I don't struggle. I'm far too weak and besides, who knows what the consequences could be? Annie, Enobaria, Johanna. Me. Anyone could be hurt by my actions. It's not something I enjoy imagining, really.
I catch Annie's eyes before they slam the cell door shut. Don't worry; I'll be fine, stay safe. When our eyes meet it says everything. Peeta, don't go, don't leave me alone, Eno and Jo are unconscious . . . Every single tile that passes under me as I'm tugged along catches on my bare feet, sharp and digging. Soon enough a small trail of blood is left in my wake. It's funny, because I'm taller than all of the Peacekeepers, and I must be twice their weight in muscle alone, and yet they still have complete power over me. I'm forced to stumble and attempt to keep up.
They take me to a gleaming, sterile, white room, one that vaguely registers in my memory. Before I can ask where I am, though, before I can even look around properly, I'm left completely alone, my wrists chained to the bed.
I'm left there for what must be only half an hour, but it feels like days. My mind wanders to Katniss for the millionth time. Is she okay? Where is she? And why do I still feel sharp jolts, shivers down my spine, when I think of her?
The door opens, and two people walk in. They both stop and stare at me for a moment, surveying me, their drawn-on eyebrows angling into a frown. I recognise them, not personally, but anyone would be able to tell who they are.
They're a prep team.
The first one – the leader, I would guess – has deep blue skin, with swirling silver patterns travelling up his arms. His grotesquely lengthened eyelashes almost block his vision, also blue, and his puffy, pale aqua lips are pressed together tightly, disapproving. The other one, a girl this time, looks me in the eye and I'm startled. Her eyes are burning orange. Not my orange, my favourite sunset colour, but a bright, hideous orange. Like Effie's wig or the backpacks from the arena. Apart from her eyes, the rest of her looks fairly normal, if not heavily caked in makeup. She's a rainbow, she must be, from the greens and the yellows and the purples and the astounding contrast of dyes. Not even my paintbrush could make all those colours.
Wordlessly, the man opens a cupboard in the corner. He takes out tools, gels, colours, various equipment. The girl takes them and puts them on the table beside my bed.
I stare at them. 'What are you doing?' I ask, completely baffled. I had been expecting torture. Possibly even execution. Not a beautification session.
The girl shakes her head, giving off a high-pitched, tinkling laughter. 'You must know why you're here, Mr Mellark!' However, her laughter stops as the man shot her a look. I may have misinterpreted it . . . but it seemed like a warning glance.
The man turns to me. He looks like the more intelligent one, despite the fact that he can barely keep his eyelids open from the weight of his false lashes. 'You're here for your Beauty Base Zero.' I've heard of Beauty Base Zero. It's a common phrase around the prep teams. 'You'll be on camera tonight – an interview with Caesar Flickerman. The people of Panem await news of the famous Peeta Mellark.'
The people of Panem aren't the only ones awaiting news of the famous Peeta Mellark. I'm just as updated as they are. Less, probably. 'What about Katniss? Where is she?' I blurt out desperately, my fingers curling into fists.
Now both the man and the woman look confused. 'Do you really have no idea what's going on, Mr Mellark?'
I wonder why everyone has such a problem with my name. 'It's Peeta,' I tell them impatiently. 'And no, nobody's told me anything. Last thing I remember is Katniss shooting the forcefield. Then a huge blank. Then I'm in in a cell with Enobaria and Annie Cresta.'
The prep teams' wide eyes widen even further at the mention of a cell. 'But you're not criminals!' the girl protested. 'Surely they're just – maybe you're – uhm . . .'
I begin to laugh, bitterly, at the expression on her face. 'I have a feeling, actually, that I've been a criminal ever since I made it out of the 74th Games alive.'
The man looks to the girl. 'Okay, Sasha, you can go.'
'But –'
'Go.' The man's voice turns from gentle to steely in a matter of seconds. The girl simply nods, and leaves the room hurriedly. Her extremely short dress, which is made of every colour that exists, floats behind her as she quietly but quickly shuts the door.
The man looks at me coldly. I wonder briefly what I've done to deserve a look like that, but before I can ask, the update I've been longing for pours out of his mouth.
'Peeta, you were in the Games. Katniss blew up the forcefield and the rebels from District 13 attacked the arena. They took Finnick, Katniss and Beetee but you, Johanna and Enobaria were left behind. Annie Cresta was taken from District 4 to use against Finnick. Johanna is being tortured for information.' The man frowns, a trace of what could be sadness in his eyes. 'You're the Capitol's weapon.'
'I'm a weapon?'
'Yes. The weapon against Katniss Everdeen.'
