymitch's glass out of his hand. The glass shattered and the drink formed a neat puddle under the glass pieces. Haymitch glared at Peeta and swung at him. I didn't even finish shouting "What the hell!" when Peeta caught Haymitch's arm by the wrist just about an inch away from his face. They continued to glare at each other for a good minute before Haymitch ripped his arm from Peeta's strong grip, clicked his tongue and with a nod towards the broken glass said, "You're going to have to clean that up, lad." He stood up and shakily walked out of the compartment, grabbing a bottle of liquor from one of the refreshments tables on the way, cheekily saying "I think I'll finish this in my room." Me and Peeta were alone again, with as much helpful information as before Haymitch had entered. I could hear Peeta's ragged breathing and when I looked at him I saw that his cheeks were slightly pink. "That was a really quick reaction" I said. What I was really wondering was how he knew that Haymitch was going to hit him. "I know when somebody's going to hit me" he answered simply, "They get a cloudy sort of look in their eyes. Their shoulders tense, their muscles twitch a bit." I realized he was speaking from experience. His mom. "Sorry" I whispered. Another short silence was all it took for me to become terribly irritated once again and I promptly stood up, strolling alongside the tables bearing so many different mouth-watering foods. This compartment could probably feed our entire district, producing some rare smiles there. I noticed the tablecloths; gorgeous realistic-looking flowers embroidered finely all over. I swiftly picked up a knife from the table and sent it flying across the compartment, then another, then another. They stuck in the wall next to the door in an almost perfectly straight line. Then I made my way out of the compartment without a word, copying Haymitch in taking a bottle of liquor with me to keep me company in my room.