A/N: And I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, it's just that this chapter was the biggest road block in the story and it took me forever to finish it.. but anyways here it is and thank you so much for all the favorites, alerts, and of course the ever-confidence boosting reviews! It would really make me happy if you keep them coming :)
I turn on my heel, not waiting around to see if he's following me. I reach the veranda a little out of breath; my heart pounding a hundred miles an hour against my chest. I hear footsteps behind me, and in my peripheral vision I see Cato stepping over the threshold and into the balcony.
"Who's with us?" I say before he has a chance to open his mouth. There's no way he's gonna hear a flat out 'yes' from me. Ever.
"Tamara and Hal from Four, Marvel and Glimmer from One, and of course Clove from my district."
I can't help the chuckle that escaped my lips. Glimmer? Seriously? Somebody in District One named their daughter Glimmer?
"What's so funny?" Cato asks, an eyebrow raised at me.
"Blondie's name is Glimmer." Saying it out loud made it funnier. My shoulders are shaking from the chuckles now. Snatching Haymitch's Scotch wasn't a very brilliant idea after all.
"So?" He says, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the railings.
"Her name is Glimmer!" My snicker grows to a full blown laugh as I see the astonished look that crossed his face. "It's ridiculous."
I laugh some more, and I didn't miss the smile that played across his lips. "You better not tell her that, though. She might try to slice you in half."
That stopped me from laughing. Suddenly I remember why I had to talk to him in private. "Are you sure everybody's okay with this? Because somehow I can't see Clove being thrilled about me being your 'plus one' to the party."
"She won't try anything as long as I'm there. As long as you don't do anything to set her off. Again." He smirks.
"She asked for it." I glower at him. I wouldn't have done it if she just minded her own business. It's the bitch's fault she got served.
His smirk widens at my response. "Yeah. Her reaction more than made up for it, though. That's the first time I saw Clove unhinged."
"Thanks. That's really comforting." There's so much sarcasm dripping from my words that it almost spilled on the sides.
"So how'd you get that eleven?" There it is again. Springing such a question at me while I'm off-guard so I have no choice but to answer it. There's no beating around the bush this time, though. He might as well know.
"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers. Well at the apple in their stupid roast pig's mouth, anyway. They weren't paying attention to me, so I made them." A cool, summer wind blew past the veranda, and it took all I had to suppress the chill that ran through me.
"You really don't like being upstaged, huh?" he says as he leans backward, elbows perched on the balustrade.
That got me thinking. I never saw it that way. I always blamed it on anger, on my short temper. But what really fuels that wrath? Arrogance? Condescension? Or worse, conceit? I cringe just at the mere suggestion of it.
"Maybe, maybe not." I say. The wind picks up a bit, the plants in the terrace swaying their bodies along with it. I rub my shoulders with my arms without thinking about it.
"For somebody nicknamed as the Girl on Fire, you're quite chilly." Cato says, his eyes roaming over my face all the way down to my toes.
I think it's be a great embodiment of the phrase Undressing Somebody with Your Eyes.
"Try wearing a dress then let's see how long you'll stand." I roll my eyes at him, pushing back tendrils of my hair that's tickling my face.
I turn to the scenery before me, my eyes not used to such energy and life. If the Capitol looks magnificent in daylight, it's nothing compared to how majestic it is when the sun goes down. From this spot you can see the entire City Circle buzzing with life even in the depth of the night. Bright lights drench the buildings with a hundred different colors, gigantic screens showing different pictures all at the same time. And let's not forget the people: richly dressed, ostentatious and impractical as ever. Even up here, you can feel their delight as they celebrate our forthcoming deaths. How ironic.
A shuffling sound comes from behind me, and before I knew it Cato's placing his coat on my shoulders.
"Wouldn't want you freezing your ass off this close to the Games. You might not be able to shoot straight." He says, inching closer to me than needed. The warmth radiating from his body is oddly comforting, though. Not that he needs to know that.
"Why, Cato. Didn't know you actually care." With him so close and doing all nice and gentlemanly things, I'm not letting go of my sarcasm without a fight.
"I have to. You're my ally now." He says as-a-matter-of-factly. "Where did you learn how to shoot, anyway?"
"I was born with perfect aim." Give me a break. I'm still trying to get used to his upfront way of asking me. Sarcasm has always been my defense in.. fazing situations. Not that Cato's fazing me or anything. I take a deep breath, catching the faint scent of his cologne around me. It's a clean, masculine scent with an edge of mystery.. and peppermints? Yeah, definitely peppermints. Why does he smell like peppermints?
I let go of the breath I'm holding, looking out the City Circle again. "I hunt. I've been hunting since I was eleven."
No one's probably going to hear us now, with the wind this loud. Cato looks at me with disbelief. "Isn't that illegal?"
Asking me about my personal life is one thing, but pointing out the damn obvious is another. My bluntness shines the brightest during times like these. "Yeah. But so is training for the Games." I snap. I know I crossed the line on this one, I just hope he isn't going to throw me on the edge of this balcony or strangle me with his coat.
He stiffens a little, then lets out a strained chuckle. "I guess we're more alike than we think, Katniss."
"Maybe, maybe not." I say as my eyes meet his. His winter blue eyes that are storming with such intensity, clouds of thoughts swirling against them. The tension in his gaze is so immense it's almost physical. Like there's something tangible holding me down, making me unable to break off his stare.
"I better get going." I finally say when I couldn't take the tension any longer. I straighten up, taking his coat off me and giving it back to him. "Thanks."
"Sure you don't want it?" he says, a cocky expression evading his features.
"We can't have people getting the wrong impression, do we?" I was walking over to the doors that would lead me back inside when Cato's voice halts me.
"Goodnight, Katniss." He says.
I whip around in time to see him slinging his coat over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Cato. See you in the arena."
"Count on it."
I wake up to a harsh stream of light hitting me in the face. I slowly open my eyes, staring at the pale yellow ceiling. Less than twenty four hours before the games. I think. The calm before the storm.
I get up from my bed, showering and dressing in autopilot. I'm jolted back to my senses when my mockingjay pin falls to the tiled floor, filling the bathroom with a clattering sound.
Madge. What is she doing right now? Did she watch my interview last night? Does she think she made the right choice giving me her beautiful pin?
I realize how much I miss her. She may not talk much, but her peaceful, reassuring company has always been enough. If I don't live through this, I won't have the chance to thank her anymore. For her pin, her encouragement, her friendship. Somehow I add her to the list of the people I have to win this for: for Prim, for Gale, for my mother, and now for her, too.
A pang of loneliness strikes me as I think about everyone I love, waiting for me back in District 12. Their hopeful, anguished faces as they watch me fight for my life. I just want this all to be over. I want to go home.
But to get back to them, I'm gonna have to kill my way through, right? I'm gonna have to kill twenty three other people. Twenty three other people who want to go home just as much as I do. They're just children, like me. With families, friends and loved ones hoping they'll come back alive.
And I'll have to kill them all.
The day passes by really slowly. During lunch, no one was in the mood to talk, not even Effie. The hype of the training, the interviews and the ball has come and gone, leaving us all distressed for the day that's to come.
I locked myself up in my room till late afternoon. Effie beckoned me to the sitting room at five, the lack of sparkle in her eyes causing another wave of dread to go through me. Being the first fan-favorite tributes she ever escorted, I assume Peeta and I grew on her. I follow her out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the anthem of Panem booming loudly in the sitting room. The recaps of yesterday's events are about to be televised.
Our whole posse is seated on the plush green couches, their attention focused on the TV. I sit next to Peeta who's still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
The anthem slowly fades out and the seal of Panem is replaced by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith bantering around, obviously warming up the audience. All too soon the replays of last night's interviews started, showing the most memorable portions with Caesar and Claudius making comments about the tribute's angle, training score and fashion sense. They both proclaim to have been smitten by Glimmer, which is not surprising since she used the 'sexy' angle. Marvel, they say, is a ladies' man who has the women population of Panem falling for his cocky charms. Clove is a "pretty little thing with a sharp tongue", saying that looks can be deceiving when it comes to this girl.
Then there comes Cato.
Brutal, bloody Cato. A ruthless killing machine with enough of the bad boy vibe that draws the ladies in. If I try hard enough to get past that stupid little smirk of his, I can definitely say he's quite handsome. Okay, maybe really handsome. But it's not like I'll ever admit that.
I was so busy trying to move on from the fact that I actually thought Cato was attractive that I didn't bother to watch the other tributes' interviews anymore. Not until Rue's turn. Small, young and delicate, the way she moves and talks reminds me so much of my little sister. If push comes to shove, will I be able to kill this girl? My throat tightens at the thought.
I almost didn't recognize myself when my face is shown on the screen. Smooth, olive skin and full red lips, my eyes dark and huge. Caesar prattled enthusiastically as Claudius responds with impeccable timing. They love the Girl on Fire, not me. I think. They only see the parts of me that they want to see. If they knew the real me, they'd probably burn me on a stake or something.
Lastly, it's Peeta's turn. These people love him for who he really is. Likeable, adorable, lovable.. well you get the point. He never has to pretend. He's so selfless and pleasant by nature that I sometimes kind of hate him for it. People like him don't deserve to be in the Games. Nobody does. If I ever win this thing, how will I be able to live through being a victor? How will I stand among these gaudy, morbid Capitol people who let twenty-three children die, year after year, while the last one standing lives a life full of misery? Who came up with this barbaric, cruel Games anyway?
Whoever it was, I hope they're having fun burning in rotten hell.
The interview reruns are followed by the TV special of Andromeda Snow's birthday celebration. They covered everything—from the venue preparations, the designing of her gown, the guests.. Well in short it quickly bored me out. Since it's almost seven already I excused myself to go to the dining room, asking an Avox to prepare our dinner. After a few more minutes Peeta, Haymitch and our stylists followed suit, while Effie and the prep teams asked for their meals to be served in the sitting room.
We just finished our main course when the actual moments from the party were shown. Andromeda's entrance, the performances and of course, the guests of honor. Cinna politely suggested we have our dessert in the sitting room so we could watch along with the others. Caesar and Claudius voice out their thoughts about just how spectacular the event is, making it possibly the event of the year. We tributes got almost half of the screen time as the debutante did, especially the Careers and Peeta and me.
I nearly choke on my hazelnut truffle as I see the picture on the TV screen. It's Peeta fork-feeding me the summer flavored chicken.
"I'm really curious as to what's going on with these two. We all know Peeta Mellark said he has someone he fancies back home, but could that change because of the Girl on Fire?" He says, looking utterly inquisitive. "A reliable source told me that the two were inseparable in training, and judging by how close and comfortable they are with each other at the party, I think it's all right to assume that there is something deeper than friendship going on between the two tributes."
"Indeed, Ceasar. The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve!" Claudius agrees. His tone is too damn happy I want to punch him. "However, my friend, as the night wore on we also saw Finnick Odair himself spellbound by Miss Everdeen's beauty. They seem to have had quite a good time." More pictures of me, this time with Finnick. When he kissed my hand, when we were dancing and when he twirled me.
"And let's not forget District Two's Cato von Blaicken, who was brave enough interrupt Finnick and Katniss." Caesar's voice resonates in the background while another set of images flashes in the screen. Cato cutting in between me and Finnick, Cato and I dancing, and another one when he was holding me so close I could hardly breathe. It looks as if he's hugging me from behind while we sway on the dance floor. Seeing it with my own eyes made me squirm inside, I couldn't even hear what bullshit Caesar was saying.
All those were nothing compared to the next image that appeared. It was during our talk in the veranda, right about the moment when he told me we're more alike than we think. We were both leaning against the railings, facing each other with only a few inches between us. The shot was taken behind me, and with Cato's head tilted a little to the right it looks like we're kissing. A lot. Now I choked on my truffles for real.
"Well well well! Looks like the Girl on Fire is a heartbreaker. I can't wait to see how much of this budding romances will unfold!" Claudius interjects with that booming voice of his.
"That's why you should stay tuned, Panem! Don't miss the opening of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games live tomorrow at ten o'clock in the morning, with an encore telecast at seven thirty p.m. But for now we must end here, and we'll all see you again tomorrow!" Caesar says, looking straight at the camera addressing the whole of Panem. Of course everybody will watch. It's not like we have a choice.
Claudius then utters the golden phrase of the Games. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone!"
"And may the odds be ever in your favor. Goodnight, Panem." Caesar ends. The seal of Panem appears again, the anthem played, then the screen goes dark. Cinna turns the TV off while everybody else stares at me.
"You know sweetheart, that just gave me a brilliant idea." Haymitch says with a hand under his chin, looking at me thoughtfully. Our prep teams, ushered out by Effie, mutter a quick goodnight to us before heading off to the elevator.
It takes me a few seconds to catch what my mentor's trying to say. "No. No, no no, Haymitch. Not in this lifetime, not even in the next one. Never."
"Finnick told you everything you needed to know. It shouldn't be as difficult as you think it's going to be."
"I am not going to play lovesick schoolgirl with Cato." I say with finality.
"Then have fun enjoying you last few days in this lifetime." Haymitch snaps at me. "I'm not telling you to marry him, Katniss. You just have to flirt with Cato here and there to keep the 'budding romance' act alive. The show, the comments made by Caesar and Claudius, gave you an immense advantage in the Games. You're not just the Girl on Fire now. You're not just the girl who volunteered for her sister anymore. You're now seen as a heartbreaker: beautiful, desirable, alluring. Do you think you could've managed to do that on your own? Sponsors will be tripping over their own feet supporting you."
He pauses for a few moments, letting his words sink in. When he sees I already realized he's right, he continues.
"All you have to do is keep your temper in check, stick with the Careers and bat your eyes at Cato. Stay close to him. Keep your guard up at all times around the others, especially around the District Two girl. Once they start badgering with one another, get the hell out. You'll know it when it's time to leave. You understand me?"
I nod solemnly. "Yes."
"Good." Haymitch downs the rest of his thankfully non-alcoholic drink in one gulp.
"What do I do after that?"
"Stay alive." He says. "Now go to your room. I'm going to speak to Peeta. Privately."
I stomp out of the sitting room, albeit bitterly. I know Haymitch's just trying to keep me alive, but following orders has never really been my thing. I've grown to be way too independent to the point where asking for help kind of scratches my pride. I feel like I always have to pay back the help that's been given to me, immediately. I don't like owing anyone anything.
Dropping myself on my queen-sized bed, I think about that cold, rainy afternoon when Peeta Mellark saved my life. It wasn't just the bread, it was the hope those loaves of bread he gave me that I owe him so much for. He helped me when nobody else did, and I'll always be trying to pay him back for that.
Which brings me back to the million dollar question: what would I do if we run into each other in the arena?
If I'm not with the Careers, chances are I'll just let him go. After that we'd be even, no more owed. Simple as that, or at least that's what I tell myself.
I snap out of my reverie when somebody knocks on my door.
"Come in." I glance at the clock on my nightstand, the numbers 10:12 glaring at me. Wow. I've been zoning out for thirty minutes.
Peeta closes the door with a soft click, then turns to face me. He's holding a small pink box in his hands.
"What's that?" I ask.
"An Avox brought it a few minutes ago. Don't worry, Haymitch already cleared it." He says, handing the box to me.
I take it from him, running my hands over the smooth surface of the box. "What's inside it?"
"I don't know. He didn't let me peak." He shrugs before grinning at me.
I gingerly lift the lid and see éclairs. Strawberry éclairs to be exact, about half a dozen of them neatly lined inside a plastic pastry container. I take them out, passing them to Peeta. It doesn't surprise me when I see a note sitting on the bottom of the box. Heavy cream linen paper, inked with a breezy effortless script.
Don't be too sweet or they'll eat you up. Don't be too bitter, or else they'll spew you out.
-Finnick
He's serious about that advice, after all.
"Who's it from?" Peeta asks, munching on an éclair beside me.
"Finnick." I tell him languidly.
"I think he likes you. Maybe not romantically—no offense—" He raises both of his hands in mock surrender "but he does seem to be really fond of you. Admires you, even."
"You think so?" I ask him, unsure if he's being honest or just trying to make me feel better.
"Yep." He's being sincere, as far as I can tell. Does he really think I'm that likeable? Am I really that likeable? I mean, it's great if I am, but somehow I just don't see myself in that light. "You really have no idea, do you?" He says, taking in my contemplative expression. "The effect you can have."
His response makes me more confused. Effect? What effect?
He changes the topic before I can ask what he meant. "Anyway back to Finnick. What does his note say, if I may ask?"
I hand him the note while munching on an éclair myself. It's just as delicious as the ones in the party, the light creaminess of the pastry filling my mouth.
"Well.. I guess you're gonna have to play love team with Cato, then." He says, giving the note back.
"As if I have a choice. Maybe Haymitch got Finnick to enlighten me about it, thinking I'll probably listen to anybody but him." I huff. I hate it when Haymitch's right. It makes me feel bad for being a pain in his ass.
"Looks like it worked." Peeta says, smirking. "I don't think Haymitch asked for Finnick to intervene, though. I think he wants to give you his 'advice' himself so he asked for Haymitch's approval to talk to you."
Peeta's theory seems plausible. Maybe Haymitch really has something to do with it, since he's our mentor and he has to know everything there is for us in the Games. And if Haymitch trusts Finnick, I think I better do, too.
"You think I could trust Finnick?"
"Well.. I think you could trust at least his advice. If two Victors think it's a great idea, who are we to say otherwise?" He tells me with a grin.
"I don't think I can do it, Peeta. I don't know what to do." I've never had a boyfriend, much less flirted with anyone. I don't know if I can pull this off.
"Just remember who you're doing this for. Whenever you encounter something in the arena that makes you indecisive, remember why you have to win."
I don't know how I should respond to that. What can I say, when in less than twelve hours we'd be pawns in a deadly game? When the survival of one's self means the certain death of the other? I don't want Peeta to die, but I certainly can't not win, either. We shouldn't have just gotten close to each other. It makes things a whole lot harder when the Games begin.
"I guess this is goodbye, then." I say after a few minutes of silence.
"Pretty much, yes." He gets up from my bed, straightening his shirt as he stood up. "Goodnight, Katniss."
I stand up too, accompanying him to the door. "Goodnight Peeta. I hope we don't see each other in the arena."
He smiles, reaching for the doorknob. "I hope so too. Stay alive."
"You too." Before I have time to register what I'm doing, I step closer to Peeta and hugged him. It took every ounce of strength I had not to let my tears fall. After a few seconds I pull away from him and stepped aside so he can open the door, not having the balls to look at him. Judging by the way he's moving, I can tell he found this a little awkward, too. He closes the door softly behind him, leaving me and my humiliated ass alone in my room. I go back to my bed and crawled under the covers. Sleep didn't come till midnight settled in, my last conscious thought being If Peeta dies, please don't let me witness it.
Cameras are flashing, brighter and brighter, taking snapshots of me in my billowy dress. They kept on shouting my name and asking me questions, shoving past each other to get a closer look at the Girl on Fire. Aggravated, I push them all away, running off towards the exit and wrenching open the heavy doors of the Remake Center.
I was greeted by the chill, crisp air of midnight. Not a soul is in sight in the City Circle, the only thing I can hear was the sound of my own heartbeat. I turn around, but the Remake Center already disappeared. I am alone.
My isolation is starting to scare me, so I run, making my way to the Training Center when I hear a rustle behind me. Cato brushed past me as if he didn't even see me. I call out out his name, but he just looked at me over his shoulder, chuckled darkly, then kept on running. I went after him, and we were halfway to the Training Center when someone yanks my left arm.
Portia? My befuddled mind took in her curly, platinum blond hair, her hand clutching my arm in a death grip. "Don't trust him, Katniss. Don't." she says.
"Why?" I ask, feeling an unreasonable anger bubble up inside me.
"Because he'll leave you when you need him the most."
I look back to where Cato was, but my eyes found nothing.
Cinna enters my room before the crack of dawn. After he helps me change into a plain white shirt and denim cutoffs, we go up to the roof, waiting for the hovercraft that would take us to the catacombs under the arena. The Launch Room, as they call it, will be where my final preparations are going to be done. District Twelve calls it the Stockyard, the place where animals are held in before slaughter.
It seems fitting, I think.
The hovercraft finally arrives, a ladder lowering down in front of us. I grip tightly on the rungs, my feet cautiously placed under me. A current has me frozen till I'm inside, where a woman in a white lab coat injects the tracker on my arm.
Cinna and I have our breakfast at the hovercraft and after about half an hour we reach the arena. He helps me get ready, fixing my hair and helping me into my clothes.
"Head high, Girl on Fire. Remember what Haymitch and Finnick told you, okay?" Cinna says as he fastens my mockingjay pin on my shirt.
"Okay." I'm sort of shaking now. Cinna takes my hand in both of his as he leads me to the glass tube that would take me to arena.
"Good luck, Katniss. If I'm ever allowed to bet, I'd bet on you. You remember that." He says, kissing me on the forehead.
I step inside the tube, positioning myself in the center of the metal plate. The cylinder starts to rise, the Launch Plate pushing me up till I can feel the midday sun casting a warm glow on my skin. The clean, earthly scent of the forest assures me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games begin!" I hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith surrounding me, then the countdown begins.
Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…
I observe the field before me. A vast plain, with the golden horn of the Cornucopia smack right at the middle. To my right side was a lake, the forest to my left and back. Right across me was the boy from Eight, and behind him was virtually nothing. Could be a field or a damn cliff, I don't know.
Forty-two, Forty-one, forty..
I look around for Peeta, spotting him five tributes to my right. He gives me a terse nod before lifting his head high, looking straight ahead.
Thirty-five, Thirty-four, thirty-three..
About two more tributes to Peeta's right stood Cato. Judging by the way he's looking at me, he's waiting for me to catch his stare. I look at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow. He inclines his head a bit to his right, gesturing to a silver, sparkling object about three feet from the mouth of the Cornucopia.
Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen..
A bow. A gorgeous, spectacular bow and a sheath of arrows, lying in a mound of blanket rolls. It's a lot like the same bow I used to shoot at the Gamemakers. Haymitch's right, again. They want players with some heat. They want a good show out of me. I look back at Cato, who just smirks at my awestruck expression. His shoulders are squared tight with anticipation. He gives me a wink, then his eyes zeroes in to a rack of swords just inside the golden horn.
Eleven, ten, nine..
I bend my knees a little, preparing myself for the forty-yard sprint that could be difference between my life and death. I ball up my fists, the tension and excitement coursing through my veins. I can do this. I tell myself. Run, get the bow, and the rest will follow.
Six, five, four..
A year ago, if someone told me that one day I'll be in an arena acting on Finnick Odair's advice, I would've glared the living daylights out of them. Now, standing on a metal plate about to fight to the death, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.
Three, two, one.
Everything was silent as Panem draws in a collective breath. After what felt like a lifetime, the gong rings and I run for my life. Literally.
A/N: Reviews, anyone? :)