I just said that. Out loud. In front of the entire country. My cheeks burn and I stare at my hands clenched in my lap.
"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," Caesar says in a pained voice. A few others in the crowd are making similar distressed noises. Good.
"It's not good," I agreed, still looking at my hands because I can't bear to look up and see Katniss' face.
"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," Caesar says. "She didn't know?"
I shake my head. "Not until now." I'm focusing on Caesar now, still unable to bear glancing in Katniss' direction. I have to keep my composure and don't think I'd be able to do that if I had any idea what she was thinking.
"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience, which responds loudly in affirmative. "Sadly, rules are rules and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I thik I speak for all of Pane when I say our hearts go with yours."
When the roar of the crowd finally quiets, I choke out a soft, "thank you" and return to my seat near Katniss. I'm still not looking at her, waiting to see her reaction until we're out of the public eye. I feel faint, but triumphant. I did it. For a few minutes, the Capitol audience was mine.
After the anthem ends, all of the tributes head back into the Training Center lobby and split into groups onto the elevators. I notice Katniss deliberately avoids the elevator I'm going up in. This doesn't bode well, but maybe she's waiting until we're alone to talk about what I did too. Some of the other tributes glare at me but I smile back. Some of them are Careers and I want to be on their good side. I figure if anyone will be after Katniss, it'll be the Careers, so I can help steer them away.
People steadily stream from the elevator as the floors pass until it's only me. I'm barely stepping out onto the twelfth floor when a pair of strong hands slams into my chest. I'm so off guard that I smash into a vase, shattering it. I land in the pieces and rapidly begin losing blood. "What was that for?" I gape up at Katniss in shock. I've never seen her act like this.
"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" she shouts, fire in her eyes as she looms over me.
The elevator doors open again, revealing the rest of our entourage.
"What's going on," Effie asks shrilly. "Did you fall?"
"After she shoved me," I say grumpily as Effie and Cinna haul me up by the arms.
Haymitch rounds on Katniss. "Shoved him?"
"This was your idea, wasn't it?" she accuses. "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country!"
I had not anticipated her being this upset. I try to diffuse as I painfully pull pieces of vase out of my palms. "It was my idea. Haymitch just helped me with it."
"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful," Katniss says stiffly. "To you!"
Haymitch eyes her in disgust. "You are a fool. Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you what you could never achieve on your own."
"He made me look weak!"
"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" Haymitch insists.
"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" Katniss protests, hands held wide.
Haymitch's aggressive tactics to defend me are a bit alarming, as he grabs Katniss' shoulders and pushes her into the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in and of itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"
Katniss shoves Haymitch off of her and seems to be thinking things over. Meanwhile, I am still pulling bloody shards from my skin and finally starting to understand why she's so upset about this. Gale. It has to be about Gale. Gale, like everyone else in our world, saw the interviews.
Cinna puts a comforting arm around Katniss' shoulders as Portia sees I'm not getting anywhere and helps me try to get more porcelain out of my skin. "He's right, Katniss."
"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," Katniss says finally.
"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I say gruffly, more than a little peeved I didn't think of that earlier. Maybe that would have spared me from death-by-pottery. If we had clued her in…would she have gone for it?
"I don't have a boyfriend," Katniss says blushingly. I knew it.
"Whatever," I scoff. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, you didn't say you love me. So what does it matter?"
Katniss bites her lip, clearly torn. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him too?"
"I did," Portia speaks up, continuing in her task. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."
Everyone else agrees.
"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," Haymitch says.
Katniss finally looks at me, red-faced. "I'm sorry I shoved you."
"Doesn't matter," I shrug. I should have anticipated something like this would happen. I'd be mad too if she had tried to pull something on me that I wasn't prepared for. "Although it's technically illegal."
"Are your hands okay?" she asks tentatively.
"They'll be alright," I say though I'm not sure. It took the course of the entire conversation to rid my hands of most of the pottery and I'm positive we missed some too small to see that'll come back to haunt me later.
"Come on, let's eat," Haymitch says.
My stomach growls from the smells wafting from the kitchen. Maybe food will take my mind off the pain. That usually worked after Mother hit us. Rogerrik, Anton, and I used to sneak bits of semi-fresh pastry to share as we patched each other up. I'm about to sit down when I see my even more blood gushing out of my hands. I sway on the spot and Portia links arms with me to drag me off for medical treatment.
"I can't believe she did that," Portia says in hushed tones as the Training Center doctor stitches me up.
"I wouldn't have either," I mutter. Well, what's done is done.
My hands are wrapped in bandages and the doctor says sternly, "Be more careful next time." He had been told I tripped into the urn. "The stitches won't leave a mark but it will take 24 hours to heal fully." Great. I'll be going into the arena with my hands hurting. Maybe they'll kill me more quickly that way.
I've missed the first course of dinner but everything else is delicious, even though I struggle to hold any cutlery between my heavily bandaged hands. Afterwards we watch the recap of the interviews and I can't help but wonder which of these people I'll have to kill. The thought makes me sick.
After the anthem, we're shuffled off to bed. I'm used to early mornings from the bakery but waking up early to go to your death…I'm never going to fall asleep.
Effie takes both Katniss and I by the hand and tearily says goodbye, thanking us for being the best tributes she's ever had the privilege to sponsor. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!" she finishes, kissing each of us on the cheek before hurrying away.
Haymitch crosses his arms and looks both of us over.
"Any final words of advice?" I dare to ask. Haymitch had his moments of helpfulness throughout this nightmare but…
He's all business this time. "When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?"
"And after that?" Katniss asks.
"Stay alive," Haymitch echoes the advice he gave us on the train but he's serious this time. Both of us nod. There isn't really much else to say.
Katniss heads to her room but I wander over to Portia. I know I'll see her in the morning right before heading into the arena, but she's been so kind to me so I wish her goodnight and give her a brief hug. She manages to convey how much she'll miss me by nearly squeezing me to death.
"I know it'll be hard, but try to get some sleep," she whispers. "You'll need it."
I nod solemnly and head to my room, knowing it will be impossible. After a luxurious shower, I put on soft pajama pants and a robe and head up to the roof. Staring out at the twinkling lights, bright colors, and loud noises of Capitol night life, I think about the life I might have had. If only I hadn't been chosen. If only the Hunger Games didn't exist. If only, if only, if only.
I'd never get to see Rogerrik and Maeve get married or be an uncle to their cute little blonde children. I'd never know if Anton finally won over Rosemary's affections. I'd never smell baking bread or frost another cake, or see my father's eyes light up as he tells me stories about Katniss' mother, always out of my mother's hearing. My family, who would have to see me kill other children on live television. What would they think of me?
Maybe Mother would finally think I'm strong. The thought disgusts me. No, of course she wouldn't. Everyone in the districts hates the Hunger Games. She wouldn't be proud of me killing. I would kill someone…and someone else would kill me. I was nothing more than a pawn in all this. Cheap entertainment. Was that really all I was meant to be? Live for sixteen years and lose myself and my life for someone else's enjoyment? My thoughts go on like this for what could have been hours before I'm interrupted.
"You should be getting some sleep," Katniss' voice sounds from behind me.
I jump but don't turn to look at her. I shake my head, gesturing to the streets below. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." In the hours I'd sat here I'd been more than a little disgusted at how excited the people below were for our impending deaths.
She comes closer and leans over the edge of the rail, seeing the people dancing in the streets. "Are they in costumes?"
"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep either?"
"Couldn't turn my mind off," she admits.
"Thinking about your family?" I ask.
"No," she says sheepishly. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." A pause as she looks me over. "I really am sorry about your hands."
"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say tiredly. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."
"That's no way to be thinking," she scolds.
"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and…" I hesitate, wondering if I should share some of the thoughts that have been torturing me the past few hours. If she'd laugh.
"And what?"
"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" She shakes her head no and I continue. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."
She bites her lip before replying. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"
"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else," I sigh. "I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."
"But you're not," Katniss says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."
She wasn't getting it. Suddenly it was very important to me that she understood and I grew insistent. "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me. Don't you see?"
"A little. Only…no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"
I'm surprised by her answer and more than a little angry. I'm about to die and not losing myself is all I have left. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?"
The ferocity of my stare makes her take a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."
Like I'd really be able to stay alive for more than a few days against such terrible odds. I smirk at her. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."
She recoils before starting back in on me angrily. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve."
"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say coolly, thinking of my mother's parting words. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"
"Count on it," she says haughtily before stalking off the roof.
I stare out at the city a few minutes longer before sighing in defeat. I really should at least try to sleep now that I'm more tired. That conversation exhausted me. Back in my room, I sleep more deeply than I thought I was capable of, given the circumstances, dreaming of home.
Portia shakes me awake, giving me simple undergarments to wear and I know it's time to go. I'm led back to the roof and freeze as soon as I step onto the hovercraft ladder. Once I'm injected with my tracker, the current releases me and Portia and I sit down to eat.
She chatters on meaninglessly about the food as I practically inhale it. I'm not that hungry but I know I'll need as much staying power as possible once I'm in the arena. I appreciate that she's trying to distract me but I'm not processing a word she says. I'm about to die. I'm about to die. I'm about to probably kill someone and then I'm about to die.
Finally, we land and I feel sick. My hands are stiff, how on earth am I going to do this? I'm in the Launch Room—the Stockyard—and I might not live to see the end of the day. Portia whispers soothing words as she helps me dress in the tawny pants, light green shirt, thick brown belt, brown boots, and thin, hooded black jacket. My shroud. I am going to die in these clothes. Definitely feeling sick.
"Don't throw up," Portia urges me, putting a gentle hand on my arm. "You'll need that food later."
"Right," I say, breathing hard. "Right."
"Drink this," she directs. "Once your stomach calms down you need to eat more, even if it's just a pack of crackers."
"Okay." I follow her directions and find that the crackers help settle my stomach so I eat as many as I possibly can. I can do this. I can do this.
A pleasant female voice announces it's time to prepare for launch. I suck in a shaky breath and Portia puts an arm around me, leading me to the tube.
"I believe in you," she says simply and kisses my cheek for luck.
The cylinder lowers, I can't hear her, but she gestures for me to hold my chin up. I can do that. I have to appear strong in the beginning or I don't have a chance. The cylinder rises and I'm greeted with bright sunlight and the smell of pine.
Claudius Templesmith's voice booms around me and I'm filled with dread. This is really happening. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"