A/N: Hello and Happy Sunday! Here's the next chapter, as promised. I go back to school today so updates will most likely be slower and farther apart, especially after I get through posting the chapters I've already written, but I assure you I have no intentions of abandoning the story so don't give up on me if I go MIA! Thanks so much for all of the positive feedback. I'm so glad to hear that you guys are enjoying the story and I hope you continue to do so! I'll do my best to get the next chapter up in the next few days. Have a great day, readers!
-ILoVeWicked
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Chapter 6
Peeta
The lights on the stage dim, the pre-recorded applause dies down, and Caesar Flickerman's smile dissipates. He massages his jaw, tense from all of the years of smiling and Capitol-made enhancements, and sends me a wink. For a brief moment, I am able to see beneath the veneer of the beloved talk-show host and into how truly tiring his job can be.
Yes, pity him, the cynic inside of me chides, because being happy all the time when you're really just tired is the hardest job among the people in this room.
"Nicely done, Peeta," Caesar says quietly.
"Thank you, Caesar," I reply cordially. We both know that what I have just performed was far from "nice".
Caesar sends me a flash of his blinding white teeth in a sincere smile before disappearing from the studio. He is replaced by two daunting Peacekeepers who grab my arms and abrasively shove them behind my back. Doing things "nicely" here, I realize as I am dragged down the drab halls of the Capitol's prison, is precisely how the Capitol mentality works. You can do everything in your power to make sure your job is done "nicely", but "nice" will only ever translate to "adequate and nothing more", and no amount of trying can change that fact. Nothing I do will ever meet the expectations of the Capitol.
My imprisonment has been the very definition of the word "nice". I have been fed daily with generous Capitol meals, slept in a bed, had access to recreational activities, and worn clothes that were reminiscent my late stylist, Portia's, design. Technically, I am a prisoner of this war, but to anyone watching in District Thirteen, it looks like I am on the Capitol's side. That is the only explanation, I have concluded, for why the Capitol is treating me with such dignity and respect despite the fact that I could very well be working for the rebels.
The "niceness" of my stay will reach its expiration date as more news of these rebels emerges and continues to slander the Capitol, and my role in the matter will certainly evolve as the Capitol is faced with the struggle of trying to use me against Thirteen all while believing that I am working for the rebels. How it will change, I do not know. The power lies completely in the Capitol's hands.
I am exactly what I vowed to never become: a pawn in this twisted game.
I had heard nothing of the rebels until a hand-written message from Snow described them to me. When I first discovered that Haymitch, Finnick, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Katniss were all safe in the once-fabled District Thirteen, my emotions ran the gamut. A small part of me was hurt, confused, and upset that I had not been important enough to save in the grand scheme of the rebellion. But the majority of me was relieved that she was at least far away from where I was.
Also detailed in Snow's letter was the news that many of the tributes involved in the Third Quarter Quell were informed of the rebellion against the Capitol, and Katniss and I were no exception given the alliance we were involved in. In an interview with Caesar, I was to honestly admit everything I knew about the rebellion before and during the Quell, as well as expose Katniss' knowledge to the world. I was aware that Caesar would ask me to verbalize a message to send to Thirteen. Snow had also detailed this message in his letter, which I had memorized word for word.
He gave me a week to come up with a performance that would "convince him that Katniss and I were the innocent tributes we claimed to be, as well as come up with a logical response to Caesar's final question so that Thirteen may know where the Capitol stands" and he "certainly hoped I would not let him down".
The Peacekeepers lead me out of the building and push my head down into the backseat of a questionable vehicle. The vehicle is adorned with tinted windows and the golden symbol of the Capitol wherever I look. Before placing a black bag over my head, one Peacekeeper instructs the driver to bring me to the President's Mansion.
It takes me less than a minute to comprehend that I have let the President down.
Trapped within the confines of the black bag over my head, I close my eyes, increasing the level of darkness around me. Worrying about my imminent death will not change the fact that I am alive now, I decide, and that Katniss is alive in District Thirteen. I am not completely defeated, for I have done my part, doing all I could to keep her alive while it was still in my power.
I would fight for her life up until the last moment of mine.
My thoughts are cut short when the car skids to a jolting halt and my body is ripped from the backseat of the vehicle. The Peacekeepers resume their positions at either of my sides. We walk for what feels like ages. A whip to the back of my calves occasionally forces me to pick up my pace as much as my prosthetic will allow me to.
Eyes still covered by the thick, black cloth, I decide to use my imagination to conjure up an idea of what my path looks like. My footprints echo down the corridors. The many stairwells we travel through are always steep, always directed upward. I imagine a castle in place of the mansion. The kind of castles my father used to describe in childhood bedtime stories of swashbuckling knights and heroes who scaled towers to save Princesses from fire-breathing dragons. I imagine a beautifully crafted stony structure, the tallest, most formidable building in all of Panem. I draw with the paints of my mind high walls and ceilings and lavish ornamentation covering every square inch of the surroundings through which I walk.
For a moment, I imagine myself dressed in armor—bounding up these stairs and free of constraints—my heart set on saving the Princess with the singular braid in the tallest tower. Inside of the bag, I am grinning from ear to ear.
All too soon my day dream is destroyed when a heavy door suddenly swings open and the dichotomous scent of blood and roses fills the bag, nearly suffocating me in my cocoon of darkness.
The bag is ripped from my head and I find myself face to snout with the fire-breathing dragon himself.
"Peeta Mellark," President Snow's gravelly voice greets me, shattering all illusions that I am a hero with the very way he utters my name. "Lovely to see you."
I wish I could say the same. I wish I could say anything. But for once, I am at a loss for words.
"Please, come over and take a seat, won't you?" Snow extends a gloved hand in the direction of a singular chair that has been set up directly across from him, with nothing but his mahogany desk as a barrier between the chair and his reptilian glare.
It takes a moment for me to realize that the Peacekeepers who had been at my sides have disappeared, as well as every other Peacekeeper in the room. I am supposed to make these movements on my own. Slowly, each step feeling less and less swashbuckling as I move, I find my way to the chair. Snow smiles, his set of teeth off-white and crooked beneath his leathery lips.
"President Snow," I choke out. "Lovely to see you as well."
If possible, Snow's smile becomes more sinister as a low laugh escapes his unclenched jaw. "Mr. Mellark, when I spoke with Miss Everdeen months ago, before your Victory Tour, we both agreed that we would not lie to each other during our conversation. I think it would be in our best interest if neither of us lied to each other as well. Do you think you can do that, Peeta?"
I swallow hard, and it does nothing for the large lump that has formed in my throat. "Yes, sir."
Snow flashes another wicked smile, a glint of satisfaction in his snake-like eyes. "Very good. Then you and I are going to get along nicely, Peeta," he says, and I grimace at the mentioning of the word "nicely" while I nod obediently.
"How are you enjoying your stay at the Capitol, Peeta?"
"I would hardly call it a stay, but I suppose I can't complain. The Capitol does a nice job of helping me forget about how and why I am here," I reply, and immediately I regret letting it slip from my lips. I am sitting across from a President, and a very powerful one at that. Something in Snow's eyes, however, indicates that he is satisfied with the truth, and I feel my body ease against the constraints of the chair.
"Very nice. And I assume you received my letter last week?"
"Yes, I did," I say quickly, remembering his threatening words all too well.
To my surprise, Snow stands. He is smaller than he appears onscreen or before large crowds; yet standing before me and looking down at me, he is still menacing.
"Peeta, I believe the instructions in my letter were very, very clear. I asked that you tell Caesar Flickerman the truth about the rebellion, and about what you and Katniss Everdeen knew. I also gave you the warning of Caesar asking you a specific question, and I implied that you would need to give him a specific answer. After watching that interview, and hearing you suggest a cease-fire of all things, I can honestly say that I have a difficult time believing that the two of you did not know anything about the rebellion of District Thirteen."
"President Snow," I interject hastily. "The first time I had heard about Thirteen's existence came from your letter. And you watched the Games. Katniss was skeptical about every alliance in that arena, and any time someone even mentioned doing us a favor, she was just as confused as I was. We knew nothing. I know it may not look that way now that she is in Thirteen and I'm not, but I am telling you the truth."
He is eerily silent. Without making a sound, he moves from behind the desk to a vase of freshly picked white roses, pruned and primped to perfection.
"You know what strikes me as odd, Peeta? Why save only Katniss and not you if you were both innocent? Why separate the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve?"
"It wasn't our choice…"
"It wasn't your choice," Snow echoes, twisting the words and snapping his neck in my direction. "Doesn't your dispensability bother you, Peeta? The fact that you've been here for over a month, and nobody—not your mentor Haymitch, not your family, not even the mother of your dead child—has even attempted to rescue you?"
I shift in my seat under his hardened gaze. He makes a valid suggestion. "It does bother me," I admit, not only because it is what he wants to hear me say, but because it is the truth. I think back to the arena, and my thoughts on the beach as I handed over the locket to Katniss and told her to live because nobody needed me.
The statement never resonated more than it did in this very moment, as I sat trapped in a room with President Snow, protecting everyone despite their clear disinterest in me. I shake my head, because having it the other way around would be the more agonizing scenario. If it were Katniss in this chair and me in District Thirteen, I would be more terrified than I am now. The rebels of Thirteen obviously need Katniss, just as I do. As for me, I am exactly what the President refers to me as: dispensable. I have been dispensable for as long as I can remember.
"And yet here you are, still trying to rescue her. I suppose calling for a cease-fire, even though it is clearly not where the heavily armed and ready Capitol truly stands, was your solution to keeping her safe and sound?"
"Yes, it was," I answer honestly, grateful that the topic of conversation has veered away from my expendability. "Even if it wasn't the best response to your request, I had to do what I could to protect Katniss."
Snow lets out a belly laugh at this comment. His laughter rockets off of the walls and seems to bounce back at me like bullets. I wince, wanting more than anything to have the black bag over my head again.
"You're protecting Katniss. That is sweet, Peeta. That is dreadfully sweet. I wonder if she feels the same way for you. Now tell me, are you or are you not protecting her due to the fact that she knew of the rebellion?"
"No!" I shout. Unlike Snow's cackle, my refusal comes out as a pitiful squeak, barely able to ricochet off of one wall. I remember our wasted attempts at convincing him that we were in love and continue with urgency, "I love her! I married her! We were going to have a baby!"
"Calm down, Mr. Mellark," Snow chastises me. "There's no need to remind me of your baby ruse. Clever, indeed, faking a pregnancy and elopement. Nicely done, but not good enough to convince me still, I'm afraid, that she was in love with you." Several deep breaths on my part later, Snow has finally made it over to my chair, snake eyes just inches from my own terrified blue eyes.
"For some odd reason, I believe you, Peeta. I believe that you know absolutely nothing," he says the final word with a hiss, and I realize that I am not the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow he thought he had found when the Capitol's hovercraft picked me up in the crumpling arena instead of Katniss. Even Snow was beginning to believe that I was disposable.
"I do not, however, buy into the lie that Katniss Everdeen went into the Quarter Quell knowing nothing, even if it was at your expense. I know you are trying to protect her, Peeta, but has it ever occurred to you that she could have very well been withholding the information from you?"
Now I know that he is trying to get inside of my head and poison it, and that he is trying to turn Haymitch and Katniss against me. The idea still manages to flicker through my mind, despite my efforts to avoid it, and for a moment, my fists clench in rage. Katniss and our mentor have always had a convoluted relationship in which they understood each other in ways nobody else, including myself, could comprehend. Every point Snow has made has felt sickeningly true, so what makes his final point any different?
No, I remind myself. You were a team. He is the enemy. I remember, clear as day, hours upon hours of training alongside Katniss and Haymitch in preparation for the Quarter Quell. Those days, we were too tired to even think straight after training, let alone conspire. I remember standing stoically beside them at our reaping. I remember Haymitch agreeing to keep her alive for me. These memories are my ammunition, the truth that keeps the poison of the Capitol from hurting me.
I look down at my hands, and they may as well be in shackles. Memories are all I have left at this point.
"Answer the question," Snow presses.
"She would never do that," I insist through bared teeth. "She didn't know anything!"
"We agreed not to lie to each other, Mr. Mellark!" Snow booms angrily, and it sends every part of me cowering in fear. His eyes have narrowed into slits, and his breath—thick, hot, and reeking of blood— hits my face like the flames of a dragon.
"I am asking you one more time. You tell me the truth, and you get to go back to your luxury suite and wait out this war. If you lie again, you will face the consequences, Peeta Mellark. Now, consider what I have said carefully before you respond: Did Katniss Everdeen know information concerning the rebellion before she entered the Quarter Quell?"
"No," I spit out without hesitation, returning his stony glare. Whether or not I believe myself is a mystery, but my priority is making Snow believe that I have faith in my answer and I harden my glare. We remain frozen there, in a deadly staring contest, until he peels himself away and turns back to his roses.
"I am truly disappointed in you, Peeta," he says softly, and two Peacekeepers enter on cue. He turns to the men in white and barks, "Imprison this victor. He is a threat to our nation and cannot be trusted."
The last image I have before the black bag goes back over my head again is Snow's chilling grin, followed by him coughing and retracting to find a drop of blood on his pristine white glove.