A/N: So...umm...over a month late. Sorry. There are about a million half-believeable excuses I could spew out right now but I won't. This chapter is so not worth the wait...sorry again. I did try to make it longer, though. I'm not losing interest or anything so still expect updates about every other week. (I have the next one written out mostly already). I'll try, anyway. Oh, and I added Haymitch in for more words...
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games trilogy. Suzanne Collins does.
It's a short ride in the car. It feels nice. This is the first time I've ever been in one. We always just walk. The train station is filled with reporters. They focus their cameras on the District 12 tributes - us. I briefly see myself on one of the television screens. Rory's right. I do look awful. Mother's prettily made braids have come undone so my hair is everywhere, tangled and frizzy, as if I just woke up. My skirt and blouse are very wrinkled, of course, the blouse untucked. My blue eyes are spider webbed with red, looking puffy and swollen. My pale cheeks are tear-stained and flushed. Feeling self-conscious, I glance sideways at Peeta.
He's also been crying. While I tug at my messy braids in embarrassment, Peeta stares at the cameras, his gaze steady and unwavering. His blond hair is rumpled and he has tears drying on his cheeks. Peeta doesn't even wipe them away. Maybe he didn't notice.
I catch his eye and gesture at his cheek, dragging my finger slowly down my own. It's a very exaggerated movement; impossible to misunderstand. 'Tears, tears, tears,' I mouth repeatedly to him.
Peeta laughs, shrugging compliantly and using the back of his hand to dry his face. 'Happy?' he mouths, blue eyes still twinkling with amusement.
I frown. 'Yes.'
Peeta pouts, lips agape and ready to reply.
We approach the train and spin around almost immediately because Effie Trinket squeals out: "Smile for the cameras!"
The cameras were already flashing at us, even when our faces were mostly hidden by the tinted windows of the car. I look at Peeta for guidance who is looking at our Capitol escort who is beaming and posing beside us. He smiles uncertainly at the crowd so I try to do the same. I think it comes out as a grimace, though, because my nose is very obviously crinkling at Effie's hand on my shoulder. Her bizarre fingernails scrape against my neck.
"Time's up!" she sings out suddenly. "Into the train." Effie pushes us roughly inside, pausing only to blow a final kiss through the quickly closing doors.
The train starts the second the doors close so Peeta and I stumble to what I suppose are seats. They are shaped like gigantic squiggles and have strange designs etched into them. Said seats are neon green with random splotches of other colors that shimmer when you sit. They are surprisingly comfortable and smell nice. Effie laughs when she sees me with my nose pressed to the material that smell of a sweet perfume. Almost like candy. I blush and turn my gaze to the window.
A wave of nausea washes over me as I stare out the windows, head spinning with the dull green of forest and shiny blue of ocean. I quickly look down at my feet and breathe in unsteadily with my hands pressed tightly to my mouth.
"Prim?" Peeta says anxiously, cool fingers gently kneading my skin.
"I'm fine," I croak, desperately hoping that I don't vomit all over him or the fancy seats.
"Effie!" Peeta calls. "Prim isn't -"
Effie cuts him off, her tone surprised. "Why are you still here? Didn't you hear me when I dismissed you to your rooms?"
Peeta shakes his head. "You never said -"
She ignores him. "Kitchen there, dining room there, yours there, hers there. Oh, and each of your rooms have a private bathroom and dressing areas with walk-in closets."
"Okay, tha -"
"Isn't this lilac so flattering to my eyelashes? I just love that color, don't you?"
Peeta sighs loudly and leads me to my chambers.
"There. I'll be across your room in case you ever need me."
He pauses at the door and studies me one last time before leaving to his room.
I stumble to my bathroom and splash cold water on my face. It doesn't really help. I close my eyes and lean against a cool opaque wall and jump back, startled as it swings shut and traps me inside. I scream. Warm water is spraying my entire body and causing my clothes to sag with its weight. I peel them off carefully and toss them over the edge of the wall. The water suddenly stops and a blue light is flashing under a row of colorful bottles. Select your shampoo, it reads. This is a bath? I shakily reach for the closest one, a soft pink. It flips upside down and squirts a small amount on my open palm. I sniff it cautiously and rub it into my hair. The blonde is barely visible through the strawberry scented foam. And then the water is back, washing away the soap quickly. Another sign lights up, also blue, and directs me to something called conditioner and more soap. My bath continues like this until the opaque wall pops open and I see a rack of towels. I dry myself and head over to the closet, pulling on the first thing I find: a little white dress.
Exhausted, I sit on the edge of my bed, only to be called for dinner promptly after. Effie leads me to a table where Peeta is already seated.
"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks, looking at the empty chair hopefully.
"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," Peeta says.
"Well, it's been an exhausting day." Effie's bold purple lips press together to hide her very obvious excitement.
Supper comes in seemingly endless courses delivered by servants who are dressed in red. I thank them but the boy ignores me and the girl says nothing, the corners of her mouth lifting in a polite smile. I frown and don't say anything to them afterwards. I eat hurriedly and carefully finish every last crumb, thinking that no one back home would ever be able to eat so well. Maybe I should be grateful. Then, I remember that in about a week I will be in the Games and probably dead. I shiver and stare at my fancy silverware, feel my appetite waning. I sip my water slowly and wait for the others to finish. Peeta gulps down his water when he finishes, his face pale and hands gently resting on his stomach.
We watch a recap of the reapings in the compartment room. We see each tribute from each district being called, rarely ever being replaced by a volunteer. My heart goes out to all of them, knowing that someone somewhere will be missing them terribly with the horrible knowledge that only a single Victor could emerge. I wonder how their lives were before they were reaped and what they would have become. I wonder if all of us would've died anyway in this year because of fate. If death was unavoidable for twenty-three of us and the Games only hurry the process. I wonder if back home that anyone is scared for me and praying that I come home.
I notice how each the tributes reacted.
District One: The girl volunteered, smirking at her father defiantly and ignored her mother and sisters studiously; the boy glanced hopefully at his little sister while volunteering.
District Two: The girl was startled when her name was called but quickly hid behind an emotionless and confident façade; the boy volunteered and no one dared to oppose him, even scrambling back to clear a path.
District Three: The girl is so thin and pale. She made her way on the stage trembling with fright and tears rolling down her cheeks. The boy is tiny but sixteen. His hands are gray, rough and calloused, I can tell by the surprise that appeared briefly on Emilie's face when they shook hands.
District Four: The girl volunteered and sauntered confidently but her hands subtly yanked her short skirt lower; the boy volunteered but his voice shook noticeably.
District Five: The girl jumped when her name was called but after that, she hid her fear well; the boy is starving and overworked. He was tired, his shoulders were slightly hunched and eyes kept on darting around nervously.
District Six: They were both starving and scared, shaking but looking at no one, maybe because they had no one. The boy is seventeen; the girl fifteen.
District Seven: The girl is huge, long-legged and broad shouldered. She moved hesitantly and awkwardly. The boy is tanned and has a long scar down his left arm and a slightly crooked elbow.
District Eight: The girl is sick. She coughed and breathed loudly, almost straining with effort. The boy was staring desperately at a pretty girl, probably his girlfriend or sister, the entire time. He had tears rolling down his cheeks.
District Nine: The girl was sobbing. The way her shoulders were hunched and her sad, sad eyes, I can tell she already lost hope. She doesn't care anymore... The boy is thirteen. He pretended to not care but it's so easy to tell how fake he is.
District Ten: The girl was scared but trying in vain to hide it. She has huge brown eyes and a quivering lip. The boy is crippled. He had help limping onto the stage and to the train. He seems so helpless.
District Eleven: The girl is tiny, only twelve like me. She has a huge family, Mother balancing two babies on her hips and Father with her brothers. She didn't scream, protest, or even cry. She was terrified though. The boy is huge – even bigger than the girl from Seven. He is muscled, his entire body rippling with muscles as he stalked on the stage. He was sad. Gentle, too. He gently touched Rue, light as a butterfly.
District 12: I looked just as I imagined. I flinch when I see how much everyone was hurting, Rory especially. I actually bolt up straight and run to the screen when he started screaming to me. My fingers brush against the smooth material before I realize that he isn't there. Peeta gently carries me back to the sofa and hugs me even though I tell him that I'm fine.
Peeta is still holding me when Effie says something that lightens the mood considerably.
"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."
I'm pressed against his chest while she says this, so I can see his face contort with surprise. I snort at the look on his face and dissolve into giggles when both Peeta and Effie stare at me. He laughs a moment later and I can feel his body shaking as he does. It tickles so I laugh again.
Effie's mouth falls open in outrage. "How odd you two find it so amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"
"Sorry!" I squeak immediately. "I didn't mean to - I didn't - I don't want to die!" My eyes begin to fill up with tears. I bury my face in my hands and take a few moments to compose myself. I broke my promise...
Peeta sets me on sofa lightly. He turns to Effie, seething with anger. He opens his mouth to say something but as if on cue, Haymitch drunkenly staggers in.
"I miss supper?" he slurs. Haymitch looks up in confusion and then vomits all over the fluffy carpet. I manage to reach him in time and position his body so he doesn't fall into his mess.
Effie's eyes bulge in horror as she flees the room.
"Um...Peeta?" I ask sheepishly. "I'm stuck..."
He sighs and gently drags Haymitch off my body and places him neatly on the carpet and away from the puddle. "Are you okay?"
I stare at him. "Of course I am. He isn't, though." My gaze shifts to our mentor again. "Help me clean him up, alright?"
Peeta lifts him up again and turns to the direction of Haymitch's room. "I can do it. You don't have to."
"I've seen worse," I tell him indignantly. "I just can't carry him. He's too heavy."
He says nothing to me in reply, only muttering under his breath. Peeta drops him into the bathtub and turns on the water - Haymitch still wearing all of his dirty clothes.
"Hey!" I twist the faucet. "He'll get cold. And he's still dressed!"
I carefully peel of Haymitch's wet, sticky suit and position him so that he leans upright. I turn the water on the lowest setting, making sure that it's warm. I squirt some soap into my palm and gently rub it on his red, blotchy skin. Then, I spray off the bubbles with the shower head and drape a fluffy towel over his shoulders to make him a little more comfortable. He needs to get clothed.
"Peeta?" I ask hesitantly without meeting his eyes. "Haymitch needs me to dress him and he's still too heavy..."
Peeta roughly yanks him up and holds him stiffly and away from his own body.
"I'm sorry..." I apologize uncertainly. "You can dress him if you want...I should leave now...?"
He keeps his lips pressed together.
"Sorry."
I spin around and race back to my room, afraid that my District partner is upset with me.
