Chapter 13: Fourth Quarter Quell
I can't believe it's been ten years. Ten years since Peeta and I rekindled our romance.
No, we still have not gotten married. And no, we are not even engaged to be married. But I split my time between Victors' Village and Mellark's Bakery. Half of my stuff is at his place. We are domestic partners.
Meanwhile, Dean and I are still serving as mentors for the Games. In the last decade, my one successful protégé has become a pro at his Victor duties. Plus, his prepping of the boy tribute, when I used to have to coach both, has been a huge weight off of my shoulders. He is now a handsome youth of 27. I wonder if he might find himself a girl soon and marry.
That might not be an easy option, though. A life for a Victor is a very hard one. Especially now, when the next Games is extra special. For this is the year of the 100th Hunger Games. The Fourth Quarter Quell. It sickens me. The Capitol has now subjected us to this sick madness for a century.
As has happened every 25 years, a special Reading of the Card is held, to announce the twist for this new Quell. I have only been alive for one other, was Reaped for it as a Victor, and won. At that time, I had only Haymitch with me - the best secret weapon ever for he had won a Quarter Quell himself. This time, I have Dean and Peeta with me. Though Peeta is not a Victor, I invite him to my place anyway, as comfort.
President Snow starts by reciting the twists of the previous Quells. The First Quarter Quell involved holding a special election, with the district citizens voting on the tributes who would represent it. The Second Quarter Quell - the in which Haymitch was champion - sent twice as many children into the arena. The Third Quarter Quell - mine and the second Games I emerged from alive - involved previous Victors returning to the arena.
"And now we honor our Fourth Quarter Quell." Upon the card's presentation, the President reads without pausing, "On the 100th anniversary, as a reminder that fathers encouraged their sons to go into battle, the tributes shall be all men, Reaped from the ages of 30 to 50."
It is as if we speak, but with no words. Dean and I both look as one to Peeta sitting between us. He is 42, and within the eligible age range. And Dean only missed it by a few years. My boyfriend seems to register this as well. He does not cry. He does not scream. All he does is rise from the couch, kiss me for much longer than normal, and walk out, returning to the bakery.
As soon as he is gone, my eyes fill with tears. Goddamn them! Goddamn the Capitol! I could bet money on the fact that Peeta will be Reaped. I don't think the Capitol has learned the secret of our relationship, but I wouldn't be surprised if Snow has discovered the truth anyway. When the odds never seem to be in your favor, you become a pessimist very quickly.
"Well, don't just sit there sniffling like an idiot. Go to him! He needs comfort right now, no matter how much he is trying to hide it for your sake." Dean gives me a pointed look. He's right, of course. I nod and rise to leave my mansion, preparing to head into town.
Oddly, it is only when I leave the house and get into the open air do I find it hard to breathe. I break into a run, panicked, hyperventilating. My mind is whirring, trying to find a way out of this trap.
And I do. Like the huntress I am, I do. But I'll need to talk Peeta into it first.
As soon as I enter the bakery, I race upstairs to the room that Peeta and I occasionally share. Seizing a suitcase, I begin to throw a mix of my stuff and his into it, heater-skelter. Filling it to burst, I then lug it downstairs to find my boyfriend behind the counter. He glances up and stares at the suitcase.
"We have to run away. Make a break for the woods. Grab Dean and take him with us."
Peeta sighs. "They'd just come looking for us. You and Dean would be missing from the Reaping."
"I don't care. And if you don't want to come with me, I'll go alone!"
"Katniss -"
"I CAN'T WATCH YOU DIE!" I cry out, the tears spilling over. "Peeta... I love you." I glance up from my blubbering as a hand cups my cheek.
"But could you love a man who would run away?"
"I could. And I would. The question is, could you love me? And the answer is, you would be able to love someone else. You don't need me..."
"Yes, I do need you! I need you! Goddamn it, Katniss! We have been through so much! Together. You and me. OK? And if you think I would leave - arena or no arena - think again. There is no one who will be more here for you than me! I will never leave! I will never think of leaving! I will face down that arena and death if it means staying faithful to you!"
I stare at him in amazement, and all at once, I am nearly mowed down by the guilt I feel. Running away into the woods? What was I thinking?
"Peeta," I say suddenly, stopping his passionate declaration of love. "I think we should get married."
He stares, breathing heavily. "What?"
"We've waited way too long. And if you are Reaped... I want us to go in there as husband and wife. In whatever time we have left."
Peeta smiles and kisses me soundly. That's a yes. Then, he turns to his phone on the hook and places a call.
"Dean? Are you there? I have a job for you, but you have to keep it quiet. Listen good; here's what you need to do..."
It is the dead of night when I enter the woods. By the light of the moon, my white wedding dress - a hand-me-down from my mother - sparkles. On Dean's arm, we emerge into a woodland clearing. At the far end, a simple altar and podium have been set up. At its head is a Justice of the Peace that Dean bribed into officiating. Peeta stands, dashingly handsome in a tuxedo, off to one side.
Dean gives me away, and Peeta and I exchange both rings and vows. The Justice of the Peace pronounces us husband and wife. Peeta actually dips me and kisses me almost indecently, but I relish it. Dean dutifully applauds, pecking me on the cheek and shaking Peeta's hand.
The awful June day finally arrives. Peacekeepers arrive as they have for a quarter-century, to escort me, and now Dean, to the Justice Building. As we take our places on the stone platform, I spy Peeta in the roped off 40-year-olds section. He dares to mouth, "I love you" to me. I register it with an imperceptible nod of my head. I cannot be seen favoring him, even though he is my husband. The rest of the district is unaware of our marriage and I want to keep it that way. For his safety.
The Mayor's Dark Days spiel is brief and then he reads the names of past District 12 Victors. "The 13th Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi! The 50th Hunger Games: Haymitch Abernathy!" Moments of silence for both our deceased Victors. "The 74th & 75th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen! The 89th Hunger Games: Dean Cronin!" Respectful applause for both Dean and me.
Effie lacks her usual verve, and seems thrown by the only one Reaping Ball in place of the usual two. She plucks the first slip from the bowl. "Peeta Mellark!"
I refrain from crying out audibly, preferring instead to let out screams of anguish in the privacy of my own head. I knew it! I knew it! I mask all emotion as my husband takes the stage, though I pain for him.
The second slip comes out. "Thom Whetstone!"
The 50-year-old Miner Foreman, who I know to be one of Gale's old friends, takes the stage. He is made to shake hands with Peeta before our whole entourage is ushered to the train. In a flash, we are pulling away from District 12.
