I hold the tea that Prim insists I drink with shaking hands, staring at the blank television screen with an intensity that is clearly making everyone nervous.
"Drink it, Katniss," Prim insists in a soft voice. It's always a soft voice, too soft, like I'll break if she isn't careful. Maybe it's true. "Please? It's supposed to make you calm."
I glance at her quickly and then relent, taking a large sip of the foul-tasting water. Prim smiles and I try to return it. The tea just makes me drowsy and we all know what happens when I fall asleep…
I think the first night he was gone was the worst. My bed was cold, too big, and the nightmares seemed to find me almost immediately. I don't know how long I was in the fit but if mother had to use her smelling salts to rouse me it couldn't have been good. Prim said she wanted to sleep in my bed with me the next night, hoping that she would be able to keep the nightmares away. I didn't know how to tell her it wouldn't work, and she was so insistent that I let it happen. I pretended to be asleep the whole time, closing my eyes only until I started to feel myself fall into unconsciousness.
It's a strategy I haven't had to use for at least three months and I know it's probably true for him as well.
"It's on," Madge says, bringing my attention back to the television screen. Tonight are the final interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Tomorrow the Games start.
I've been a mess.
But not in a way that anyone would be able to detect. I 'wake' early and have developed a habit of obsessively cleaning the house because it's one of the only things I know how to do. They stop me for lunch, force me to eat, and then let me continue on my spree until dinner. I know it upsets Prim, and usually I would just go off into the woods, but unfortunately that isn't an option. I didn't realize how big of a distraction Peeta was until 10 minutes after he left, when all I wanted to do was just be near him. I miss him so much it hurts, and combined with the intense anxiety I feel over the situation, I wouldn't be surprised if my heart failed me at times.
I don't cry though, not even when I'm by myself, which I don't even count as a victory anymore: I'm made of stone. I think everyone's been expecting a massive breakdown on my part but I haven't given them anything.
Just be a wall.
I know this isn't what Peeta meant, but I'm sure that if I let my emotions shine even the smallest amount, I won't be able to stop them. Prim has only ever seen me cry twice: the day I left for the Victory Tour and the day after the announcement. Sure, maybe she was able to detect the sets of unshed tears in the weeks following the announcement, but I never cried. I always seemed to save that for Peeta, which I now realize is horrible of me. Sobbing after nightmares. Sobbing when he was picked. And then the constant leaky eyes in the weeks that followed, punctuated by bouts of silent weeping, always in the safety of the dark. In the safety of his arms. I hated looking into his eyes then, simultaneously embarrassed with myself and terrified of what I would see looking back at me. Now I wish I did because I miss his eyes.
I take the sea glass out of my pocket and hold it in my hands against the cup of tea.
Madge shifts on the couch and looks over at Gale. Madge has been such a good friend to me, lately. At least I think that's how a good friend is supposed to act. It's been so long since I've been a good friend.
Gale has difficulty looking me in the eyes and I can't decide if it's because he feels bad for me or hates me. I've been a terrible friend to him. I all but forgot he existed after the announcement and haven't had a real conversation with him since that day on my bathroom floor. Right now he's sitting in a kitchen chair, silently staring at the screen.
I switch my gaze to the television now. The first day they started airing footage, and I could see Peeta, I was a slave to the television. When they first showed him stepping off the train I was confused by his obvious vulnerability.
"Just be a wall. Don't give them anything."
I didn't understand what he was trying to do. Why wasn't he obeying to his own advice? But then the Opening Ceremony aired and I understood as best I could. He was still wearing his Reaping clothes and he looked so small on his chariot, kind of pathetic actually, and at first I was furious.
"Why the hell is he wearing that?" I had shouted angrily at the room, and it was the most noise I'd made in days.
"There are no sponsors, Katniss," Madge had offered quietly, placing her hand on my knee for a half second before rethinking it and pulling away quickly. She didn't have to explain anything else. He had looked so overwhelmed during the chariot ride, so much so that I knew he must have been playing it up partly. Then the rose hit him in the head and a look of complete disgust crossed his face and I saw him grind the petals to a paste with his foot. Determination.
And then there was the look he gave Snow at the end. One that surprised me so much I almost dropped the cup of tea Prim made me drink. Hate. I'd never seen it on him and his eyes looked stormy that if I didn't know him already, the look on Peeta's face would have scared me.
So I'm confused by his presentation. I don't know what he's doing, or why, or even how, so all I can really do is trust him.
Caesar is dressed in a crisp yellow suit tonight, his hair a jet-black, and he's speaking animatedly at the crowd.
Why wouldn't he be excited? I think bitterly. The Third Quarter Quell starts tomorrow.
I try to listen to the Tribute interviews but I'm so distracted with the fact that I'll be able to hear Peeta's voice, even through the television, that I'm only really able to half-listen. The man from District 1 is an idiot, that's clear, and Enobaria from 2 insists on smiling throughout her interview, baring her strange set of teeth like a feral cat. The man from District 3 looks anxious and fidgets throughout his interview while Finnick Odair recites a romantic poem from memory, dedicating it to his one true love. The camera pans to the crowd and I see multiple women faint and I'm sure there will be gossip tomorrow about who it could possibly be. Pathetic. I think he looked ridiculous in his precariously draped fishnet. After what Madge said about the lack of sponsors, the extent his prep team went to show him off seems ridiculous. Portia's a genius.
The interviews for 5 and 6 are so depressing I can hardly watch. The man and woman, sickly and old, can barely put two words together and Caesar just ends up talking the entire time.
I hate Johanna Mason already, knowing how cunning she was in her first Games. She talks to Caesar like an old friend, flirting heavily. I wonder why the hell she is playing this card because it doesn't seem like she was a born flirt. I can see the devious look behind her eyes and I don't trust her. Peeta can't trust her. But she surprises me when looks genuinely upset that she is going to have to kill the friends she's made over the years. I understand it to be a strange form of rebellion.
The woman from 8 talks about her children and I have to tune her out.
The interviews from 9,10, and 11 pass in a blur. I couldn't tell you what they talked about.
Finally, Peeta is called and I watch him walk towards Caesar on stage, reveling in the first clear shot I can get of him. His hair is brushed back and he's wearing a simple black suit. I sit stone still on the couch even though my heart is knocking in my chest.
"He looks very handsome, Katniss," Prim says, patting my knee. I know she's trying to make me feel better but it doesn't work. Of course Peeta's handsome and Portia didn't put him in a lot of makeup, which pleases me somewhat. He's best that way. I stare at his bad leg, scrutinizing his walk, and can't see any obvious limp.
Has it been hurting him during training? Has he been able to sleep at all?
Peeta smiles at Caesar as he sits down, giving a small wave to the audience, and Caesar starts to speak all too quickly.
"Peeta Mellark, District 12. It hasn't been more than a month since I've seen you last," he observes. I can't read Caesar's expression. He looks equal parts upset and amused and I know it's exactly how he's supposed to play it. It's tragic, isn't it? It's supposed to be.
"I'm afraid so, Caesar, I hope you aren't sick of me," Peeta says with a small smile and just hearing his voice is calming. But it's not the ton he uses for me—soft and low—that I've grown accustomed to hearing as he speaks to me in the night.
"Don't be ridiculous, just tell me you've figured out how to use the Capitol showers by now," Caesar jokes and Peeta smiles again.
"I think so, no need to smell me this time around. Unless you want to, of course," he says and I wonder how he's so good at this..
"Tell me, how has training been with half the number of Tributes?" Caesar presses. I don't even see the point of bringing this us. Training scores haven't even been announced because of the lack of sponsors. I wonder what training even consisted of this time around.
"It's been interesting, obviously. I've gotten to meet a bunch of new people, and I like a great few of them, so naturally you can understand how this can be upsetting. Like Johanna said, I can't imagine what it must be like for the other Victors who have grown to know each other over the years."
Peeta leans back slightly in his chair, never breaking eye-contact with Caesar, who nods understandingly, thinking over what was just said.
All I can do is study Peeta's face. If there are bags under his eyes, I can't tell, and I know that Portia is to thank for that. His cheeks aren't sunken and I know that's because I've been force-feeding him for the past few weeks. But his eyes are pained and my stomach twists. I want to run my fingers over his cheeks because I always see his expression soften when I do that. And I'd do anything to make that look in his eyes go away.
"Well I hope they've been nice to you. You're new after all," Caesar says with a hint of amusement in his voice and Peeta laughs softly. The sound is comfort and pain at the same time. I don't know what to do about it
"Of course not. They've all been incredibly nice to me," Peeta answers and he looks down at his feet, a rule I know Haymitch would berate him for breaking if he were there. But he's sitting on a kitchen chair in the corner, staring intently at the screen. He's sober, at least as sober as Haymitch can be, and I'm not sure why. I haven't had the courage to talk to Haymitch again after that one night. I see him talk quietly to Gale every now and then, though, and I know it can only be about the rebellion.
"You bet we have!" Johanna calls from her seat, and I'm brought back to the interview. The camera pans to her and she winks. Peeta rolls his eyes and actually laughs a bit, which irks me. I don't like the suggestive look she's giving him.
"Oh, is that true? Should I warn Katniss?" Caesar whispers cautiously to Peeta and at the sound of my name he stiffens, although imperceptibly so. I think I may be the only one who notices. Johanna just set up a perfect segue into our ill-fated relationship.
"No, there's no need for that," Peeta assures as he looks up at Caesar and smiles a little. It's not his smile.
"I didn't think so," Caesar agrees and his voice changes. "Tell me, how did Katniss take the Quarter Quell announcement?"
The joking atmosphere of the interview disappears almost immediately and the audience in the Capitol is tense, absolutely silent. Peeta clenches his jaw and I watch his Adam's apple bob.
"She was…" He pauses here, looking at his hands before speaking again. "Upset."
That's the understatement of the century.
Caesar waits, clearly expecting Peeta to elaborate. I wonder how it feels for him to be shorted by his favorite, charming, most enthusiastic interviewee. It's become obvious to everyone that Peeta is subdued this time around and it's probably disconcerting to many.
"I can imagine so. Especially after almost losing you during the last Hunger Games," Caesar says sympathetically. He's egging Peeta on but Peeta isn't taking the bait, only giving Caesar a curt nod, so Caesar presses on.
"What did she say to you before you left? You caused quite a scene at the train station, if the footage doesn't lie."
At this, the screens behind Caesar and Peeta come to life. They show me running down the steps of the Justice Building with a crazed look in my eyes. I throw my arms around him, locked tightly around his neck, my face buried into his shoulder. It's incredibly strange to watch this, considering this is the kind of cinematic romance I would have no idea how to pull off if I didn't actually love him. It's like ice water has been forced down my throat and I can feel a coldness spread to the ends of my limbs. Watching this is almost as bad as experiencing it, only because this time I can see the way Peeta's eyes are scrunched as I hug him, the way they fly open as the Peacekeepers pull me away.
"I'm sorry Caesar, but I can't tell you that. There are too many things that have been taken from us and there are some things I don't want touched by the rest of the country, if you can understand. That's one of them," Peeta responds, his voice surprisingly hard.
I love you. Always.
That's what I said and Peeta is protecting that promise, even if it has the ability floor the audience. But then again, the audience assumes I love him. It's only the few people I know in District 12 who would chance to suspect anything different and now I realize: Peeta's protecting me. He has no idea if I told anyone my feelings for him. People tell me it's obvious but I've only whispered it to Prim that one time on the bottom of the bathtub. I've told him fewer times than I can count on one hand. I've only ever held his hand in public; kissed him once, very briefly, in the Hob; kissed him once in my kitchen. The truth behind our relationship is insanely private, and I'm positive no one knows what has happened in our beds, the heated kisses, the whispered words.
We made love.
"Surely she made you promise to win? Spit-fire like herself?" Caesar leans in, not about to be deterred by Peeta's simple answers.
"The odds clearly aren't in my favor, Caesar. We don't make promises to each other we can't keep."
Caesar's shock is obvious and there is a collective intake of breath from the audience. A burning pain runs through my veins. He never did promise to win.
Caesar doesn't even try to hide the shock in his voice anymore and he leans closer to Peeta, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Well what did you say? You must have told her that you love her, of course. Did you not?" Peeta's brows come together and his frustration shows through.
"We weren't given enough time to say what we both really felt. I know I didn't get enough time to say everything I wanted to," he says, pausing. When he speaks again he looks directly into the camera, voice soft and low, and I know it's meant only for me. "But I love her more than anything. I think she already knows that."
The sea glass burns against my palm and I clutch the mug tightly, refusing to look anywhere but the screen. I can hear a loud sobbing from the crowd but the camera remains focused on Peeta's face.
"Did you know that in District 12, when two people get married they perform a ceremony? The husband and wife take turns burning bread, and then they feed it to each other. It's simple, really. Nothing compared to all the incredible parties here in the Capitol, but it means something back home. More than a license, really."
I've stopped breathing, unsure of where he's going with this.
"Are you saying you two got married?" Caesar asks in a hush whisper, and everything is eerily silent. The crowd, the house, my mind.
"No," Peeta responds with a sad smile. "I wanted to marry her. I've dreamt about it since I was little. I still do, but when Katniss pleaded for us to do the ceremony that last night I wouldn't let her."
He's lying, obviously, but I can't take my eyes from the screen even though I'm sure everyone in the room is staring at me. I feel Prim turn her head but I don't move, continuing to stare at Peeta. We barely talked about marriage, the only thing coming from the discussion was that Peeta, one day, wanted to marry me and I wanted to marry no one.
And I hate myself.
He looks incredibly guilty, probably because he just openly lied about me. The audience will perceive this as a different kind of guilt though. He's getting all his points across, isn't he?
"Why ever not?" Caesar asks, incredulous.
"Because," he says, and it looks like it's quite painful for him to say. Peeta looks down at his hands and I hadn't realized he had been wearing a bracelet the whole time. A thin, golden bracelet. He touches the clasp, a mockingjay, and I look back at his face. A variety of emotions cross over it and I can read them all: anger followed by heartbreak, turning into a sad resignation. "I love her too much to make her a widow at sixteen."
With that the buzzer goes off. Again, Peeta has managed to steal the show. It's not a big announcement, no monumental piece of information like last time. He's just said what he feels and what Panem is probably thinking but not courageous enough to voice. Last time he did something like this the star-crossed lovers of District 12 were born and I had hated him. And has it really only been six months since then? Because even though he blatantly lied, telling the country I want to do the one thing I've openly disregarded, I don't hate him. Never.
The Capitol is in a frenzy again, angrily shouting garbled bits and pieces of their minds at whoever will listen. After all, who wouldn't be furiously heartbroken after hearing this?
Peeta Mellark refused to marry the love of his life because he knows he will die and doesn't want her widowed at sixteen.
He's done it again.
Madge hugs me as she leaves.
"If you want I'll come watch with you tomorrow," she says quietly. Her lovely blonde hair is blowing lightly around her face in the wind and she tightens her coat around her torso. Behind her, the light in Haymitch's house is on. After the interview ended he took an enormous pull from his flask and then left.
"Sometimes it's easier when there are people there with you," Madge says again.
I stare at her for a second and then nod. No one has brought up Peeta, or marriage. Mother retreated to her room right after Haymitch left and Prim ran into the kitchen where I'm sure she's crying.
"Sure, Madge. Thank you," I say, tired. Maybe it's the affects of Prim's tea, but my arms and legs feel heavy and my mind is fuzzy. What am I kidding, it's because I haven't slept in days.
"Catnip."
I turn at Gale's voice. He's standing awkwardly a few feet behind me, his hands in his pockets. He looks at me and then at Madge. I look between the two of them, still confused by their relationship. They barely talk to each other, at least in my presence, but Gale insists that they've been working closely together in the name of the rebellion. Madge is giving Gale a hard look, and if I weren't so tired and so sad I would laugh. I've never seen Madge scowl before. But then again, what do I know? Our friendship consisted of eating lunch together in silence.
I look to Gale who stares right back at Madge, though not with a scowl, but with a sort of resigned purposed.
"Can I talk to you? Upstairs?" he asks me. I nod, say goodbye to Madge, and then make my way up the stairs. I sit on the floor of the bathroom and wait as Gale starts running the faucets. He sits across from me, back against the closed door, and we don't speak for a while. I see my bow and arrow in the corner, propped against the wall.
"Thank you for my bow, Gale," I say, finally looking at him. "I tried teaching him how to shoot," I explain, needing to talk to someone about tomorrow, hoping that Gale will understand.
"You're welcome," he says simply before we're engulfed in silence once again. I run my hands along the tiles, missing Peeta.
"He's smart, you know," Gale says after a while. "His strategy. He's playing to their emotions, trying to make them more angry. But not obviously so."
I look up from the floor and back at Gale. But how will he do in the arena?
"That's why he got picked instead of me," I say instead. "Haymitch said that he's the one who couldn't be changed to fit their rules." Because I changed, I continue on in my mind. I sit on my hands to try and hide the shaking.
"I'm glad they didn't pick you," Gale says suddenly, voice hard and angry and I don't say anything. I'm not glad. I would willingly have volunteered if it were an option. Gale doesn't know how unfair it is. That last time Haymitch essentially chose for me to live, all together giving up on Peeta. And now the world has given up on him again. But I won't. I can't.
And I'm not glad.
I look back up at Gale and I might as well have said it aloud.
"Do you really want to marry him?" Gale asks, voice barely audible. I knew it would come to this, deep down. That someone would pull me aside and ask me this question. I had thought it would have been Prim, though. Gale isn't one to press these issues.
I stare him down before answering. He looks awful: haggard and thin.
"No," I respond frankly. "You know I don't want marriage. Or kids."
I study Gale's face and I can't understand his expression. I would have thought spending years in the woods together would have made us able to read the other like a book and I guess on some level it has. But not real emotions. Not true sadness. Not heartbreak. Not absolute joy. Not love. If any of those emotions were present, the two of us hide them expertly, too worried about getting a proper haul, too worried about feeding our families. I've never really opened up to him and he's never really opened up to me before. We would talk about hunting, our families, our hate for the Capitol. We'd never really talk about ourselves and the few times we did I would switch the subject quickly and Gale never persisted.
"You're in love with him, though," Gale says and the words look like they taste foul leaving his mouth. He stares me down, grey eyes on grey. He's too stubborn to leave without an answer and normally I would be too stubborn to give him one. I want to leave the room, or stay silent, but Gale's my best friend and he deserves to hear it. Peeta deserves for it to be said.
"Yes," I whisper, before switching my eyes to the bow and arrow again, thinking it's a safer place to look.
"It happened during the Tour, didn't it?" Gale asks, like the question could be answered so simply, but there's something in his voice that's off. It's quiet, but I can detect the hidden malice. I can feel my fists clench together and I frown deeply.
"I'm sorry. You can—you can…talk to me," Gale says, briefly closing his eyes. "We're best friends. I'm not going to—I won't…"
Gale's never been one for words, just like me, but I've never seen him struggle so openly. I let my gaze fall back on him and he looks pained.
"You were so intent on never letting this happen. You said you never wanted this…" he trails off, staring at his hands.
"I just thought it would be us, Catnip. Can you understand?"
This is when the guilt I've kept at bay for the past few months start to creep in. I told Gale that I didn't love Peeta, and at the time, I didn't. Or I thought I didn't. And now look at us. Gale can't even meet my eyes and he looks miserable. My expression softens slightly, but when it does, Gale's becomes harder.
"Why…" he asks, anger and frustration tinting the word.
"It's not like I planned it, Gale," I spit at him. "If you know me at all, you'd know that."
Now I'm angry. I didn't think Gale had it in him to do this to me before the Games, before Peeta might be killed. And if Gale knows I love Peeta, why does he keep pressing the issue? It's like pouring salt into a gaping wound. My face contorts with equal parts misery and frustration and I see him realize this mistake. I can see him searching for the correct way to handle this, but we don't really know how to calm the other. Gale and I feed off each other's anger—fire feeding fire—and even if I ever did feel something for Gale, I don't think it would work out. We'd burn everything in our path.
I can feel the telltale lump in my throat. The one that precedes an infuriating crying session and all I want in the world is for Peeta to be here because I know I wouldn't have to explain this to him. And he wouldn't be judging me for doing something I said I would never do. He would let me be moody and distant but he would talk to me in that soft, low voice and somehow explain everything I'm feeling without actually trying. And then he would twirl his fingers around my hair, run his hand along my cheek, and my anger would evaporate like smoke. He would say something hilariously stupid and I would feel better. And he would hold me at night, even when I refused to love him, even though it's all he's ever wanted. And if the roles were switched for some reason, and he was in Gale's position, Peeta wouldn't question a thing.
And slowly, over the span of weeks…and months…all those things crept up on me.
And that's 'why', Gale.
"Is there any news on the rebellion?" I ask him with a thick voice, changing the subject. Gale doesn't answer at first and I close my eyes, trying to picture Peeta's eyes, just his eyes, hoping to calm myself down.
"No," he says quietly. "But it's growing, obviously. Madge is pulling what she can from her side."
"What's she pulling?" I ask, eyes still closed.
"Nothing monumental."
I open them finally, staring at Gale, wanting more information for the first time in weeks. But I know he doesn't have any or else he would tell me, even if he is angry, or upset or whatever emotions he's going through.
"When it's over I want to help." The words are completely foreign coming out of my mouth but I've made them that way. Because I can't let myself think about the 'over'.
After Gale leaves, I find Prim sitting in the kitchen, petting that disgusting cat. She's been crying, like I suspected she has, but she's tried to wash her face.
"Hey, Little Duck," I sigh as I sit down next to her at the table, taking her hand in mine.
"Hi Katniss," she responds, looking up at me. Her eyes are red and her face is blotchy. I move to hug her and she willingly puts her arms around me. We sit like that for a while, just holding onto each other.
"I've been a bad sister lately," I whisper. I've been the worst sister, actually. I've completely neglected Prim, focusing only on myself. I've been a bad friend, too. Gale's shown me that. I feel like I've failed everyone. I can't even think about Peeta.
"No, Katniss," Prim says into my shoulder. "You needed to help Peeta." Her voice wavers when she says his name and I clamp my teeth over my lip. "I understand that. I don't need you like that."
I don't know what to say so I just hug Prim tighter, fighting off the tears I've kept at bay for days now.
"I've been the bad sister," she whispers.
"What?" I ask, incredulous. I pull back so I can look at her properly and I see a fresh set of tears in her eyes.
"I never help you," she says quietly. "You always help me. And I can't even help you sleep. I'm the worst sister."
Buttercup purrs in the corner, as if in agreement, and I have the urge to throw something at it. How could she possibly think that when she's the only thing keeping me from loosing my mind right now? I pull her close again and two, maybe three, tears roll down my cheek.
"No, Prim. You're the best sister," I whisper with a small smile, slipping back into my role. "You're so sweet and you teach me so many things," I say before poking her nose. This coaxes a tiny smile out of her.
"What do I teach you?" she asks softly.
So many things: how to heal, how to laugh, how to live. But most importantly?
"You taught me that it's okay to love," I barely whisper because I know that if I speak any louder, my voice will break into a thousand little pieces.
"Just let yourself fall in love with Peeta, Katniss."
I did. And now it's hurting both him and me. But I can't, for the life of me, regret it. Prim looks up at me and I have to close my eyes. I don't want to make her feel worse than she already does. But it's not like Prim made me fall for Peeta; it was mine all along. She just made me realize it.
"You should go to his house tonight," she says and I can't say anything in response. How do I tell her that going there will just make me sadder beyond comprehension?
"Maybe you'll sleep better there, Katniss. You need to sleep tonight because you're not going to be able to sleep at all once it starts," she says, voice stronger than before. She's right. Once the Games start, there is no way I will be able to sleep. And once they're over…
He needs to come back.
"I don't want to walk around his house without him…it's like trespassing," I tell her and Prim actually giggles, the sound like bells around the empty house.
"Are you kidding me? Do you think he would honestly care?"
She gives me a condescending look and I guess I deserve it.
"Probably not," I say. I look out the window at Peeta's dark house, ignoring the bubbling longing in my chest. Maybe I will sleep better there.
"Katniss?" Prim asks. I turn to look at her again. "Do you want to talk about Gale?"
I clench my teeth together and Prim looks back at me, concerned.
"Rory tells me that he loves you. That he's jealous," she continues. I look down at my hands, unable to think of a response.
"But I feel bad for him," Prim says. "Because I think it would be terrible to be in love with someone who loves someone else so much more."
Prim gets up off the table and starts to clean the tea mugs while I stare at her back. How is it she can so easily come to these conclusions? She's thirteen.
"But also, I think Gale is kind of stupid because if he did love you, like Rory says, he would have told you way before the Games even started. Maybe he blames himself," she thinks aloud, drying the teacups. She turns around and picks up Buttercup.
"You shouldn't blame yourself for that," she says with a smile. I let her words wash over me and they have the ability to numb, but not heal. For some reason only Peeta can do that.
"Thank you, Prim," I say, and she smiles beatifically before she climbs the stairs.
"I think Peeta will come back," she says as she reaches the top and her smile disappears, replaced with a look of pure determination. "He loves you so much. So he'll come back."
And just like that, the pain and fear come swelling back like a wave. I nod at her and walk out the door.
Peeta's house is dark and silent but I don't turn on the lights. I don't want to touch anything, I don't want anything out of place because Peeta put it that way and I want things exactly as they were when he comes back. Because he has to.
The house still smells like bread and I can see the countertop, even in the dark. Containers of flour, sugar and the like are stacked neatly in the corner. The living room looks the same, and I spot a large sweater hanging over the back of the couch. It's Peeta's and I leave it exactly where it is, even though I have an insane urge to put it on. I bet it smells like him. Maybe it's almost like being wrapped up in him. But I turn away. He can put it away when he comes home. Because he's still alive. And he will stay that way. He has to.
I go straight to his bedroom, and stand there, looking around, and spot a shoe in the corner. A single shoe, because he usually keeps the other attached to his prosthetic. I wonder where that other shoe is right now, and for some reason, that's the thing that sets me off.
A whimper finds it's way out of my throat and silent tears start to stream down my cheeks. Without thinking I crawl into his bed, under the covers, keening for comfort. I hate myself for messing up his bed, because I was there when he made it. I'm ruining it, it's like I'm ruining a piece of him, but I burrow in anyway, pressing my face against his pillow, and I can smell him. His shampoo—clean, soap. Hints of vanilla, but also the indescribable musky scent that lingers on his skin and clothes. I can feel my tears soaking the pillow and I apologize inwardly.
I'm sorry I always seem to cry here, Peeta.
I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop, and strangely, I'm not met with horrible images from the Games or scenes from my nightmares.
It's Peeta's smile, moonlight bouncing off his teeth, and the memory covers me like a warm blanket.
It was in District 7, a few days after Peeta and I agreed to share a bed. I had dreamt of the tracker jackers and woken up screaming. Peeta calmed me, wiping the tears from my cheeks, his soft, low voice the only thing able to quiet my mind. And I let him, until I needed to pull away because his arms were too warm and comforting and I was confused.
"I'm going to make you laugh right now," I hear him say in the dark. I've turned over and tried to put some space between us but his statement makes me turn around. I can see the whites of his teeth through the dark as he smiles.
"You don't believe me, but it's true. Because I've just thought of the funniest thing in the entire world."
"Oh have you? I'm glad my nightmares make you think of funny things." My angry tone clearly doesn't dissuade him and he turns over on his pillow to look at me. His smile fades slightly.
"That's not true, Katniss," he says and I know he's right. Sometimes I think that seeing me have nightmares is more painful to Peeta than his own are. "But I'm still right."
"I'm pretty sure I won't think it's funny," I mutter, scowling at him through the dark, unable to rid the horrible images of Glimmer's distorted, swollen body from my mind. Peeta smiles again. How is it he can smile right now?
"Good," he says. The light from the moon makes his eyes glow white, matching his grin. "A challenge. Well let me predict the outcome, then. I'm going to say it, and you're going to try your absolute hardest not to laugh, because that's the way you are, but it won't work. Then you'll be laughing until you can't breathe. And I win."
"You seem pretty confident," I retort. I wish he would just fall asleep already so I can curl up next to him without him knowing.
Peeta grins a little longer and then takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and even through the dark I can see the shadows his lashes make. When he opens his eyes again, his expression has turned solemn and I think he may have given up whatever game he was playing before. But he speaks nonetheless.
"What if Haymitch and Effie switched bodies? And the only thing that could make them switch back was if they both did a choreographed dance routine and then kissed at the end of it."
I stare at him, flabbergasted. And then he smiles enormously. My eyebrows pull together and I bite the inside of my cheek until it hurts because all I can see right now is a very girlish Haymitch, prancing around, trying to make a gnarly, drunk Effie kiss him. And then, as fast as I can, I try to hide my laughter in the pillow, almost smothering myself in the process. My body shakes with uncontrollable laughter and I feel Peeta's hand on my back, just briefly, before he turns over.
"I win," he says through the dark.
Somehow, even though he's miles away, Peeta's made me smile. And I know this is what he wants, and all I want to do is kiss him for it. Kiss him until I'm smiling like an idiot and we hit our teeth. It's all I can really think about right now, lying in his bed, nose in his pillow.
I miss him.
And I'm sad again. But for a few minutes, I wasn't too sad and I'm no longer crying because I can't get the image of Haymitch and Effie dancing on stage out of my mind.
Maybe it's because I haven't slept in days, or maybe it's Prim's tea, but somehow I am able to fall asleep in Peeta's bed, which is still very big, but somehow not as cold as mine.
Sitting in front of the television the next day is surreal. The only way I'm really able to function is if I complete shut myself off, which turns out to be much more difficult than I had anticipated with all my emotions bubbling under the surface.
Just be a wall. Don't give them anything.
The minutes before the start of the Games pass all too fast. Madge and Prim have tried to make me eat something but it tasted like cardboard in my mouth. I ate it slowly anyway, feeling myself turn to brick. Prim's tea sits untouched on the table next to the couch and I sit on my hands to prevent the shaking.
The television turns on by itself and I know for the next week or so, my eyes won't leave it.
The camera pans around, giving us our first look of the arena. It's an arid desert, but I can see pockets of dense vegetation in the distance, and even farther are a series of white-capped mountains. I've never seen anything like this before, and I know that the Gamemakers must have gone out of their way to make this arena more different than anything we've ever seen.
The cornucopia is situated in the desert and the twelve pedestals that surround it still show none of the Victors. Claudius Templesmith is speaking but his voice is blurred and slow in my mind. I glance at Haymitch, who seems to be thinking hard about something. I don't remember him coming over.
"They'll have to go straight for the outcrop of trees seeing as that's likely where the water will be," he explains and I'm infinitely grateful for him, all of a sudden. This is what I need right now, logistical explanations. Strategies. Because I can't do the emotional. Not without Peeta here.
"What do you think is by those mountains?" I ask.
"Don't know. Though I'm sure it's something if they felt the need to include them. Why else have three different climates?" Haymitch wonders aloud, rubbing at his chin.
"Is it a different climate for each Quarter Quell?" Madge asks and I turn my head sharply in her direction. Madge looks from me to Haymitch and then blushes, unsure if her suggestion was out of line. Haymitch stares at her for a long moment, lost in thought.
"Maybe," I force out, trying to lessen the awkward silence, knowing that its something I've never been good at. I want to thank her for being here, when we were barely friends to begin with. My only real friend before the Games isn't here. But I can't blame Gale for having to work the mines.
"Donner?" Haymitch asks out of the blue. Madge looks at me for some sort of explanation but I have nothing to give her.
"Um, no. That's my mother's maiden name. I'm…Undersee."
Haymitch stares at her for a while, seemingly trying to piece a puzzle together, and I'm about to ask him what his problem is when the platforms begin to raise.
My heart flutters like a tiny bird in my chest and I search the screen frantically for Peeta.
He's on a platform between the woman from eight and the man from three. It seems the uniforms for this year's Games consist of a series of layers. Boots. Tight, breathable pants and a shirt made of the same material. A long jacket with a series of pockets.
Something's off, though. Peeta's face is twisted into a painful mask. He stares at his feet, mouth agape, and his face is extremely pale. Claudius' voice booms over the loud speaker and the countdown begins.
Sixty.
It takes Peeta about 20 seconds to shake himself out of whatever took a hold of him and he glances around.
Forty.
The camera pans to the other tributes and they all seem to be bracing themselves for a race. All are facing the cornucopia, even Peeta.
Twenty.
I close my eyes and breath out my nose, fishing for the sea glass in my pocket, and open them again just in time for Claudius Templesmith's voice to ring out.
"Let the seventy fifth Hunger Games begin!"
The cannon booms and Peeta leaps off his platform, running straight for the cornucopia. I want to yell at him for running straight into the fight but my voice is lost somewhere in my throat. Peeta's not slow, but it's clear that his false leg is holding him back and Finnick Odair is the first the reach the cornucopia, followed closely by Enobaria. I see Finnick go straight for the trident, and strangely, he slings the bow and sheath of arrows over his shoulder on the way.
The camera splits into four screens. One shows Johanna Mason and she narrowly misses Gloss, who lunges for her at ankles as they near the cornucopia. Another one remains trained on Finnick and Enobaria. The third shows the man from three running toward the outcropping of trees. The fourth shows Peeta and that is the one I watch. He grabs a knife on his way to the cornucopia but stops dead in his tracks when he hears a scream.
Johanna has reached Finnick and they both seem to be fending off Gloss and Enobaria, who have obviously made some sort of alliance prior to the Games starting.
I watch the camera focused on the woman from 8, who is running as fast as she can away from the man from 10, who seems to have found a small dagger not too far from the platforms. Peeta is sprinting after him and my stomach drops. He's going to try to save her and it makes me so incredibly frustrated and scared that I begin to get light headed.
Why the hell does he have to be the hero? Why can't he just save himself and come home? Like I told him?
Peeta's body slams into the man from 10 and together they tumble to the sandy ground. The woman from 8 pauses when she sees this and confusion is all I really see in her eyes.
"Run Cecelia!" Peeta yells as he struggles with the man from 10, pinning him to the ground. The man from 10 has to be around 40. He has long, graying hair and he's rather wiry which works in Peeta's favor. The man is really no match for Peeta, who pins 10 easily, but the man's long legs kick beneath him, making it hard for Peeta to hold on.
Cecelia pauses for an instant before running straight at Peeta, and for a moment, the fury in her eyes makes me believe she is going to try to kill him.
"Peeta! You're knife—give it to me," she says, brown eyes dark. Peeta's gaze doesn't leave the man from 10 but I know he's heard her.
On another screen, I see that Johanna and Finnick seem to have taken control of the cornucopia and the Careers pause in their efforts, apparently deciding between fighting back or making a run for it.
Cecelia is cautiously approaching Peeta as he struggles to keep 10 still.
"It's in my belt. I can't…I need to hold him down," Peeta says through gritted teeth as the man from 10 grunts in his efforts to throw Peeta off. Cecelia reaches for Peeta's knife and the action distracts Peeta just enough for the man from 10 to shove Peeta to the side and sink the dagger into Cecelia's chest.
"No!" Peeta shouts, reaching toward Cecelia, and the man from 10 swings around, slicing Peeta across the shoulder, too far away to do any real damage. The same can't be said for Cecelia, who has collapsed onto the ground, pressing at her wound with trembling fingers. A dark puddle is seeping into the sand around her and her eyes glaze over.
Peeta's face turns to stone once he sees her and he turns around so quickly I'm sure it must be painful with his leg. He pulls another knife from his belt and lurches forward, knocking 10 to the ground in the process. Peeta holds the dagger to the man's throat but doesn't move.
He won't kill him will he?
Ten tries to swing forward with his knife again, and out of instinct Peeta shoves his dagger, hilt deep, into 10's chest before scrambling away. He switches his gaze between Cecelia and 10, unsure of where he should pay most attention, his chest heaving and his brow dripping sweat, the desert sun pounding down on him.
Ten attempts to get up but out of nowhere an axe flies over Peeta's head, landing in 10's stomach. Johanna runs forward, kicking him to the ground and yanks the axe out of 10's gut in the process. I can't watch as the blood seeps out, 10 lying dead in the sand.
I watch Peeta instead as he crawls towards Cecelia's body.
"Cecelia," Peeta says. "Cecelia." His shoulder wound looks painful but Peeta doesn't register.
"Leave her, 12. It's over," Johanna says but Peeta doesn't move, instead touching the woman's face.
"Seriously, 12. We've got to get going, I'm not about to lose Finnick to the Careers. They've already finished 5 and 6."
Peeta's eyes glaze over and he finally looks back at Johanna, who is cleaning the blood off of Peeta's knife with her jacket sleeve, axe already hanging from her belt.
All business.
"I'm sorry," Peeta says to no one in particular, leaning back on his haunches.
"Yeah, well you should be. That shoulder is going to be killing you soon and we might not have enough water to clean it," Johanna observes, glancing back at Finnick who is making his way toward them, armed with a trident and the bow and arrows.
Peeta winces as he gets up, the sudden movement drawing attention to his shoulder.
"Yup," Johanna says, uncaring. "That's what you get for playing the hero."
Peeta looks at her, jaw setting. She hands him the dagger and readjusts the axe on her belt.
"We need to get to those trees," Finnick observes as he nears them. "There are no backpacks or anything. Just weapons."
Peeta nods and takes the bow and arrows from Finnick.
I exhale loudly.
He's survived the bloodbath. He's allied with 4 and 7.
Four loud cannon shots echo throughout the arena as the three of them make their way towards the closest set of trees.