Peacekeepers place firm hands on our backs and arms, leading us to the Justice Building behind the stage, making sure we don't run. I wish I could tell them I would never run. I'm not leaving her. We ascend ridiculous polished marble stairs, and are lead into a hallway with only two doors, one for her and one for me. I reach out and give her hand a squeeze before we're pulled apart, but I don't think she feels it. I honestly don't think she feels anything right now. I don't blame her.
The room I'm thrust in is as stupidly decadent as the hallway was, with red velvet curtains, an oak bookcase, a dark velvet loveseat and absolutely no windows, in order to secure that the chosen tributes don't jump that is. I know what happens next; we're meant to wait in this room while one by one our family members come to say their goodbyes. I honestly doubt that mine would care enough to do so.
It feels like a thousand hours have passed before the door opens. A tall man with greying blond hair shoulders past the peacekeepers and heads straight for me. It looks as though all the colour has been drained from his face; his eyes are empty and he stands as though he's being dragged down by an unbearable weight.
"Father," I say as I get up awkwardly. He comes towards me and before I can say anything more wraps his arms around my shoulders and squeezes all he has into me. I'm shocked enough that I don't say anything else and just let myself hug him back hard. This is the same man who barely raised me, who turned a blind eye while my mother beat me, who never talked to me unless he had to. And here he is embracing me like I'm the world to him. And here I am doing the same. I can't help it, hot tears spring to my eyes and flow silently down my cheeks. He didn't come here to make amends for his absence in my life, he came to tell me without words goodbye. And suddenly it becomes real, and all the fear, hysteria and grief comes flooding out of me before I can stop it.
He lets go too soon and pulls back. "I went to see her," he tells me, eyes unable to meet my own. "I know. How you feel about her. Son, I'm so sorry. For everything. Just… please, please don't give up." And he's crying almost as hard as I am.
"I have to. She's going to make it back to her family." The hope vanishes from his eyes and he nods, as though he was expecting this.
"I know." He steps closer and drops his voice to a whisper, "If you're going to do this, you need to do it right. Think. Form the alliances you need to to keep her safe. Do the smart thing, think about what it is they expect from you and you pretend to follow their rules for the cameras. Make yourself seem strong, a person worthy of an alliance with the careers. When you're interviewed you give them a reason to sponsor you. You be charming, you win them over, you don't let them see your anger. You're from 12 Peeta, they won't expect much from you, none of them will have paid you any attention during the Reaping. You need to make an impression with the interviews. Make them love you Peeta. The rest will fall into place. But promise me you won't lose yourself, Peeta." All I can do is nod. A peacekeeper opens the door and starts to tell him his time is up. "It's a game Peeta. You need to play it. You make it to the end with her. Then do what you need to." And with that my father is being ripped away from me, leaving my head reeling. He's right. It is a game. But I won't let myself become a pawn for him. For Snow. I won't let myself forget everything he did to her, to everyone. Ripping her and thousands of others from their family, and for what? He doesn't own me, he won't make me into a monster. I won't kill for him. It's a game.
So I won't play it. Every other tribute can but I sure as hell won't be giving him the satisfaction of winning.
The door bursts open for a third time and I look up only to see a streak of blond and then a pair of arms wrap around me. "Peeta," says Delly Cartwright soberly, her arms tightly gripping my waist. I pull back from her and look into her face.
"I'm not going to do it Delly," I tell her resolutely. "I'm not doing it so don't…just don't." I know what she wants from me. She wants me to try to win. Delly is my closest friend, I've known her my entire life and she knows me better than my family. So she knows what I'm planning to do. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, but she blinks them away hurriedly and smiles brightly through it.
"No, yeah I should have expected. Do you, um… do you have a plan?" she laughs sheepishly and raises a hand to wipe the excess tears from her cheek.
"You know what my plan was. If she was ever reaped, I'd volunteer. I'd go with her, protect her, do what I can to get her to the end. That's the plan, always has been." She shakes her head and leans in closer.
"You know what I mean," she says, voice lowered. "How do you plan on getting her to the end. You'd be one of the weakest. You're smart, but the tributes in 1 and 2 have been training for this their entire life. When you get there you've got to get stronger. Smarter. Figure out their weaknesses. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it to protect her -"
"Del, there's no way in hell I'm killing for him. I'll keep her safe, I'll train enough to survive until the end to do it, but the only life I plan to end is -"
"Don't say it. Please." I go to hug her again, tightly because I know it's for the last time.
"Thank you for coming to see me." And then she's leaving, closing the door behind her and I can't stop the tears from tumbling down my cheeks. I won't be ashamed of it, of crying. I'll never pretend to be less of a human being for them. Because that's what they'll be expecting. For me to be strong, to show no emotion, to present myself as an inhuman, unfeeling piece in their twisted, demonic Games.
I've been sitting in this prison cell for endless minutes and no one else has come to see me, so I let my thoughts stray. I have time to think strategy, right now I need to get my anger out before I face the cameras again. Can't let them see me angry, I think bitterly.
The people of the capitol wouldn't want that. They want to watch The Hunger Games, they want to watch children being ripped apart by other children, but they don't want to feel bad about it. They don't want to be made to feel like the monsters they are for allowing this to go on for years upon years upon years. The bloodshed, the screams, the torture they inflict upon innocent children is just entertainment to them. Because they're not real, the children. Not to the capitol. Not to President Snow. Anger coils itself into a ball within the pit of my stomach. I can fight it; I know I can. We all can. We choose not to, out of fear. Fear of what he'll do to us if we revolt. We're helpless. We don't have to be.
"It's time," two peacekeepers enter, grab me by the elbows and begin to escort me from the room. I go in silence. I turn to the right to try to catch a glimpse of Katniss, but she must already be ahead of me because no peacekeepers wait outside her door. This is it.