The prep team show up at seven sharp with our wardrobe for the evening. They do a quick job, nothing too spectacular. Peeta's in a smart dinner jacket and I'm in a flowing deep pink strapless dress that falls to the floor. My shoulders are bare and brushed with a shimmering powder and Flavius puts my hair up in a huge mess of curls, but when I look in the mirror it's a perfectly chaotic, almost as if I've just woken up.
Soon, Effie is at the door and accompanying Haymitch, Peeta and I to the elevator, which opens on a lower level. She leads us through another grand foyer, a set of double doors guarded by security, and into a small ballroom. A string quartet plays in the background and a decadent spread has been laid out on a buffet table. Haymitch moves to the bar, where the liquor appears to be flowing freely.
They're all here, milling about. There's many people I don't recognise, a mix of both district and Capitol people. There's Paylor, in a sharp black pant suit, who acknowledges me from across the room. I nod back. There's Plutarch, with a shrimp in his hand and a glass of wine in another, and Fulvia. Beetee's with them and glances nervously at us. I wave at him and intend to move to the buffet table when he comes over.
"Good to see you doing so well, Katniss."
"Thanks," I respond. "You too."
There's an awkward silence. Beetee bites his lip, looking at me.
"Just say it," I tell him.
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know Coin would do that. We didn't anticipate it. I wish I could take back the day we developed those bombs, I really do."
"Well, they did the job," I spit coldly. Peeta puts his hand on my shoulder. I refuse to say another word and shrug his hand away, heading to the buffet.
I thought I was prepared for this, to see everyone again, but I guess I'm not. Cold, clammy sweat is making my palms slippery and I feel like I'm visibly shaking. It brings back too many questions and memories and feelings that whizz around in my head; it makes me confused and I'm looking for a place to sit but can't find a chair anywhere in this cursed place.
Instead, I head to the ladies' bathroom, wanting to lock myself away in a stall for a few minutes to get myself together. But when I open the door, she's there, leaning over the bathroom counter, having just sniffed something from a small square of foil in her hands. It quickly crumples in her fist and through the reflection in the mirror, she looks up at me and turns around, her fingers brushing a white powder from her delicate nose.
She's lost weight and her hair has grown to a boyish length that's swept sideways across her forehead. Dark circles are under her eyes which appear huge in comparison to her shrunken figure and she's in a white lace sleeveless dress that clings to her bony body. "Well, if it isn't Ms. Mockingjay...or is it Mrs, now?"
The last time I saw her, we were allies. I had given her the ball of pine needles and she'd asked me to promise to kill him. I'd broken that promise.
Johanna turns back to the mirror and turns on the tap to wash her hands. "Just tell me one thing, girl on fire. How does it feel to be a traitor?"
I close the door behind me, leaning against the cool tiled wall and return her glare. She had improved so much in Thirteen and now appears completely different.
"Snow died either way. And nothing would have gotten any better with Coin in government," I say.
"You think it's any better now, do you?" Johanna counters. She snorts to herself as she dries her hands. When she's finished, she walks towards me and looks me coldly in the eyes. "Well, now I know. I should have known better all along. You can't trust anybody except yourself."
There's nothing I can do or say to defend myself as she leaves the bathroom, banging the door behind her.
It's a few minutes before I will myself to the counter and I wash my hands, just to find something to do. I look at myself in the mirror. The pink dress makes me look too girly. I feel naked with my shoulders bare, with my hair shorter than it ever was and my hair wild and curly.
My eyes are dark. When I look in to them, I expect to find that cold, heartless expression, the same one reflected in Peeta's mutt painting of me. There is only remorse and guilt.
Back outside, Plutarch is clinking his glass. "May I have your attention please!"
The room quiets and a circle is made around him. Beside him stands Paylor, Haymitch and Peeta, who indicates for me to come over and join them. Reluctantly, I move across the floor to stand beside him and he intertwines his fingers with mine.
"I'm so happy we could all make it. Now may I present President Paylor!" Plutarch's voice booms.
Everybody claps as Paylor begins to speak. "Thank you, Plutarch, and thank you to everyone for taking the time to be here. It's been a difficult few months, but we're getting back on track. I appreciate every one of you for what you've done for our cause and the time you've committed to this campaign. Together, we can make change happen."
Her speech is short and to the point.
Plutarch picks it up. "This will not just be any old campaign, my friends. This, fellow rebels, is our victory tour!"
There's enthusiastic clapping and cheering but the name doesn't sit well with me. I want to step out of the spotlight and rush out of the room, but I can't; not now, with everyone's eyes on us. My fingers itch with sweat, my heart's beating a mile a minute and my ears seem like they've been muffled. Finally, Plutarch finishes by inviting everyone to, "Enjoy the festivities before the real hard work begins!"
I decide I need a drink and head straight to the bar, where I snatch a tall glass of champagne from the counter. I down half of it immediately. It's dry and froths in my mouth and down my throat.
"Watch yourself," Peeta says beside me. I look up at him.
"Or what?" I challenge.
"We need to be setting an example here. You need to show that you're okay, and we need to be in love." Peeta says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me towards him.
I shake my head. "It's the name. A victory tour? It's sickening. It's like we'll never be able to shake it off, you know? Even though the Games are done, we'll always be reminded."
"It doesn't feel like the right way to approach this campaign, I know. Like rubbing it in the Capitol citizens' faces." Peeta agrees in a quiet voice.
I feel too troubled to eat, but force a plate of food down without tasting it. Though I've improved over the past several weeks, I'm still stick-thin, as if all the food I eat just goes right through me.
In a corner of the room, far from the crowd, I see Johanna leaning against the wall, her eyes looking a little glassed over. Haymitch is standing over her, speaking earnestly. His expression is not angry as such, but more demanding, perhaps even upset. Johanna catches my eye and with surprising force, moodily pushes Haymitch aside and stalks away. I wonder what's happened between those two as Peeta hands me a bread roll with some goat's cheese and thin slices of apple on top. "For you."
I take a bite and am immediately sent back to our cave in the first arena with the taste of the tangy, creamy goat's cheese smeared on the bread and crisp sweet slices of apple.
"Enobaria hasn't said a word the whole time." Peeta remarks as I finish off the last bite. I whip my head around toward the direction he's indicating and I immediately spot her next to the bar, a glass of amber liquid in her hand. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she moves only to take a sip of her drink or scan her eyes across the room. I hadn't noticed her before. I suppose that, seeing as I had added her to my pardon list for Coin and she wouldn't be alive otherwise, she's now one of us. But the look she gives me as she catches me staring at her is unsettling. Her eyes narrow and I immediately look away.
I tug at Peeta's sleeve. "I've had enough. Can we just leave?"
Peeta takes one look at me and nods. It's half past midnight as we head back out to the foyer. It's been a long day. Haymitch joins us as we head towards the door, where security still stand at attention. In the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch wave over to one of them, then I hear the sound of another set of footsteps behind us. One of the security guards, the shorter one, gets in to the elevator with us and we head up back to our floor.
I've had enough.
"Not so fast, Haymitch." I bark as the elevator door opens and Haymitch moves to unlock his door. He turns around, leaning against the door frame coolly. "What is it now, sweetheart?"
"In here. Now, the both of you. We need to talk." I command.
I pull the key card out of Peeta's hands and swipe it roughly through the slot. The lock clicks and I push the door open forcefully. Once we're all inside, I slam it closed.
"You two need to tell me what's going on, right now," I demand. "Don't give me that 'I'm too crazy or depressed to understand' crap. I've had enough of this!"
Haymitch steps forward and is suddenly right in front of me, his finger pointing roughly into my shoulder and his alcohol-fumed breath in my face. "You wanna know what's going on, sweetheart? We're trying to make sure you don't go and off yourself, that's what!"
I'm furious. "Oh, is that what you think I'm going to do?!"
"Yes," Peeta interrupts in a grave voice.
It's one thing, coming from Haymitch. It's another, coming from him. His voice is the only one that can reach me. The moments when I've caught him staring at me, unspeaking, searching for something, come back to me and now it all makes sense. He was only making sure. And I'm angry as hell about it. I had trusted him!
Without a second thought, I grab the tray of sweets and chocolates from the circular table and fling it against the wall. They fall to the floor, the colourful foil packages. It feels good. "Did you think I was going to do that?! Huh? And this?!"
My hands close around the neck of the giant glass vase of lilies. It's heavy as I lift it and heave it across the room with all my strength. The vase shatters into sharp shards that scatter across the marble tile. The water seeps across the floor and the lilies lie forlornly amongst the mess.
I whirl around and face them, my chest heaving. "From now on, you two tell me everything, got it?"
The alarmed and guilty expressions on their faces give me satisfaction. I turn and head into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I immediately pull off the dress and fling it into the corner of the room. In the bathroom, I wash the makeup away. I want to pull my hair back but it's too short now. Instead, I make do with a sort of half braid that I secure with some pins. My arms still feel strained at the effort of picking up and throwing that vase and I realise that I'm still weak; I still haven't been able to build my strength back up, and the time that I've spent swimming in the lake hasn't helped as much as I'd thought.
It's been a long day and I'm physically and emotionally drained. Maybe some of Johanna's drugs wouldn't be so bad after all, I think as I head back into my bedroom. I leave the lights off, crawl under the covers and curl up into a ball, willing myself to sleep.
I hear Peeta and Haymitch talking to each other in soft tones in the living room, and then the front door closes and there are no more voices. Peeta's footsteps sound in the bathroom, the shower is turned on for a few minutes, and then off again. He doesn't come into my room.
That night, I dream of my father. It's a first for a long, long time. It's not the familiar, terrible dream of the mine explosion. In this dream, I'm only a little girl in a red, plaid dress and my hair hangs down in two braids on each side of my head. He's got me in his arms, high above his head and is twirling me around in circles. The air is whooshing about me and all I can see is his adoring eyes that crinkle as he grins up at me, his mouth stretched open in a laugh.
I don't want the dream to end.
But then something strange happens. His eyes change and fear strikes within me. This is not the father I know. His eyes are menacing and suddenly his laughing face turns into an evil, malevolent grin. Why is this happening? Why is he looking at me like that, with such hatred; so much so that he takes pleasure in it? Am I that despicable?
He's still holding me up in the air and spinning me around, but it's too fast and I'm so scared that I cry out loud for him to stop.
But he throws me to the ground with such force that I hear something crack. I shout out in alarm and I feel like I should be in pain. Instead, I jolt awake, my eyes flying open. I glance around the room wildly, thinking that I'm back home in my own bed but the space of the room feels different in the darkness. And there's someone else in here, too. I push my hair out of my eyes and squint into the night. I see Peeta's shape at the doorway, his hands up. "I'm sorry. You were shouting."
I'm too in shock from my dream to tell him to get out. Instead, I let him step forward and he kneels down at my bedside, taking my hand in his. In the dim light, I can just make out the shape of his eyes and the long lashes that frame them. His blonde hair is a mess and he's dressed in a simple t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. I see the shape of his nose and his lips, his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms.
"I'm sorry about how I've been acting. I was worried about you. I should have trusted you more."
I hadn't expected an apology so soon, not now in the middle of the night. It's caught me off guard. "I shouldn't have broken the vase."
"It's okay. I cleaned it up. Haymitch will explain it to Effie."
Covering up for me, yet again.
I grasp at his hands and pull him up into the bed. I don't want another nightmare to come, especially one where my father looks upon me with such hatred and evilness that he would as soon throw me to the ground and break my back. Peeta hesitates and then gets beneath the covers. He puts his arm over me and his fingers intertwine with mine. In the darkness and warmth, with my body against his, I seek his lips and we kiss. It's a soft, long, slow kiss and when I breathe in, I catch his scent of cinnamon and dill.
My heart still beats rapidly with adrenaline from the nightmare, and a strong sense of being completely and utterly alone with him creeps into me. It overwhelms me and I break away.
Not yet; not tonight.