Chapter 42:

I'm awoken at exactly 5:00 a.m. by my prep team.

"What?" I whine grouchily. "Can't you come back in a few hours?" I had an awful night's sleep.

But Flavius, Venia, and Octavia merely laugh. "We wanted to come an hour ago. Cinna made us wait. Today's a big, big day!" Flavius unintentionally does his best Effie impression.

Any other day, I would probably try to come up with some sort of counterargument- like that the ceremony is eleven hours away- but today, being the bride and all, I realize that it's futile. Defeated, I throw the covers off of the sitting room couch, after noting, surprisingly, that Prim isn't there. She must have woken up early.

"Where's Prim?" I ask accusingly. The prep team shrugs in bewilderment. "Well, can I at least find her before you take me?" I plead. Sensing they weren't going to win this one anyway, they nod their assent.

After a couple of minutes of searching the floor, Prim is nowhere to be found, so I try one last thing- the roof. To my immense relief, Prim is there, staring out over the Capitol landscape, watching the sun just beginning to rise.

Relieved, I don't bother her, but instead head back down to my prep team. I heave an audible sigh. "All right, do whatever you need to do to me, I guess. But I'll need to take a break at some point. For, um," I wrack my brain for an excuse to leave them that won't sound too obvious, "uh, lunch," I finish lamely.

The prep team all look at each other incredulously. "Oh, Katniss," Venia replies, "you can't eat lunch on your wedding day! Your stomach will expand! A couple of bites, so you don't pass out, max,….and we'll have it ready for you at the Remake Center, no need to leave."

Well, there goes that. I'll need to think of something else, but I have a little time. "Oh," I say softly. "Well, whatever."

The prep team, after escorting me to the Remake Center, begins their most invasive work yet, in preparation not for the wedding itself but for the wedding night. Though my leg hairs haven't had a chance to grow back in- leaving them no choice but to shave my legs- their waxing is far more intimate than usual. Tears in my eyes, I wonder how anyone could possibly do this to themselves voluntarily.

Once the hair removal phase is finished- and the process from head to toe takes hours- the focus shifts to improving the hair that's left. They painstakingly curl every hair on my head, one pinch at a time, until it is full of ringlets (and what's the point, I wonder, when it's only going up anyway). They comb my eyebrows and put some sort of sticky transparent base coat on my eyelashes. And when they move, uh, downward, they actually sort of style the bit remaining, and spray it with a hint of some sort of glittery powder. I try to protest, but my requests go unanswered ('You don't want to scare him off, dear' is Octavia's reply- what am I supposed to say to that?)

Time ticks away. There is no clock in the Remake Center, so I keep asking Venia. "Five minutes after the last time you asked me," becomes her eventual reply. They haven't even dressed me or put on my makeup yet- at this point they are focused solely on my nails. I beg them to let me wear something, and Flavius eventually concedes and hands me a fluffy pink bathrobe.

By 11:30, I am ready to tear my newly-curled hair out. They aren't even close to finished! I'm ready to go meet Peeta and the prep team keeps blathering on about the tiniest wedding details while they work- how the pearls in the pins from the groomsmen's boutonnieres match my earrings, how the off-white color from the Capitol-provided roses was specially replicated for the tablecloths. I desperately try to think of a viable excuse for getting up and walking out; I'm running out of time. Unfortunately, my panic is preventing me from thinking clearly. Smoke break? No, I don't smoke. I want to see Prim? Nah- they'll just bring her right to me, she's coming a little later to meet me anyway. Then, all of a sudden, it hits me. The perfect idea. And it won't take much to put it into action.

I simply jump up in my already panicked state and pretend to hyperventilate. "I….don't….know….if….Icandothis," I gasp, breathless.

"What's wrong, dear?" Venia asks me concernedly.

"I….I….I'm too young to get married!" I scream. "I'm only seventeen years old! And….I…don't….know….ifIcangothroughwithit," my sporadic breathing enhances the effect. It's interesting- I am too young to get married. But as the wedding has approached, and Peeta and I have gotten closer, I've gotten less apprehensive, not more- making the whole cold feet thing a complete ploy. But the prep team buys right in. All three of them immediately start trying to console me, giving me words of encouragement, telling me how great Peeta is. But I'm not having it- I shake my head violently and walk towards the remake exit, screaming that I need to get some air for a few minutes and to leave me alone. My performance, if I do say so myself, is worthy of some kind of an award.

As I push open the door, I realize that I am about to meet Peeta, not to mention go live to all of Panem, wearing nothing but a pink bathrobe, with my hair only half-styled. Thank God I could give a shit if it keeps Annella, Jack, and Mouseface alive.

But the second I see what's outside, I realize that we don't stand a chance. There is nothing but Peacekeeper after Peacekeeper lined up around the Remake Center, standing guard. Though none of them are carrying lethal weapons, they all are holding sticks of what I can only assume is electricity. They look remarkably like the cattle prod that the Capitol provided to the District 3 tributes in the Quell.

Of course. The obvious flaw in the plan. Why hadn't we seen it before? Peeta and I were assuming that we could swoop in and speak our peace, saving the day for one and all. The Capitol might not be able to prevent us from speaking our peace- Peeta had that part right- they would risk far too much in doing so. But they could sure as hell prevent us from swooping in. I look around, but don't see signs of Peeta anywhere. I hope that he's all right. Thankfully, I'm too far away from the Training Center to see the stage- I'm feeling helpless enough at the moment as it is.

I briefly wonder if I should try to run towards the Training Center anyway, screaming at the top of my lungs, before some Peacekeeper zaps me with his taser-thing. If I thought for a second that I would make it far enough to actually say something impactful, or that I would get picked up by a TV camera and broadcast to Panem, I probably would. But knowing the Capitol, to think that would be delusional. Instead, I turn around and head back inside the Remake Center, defeated. I fleetingly wonder again whether Peeta is okay, before realizing that he has to be- or at least he will be by 4 p.m. Prim and my mom, too. I suppose this failed plan was meant to be- though I am certain that the Capitol would spare us until 4:00 p.m. today, there would be no guarantees after that. These Peacekeepers probably just stopped Peeta and I from doing something really, really, stupid. I sigh, both in relief and in frustration.

When I come back, the prep team is somber, conversing in hushed whispers. I don't know if they were discussing my abrupt departure, or the upcoming executions, and I don't care. I sit back in the chair I had been sitting in so that the prep team can finish my hair and makeup. "Okay, I'm back," I say, a bit testily. "Sorry. I just needed a few minutes."

The prep team nods in understanding. "Um, Katniss, the broadcast at 12 is mandatory viewing for all Panem citizens….." Flavius begins nervously, "…um, so, we're going to have to switch on the TV over there." He gestures to a TV in the corner.

I nod stoically.

"But," he quickly adds, "We'll be doing your makeup anyway- we can have you face the other way. And we won't blast the volume too high."

I shrug. I am trying to make myself numb at this point.

They turn my chair around, and start with the application of my foundation- I'm only a teenager, for heaven's sake, I shouldn't need very much- but it takes a while anyway. As they work, I can faintly hear Caesar Flickerman's voice as he is doing his "pre-event" commentary. Something about a necessary tragedy, the greater good of Panem, etc. I roll my eyes.

I try my best to keep an emotional distance- it shouldn't be that hard, after all- I never even met Annella, Jack, or Mouseface. I have seen hundreds of tributes die in the Games in my lifetime- more if you count the previous Games that I watched to ready Prim for the Quell. After last year's games, I am about as desensitized to death as I could possibly ever be. This is just three more tributes. And really, while hanging isn't the best way to go out, I've seen worse. By far. I shudder as I think once again of Cato. But I can't turn my emotions off- glassy tears form in my eyes. Several times Flavius asks me if we need to take a break- he says he's concerned about my newly-applied foundation (not the tributes, of course), and I shake my head. I am simply unable to separate the execution of the tributes with the downfall of the alliance, the end of the rebellion, the loss of hope. It's entirely too much to put on the poor tributes' shoulders- and I realize it- but I do it anyway.

Then, suddenly, the audience gets loud in the background- they boo and cheer as if they were witnessing a pivotal play in a sporting match. I take their response, along with the hushed murmurs of the prep team as the application of my eyeshadow grinds to a halt, to mean that the tributes are being escorted onto the stage. My hunch is confirmed when I hear Caesar's voice rise. "Ladies and gentlemen, the event will start momentarily- please be patient. Though I bet the wait will not feel nearly as long for you as it does for those three tributes down there."

Since I can't see Caesar, I can't get a context of his words through his facial expressions and therefore have no idea what the intent is behind his statement. Was that sympathy in his voice?

There's no running commentary, really, I just hear faint sounds from the audience and a fairly consistent tapping sound- like the sound of wooden stairs being climbed by several sets of legs. The TV is then almost silent as I hear a few light rustles- the tributes being tied up? I can't tell. My eyes are closed as my eyemakeup application proceeds. But then Caesar speaks up once again.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears that this is the time. It looks like tributes are properly restrained and the tributes' punishment is about to be administered." He sounds so formal about it.

Right after he says it, I hear three terrified voices shout at the top of their lungs, in unison: "FUCK THE CAPITOL!" And, a moment later, a clatter and the unmistakable whoosh of weight shifting as the floor drops out from under them.