Chapter Three

Peeta held the duvet close to his chest, covering whatever decency he had left. Hunter lay beside him, fast asleep, satisfied with the time they spent together. The man's wealth was obvious. His bedroom was extravagant, his house filled with expensive metals and costly furniture. Even the covers they currently sat in were made of lavish silk, the material soft and a bit slippery. Even though the Capitol man had done whatever he could to make him comfortable, Peeta wanted nothing more than to leave.

His lower back was aching, even the slightest movements making it scream in agony. Hunter wasn't a gentle lover, that was for sure. He liked it hard and fast. A feat Peeta learned the hard way. At least he had managed to switch himself off while it was happening, leaving just the smallest part of him still alert so he could moan on cue and plead for release when told to. He hadn't realized he could be so close and yet so far away at the same time, but he was glad that he discovered that he could because he could do it now every time someone bought him from Snow.

The weird thing was, Peeta felt more vulnerable now, in the aftermath, than he had while actually getting fucked by Hunter. Maybe it was the fact that he had to sit in an unfamiliar bed, naked, unable to sleep because of his alien surroundings and the fear that Hunter will try something if he lay down beside the man and he woke up. He had always hated being naked, even long before Mya had kidnapped him, and he only ever did it when necessary. If he looked in the mirror, he could always find something wrong, whether it be a layer of baby fat when he was younger or a complexion that made him look like he was severely ill.

Sitting up for too long made the ache in his back grow and his bad leg was beginning to join in the harmony of pain as well. Reluctant to give in, Peeta forced himself to continue to sit for as long as possible and when he had no other choice but to lie down, he positioned himself at the very edge of the bed, putting as much distance between himself and Hunter as possible.

He didn't like the feeling of silk against his skin, it was too exorbitant. He prefered the trustworthy embrace of soft cotton, not the sickly smooth caress of the red silk. The material didn't provide any warmth and Peeta couldn't help shivering, wondering how Hunter could bear sleeping in an environment like this one in the winter months. Thankfully, when he lay down the pain in his leg eased. But his back continued to scream in pain, regardless to what position he lay in.

Hunter stirred and Peeta stiffened, shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep. He even pretended to snore a little bit to add to the effect. His heart started beating in his chest like a startled rabbit's, his blood beating in his ears as he fought not to give any hint that he was awake.

The bed dipped as the man sat up on his elbow to watch what he thought was the sleeping form of his bought lover. "What are you doing all the way over there?" he asked quietly, more to himself than to Peeta. Peeta held his breath when Hunter came closer, so his breath brushed his arm every time he breathed out, fighting not to react when he felt a hand laid on his bare side. "I could look after you way better than those two idiots."

Hunter might have thought this but Peeta did not agree. To the people of the Capitol, sex was the only way to 'take care' of people. They didn't consider kindness or care. The hand on his side slid down along the curve of his hip, resting just above the ugly scar on his thigh. Peeta tried not to wince when Hunter brushed his thumb along the damaged skin, glad that at least the Capitol man hadn't asked where it came from when he first tugged his underwear off and saw it there.

Lips gently touched his shoulder. Once, twice, a third time. Peeta stayed still, breathing evenly and trying not to make a sound. As Hunter gently 'woke' him and let the hand on his hip slowly slide into dangerous territory, Peeta wondered what Cato was doing right that moment . . . hopefully he was okay. That's all he wanted. For Cato to be okay.

~xXx~

"You have shit aim."

Cato gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to punch Harold in the mouth. He was good at listening to instructions, it was like being in career training again. He just couldn't hold the gun properly. Harold-who was ironically in the same lesson as him-could hit the middle of the target with every single shot he took whereas Cato himself was falling short.

"You're holding it wrong," Harold insisted. "You're holding a semi auto handgun, you need to use a high hand grip."

"Oh, like you're the expert?" Cato demanded. Their instructor was out, away to talk to his superiors about something. The class consisted of a couple of other rebels, nobody Cato knew personally. Anyone above the age of 13 was old enough to start to train to be a solider. He was surprised when he found out that Kayla was even learning how to shoot a gun, since she was fourteen now. He didn't like the idea of his sister becoming a solider but Harold pointed out that if she finished her training with Prim, she might just become an army medic.

"Use the high hand grip and see how it goes," Harold said, rolling his eyes.

Cato sighed and changed how he gripped the gun. When he squeezed the trigger and the bullet blasted out, it still missed the target by a mile. "See, it doesn't matter what grip I use!" he exclaimed.

Harold fired another bullet, which hit the middle of the target for what felt like the thousanth time. "Okay, how about you try and imagine that the dummy is Snow." He pointed to the dummy that was also available for target practice. "It's how I improved my practice. I also pretended it was my father but that's a completely different story."

Cato glanced at Harold out of the corner of his eye. Why would Harold want to shoot his father? Shaking his head and deciding not to ask, Cato lifted the gun again and focused on the dummy. He concentrated hard, conjuring up an image of President Snow in his head and letting the anger that was always coupled with the thought brew inside him. When he squeezed the trigger and the gun fired, the bullet pierced right between the eyes of the dummy.

"Well, you're supposed to hit the heart," Harold said. "But between the eyes would probably do the job rightly."

"Heart would be to quick," Cato concluded. "The bastard deserves it between the eyes."

Harold nodded. "I suppose," he replied. He busied himself re-loading his gun, his experience from previously working for Snow making him more aware on how to handle and shoot a weapon. Cato remembered something he said in the hospital ward, about having an idea about what Snow was going to do to Peeta. Something he refused to tell him about. Cato understood why the Capitol man had decided to keep the information from him. Even after agreeing to play to his schedule and be the Mockingjay, he had to immediately take some of his pills to calm himself down or he'd have done something stupid like punched Coin in the face.

"I know now," Cato said. "About what Snow is planning to do to Peeta. I know all about it. It's what Coin wanted to talk to me about. That and being the Mockingjay."

Harold paused and looked at Cato through the hairs that had fell into his face. "Oh, do you now?" he asked. He sounded unconvinced. Why didn't he believe him?

"Yeah . . . Snow is going to sell him, right?" Cato whispered the last word, as if he said it as quietly as possible it would make it less true. "I understand why you didn't tell me about it but Coin says if we keep doing what we're doing then the closer we get to rescuing him-"

"That's not it," Harold said. He was frowning, as if he didn't completely understand what Cato was saying.

The statement made Cato pause. "What do you mean, 'that's not it'? Coin showed me the document. It was like a contract or something, waiting to be signed by a citizen," he said. "Visual evidence. Why, what do you know?"

Harold pointed his gun and fired at the target, hitting the middle. "I told you, I'm not going to say."

Cato grabbed the nozzle of Harold's gun and pushed it towards the floor. He knew it was a dangerous thing to do but thankfully he hadn't fired another shot at the time. "Don't keep things from me regarding Peeta, Harold," Cato said. "Tell me, what do you know and what is Coin not telling me?"

"Coin doesn't know either," Harold said calmly. "I'm sure if she knew she would have used the knowledge to blackmail you further."

"Blackmail? I think I would have noticed if she was blackmailing me!" Cato snapped.

Harold chuckled, his amusement making Cato clench the nozzle of the gun harder in anger. "You think that but it's just how she does things," he said. "She makes you think that you're talking as if you're on the same plain of thought when in reality she's about ten steps ahead every time."

"Woods, tell me what you know!"

"Cato, I can't." Harold's eyes gleamed with salt water . . . Tears? "I'm not going to do that to you."

"Just tell me for god's sake!"

Harold pulled the gun out Cato's hands. "Does it matter? The more time we waste, the more time Peeta's in the Capitol. Let's just get on and get closer to the rescue, as you say."

Cato didn't like that Harold was so determined not to tell him what he knew. It couldn't be any worse than what he already knew about Capitol punishment.

Right?

~xXx~

"What's that?" Hunter didn't answer. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, fiddling with something Peeta couldn't see. "Hunter, what are you doing?"

"Just what Snow told me to," Hunter answered.

Peeta clutched the covers tighter to his chest, feeling exhausted from having to edure another three times since the man woke up. He felt like he wasn't going to be able to sit down for weeks. "Wh-What did Snow tell you to do?" Hunter turned back around and Peeta could finally see what was in his hands. A syringe filled with turqouise liquid. Peeta's stomach churned at the sight of it. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he did know that it wasn't going to end well for him. "Why do you have that?"

Hunter tried to grab his arm but Peeta pulled it away. The man sighed. "Look, don't be difficult, I'm just doing what I've been paid to. You're still a traitor, you know."

"Paid? You're the one who paid," Peeta answered, his heart beating a thousand times a second.

Hunter chuckled. Peeta didn't like that the man was amused by what he had said. He leaned back when Hunter climbed back onto the bed and tried to grab his arm a second time. "Don't worry," he said, "it won't hurt. Too much." Peeta wasn't fast enough the third time and Hunter got a firm hold of his arm.

"Let go!" Peeta snapped, trying to wrench his arm away. Hunter's grip was too strong though and he watched helplessly as he pressed the tip of the needle against his arm. Against the exact same injection site that Mya used to use. "What this that?! Tell me! What did Snow tell you to do?"

"Your boyfriend doesn't love you," Hunter answered.

"What are you talking ab-OW!"

Hunter pushed down on the plunger of the syringe, injecting the liquid into his arm. Peeta yanked his arm away and Hunter let him, a satisified smirk on his face. He tried to scramble off the bed but Hunter grabbed his hair and yanked him back, pinning him to the mattress with a hand pressed firmly against his chest. Peeta struggled, his instincts kicking into overdrive and his heart feeling like it was going to burst. He feared what Hunter was going to do, expecting him to try hurt him in one way or another.

But he didn't. Instead Hunter just kept him pinned there and started talking. "Cato never loved you, he only claimed you because he wanted a virginal blond to have as a fuck toy."

"Why are you saying this?" Peeta's vision blurred and his thoughts ran together, confusing him. He felt drowsy and his head started to severely hurt. "W-W-Why are you l-l-l-lying?"

"He raped you repeatedly from when he claimed you to now," Hunter continued regardless of Peeta's confusion. "He was going to kill you but then decided he'd use you for his pleasure instead." Peeta wanted to deny it but when he shut his eyes and tried to piece it together, he couldn't. Everything was slipping and sliding again, like it had when he had been kidnapped. Cato wouldn't do that . . . Or would he? "I'm Hunter, I'm your friend. Snow is your step father and he loves you very much."

Peeta felt the liquid he'd been injected with seep through his bones and start to wrap around his brain and heart. "I don't . . ." he didn't know what to say as every piece of his mind started to chip away. He wanted to grasp his memories, hold them tight, keep them close. He didn't want to lose it again. He couldn't lose it again! "What did you do to me! What did he tell you to do to me?!" he screamed. "What did all of you do to me?!" He didn't just mean Hunter. He meant Hunter and Snow and Semira and Mya and everyone who has ever meddled with his mind.

The drug clutched his heart and held it tight, his mind blurring even more. Throughout Hunter kept talking.

"Cato doesn't love you."

"He just wanted your body."

"Harold was the one who cared about you."

"The Capitol cares about you."

"Snow and Semira loves you. Emily needs you."

"Mya is your aunt."

"Cato tried to kill your family. He suceeded in killing your brother Wheat."

"Cato doesn't love you."

"He never loved you."

"None of them did."

"He couldn't even control himself in the arena and raped you on the beach in front of thousands upon millions of people."

Peeta tried to deny it all but the more Hunter insisted and the more the drug consumed him, the more he began to believe what the man from the Capitol was telling him. He fought it with every ounce of strength he had but it was stronger. It had always been stronger than him. He had never been able to fight it. Images even started forming, memories of things that we know didn't happen but Peeta did not.

Fifty minutes later, the drug broke him and he dissolved into tears.

Hunter pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back comfortingly and telling him it was going to be okay. Peeta wrapped his arms around his friend and cried into his neck, unable to stop crying. He felt like he had been trapped underwater and had broken the surface, finally able to breath again. "Oh my god Hunter," he sobbed. "You saved me. Thank you so much. I don't know what that monster did to me but I forgot all about you and Snow and my mom and-" He gasped for breath-"and I forgot that Cato was such a perverted bastard."

"It's okay now," Hunter said softly, stroking Peeta's hair affectionately. "You're safe, you're okay."

"He killed my brother!" Peeta yelled angrily, tears streaking down his cheeks. "He murdered Wheat!"

"Sssh, it's okay," Hunter hushed. He kissed the top of Peeta's head and stroked his back gently. "It's all going to be okay." He pulled back and showed Peeta the syringe. "We don't know what Hadley has done to you so you must inject yourself with this. It is developed from the venom of tracker jackers, reversed to help you regain your memory. You must read the notes that I'm going to give you as you inject yourself so the truth will begin to engrave itself in your memory again."

Peeta nodded and sniffed, taking the syringe from Hunter. "Okay," he whispered. "I will." He looked and Hunter. "Can you take me back to my Mom and Dad? I want to say sorry."

Hunter nodded. "Of course. But they already know."

Peeta slipped off the bed and started collecting his clothes. He felt like such a fool. Everything felt so much clearer now. Like a blindfold had been pulled off his eyes. He could see the truth. And, even though it was painful, he had to learn to accept it.

Harold was the one who loved him.

His mom and dad loved him. Emily needed him.

Wheat was dead.

Because of Cato.

Cato.

Peeta felt hatred bubble up inside him and he grinded his teeth togther angrily. Cato. The digusting monster that he was. He hated him. He hated him so, so much. And he would never forgive him for what he did.

In fact, next time he saw him, he was going to kill him.

A/N: Please don't hate me guys! :O

Please R&R!