"What the fuck happened to you?"

The door to my cell had barely shut when I heard Johana's voice, and felt her eyes piercing the glass. My head was pounding with a migraine, and my jaw was sore. A memory flashed through my head of the hours that had just transpired. My latest "guest," Alastair, had forced me to my knees with that cruel device that sent electric shocks through my prosthetic. After slamming a baton into my jaw enough times, I didn't have the strength to fight off his advances.

The light in the prison was too bright. I squinted against them to look over at Johana in the adjacent cell. She looked relatively untouched since I had last seen her, and I was briefly grateful that Thread seemed to have held up his end of our deal. I doubted that Johana would be protected forever, but I couldn't turn my back on her safety. We only had each other at the moment, and we weren't sure if anyone was ever coming. In fact, for the sake of our friends and the districts, I think we had to hope that they wouldn't.

"Are you ok?" I asked her anyway, squeezing my eyes shut again against the glare of both the lights and Johana's eyes.

"I'm a lot better than you." She answered, salty. Her voice softened when she asked, "Where were you?"

I eased myself down to the floor, my prosthetic leg not bending very smoothly at the knee. It must be getting fried in the volts of the shocks. "They had me do an interview." My shoulders throbbed and I sighed deeply. "With Caesar Flickerman."

"What?!" Johana was now standing, her hands on the glass wall of her cell, facing me. "Tell me everything."

I massaged my temples while I recounted Caesar's questions about Katniss, the rebellion, and Snow's orders that I should call for a cease-fire.

Johana snorted. "So that's where you got the shiner. Of course you wouldn't call for a cease-fire." But her smirk faded when I didn't answer. "Peeta - what the fuck?! Why would you do that?!"

I winced against the volume of her shrill voice. The migraine pounded. "They bombed 12." I answered simply, the scenes from Thread's computers flashing through my head while I stared at my shoes. I had put the fiery district out of my mind for the past few days, my attention drained by other things.

Johana frowned, but shook her head. "Peeta - this is so much bigger than 12." She then caught herself, looking slyly at the cameras along the ceiling and around the rest of the cell block for lingering Peacekeepers. I knew she couldn't say anymore aloud without risking exposing her intel. She pursed her lips and glared at me, considering what she could say. Apparently she decided the topic was too dangerous, and she moved on. "When was the interview? You've been gone for days."

"We're in the training center," I told her, wrapping my arms around myself. "I was in the penthouse."

"Tell me you deserve it," Alastair's voice echoed in my head, and I felt his hand gripping my neck. With the other he stroked himself, grinning maniacally. I pulled at my restraints unsuccessfully.

"It doesn't look like you enjoyed your stay," Johana answered tartly, breaking my reverie. "And they wouldn't put you on tv with that mug, so I figure there's been more going on than interviews." She studied me as a held the back of my hand to my mouth. I could taste the blood still oozing from my split lip, so I was going to try to stop the bleeding. I didn't like the expression in her eyes as they moved around my body. I felt grateful that I was still fully dressed, mostly covered. I guess the Peacekeepers didn't see a point in taking the suit back, as it was already bloodied and ripped. Johana didn't have to say anything - I could see the puzzle connecting in her gaze. The cells were for torture, so what else would be going on in the penthouse?

"So Finnick is safe," she finally stated.

"Yeah," I answered curtly and looked away. I thanked her silently as, in my peripheral sight, I noticed her shadow move away from the glass and away from me.

I'm going to be interviewed again. As the day draws closer, my stomach grips in knots. They send in a medic who says nothing to me, but only applies various salves and examines my face. Thread stands guard with his cattle prod, and tells her that the bruising needs to clear up.

"It's on it's way," she assures him, placing the jar back in her house call kit. "It would improve with proper hydration and nutrition." She doesn't really prescribe it - it's more like she briefly mentions it with a small eyebrow raise at the bread lying on the tray on the floor.

"Yeah, well we're not running a spa," Thread snarls, and motions for her to leave the cell. He turns to me, a scowl on his face. "Snow wants you upstairs tonight." I can feel my face blanch. "Eat that now," he nods at the bread.

Air compresses and the door shuts behind them, locking me in once more. A shiver runs through me, and I glance over at Johana who is staring.

"Peeta, they will burn all of the districts," she finally says, her tone gentle but firm, "whether you help them or not. And Katniss..." She pauses as she glances up at the blinking red lights on the ceiling. "She can take care of herself." She looks back down toward me meaningfully. I notice that my heart rate is elevated, and I feel a little bit lightheaded.

We are interrupted by a clatter of noise and a young woman's sobs. Thread barks orders at his soldiers as they escort in what appears to be a new prisoner. Johana and I exchange quick glances, and both stand close to our cell doors to look out at the commotion.

It's Annie Cresta.

So Finnick really is safe. Otherwise, she wouldn't be here.

The first suit they try hangs from my body, and that's when I realize that I've lost weight. A new prep team surrounds me, readying me for the main event of the night. I know better than to ask about Portia because I just don't think I can take any other bad news at the moment. I'm trying to compartmentalize everything that is happening, and I don't know if I can be strong for Katniss if I find out that Portia is dead. I look into the mirror and see that I look like a ghost of my former self, and sigh. They are starving me to make me weak. How do they plan to explain my appearance to an audience full of Capitol fans? Fans of the star-crossed lovers of District 12.

They'll think I'm just depressed while mourning Katniss, I realize, gazing into my gaunt eyes. The dark circles from lack of sleep and stress are almost impossible to hide, and my eyes look like they're starting to glaze over.

"You'll be reunited with Everdeen soon," Thread says casually, and I can't help myself.

I whip around to face him, a wild look in my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Thread smirks. "We're going to find her. And she'll be joining you. And you can watch each other waste away." Thread's eyes light up with satisfaction as I feel tears prickling my eyes. "You'll become so familiar with each others screams."

I move to tackle him and he simply sticks the cattle prod into my gut. I convulse on contact, dropping all of my weight to my knees with a sickening smack.

"Pathetic," Thread snarls, grabbing me around the throat. "Next time, I'll stick this in your mouth." He waves the prod at me and snickers. "Well, that is if your mouth isn't already full of Alastair."

I feel my pallor go white and my stomach churn painfully.

"Get him up," Thread orders two guards. When they pull me to my feet Thread cuffs my hands in front of me, and they lead me out of the dressing area into the dinning room.

Alastair.

He grins at me wickedly and stands, throwing his napkin down next to his plate. I can't take my eyes off of him, like I'm frozen in place, my feet heavy and hesitant. The Peacekeepers on either side of me pull me forward into the room, meeting him halfway. I can't help but squirm when he leans forward to place a kiss on my cheek.

His eyes go slightly cold, but he recovers quickly with a smile. "No hello, my pet?" His grin widens confidently as he addresses the guards. "Please, seat him there." He gestures to the seat across from his, and when the Peacekeepers wrestle me down into the chair Alastair taps a place in front of me with his knuckle. A small panel slides back to reveal and silver hook. The Peacekeepers attach my bonds to that, so that my hands are bound in front of me on the table.

Alastair snaps his fingers at an Avox who quickly places a plate in front of me. It's only then that I notice the massive feast laid out before us. Roast chicken, potatoes, mini cakes and puddings just to name a few. The aroma from my plate catches my attention and I can't help but salivate. For days I've only been given water and bread. The animal side of me - the side that wants to survive - cannot help itself.

"Please," Alastair murmurs across from me, his fingertips pressing together under his chin. "Be my guest."

It's then that I notice that we're alone. I'm conflicted between the panic that ties my stomach in knots, but also the biological pull to available sustenance. Maybe I would feel less dizzy if I had a decent meal.

I twisted my hands as best as I could to reach the plate before me. I felt humiliated, having to bow my head down to meet the chicken in my hands, stooping like an animal. But I'm so hungry that I'm seeing spots in my vision. I remember what it's like to go hungry from the days in 12 before Katniss and I won our Games, and I remind myself not to gorge myself. Just a bit of meat and potatoes should be enough. If I want to fight him off later I'll have to be stronger than I am now.

Alastair watched me hungrily, swallowing the dregs of a red wine. He barely sets it down before the Avox is refilling his glass.

"Please forgive the restraints," he glances at my hands. "I saw your Games and I'm aware of your strength." He raises his glass for another sip. "And I do enjoy watching you struggle."

I feel sick, having to make an effort to swallow the mouthful of chicken. I know I'm finished eating now, so I sit back slowly, raising my eyes to meet his. I steel myself, remembering that because of my upcoming interview they are not allowed to mark up my face. That should help me keep my wits, too, not having to suffer blows to the head.

Alastair rises, motioning to the Avox to leave us. My heart sinks at being alone with this monster. "This could be the last time I see you," he muses, plucking a grape from a bowl as he slowly makes his way down the length of the table. "See, your price sky-rocketed, which typically means that they're restricting access." He swipes a finger of whipped cream to chase down the grape, sucking on his finger suggestively. It's their way of going out with a bang," he winks at me as he emphasizes that last word.

I can't help but frown, knitting my brows together as I take in this new information. What could that mean? Are they almost done with me? What does that mean?

"Oh, no need to worry," he coos, rounding the side of the table as he saunters closer to me. "I doubt that you'll be leaving the Capitol. Once this war is over they'll pick up where they left off with you. They just need you for something else right now I suppose. That's how it works with the other victors."

I don't know whether or not to be relieved. Having zero control over what is happening doesn't look good either way, and I hate the idea of other victors being sold in this twisted version of slavery. I think of Katniss, and wonder if I could protect her from this. Another dark thought passes through my head. I don't want her to know me like this either, to know the extent of my defilement. Could she ever look at me the same way? Or would I be disgusting to her?

Alastair is beside me now, peering down with hungry eyes. "We better make this last night worthwhile," he says softly, tracing a finger across my cheek. I flinch, my restraints clanging against the table. "I know, I know. I'm not supposed to touch this face," he murmurs thoughtfully, holding my chin in his hand so that I can't flinch again. "We have to keep you pretty for Caesar."

I don't sense his other hand until its fingers laced through my hair and yank my head back. I hiss in pain as Alastair stares down into my eyes. "Not the neck either, I suppose," he muses, moving his other hand from my chin to my neck. His hand wraps around my neck, but doesn't squeeze. I feel a prick in my neck, and can't help but gasp in pain. "Shhhh," Alastair is running his fingers over my lips now. "It's just to help you relax. And keep you docile."

I feel the drug begin to work, my limps growing heavy. My eyelids droop a little, but I fight the sedative. I don't want to be unconscious around this man. My hands are released from the table's hook, and Alastair is commanding, "Get up." When I do stand the world seems like it's rocking back and forth. I fall against the table to steady myself, dishes clattering together as Alastair snickers. "Oh, steady now," he clutches at me and pushes me toward a bedroom.

Stay with me? Katniss's voice echoes in my head, tinged in fear from a recent nightmare.

I shake her away, wanting to keep this moment and anything to do with her separate. These two worlds cannot come together. My heart is close to breaking, thinking of where she is or if she is in pain, and I can't consider her experiencing anything remotely similar to this moment, right here.

Even though I am aware that I'm totally trapped in this situation, I feel myself digging in my heels automatically. Alastair doesn't seem to become annoyed, but rather more tantalized. I remember what he said about my struggle, darkly, but I cannot help myself. Everything has come down to instinct lately, like the human parts of me have been stripped away to only reveal a desperate, trapped creature.