Chapter 11 – My Last Night of Freedom
I fold my arms tightly across my chest as I sit back down. I think I did well in my interview. I just hope that I've gained some sponsors from it.
I sniff haughtily as Jaka starts his interview. It's obvious from the get-go that he's going for likeable and funny, and he pulls it off marvellously. It probably helps that he's already funny and likeable; he doesn't have to act. People can't help but be drawn to Jaka.
Like with me and almost every other half-attractive tribute, Caesar eventually asks Jaka if he has anyone special waiting for him; back home, here, or anywhere. He replies like I did.
"The only girl in my life is Genesis," he says. "She's the best big sister ever."
I have to smile at that. The crowd obviously thinks it's sweet too, as I hear several "Awws". They obviously like the whole sibling thing.
Caesar laughs. "Cute," he says.
Jaka gives a cheesy grin.
"But are you sure that Genesis is the only girl in your life?" Caesar prods.
Jaka opens his mouth to answer but hesitates. It takes him a few seconds to answer. "I'm not about to reveal my love life to the whole of Panem, Caesar," he laughs. "You know the drill, you tell, I tell. So who's your leading lady then Caesar?" Jaka leans forward with his chin resting in his hand, blue eyes wide and curious.
Caesar laughs. "I'm afraid that's a secret, Jaka," he says.
"Aww."
"Moving on, then," Caesar says. "You, like your sister, got an uncommonly high score for a lower district. Care to tell us about it?"
"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to answer like my sister and say that it's a secret," Jaka inclines his head. "Sorry."
The crowd boos.
"Aw, what a pity," Caesar pouts.
The interview goes on in this manner. The crowd loves Jaka, and he sticks to his angle. He gets the crowd in tears when he talks about going into the arena with me, like I had. He plays his angle well, and by the time his buzzer goes the crowd is cheering a lot louder for him than they did for me.
I'm relieved.
"Good job," I whisper to him, squeezing his hand as he sits back down.
He lets out a breath. "Thanks," he whispers back. "Do you think they liked me?"
I snort. "Jaka, they loved you," I reply before turning back to the stage. It's Ariadne's turn.
She pulls off the shy but sexy angle well. She's certainly pretty enough for it. She gives off the girl-next-door impression, and the audience quite likes it, judging by their cheers.
I lean over and nudge Jaka. "Stop staring," I whisper. "It's embarrassing."
He turns and glares at me, hitting my shoulder as he does so.
It's exactly the same thing he'd said to me that first day at training when I'd been shamelessly staring at Jared, who'd been shirtless and besting the hand-to-hand combat trainer.
Jared. I look over at him, seated next to the girl from 3 and his district partner, Astraea. He's staring blankly into space, a thoughtful expression on his face. Yet again, I can't seem to tear my gaze from him. I've never had a boyfriend before, so I don't know what it feels like. I've been kissed, of course, but I hadn't dated the guy.
But Jared isn't my boyfriend. He never will be. Boyfriends are supposed to be long-lasting things, relationships that last for at least a couple of months; sweet kisses, dinner with the parents, romantic dates by candlelight, holding hands, cuddling… We're going into the arena tomorrow, a place of death and insanity. There is only one winner, and it won't be either one of us. He'll be with the Careers hunting and murdering tributes. I'll be with my weak little alliance, trying desperately to avoid the Careers and driving each other crazy.
Why does he want me to make a decision about him? Why is he so desperate for me to agree to put my guard down for him? If I want, I'll never have to see him ever again; well, talk to him, since I will probably see him at the bloodbath tomorrow, and possibly later during the Games.
I sure hope not. Because if I do, he won't be alone and I'll be dead before I can say 'yes' or 'no'.
I still can't trust him. He's a Career for goodness' sake, from District 2 no less; a murderous killing machine from the Capitol lapdog district is the last kind of person that I'd be looking for a romantic attachment with.
But why me? We have nothing in common. He's a murderer from District 2. I'm a woodcutter from District 7. We're going into the Hunger Games. Is he lying? Is he pulling off the sweet angle just so that I'll let my guard down? Is he in it for my body? Is that why he picked me?
I shuddered.
But then again, if he wanted a girl for her body, then he'd no doubt be chasing Telia, not me. I'm pretty, but she's simply a supermodel.
I suddenly feel a rush of unexplained hatred that has nothing to do with the Games directed towards the caramel-skinned beauty from District 4. I'm not familiar with the feeling. I can understand why I'd hate her when it has to do with the arena; she'll be out to kill me from tomorrow onwards.
But I can't understand what this specific feeling is. Whenever I think of her and Jared together, standing intimately, holding hands, kissing…it makes me hate her. So much more than if I think about her trying to kill me in the next few days.
Is it…jealousy?
You like him, Jocelyn's voice states bluntly. I don't know why I keep hearing a voice in my head that sounds like Jocelyn's voice. Is it just my subconscious, talking to me in the form of my late best friend, or am I actually going crazy?
I realise that I don't know which one it is.
By the time I've stopped my musing, Decimus' interview is almost over. I hadn't noticed Ariadne come off, and Decimus go up. Wow. I must've been really out of it.
I'm quite tired by the time the interviews finish, having to sit straight-backed for a little over an hour, my legs crossed at the ankles and a blank expression on my face.
I'm glad when it's over.
I walk behind Jaka off the stage amidst the cheers of the crowd. We split off from the line of tributes and go over to where Silva, Johanna, Stephanie, Scarlett and Jaka's stylist are waiting. They all look happy or at least relieved.
"How did I do?" I ask Johanna when we reach her.
She sniffs. "Okay," she says.
Silva overhears the exchange and rolls his eyes. He surprises me by pulling me into a hug. "You did brilliantly," he says. "We'll be fighting off sponsors with a stick."
Dinner that night is yet again a quiet affair. Silva is talking with Stephanie, if only to appease her need for chatter. Silva is for the most part a man of few words; I can't imagine him willingly holding a conversation with our chatty escort unless he felt sorry for her about how out of place she is amongst us from the districts.
Neither Jaka nor I watch the recaps of the interviews. Instead we wordlessly retreat to our separate rooms to wallow in our separate misery.
I sit on my bed staring at the painting of the night sky on the wall. I wish I was in that painting. There are no people – not that I can see anyway – and certainly no Capitol. No Hunger Games.
Just the night sky.
I lay back down on my bed, staring up at the canopy. Tonight is my last night of freedom. Tomorrow I go into the arena. This may be the last time I see the moon.
With that thought in mind I swing my legs off my bed and walk over to the window. I press a button on a remote so that the window is projecting a vision of the night sky. It looks different to the one in the painting; it looks more like the night sky I see back in District 7. Bright stars, even brighter moon. If you were used to it the night could almost be as light as day, especially on the night of a full moon.
I eventually turn away from the window, pressing the button again to make it look back out at the Capitol.
In the bathroom I take a shower, washing off all the makeup and glitter and throwing Scarlett's pretty creation to the floor.
I come out red-raw from all the scrubbing, but I don't care. I remember the blow-drying option this time, and I press the appropriate button, and I'm dry in seconds.
Wrapping a towel around my body, I walk over to the mirror. I've parted my hair so it hangs over both shoulders.
It's too long. It annoys me when it's down like this. My father likes for me to keep it this long; he was always averse to having it cut. But I won't ever see him again.
I guess it's time for it to go.
Using the room-service order, I order a steak; a knife comes with the steak. I take the knife and return to the bathroom.
I hold the left side of my hair up horizontally. I stare at it. Should I really do it? My long hair has been a part of me since it grew past my shoulders. I haven't ever gotten it cut.
But it will do nothing but hinder me in the arena.
Without thinking about it anymore, I slice the blade across my hair and let the silky strands fall to the ground. My hair on the left side only barely goes past my shoulders now.
I do the same to the other side.
It's uneven and jagged. Messy. I look different with the shorter hair. It doesn't go with my elegant features as much as my long hair did. But short hair will be more convenient in the arena than long hair will be.
I don't bother to neaten it up. It doesn't matter anymore. It'll just be tied back anyway.
I quickly clean up the hair that has fallen to the ground, throwing it in the bin and placing the knife back next to the uneaten steak, which is steaming. I throw the entire tray in the garbage chute before falling back down on my bed, sighing.
I can't bring myself to regret cutting my hair; it always annoyed me anyway, now it'll just be easier to manage.
I burrow under my covers of my too-comfortable Capitol bed, burying myself in the silky sheets, the soft mattress, the several plush pillows. It's dark under my sheets, and rather stuffy.
I throw the covers off me and sit up, holding my head in my hands. I feel like I'm about to hyperventilate.
I'm saved by a soft knock on the door.
I stare at the door. I know who it is. Only one person would be seeking me out at midnight the night before the Games.
"Come in, Jaka," I say softly, and the door opens and my little brother slips into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
"Geni?" he asks quietly. "Can I stay with you?"
He sounds seven again. Whenever he'd used to have a nightmare, he'd always come and snuggle up next to me, and apparently I chased the monsters away. I thought he'd grown out of it, but under the circumstances, I guess not.
I shuffle over, patting the spot beside me.
"Come here," I whisper, and he comes over and climbs in next to me.
I pull the covers back up and gather him into my arms. I feel more at peace now that he is with me.
"Gen?" he says quietly.
"Yes, Jaka?" I ask softly, absently stroking his hair.
"I'm scared."
I sigh. "I'm scared too, baby brother," I say quietly, "but I'll protect you. Until my last breath."
"Don't talk like that," he whispers.
I snuggle in closer to him. "Okay," I whisper, and we fall asleep like that, cocooned in each other's embrace, taking comfort from each other on our last night of freedom before the arena.
Okay, so the Games start next chapter! Wow, I can't believe we're up to the Games already. Your reviews keep me writing, so please review! :D
