"Ahh, welcome back! Welcome back!" Caesar Flickerman's voice rings loudly in my ears, almost hollow because of the sheer amplitude of the echo caused by all the equipment needed to carry his voice throughout the enormous theater. I've got this ridiculous smile plastered onto my face, I know it's fake, it obviously looks fake, but everything in the Capitol is fake. My smile fits right in.
You're starting to fit right in.
She's still there, invisible to Caesar, to the audience, to the world, but all too real to me. I choke a bit, but I know I need to get through this. "It's good to be back!" I say, plastic smile not shifting an inch. I'm nervous, though, I can feel beads of sweat on my forehead, sticking to my hair, and I feel like my words are echoing out into the audience before I even say them. And it's only been a few seconds. Caesar glances down, eyes drawn to the pin, which is, of course, as lustrous as ever. But, to give him credit, he only pauses for a moment and tilts his head, I assume he's receiving orders to escort me off stage, but he merely clears his throat and motions towards two oversized armchairs.
"Well, Peeta," Caesar says, sharing a sympathetic look with the audience, "We're all dying to know: what was running through your mind during those last few minutes in the arena?" I look out into the audience, everyone is leaning forward, I know ever camera must be zoomed in onto my face as citizens throughout the Capitol, throughout all the Districts in Panem, eagerly await an account of the heartbreaking tragedy of the star-crossed lovers from District 12.
"Well, Caesar, I-" I falter. She's crouched next to Caesar's chair, eyes glowing with the fire they'd always had in life. I'm stuttering, scrambling for words, I can't pull my eyes away from her, but she merely tilts her head with a knowing smirk that taunts my apprehension. My fear. Your guilt.
"Guilt." The word rings out loudly, and the audience lets out a gasp that was obviously cued.
"Please, Peeta," Caesar shares a sympathetic look with the audience, "can you tell us more?"
"Well…" Clearly, I needed to give them something vivid. I wasn't expecting one word to satisfy them, but a simple recount wouldn't do it. I needed to hit them with something cathartic, something powerful, something that would do the girl on fire justice.
But nothing could do her justice.
Nothing could truly describe that fire in her eyes that the Capitol simply couldn't put out. Nothing could describe the passion she had for her sister, that had made her volunteer to take her place at the reaping. And nothing would ever, could ever, bring her back to me.
I look back up. Caesar's beginning to eye me warily, like I might go insane in a moment. Oh, but you already are insane, my love. I ignore her.
"Imagine everything you are. Not what you own, but your reasons for living, what you truly care about. Imagine all of that in one person. You would do anything, and I mean anything for them, because they are your everything. People throw around the word 'love' a lot these days, and I'll be honest with you, it's wasted a lot. They say it when they don't mean it, and they don't say it when they do mean it. What I'm trying to say, is that…" I falter again. I was doing well, I could feel their eyes transfixed on me, entranced by the monologue I could expertly weave, but the problem was, she was standing now. She didn't have the knowing smirk anymore, her brows were furrowed and her eyes had locked on mine in a glare that I didn't have the strength to break. "Is that," I begin again, voice clearly shaken, "even though she's gone," she snarls at my rejection of her reality, "our love will never end."
I finish, and the stage is eerily quiet. Caesar still has that suspicious look, but he pats my shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that, and all of our hearts go out to you." It's corny, almost ridiculously so, but I can hear occasional sobs from the audience, and Caesar stands to shake my hand as I'm escorted off stage. While I will never willingly allow myself to become a part of the Capitol, I'm relieved to know that I've made enough of an effect to satisfy them. Except for the pin. The pin that could be my ultimate death. They'll be keeping a close eye on me after that stunt.
I'm given a few minutes to change out of my suit into slacks and a collared shirt, and I take the pin and put it in one of the pockets. But, the minute I walk out of the room, I'm dragged onto a train which speeds out, away from the Capitol. It's painfully similar to the one that initially took us from the Reaping to the Capitol. The train that took me from being the boy who helped her once, to her rejected love interest, and finally, to being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. And it also took me to my death. Despite the speed of the train, she's still with me. And I feel like that should bring me comfort, I mean, the girl of my dreams is coming back from death and I get to see her. But I can't find solace in her. Her face, as beautifully flawless as ever, haunts me, a harsh, bitter reminder of what I caused. Of the burden that I must carry for my terrible murder.
And that's what it is. Murder.
I lean back in my seat, I'm completely exhausted, and knowing she's nearby makes all the food on the train look unappetizing, so I close my eyes and try to drift away. But, no, that won't be allowed.
"Oh, Peeta!" Another shrill, familiar voice cries out. Of course Effie's here.
"Hey, Effie," I manage a small smile, and she rushes over, heels clicking on the wooden flooring of the train, to give me a hug.
"Congratulations Peeta, oh you must feel so lucky!" Typical Effie, finding the silver lining that doesn't exist. "I must apologize on Haymitch's behalf, ever since he saw the ending of the Games, he's been back to his usual self. He took several of the bottles from the bar car to his room, so we may not see him until we get back home." I nod, back home…we're going home. Back to District 12. For a moment I relax, the Capitol has cleared me for now, most likely because of my mental state they are giving me a small vacation so I can recuperate. But, I won't be able to rest there. How can I rest, knowing that I killed the love of my life? How can I rest, when everyone there knows I'm a murderer? I can't. Being there may do more harm than good.
"Oh, Peeta, I am so happy for you!" Effie's still gushing, even though I never responded to her last few statements. Of course, I don't blame her, having a winner from our District after all these years must be one of the few times she can appreciate her work. "Your parents will be ever so proud!" My parents. I hadn't thought about them. My father, trapped in a marriage with a woman who he never really loved. And my mother, who only believed that Katniss stood a chance in the arena. Who had always hated her son.
I don't like to think about it. And I feel even worse, knowing that I should be gratefulto have her, with how Katniss' father died, and her mother abandoned her and her sister. And most of the District has it as bad, if not worse, than that. Like Effie said, I'm lucky. And surviving the Hunger Games is a feat that's nearly unheard of for our District.
I shake my head. Yes, I'm lucky. But I don't feellucky when I realize that I've lost everything that I ever cared about.
Oh, but you haven't lost me, you can't run away from me, Peeta.
Please…Katniss, I never wanted this to happen!
Then why did you kill me? Why did you murder me, Peeta?
I-I-….
I falter. I can't answer her question, and I sink down into the chair, sobbing into my own hands. She's screaming at me, making me feel the full force of what I did, and all I can do is sob and shake my head, covering my ears, trying to shut her out. But I can't shut her out. She's always there.
Eventually she must have stopped, because I wake up, covered in sweat, curled as deeply as possible into the chair. I shake my head, I've got another headache, and when I try to stand the world spins around me as the train continues to hurtle across the land. I look out the window, it's dark out here, no glaring lights to disturb the peace except for the few that line the railway. I take out the pin, it glows brightly in the dim light, perfectly clear and reflective. A radiant pin for a radiant girl…
I grimace, I miss her, but I can't face what I've done.
I can't face…what? My guilt? But I know the guilt is deserved. I'll never forgive myself for what happened to her. I desperately try to sleep, to get a break from the constant stress, but I can't. I keep seeing that last glimpse of her face, hearing her whisper my name for the last time. I get up to find Haymitch. Judging by his alcohol consumption, he doesn't handle his guilt well, but he handles it, and for now I need someone I can relate to.
I walk over to the car with his room, there's no answer, even after I knock for a few minutes. Feeling dejected, I slide down to sit, leaning against the wall, but the smell of rotten alcohol and vomit seeps out from underneath the door, and I trudge away, not sure where to look. I walk by the bar car, figuring he may be there, and in fact, he is. Apparently now that Effie is asleep in her room, he can freely roam the train without having to confront anyone. Well, except for me.
"Hey, Haymitch," My voice sounds pathetic, I clear my throat, but it doesn't make much of a difference. He looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes are bloodshot, and he reeks of bile and liquor. He doesn't say anything, but I can see pain in his cold, grey eyes. When I first really met him, they reminded me of stone. Slabs of stone set in an equally unforgiving face, his emotions killed just as easily as the other tributes in his time in the arena. But they're different now, now they're broken. Unshed tears glint from the light that reflects off the bottles on the shelves, and he still doesn't say anything, but he nods. He knows the pain that her death is bringing, that I would do anything to bring her back. Before we entered the Games, I told him, I wanted to do everything I could to keep her alive, no matter what happened to me, and he agreed to help me. Long hours spent, when I should have been training, we planned how we would convince the Capitol that they should allow both of us to survive, but in the end they wouldn't, and I wish it had been me that died, not her.
He turns back towards the bar, and I slowly inch my way towards my room. I stumble into the bathroom, and I barely recognize myself. My eyes look sunken and hollow, a grimace has been permanently etched onto my expression, and my hair is darker, limper, it's lost its own will to live.
I brush my teeth, I'm not sure why I make myself do it, but I feel like if I don't, I'll slowly waste away like Haymitch. Spending my time trying to forget, trying to pretend it never happened. I pull the pin out again, turning it as light shines off of it and radiates in all directions. I don't know how I'm going to face the District tomorrow, how I'll survive any of this. But, like I said:
I don't want to forget.
