Chapter 30: Facing the Snake

The next several days are a whirlwind. I am pulled from the arena, kept in the hospital while any injuries I sustained are wiped away. Once I am deemed presentable to the Capitol audiences, I have my final interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Like before, the first part of the interview is not bad at all, and I enjoy my playful banter with the TV host. But then, I am made to watch a recap of the Quell. It's all there: my escaping the Bloodbath. Killing the Careers and failing to save Jesse. Martin's death at the hands of the avalanche. And my final, gory duel with Bond.

By the time I am formally awarded the Victor's Crown by President Snow, I just want to go home. My impatience really began before the interview, when I learned that there would be no televised reunion with Katniss and Riley as I had assumed. "Oh, there will be one," Haymitch assured me when I pressed him on the subject. "But back in Twelve, not here." I guess you can't predict what the Capitol will do, even if you have watched their coverage your entire life.

And apparently, the Capitol's unpredictability isn't just confined to media imaging. During our limo ride to what I assume is (finally!) the train station, our driver makes a sudden turn. I look to Haymitch.

"Where are we going?"

"Relax, kid. Just one more detour and then we can go home. You have to meet the President." My mentor's expression is unusually blank, his voice even.

"But I just saw him at my Crowning! You're telling me this now?" I am close to throwing a tantrum like a little kid, I know, but I am sick of all these functions! Why can't I just go home to my family and be left alone?

The limo halts in front of the Presidential Mansion and I get out.

"The driver's gonna drop me off at the station and come back for you," Haymitch says.

Maybe this will be short, then, I think hopefully, as armored Peacekeepers lead me past the gates and into the mansion itself. I follow my escorts through ornate hallway after ornate hallway, until we stop at majestic double doors. The Presidential Office.

"The President is waiting for you, Mr. Mellark. You may go in," a guard prompts. I obey. I can't explain it, but something doesn't feel quite right about this. But it's too late to turn back now. I turn the knob and enter.

The office is as glorious as it has been conveyed on TV. At the far end of the room is a desk of beautifully polished wood. The gentleman behind it has his back to me, but raises a finger as if to say, Give me a moment. Then the chair swivels around.

It's a hard thing to admit, but President Coriolanus Snow has seemed to age like a bottle of fine wine - slowly and carefully, while still maintaing a telegenic image. He smiles, his eyes squinting, and I am momentarily reminded of a snake.

Wine and snakes. Between these two extremes, the President of Panem rests somewhere in the middle.

"Peeta Mellark. I have been expecting you. Please, have a seat."

A chair rests on my side of the desk and I take it. I try to relax, the sense of foreboding stubbornly refusing to go away.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. President?" I ask politely.

"But of course. It is tradition for the newest Victor to meet with me before returning home."

I blink. "Haymitch never told me that."

The President chuckles. "Yes, well, Mr. Abernathy has never had the experience of sending a protégé to me. I remember meeting with him when he was crowned Victor. Oh, he was a wily one! Still is, so I'm told."

I smile. "He certainly is that!"

I begin to relax, as I feel I am beginning to understand what this session is for, and it seems reasonable enough. "I know, Mr. President, that I will have Mentoring duties from now on, and I'm sure you want to discuss how Haymitch and I will split the time…."

"Oh, there will be that," the President agrees. "But that is a matter between you and Mr. Abernathy. I have something else I want to discuss with you…." He circles the desk. "You see, Peeta, every new Victor is a precious commodity. As mentors they are indeed, valuable assets, there's no doubt about that. But that is not their sole…. shall we say, purpose." He stops before me. "As a tribute, your job is to pleasure those in the Capitol, but what about after? In order for sponsors to be negotiated, gifts to be sent, Victors have to….. pleasure our citizens as well. But not with killing; rather with…."

His voice trails off, and for a moment, I don't understand what he means. Is this a test, a classroom exercise where you have to fill in the blank?

Then I get it, what it means. The clue is in the word he used earlier: pleasure.

"Sex," I finish. "You want me to have…. No way!"

"This is not a request, Mr. Mellark!" and the President's voice has become significantly sharper.

"Mr. President, I can't! I have a girlfriend, whom I will likely marry, and a child! You can't just ask me to betray them like this!"

"Oh, but I can, Peeta. I'm the President. And besides…." He leans forward until his face is inches from mine. "If family constraints are a problem for you, I can certainly help you…. relax them."

It is remarkable how quickly I am learning Snow's language, this new one filled with veiled threats and codewords. And it just angers me even more. I don't know what makes me so bold as to point a finger in the President's face, but I do.

"You touch either of them, I swear to God…."

"Then we have an understanding: you give your time and body to my constituents, and Katniss and Riley are free to live happily ever after with you."

Now I know what he is really asking. He wants me to become two Peeta Mellarks. One comes to stay in the Capitol as a playboy, the other remains in District 12 as a devoted husband and father. It sickens me, that I have to take this course at all, but…. Two Peeta Mellarks…. separate and yet not entirely equal. They can be as equal as I want them to be…..

I inwardly smirk. Two can play at the President's game, and with some cunning, I might even be able to beat him at it. All while making sure that only my Capitol alter ego gets hurt.

"A transparent understanding, Mr. President," I reply.

"Good." Snow holds out his hand, and I rise to shake it. "You are free to go. Your driver is waiting for you."

It is only when the Presidential Mansion is out of sight that I allow myself to come apart in the backseat of the limo.