I stare down at the pile of clothes and slime that is our mentor for these Games, dread beginning to eat at me as I realize that Effie's words are entirely too true. I look to Katniss, and see the annoyance in her eyes. For a moment, she considers me, before we both stoop to grasp the arms of our drunken mentor and hoist him to his feet. I almost regurgitate my entire dinner on the spot.
"I tripped?" Haymitch asks, looking around confusedly. "Smells bad." I look away, swallowing hard, towards where his compartment is, and begin to pull at his arm.
"Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit," I say, as Katniss begins to pull his other arm behind me until we are able to throw him into his own shower and turn on the water. I then look up at Katniss who is staring down at the nearly unresponsive man with apprehension, clearly not wanting to help. I decide to seize this opportunity to do two things – something nice for Katniss, as well as giving me a chance to speak with Haymitch; though, I can only pray he will remember.
"It's okay, I'll take it from here," I tell her. She's visibly relieved and even allows the edges of her lips to curl up a little bit, really looking at me up close for the first time. I feel my heart pound and my chest gets slightly warm from extra blood flow. I quickly turn my attention back towards Haymitch, wondering what to do next.
"All right, I can send one of the Capitol people to help you," Katniss says.
"No I don't want them," I tell her. I need to do this alone, and she leaves. Immediately I begin to pull off Haymitch's clothes and place them at his side in the shower. I then turn to the panel and stare at it, realizing I have no idea how this thing works. Figuring it probably doesn't matter much anyway, I begin to pound on a few buttons until some sort of soap pours into the tub and douses him. I hear him sputtering from under the suds, but I keep it going until I'm pretty sure he must be clean. In my attempts to turn the shower off, I first accidentally turn it down to about 60 degrees, to which he replies with a sharp yell as he swings his arms attempting to land a blow on me.
Well, at least he'll be a little bit more awake. I muse as I hand him a towel and pull him out of the shower, leaving his clothes behind. I'm pulling him back into his room when he speaks.
"So, kid, what's with the help? Getting in under my good graces before the Games?" I laugh, because suddenly it occurs to me how ludicrous I am probably going to sounds to him when I tell him what I'm actually doing.
"No, Haymitch," I say. "Actually, just the opposite." He looks at me quizzically, uncomprehending. As I deposit him onto his bed, I know there's no going back now. "Haymitch, it has to be her." His mouth falls open slightly as he struggles to understand my words, but his look of incredulity is quickly replaced by a guffaw.
"Yeah, okay, kid. I'll see how you feel about that in a week before you enter the arena," he laughs out. I shake my head, willing him to understand.
"No, really. You don't understand. She can win, I know she can. But she's going to need your help. Me? I've got no chance. I don't even really want the chance. Not if it means having a hand in her death," I tell him. "I've been in love with that girl for eleven years." It feels good finally admitting it to someone, as I've never told a single person before. My father had a pretty good inkling, but I never directly told him, for fear that it would get back to my mother, or brothers, because I had no idea how they would react. Haymitch runs a hand through his wet, shaggy hair, eyes unfocusing for a few moments and I remember just how drunk he is. I almost laugh at the fact that the one person I have now told probably won't remember it tomorrow. I just simply push him down onto the bed and throw the covers over him. But he chuckles as I'm walking out the door.
"Alright, whatever you say," he says, before rolling over and instantly passing out.
The next morning, I wake early and make my way to the dining car before anyone else has arrived. To my surprise, Haymitch is the first to walk through the door, though he's clearly hungover. Effie strolls in a few moments later in her usual colorful getup.
"Peeta! Glad to see you're up early. Looks like I'll only have to fetch Katniss then," she trills as she strolls back out towards Katniss' room. I sit in silence for a few moments before Haymitch clears his throat.
"So, did I dream up that little conversation between us last night? I have to say, that would definitely be a new one. And my dreams rarely change," he says, chuckling at his own joke. I stare at him, amazed that he still remembers, but also fairly relieved at not having to find a time and place to tell him again – I don't know if I would have gotten another chance. Realizing I have only a few moments before Katniss enters, I think of a few important things I have to tell him.
"You have to help her, Haymitch," I say, desperately. He waves this away.
"We can discuss that later."
"Please don't tell her." To this, Haymitch laughs.
"Alright. So you'll be the chivalrous, handsome, nice guy, willing to die for the girl you love. But why should she know that, right?" he replies, still chuckling. I grab a roll from the table and start picking at it, trying to hide the flush from my face as Katniss and Effie enter the room. I don't think I do a very good job, because I see her looking at me quizzically from the corner of my eye. Haymitch recovers quickly and invites her to sit. We're promptly served the most amazing breakfast I've ever seen, and I spend most of my time admiring the rolls they've brought to the table, wondering if my family's bakery at home could ever produce any this good.
I look up from the meal and spot Katniss staring at a mug of hot chocolate before her. Though I've rarely seen the stuff and never been able to buy it, I realize that she probably doesn't even know what it is, and may never have heard of it before. I take a quick sip and am amazed at how delicious I find it – I would have thought it would be too rich for me.
"They call it hot chocolate. It's good," I tell her. She looks at my own mug, clutched in my hand, before picking her own up and trying it. Her eyes widen in amazement and a beautiful sparkle of happiness appears in her eyes. It brightens her normally firm features and, for a moment, she looks youthful and carefree. I find myself wishing that she could look like this always. I have to stop myself from grinning and laughing as she proceeds to down the remainder of the mug as quickly as she can.
Instead, I look over to Haymitch and find that he has pulled out his normal bottle of clear liquor and is adding it to his glass. I immediately become disgruntled, wondering how I can count on his help or even trust him if he won't even stay sober for more than half an hour. I finally pick up another roll and tear at it, deciding to dip it into my hot chocolate. I'm surprised when it tastes good, so I continue to do it, despite being completely full, trying to ignore Haymitch and his bottle as it becomes more and more empty.
Before long, I decide to peer up at Katniss and find that the hard determination has returned to her face as she looks at Haymitch's bottle of liquor. But she composes herself rapidly, making her face impassive and addressing him.
"So, you're supposed to give us advice," she tells him.
"Here's some advice. Stay alive," he tells her before laughing again at his own joke. I'm immediately overcome by frustration and anger at his clear disregard for Katniss and myself, and my hope that she may be able to make it home alive is slipping away from me more with each sip he takes. I glance at her and find her eyes on me. I glower for a moment before losing my temper completely.
"That's very funny," I say, as I jump up to upend the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the hardwood ground. "Only not to us."
Haymitch looks at me for a moment, shocked. I'm shocked myself. I've never known myself to lose my temper like that. I'm more like my father – cool, calm, and kind. But I look at Haymitch for only a moment before he swings at me and connects with my jaw. Hard. I fall to the ground, bracing myself for the bottle to shatter over my head, but instead hear a dull thud against the table. When I look up, I see Haymitch looking between the knife sticking out of the table barely an inch from his hand and Katniss, who is now up on her feet, her grey eyes blazing with fury and determination, her jaw clenched, flexing the muscles on her cheeks and neck. This is the girl who I knew would come to the Games – the one I hope has the strength and courage to make it home. This is the girl who started feeding her family alone at the age of eleven, and has made it through hardships I couldn't even imagine. This is more like the girl that I am used to seeing every day, determined to keep herself alive. This is the girl I've been in love with. This is the girl that I am willing to die to protect. Haymitch, I think, finally sees her, too.
"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he asks. As he looks at me, I can tell by his expression that he now believes what I told him last night – that she really does have a chance at making it home. If he now thinks it, then it must really be true.
Glad to see this, I pull myself up from the ground and grab some ice to place on the swelling that I can already feel developing on my jaw, but Haymitch puts up a hand.
"No," he tells me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." I don't understand what he's told me.
"That's against the rules," I reply. I don't really want to get in trouble before entering the arena.
"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," he tells me. I understand his meaning, though I was kind of hoping to just fly under the radar. I guess that isn't his plan. He turns to Katniss and asks her about her skill with the knife. I'm astounded when she pulls it out of the table and manages to hit a small strip between two wall panels. I knew she had hunting talent with a bow, but this is news to me. She may be even more of a contender than I originally thought. Haymitch then commands us to stand next to one another in the middle of the room as he inspects us.
"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough. 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. But you have to do exactly what I say," he tells us. I glower at him. I suppose I can't complain, as he's agreed to help us, which, hopefully, means helping her, but I'm not sure I trust his promise to stay sober enough. But it seems I have no other choice.
"Fine," I finally spit at him, though I don't believe I sound particularly angry anymore.
"So help us. When we get to the arena…" Katniss begins to ask strategies for the Cornucopia and so on, but Haymitch stops her.
"One thing at a time. 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," he tells us. Katniss seems displeased with the idea, clearly not wishing to give up her small bits of freedom. Haymitch simply dismisses her. "No buts. Don't resist." With that, he grabs his bottle and makes his exit.
Suddenly, the train has entered a tunnel and I know that this is it – the final moments before we enter the arms of the Capitol. Without saying a word or looking at Katniss, I hurry over to the window to see whatever is about to appear before us. The light that enters the window suddenly causes me to blink rapidly to pull the sparkling, colorful, magnificent structures that reach towards the sky and make up the Capitol. I'm stunned into silence, unsure of whether I can even force myself to move at this moment. But my eyes are now drawn to the crowds of people gathering eagerly to see who is in the train now pulling into their city. Most of them look even more bizarre than Effie, with various permanent alterations to their bodies serving to disfigure them, though I know they imagine themselves to be beautiful.
When I feel Katniss recoil from the window beside me, it snaps into place in my mind just what my task is in order to keep her alive. Katniss has a difficult time getting close with people – just about anyone in District 12 could tell you that. She rarely speaks to people she doesn't know, and when she does speak to those she's acquainted with, it's not hard to imagine that it's only out of necessity. I think the only people she has free and easy conversations with are her sister and, possibly, Gale, though I hate to think so. But I've always been good with people. I may not really want to interact with these strange Capitol people, but I'm very sure that I can do a better job than Katniss at getting them to like us.
So, I muster up a beaming smile and start to wave at the ever-growing crowd, and they quickly begin to eat up the attention I'm bestowing upon them. Many wave back and I even see several women blowing kisses and beginning to swoon. As we pull into the station, I turn around and look back at Katniss. She's staring at me, jaw clenched tight, and I can see her emotions quickly shutting off as she puts a wall between herself and I.
"Who knows? One of them may be rich," I tell her, in an attempt to convince her to come join me. But she simply stares at me, distrust filling her eyes, before turning and walking out. I sigh. This may be harder than I thought.