The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.
The moment my eyes open, I curse myself for falling asleep late last night. Falling asleep? I was not supposed to fall asleep!
Despite my grumpiness and the ache in my muscles, I jump off the couch. Not only did I go to sleep without making sure Peeta did so first, I chose the place that was supposed to be his. What a great hostess I am. The floor at Bannock's at the very least is always guaranteed.
I realize the reason for my wakening is voices. I recognize Prim's and Peeta's, but the other female one is strange to my ears. As I get closer to where they come from - the kitchen, it gets clearer. It takes a carefree laugh for me to piece it together. Delly Cartwright.
I can't show up the way I look right now, a pathetic mess with wild hair, wrinkled clothes and still smelling of the woods. Once I'm in the bathroom, I fill the tub with warm water. The moment I step in, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the most relaxed I'll be today and that's a sad fact. As much as I want to remain here until the water gets cold, I don't have the time nor can I leave Prim to deal with my guests. I hurriedly wash my body and hair, before stepping out into the cold again.
The fire has died out. Shivering in my thin robe, I run to my bedroom. I'm surprised to find my mother there. I was wondering where she is, but assumed she was either silent in the kitchen or, more likely, having a bad day.
She has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. I'm thankful, because I wasn't lying when I told Peeta that your appearance at court is important. I can't show up in my father's jacket and muddy boots.
"Are you sure?" I ask. I'm trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her – me letting her help with dinner last night is another example. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn't allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.
"Of course. Let's put your hair up, too," she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I can hardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall.
"You look beautiful," I hear Prim say as she comes in.
"And nothing like myself," I respond. I hug her, because I don't know for how long we'd be separated. It could be just a few hours and I'd still worry.
"I wish you'd allow me to come with you," she murmurs.
I pull away with a sigh. "You won't miss out on anything, Prim. The courtroom probably hasn't seen the light of the day in years. It'll be boring for you. Wouldn't you rather hang out with the Hawthornes?"
She looks hesitant, but finally manages a nod. I smile, tugging on her braids playfully. "Good, we don't want them to come all the way here for nothing." Right, because they don't live 2 minutes away. "Expect them around noon. If I don't come back by curfew, Gale's going to stay the night. You'll make him feel comfortable, right?" I don't care that my mother's in the room. She should know I haven't forgotten her blackouts. How I'm still afraid of leaving her daughter with her.
"I will," Prim says with another nod. "Don't worry about me, Katniss. Do what you have to do."
I gape at her. The circumstances she's had to live in have made her stronger than a 12-year-old should ever be. Her tough, unshakable expression reminds me of my own, as I opened the door to my father's office for the first time with different intentions on my mind than usual. I swear that she'll never have to do what I had to, what I still have to. It reminds me how important victory today is.
With a parting kiss on her forehead, I leave my bedroom. A quick look at the clock tells me we have to leave now. I remind myself I'm in my own home and have no reason to be nervous, as I make my way to the kitchen.
The conversation between Peeta and Delly stops the second I enter. Before I can suspect anything, he's quick to turn his attention to me.
"Good morning." I mumble it back, barely allowing my eyes to focus on either of them for too long. I do notice they're both in formal clothes – Delly in a light purple dress and Peeta in a white shirt with grey slacks I get a better look at as he stands up, going to the counter.
"Delly brought me clothes," he confirms my suspicions. I watch as he takes something out of a plastic bag and places it on a plate. "And food." It's when he leaves the plate in front of an empty chair and looks at me that I realize who the cookies are intended for.
I sit down, because Peeta's looking at me like I have no choice in this situation… and because I'm really hungry. Who knows when I'll get to eat again today? Cookies? Most likely never.
"She didn't have to," I say in a low voice.
"It was the least I could do," Delly responds immediately. "Even if I didn't want to, Mr. Mellark insisted. I got myself into it by going to look for Peeta. There was no getting out, trust me," she laughs nervously and I manage a weak smile. I'm thankful to the man, but I don't think I'll ever be able to look at little gestures like this as anything else but charity. It's especially hard since we're in my own house.
"Milk?" asks Peeta, making me feel even worse, as he acts out like the host I'm supposed to be. It reminds me of last night, when he went to look for the same beverage while I cozily lay on the couch. I shake my head at his suggestion, munching on a frosted cookie. It resembles some kind of made up flower and I know it's not made by Peeta's hands. I should show him the most beautiful real flowers to paint, I fleetingly think, shocking myself. When exactly would that happen? After we put on a show in front of half the district or before we solve crime to survive?
"I should get going. I overstayed my visit already, plus my friends will be waiting for me," Delly announces, standing.
"You're not going with us?" Peeta needs all the support he can get. Especially from his best friend… or whatever she is to him.
"There are people who could get confused by her choice. She can't be having lunch with Ewald one day and entering court with his opponent the next, you know?" What I know is that it's ridiculous they're considered opponents. Saddening, really. Ewald is just the judge's son, after all. His dislike towards the Mellark men better not affect the outcome.
"How many people are coming exactly?" I ask suspiciously. The less, the better.
"I managed to convince a few it's not worth it, but at least half of mine and previously Peeta's group are relentless. I'm sure Mrs. Mellark has invited as many as she can, too," Delly says sadly. Of course the witch would want the attention. I wonder who her witnesses are.
Peeta seems to lose his previous enthusiasm at the mention of his mother. Before I can even finish my cookie and do something, Delly beats me to the punch, as she wraps her arms around him. "It doesn't change anything. I'm sure the bigger part are putting out an act, too." I grit my teeth, putting down my last cookie as I watch her pet his cheek, much like I had done just a few hours ago. Who knew this was the way to make me lose my appetite?
"I'll see you there, Peet. Good luck," she says finally. "You too, Katniss."
"Yeah, you too." What did I just wish her good luck with? Getting even closer to Peeta? Like that's possible right now.
I should probably get up and walk her to the door, but I don't. It's not like that's going to change my unfailing bad reputation as a hostess and I don't particularly care. I'm sure she can find her way around the small house. Except she has Peeta for that, of course, as he walks her out of the room.
More upset at myself than anyone else, I get up from the table angrily, almost knocking down the chair in the process. I put the leftover cookie on the counter, where I hope Prim will find it. As I'm filling myself a glass of milk, having decided I want one after all, I hear Peeta's loud footsteps and the opening, followed by the closing of the door. He doesn't fully step in though, or say anything. Not until I've gulped down the contents of the glass, washed it and put it back in the cupboard.
"You're pretty," I hear, along with a couple of footsteps in my direction.
I'm the one standing rigid now, my back to him, hands clutching the counter like a lifeline. He just told a girl that is definitely not his girlfriend, hence the knotty dark hair and old-fashioned dress, she's pretty. Not that she looks pretty, that she is pretty. How is she supposed to answer that? Like a normal human being, Katniss.
"Thank you," a voice that sounds even more pathetic than my usual one responds, as I face him at last. I want to return the compliment somehow, but the words escape me. Besides, I'm sure Delly has already made sure he knows how handsome he always looks, so why would my opinion matter?
"I know we have to go, but before we do…," he begins, unshaken. "Whether you're willing to admit it or not, during the past month I've gotten to know you quite well. I've noticed you've got the tendency to take the blame for a lot of things you couldn't have helped. So I just need you to know that even if we lose today, it's not your fault and you did all you could, probably way more than you should've done. The last thing I want is for you to blame yourself."
That is my plan and I like that plan. "If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened. You would still have enough money, you wouldn't be missing your home, your friends wouldn't be ignoring you…"
"Was that really such a great way to live? With the weight of my mother on my shoulders, I think no." He steps closer. "If you do, okay. It's still not all your fault. Bannock was the one that got you the job. My dad was the one to file for a divorce. My friends made their own decision."
I could've done so much more, I want to tell him. Instead I sigh in defeat. I blame my lack of response for the lack of time.
"We can't discuss this now, Peeta. It's too late." I move to go put on my coat.
He grabs my wrist, gently, but with purpose, "Promise me." You won't blame yourself.
"I promise you it won't come down to that." Anything else but victory is unthinkable. I brush past him, going to the small hallway. I'm putting on my second glove when he finally reappears.
The silence is thick as we make our way to the Justice Building. I can't tell if he's doing it because of my earlier comment or from nerves. His gaze remains ahead, not turning to me even once, and would suggest the first assumption. But I notice his sunken shoulders. The way his hands shake, despite being numb from the cold.
I would take his hand in mine, but enough people are staring as it is. Some are walking ahead of us, others are following, speaking behind our backs, but they all know where we're going.
Peeta and I are both surprised when, as we climb the steps, we notice Rye pacing in front of the door. When he notices us, he sighs in relief, even puts a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "I thought you weren't going to show-"
"Why?" Peeta interrupts him. "Because of what you did yesterday?" He scoffs. "I know better than to get influenced by you."
His hand finds mine, our fingers naturally linking. I don't have time to consider if this is such a good idea or turn around to face the people that the uproar around has gotten even louder, before he's pulling me inside. Rye shoots me a concerned look, but follows us. Despite everything, no matter what he does and does not do today, I'm glad he's here.
There might've been a dozen people just by the building, but for now the ones inside are just a few. Merchants, of course. They all surround Ellesse, like her own personal Peacekeepers. I can't see her lawyer, whom I'm more interested in, but I do have a pretty good look at Peeta's mother. The few times I've been unfortunate to be in her company, she's always worn either baggy clothes that you'd wear around the house or ones obviously intended for work, fully covered in flour and other ingredients. It's weird to see her in a long black dress. She's even wearing heels. Spending a long amount of time here isn't in her plans. We'll see about that.
We must have not been accepted in the courtroom yet. I can see Haymitch and the rest of Peeta's family in the other corner of the lobby. I pull him in their direction, breaking the spell between him and Ellesse that started the moment their eyes locked. It's a bad spell.
Bannock is barely holding Elsa up. The woman should be in bed, preparing to give birth to a baby, instead of witnessing this madness. Everything ends today, I remind myself. Hopefully. Peeta gives her a bear hug, his other hand still in mine. I can feel Haymitch's intrigued, yet amused gaze on us, but I don't look back, choosing instead to thank Mr. Mellark for the cookies.
Not long after that, a woman, too cheery for her occupation, comes to inform us the judge will see us now. Effie Trinket (obviously not born in district 12) shows us our seats. She reminds us countless times that we can't leave the room during the trial without informing her first, unless it's time for a break. Even if it's our turn to speak up, we must await her sign before standing up. When she's satisfied with our understanding, she moves on to repeat the same to the people on Ellesse's row.
I can see her lawyer now. Caroline Campbell. Dark blonde hair in a long ponytail down her back, snake like eyes. Lawyer clothes – navy skirt with a suit jacket on top of a white blouse. I must've been trying to read her eyes for too long, because they suddenly lock on mine. I quickly look away, turning around for a moment.
From our place at the first bench, I can see the others beginning to fill. The row behind Ellesse is almost full. I spot some olive-skinned familiar curious faces, but they don't outnumber the blondes. Behind us, I see Delly and surprisingly, but not much, Madge. I'm spellbound by the pretty pin on her white dress.
A/N: This chapter is shorter than usual, but I wanted the trial itself to be separated. Another reason is the lack of reviews – writing is always more pleasant when you have support. This is not me trying to manipulate you or anything, but it is a fact that pretty much every time I read a review, I want to write; therefore the chapters would come faster if I get more feedback. I see that the readers outnumber the reviewers, so feel free to let me know what I should change or get better at, and I will do my best. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.