I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm wearing black from head to toe, leather blunting any girlish curve I have and making me look militaristic. Deadly. I'm not playing the innocent schoolgirl card anymore. I never was innocent.
"You haven't even seen my favorite part yet," Cinna says, reading my face. He presses a button inside my sleeve and the body of the jumpsuit comes to life. I'm not aflame this time. Fire is wild and unruly. Instead, I look like a piece of burning coal, smoldering and glowing. The black crown atop my head appears as though it's made from molten steel as it glows a deep orange. "The hottest part of a fire isn't the flame, it's the fuel," Cinna whispers. I feel powerful. In this suit I feel like I could burn Snow's ivory tower to the ground.
"You shouldn't have done this," I whisper, knowing what it will cost him. I turn to look at Cinna and he cups my face in his hands.
"We each have our own part to play, girl on fire," he says gently, stroking my cheek for a moment before dropping his hands. "And you!" Cinna announces, turning toward Madge. "You girls from Twelve are going to start making a name for yourselves with this bravery bit. No one is going to want to go up against the coal district."
Madge gives a half smile. Cinna is breaking down her walls bit by bit.
"I didn't want you to be identical. I hope you like it," he says, pulling the gown out of its garment bag. Madge lifts her arms over her head and he slides the dress down. It looks heavy but it moves about her with ease, flowing at her legs.
"Does it… Does it do anything?" Madge asks. Cinna smiles and looks up at the ceiling.
"Not unless you want to set off the sprinklers," he replies. Madge grins. It's the first time I've seen her really smile since we got here.
We head downstairs and find the boys waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Peeta is wearing a suit similar to mine. His shoulders are broad and all the work he did this sum mer shows. He doesn't look like a boy anymore. I feel his eyes all over me and he clears his throat and shifts his feet. Our prep teams adjust this or that. Madge flinches when Flavius twirls a piece of her hair.
Even though she's a thousand times more feminine than me, Madge is not one for withstanding physical pain. I think she's a little scarred from her prep session and strip down to Beauty Base Zero. "I thought they wouldn't torture us until we were inside the Arena," she hissed through her teeth at me while they ripped every bit of hair from her body that appeared below her neck. She was painfully shy, continually trying to cover up. I realized she's not a thing yet. I've lost all modesty when it comes to Cinna and my prep team. I'm just a thing to be molded. Madge is still a person, I realized, as she clawed at a sheet and desperately tried to cover her legs. All the compliments about how much prettier and easier she was than me seemed to go in one ear and out the other.
Flavius doesn't even register her recoil as he fixes the lock of hair and steps back again to observe.
Effie piles us into the elevator and we take two cars to the start of the tribute parade. When we arrive I watch Portia preening Arin like a mother bird and the corner of my lip turns up. She glances up and catches me watching her. I drop my face and turn back to Cinna.
"When you feel ready, press here," Cinna says to Madge, who runs her finger over the button and nods softly. "You are in the carriage behind Katniss and Peeta. I've arranged for you to make quite the finish," he says, keeping his eyes locked on hers until she swallows the spit rising in her throat.
Peeta and I walk toward the end of the line, Arin and Madge following silently behind us, leaving our stylists, escort, and mentor to go find seats for the parade.
"Did Haymitch tell you anything?" Peeta asks, his eye brows perched, an unasked question on his lips.
"He didn't have to," I reply, I taking his hand and weaving his fingers in mine. We are going up there as one.
We find our places and two matching chariots with the number 12 emblazoned across the side. My eyes scan the rest of the districts and what I witness makes my stomach boil. We are the only district that looks like we belong together. The others appear to be competing with separate themes for victors and tributes. I find the tributes for District 7. The two victors are dressed viciously, shiny metal streaking their costumes to represent the axes and blades mastered by its residents. The children, on the other hand, and dressed like trees in long brown jumpsuits with awkward bits of leaves jutting out here and there. The metaphor is not lost on anyone. The victors are poised to cut those children down. It's exactly what Snow wanted. Then I see the female victor from 7 turn back toward the kids and I realize one of them is calling to her. She makes a production of sighing and walking over, but when she reaches the girl, maybe thirteen years old, something about her posture softens. It's only for a second. If I'd blinked I might have missed it. The victor says something to the girl, whose back straightens with some newfound confidence, and then the woman turns back to her chariot and pulls herself up.
"That's Johanna Mason," I hear a voice hum and I turn to find Finnick standing by my chariot, stroking one of the horses and winking at me. "Watch out, she'll slice your throat open before you even know she's behind you," he warns. I look over and see Johanna looking over her shoulder, checking on the girl. She's a killer. They're all killers. I try to focus on Haymitch's warning. "Sugar?"
"Huh?" I look up and Finnick pops a sugar cube into his mouth. "It's for the horses, but with what little time we have left on this mortal coil, I say if we see something sweet, we take it." The words slide from his mouth as he moves nearer to me, and I realize he's so close I can smell the sugar on his breath by the time he's done talking. My gray eyes meet his green ones and I feel as though he's looking through me.
"Hey man, back off," Peeta says protectively, shoving Finnick away from me. A guard comes over and they are physically separated, but Finnick winks at Peeta while being hauled away and I immediately understand the two of them are playing at something. That's when I realize there's a slip of paper in my hand.
1 AM, north stairwell, bring Peet.
I pretend to cough and shove the piece of paper in my mouth, chewing it stalely until I can swallow.
The horns blare and we take our place at behind the chariot. I watch Peeta wave at Madge and Arin with a confident smile, but when he turns his face back where only I can see, he looks tired. He hoists himself up into the chariot and turns around, offering me his hand. I grab it and he pulls me up. It feels so strange living this all over again. That the last weeks of my life are a reenactment of the worst days I lived. Peeta straightens my collar and my eyes meet his.
"Don't even look at them," he says softly, but there's a coldness there too. "They don't deserve you."
When I feel the horses pull my head snaps forward and we are towed into the street. Stands of people envelope us on either side, cheering and screaming. I hear Peeta's words in my head and lock my jaw, chin up. Peeta strokes my thumb with his for a second, then thrusts our linked hands into the air. I press the button on my dress and Peeta must do the same, because our black suits ignite. I'm glowing and fierce. I catch a glimpse of us in one of the jumbo screens that runs the length of one of the shops in town. I look terrifying. Suddenly, I hear the crowd gasp. I don't dare turn back, show weakness. I leave my face cool and turn to one of the screens and I see Madge. Her dress is billowing black smoke. The train whips behind her and it looks as if the whole chariot is engulfed in smoke. It whips off her back, through her golden blonde hair. The tips of the smoke burn white and I find myself almost bewitched as my eyes barely leave Madge. Then I see our two chariots whip past on the screen and what Cinna has done. He tied us together – victor and tribute. Our coal raging into smoke. We are a united front. As our chariots reach the front and come to a stop, we all turn off our outfits, but smoke is left billowing from Madge and Arin as though they'd just walked through flames and emerged untouched.
Snow's eyes scan the tributes and when he lands on me, I don't see the smug victory on his face I thought I'd see. I see anger. And I feel wonderful.
It feels like centuries before we're back in the Tribute Center.
I've barely pulled the last pin from my hair when there's a knock at my door. I'm too tired to do this right now. I can't be mentor and tribute and victor all at once. It's too much. I just want to crawl under the heavy weight of the blankets in my bed and pretend like I'm home, but the knocking persists.
"Madge, I –"
It's not Madge on the other side of the door. Peeta steps forward and kisses me, his hands sweeping back into my hair. He keeps walking and I let the door slip from my hand. It's like he's in a frenzy, kissing me like he may never feel my lips again. His tongue dips into my mouth and I feel my knees go weak. His hand is strong on my back though, and he steps forward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I drop back. He crawls on top of me, his lips on my throat, his teeth, his tongue everywhere. I feel my chest panting for want of air but I'm too dizzy with desire to catch my breath.
"Peeta," I breathe as he trails his mouth along my collar bone. I feel my back arch off the bed of its own volition, my body reacting on its own. Every bit of me shakes as Peeta's hands slide up the back of my shirt and his lips move across my jaw before enveloping my earlobe, worrying it with his teeth.
I stop fighting it and kiss him back. My hands drop and pull his shirt from the waist of his pants, and Peeta's mouth breaks away from mine as my hands glide across his stomach. He pants as his eyes roll back into his head at the mere feel of my fingertips on his skin. My body hums underneath his, buzzing like I might spark electricity and catch these sheets aflame.
It's the knock on my door that breaks us apart. Peeta's eyes are wide, wary of the interruption. I flatten my clothes and shift everything back into place. Peeta looks at me, his lips swollen and eyes bright, and the knock returns, louder and more insistent this time. I cross to the door and open it to find Arin standing in the hallway, nearly in tears.
"Peeta's gone! I think they took him, Katniss! I think–" His voice drops off when he sees Peeta in my room. An "oh" slips from his mouth, and while I just expected him to sound surprised and maybe slightly embarrassed, it's the relief in his voice nearly breaks my heart. "I just thought… I don't know what I thought," Arin rambles. I know he's twelve, but he's young for his age. He barely looks a day over eight or nine – skinny and his body dwarfed by a mess of blonde, curly hair that shoots out in every direction. He thought Peeta was dead already. He thought the Games had already begun.
"You want to stay here tonight?" I ask. Arin looks startled but almost immediately relieved.
"Is that allowed?" he says back, looking up at me. His head barely reaches my chin.
"Peeta and I have never been ones for rules," I answer honestly. I'm trying to get a laugh but he's still so scared and he can barely move his face. Arin pauses for a moment.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," he says. I hold the door open and he comes inside.
Arin falls asleep between us. Peeta looks over at me, pondering me in the dark.
"What?" I snap in a defensive whisper. Peeta grins.
"Nothing," he says. It's quiet, but after a moment he adds, "You're going to make a really good mom someday, Katniss."
Before I can say anything back, he drops his head on the pillow and drifts to sleep. It makes my chest physically hurt and I can't sort out why without wanting to scream into the night. It's a special kind of torture, that word.
Someday.
