I wave goodnight to Effie and Haymitch before shuffling into my room, exhausted. I don't even have the energy for a shower, so I just swap my clothes for comfortable pajamas and lay down atop the silky blankets. Regardless of my hour-long effort to go to bed, and the fatigue encompassing my body, sleep evades me, so I end up walking down the hall towards a large window that reaches from floor to ceiling overlooking the city. After all, I might as well get a last look at the wretched lace that I'll desperately want to return to tomorrow. Anyplace is better than the arena.
When I round the corner to stand in front of the window, I'm surprised to see Katniss there, sitting quietly on the floor with her knees bent in front of her and arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her hair is tied in a braid that streams down the center of her back, an she has clearly changed out of the diamond dress I left her in when I tucked her into bed. I couldn't imagine taking that off for her and dressing her again. Even if she didn't wake up, I'd feel like I was violating her in some way. No, especially if she didn't wake up. Instead of that dress, she has on a sheer, silken shirt and patterned cotton shorts that expose her incredible toned legs. I stare in wonderment, because I was sure she was out cold for the night when I left her in her bed over an hour ago. Still, there she is, sitting right in front of me unaccompanied, and I cannot manage a simple coherent sentence.
"You too?" I blurt, stepping out from the shadows. Her confusion is evident when she whips her head around to stare at me. "Can't sleep?" I clarify. She nods in response as I walk over and sit down a safe distance from her. Katniss' face tightens a bit, but then relaxes, as if she is trying to force herself to be comfortable in my presence. Was it the kiss? The fact that I carried her all the way up here when I clearly did not have to go to such a length? The entire romantic act in general? I turn to look into her face, as if maybe it will answer my questions, but her unwaveringly solemn expression reveals nothing.
"Look, I'm sorry if… it was too sudden for you. I just wanted to make sure they believe it." Even if what I said was very vague and ambiguous, she immediately understands what I mean. Her head bobs up quickly and dark grey eyes sear into mine, offering no escape.
"It's fine," she says at a low volume, her voice cracking a bit. "I mean, if it gets us a couple more days to live, then you have to do it, right?" she asks rhetorically. I nod in response and she turns back to the window but I can't tear my eyes away from her She doesn't know it, but she has a stronger grip on me than President Snow does the tributes. Then I remember that I have to talk to her about our arrangement for the Games. I can't let her know about my alliance or she'll never trust me, so I swallow my fears and prepare to lie to her face.
"So I have a plan worked out for tomorrow," I begin.
"Oh, are you sure you want to let me in on your game plan? What if I turn around and stab you in the back?" she jokes, but I just chuckle at her and continue.
"No, it involves the whole Star-Crossed Lovers thing." We both become more serious, and I can tell she's listening intently, even though she just turned her head back to the window. "When we're around the Cornucopia, there will be cameras like crazy on all angles so just make sure you keep eye contact with me. Look… I don't know, like you're in love. And longing to stay with my Grab a backpack with supplies and maybe a weapon if you can, there's usually something useful next to each tribute's podium. Do not go near the Bloodbath. Then turn around and head straight into the forest, if there is one. Based on the tapes we've been watching, there will be. There's a repeating pattern with the arena's terrain. Next year will probably be a jungle with lots of water." She raises her eyebrows at me with fascination, intrigued by my logic. I need to make sure she understands the plan, though, so I press on.
"When you get there, just keep running. Get as far away from the Cornucopia as you can as fast as you can, because tributes might be coming after you. I will get myself a pack and weapon and follow you into the woods. It might take me awhile to get to you though, if I get held up or need to get away from someone else. But if I take more than two days, it probably means either I can't find you or I had to move in another direction. In that case, you should move on and worry about your own survival."
Katniss is stoic. She nods, and seems to be mentally picking apart the plan. After a long pause, she suggests, "If you can't find me for awhile and you need help, just get this really concerned face and make a big show of looking all upset while murmuring my name. You'll be guaranteed a parachute in three seconds flat." I nod and express my approval, but what she doesn't know is that I would probably end up doing that anyway, even though this isn't my real plan.
"You've really got this all figured out," she adds. She doesn't even know just how much I have planned out.
"Yeah, well, there isn't really a way to talk to you while we're in the arena, unless I'm right there with you or I send out obvious signals, so I thought I should get it all figured out beforehand. So we could stay a team." At her hesitation and worried stare, I inquire, "That is what you want, isn't it?" I'm a little afraid of her answer, so I tear my face away from her and suffer through the silence.
"Of course," she answers, giving me a rush of joy; moments ago I had myself convinced she dreaded being forced to partner with me. "I just want to be remembered as myself, you know?"
My heart sinks at this, but I know I can't keep myself believing she really want to be with me. "No, I get it. Trust me, if I make it back alive, I'll tell Darius that you –"
"Like I told you before, Peeta, I'm not with Darius. I never was. I just mean that I want people to remember me for who I was when I lived in District 12. I want to make the Capitol believe in the whole Star-Crossed Lovers thing for sponsors, but I just want Prim to know me as the strong and supportive sister I have been for her, not a hopeless and love-struck teenager," she orates.
"I know what you mean. We might be going into the Hunger Games, but I don't want this to change me. I don't want them to change me. Even if I'm going t be dead in a week, I want to die as myself, not as a murderer." A long pause of silence ensues as we absorb what be both now recognize as a major similarity between us. We both want to die as ourselves.
Suddenly, I realize a part she left out. "What about your mom?" I ask, knowing her dad died years ago of some obscure medical condition. She turns to me in confusion, unsure of my meaning. "You said you want Prim to remember you as yourself. How do you want your mom to remember you?" I ask.
Her eyes glaze over in an unreadable expression. For a moment I think she's going to withhold an explanation, but for some reason she turns her whole body to me and lays all her cards on the table. "My mother in complicated," she starts. "When my father… passed, she turned to alcohol to numb the pain. For her, drunk means angry, and angry means hitting. Never Prim, she was always taking care of her and cleaning up her messes when she blacked out. But I couldn't handle her being such an absent mother, so I constantly challenged her and go hit for it. Most of the time she was too drunk to actually hurt me so just pushed her away, but even if she didn't hurt me physically, she killed me mentally. She never gave Prim a support system and didn't take care of her. When she came to visit me, that's what I told her. Not to lay a hand on Prim. To shape up and really take care of her, since I won't be there to do it for her."
I crumble at her disclosure, because all this time I never even knew just how much Katniss was suffering. I wish I could numb the pain and mend her broken heart. I never knew we were in so similar a situation of caring for our families and having no parental support.
There are no words I can say to help her. Only my instincts propel me as I crawl over to her and wrap her body into mine. She seems taken aback but does not hesitate to return the embrace. Maybe it's because she's tired, or maybe it's because she doesn't care anymore. But I hang on the hope that she allows this to happen because somewhere inside her, she wants someone to heal her pain, and she finds that in me.
Her head falls onto my shoulder so the curve of her nose fits perfectly into the side of my neck, and her warm lips gently ghost over my collar bond, not there on purpose but still there. Her silky hair brushes my shoulder and forms a small shroud around my back. I almost feel guilty for relishing this moment before I realize that I'm simply making a kind gesture to a friend, and she is accepting it. This just feels so real, and so right.
"What about your parents?" she mumbles into my cotton shirt after sitting tucked into my body for a few minutes, breaking a profound silence. My eyes open immediately, and my head jerks up ever so slightly, because I'm almost frightened by the mention of the only two people I love and hate at the same time. She senses my discomfort and pulls back but maintains intense eye contact, even when I avert my gaze. "I'm sorry," she says as she turns her eyes away, earning a surprised glance from me. "This is tough for everyone. I shouldn't have said anything." She starts to pull away, but I don't want to stop being so close to her, so I quickly interject.
"No, it's okay. I just don't really have any way that I want them to remember me. Maybe if I had just said something to them… I don't know." I'm not making any sense here, I know, but I'm afraid of getting into an emotional conversation.
"Well what did you say to them?" she asks.
"When?"
"In the Justice Building. When they visited you after the Reaping. What did you tell them?"
It strikes a nerve, but I keep my face neutral and betray nothing before responding vaguely. "I didn't. They… didn't."
She blinks in disbelief, and her eyes grow dark as she whispers, "What?"
"Yeah. They didn't visit me." This is uncomfortable for me. I'm not used to emotional conversations. I don't like putting all of my feelings out on the line; it feels awkward and strange. I'm fine with talking about hunting or the weather or how many tesserae I should take out but this is new for me. Thankfully, though, she knows not to probe deeper. She simply whispers, "Oh, Peeta," gently to soothe my before rising to her knees in front of me and wrapping my head into the crook of her neck. My chin rests on the muscle connecting her neck to her left shoulder, and all I can smell is her deep woodsy aroma that lingers in her skin no matter how many Capitol showers she's taken. Underneath the lavender soap is home: forest and rain and grass. I am completely consumed by her. Katniss erases the pain.
When we pull apart, I catch a dreamy look in her eyes that I can only distinguish as sleepiness, so I stand and wordlessly walk her to her bedroom door. She saunters into the chamber, and turns to whisper, "Goodnight, see you in the arena," before giving me a kiss on the cheek and softly closing the door.
I fall asleep easily as soon as I crawl into bed, regardless of my impending doom. I'm in a trance.
