Authors note: I know it's taking me a little longer than usual to update; I'm trying to continue this thoughtfully while staying true to the tone of the books. Please keep reviewing, it's incredibly motivating! Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 10
Mother,
I didn't expect my first letter home to be quite so bleak, but I don't want to sugarcoat what I think is going on. I'm not sure how long it will take you to get this—if they don't stop it from getting there, that is—but we've been here for two weeks as I'm writing this. The filming has been a nightmarish experience, and I feel like I've failed in proving my love for Peeta in front of the crew for no other reason than every word and move between us is scripted. Haymitch told me on our third day here that the crew was reporting everything to Snow and that he was not happy. If only every interaction between us was not directed, our love would be much more believable… but I feel like we've been set up to fail.
What's worse is that Snow has ordered Haymitch home to District 12, as you'll probably already know by the time you get this letter. He's been keeping us in the loop regarding our 'performance' and what to expect next, which is I'm sure why they're having him leave. Luckily, Cinna is here as my stylist again, but I'm worried he'll be replaced soon too.
I want to come home so badly, mother. If Peeta weren't here with me I'm sure I'd go crazy. I think we're safe at the moment, but now I know for sure it's not looking good once they're done with us—I'm worried that could even be before I have the baby. I'm not sure she's so safe anymore either. Don't tell Prim any of this; I don't want her to worry. Tell her I miss her and to start thinking about baby girl names.
I swallow back the lump in my throat as I sign my name on the letter. I look up at Peeta, sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the vast city. "We have to get out of here."
His response is quiet but firm. "I know."
Haymitch should be here any moment. He's coming to say goodbye to us before his midnight train back to District 12. I never thought I'd feel so distraught about Haymitch's absence, but without him, I feel like we'll really be alone, at the mercy of the Capitol people. Surely Snow knew Haymitch would tell us he was displeased, didn't he? Was that the plan all along, bring Haymitch here, feed us information to scare us and then send him home? I don't know what's going on, only that they didn't bring us here with the intention of sending us both back in one piece.
"Hey," Peeta says, calling my gaze back to him, "Are you feeling okay?" His voice is sincere and concerned, with an edge of anger, directed at them.
Two days ago, we were filming a shoot of Peeta and I taking a walk hand-in-hand around Tollse Square Gardens, the Capitol's massive garden and public square. The people of the Capitol are voting on every aspect of our wedding—the dress, the venue, the wedding bands and the cake, and whatever other sorts of things are involved in wedding planning. Our weddings are quite different in District 12 and I knew nothing about Capitol weddings before I came here and still don't. Mila, the director and narrator of our show, explained on air that the options given were mine and Peeta's favorites, and that we wanted the Capitol citizens' help in making our final selections. In reality, no one ever asked either of us anything. I didn't care except that they broadcasted it as if we pained over each and every selection. I thought of Gale, and wondered if he'd really believe I cared about what sort of wedding cake I had.
Anyway, three cakes lit up screens around the square. After our meet-and-greet, the observers used remotes that had been passed out to select their favorite cake for our wedding. It was a big to-do and toward the end I worried an eye roll of mine had been caught on camera. Maybe it had, because there was no other explanation for what happened next.
Peeta and I waved and smiled as we headed down the long staircase. I'd grown accustomed to cameras everywhere, capturing my every angle, and today was no different. Except that as I carefully went to place my heel on the next stair, a thin metal pole suddenly appeared under my left foot, big enough for me to trip over but small enough not to be noticed by the crowd or cameras.
I tried to catch my balance, but my tall ivory heels made it impossible. I tumbled down with Peeta bounding after me, finally able to stop my fall a few stairs later. The crowd gasped with fright. I looked up to the huge screen above me to see that the cameras had captured Peeta's face, overwhelmed with concern, tears welling in his eyes. There were more gasps at his obvious love for our baby and me. I barely had a chance to stand up and assure him I was all right until we were whisked down the staircase and into our waiting car.
I felt shaken up and had a headache, but felt fine otherwise. All I wanted to do was go back to our suite and sleep the rest of the awful day away, but Peeta insisted we go to the hospital for an ultrasound. Mila was remarkably casual about my fall, making me suspicious, but she obliged Peeta's demands and we sped to the hospital. The ultrasound showed the baby was fine and developing normally, but as much as the technician tried to assure him, it did little to ease Peeta's concern.
"Depends. Do you mean physically or mentally?" I said, and he scowled at me. "I'm sorry. Yes, I feel fine. Actually, I felt her move last night," I say, feeling like I owe him more reassurance. It's true, but since I still have difficulty discussing the baby with him, I hadn't planned to mention it.
His face brightens. "Really? The first time?" I nod.
"What'd it feel like?"
"Like… a fluttering. Really light, almost like tiny legs."
He smiled a little, his mood lifted. Between being tripped on the stairs and learning Haymitch would be sent away, it had been a rough couple of days. But we hadn't talked too much about it. Our time in the room since then had been quiet, with Peeta mostly reading and me writing. We'd gone to sleep early, wrapped in each other's arms especially tight. Peeta had a nightmare last night. It was different than usual; he woke up groaning with fear. I coaxed him back to sleep, but never asked what he was dreaming about.
"When do you think it'll air? The episode in the square?" He asked.
"I guess next week," I offer.
"We have to be here to watch it. Maybe we can see something. We have to find out when it airs," Peeta says with determination in his voice.
"We can try," I shake my head. "But I'm sure we won't be able to tell. If any of the cameras even caught it, I'm sure it will be edited out," I remember exactly how it looked, the long, thin silver pole that almost camouflaged into the steps.
"Unless they want us to see."
I pause. "Us and the rest of the Capitol citizens? I doubt it. They all love us."
He shakes his head. "They don't know that the Capitol is out to get us; only we really know that. What if…" he says, his voice trailing off.
"What if what?"
"What if they're setting up our eventual demise? Meaning, they want the citizens to think someone is after us—you, me, and the baby—so that when they eventually off us, they'll see it coming? Of course, they won't suspect their precious government could have been involved. The Districts might, but that will still only work towards the Capitol's advantage."
I lower my head, shaken. Peeta's not often the pessimistic one with a disastrous view of the future, that's usually me. But he could be right about this. The government may despise us; me, especially. But their citizens truly love us. If I had any doubt about that before, it was expelled the other day in the Square. They adore us. What if it's the Capitol's goal to convince everyone that there's a mysterious person, or group, out to bring us down? The cameras had followed us to the hospital and I think they'd surely air the visit—to let everyone know the producers of the show are obviously trying to keep us safe against some sort of enemy.
"You might be right," I say, my voice quiet but laced with alarm.
"If I am, more will keep happening. But it will be intermittent and random, impossible for us to predict," he pauses. "Impossible for me to keep you safe."
His voice lowers, and he looks away, avoiding my gaze. His eyes are intensely blue again, terribly sad but also searching for an answer. It hurts me to watch him, and I want to jump up and wrap my arms around his neck—but that doesn't seem like enough. I want to feel his lips on mine, to comfort him with my kiss and touch. He's not looking at me, he can't see my red cheeks and loaded stare. I think of Gale, waiting for me at home. I stop myself from running to Peeta. But in this moment I realize something has happened here in the Capitol, something besides the reality TV show. Something similar to what started to happen the last few days in the arena, and on the train. Feelings for Peeta bubble up from deep inside of me, but unlike in District 12, I can't run away from them. Away from him.
The sharp turn of the door handle breaks me out of my haze. It must be Haymitch, he's the only one who knocks without coming in. Peeta seems to come out of wherever he was in his mind, too. I realize I've been holding my breath and expel a long gulp of air from deep within me.
His presence doesn't help the mood. His face is solemn and, while I'm sure he's been drinking, this is one time where you wouldn't be able to tell. "Well," he starts. "Doesn't everybody look cheerful in here."
This makes me smile and I find myself up off the couch, wrapping my arms around Haymitch. His smell of liquor and shaving cream is comforting somehow, and I really don't want to be here without him watching over us, despite all of his antagonizing and drinking. I can tell he's surprised but after a second he returns my hug warmly.
"Don't go," I say.
"Sorry, kiddo," Haymitch says, and his voice is the sweetest I've ever heard it. "You look out for her," he nods to Peeta, and it almost seems like a joke between them. As if he'd ever do anything less. "Are you still feeling ok from the fall, by the way? What about the baby?"
"Yes," I nod. "But it wasn't a fall. You know I was tripped," We'd talked extensively about it that evening in Haymitch's much more modest hotel room downstairs. He agreed that it seemed very plausibly something they'd send someone to do.
"Slip of tongue, Katniss," he said a little sternly. "So?"
"My arm is sore, but otherwise I'm all right. And the baby is moving. She seems more than fine."
Haymitch walks over and shuts the door, which still swings ajar. He sits down between us. "Look," he says. "I can't exactly tell you… what to expect." By the tentative way he's saying this, I can tell he thinks the room might be bugged. If it is, we're in trouble, because Peeta and I have been talking without caution since we've been here. I try to do a quick analysis in my head of anything incriminating we might have said.
"But, I don't think it's good," he finishes and sighs. "I shouldn't stay too long. But you'll be hearing from me," he says. He looks at both of us with wide, ominous eyes, but they also say that he has or will figure out a plan. Or at least I think so.
He picks up his bag again and walks over to Peeta, hugging him quickly. "I'll talk to you soon," He shuts the door hard behind him. I feel paralyzed with a need to escape. The gorgeous, huge suite in the beautiful city suddenly seems intensely stifling and oppressive. The drapes are open just a little, and Peeta stares out into the vast distance. He turns toward me. I find myself looking at him differently now. He doesn't notice.
He opens his mouth to say something and pauses, motioning toward the balcony. I've never been out there in the two weeks we've been in the Capitol, partially because it reminds me too much of the night before the games, and I try not to think about the games beyond the nightmares I have that I can't help. Not that our situation is much better now.
"Do you think out here might be bugged too?"
"Maybe," I say. "But we've already said enough inside, even if it is."
He sighs. "I know. Katniss, we have to get out of here. You're not safe. I thought for sure we'd have until the baby is born to start worrying, but I'm not so sure now. You could've lost it, the other day." I rub my hand on my growing stomach, feeling instinctively protective of my baby. Ironic how before I got here, I wanted to end the pregnancy, and now I may have to fight to keep it going. I'm still not sure what I feel about it, still not happy about bringing a life into this kind of world, but I know that I have to protect her.
I furrow my brow. "It's not just about me… us," I say, referring to the baby. "You're not safe either. Don't forget to think about keeping yourself safe, Peeta! I won't forget to think about it," I say, quickly and with an almost frantic tone to my voice. It alarms me to hear him talk like that, with only the interest of our unborn baby and me in mind. I can't handle thinking of any situation where we live and he doesn't.
"Alright, Katniss," he says gently. "I'll try not to."
The air is momentarily tense, and I know there was desperation in my voice a moment ago. I break the silence and say calmly, "When will Haymitch get home? Tomorrow night?"
"Most likely. And then he'll have to think of some way to get us out of here, that's if that's what he's planning on doing. It could be awhile," He says sadly.
"I can't be out here, I don't want to look at this city anymore. It doesn't matter now; if the room is bugged, they've heard plenty anyway. Come on," I nod toward the balcony door.
Peeta shakes his head. "I'll be in soon. I need to think," He takes a rubber ball he's been shifting from hand-to-hand and throws it over the railing. It bounces right back at us, and he ducks to avoid it. "Figured," He says in response to the force field. I admire the view of his profile as he stares up toward the sky, eye tense, deep in thought. His hair is out of place, the way I like it best. He notices my gaze.
"What?" He says, his voice soft.
I shake my head "Nothing." I look down, as if he can read my mind when I'm looking at him. "I'm going to lay down." I borrow into bed when I get inside. It's late, and I'm physically exhausted, but not very tired mentally. Hormones have shifted my sleeping patterns; and the events of the past few days have made sleep even more difficult.
A while later, I find myself tossing and turning. I can see Peeta's shadow from the balcony, and I know I won't be able to sleep without him here, but I don't want to disturb him. After what seems like an eternity, I hear the balcony door slide close, and feel his weight on the other side of the bed. I turn toward him and turn up one side of my mouth, just a little.
"Still awake?" He asks.
"I can't sleep without you," I admit.
"Hmm, what will you do when we get home?" He says. His voice is at first light and playful, but trails off into something darker. Into thoughts of Gale and I together, maybe. Or thoughts of us never getting home at all. It's hard to tell which.
A surge of emotion washes over me when I feel his warmth around me. I'm so happy he is here now that I can't stop myself from leaning up and kissing him on the lips. He returns the kiss eagerly, and we pull away and reconnect several times. The sexual undertones, if there are any, are much more subtle this time than they were on the train. Our mouths meet only lightly; connecting with both sweetness and sadness. We separate eventually, and I bury myself in his nook. It must be the hormones, I assure myself as I'm drifting off to sleep.
The next morning, that tension between us is back, but neither of us talks about the kissing. After all, we do it for the camera nearly every day, as we did during the games. I'm still surprised when the whole day passes without Peeta mentioning anything about it. There's a glint of happiness in his eyes all day, though, the spark of a newfound motivation to keep going. It reminds me of the one I saw in the cave in the arena.
Effie knocks in vain because she lets herself in before either of us have a chance to answer. "Today is another big day! Have you looked at your schedules?" Silence. Again, neither of us has. She knows we rarely do, but still asks every time. "Today is when your admirers select the dress!"
I can see that Effie is especially excited for this. That makes sense, I think, reminded of the Capitol weddings I've seen on TV. The biggest fuss of the whole event always seems to be the ornate, obnoxious dress the bride wears. The day is a whirlwind of a circus, as usual. The only thing I like about these "big" days is getting time to spend with Cinna. At first, a new, rather snobby stylist was prepping me each morning or afternoon. A few days in, Cinna was there instead, to my absolute delight. He picked me up and twirled me around that first day, reunited with his Girl on Fire, and then chastised himself when he remembered he shouldn't be spinning around a pregnant girl. I was so happy to see him, I didn't mind at all. He dresses me especially outlandish today, apologizing as I groan. "I know, I know," he says. "Everyone demanded something big for the dress selection day. Forgive me." I wanted to ask him what he knows, if anything, about the Capitol's plans for us after the wedding, which is to be next week. But I'm worried I'll get him in trouble or say too much, so I hug him tightly and stay quiet.
Peeta is dressed in a beautiful suit when I'm reunited with him in front of our car. He smiles when he sees me, and it is different than usual. Hopeful. I return his smile with the same warmth, even though I think it must somehow be a mistake. Mila and Effie accompany us on the drive to the convention center. Effie goes on and on about the dresses, asking me my opinion, and growing frustrated when I show little to no interest. When she asks Peeta, he makes up for it by saying he prefers the ball gown for sure. After, Effie quickly starts babbling away to Mila and I shoot him a look.
"You 'prefer the ball gown'?" I whisper sarcastically and add in a mocking, playful smile.
"Hey, somebody here's gotta seem like they care," he smiles and whispers back. "Besides, I think you'd look the prettiest in it."
I smile and blush lightly. After a long pause he follows up with, "Maybe not as pretty as you look now, though. That seems impossible."
I can't find it in me to be irritated or feel guilty in response to his affectionate words. Instead, my stomach seems to flip upside down, the way it might when a teenage girl sees the boy she has a crush on in a hallway at school. I couldn't know for sure; I never had a chance to experience that. But when I look up and see him smiling at me a couple minutes later, the butterflies continue, and I'm sure it's not the baby. I return his coy smile and we sit quietly happy together for the rest of the ride, as Effie babbles away to an obviously annoyed Mila.
When we pull up to the convention center, Effie and Mila hurry out, explaining that Peeta and I should make a slow, exaggerated exit for the crowd. Effie leans in and whispers something about the mass of people being even larger than it was in the square and waves to Peeta to step out first. He does, and then in a silly, dramatic way that makes giggle, extends his hand toward mine and escorts me out. The crowd roars.
When I step out, I can hardly make anything out among the camera flashes, and I wave blindly to the crowd. I look over at Peeta to see he has a mischievous look on his face, and he suddenly but gently pulls me backwards. I gasp as he catches me on the small of my back and proceeds to kiss me passionately for the crowd. He never puts on this much of a show and I can tell he must be in a good mood. The kiss lasts a long time, but it's totally different than the one in the privacy of the suite last night. I'm almost laughing at his dramatics when we pull away, and for once, I flash the crowd a genuine smile.
Because of the narrow brick corridor, the car couldn't get any closer than the edge of the building. An interviewer seems to appear out of nowhere and follows us on our long walk to the doors of the massive convention center. Peeta and I have an unspoken agreement that he'll deal with this sort of thing, as he's so much better at it than I am. After a couple cookie cutter questions that I've answered a dozen times before, I'm too bored to even bother responding. Instead I stare out at the park across from the center. It's one of few places in this city that seems authentic. No skyscrapers or massively wide steel structures; but grass, flowers, trees. I long to stretch out near a large but welcoming rock I see in the center of the park.
"Katniss?" The interviewer summons me, and I ask him if he could repeat the question, please. After giving a prototype answer my gaze drifts away again, this time landing on the train station kitty corner to the convention center. I can tell the workers are from the Districts, not the Capitol. Capitol citizens are very distinctive with their tattooed or colored skin and wild hair, and they are not. Their tired, forlorn expressions confirm it. I watch them load wooden crates into a train car. The way they move is mechanical, piling box after box into crates. They must feel my stare, because one looks up and catches my glance, his eyes full of empathy, for just one second.
Suddenly, an idea pops into my mind.
My head spins, and I have to force my feet to continue moving. The train. Going where we want to be. District workers who might be willing to help. I see that the crates are labeled with various District numbers. A way out.
Serendipitously the interviewer has finished with us at almost precisely this moment. After a dazzling smile and thank-you, I tug at Peeta's arm. He looks back at me with alarm and concern. I pull him closer and whisper to him, trying to look as though I'm simply sharing a lovers' secret. "Peeta. The train." I nod toward the tracks. I watch his face study the workers and evolve with understanding of my implication. He meets my gaze again, and I can tell he wants to talk about it, wants to figure out here and now if we've found a potential way out. The clicking of heels breaks our gaze and I see Effie scuttling toward us frantically.
"We're about to go in! What are you two doing back here?"
In response, Peeta kisses me again and gently rubs the bump in my stomach, keeping consistent with his overly-romantic show. "Just wanted a little time alone, that's all," he says after, as if he just can barely stand to pull away from my lips. "Ready, sweetheart?"
I take his arm and, thinking of the train, give the Capitol citizens my second real smile of the day.