I sleep most of the next day. Fighting off the sleep syrup was exhausting. Prim keeps checking in on me, placing a fresh glass of cold water on my nightstand, straightening my blankets. One day she's going to have a little girl with shiny flaxen hair to love. She's not like me. Prim will be a great mother.
I'm awake in time for dinner, which is interrupted by Haymitch pounding on the door. My mother is about to protest, but I excuse myself from the table and step outside.
"You could have just come in and joined us," I say as I roll my eyes. Haymitch doesn't say anything, he just grabs my wrist and drags me from the steps. We head away from the buildings until we are out of reach of any hearing devices. He turns to me, his face serious.
"Have you seen any TV today?" he asks.
"No," I shake my head. I was sleeping most of the day, but even if I wasn't I only watch television when it forces itself on for mandatory viewing.
"Peeta's engagement is all over Panem," Haymitch says. No wonder Prim was checking on me.
"What are they saying?" I ask.
"Nothing good," Haymitch replies grimly. "Nothing about it being an act, though. Seems people still think the love story is genuine. Everyone is wondering how you are. I'd expect camera crews here in a matter of hours."
I scowl. We said I'd be no good at the heartbroken lover. I have no idea how to play this.
"This is no good, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "It's you two making the Capitol look cruel. Again."
"What do we do?" I ask.
"You should stay put in that pretty little house of yours. We can spin that for a few days while we think of something," Haymitch answers, but from the look on his face he's not sure what that something is. "Effie is being interviewed tonight. She's going to try to do some damage control."
"We can't wait too long or Peeta will call it off. He'll get himself arrested. He'll get himself killed," I whisper fervently.
"I know," Haymitch replies. "But right now he's staying put until his face heals. Otherwise we'll have a whole other slew of questions."
He's protecting me. He's protecting his mother. I wonder if he ever worries about protecting himself.
Haymitch is right. The camera crews are already stationed outside my house when dawn breaks. My mother keeps Prim home from school. We watch the coverage on television until I'm so sick of it I bury my head in a pillow. Prim scratches my back gently before she finally retires to bed. It's just me and my mom. She slips a mug of hot tea into my hands and sits next to me on the couch.
"Maybe it's for the best, Katniss," she says, trying to be kind in her tone but the words make me writhe with anger. "I know he hurt you. The Mellarks–"
"Peeta had nothing to do with this," I say, as if this were her fault. "You came from Town. You know exactly what this is."
My mother blushes and stares at the floor. She does know. It's what she ran away from. She's right though. The Mellarks did this. Maybe not Peeta, but his mother at least. His father. They did this so they could keep his money and so that their son wouldn't marry a Seam rat.
"I never wanted any of that for my girls. I'd rather we be poor and happy," she defends herself meekly.
I just glare at her with palpable spite. Happy? She thinks we were happy? We were starving to death while she was captured in an unbearable depression. It's not like she just decided we wouldn't have pretty dresses and nice things. She swore her children to a life of destitution and then left us to rot, unable to care for ourselves. Our lives have been anything but happy.
"We were happy when your father was alive," she says. I stare at her, but the viciousness fades from my eyes. We were very happy when my dad was still here. When my life felt whole.
Sometimes I wish my mother had died instead. It makes my skin flush with the heat of guilt, but I know it's true. She was woefully inadequate. My dad never would have let us whither to nothing. I remember the night I could count all of Prim's ribs. Her shiny hair had turned brittle and dull. All we'd eaten that day was a soup of boiled pine needles and a piece of moldy cheese I'd found on the ground. I wasn't Reaping age yet, I couldn't get tesserae. So we just shriveled up like a leaf caught in a wildfire. My mother was in the other room, willing herself to die, and we were out in the kitchen hoping not to.
She's been useless since our dad died. She's choosing to be useless now.
"You could help him. You could help Peeta. You are the only one who has ever broken one of these engagements," I say. I'm almost begging her.
"It's different," she says, her voice so low I can barely hear her. "The law is different. I had a dowry and that sacrifice appeased the crime. Peeta can't pay off her family."
"He has money," I start. This isn't her fault but I want to lash out anyway. She clears her throat.
"It's not the same thing," my mother explains. She stops for a moment, as if choosing her next words. As if deciding whether or not to say them. "Madge is a nice girl. He'll be happy with her," my mother starts. She brushes her lap and looks at me. "I think you need to think about what's best for Peeta, too."
My eyes dart up, confused.
"You don't want to get married or have kids. And that's okay, Katniss. I raised you to be who you are and find what you want in life. But is that what Peeta wants? Is that what you would be handcuffing him to?" she asks, studying my face.
"You didn't raise me to be anything," I respond coldly. She sighs.
"What you're feeling about Peeta is all really intense because of what happened in the Games. It will fade. But those of us that loved you before – me, Prim," she pauses. "Gale," she adds. "We loved you before you were the girl on fire. And we'll love you after."
I don't know what to say anymore. I just want her help. I want her to fix this. She might be the only one who can. Instead she's telling me to let him go.
"It doesn't seem to me like you and Peeta are just friends anymore," my mom says, studying my face for a reaction.
We are more than friends. I don't know how to explain it. I don't have a word for what we are.
She doesn't have to say it. I can hear it in the air between us. Stay away from the Mellark boys.
"I need your help," I ask earnestly.
Our conversation is interrupted when the television flashes on and Effie Trinket's face fills the screen. Her skin is pale and powdered. She's wearing magenta everything, even magenta contact lenses. I think it makes her eyes look like they are bleeding, but Caesar Flickerman ogles over her for at least a minute. They finally get started. Caesar gives Effie an exaggerated pout.
"Now I think you know why I asked you here, Miss Trinkett," Caesar starts.
"I have my suspicions!" Effie clicks in her Capitol accent, perfecting a coy smile. The audience laughs.
"What is going on with our two little lovebirds?" Caesar asks with exaggerated despair. Bile rises to my mouth. I have no desire to be compared to a preening, mindless bird.
"Truly Caesar, it's a quaint little tradition they have in Twelve. You know how the districts are with their trivial customs and traditions. It's adorable, really," Effie explains, as if we in the districts are all children to be cooed at when we do something cute. Her tone has an airiness to it that lends perfectly to condescension. I remind myself she is trying to help us. "Apparently Peeta's family had made arrangements for his betrothal when he was just a boy. It was meant to be a surprise after his last Reaping. They assumed it would be next year, but then their boy was lucky enough to be chosen as Tribute!" she warbles like an out of tune caroler. Every sentence ends higher than the last. She's nervous.
"Really?" Caesar exclaims, eating up every word. It's a lie, but none of them know that.
"Yes! He had no idea. All these years he's been pining over Katniss only to find this out. His parents only filed the paperwork when he got back. It was meant to be a happy surprise!" Effie exclaims.
"But it was not," Caesar leads.
"No. Poor Peeta is pining for Katniss, but now the intentions are filed to betroth him to another. They truly are the star-crossed lovers."
"Indeed they are!" Caesar responds with equal enthusiasm. "And what is the boy to do given this district's tradition?"
He takes Effie's bait, playing it off as if the law weren't something bestowed upon us by the Capitol, but rather some charming country tradition we made up ourselves.
"Well, I think there is one man we can look to. There's a hero in our midst," Effie whispers secretively. Caesar plays along, eyes wide, looking over one shoulder then the other.
"And who might that be?"
"Only one man is powerful enough. President Snow!" she claps. "He is the hero of this story, after all!"
He is the hero of the story, after all. He is the hero of the story, after all. He is the hero of the story, after all. It repeats over and over again in my head as I stare at my bedroom ceiling, the last note hitching up every time in true Capitol cadence.
He is the hero of the story, after all.