Chapter 2
I feel like I've been hit in the gut. All the wind leaves me and I gasp for air, disbelief flooding me. I glance at my peers, praying I'd misheard, but their morose, pitiful expressions only confirm that my name in an affected, Capitol accent really had just been spoken. As I began to take my first step forward, I curse fate, destiny, God, the stars, everything that the people in times before Panem are said to have worship, believed control the path of their lives. To me, it all feels like too much coincidence. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Sentenced to death. To be made fish in a barrel, thrown into the ring with lions, what little dignity we could hope to have in death turned into public entertainment. I wonder where Feb is. I don't expect him to volunteer. This is my road to walk, however short it may now end up being. My eyes meet Katniss' for a moment, and I see recognition in them. The victory is small in the present situation.
I reach the platform and the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason in a melancholy voice. I try to avoid the stricken gazes on my family members, gathered around the edge of the square. I will face them soon enough, though not for long enough. I focus on the drone of Undersee's voice, holding back tears which later will be inevitable. When at last he finishes, he gestures for Katniss and I to shake hands. I meet her eyes and give her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, though whether it's for her benefit or mine I'm not entirely certain.
After Panem's anthem plays, we are escorted into the Justice Building and given our final hour with our families. I glance over the faces of my parents and siblings as they enter the room. My father's eyes are rimmed with red. Feb won't meet my gaze. Aeden is trying to look stoic, attempting a smile when he looks at me. My mother's lips are pursed, but her eyes dry. We sit in silence, no one knowing what to say. I don't blame them. The chances of this happening were minimal. We were nervous, sure, but I don't believe for a minute that anyone truly expected this. We never planned in advance what we would do if the worst came to worst.
Eventually, my mother speaks. "Maybe District 12 will have a victor this year."
At first I think she's trying to raise my spirits, reassure me, however useless the act might be, but then she continues, "She's a fighter, that one."
Feb looks shocked and Aeden growls angrily, turning and striding to other side of the room. The burning expression on his father's face reminds me that my mother wasn't his first choice. I wonder if it's this that made her like this, bitter, resentful, or if she always was. The thoughts distract me from her words. We remain in silence until our hour is almost up, but when the last hugs have been shared, a curt nod directed towards my mother, and the heavy door shuts behind them, leaving me alone, I break down, reality dawning on me. I'm sixteen—sixteen years old—and I can count the weeks I have left to live on one hand.
Katniss scrutinises my face as we pull up to the train station. I try to ignore her as she examines the obvious teartracks, my red eyes. Trying to rid myself of them will just show her I've noticed her looking. I keep looking forward, denying the further tears that threaten to spill over.
The train is magnificent. Sleek, silver, perfectly silent as it speeds through the hills and countryside. Effie shows us to our rooms. They're well furbished and spacious, with en suite bathrooms. Once inside, I collapse on the edge on the bed and my face falls into my hands. My breathing is heavy as I try to steady myself, exhausted from trying to hold myself together until I had privacy once more. Katniss' face flickers behind my eyelids, grey skin, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, rain plastering her hair to her head. I push the thought away. There'll be time for that another time, no doubt.
When I feel a little calmer, I stand, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms, sniffing slightly. I drag myself to the bathroom and splash my face wish cool water, scrubbing away the reminents of my weakness. Weakness won't help me now. I look up at myself in the mirror, drops of water clinging to my eyelashes an the tips of my hair which is falling into my eyes. I don't look threatening in the slightest. I don't look like a murderer. I suppose that's what I will be forced to become, though. I suddenly feel sick. The idea of what I, perhaps unavoidably, will have to do overwhelms me, and I sink the the floor, horrifying images of past Hunger Games and the savagery desperation has turned mere children to filling my skull. That this is entertainment, that I will be expected to be a part of, brings bile up my throat, and I lean over the rim of the toilet, retching. I know that I'd prefer to die than be turned into a monster for the Capitol's own entertainment. At least then I would be able to retain some dignity throughout this ordeal.
I rinse my mouth quickly, deciding that maybe being alone isn't best for me right now. I leave my carriage, heading in the direction that Effie told me the dining carriage would be. I find Effie there, watching some kind of game show on the television, one that thankfully doesn't involve any deaths or fighting.
"I like the train," I say to her, trying to sound confident.
"Isn't it lovely! 250 miles an hour, and so quiet! It's just marvelous. I can't even imagine how it would feel to you, I can't say you've experienced anything quite like this before, have you?"
"No, I haven't." I feel slightly awkward, but Effie just flashes a blindingly white smile at me and returns to her TV program. I'm marginally relieved. After ten or fifteen minutes, she gets up and announces that she's going to brush up for dinner. I nod, not quite understanding what she means by brush up; her wig and makeup are still in place, and her clothing as vibrant and pristine as always, but I don't question her.
Haymitch wanders in just after she's left, pointedly ignoring me, and heading straight for the drinks cart. Once he's poured himself a neat scotch, he raises the glass to his eye level.
"Mmm, good stuff," he look at me, "Right, well, I'm going to take a nap." He starts for the door once more, seems to change his mind, grabs the bottle of scotch, and leaves.
Soon Effie comes in, Katniss behind her.
"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie, her tone bright but it is clear that she barely tolerates the man.
"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I respond, trying to not let my eyes slide past Effie to Katniss.
"Well, it's been an exhausting day." Effie seems relieved.
Dinner is magnificent, and having not eaten since this morning, I'm ravenous. While we're eating, Effie makes some inane comment about mine and Katniss' table manners, causing the latter of us to eat with her fingers for the rest of the meal. Watching Katniss' smug expression as Effie's horror is made clear, I find it hard to suppress a laugh.
Once we've finished, both looking and feeling a little queasy from all the food, we go to watch the recap of the reapings. I can't really focus on the TV, however. All I can think of is that these are the faces of people I could end up killing. One of these faces could be the face of my murderer.
The reapings end, and the matter of Haymitch's lack of social grace is brought to hand. The conversation is amusing until Effie reminds us that being our only remaining victor, and therefore our only mentor, we should care a little more about the fact that the person coaching us is an incompetant drunkard. That sobers us fairly quickly.
As if on queue, Haymitch staggers in, inquiring after supper. He then promptly vomits on the floor and keels over, unconscious.
Effie leaves us to clean up.
A/N: Two chapters in one night! Wooo, yeah :D hope you enjoyed. I'll have another ready for when i get back from France, so expect an update next Thursday.