It has been way too long, and I'm sorry. I guess I just went through this phase where I was unsatisfied with the story, and it took a while to regain motivation. But, the new chapter is up now, and I hope you enjoy it! Please follow me on my Hunger Games Instagram, tributes4life. Let me know if you came from here and I will give you a shout out. Anyway, enjoy the story and watch out for new edited pictures on Instagram.
Effie, dressed in a bright pink dress, is hopping from person to person, making sure everyone looks their best. She pulls Haymitch's bow tie tightly and then gives him a pat on the cheek. A grimace coats his face, and I smile. Everyone is already growing tired of Effie's demanding spirit.
She twists one of my curls around her finger and sets it back on my shoulder gently. She pulls the straps of my long purple gown together and reminds me to stand more straightly. I pull my back tight, waiting for her approval, but I slump back into a slouch as she turns away. She steps up to Peeta, who is dressed a a suit identical to Haymitch's, and fixes his tie as well. We are all decked in purple wear tonight, my dress, their ties, Effie's hair. Roman's matching us as well, but he has been lead off into a special area for the contest winners. It's just us four, now, and we stand hesitantly in the hall, waiting for the signal to enter.
Tonight is for welcoming. The tributes, the mentors, everyone. Gathered in this building tonight is everyone who, although Effie skirted around the idea, deserves an apology. For what they've done, or what's been done to them. We all know that a simple ceremony will never fill the empty gaps of what we've lost because of the Capitol, but to them, it's a start.
I recognize the buidling; it's the same place the party was held after our first Games. Where Plutarch first showed me his Mockingjay. It seems odd now to think of it, back in a time when I was stronger, braver. It is just another reminder that I am no longer the Mockingjay, the girl on fire. Just ashes.
A man walks up to Effie and murmurs the Okay to enter. Effie flails about, making last minute adjustments and getting everyone in order. Haymitch stands in front of us, looking rather uncomfortable in his fitted suit, whereas Peeta, who stands next to me, looks the opposite. His shaggy blonde hair has been groomed, and his scars covered. He looks strong and lean in his evening attire, almost like brand new.
Almost.
Although no one directs us to, Peeta encloses my hand in his. Even if things between us are rocky at best, I still need his strength tonight. Just like he needs mine.
I can hear the music and voices hushing behind the doors, and someone begins introducing us. Before I know it, the doors are opening and Haymitch steps out. He is met with applause and cheers, and then he is lead off the stage . I look towards Effie, and she gives me a thumbs-up. Peeta steps forwad, pulling me with him, as our names our announced.
At first, there is nothing. The room has fallen silent. The lights of the stage are blinding, so I can only see the black silhouettes of the people in the audience. I'm afraid that they're angry, for the things we've done in our pasts, for what we stood for. And it's true. So many innocent people died for my cause, for me. I don't know why I expected any sort of thankfulness from these people, these leftover fragments of the war. I look to Peeta, my eyes begging for a solution to this conundrum. Here we are, stuck on this stage like heroes, when all we really are is broken, just like them.
"Peeta..." I murmur, and I squeeze his hand. He looks over to me, his blue eyes finally meeting my gaze. I'm look for answers, for something. Time seems to move like a slug, dragging on. I want to run off the stage, to be free of this. Peeta leans closer, so that his lips are inches from my ear.
"I'm sorry," He says, his whispers echoing in my mind. I'm confused, and I want to look to him for answers. But, as I do, he's turning towards me, and he rests his hand on my cheek. In an instant, he pulls me in, kissing me.
Everything fades away. The crowd, the lights, the eerie silence. It is no more. It is just me, and Peeta, the boy with the bread.
The boy with the bread. His warmth, his body, everything. I wrap my arms around his neck, standing on my toes to reach him. His other arm slides around my waste, and before I know it, he has completely picked me up. I am floating, here with Peeta, and for the first time since I returned home so many months ago, I feel good again.
When he finally sets me down, for just a moment I turn my head to the crowd, slowly drifting back to reality. I'm not sure what I expect to see now, anger, confusion? But it's neither. One by one, every member of the crowd is raising three fingers to their lips, and then into the air. These are no Capitol citizens, pampered and unaware. These are people, just like me, like Peeta. I was wrong. It is not anger or hatred that they felt before. It was sympathy, for two young and shattered souls. It's evident now. Peeta just smiles, and, although his hand remains around my waist, we both bring our hand to our lips and then into the air as well.
And then, they cheer. Ear-shattering, ground-shaking shouts and applause. Peeta and I are both smiling, waving, and, eventually, kissing. I don't know what he is really feeling, or what I am really feeling, but now, all I know is that it feels right.
Haymitch finally comes to force us off of the stage, playfully shoving us down the stairs. It reminds me of our interview together after the Games, when Caesar couldn't pull us apart, and Haymitch did the same. Then, I felt a lot like I feel now. Happy, but confused. It's obvious that something is still lit between us, but what?
There is no time to think about these matters now, though. I'm shaking hands and smiling for pictures, listening to stories of the past and hopes of the future. I'm told more times than I can count that I am so brave, or courageous, or strong. And, although I am growing tired of the pinching heels my prep team forced me into, I generally enjoy listening to the people's stories. These are not the silly stories of dresses and ribbons I so often heard from my prep team, but tales of loss and sadness. Peeta stays by my side, squeezing my hand when things get tough. I want to pull him away to talk to him about everything that has happened, but I never get a moment alone.
After more than an hour of pictures, Haymitch, Peeta and I head to the long tables of food. There are thirteen tables, each with a hand-written number at their base.
"From each District," Peeta notes, and I nod. Each table is laced with traditional foods from the thirteen Districts. Seafood from Four, of course, a plethora of homegrown fruits and vegetables from Eleven, all sorts of cheeses from Ten. Guests are floating around, some at their own District table, others sampling from all. When we make our way to District 12's table, no one is quite sure what to expect.
"Coal muffins?" Peeta suggests, smiling. Haymitch waves him off.
"Not any more," Haymitch says, "More like antibiotic pie." He adds, reminding us of the new medical factory being built.
But, we find neither. The table is covered in soups of every sort, most of which I recognize from the Hob. On the other end of the table lays several types of traditional breads, all of which seem to be fresh from the oven.
Peeta picks up a roll, feeling it in his hand. A few straggling seeds fall from the roll onto the table, and he brushes them away. An odd look crosses his face, and he clenches the table for support. I back away, afraid that my presence will only worsen things. I watch him there, squeezing the roll in his fingers until he finally lets go. He drops the ruined roll to the floor, and looks up.
"Let's go somewhere else," He mumbles, reaching for my hand. We browse One and Two while Haymitch fills up at the drink table. I pile my plate with bread and fruit and a roasted steak from Five. I don't even notice the hand reach over mind until they speak up.
"Oh, I'm sorry," She says, "Are you too famous to be seen with me?" I look up to find Johanna Mason slopping a mound of mashed potatoes onto her plate. A quirky smile covers her round face, and her once short hair now brushes her chin. I look to Peeta, who's smiling.
"And hello to you, too Peeta." She says, reaching her hand out. Peeta sets his plate down on the table and shakes her hand, making sure not to let go of mine.
"How're you doing?" Peeta asks, picking his plate back up.
"Oh, just fine." She says as she pours a river of gravy onto her mashed potatoes. "And how about you?" She says, and when Peeta doesn't answer, I realize she's talking to me. I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I know that in these months since I've been home, I should have contacted her. Written her, called her, something, but I didn't. After she failed her test back in Thirteen and I was shipped to the Capitol, I hadn't really given her another thought. I'm paying for it now, though, in guilt and embarrassment.
"Just fine," I say, mimicking her answer. She squints her eyes at me, shaking her head. There's a silence as we three stand there, listening to the chatter of all the guests.
"You're welcome to sit with us." Peeta suggests, but she just shakes her head.
"That's alright," She says, "I've got a seat of my own already. Besides," She adds, "I wouldn't want to interrupt you two lovebirds." She adds a wink, and then slinks away.
Peeta is laughing, but my cheeks are burning red in embarrassment. I look around for Haymitch, and find him already seated at a table across the room. I pull Peeta that way, carefully balancing my full plate. We sit down next to Haymitch, who is sipping a glass of wine. I don't hesitate to start eating, because even though I don't say it, I'm starving.
"Making friends already?" Haymitch asks, but I just shake my head.
"Revisiting old ones," I say.
"I wonder how she's doing." Peeta says.
"Well, you saw her. She seemed her same old self." I add, but Peeta shakes his head.
"I mean here, in the Capitol again. When we were in there together, she always told me she would never come back unless it was to get revenge." Peeta gets a glassy look in his eyes as he ponders this memory. I look to Haymitch for help, who is conveniently rolling the peas on his plate around, avoiding my gaze. I'm not sure what to say, afraid that something small could set him off. So, I just nod.
"It's okay," Peeta says, "I'm alright." I nod again, but I'm not fully convinced. I take another bite of steak, and then squeeze his hand. He leans toward me, putting his lips by my ear.
"Come with me," He says, and stands, pulling me up with him. I look to Haymitch again, but he just shrugs. I decide to follow, hoping that it will be okay.
He leads me out the door we came in, past all the guests dressed in suits and gowns. I recognize some, from Thirteen, from the Games, but others are unfarmiliar. We just brush past them, though, into the hall. He leads me up a dark staircase, and I'm afraid of what might lay at the top. He pulls me to the left, reaching for something in the darkness.
"Do you trust me?" He whispers, and at first, I don't answer. Of course I trust him. I trust Peeta. But, is he still Peeta when he changes? Is he Peeta now? I don't know what to say, but, for his sake, I say yes.
"Good," He says, "Because I promise this will be okay." He wiggles open a door handle, and then holding my hand, guides me through the door way.
Inside lays a wonder I have never imagined. The entire room, floor to ceiling, is glass. Made of panels, each one is a different color. Red, blue, green, everything. Lights from the city are shining in through the glass, making the room an orb of color. My mouth hangs open in amazement, and Peeta pulls me forward.
I look to my feet, and see that the city lies below us. Cars are driving by, people scattered about. My stomach drops at the height, and I feel as if we could break through.
"It's safe," He assures me, but I cling to his arm anyway. I step forward, pressing my hand to the glass. It seems impossible, this room, this night. I realize now is the chance to talk to him about what has happened. And I'm not going to waste this opportunity.
"How did you know about this?" I ask, trying to ease my way in. I don't want to ruin it.
"President Snow brought me here, before they locked me up. He wanted to persuade me, to switch over, but I wouldn't. I can't really remember anything after they put me in that cell with Johanna, once they started with the hijacking. But, the whole time I kept thinking about two things."
"What are they?" I ask.
"This room, and you. I kept thinking that if I ever got out, I would showthis to you. That it was too beautiful to keehi hidden away." He says, and he turns towards me. My cheeks are burning red, and I know I have to ask what I was thinking.
"Listen, Peeta..." I start, but he cuts me off. He leans in, and kisses me. And this isn't the kiss like before on the stage, this is different, more. My brain is screaming to pull away, to force some answers out of him, but something else, something deeper, is holding on. It's that hunger, like I felt on the beach, my the stream a few days ago, except, it's greater. Nothing is stopping me, not my past, not my present, not anything. I pull away for a second, looking into his eyes, his longing, blue eyes, and I know that I've surrendered. I don't know why I'm kissing him, or what I feel for him, but I know that I can't resist.
This time, I lean in, forcing my lips into his. He wraps his arms around my waist, and pushes me against the wall. My back is pressed against the cool glass, and a shiver runs up my spine. I kick off my shoes and let him pick me up, leaning against his chest.
He explores my mouth, our lips never ceasing to touch. I'm gasping for air, but somehow, I don't want air. I don't want to stop. I just want him.
I know it's too soon, too wrong, but I can't help it. I have held myself away from him for so long, trying to swallow the guilt I feel. But now, he's here, and I'm here, and we're both shattered. And right now, in this beautiful glass room, I just want him to piece me together again.
