PART II:

"THE RESCUE"

(10)

As my eyes flicker open, I see the sliver of light shining through, just beyond the door. There is the sound of shallow breathing coming from above. I'm startled to look up and find Leanore is hovering over me. She leans down and says softly, "Time to wake up."

I'm so confused as to what's happening. It takes all my effort to mumble one word, "Explain."

As if on cue, the door opens and in walks Haymitch. "Hello sweetheart," he says with a sneer. Leanore walks over to him and he gives her a pat on the back. "Well done. You can leave," he whispers into her ear. The edges of her mouth curve up in a smile and she gives me a quick stare before closing the door behind her.

I take note of my surroundings. I'm lying on a mat and my feet have pins and needles. Haymitch paces over to me and squats down. A stench of alcohol wafts down and enters my nose. "Aren't you confused?" He smiles, bearing his yellow-stained teeth.

I blink, and he takes this to mean yes.

"I'm such a compassionate person," he begins, "that I decided to bring you along. Now you can see your beloved Peeta, blah blah blah... No need to lavish me with praise and thanks, I just need you to stay out of the way. Deal?" he says extending a hand.

I moan in response.

"Alright!" he exclaims, standing up abruptly. "How you feeling?" There is no compassion in his voice. In fact, I don't think there is an ounce of compassion anywhere in his body. When I don't answer, he walks out of the door, not even bothering to look back.

I have to go to the bathroom. In fact, I'm bursting. Slowly, I try and sit up. The pain is unbelievable. I figure that about now I'm around thirty eight weeks in my pregnancy. The baby should be coming within the month. The thought makes me feel odd. And fat. I gradually stand and breathe in deeply. I take a step and feel the urge to throw up, but hold it back. Stepping out of the closet, I make my way to find a bathroom.

This hovercraft is just the same as the one I was on before, and it's so large, that it gets confusing. Luckily, it isn't long before I run into Beetee. He looks even better than when I first met him, but he appears physically drained. He has deep bags under his eyes and his hair is every which way. When he sees me, his eyes become very large and he says, "Hello!"

I barely extend my hand before he brushes past me, going straight down the hallway in a harried fashion. "Excuse me?" I call after him, but my voice is cracked and he looks pressed for time. He just keeps walking. I sigh deeply.

It takes me a couple of minutes to find a bathroom and when I sit down, hardly anything comes out. As I'm washing my hands, I feel the need to go again. It's extremely unpleasant. I turn sideways and look at my profile. Until now, I had never really seen myself when I looked in the mirror. This was the first time I actually processed what I look like. My hair is all messy and I look dirty. I wonder how long I've been in that closet. It couldn't have been that long, because I'm not starving. The bags under my eyes are almost as big as Beetee's. My eyes travel to my feet and I stare at them. I'm not wearing shoes, and they are caked in dirt. I gaze back into the mirror and a single tear falls down my cheek.

Turning away from the mirror, I leave the bathroom and try to find my way back to where I came. I find Haymitch. Before he can say anything, I ask one of my questions, "Does everyone know I'm here?"

"No! What were you thinking? Just get up and leave? NO! Get back in here!" He ushers me into the closet. "Did you see anyone?" he asks anxiously.

"Yes. Beetee," I say instantaneously. "He looked pretty busy though, so I doubt he actually understood I was here when I'm not supposed to be."

Haymitch runs his fingers through his hair, "Well, you better not leave again. I have to go sort things out."

"Ok…?" I respond with a puzzled expression. There's no point for him to waste any time telling me what's going on. I have grown used to all this confusion, so I'm beginning to accept that fact that everything will not always be explained to me at every moment. I sit back down on the mat.

The next few days pass and there still is no explanation. Haymitch escorts me to the bathroom when I need to go (which seems all the time!) It's a little awkward, but I adjust quickly. Leanore brings me food and smiles. Then the day comes when she announces, "The coverage of the Games starts today."

I nod and she takes me into another room that has a TV. She flips it on and I gasp. Of course, there are no Reapings this year, so they'll start with the chariots in the arena of the Capitol. But, this is such a short part of the opening ceremonies that does not last longer than a few hours, so the Capital is replaying moments of Peeta and me. Of course.

It's difficult for me to watch, but it also makes me feel close to him again. There I am, screaming his name after the announcement saying there could be two winners. There he is, calling to me from the mud. They show me pulling off his shorts and us in the cave. The kisses, the love, the willingness to die for the other.

Looking back on this, I realize that some of it wasn't just for sponsors. I really wanted to keep Peeta alive. I could have left him to die from his wound, or be killed by Cato or even shot him at the very end of the Games. No, the Boy with the Bread meant something to me. And now, he means even more to me. He is the father of my child. He is fighting to stay alive. He is a strong person who loves me unconditionally. This part makes me cry.

I stare at the screen. His proposal to me is so sweet. I remember discussing this public marriage proposal and how after Peeta agreed, he slipped into his room and stayed there for a long time. Haymitch's words come back to me, "He wanted it to be real." It's true. Peeta wasn't going to settle for anything fake. I bet he despised our fake love, our fake engagement, our fake baby. But now, none of it is fake, and he is lost. I don't know if I'll ever be with him again.

"I love you, Katniss," I look into his blue eyes. In them, I can see my reflection and I don't appear happy or surprised. I want to reach and pull him out of the television. I want him here with me, to comfort me, to fix my problems, to sleep with me. But he isn't here and I doubt he'll be with me ever again.

The chariots come out late into the afternoon. The announcer brings them out in pairs by alphabetical order. Annie and Cinna are first. Both of them look very thin and helpless. They are dressed in black from head to toe. The material looks stretchy and sweaty. I doubt Cinna is happy right now. Darius and Effie come next, in the same outfits as Annie and Cinna.

When the seventh Chariot comes out and I see Peeta again, he does not disappoint me. He looks so mature. I understand that we are no longer sixteen, but I never expected him to get so old, so fast. I wonder how much his voice has changed.

They do a close-up on him. Octavia is blowing kisses to the crowd and he's just smiling, with his mouth closed, right at the camera. He rolls his eyes a little and my heart flips. I wonder how many girls in the Capitol admire him. Probably quite a few, because no one can deny he's attractive. I guess most likely more than before Quell, now that I'm supposedly dead.

The coverage is over and I switch off the television. Laying my head down on the pillow, I block out all my feelings. There is nothing I can think about that won't lead me to something I'm trying to keep away from my immediate thoughts. So I just sit there.

The days often go by in this fashion. I wake up, eat, go to the bathroom, watch television and then go back to sleep, thinking of nothing as I do so. During the first two days of training, I get to see longer profiles on each tribute and the announcers talk about everyone individually. I hate to see the way my mother and Prim look. After all this time over the years of me trying to help them survive, doing everything in my power to make sure they didn't starve, they will meet their ends in the arena. How fitting.

The scores aren't surprising. My prep team all pull out twos. Peeta gets a twelve, probably just to be a target again. Some scores I do wonder about. Rue's sister and the boy Merrow both get tens. Morrison earns an eleven and little Prim manages a nine! I wonder what she did to impress the Gamemakers.

The next day is the day of prepping for interviews. Haymitch comes in and has a chat with me about what I'm not supposed to do. "Stay put right here in this room. Don't distract people. Push this button if you need Leanore for something," he drags on and on.

I hardly listen and just mumble "Mm-hmm," when he finishes.

The interviews are nothing special. Caesar, for the first time I can remember, is not hosting. I have a feeling he quit in response to my death. Maybe he suspected something. I'll never know for sure. Instead, Boplee Hickleston takes his place.

Boplee is a small man with bright purple hair poofing out in all directions. His make-up is ridiculous. It's extremely white and he looks like a ghost. On top of all this, he is wearing black lip gloss that gives him a girlish touch. He certainly speaks effeminately. "Welcome," he says in a long Capitol accent. "I'm Boplee Hickleston here to host the 75th Quarter Quell Games Interviews. First up, we have dashingly gorgeous Annie Cresta, all the way from District 4. Come over here, darling!" He crosses his legs and pats the seat next to him, motioning Annie to come and join him.

The interviews continue like this. He goes from tribute to tribute, asking questions that are completely irrelevant to anything important. "So, you're Katniss' designer! I must say, she always looked stunning in your clothes. Could you do something for my wardrobe?" he asks Cinna.

"Only if I win," Cinna says with a sly smile. Maybe this will get him sponsors, because Boplee is in desperate need of a fashion makeover.

When I watch Jamie's and Morrison's interviews, I realize how much they are both like their younger brother. Strong, steady, confident young men who have a way with words. Neither of them stumble on any of Boplee's questions. They answer them right to the point and their manner of speech captivates me.

"So, four Mellark men in the Games this year, eh?" Boplee questions Jamie.

"That's what I counted," he says with a smile.

"And how does that make you feel?"

If I was Jamie, I'd feel like I was talking to a psychiatrist. However, he doesn't seem affected. "Well, I have to admit, it pretty much stinks. How would you feel if you knew for a fact that your brothers and father were going to die if you should live? I'm pretty sure you would not know what to think. Do you put their lives before your own, or do you take care of yourself and hope you won't have to kill them?"

Boplee pauses to give everyone time to reflect upon his rhetorical question. "Thank you, Jamie. Next up, we have Johanna Mason…"

Boplee's interview with Peeta is actually the worst of them all. "I'm so very sorry of your loss, Peeta Mellark. Losing a wife and a child! Must be heart-wrenching."

"Yes," he says. This is the first time I've heard him talk since his speech to me all those months ago. His voice is deeper, more masculine, experienced and wise. "We never got the opportunity to live the way we wanted to. All we wished for was to be normal people. In fact, I'm sure if we could start over, if we'd never been tributes for the first Games, we'd do it. But it's too late now. I've lost her."

I know I can tell how a person is really feeling. Not by their face, but by their eyes. And looking into Peeta's, I see the truth. He does not know I'm still alive.