CHAPTER EIGHT
PEETA FLASHBACK
In the fog stood the silhouette of a petite, womanly figure over Peeta. Her almond-shaped eyes matched the blue-grey mist perfectly, a stunning compliment to her olive brown skin and braided black hair. Like a crystal pool in a wood, a mint and chocolate delicacy he'd kill to taste. Katniss stretched her hand out for Peeta's and the fog rapidly sucked away. Her high cheekbones and full plum lips became crystal clear.
"I'll see you at midnight." her voice echoes as if he were lying in a cave.
He watches his own hand rise but he can't lift any other part of his body. Suddenly he's blinded by a bolt of lightning and deafened by the merciless thunder. He screams for her but Katniss is enveloped in the flames. Peeta jerked back to reality, eyes hurting as though really adjusting to the dark after a bright explosion all over again. He was facing his reflection in the expansive ornate bathroom. In the Capitol.
He sighed, "You're in 13. You're safe."
But Peeta knew that Katniss was still being used for this war, just like he is. She never would have kept the rebel plan from him, no matter how much people try to convince him she did. Peeta's greatest regret was that he agreed to separate from her in the Arena.
Peeta exited his bathroom, drying his face with a soft, heated hand towel embellished with the Panem emblem. He gave the mark a prolonged stare, the red makeup that painted his lips for an interview smeared into it. He chucked it in the laundry bin woven with bamboo. He had been separated from Katniss for just a few weeks, but he missed her with a pain as though there were a rip in his heart.
He could hardly eat, let alone enjoy, the decadent Capitol fare anymore. Tonight, he had forced himself to pick at the lamb stew with dried plums he had requested. It was Katniss's favorite dish. There were so many things that Haymitch kept from him and Katniss. Peeta had trusted him with their lives.
Peeta shed his white wool tuxedo. The only shock that was pleasant was District 13 still existed. If they could survive for so long without the support of the Capitol, they should be able to protect Katniss. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, hanging his head.
"I never should have let you go," he whispers for the umpteenth time.
Peeta rolled over onto his front, hugging the pillow with his brawny arms. His abdomen felt as though it were swinging, a nauseous lump swelled in his throat. He supposed it was anxiety eating at him, but that was growing more oversimplified by the minute. Finally, Peeta made his ungainly return to the bathroom. He gags once, just once, and it seemed like every bite he ate launched out his mouth.
His eyes swam with tears as he coughed uncontrollably. He had been sick before in 12, but this was different. Sure, his stomach had hurt but he never so quickly gave in to nausea. His lips trembling and his teeth chattering, Peeta used the countertop to push himself to his feet. Exhausted, but relieved that the pain had passed, he returned to his bed.
He fed himself one peppermint from the bowl on his nightstand. A week passed and, at the end of every other day, he would fall ill just as he had the first time. At least he was able to stay hydrated but Peeta was miserable. There was a soft ringing in his ears whenever he tilted his head on the bad days. Something was very wrong with him but he couldn't inform anyone of what was happening.
No one visited him that whole week. Surely, he was being watched on cameras. Still, no one came to his aid. He did not want to risk the Avoxes' safety by relaying it to them. Even if he did, they couldn't tell anyone.
Finally, two guards came for Peeta. He dressed in khaki trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater. While dressing, he heard the guards gossiping outside his door about him. Quite openly, in fact. But Peeta crouched low by the door anyway, placing his ear as close to the crack as he dared.
"- the Mockingjay strung Mellark along like a dog on a chain. Anyone with eyes could see it was one-sided." Said one of the guards. "She doesn't care enough to sway Coin to stop the fighting. The Mockingjay wants the President dead, sooner rather than later. This one was just a strategy to stay alive in the arenas. Now she's got no one to owe."
"Pathetic sap." Agreed the other guard.
Peeta clenched his jaw and got to his feet. He tried to pass between the guards but they steered him for the exit.
"Weigh-In or Interview?" Peeta asked nonplused.
Usually they ignored his questions and Peeta was accustomed to being treated like a show pony by now.
So he was mildly surprised when one replied, "It's a surprise."
Peeta had modeled for the Capitol in his Hunger Games career. But this room was empty of his glamor team. There was not even a backdrop. Just a camera on a high tripod in the middle of the room.
"Take off your clothes and wait." Instructed the guard, shutting Peeta in the room.
This room was terribly cold so Peeta chose to inspect the camera instead, figuring they were late to bring the rack of outfits for the interview. There was an X of masking tape near where the floor met the wall before the camera. Peeta jolted when the door opened again and the photographer flanked with heavyset guards entered the room. Peeta felt cornered and claustrophobic. His stomach churned and he took this opportunity to tell someone, anyone, about his ailment.
"I haven't been able to keep anything down for nearly a week now. I think I'm coming down with a flu. Is there anything I can take for it?"
His question fell on deaf ears. The team went about their duties as if he was not even there. Peeta's head was swimming. He believed he had become invisible. He raised his voice to be sure they'd at least hear him.
"The Capitol had medication that closed my leg wound in my first Games. Surely, they have something in stock for the common flu." Peeta continued.
Now they see him.
"Disobeying orders from your superiors?" Asked the guard who appeared to be the leader.
Peeta raised a brow and indicated the empty room, "There's nothing for me to change in to."
"Undress." Said the same guard.
"Where's the outfit that I'm supposed to model?" Peeta asked, trying to be polite.
"Undress."
Peeta frowned now, his voice lowering, "… What's going on?"
"You weren't shy about it in your first Games." Pointed out another guard.
Peeta would never forget Katniss undressing him at the riverside in their first Games. Now Snow wanted naked photographs of him. He had never felt more grateful that he was in the Capitol and not Katniss.
"I was bleeding out. Dying." Peeta replied sourly. "I'm not undressing."
Those three words were a mistake. All five guards pounced on Peeta and he struggled hard as they ripped everything but his underwear off. The photographer focused entirely on her camera. Bruised and shaken, the guards easily positioned Peeta on the X and threatened him with more violence if he did not obey. Peeta stared down the barrel of the lens.
People monitored his every move on security cameras in his penthouse. These people didn't care that he was very obviously ill. With the flash of the camera, it came to Peeta: Snow was poisoning him.
PRESENT DAY
At the end of our strengthening exercises, York lines us up for our 'Body Mass Index'. Almost no one back home was overweight, but this was never a pleasant experience in P.E. class. To be compared to other students just highlighted our low place in District 12 society. The heavier students were wealthier whereas the students like me … it was insulting. However, it was much less high-tech in Twelve.
Here, there is a tall metal rod mounted to the wall with a lockable headpiece. The scale was built into the floor and I think it's usually meant for weighing items going on aircrafts. My surname is before Peeta's in the alphabet so I must go first. I press my heals back to the wall and stand as straight as I can.
York reads aloud, "Five foot three."
I catch Peeta's eye and he smirks, mouthing, "Shorty."
With my inconsistent nutrition back home, I was never destined to be a sky-scraper. I wrinkle my nose at him good-naturedly and side-step onto the scale. York arranges me properly and announces my weight for the whole class to hear. For once, I'm not ashamed.
"One-twenty."
"That's regular, right?" I ask her, quietly.
York shrugged, "Do you feel regular, Everdeen?"
"Tired." I correct.
York nods dismissively and I can leave for the evening but I wait to hear Peeta's measurements. His face still has sunken spaces to fill, especially in his cheeks. What meager fat he had on him in 12 was drained from him while Snow's captive and his muscles are struggling to catch up with Gale. That is impossible in such a short space of time. Gale looks huge now, a muscular beast. He's definitely past six feet in height now and could easily tip the scales at 200 pounds of muscle.
Peeta may be ready set in his mind about going to fight the Capitol. But I need to hear for myself that he is in physical condition for it. Finally, York reached the surnames beginning with an M.
"I don't have all night, Mellark." Said York.
Peeta takes a deep breath and steps up to the machines.
"Five-foot-nine."
I gaze down at my fingers, toying with my nails. I dread what his weight is going to be. I remember vividly that nice doctor saying that Peeta should be between 144 and 176 pounds. My brows furrow, hoping that last night's attack did not set him back. Or is that exactly what I want? For him to stay here?
"One-Forty-Seven." Came York's voice.
I sigh, there's no medical reason to keep Peeta in 13. But, at least he's healthy. I smile for him when he reaches me at the door. When he speaks, his voice sounds brittle and rather husky. I've heard him sound this way after nights of reliving nightmares.
"What a training session!" he gasps. "I can't feel my arms."
"I can't feel anything." I laugh.
He squeezes by hand and kisses my head, taking a good draw of my hair's beeswax-soap scent.
Peeta leans on the railing, gazing up and down, "Look at this place. It's incredible."
"Couldn't use a dab of paint?" I joke, joining him.
He nods, "Maybe some green."
I grin, it's my favorite color and he remembers. He remembers more about me than I do about myself. I touch his arm and for the first time in too long I feel some hardness beneath. Muscle. I spot Johanna approaching us. She's wringing her fingers, hunching her shoulders, and avoiding every passerby's eyes. Peeta follows my gaze and reads Johanna like an open book.
"Johanna, what's wrong?" he asks softly.
I follow Peeta over to Johanna, who swallows hard as she stops in her tracks.
"Beetee hacked the Capitol's online records and photos are circulating of the Victors." Johanna explains in a breaking voice. "To all of the Districts."
My mind goes straight to the worst possible scenario. I remember that Finnick was forced into being a sex slave for the Capitol's elite. Was Johanna also forced? But Beetee would never release photos like that, even if it would make the Districts hate the Capitol more.
No … never ….
I frown, glancing between her and Peeta, "What kind of photos?"
Johanna mocks flippantly, "Oh, just from a few months ago."
Peeta seems to understand something I have yet to grasp. His blue eyes are suddenly distant and dark.
"After our lovely holiday to the beach." Johanna continues.
I try to get Peeta's attention, "Peeta?"
"Yours, too." She concludes in a voice barely above a whisper, talking to Peeta.
Peeta's voice cracks badly when he speaks, "Why would Beetee-?"
"You think any Victor has a say around here? Even Beetee? Well, besides her!" She eyes me venomously. "They say it's to enrage our side. To make us more sympathetic. Especially you – some still think you're a traitor."
Peeta takes a step back, almost like his one knee is about to give out.
I grab him by the shoulder, "Peeta, what is she talking about?"
He nods and Johanna darts away.
Peeta turns to me, "There was a photographer. They wanted high-quality photos of what happens to their prisoners, for if they win the war. They took ones of me …."
"Before they started poisoning your food?" I ask.
Peeta shook his head, "Mostly right before the artists prettied me up for an interview with Flickerman. They just did it to humiliate Johanna. They took mine to send to you."
"I never saw any photo of you before they rescued you." I say. "Just when you were dolled up for the interviews. But I could tell they weren't treating you right."
Peeta gulps, "Well, these weren't so pretty."
I observe Peeta chewing his lip, glancing around at the many faces passing us. He gulps dryly and presses a hand over his heart.
"Peeta, don't look at them." I grip both of his hands. "You're doing so well. Amazing. I won't let you -"
Peeta's eyes snap onto mine, "Me? I don't want you to see them! I lived it. I remember what I looked like. Still look like."
My lip quivers but my eyes grow hard and murderously still.
"You can't let your anger blind you." Peeta tells me. "Besides, I'm back. Alive and kicking."
"You would do the same for me. You know you would."
The leaked photographs clearly took a toll on Johanna. She was like a cobra ready to strike at anyone who even looked at her the wrong way in her view. She worked with her team in the Capitol and had some measure of control over how much skin she showed. The Capitol took that control from both her and Peeta. I promised Peeta that I would never see the photographs of him out of respect, giving him back every bit of control I can.
When they were shown at supper that night, I embraced him, closing my eyes. The Insects were honed on our every move. The only times were weren't being filmed was when we were parted, which was only at night. But I'm so focused on Peeta that I'm slacking in training today. I'm only brought back to reality when a weight ball bounces into my stomach and knocks me flat on my backside.
"Sorry!" Apologizes a boy slightly larger than Peeta. "I yelled 'fore'."
I wave him off shakily, "I'm fine. Don't worry about it -"
Suddenly, Peeta shoves the young man to the ground. The reaction was so disproportionate. But the way he was poised, he could intimidate men as large as Gale.
"Peeta, no! No! Stop it!" I exclaim, sitting up.
"You hurt her!" He snarls at the boy, raising his fist again.
I shoot to my feet and grip that forearm. I see the fury in his eyes and it takes me aback a moment. His hands drop to his sides. The boy comes away from the fall with a scraped elbow and palms.
"I'm sorry," I tell the boy and then lead Peeta off the mat. "He didn't hit me on purpose." I glance warily at Commander York. "If you attack another person, she might not let you in training anymore. You can't overreact." Peeta still looks determined. "And you won't come with us to the Capitol."
His expression changes coldly, "Let them try." He looks at me, "All those nights I laid awake in my hospital bed, thinking about how my family died. My friends. The people I never knew. My one resolve is to make certain – with my own eyes – that they did not die for nothing."
I lay my hand over his heart and rest my ear on his chest. He closes his eyes and I feel his chin on top of my head. He kisses my hair, I hear it.
"I can't bare to see anyone hurt you." He explains. "It feels good to have something to look after. To protect somebody."
I relate to his overreaction now. Getting back to District 12 for Prim was what drove me to survive in my first Games. If Peeta loves me anywhere near as much as I love my family, or as much as I love him –
"Attention, soldiers." called Commander York.
I drop Peeta's hand and we join the crowd before York.
"Countdown to departure for the Capitol is seven days." She reminds us. "There will be an obstacle course to test your physical condition, a written tactics exam, a test on weapons proficiency, and simulated combat in Block. Use whatever hours you have between here and then to hone your skills. None of the tests can be retaken."
Peeta squeezes my hand. I knew how long we had in 13 down to the hour. I gazed up at him. Was he ready to be thrown back into the fire?