Cato and I spend our last night together. He kisses my hair while I cry, I didn't mean for him to see me cry but that is what you do when there is nothing else left. Later on Cato cries too, when he thinks I'm asleep. Instead, I lie awake, my head on his chest which is wracked with sobs. I could've revealed that I was awake and comforted him somehow, but I knew he wanted this private moment to himself.
I suppose I do fall asleep eventually because soon enough morning is looming over me, along with the start of the games. I rouse Cato with a kiss on his forehead and manage to drag myself away to get dressed. I don't want to leave him, not for one second. Our seconds left together are limited now; it feels like they are ticking away, like my life is ticking away, with every beat of my heart.
I cannot think about this now, I have to focus on strategy; on ways to survive, not on the ways I might die. Still, my heart thumps in anxiety at the different bloody ends I could meet.
Cato catches my wrists as we're about to leave and my heart rate quickens with a different emotion. He lifts my hands to his chest where I can feel the muscle he has worked hours to achieve and he places his hands on my hips. Our lips meet and it is a desperate kind of kiss; full of longing, desire and the words we can't bring ourselves to say. He presses my body close to his and a moan escapes his lips.
"I wish I didn't have to let you go. Not now, not ever." His voice is thick with emotion as he whispers into my hair. I understand. I feel the same. I wish I could tell him. I give him a last kiss before it really is time to go.
"I'll see you soon," I squeeze his hand before leaving.
I don't bother to say goodbye to Enobaria, I don't care for her. We, the other tributes and I, ride a hovercraft to the arena. On the way there a Capitol woman in a peacekeeper uniform grips my arm and pierces it with a large needle before I can protest.
"Your tracker," she says. Of course, wouldn't want a missing tribute, no sir. I don't look at the tributes across from me but their presence weighs on me like a stone over my lungs, inhibiting my breathing. I don't want to look at the faces of the people who I must kill.
Instead I close my eyes and try to prepare myself for what's to come. I imagine there will be trees in the arena, some kind of cover; the years without wood for fires or protection from the elements are considered dull in the capitol – too many natural causes' deaths, not enough blood. Bile rises in my throat. Trees. Right. There will most likely be trees, and drinkable water. There is no guarantee of edible plants or animals, though, at least not any I can identify; so I will have to secure some provisions from the cornucopia. That should be easy enough with my allies. Marvel and Cato are plenty skilled, as am I. Glimmer is less so, but I suppose I overlooked her in my hatred; she must be of some use or she wouldn't have got such a good score.
We reach the destination too quickly for my liking. I'm taken into my quarters where Salazar will show me my outfit for the coming weeks. If I last that long. The bile is threatening to make a reappearance.
The tributes final quarters are underground and we enter the arena via a tube that carries us up through the earth. My silly Capitol stylist is not the most comforting of people to spend what could be my last minutes with. He babbles on about my odds in a high voice and I tune him out as best I can, focusing on my breathing. In, out. In, out.
Salazar helps me dress in dark trousers, a plain top and a black, waterproof and heat reflecting jacket. The boots are supple leather – good for running. He ties my hair back for me and we sit in silence until the countdown begins. The voice reading the countdown sounds calm, steady while I am anything but.
My heart threatens to burst out of my chest as I stand in the tube and it seals around me. I press my hands to the glass, the sweat making them slippery and try to control my breathing.
I feel the cold air rush over my face first, then the blinding sunlight. It has begun.