Frankly this is not a chapter I like very much. There's only really one scene in it that I'm pleased about. But I've gotten tired of trying to rework it so I've decided to post it the way it is and hope it measures up okay.
I have a headache and long to go back to my bedroom and crawl between the sheets. The last thing I feel like doing is coaching Sally Masters on how to handle her interview with Caesar Flickerman. Yet here I am, early in the morning, sitting in an armchair opposite the most sullen tribute I have ever had the pleasure of mentoring. I understand her grumpy mood perfectly, see a bit of myself in her even, but that doesn't mean I feel like tolerating it. Especially not this morning and especially not so close to the Games.
Tommy hasn't spoken a word to me since he found out I will mentor Sally. Peeta has been closed off as well, claiming he needs to focus on Tommy right now. I don't see why he can't talk to me and let me assure him that my feelings for him are genuine, and still focus on being Tommy's mentor. It's wearying and disheartening and I'm spending way too much time thinking about it when I ought to be focusing more on my own tribute. I have to give Sally an honest chance and a solid effort. She and I both know I would rather have Tommy survive but I would rather see her crowned victor than any of the twenty-two tributes from the other districts.
Right now she is sitting opposite me in a bright green armchair, one leg pulled up underneath her. She's wearing a scowl that probably mirrors the one Haymitch calls my trademark and she's chewing absentmindedly on a strand of her long, dark hair. It's more than a little obvious that she doesn't believe this session will do her any good but I am determined to give her some solid advice and help her as best I can.
"So your interview is tomorrow" I begin.
"Do we have to do this?" she interrupts. "I'm sure I can do perfectly well on my own. I'd rather be in my room-"
"Be quiet" I snarl, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Do you want to know the first secret to doing well in the Games?"
"Being related to your mentors?" she asks cockily.
"Being likeable. How do you expect to win sponsors if nobody likes you? Do you think the rest of Panem will automatically ignore you because of Tommy? I have news for you Sally, that's not the way it works."
She shifts a little in her chair. I can see that she's trying hard to maintain her aloof expression but it's clear that some bit of interest has been sparked in her.
"Yeah?" she says, attempting to sound like she doesn't care at all.
"Yes. Tommy is a Mellark but he's not mine and Peeta's child. Being related to us might not give him any favors at all. In fact, all it might do is put a great, big bulls-eye on his back. Or make people put insanely high expectations on him which he will never be able to live up to. His family tree is no hindrance to you in the Games. Stop using the fact that he is our nephew as an excuse for you to not even try."
She frowns and sits up straight.
"I haven't done anything of the sort."
"You have done nothing but" I argue. I know it's not entirely true, she does train hard at a number of different stations during the training sessions, but right now I need to start to feel motivated on all levels and I want to make her feel like she can depend on me as her mentor and lifeline. "You don't think you stand a chance because you're a Seam kid, a poor girl from the poorest district, and the district with the fewest winners to boot. Your district partner being mine and Peeta's nephew has given you an excuse to not even try to win, to just play the martyr and the victim. That's not going to work any longer. This is your life on the line and you should do everything in your power to fight for it. It's time you showed some bit of effort and gave us a few good reasons to want to see you win these Games. So far all I've seen is a sullen, grumpy, cowardly girl who has already given up and who will probably take a seat on her platform and cross her arms and sulk, waiting for a dagger or a sword to come flying her way."
Sally looks visibly shaken. I stop myself, not quite sure where this rant came from or why I'm taking my personal pain out on an innocent girl whose situation is a lot worse than my own. It's no secret that Peeta is the nice one and I'm the grumpy one but I wasn't aware that I was this unpleasant.
"I want to know what qualities you have that might help you win this thing" I say, my voice a touch softer. "You've shown and told us nothing about yourself. Tell me five things you are good at, whether it be wielding a knife or charming an audience or knitting socks."
For the next half hour I have a very stilted conversation with Sally. She still doesn't seem to like being mentored by me and I can't say that I've warmed up much to her personality but at least she seems to be growing a little less inclined to feeling sorry for herself and a little bit more determined to actually fight.
We spend the rest of the morning working on her interview strategy. It's not a particularly good one but the interviews have never been my strong suit. Once we are done and we go to have lunch my headache seems to have gotten worse. The boys and Emalda are already present when we enter the room and I wonder if it's just my imagination or if the air got colder in the room when Sally and I walked in.
I take my seat next to Peeta, glancing at Tommy across the table. He ignores me completely but at least that feels preferable to being subjected to an ice-cold stare. His mind seems to be somewhere else entirely, probably still reeling from the awkward experience that I know Emalda's interview prepping is. Peeta seems distant too and mostly talks to Haymitch. I want to put my hand on his thigh under the table but I'm worried that if I do he will shrug my hand away. I can't handle that.
After lunch Emalda and Sally leave to continue her preparation. A few minutes later Haymitch, Peeta and Tommy all rise to go and work on preparing his interview. I rise as well but when I move to leave the table Haymitch stops me with a hand on my arm, no doubt guessing what I'm thinking of.
"You shouldn't be a part of this prep session" he tells me in a low voice. "It's unfair to Sally. And I don't think it will benefit Tommy to have you there. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but right now you are what he channels his fear onto. It's better that you're not there. Give him the chance to concentrate."
He leaves and I am all alone. I look around the room, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling cold even though they always keep the room at 22 degrees centigrade. Sally is with Emalda for the rest of the day, the boys will be locked in until dinner and the stylists are hard at work preparing the outfits for the interviews tomorrow. I have nothing to do and nobody to talk to.
Making a snap decision I head for the elevators. I don't normally associate much with the other mentors. Some are friendly people and perhaps I would have been able to make friends with them if we had met in a world with no Hunger Games but I can't shake the connection they have to these deadly events. Almost every single victor from the very beginning of the Games has found comfort and familiarity in our private little club. The fellow victors are the only human beings alive who can understand what you feel after the Games and who know how it changes you as a person. They are the only ones who know about what goes on once you've won the Games. The only ones still alive who know what it's like in the arena. I can appreciate why that binds them together but I've never had the need for that. I have Peeta. I also have Haymitch and that's usually enough for me.
I'm well aware that I see my fellow victors in a different light than others do. When they look at each other they see kindred spirits but when I look at them I see the mentors of the tributes who will be trying to kill my own tributes. It's not their fault and I have so much more respect for those among them who bend till they break to help the kids they mentor than for those who are resigned and crawl into a bottle or lose themselves in a morphling haze. But the survival of their tributes come at the cost of the lives of mine. I respect them, some I even like, but I don't want to associate with them.
Today I'm making one of my exceptions. It happens every so often and to their credit they mostly welcome me when I do show up. I would understand completely if they turned me away but it seems like they're fascinated by me, in part because of my reclusiveness. Because of my choice to withdraw from the victors group Peeta doesn't spend a whole lot of time with them either, choosing to be with me instead of them, but when we do associate with them he's much more open and friendly and I know he's made a few friends among the group over the years. During the actual Games he often volunteers to use the television in the conference room to keep track of our male tribute which means he has the opportunity to also spend time in the common room among other mentors. Occasionally it happens that I show up among the group without Peeta but it's been three years since the last time and I don't think any of them are expecting me now.
Once I reach the mentors' floor and step off the elevator I'm surprised by how quiet and empty the place is. I can see two morphlings from Six playing a board game, or rather moving pieces around a board at random while laughing at nothing at all. A mentor from Two is perched on a bar stool by the counter where they place celebratory drinks for us when the Games have begun and when they have ended. Those drinks are usually downed with gusto and eagerness but not out of celebration. Nobody else is in the room and it occurs to me that there naturally wouldn't be a lot of people here right now. Everyone should be busy prepping their tributes. Still, some of the districts are overflowing with mentors and I can't believe the tributes from those districts need them all to be there right now.
The mentor by the counter is looking at me when my eyes go back to him. He smirks and slowly gets down from his bar stool. I hold back a sigh. His name is Ajax, he won the 87th Games at age eighteen and he usually comes up to us whenever we mingle with the rest of the group. I've always suspected it's Peeta he's really interested in but everyone knows we're monogamous and if you want to bed one of us you're going to have to take the other as well. In theory. Peeta and I have never let anybody else into our bed and we're never going to but some of the victors seem to think it's the most amazing challenge of all time to try and bed the pair of us. That, or they are bitter and jealous. Nobody says anything about it out loud but it's obvious that those of them who sleep around with Capitol citizens don't always do it out of their own free will. I know from experience that Snow and his people are not above controlling our sex lives.
Ajax approaches and I wrinkle my nose. He's attractive, if you like the muscular brute look. Tall, strong, chiseled features, dark brown eyes and hair almost as blonde as Peeta's. He's had no shortage of people to warm his bed and thus far he seems to accept the people he's asked to sleep with without question but sooner or later that is bound to change. He smells of after shave, like half the bottle to be precise. I've never liked a man who smells too much of unnatural scents. I like Gale's leather and pine smell, I like Peeta's cinnamon and dill smell, I even admit to finding Finnick Odair's natural musk somewhat appealing on those rare occasions when he's not wearing cologne but thick artificial smells give me a bit of a headache.
"Mrs. Mellark!" greets Ajax with a pearly white grin. He's twenty-two years old and eleven years my junior. Right now I feel like an old lady talking to a teenager. "What an unexpected pleasure."
"I'm just stretching my legs" I claim. I came looking for company but a cocky former career and two morphlings were not what I had in mind.
"Why don't you rest your legs?" he suggests. "Come sit down with me." He places a hand on the small of my back and pretends not to notice that I pull away. "Your husband let you out on your own, did he?"
"He misplaced the key to my chains, I found it, I escaped" I reply dryly.
Ajax laughs, which just further establishes my opinion of him as a pig. I decide to ignore him and turn to go back to the elevators but his hand on my arm stops me. I shrug him off but he doesn't seem to be bothered.
"Leaving so soon?"
"My legs are stretched." On a strange kind of impulse I usually only get while drunk I lean in closer to him and lower my voice. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. After I escaped I chained Peeta. To the bed. He's probably tired of waiting for me by now."
I turn and walk back inside the elevator, banging my hand against the 12 button. The look on Ajax' face ought to be entertaining but I can't bother to care. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to feel in control while among these people, for once.
I ride the elevator back up and retreat to our bedroom, figuring I might as well take my refuge there. The rest of the day goes by at a snail's pace, with nothing for me to do but to think about my nephew and how he must be feeling right now. Not to mention my husband and what he must be feeling right now. I still don't know what he meant before – about Tommy not telling him anything he didn't already know. Tommy got almost everything wrong and was only speaking in anger. Maybe I should take off my clothes and wait for Peeta to return, showing him a good time before dinner and telling him I love him the only way I know how.
But if he's not in the mood, if he rejects me, I will only feel worse.
Early the next morning Peeta, Haymitch and I sit down in the conference room to discuss our tributes with head gamemaker Magnus Sheerwinkle. He has held this prestigious job for six years now and is known for including some form of twist each year, while his predecessors usually saved the twists for more special Games. One year Magnus placed all female tributes on one side of the cornucopia and all the male tributes on the other, separating the two groups with a small river. Another year he sent in mutts designed to look like the tributes' parents to chase them throughout the nights. Everybody says his greatest disappointment in life is not having to get to contribute ideas for the Quarter Quells and the knowledge that he very much enjoys throwing new twists and turns into the Games makes me nervous. The government sees this as his prime qualification for the job. The audience is always kept on their toes. So are us mentors, but not in the positive sense.
When the tributes are being made ready for the interviews the mentors have a twenty minute meeting with the head gamemaker to discuss the tributes. There might be some talent or quality the mentors have made sure to keep hidden until now, or some personal detail about a tribute which the head gamemaker might benefit from knowing about. This is, after all, entertainment for the masses first and foremost. It's a slaughter of children only second, apparently.
Normally with things related to the Games they start with District 1 and work their way down from there but these meetings have a reversal. Twelve gets to go first, probably so that the mentors from the finer districts get to sleep in. Most years the head gamemaker shows little to no interest in what we have to say about our puny, outer-district tributes but this year Magnus is very interested, leaning forward over the table with a keen expression on his face. He's obviously expecting a good show this year, even though they had to settle for the nephew of a pair of victors rather than a victor's child.
"So tell me" he says, flashing us a smile full of pearly white teeth. "What can I expect from the District 12 tributes this year? Has Thomas been trained in archery? Is he as skilled in camouflage as his uncle?"
"You are aware that Peeta and I didn't raise him, right?" I say dryly.
"That doesn't mean he hasn't been influenced" replies Magnus. "I want to know everything."
"Sally is the daughter of a coal miner who is also a hobby carpenter" I say, choosing to ignore that he only seems focused on Tommy. "Put a knife in her hands and she can get quite creative."
From the corner of my eye I see Peeta shooting me a look but I ignore it. I rattle off a few more tidbits about our female tribute before Magnus raises his hand to stop me.
"Katniss, Katniss, you don't have to say anything about her."
This immediately makes me suspicious.
"Why not?"
"Because they already have a storyline in mind for her" deduces Haymitch. "Either they plan on putting as little focus as they can on her and make Tommy the focal point or they're going to play her up as an unfortunate underdog fighting against even tougher odds because her district partner is the nephew of a pair of victors."
"Then they must also have something in mind for Tommy" I point out.
"Katniss, you and Peeta know him better than any other mentor knows their tributes this year" says Magnus. "Tell me, what secrets can you reveal about him?"
I cross my arms over my chest and refuse to meet Magnus' eyes. I can reveal all kinds of things the head gamemaker doesn't know about our nephew, or even thought about before. I can tell him how Tommy cried every time one of his milk teeth came out because he thought it was very painful. I can tell him how he prefers being barefoot in summer whether he's walking in the grass or on a dirt road or a pebbled path. I can tell him how Tommy used to crawl up on Peeta's lap when he was a kid, and just sit there quietly even though his siblings and cousins were running around playing together. I could tell him about the way Tommy expresses himself, how he hates fish but eats it without complaint, how he hates having to get out of bed early, how he always looks after his younger siblings, or a hundred other little things that make up the person he is. But gamemakers aren't interested in things like that. They're not interested in hearing about the person, they want to know about the tribute. What attributes does the tribute have that could offer interesting television? The rest is meaningless to Magnus and his colleagues. To them it doesn't matter what a tribute likes or dislikes or hopes for or dreams of, unless it's directly related to the Games. Twenty-three of them are going to be dead a month from now anyway so all those unique details about them are meaningless. At least to the gamemakers.
Peeta begins to tell Magnus about some of Tommy's skills and traits but he struggles with it. It's Haymitch who, after interrupting Peeta, gives the best description and tells Magnus what he's interested in hearing. It's clear to me in this moment that Peeta can't be objective and that it's difficult for him, and I know it would be the same for me. We want to say the perfect things to make the gamemakers feel that Tommy is interesting and worth keeping around for a while but we're too close to him to be able to see what someone who doesn't know him would find interesting about him.
After the meeting is over I give Haymitch a look, trying to signal that I want to be alone with Peeta for a moment. He harks, excuses himself and heads to the common room to see if he can find any other mentors to socialize with. I put my hand on Peeta's arm and suggest that we go up to the roof to enjoy the sun a bit.
"No" says Peeta. "We should be in the penthouse. I want to be there for Tommy if he needs anything."
"Tommy is with Junia and the rest of his prep team" I point out. "If he's even out of bed yet. You need to get away for a moment."
"There's no 'getting away' in this place" snorts Peeta. "What's the roof? Just one more prison, albeit with nicer plants."
"Well what are you going to do up in our rooms?" I retort. "Sit around and count the hours until Tommy goes up on stage?"
"Look, I can't concentrate on anything else!" he says sharply. "I don't know how you can be so blasé all of a sudden but in about twenty-four hours he is going to be standing on the platform waiting for the gong to sound and the Games to begin."
"I know" I say. "And there is nothing you or I can do to stop that from happening. You need to unwind for a bit right now so that you can be at your best tomorrow. He needs that from you."
He gives me a strange look.
"You know, I wish I could call Ryean and talk to him for a while." He pauses. "We'd better not tell him and Maggie, or anyone else in the family for that matter, that you're mentoring Sally."
Where did that come from? I'm feeling more and more like I'm treading on thin ice with Peeta but I don't know what I did to end up here. He was on my side in this, or so I believed, until Tommy had his freak-out. How can the things Tommy said that day make such a big difference? This behavior isn't like Peeta at all and it's throwing me for a loop. I thought I knew all there was to know about him, including all his various moods, but this is a side of him I'm not familiar with.
"Okay" I say, wanting to avoid the fight I can feel brewing beneath the surface. "But since you can't call Ryean, why not come with me to the rooftop?"
"I think I'll have a drink instead."
"It's not even nine o'clock in the morning" I point out with a frown.
"Exactly. I will be good and sober by the time I need to be."
"Peeta" I say with a frown. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous" he scoffs. "I need something suitably strong to take my mind off everything and trust me, the rooftop garden is nowhere near strong enough,"
He walks past me and heads for the common room to find the bar. I remain standing in the same spot for a few minutes, rubbing my arms slowly, feeling alone and confused. What is happening with Peeta and me?
We don't say a word to one another as we stand backstage and watch this year's tributes have their interview time with Caesar Flickerman. The man has got to be pushing seventy, if not eighty, and even the plastic surgery can't do enough to hide that fact. This year his hair is midnight black with a snowy white stripe that runs like a Mohawk, creating a ridiculous skunk-like look. Well, at least it isn't neon yellow as it was three years ago. That year it literally hurt the eyes to look at it.
Peeta and I both have our arms crossed over our chests as we stare at the large TV-screen in front of us. Haymitch is out in the audience together with the stylists but Peeta and I always keep away from the cameras so that they don't focus on us instead of on our tributes. A handful of other mentors are here with us but most of them are out there in the crowd, cheering for their tributes like it's some sort of sporting event.
Sally is on stage, sitting next to Caesar, looking lovely in a gown that is yellow at the top and then shifts to orange, pink, purple, blue and finally black in a way that resembles the light in the sky from the time the sun begins to set to when it's night. The hem of her dress has tiny jewels sewed on to the fabric, resembling stars. I'm not sure why her stylist chose this look for her but it is memorable and makes her stand out. She handles herself well in answering Caesar's questions and at one point I see her smiling, the first genuine smile I have ever seen from her. It's a good performance and any other year I would be thrilled.
"She did well" says Peeta. I look at him and he's actually giving me a small smile. "Nice coaching job."
"Thanks" I manage to mumble, a little taken aback by this reappearance of the Peeta I know and love.
"You know, for the record…" he says, turning his eyes back to the screen. "I don't wish death upon her. I have nothing against her. If it can't be Tommy then…" He draws a quick breath, bites the insides of his cheeks and turns his face away.
"Yeah…" I say, knowing what he means.
Both of us turn our attention to the screen. Tommy's name has just been called and he walks out on stage smiling shyly. I close my eyes hard for a second and hold back a groan. His stylist has put him in an outfit that strongly resembles the one Peeta wore for his interview so many years ago. Tommy is by no means the spitting image of his uncle, favoring his mother more than his father, but his smile is the same one Peeta and his brothers have. Seeing him up on that stage with Caesar brings back so many painful memories and I have to force myself to not look away.
The interview starts off fine. Tommy and Caesar banter playfully, kind of like Peeta and Caesar did, and I get the strong impression that Haymitch told Tommy to imitate his uncle as much as possible. Peeta has always been a popular victor, not on par with Finnick Odair or Silver Summers who won the 90th Games last year and quickly became the Capitol's new favorite play thing, but always making it to the semi-annual "Top Ten Favorite Victors" list. My name never appears on that list, though whether it's because people don't like me anymore or because President Snow has ordered that my name is kept off the list I don't know. Tommy has some of the charm and charisma that Peeta has but he's never been as easygoing as his uncle and to me, who've known him since his birth, the banter feels a bit forced. I doubt anybody in the audience picks up on it.
Then the inevitable questions about his relation to Peeta and me come flying out of Caesar's mouth and I find myself staring at the clock on the wall, wishing Tommy's allotted time would end already. Tommy does his best to try and convince the audience that he wants to be judged on his own merits and that being our nephew is irrelevant to his participation in the Games but nobody is fooled. I wish I knew if they mean to make the audience root for him or if they plan to use him as a pawn to take away some of the shine that's still on us, the star-crossed lovers of District 12.
Once the interview is finally over Peeta and I head silently for the elevators, hoping to reach the penthouse before Sally and Tommy do so that we can be there to greet them when they arrive. Peeta looks somber and doesn't meet my eyes when we step on the elevator. He's probably wondering the same thing as I am, and worrying what the implications of the latter possibility will mean for his brother. If Tommy ends up targeted by the gamemakers for no other reason than to screw with Peeta and I it is going to be very difficult to face the family when we go home to Twelve, even if he does win.
We reach our penthouse and Peeta steps off the elevator with a heavy sigh. I follow him and take a seat on a velvet-cushioned bench while we wait for the tributes to arrive. Peeta paces back and forth and I fight the urge to tell him to cut it out because he's making me nervous. When the elevator dings I fly to my feet and Peeta stops beside me, both of us facing the elevator doors.
Tommy and Sally step out of the car and it takes only one look at them to know that something has happened. They have both angled their faces away from the other but take turns shooting glares at one another. No doubt they were fighting in the elevator which I find both tiresome and immature. They need to save their energy for more important things than lashing out at each other.
"I was going to say something about how you both did a good job up on stage," I say with a scowl, "but looking at you right now I've suddenly lost that urge. Go to bed, both of you. Save your energy for tomorrow."
Sally huffs and stomps off towards her bedroom. She accidentally steps on the hem of her dress and nearly falls over but manages to regain her balance at the last second. Growling with frustration she hikes her skirt up and stomps away with so much force that it's a small miracle that her heels leave no mark on the hardwood floor. Tommy waits until we hear her door slam and then he sighs, his shoulders dropping.
"Yeah, I know, don't say it" he says before Peeta or I get a chance to speak. "I was hoping to carry myself through all this with a bit of dignity and pride but I haven't been doing a good job of it earlier this week so why should tonight be any different?" He rolls his eyes. "I'm going to bed. Any advice on how to get some actual sleep this night?"
An uncomfortable silence follows. I don't even remember whether or not I slept at all that night before I went into the arena. I've had some tributes who have seemed to sleep like babies their last night in the penthouse but I'm pretty sure the vast majority find it difficult to go to sleep. Peeta doesn't seem to be able to think of any advice either and for once doesn't meet his nephew's eyes.
"Okay then" says Tommy. "Good night."
He walks off to his bedroom. Peeta sighs and takes his jacket off, tossing it over one shoulder. He strolls into the sitting room and makes for the bar, which worries me for a second until I see that he's getting soda water. I stand in the doorway watching him in silence, wishing I knew what to say to make him feel better. I feel pretty terrible myself but seeing him this troubled makes my own distress seem less important.
The elevator dings again and Haymitch and Emalda come walking out, doing an impressive job of pretending the other doesn't exist. Emalda heads to her room without a word while Haymitch walks past me and goes to join Peeta by the bar. He leans over the countertop and scoops up three large ice cubes, tossing them into a glass which he then fills with water.
"They did well" he says. "Both of them."
"Yeah" I say, walking slowly over to join them. "Not counting the fight they clearly had in the elevator afterward."
Haymitch throws his head back and laughs.
"Oh that did not start in the elevator, sweetheart" he tells me. "No, they were going at it about five seconds after they came backstage."
"Perfect" I mutter, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
Haymitch continues to laugh as he gives us some of the highlights of the fight, which apparently consisted mostly of Sally accusing Tommy of being a pale imitation of his uncle while Tommy accused her of using his relation to us as an excuse for everything. I get more and more annoyed the more I hear, even though I realize that it's understandable that a pair of tributes lash out at each other since they can't lash out at the Capitol or the Hunger Games or any of the people involved with them. It's not even uncommon for something like this to happen. It's just never happened between any of our tributes, not in public. Peeta clenches his jaw and looks away, offering no comment to what Haymitch is telling us.
"Oh don't look so put-off, you two" smirks Haymitch. "It's good that they have some aggression in them. It will come in handy tomorrow."
Peeta slams his glass on the counter, water splashing over the rim of the glass, and walks off in the direction of our bedroom. Haymitch has stopped laughing now and I turn to him, leaning my elbows on the countertop.
"I'm worried about him, Haymitch."
"He'll be fine, sweetheart" Haymitch replies but I can hear a tone of doubt in his voice and that unsettles me more than anything in Peeta's behavior.
"You mean, he'll be fine if Tommy is crowned the victor of the 91st Hunger Games." I reach out my hand and place it on Haymitch's arm. "Even then… are you really that sure Peeta will be fine?"
"You tell me" says Haymitch, giving me a somber look. "You're his wife."
I can't give him an answer. All I feel I know for certain is that my husband is scared and apprehensive and dealing with a lot of guilt and self-blame. Beneath all of that, I fear he's dealing with something else, too. Something that has to do with me.
Neither one of us sleeps very much that night. We lie there next to each other, at least a foot of distance between us, never speaking a word to each other. Peeta just lays there staring at the ceiling while I toss and turn for hours on end. When I finally drift off to sleep it feels like I barely closed my eyes before the alarm clock starts to make its hellish noise. Peeta grunts something unintelligible and reaches out his hand to smack the clock into silence. He then gets out of bed and offers me to shower first but I tell him he should go ahead. Usually on the morning of the Games we shower together, holding one another close while we try to draw as much strength from the other as we can before going out to the breakfast table to face our tributes one last time. Today I decide to skip the shower and I drag myself out of bed to get dressed.
At the breakfast table Sally is looking a little wide-eyed while Tommy looks dismal but composed. They both manage to finish what's on their plates while I only pick at my food and Peeta never even picks up his cutlery. Haymitch sits at the head of the table with an enormous cup of coffee in his hands and doesn't attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. No matter how many times we do this there's no getting used to it.
When the meal is over and it's time for the tributes to depart we all rise from our seats as if on cue and make our way to the elevators. Sally and I will be going down first. The elevator ride and the short walk to the dressing rooms where we've been leaving our tributes since the 86th Games is our last chance to give them advice and boost their morale. It's the part I hate the most about mentoring. I can never, ever forget the dread I felt when I was a tribute myself and seeing that dread reflected in the eyes of a young girl always reminds me that I can't escape my bad memories or my night terrors.
I look over at Tommy while we wait for the elevator car to reach our floor. He's standing in-between Haymitch and Peeta and looks a touch pale but still composed. For the first time in days he looks at me without anger or betrayal written on his face. We both know this might be the last time we ever see each other. I step up to him and meet his eyes, racking my brain for the right thing to say to help him feel brave.
"I'm sorry" he says, so low I'm not entirely sure I heard him right.
I pull him in for a hug, willing my eyes not to fill with tears.
"Hush" I say in his ear. "You'll get through this."
"I just… hate that I feel like it's already begun to change me" he whispers in my ear and I have to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat.
The elevator dings and I know I have to let him go. I give his cheek a reassuring caress and then I walk inside the elevator car where Sally is already waiting.
The last thing I hear before the doors close is Tommy's voice calling me Aunt Niss.
We ride down the elevator in silence. I should be talking to Sally. I should be giving her last minute advice and reassuring her that she stands a chance at winning this. I know she needs me to tell her that she's not going to die today. I just don't trust my voice not to break if I try speaking.
We reach the underground floor where the dressing rooms are located and I draw a deep breath, finding some composure, forcing Tommy from my mind. I know he's in the best possible hands right now. My focus needs to be on his district partner.
"Listen, the first thing you need to do when you step off your platform is find water" I say as we begin to walk down the poorly lit concrete tunnel. "Just make sure you don't step off the platform early. Find water. Find shelter. Don't worry about weapons at first, okay? It's better to have water and shelter and no weapon in the early stages of the game than to have weapons but not water and shelter."
"Katniss…" says Sally, a soft tone in her voice I haven't heard until now. "Do you… Do you think I honestly stand a chance?"
I stop walking and she stops too, looking up at me with the eyes of a frightened fourteen year-old girl. It seems that finally she's let her guard down and beneath that cocky, sullen exterior is a terrified teenager who knows her life might be over in less than two hours. For the first time I feel genuinely protective of her and I want to acknowledge to her how unfair her lot in life is. But I know that it's more important to make her feel empowered and determined so I nod my head and reach out my hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. The affection in the simple gesture seems to get to her, as I can see her start to tremble even in the dim lighting.
"You have some tough competitors" I say. "Just remember that it's not all about physical strength. A clever mind oftentimes takes you further, provided you survive the cornucopia bloodbath. Which is why you should avoid the cornucopia at all costs today."
"There are so many things I…" she begins, averting her eyes. "There's this boy, in my class. Olive skin, dark hair, grey eyes, just like every other kid from the Seam. Still he's different somehow, you know?" She swallows hard. "I've had a thing for him for months but I never said anything. Now I wish I had said something. I wish I had snuck past the fences out into the woods at least once in my life. I wish I had spent more time with my little brother. I wish…"
"I know" I say with a nod. "Don't think about it, okay? Not right now. Think about it when you're in the arena and the first commotion has settled. Then it can be your best motivation for getting back home. But right now I need you to focus on you and your basic needs for survival." I place my hand at the small of her back and usher her on. "Come on."
We continue our walk to the dressing room but neither of us speaks. I don't know what advice I should give her, even though I've done this so many times. All I can manage to do is grit my teeth and prepare to face whatever the day will have to offer.