I'm back with a new chapter! I know I said I'd update more frequently since I'm on winter vacation atm, but hopefully after reading this chapter you'll see why I took so long. This is definitely the longest chapter I've written by far. You guys seem to have lost interest in the story, but I promise it'll only keep getting better! As a matter of fact, part 1 of the story is nearly complete. I have everything planned out, you'll have to keep reading to get your answers :)
Anyways, enjoy and remember to let me know what you think with a review! I appreciate you guys so much. Love y'all!
P.S. For those of you wondering, Gale is going to come in very soon. I swear I haven't forgotten about him. He's a big part of our first real climax.
"Peeta," I whisper. My voice slices the night into slivers. There's us, lying on the bed in a tangle of sheets and body. Then there's the rest of the world. Outside our room, people are talking. Talking, talking, talking. Do they ever stop?
They talk about the Games, which are happening exactly two days from now. They talk about the latest trends and who kissed whom. Talk about Erik Bradshaw, the tribute who was sent in this morning to replace Lark.
He's not going to win. I feel a pang of sadness as the realization takes on the form of five simple words in my mind. Why do I care? I don't know him. Just like I'll never get to know the twenty two other tributes who will die. They will die because Juliet will live. Or is it because we're too cowardly to stand up to the Games?
These questions are infinite. The harder I try to find the answers, the farther away they slip. It's like chasing someone on a train. You keep running, reach out, but just as you think you've caught up, the train puts on a burst of speed and you're left in the dust with a pounding heart.
Peeta runs a finger over my forehead, brushing away a stray strand of hair. "Yeah."
We're facing each other in the dark, our faces lit in the pale moonlight trickling through the window.
"Where do we go from here?" My question hangs in the air between us. I'm not sure if he understands what I mean. I'm not sure I do, either.
"The Games. What you said, about us being killers. Gale. I can't face him. And I can't let Juliet die. I owe Cinna and it's the only thing I'll ever be able to do for him." The words come out in a rush, spilling out of me in choppy, uneven sentences.
I hate myself for the stinging in the corners of my eyes.
Peeta scoots closer to me, his hands finding my cheeks and enveloping them in his warmth. "Shh," he murmurs. "We'll find a way for this to end." I want to believe him more than anything I've ever done. Tonight, though, the ghosts are relentless.
"Stay with me," he says quietly. I close my eyes, and his lips find mine. We are two lost souls, swimming around in a fishbowl, year after year. His lips taste like the red wine we drank after dinner.
I watch the rise and fall of his chest, trace the muscles on his arm. At some point, he starts to snore softly. Outside our room, the lights start to dim as people go to bed too late and drunk. They'll sleep. Dream, maybe. I wonder if they'll dream about a place where the Games never existed. I don't know where there is, but I hope it's beautiful.
The stars glitter on as the city sleeps.
"Always," I whisper.
I think I actually manage to doze off for a while before waking to a gust of cold air in my face. As carefully as I can, I extract myself from Peeta's arms, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and tiptoe towards the window. My hunting skills haven't betrayed me. I am silent and stealthy. Not unlike a predator back in the woods.
With the window shut, I have a sudden urge to get out of the room. A predator should not be trapped in a closed space. The walls have become obstacles standing between me and the outside world. I need to be in open air.
The door doesn't make a sound as I leave. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think there might have been a time when I would've been afraid, wandering through an unfamiliar building in the dead of night. But, no. I am fearless. The shadows are calling, and darkness is only a whisper away.
Or maybe I discovered long ago that the ghosts we fear are lurking elsewhere entirely. When you stop checking for monsters under your bed, that's when you realize they've been in your head all along.
I find myself at a metal door at the end of a hall, push, and to my surprise, it gives way. The surge of cold air which greets me this time is more than welcome. I'm standing on the roof, a wide concrete surface towering over the city below.
Even at nighttime, the buildings scattered on the streets have been lit up. Neon lights and flashing signs everywhere. I allow myself to marvel at the scene for a moment. They've rebuilt the Capitol well. From here, you could never tell this was the very city which sparked the war. No signs of blood on the paper white walls. No fallen soldiers and screaming children in the alleys.
They've erased any trace of the rebellion. Wiped us off their history the way they might a stain on a tablecloth. A few more years, and the proof will be truly gone. All that'll be left are the haunted eyes.
That's when I notice someone sitting with their back to me, at the edge of the roof.
Immediately, my hunting instincts kick in. Prey or predator? There's no telling for sure. I edge a little closer, silently. It's a girl. She's sitting with her arms wrapped around knees, leaning slightly to the right.
She turns around just as I'm about to say something, though I'm not sure what. Her eyes widen a little. It's Juliet.
"Hey," I offer. I sound uncertain. She visibly relaxes. "Hey," she answers. After a moment, "You can sit with me, you know."
I do, carefully, even though I'm sure there's a force field not too far in front of us. The view is breathtaking. It feels as if we're looking down at a thousand stars, each glowing and shining and sizzling life and magic. Which seems pretty stupid, but right then, right there, it wasn't.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Her voice startles me out of my thoughts. She doesn't ask me what I'm doing on the roof in the a.m.
"It is," I agree. "Once you get over the fact that millions were slaughtered here." Once again, I'm surprised at the edge of bitterness which has crept into my voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."
She looks at me curiously. "I'm sorry about your sister," she says softly. My throat closes up and I have to look away as to blink, hard.
"It's fine." No, it's not.
The silence between us isn't an uncomfortable one. I get the feeling she has more to say, so I wait.
"Dad's death wasn't your fault," she says finally. I freeze. "He was always different. It's hard to explain, but I think you know what I mean. He never really fit in with the crowd." I can almost see Cinna in my mind right now, the gold eyeliner and the warm coffee brown eyes. Yes, I know what she means. He was never making meaningless comments about the weather or wearing ridiculous wigs and such. Even the way he spoke, his accent was unlike any which I'd heard in the Capitol. Maybe that's why I trusted him in the first place.
"After he died, Mom sent me to my aunt's. Said something about how it wasn't safe for me to stay in our old house anymore. That was the last time I saw her."
Her tone is flat, resigned. No trace of self-pity or even the slightest tremble.
I take a deep breath. "She could still be alive." My words ring hollow.
"That's what I thought, too. Mom was smart. She taught me to hunt four leaf clovers and wish on fallen eyelashes."
"So I went back one day. I snuck out of my aunt's and ran all the way to our old house. I didn't even recognize it at first. The front door was unlocked. There was glass and china everywhere. All the cushions were on the floor, stuffing pulled out. It was as if the house had been turned upside down."
She doesn't need to say anything more. We both know the rest, and my heart twists painfully. Here I've been, moping around and doing nothing but bask in my own pool of sorrow. Shame courses through me.
I want to say I'm sorry, too, but I know the words won't make any difference. Instead, my fingers find hers through the dark. I hope my squeeze conveys everything I want to say.
She looks down at our intertwined fingers. "Even if I make it out," she whispers. "I don't have anyone to return to. I just want all of it to be over." Her voice catches a little at the end.
Suddenly, I'm a twelve year old again, clutching my mother's arm and begging her to stay with Prim and I. Peeta's words echo in my mind. "No one really needs me."
"That's not true," I hear myself saying. "You have us. Maybe you can even stay with Peeta and I once the Games are over. Or, oh, we're staying at Finnick's for a while. You'll like it. Annie's probably the sweetest person you'll ever meet. You can trust Finnick. He's a good friend, honestly. And Johanna, she's really alright when she's not trying to kill you." I'm talking much faster than usual.
She smiles a little. "You know, I've sort of had a crush on Finnick since I was ten or something. When I first saw him on TV, in this golden tunic."
I can't help but snort. As far as I know, tunics are essentially towels wrapped up to resemble a dress. Finnick in a golden dress. I store the image in my head for future teasing with a smile.
"You can get his autograph or something," I assure her. "You can even get a hug." Her eyes widen a little, and her mouth drops open slightly. Despite everything, I laugh. It feels almost normal, laughing about Finnick and his outfit on the roof at night.
"What about the ocean?" she asks softly. "What's it like?" I flash back to the day at the beach, the huge water fight, and most of all, the feeling of sunshine on our faces as we splashed around like idiots.
"It's enormous," I answer. "It just seems to go on and on. The waves are cold at first, but once you get used to it, it's like gliding, almost. If the weather's nice, the sunlight will bounce off the waves. There are thousands, no, millions, of fish underwater. In all kinds of colors. They might swim with you sometimes."
She nods. "I can picture it."
"At sunset," I continue. "The ocean sort of bleeds into the sky. You can't tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins. There's red, orange, pink, purple, and blue. Not like the colors here, though. Softer. Muted."
Her eyes glitter like stars.
"I'd like to see the ocean someday," she says wistfully.
I make a silent promise to myself.
My late night talk with Juliet may have been worthwhile, but lack of sleep is taking full revenge on my spirits. Even after a large mug of black coffee, I can barely keep up with the conversation at breakfast for more than a few minutes.
My prep team is horrified when they see me. Octavia, Venia, and Flavius are back with new haircuts and unshakable determination. They exclaim over the telltale shadows under my eyes. Fuss about my hair, nails, and body as usual. Then they whisk me into a bathtub filled with bubbles and petals, order me to relax and rest for a few hours while they prepare my makeup and heaven knows what else.
I tune their chattering out until it's nothing more than a mere buzz in the background. Tonight, the interviews take place. Caesar Flickerman will ask questions and joke while the crowd watches. Hungry eyes fixed on the screens in every single district, watching, waiting to see what happens.
We will be in the front row along with the stylists. Us victors, around thirty of us total who bothered to show up.
I'm sure Haymitch is passed out somewhere with a bottle in one hand, knife in the other. Peeta's getting his makeover, too. And Effie, she must be bustling around in monstrous heels, checking things off her list to make sure everything will happen as planned. Tonight, there is no room for fault or error.
The tributes are probably in the process of being plucked and shaved, or maybe painted and pulled. I hope for Juliet's sake that her stylist will have designed a decent outfit. We weren't allowed to coach the tributes for the interviews this year. For fairness, Plutarch said. Since the victors didn't divide evenly among the tributes.
I vaguely register Octavia helping me out of the tub some time later. She wraps a big, fluffy towel around my shoulders and escorts me towards another room where I'm steamed and dried. By the time she's done, my skin is smooth and glowing.
"Your dress is gorgeous," she whispers, as if she were telling me a secret. "They won't be able to take their eyes off you." I do my best to smile, but honestly, I couldn't care less at the moment.
Flavius raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow when we walk in, me naked save a white bathrobe. I remind myself nudity is not a big deal here in the Capitol. "Oh, we'll do better than that," he declares. "You'll be ravishing, Katniss. Peeta won't be able to keep his hands off you."
They laugh like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Even Venia can't resist a smirk.
"Please," I say, rolling my eyes.
If anything, this just makes them laugh harder.
The ravishing dress which will "make Peeta unable to keep his hands off me" turns out to be a black satin one. It flows to my ankles, exposes most of my back, and splits at my right hip. Whenever I walk, my freshly shaved leg shows. The more skin they see, the better. Apparently I'm going for "sexy but classy" tonight.
My hair is piled up in an elegant twist, with a diamond studded pin holding it in place. The lipstick they chose is dark red. I have to admit my prep team did a good job. The circles under my eyes have disappeared under powder and metallic blue eyeshadow.
"Thanks," I say. "You've made me look much better than I really am." I try for a smile in the mirror. This sets off another round of gushing and awkward hugging.
Haymitch, of all people, shows up at the door a few minutes later to save me. He has to clear his throat loudly before he's noticed.
"It's about time," he says, surprisingly sober. "Effie wants us at least fifteen minutes early." I nod quickly, eager to escape further embarrassing innuendoes or pointless chitchat. I'm restless.
Venia slips a necklace on me before I go. Of course it's a silver chain with my mockingjay hanging as the pendant. "You look beautiful," she says firmly, patting my arm. "Off you go, Katniss."
I manage a smile before Haymitch whisks me out of the room. His strides are brisk, and I notice he keeps glancing to the left, then right, before abruptly turning back.
"What are you doing?" I ask, irritated at how I'm actually struggling to keep pace with him. "I don't suppose you've suddenly decided to take Effie's wishes to heart?"
My annoyance grows when he doesn't respond, and I finally snap. "It's not about getting there early, is it? What is it? Tell me now or I'm not going with you at all." I stop, cross my arms, and glare at him.
He whirls on me with a look of exasperation. "Move," he says tightly. "And keep your voice down. You don't want to be late. Finnick and the others are already there."
His eyes tell me this is the end of our conversation. Finnick and the others are already there. I get a distinct feeling that there's more to his last sentence than he's voicing aloud. He could have said, Peeta and the others are already there. Why Finnick? I rack my mind as I hurry after him silently.
It hits me as we get in the elevator. An uncomfortable sensation settles at the pit of my stomach. The funeral, the note, it all comes flooding back. I shudder involuntarily. Haymitch looks at me but says nothing.
True to his word, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna, and Annie are already in their seats by the time I reach them. So are a few other victors I don't know the name of. I sit down in the empty space between Peeta and Johanna.
"Hey," says Peeta with a smile. "You look stunning." His smile is warm enough to make me momentarily forget about Haymitch's odd behavior. "You look pretty good yourself," I answer. He does look dashing in his classic black and white suit, his blue eyes sparkling in the spotlights overhead.
Before he can say anything back, Johanna cuts in, leaning across me. "Peeta," she drawls, flicking me a glance before continuing. "Haymitch wants to talk to you, apparently." She winks.
Peeta stares at her for a moment before getting up. "Okay," he says slowly, shooting me a look. I shrug in response. Haymitch is standing a few feet away, talking to a few people I don't recognize.
As soon as he's out of earshot, Finnick and Johanna both turn to me expectantly. Annie is with Haymitch's little group as well.
"Listen," Johanna hisses. "There are rumors. You know the note Finnick told you about?" I barely have time to nod before she barrels on. "Well, certain sources tell us that there's some kind of undercover group in the Capitol. You could think of them as rebels, like us. Obviously, they're not happy that they had to rebuild their precious little city because they lost."
She's talking faster and faster now. "They're also not happy with Paylor's reign." She glances around furtively. This behavior is starting to grate on my nerves. First Haymitch, and now Johanna?
"Wait," I interrupt. "There was a vote," I look at her hard. "It was fair, Paylor got more than half of the votes." Johanna throws up her hands in frustration. "You're missing the point here, Everdeen," she spits. "I give up. Finnick, ugh, you tell her."
Finnick sighs. "Democracy is just a form of politics," he says. "No matter the outcome, there's always going to be a portion of people who aren't satisfied with the result. And when they decide to put their thoughts into action, that's when a revolution begins."
A sinking feeling enters my chest. "That's crazy," I counter. "According to that kind of logic, it's never going to end, is it?"
Right after I utter the words, Plutarch's voice flashes through my mind.
"Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?" I ask.
"Oh, not now. Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated," he says. "But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss."
Finnick confirms my thoughts. "Anyways," he says. "Word has it that these people are set on having another war. They want to expand the Capitol."
Expand the Capitol? "What do you mean?" I start to ask, before stopping. "You're not saying-"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Katniss. They want to take over the districts. We would all be part of the Capitol. No more divisions. Panem would be ruled solely by the Capitol."
I stare at him, hoping for any hint that it's a joke. His sea green eyes reflect my own.
"The worst part is," Johanna says. "Apparently it's not just Capitol people. There's been dissent in the districts, too."