I would much prefer to stay exactly where I am, but Effie insists on a relocation the evening before the anniversary festivities are set to begin. "The rooms we have set up for you are much more comfortable," she assures us. "You will have so much more space to spread out. And the décor is far superior." She turns up her nose as she looks around our current accommodations.
I tell her we are fine with where we are, but she will have none of it. She is as persistent as ever, and before too long we find ourselves packing up what meager belongs we brought with us and following her out of the building. I try to distract myself from my surroundings. Looking around at the stark walls and hallways will only remind me of why I'm in this building in the first place. I much prefer having my skin tingle from Peeta's touch than burn from the memory of the surgery.
The paint still cakes my body. It's dried and only slightly smeared, part of it transferring to my pajamas in my rush to escape from my embarrassment last night. I've had all day to shower and wash it away, but I haven't. There's still something so intimate about having his painting on my body, and I'm not ready to get rid of it just yet, even if I can't quite look him in the eye.
I take solace in the fact that he can't meet my eye either. We follow Effie and we're quite the pair. Neither one of us wants to take in our surroundings, nor can we bear to face each other. So we both stare straight forward at Effie's back as we weave through the never ending hallways. When we make it out of the building, Effie immediately ushers us into a waiting vehicle. Thankfully, there is no crowd or hovercams surrounding the front of the building, waiting for a glimpse of the Starcrossed Lovers. Which means our perfect skin is a surprise for the anniversary, likely, or our release from the facility was simply not made public, much less likely.
We ride through the streets of the Capitol in silence. I keep my head down, not wanting to look out the window, too afraid I will recognize parts of it. Then I will remember where I saw it, and none of my memories from the Capitol, especially not this area, are worth recalling. They will only plague my sleep tonight, though I imagine just the thought of them will be enough to keep me awake.
Without looking at him, I reach over and casually slide my hand into Peeta's for comfort. Just because an awkward weight rests between us now doesn't mean I still can't turn to him for comfort. He might have pushed me away last night, but he would never deprive me of the comfort he can give, the safety in his touch. No matter what else there is, we are a team.
The car pulls to a halt quicker than I imagined it would, and when the door opens and I step out, my stomach plummets. We are in front of the training center, and Effie is already walking towards the front doors. I am not the only one caught off guard. Still holding my hand, Peeta is rooted to the ground next to me.
"Come, come," Effie says, taking no notice of our discomfort. "We are on a schedule. There is still so much to do before tomorrow morning. First things first, dinner!"
My spit is a rock in my throat as I try to swallow, but I take one step forward and then another. Peeta requires a little more prodding. Releasing his hand, I catch his upper arm and pull him gently. Trying to jump start his feet is not an easy task. Effie has already made it inside the doors and has turned around, now staring at us impatiently. Her and her schedules.
"Come on," I say gently, giving his arm another tug. "Trust me, you do not need to be on the receiving end of an Effie lecture." I don't think I've ever seen Peeta so terrified of anything in his life as he stares forward at the training center. "Are you okay?" I ask, leaning in to study him.
This movement seems to snap him out of his daze. "Fine," he says, and I know instantly it is one of those extremely rare instances in which he is lying to me. Weaving my arm through his, I guide him through the doors in case he tries to bolt. Partially, I'm trying to lend him strength. Partially, I'm using him to keep from cowering away myself.
Effie takes us up to our old level, chattering happily along the way. We both nod politely but do not comment. There isn't much to say. Unlike her, we do not have fond memories of this place. This center is where they prepared us for the slaughter. Twice. Where I first got to know Joanna and Finnick and so many others. The only memories I have of this place sting and burn. I am all too aware of the fire painted on my skin.
The elevator doors slide open and Haymitch is already waiting in the front foyer. As we step inside the suite, my eyes settle immediately on the flower arrangement in the middle of the room. Poised perfectly in the center of the table, they are arranged in an opaque, black vase. Over a dozen evening primroses sit innocently in the vase, their bright yellow a contrast to the rest of the room.
"Did you do this?" I ask. I'm facing Haymitch but I mean Peeta. I remember finding him home for the first time, outside my house planting the flowerbeds along the side of the house. I remember how upset it made me, and I channel all that emotion now. It's too much. It's all too much. This place, these flowers, this insufferable celebration that is supposed to mean the end of the war but means the death of my sister.
"I saw the flowers outside your house when I was there and thought it would be a nice touch," Effie chimes in. She speaks the words with pride. I want to lash out at her, to scream every vile thing in my mind, but I can't. Of course I can't. Because she doesn't know. Her sheltered, innocent little brain couldn't possibility comprehend the symbolism in the flowers. So I let it go, but for the first time I almost hate Effie for her naivety.
"Food." I manage to force the word from my lungs. I need to get out of the foyer, away from the flowers.
"Yes, excellent idea," Effie declares, leading us into the dining area. As we pass the table, I can't help one glance back. Because even though every glance is a punch to the gut, I can't help but compare how similar the yellow of the flowers is to the yellow paint Peeta laid all over my body. The mix of such violently different emotions finally undoes me. I break away from the others, from the safety of Peeta's hold, to stumble into the bathroom. I reach the sink just in time before I lose my breakfast.
Then I rinse my face and mouth, and wash my hands. When I sit down at the table, they pretend like they didn't hear my retching and I pretend like I'm fine. My, how great we've become at pretending.