2:5 – A travesty of justice.
I wake to find myself lying in a bed. My first realisation is that I've no clothes on and my shackles have been removed. I vaguely remember stumbling when I heard the judge's pronouncement. Patrick must have accompanied me when I was removed from the room and has stayed with me since. It was his cursing the panel's actions that has pulled me out of the oblivion I've been in.
"Katniss! Are you alright?" asks Patrick. "You banged your head when you fell. There's a doctor on his way to examine you. Just lie still until he checks your head."
"Is it true what the judge said?" I ask, not certain I heard the judge correctly.
"Yes. You are free to go home. There are no charges to be laid against you. I think their so called evidence doesn't exist. It was a dirty trick to intimidate you and make you sign a confession. I've no idea why they did what they did, but it is a travesty of justice," fumes Patrick.
"I think I know why," I reply. "They want a scapegoat from the districts to justify the Gamemakers' excessive interference at the end of the games. The evidence against Haymitch is probably just as fictitious. … Where am I by the way?"
"My apartment. It was close by and I thought you would be more comfortable than lying on the wooden bench in the holding cell. They removed your chains and took the prison dress they made you wear. No one seemed to know what happened to the dress you arrived in. I'm sorry. I had to carry you to my apartment wrapped in my jacket. No one would help."
I'd laugh if my head didn't hurt so much. I do as Patrick suggests and lie still. I don't need to wait long before a doctor arrives. Patrick simply tells him I slipped and cracked my head. He doesn't mention it occurred at the Hunger Games enquiry or the circumstances that caused me to fall. The doctor examines me and says I have a slight concussion but no bones are broken. He recommends I stay in bed for the rest of the day and to call him at once should I get any severe headaches.
After the doctor leaves I ask Patrick to help me back to my hotel so I can recuperate there. To my surprise he refuses, saying I must stay here in his apartment until tomorrow so he can look after me.
"Are you kidnapping me, Patrick?" I tease. In truth I quite like the idea of spending some time with him. "Do you make a habit of keeping naked girls in your apartment?"
"Yes, I'm holding you here whether you like it or not, and you're not the first naked girl I've had in my apartment," he boasts. I'm not certain if he's telling the truth or not, but it doesn't matter.
Later, when he's satisfied I'm not suffering any ill effects from my fall, he leaves me for an hour to retrieve a dress for me from my hotel room and tell the hotel reception where I am in case Remus or Gaius come looking for me. I feel strong enough to stand and the dizziness I felt earlier has gone. I look around his small apartment. I notice there is only one bed, albeit a good sized one. If I'm staying tonight then Patrick is either sharing the bed or sleeping on the floor. I need to consider what I shall say when the subject is broached.
The decision about sleeping arrangements turns out to be easy. Patrick takes the initiative when he returns to the meal I've prepared for him and sees me standing in his kitchen without a stitch on. I suppose I could have wrapped a towel around me, but I didn't. We barely finish the meal before we are wrapped in each others arms.
Much later I lie quietly on the bed as Patrick sleeps beside me. The night light Patrick insists we leave on casts funny shadows around the room. It must be about midnight but, unlike sleeping beauty beside me, I'm not tired. As I lie there I come to realise there are several important differences between what occurred between Cato and I in the arena and tonight with Patrick. With Cato we were both inexperienced and we embarked on a journey of discovery together. Patrick is a few years older and clearly more experienced in such matters. He has been my teacher in the art of giving and receiving intimate pleasure.
Whereas Cato wasn't one for long discussions while we were locked in passion, Patrick likes to take an unhurried approach and talk with me between wilder moments. Clearly my treatment at the hands of the Hunger Games enquiry panel disturbs him more than it does me. Perhaps it's because I've grown up knowing the world isn't fair and I don't expect kindness or mercy out of people from the Capitol. I was about to tell Patrick the panel was right in its accusation, just to make him change the subject, when he fell asleep. That's another difference between Cato and Patrick. Cato was a source of boundless energy while Patrick seems to tire quickly.
I've enjoyed this intimacy with Patrick but there isn't the spark of excitement I felt with Cato. I don't know why; it's just something is missing that was present when I was with Cato. I lie there musing about this and that when I hear a faint whirring and clicking sound. I know that sound! I heard it several times in the arena. It's the sound the Gamemakers' cameras made when the camera adjusts its focus. Patrick and I are being spied on!
I lie still wondering what I'm going to do. Why is Patrick being spied on? Is he suspected of being involved with those who have been arrested? I work through the possibilities when I suddenly have a chilling thought. It isn't Patrick who is being spied on; it's me! Patrick is part of the panel's dirty scheme. They couldn't trick me into confessing at the hearing so Patrick has been tasked with seducing me and making me confess before a camera during our intimate moments. That's why he insisted I stay here and why the night light is on. To think I almost gave him the very confession he is after.
What am I to do? Uncovering the camera and crying foul isn't going to gain me anything. Patrick will deny any knowledge and bluster about it being a travesty of justice again. I lie thinking for a while. All our intimacy tonight has been recorded and presumably watched by who knows how many people. Two months ago I would have been mortified at such a realisation. But since my time with Cato at the Cornucopia I've become indifferent to the prospect of others watching me perform the most private of acts. Actually, that isn't true … it does make a difference when I know people are watching. It's an audience I felt was missing tonight, along with the knowledge that the man who is embracing me is actually going to try and destroy me afterwards. It's the sheer danger of the situation that adds the extra zest to my emotions and which changes a pleasant experience into a sensational one.
I soon decide what I'm going to do. It's my golden chance to foil these cruel men. They clearly need a confession of my agreement with Finch and Cato. If they didn't they wouldn't be playing these games. My position as the current Hunger Games victor places me in the public eye, both in the Capitol and in the districts. Arresting me and having to prove my guilt in open court would risk inciting the very rebellion they fear. But with a signed confession, they can imprison me without a public hearing. I'm safe from arrest as long as I don't give them a confession.
I lean over and kiss the sleeping Patrick on his ear.
"Hey! Wake up, Patrick. We haven't finished yet," I purr.
He wakes with a jolt and apologises for dozing off. I don't give him the chance to fall asleep again until the light of the new day brightens his bedroom.