Hey, guys! I'm so sorry for the delay. I seem to be saying this in all of my author's notes, haha. Well, I've been busy, so once again, apologies, apologies! Hopefully this chapter will prove to be worth the wait. I love you all so much. Your support and positive reviews make me the happiest person ever :) Without further ado, enjoy! (Remember to keep telling me what you think, too !)
It's Gale.
My former best friend and hunting partner. The one I trusted and turned to when things fell apart. The one I counted on. And he's here now, standing just a few feet in front of me, with a completely different identity. How can a person change so much in so little time?
I try to find some sort of familiarity in the steely grey eyes, but there's nothing save emptiness staring back at me. He's really gone, then. This isn't Gale Hawthorne. It's just a shell of him, a twisted version the Capitol produced.
The silence in the room seems to stretch out forever. After all, what do you say at times like this?
I take a quick look at the others. Peeta looks tense, his lips pressed together in a thin line, hands clenched in fists so tightly his knuckles are white. Johanna is unmoving, standing stiffly with her arms crossed and murderous eyes. That scowl would be enough to kill someone, if looks actually could kill. Finnick looks grim.
Ironically, Annie seems to be the most relaxed person in the room. No frowning, clenched fists, or even the slightest sign of, well, negativity. Her emerald eyes are worried and unsure.
I don't even want to look at Plutarch. There's a sickening feeling starting to rise in my stomach. I would rather be anywhere but here right now. I can't do this. I'm not ready, and I'm not sure I ever will be, to talk to him. It's too painful.
"Catnip," he says hoarsely. All of a sudden, I'm furious. "Catnip," I mock. "Hello, Gale. I can see that you've been well. The tie really suits you." My voice is steady, to my satisfaction. He takes a step towards me. For a brief second, I catch the hurt flashing through his eyes, and I almost feel sorry for what I said. Then the moment is over.
"I wanted to talk to you," he says, avoiding my gaze. "But I was afraid you wouldn't listen." I give a short, sarcastic laugh. "Well, guess what," I answer. "You're right. I don't want to listen to anything you have to say. You've told me enough already. You've done all the damage you can. I hope you're happy." My heart feels like it's going to explode.
"Happy?" he retorts suddenly, his face darkening. "You honestly think I've been happy since what happened? If that's what you think, damn you, Katniss. Damn you."
"Maybe we should all watch what we say," Finnick interrupts, stepping in between us. His voice is neutral, but I can hear the underlying threat directed at Gale. My throat catches unexpectedly, and I feel a rush of warmth towards him. I thank him silently.
Gale and Finnick seem to have some sort of staring contest, until Plutarch finally speaks up. He clears his throat loudly. "Maybe we could all go down to the Training Center," he suggests awkwardly.
No one answers him. After what seems like an eternity, Gale turns away to walk over to one of the windows facing the city below. "You can all go down, then," he says bitterly. I stare at his silhouette for a second longer, and suddenly I feel exhausted, like a tire which has just been popped. Deflated. The energy and fight which had been my motivation hours ago is gone just like that, leaving me drained and hollow.
I don't realize Johanna is talking to me until I feel her dig her nails into my arm and drag me towards the door. "We're going down to the Training Center," she hisses in my ear. "And you know what? We're going to observe. Take notes. Figure out a brilliant strategy which is going to keep Juliet alive and well. Gale is an ass. So suck it up, Everdeen, and get over yourself."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah," I mutter back. We get into the glass elevator, the five of us sans Plutarch. My arm is seriously starting to hurt, but Johanna's not done yet.
"Smile," she breathes behind me. "Stop sulking and acting defeated. It doesn't improve your looks, you know." I have to laugh a little at that.
We're standing on a balcony about ten feet above the Training Center itself. There are plush armchairs and everything, but we're all standing, leaning on the banister. The view is excellent.
According to Plutarch, this is the "VIP section." As if we were watching a movie or a ball game.
There are more stations than there used to be, that much I can tell. I spot a group clustered at the spears station, no surprise there. There's another group at the hand to hand combat ring, then most of the other tributes are randomly spread out at various stations. I try to find Juliet, but I'm not having any luck so far.
Peeta nudges me. "Four o'clock," he says in a low voice. I look over to where he's staring pointedly at. It's the knife throwing station. There's a small crowd gathering, clustering around someone I can't see. I peer a little harder.
It's Dimitri, the guy with the tattoos. And he's hurling knives at the target dummies with a ferocity I haven't seen in any of the other tributes this year. But it's the accuracy which sends a chill through my spine. That aim could easily take out a person from twenty yards away.
I realize with an unnerving jolt that I may have underestimated some of the competitors this year. As though he'd read my mind, Peeta leans over to whisper to me. "These Capitol children," he breathes, eyes fixed on the figures below. "They look silly and shallow, but who knows what they're capable of?" I bite my lip.
Just then, there's a loud clang and a series of shouts. I can't make out the exact words, given the invisible protection shimmering between us and the tributes, but I catch a lot of swearing and grunting. After a few seconds of straining for a glimpse past the nervous, twittering crowd, I manage to spot Dimitri. He's entangled with a lanky, red-haired guy in some sort of headlock.
From what I can see, it's starting to get serious. There are people trying to push through the crowd to separate the two, but the onlookers aren't giving way. More shouting and scuffling. I don't know the name of the red-haired guy, but he's beginning to turn purple. I notice how Dimitri's arms are sturdy and well-muscled, positioned around the other boy's neck in a specific angle.
It's an excellent headlock. He's obviously not playing around. And even though hand to hand combat isn't necessarily one of my strengths, I can tell that this is definitely not his first time using the headlock. Where and why a Capitol boy would use such a technique, though, I have no idea whatsoever.
"He's going to die if they don't get to him soon," Peeta says suddenly. We all turn to look at him. Annie looks slightly shocked, her lips parted and her eyes wide. Finnick sighs as he wraps his arms around her from behind, murmuring something soothingly in her ears. Johanna looks vaguely interested.
"Peeta," I hiss. "You can't just go around saying things like that." I already notice Plutarch taking on a strange look. He shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't care, alright?" he says loudly. He steps back from the banister. "I'm done. I'm done hiding, pretending, and skirting around all these things, acting like they don't exist." He whirls on the others. "I don't know about you all," he says. "But I'm tired of this game. We're killing people. Taking life after life. Wrecking families and lovers. But here we are, pretending it's just some game."
His tone drips with disgust. "You know what? We're killers. Every one of us. We're cold-blooded killers who have been trained to believe what we're doing is right. We try to justify the deaths we caused by lying and faking. Anything else they tell you is a lie. A big, fat, stinking lie."
He storms out of the room. We're silent, but only for a moment. There's a scream from below. Force field or not, there's no doubt we've all heard it. The scream is unmistakably a girl's. It takes a split second longer for her cry to sink into my brain. For the meaning to really register.
She'd said," He's dead."