Sleep didn't last long. After the first series of nightmares, flashing between the boy from District 2 gutting me like a fish, and the boy from District 11 crushing me like a grape. It wasn't pleasant. After that, I stayed up most of the night, trying not to let sleep take me, because I knew it would try to scare me to death.
Effie comes in to rouse me, but when she sees me awake, she simply says, "Come get some breakfast, dear." After saying that, she leaves.
I get out of bed, and realize that I slept in the outfit from the previous night. It looks fine, so I don't bother to change, and simply follow Effie out, looking at the floor as we walk to the dining car. I am worried because we have to be close to the Capitol, I fear for not only the games, but also the stylists.
When we enter, Effie brushes past me, fetches herself some black coffee, mumbling to herself under her breath. Haymitch chuckles at this, and I notice he isn't looking too good. Peeta simply holds a roll in his hands and has a blush painted across his face.
"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch says, waving me over. As soon as I take a seat next to him, I am served with eggs, ham, fried potatoes, fruit, rolls, and orange juice, though I don't have much taste for the liquid, because I don't like oranges. But as I look harder at it, I realize it's coffee, which I don't like even more. Too bitter.
"They call it hot chocolate," Peeta says. "It's good."
I frown at it, not coffee. I take a sip, and the warm, creamy liquid runs through me, and I shudder. It is good. I ignore the rest of the food until my cup is empty, then, I eat as much as I can hold. I'm pleased to see it looks like I may have gained a pound or so, but I'll need a lot more than that to even stand a chance in the games.
When I feel I've had enough, I lean back in my chair and look at my breakfast companions. Peeta is quietly dipping some of his roll in his hot chocolate, and Haymitch is downing some kind of red juice. I find it somewhat odd that the smallest of the three finished first, but I don't question it.
"So, you're supposed to give us advice." I say to Haymitch, hoping he might be able to tell me something that will keep me alive for a while. Katniss would be so depressed if I was killed off early. Haymitch looks at me funny.
"Here's some advice. Stay alive," he says, and then bursts out laughing. I exchange a look with Peeta to find he doesn't look at happy as Haymitch.
"That's very funny," Peeta says. Suddenly he lashes out at Haymitch's drink, the glass shatters on the floor, sending the blood red liquid running toward the back of the train. "Only not to us."
Haymitch considers this for a moment, and I look at the red liquid all over the floor, when I turn back, Peeta is on the ground clutching his jaw. He reaches for some more of the liquid, and I try to think fast, taking my knife, and driving it into the table, right between his fingers. I expect a punch to the jaw as well, but instead, Haymitch sits back and studies us for a moment, almost smirking as he squints at us.
"Well, what's this?" asks Haymitch. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"
Peeta rises from the floor and tries to put some ice on his jaw.
"No," Haymitch says, stopping him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it into the arena."
"That's again the rules," mumbles Peeta.
Haymitch smirks. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." he says, and then turns to me. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" he asks.
I've never even really handled a weapon before, I said I was okay with a bow, but okay won't keep me alive, I've never even touched a throwing knife before, as I throw the knife harshly in the direction of the wall, I pray it will stick, and am relieved when it does.
"Stand over here. Both of you." Haymitch orders, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our, or rather Peeta's muscles, and examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless." he says, finally. "Fit enough." he says, mostly to Peeta. "And you're kinda cute. Once your stylists get a hold of you," he says, turning to Peeta. "You'll be attractive enough." he tells him.
I get why he didn't say it to me, no one falls for a twelve year old. While I think this, I can't help but think of Rory, how the girls talk about him, how I try to ignore them because he's my friend, and just me friend... Right?
"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you." says Haymitch. "You have to do exactly what I say."
"Fine." Peeta spats with a groan.
"Alright, in a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist." Haymitch tells us.
"But-" I start.
"No buts. Don't resist." he orders, taking his bottle and leaving the car. As the door swings behind him, the car goes dark. I grip Peeta's hand, not sure what's going on, and again, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. I close my eyes, still holding Peeta's hands, and when they open, I don't believe what I see.
Peeta and I rush to the window and took brightly at the Capitol. The entire place looks magnificent, the glistening buildings, the rainbows in the air, just...everything. The colors were odd though, the pinks too dark, the greens too light, the yellows could blind someone if they looked close enough. The people point eagerly at us as the train begins to roll past them.
I cower in fear, knowing they are the people who are anticipating my death, planning it, even. I'm sure at least one of them is betting that the twelve year old will go first. But Peeta smiles, waving to the crowd, staring at them, all the time still holding my hand, seeing the fear in my eyes. It calms me down a little. Finally, the train pulls into the station, and I can't see the people anymore, only then do I release Peeta's hand.
I realize I like Peeta, he's trying to help me get through this, not letting me face it alone, helping me when I'm scared. He hasn't done one rude thing yet, and I doubt he ever will. But I also realize he wants to stay alive. And that also means; he wants me dead.
