After leaving the interviews, I had this fantasy that I was going to get to bed early and get a good night's sleep before the games. Cato and Glimmer made sure that wasn't going to happen though. I'm lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, when I hear them stumbling into the hallway, Cato's deep chuckle and Glimmer's shrill giggle distinct even through the door.
I shut my eyes and hope that they go away. Of course they don't. I hear Glimmer's door open and close and the sound of something heavy being dumped on the bed. When the first moans start, I decide I need to leave. Those walls are about as thick as sheets of paper.
There's only one place I think to go. I throw my swimsuit and a t-shirt on before hopping onto the elevator and heading up to the roof. When the door opens, I'm surprised by the sight of Peeta, still in his suit from the interviews and now curiously sporting bandaged hands. I frown at the sight of him, unable to shake my annoyance at his declaration of love.
"What the hell happened to you, Loverboy?" I ask as he passes me to board the elevator.
"None of your business," he says as the door closes and he's whisked away.
I suppose I won't be seeing him again until the arena. The next time I see him, we may be trying to kill each other. I don't even like the guy, but I don't want to see him dead. I suppose I have to get used to the idea, though.
I'd like to tell myself that the games won't change me. I'd like to tell myself that I'll hold on to some piece, however small, of my humanity. I'd like to tell myself that, but there's just no guarantee. The games change you. You can't expect to run through an inferno and not get burned.
It's probably around midnight. The stars are all shimmering in the dark sky while flares of bright light and the indecipherable sounds of celebration rise up from the streets below. The Capitol parties are just beginning, foaming at the mouth for another Hunger Games.
What's wrong with these people? This isn't some glorious adventure for us and it's certainly not good television. I used to wonder how they could enjoy seeing people kill each other, until I realized that it's because they don't consider us people. To them, we're characters performing in some grand television drama. Our deaths have no purpose beyond the show. They may weep for us, but it's about as real as their plastic implants.
I decide to stop brooding and head into the grotto. I feel the warmth on my skin as soon as I enter. I look over towards the pool and see that I have company. Katniss is sitting in one of the large chairs, her back towards me.
I consider just saying hello, but I think I'd rather have some fun.
"What are you doing in here!?" I yell in my most threatening voice.
It works like a charm. Katniss almost jumps out of her chair and turns to look at me. Her look of surprise quickly morphs into one of annoyance.
"Damn you, Marvel! You scared the hell outta me!" she huffs before sitting back down.
"Oh come on. You can't break into my hideout and expect me not to mess with you," I laugh, taking the chair beside her.
"I wasn't aware you owned the place," she says dryly, her grey eyes idly watching the waterfall.
"So…I passed Loverboy on the way up here. Did I just miss some romantic rendezvous?" I ask with a chuckle that masks my own annoyance at the thought.
"No! We talked a bit, b-but it was nothing like that!" she says sharply.
She actually looks kinda cute when she's angry.
"Ooh, angry. Must've been a lover's quarrel. What's the matter? Did he get a little…handsy?" I tease.
Katniss looks mortified I'd even suggest something like that…and angry at the mention of Peeta's hands. I notice her fist clenching. She must be considering punching me in the face.
"Take it easy! Once again, I'm just messin' with ya," I say, holding my hands up in surrender.
Katniss sits back down, sighing and rubbing her temples in frustration.
"Hey, what's wrong? Was the hand joke that bad?" I ask.
"Yes, but it's not that. It's just…everything. I had enough to worry about with the games coming and now I've got to deal with this love thing too," she says, her voice weary.
"What? You think he's full of shit?" I ask.
"That's the thing. I don't know. I can't tell if he's being serious or if he's just trying to throw me off for the games," Katniss says, sounding increasingly frustrated.
"So…you don't love him?" I ask, trying to sound neutral instead of hopeful.
Katniss just shakes her head and I try to ignore the fact that her answer makes me happy.
"Me and Peeta never talked back home. The only time we ever had contact was when he saved me and my family," she says quietly.
Wait, what?
"Peeta saved you and your family?" I ask.
Kanitss nods. "It was after my father died. My mother was…sick and we had no food. We were close to starving and I ended up looking for some outside his family's bakery. Peeta…he intentionally burned some bread so that his mother would let him take it outside. Instead of giving it to the pigs like she said, he gave it to me," she says, her voice almost a whisper.
I'm completely floored. And I thought I knew pain. My father lost his hand, sure, and times have been tough, but at least all my family members are still alive and we were certainly never starving. Somehow, I find myself respecting her even more than I already did.
"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know about your father," I say.
"It's alright," Katniss says.
I can tell she's lying.
"How did he die?" I ask. I know I'm taking a risk. She could storm out right now, jeopardizing our fragile alliance, but I want to know. I want to help.
Katniss swallows a lump, obviously suppressing a lot of emotion. "Mine explosion," she manages.
"I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine how hard that must've been," I say.
I look into the cool blue waters of the pool, watching our constantly shifting reflections. Even there, I can see her heartache.
"Didn't your father have a mining accident too?" she asks, her sad grey eyes meeting mine.
"Yeah…he did. He lost his hand. A…piece of equipment crushed it. He nearly died of blood-loss," I answer, my mind drifting back to that horrible day. The only day my training was ever cut short. I suddenly remember sitting outside the room where they operated on my father, Striker and my mother both clinging to me as we all cried.
Katniss looks sympathetic. "I'm sorry," she says.
Then she surprises me even further. She comes over and puts her arm around me. It's a small act of kindness, but it means the world to me. Here we are, two tributes who should be planning to kill each other, sharing our pain and providing the best comfort we can.
"You don't deserve to be here," I say quietly.
"Neither do you," she says.
I shake my head. "I volunteered. Remember? I just wanted to help my family, but…I worry now," I say.
"About dying?" she asks.
"No…well sorta, but I worry more about surviving. I worry that for me to win this thing, I'll become someone my family would be ashamed of. I'm worried I'll turn into a monster in there. I'm doing this to help them, but…what if they can't stand the sight of me afterwards?" I ask, my defenses completely down. I've never been this vulnerable with anyone. Back home, everyone's life was hard enough without me burdening them with my worries.
"Marvel, they're your family. They love you. If you win, I'm sure all they'll care about is that you're okay," she says with a smile.
I put my arm around her and hug her back. I can't explain it, but I feel right here. I feel at peace.
Then an awful realization hits me: for me to win and see my family again, all the other tributes will have to die…including Katniss. She seems to be thinking something similar because we separate. We have so much in common and only want to see our families again, but only one of us can. I find myself hating the Hunger Games more and more.
"So…what should we do about tomorrow?" Katniss asks, steering away from the intimate conversation that suddenly feels like it was years ago thanks to the games' intrusion.
"Well, as far as the careers know, I'm still with them, so I'm going to have to participate in the bloodbath," I say, a bit unsettled by the idea that by this time tomorrow I'll either be dead or a murderer myself.
"What about me?" she asks.
"I wouldn't hang around too long if I were you. You're number two on the career hit-list right now," I say.
She nods in understanding. I suddenly feel a bit sick. If Katniss gets caught at the cornucopia, there's nothing I can do but watch the other careers kill her, my only real ally and the closest thing I have to a friend here.
"Do you think you could get me a bow?" she asks.
"That'd be tough since I can't hide it on my person," I say, "I could probably get you a small sword or something."
Katniss laughs, something I find myself really enjoying. "I've never even touched a sword," she says.
"Well, maybe you should've made better use of your training time. Don't worry, though. I'm sure you can use your knot-tying skills to defend yourself if someone attacks you," I say with smirk, prompting her to shove me.
It goes on like that for a while. We talk about our homes and our families. Katniss mostly talks about her sister, Prim, and I understand why she volunteered. Prim sounds like one of those sweet kids that wouldn't stand a chance in the games. I'd like to think she and Striker could be friends. I tell Katniss a bit about him and his affliction and how he's one of the major reasons I volunteered.
Eventually, we part, both of us wishing the other luck tomorrow, fully aware that we won't be able to speak again until after the bloodbath…assuming we both survive.
"C'mon kid, rise and shine. The arena waits for no one," says Gloss as he shakes me awake.
I yank the blankets off and sit up with a yawn. Gloss looks down at me expectantly. I didn't sleep exceptionally well last night thanks to Cato and Glimmer's...activities.
"Hurry up and get dressed," he says before taking his leave.
I notice my arena clothes on the dresser: cargo pants, a plain beige t-shirt and a matching jacket. I can't help but roll my eyes. Only the Capitol would care if our arena clothes matched.
I brush my teeth, possibly for the last time, and get dressed, also pulling on the sturdy boots left by the door that fit perfectly. I look at myself in the mirror, trying to memorize the person I see in front of me. Once I step in that arena, that boy will cease to exist.
I can't stop drumming my fingers on the bench of my launch room. I don't know what's taking so long. It could just be some last minute modifications, but I wouldn't put it past the gamemakers to make us wait just to freak us out a little more. I check the spot on my arm where they shot my tracker in and notice it's still a little bit red and tender, almost like a burn.
Nobody has come to see me and I'm glad for it. There's only so much of my mentor, stylist and escort I can take. If I can't see the only people I'd actually like to, then I'd rather be alone. My family is hundreds of miles away and Katniss is in her launch room. It feels stupid to have actually made a friend going into something like this, but…fuck it. The odds of us being the final two, with all the deadly tributes this year, are virtually zero and it's nice to have a friendly face around.
I hope one of us wins, though. If it can't be me, I hope it's her, even if Glimmer's win would mean a little more food for my district. Katniss deserves it and her family needs her. Hell, her district needs her. From what she said last night, it sounds like starvation is a bit of a problem there, unlike District One.
The announcement comes over the intercom telling all tributes to prepare for launch. I take one deep breath and look at my bracelet, a constant reminder of those counting on me. I head over to my pedestal and am quickly enclosed in a glass tube. The platform begins to rise beneath me and I know my time has come.
A/N: Sorry it's a bit shorter than usual but I wanted the next chapter to begin in the arena. I'm glad to get this out before the Fourth of July and I hope my American readers have a great Independence Day. Everyone else, I hope you have a great Tuesday! As always, all reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated.