Chapter 3

Okay, so I'm not drunk. I'm not high. I'm not asleep. The coma thing is still an option, but it's looking less likely. A nervous breakdown? That's possible. I could be shaving my head a la Britney Spears right this moment, but I don't think Britany got sucked into one of her music videos. Or rather the book version of her music video. Because that's what going on now.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior," Effie says. She looks at me expectantly, like she thinks I'm supposed to say something here, like there's a script.

But this scene wasn't in the movie. I try to think back to the books. I read them twice before I first got the role, but it's been a long time, too long to remember exact quotes.

"Sorry, don't remember the line," I say.

Katniss looks at me, mystified for a moment, before turning back to Effie. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year," she says.

I snap my fingers. "Yeah, that was the line. And now you say something like 'every day.'"

Katniss smirks a little. "He is drunk every day."

Effie begins to speechify about the perils of a poor mentor when Haymitch lurches into the room with the look of a man who's gone on a twenty-year bender.

This, I do remember.

I take Katniss' hand and pull her to the far side of the room. "You won't want to be standing there in a second," I say.

"I miss supper?" the man slurs. The words hang in the air for a moment before he vomits all over the carpet. Since it's mostly alcohol, the mess spreads quickly, coating the dark finished hardwood at the edge the room. I point to it.

"And I bet that's mahogany," I say to Effie, shaking my head sadly.

Her eyes become narrow slits and she storms away, hopping over the growing pool of vomit.

A pair of the ever presence Capitol servants come and haul Haymitch away while I walk back to the dining car. Despite that display and the reek of vomit, drinking suddenly sounds like an excellent idea. I think I saw a bottle of whiskey or whatever passes for it in fictional novels on the sideboard. I head over to it, skirting around the vomit. A few seconds later, Katniss follows me.

"You're not going to help him?" Katniss asks. "Haymitch, I mean?"

"No," I say pulling out a glass. "He's scheduled to put his foot on my chest or punch me or something in a few hours. I'm not feeling charitable. At least, not right now."

"But, if you help him, he might help you in the arena," she says. She boosts herself up onto the edge of the sideboard and tilts her head up at me inquisitively.

"I'm not planning on going into the arena," I say. "This…whatever it is… better end before that happens."

"Are you planning to kill yourself?" she asks.

I look over at Katniss, her dark gray eyes serious in her angular face. "No, I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not sure what that would do in this shitty dream. I'm going to have a drink," I say lightly. I pour the amber brown liquid into one of the glasses. "Would you like some?"

Katniss wrinkles her nose, "After seeing what happened to Haymitch? No thanks."

I shrug and bring the glass to my lips. The whiskey goes down smooth and earthy. And, unfortunately for me, it tastes very, very real. When I set the glass down, Katniss is staring hard at me.

"You're not Peeta Mellark, are you?" she asks.

"Try telling that to millions of screaming fans," I say, then pause. "Although some of them might agree with you."

"Your eyes," Katniss says. They're not the right color."

"So I've heard," I say.

"I remember…Peeta Mellark's eyes are blue, like my sister's," she says. "Yours are brown."

"Hazel," I correct automatically. "What can I say, those contacts hurt like hell."

Meanwhile…

"Are these contact lens supposed to hurt?" I ask the stylist. I look in the handheld mirror she's given me and stare into hazel eyes. They look strange in my face, not like me at all.

"This is just a trial pair," the blonde woman named Ve says. "For the color test. The real ones will be approved sometime in the next few days." She lays her hands on my shoulder. "It'll only be for one scene. Hopefully, you get your normal eye color back before that."

I smile at the woman. She's nice, probably the nicest person I've met since coming to…wherever I am. This place where I am supposedly a fictional character.

I try to think back to the last thing I remember. The fight at the Cornucopia, Cato dying, and the berries. They declared us both victor, then…nothing. What happened? There's nothing there, just a blank chasm where my memories should be. And I feel like I should have memories, like more than a few days have gone by since then, like I might be missing years of my life.

The face reflected in the glass goes pale and Ve takes the mirror away.

"It's going to be okay, Josh," she says quietly. "You're one of the strongest people I know. You'll get through this."

"That's not my name," I say, then regret it. She's trying to be kind. The world's not full of people who try to be kind. Not my world.

I run my hand through my hair, which feels somehow shorter. Maybe I've gone insane. Maybe the Games have turned my mind. Or maybe the Capitol's done something to me and this is all one of their experiments, some kind of new Game where they break you by playing with your mind. They couldn't have two victors, so they decided to play with the spare.

And where is Katniss? Do they have her, too?

I think about the other Katniss, the blonde one, the one whose real name is Jen. She disappeared, too, about two hours ago along with the man. I wonder what her role is in all of this.

Ve sighs and pulls out a camera. "I just need to get a couple pictures, then you can takes those contact lens out."

She takes my picture, first head on and then in profile, the flashing light hurting my already stinging eyes. Afterwards, she hands me the little plastic contain filled with liquid. I peel the contacts off my eyeballs and slide them into their designated trays. Left then right. They float there, brown lens flecked with gold and green, sightless and unnerving. I wonder who this Josh is, with his hazel eyes, if he's even real.

Ve has just finished packing up her stuff when the door swings open and Jen walks back in, holding two red, yellow and white paper sacks. She flings them down on the rolling tray in the corner of the room before grabbing the older woman in a bear hug.

"So, they've got you in on the big secret, too," Jen says.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure how long the secret's gonna last since you know, too," says Ve.

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Jen says. "I can keep a secret if I have to."

"Un huh," Ve says, doubtfully. "I seem to remember the last thing that was supposed to be a secret. How's that going?"

"And the studio has my hands tied," Jen says, disregarding the other woman's question. "So I have to keep it. They don't want this incident leaked at all. Not with the movie coming out in six months."

Ve laughs, shaking her head. "It's always good to see you, Jen. I'm just sorry about the circumstances."

"He'll come back to himself," says Jen.

"Let's just hope it's soon," Ve says. "They can't hold off production for long. Every delay costs money. And I have to leave for the West Coast in a week."

"Josh will be okay" Jen says. "I wouldn't put it past him to be faking this, anyway. He loves trolling me."

"Is that what you call it, now?" Ve asks before giving her wink. "Anyway, I have to go. I'll see you soon." Ve kisses her cheek and slips out the room.

Jen comes over to me with the two bags on the rolling tray. The scent of fried food hits me and my stomach starts to rumble. She sits down on the bed and kicks her long legs up. I realize she's tall, much taller than Katniss, and her legs are covered in a pair of soft floral pants. I shift over to make room for her.

"I brought your favorite," she says, waving the bag. "Normally, they wouldn't let you have outside food, but I convinced them that this might trigger your memory." She leans towards me and wiggles her eyebrows. "One quarter pounder with fries."

She pulls the food from the greasy bags and puts it on the tray before popping one of the fries in her mouth.

I open the small square contain holding the sandwich. The bread, spongy and covered in tiny white seeds, covers a browned disc of meat and cheese so shiny and yellow it looks like plastic. This is not the always elegant and refined Capitol food. Whoever made this didn't seem to care that none of the condiments actually made it into the sandwich.

I shake my head, prepared to hate it, and take a bite. The flavor explodes in my mouth and I open my eyes in shock. How could a sandwich taste so good?

I turn to Jen, who's still sitting next to me on the bed, her mouth closing over a huge bite of her own.

"What is this?" I ask.

Her brows come together in confusion before she's scrambling from the bed. "Who the hell are you?" she says, her mouth still full. "Josh might forget who I am, but he sure as hell wouldn't forget McDonald's."