The heavy door groans as I open it and I plead with it to be quiet. If anyone wakes up, I will surely break for good. Before closing the door, I peek outside, towards the two men at the Village's entrance. One turns and looks at me for a moment, then turns away and hangs his head. I wonder if I know the man behind the dark visor and if he knows what happened to Darius.
I force myself upstairs. My thighs ache and my knees are still shaking. For a moment, I linger in the hallway and stare at my mother's door. A pain tears through my chest because I know I can't go to her. Since my father died, I had to be the strong one. For once, I want to drop the weight I have been carrying for the past five years. For once, I want to curl up in her arms and let her make the bad things go away.
I look at Prim's door a few feet away, and the pain moves from my chest into my throat. All of the fear that I feel about going back into the Games moves to her being left behind within Thread's reach. I force myself to move before I completely lose it.
The sharp pains from my insides make me take short, staggering steps to my room. I place my father's jacket and my mockingjay pin on the foot of the bed and shuffle to the bathroom. Before turning on the light, I take a deep breath, not ready to face myself in the mirror. My hands grip the counter, and my eyes slowly find my reflection. Dirt, dried blood and tears streak across my cheeks, my hair frayed from its braid. I see myself back on the hovercraft, being lifted out of the arena, staring at my feral reflection. Stunned, I back away from the mirror and knock against the wall. The impact brings me back. Pressure starts to build in my chest and pushes its way into my throat, but I can't allow myself to be heard. I turn and grab a towel, bunch it up into my mouth and scream as I sink to the floor and cry.
After turning on the shower, I slowly disrobe as I wait for the water to heat up. My back, legs and bottom are filthy from the dusty floor. A blueprint of where Thread's fingers had been shows themselves like a love note on a foggy bathroom mirror. My mind had slipped in and out of reality during his act of punishment so I am just now discovering other places where his hands ventured. My ass and hip reveal red welts; my breast begins to develop purple and blue bruises.
I can't bring myself to look at the worst of what is streaked between my thighs. I step into the scalding hot water and close my eyes. My hands gently and slowly wash away the evidence of the assault between my legs. I try to shake the image of Thread's fingers hovering above my face. I keep my eyes shut tight; I don't want to see how much he hurt me. But the images stay, and I watch again as his white hair glows in the dim light, sweat beading across his brow. The sound he made before he...
My eyes shoot open and I grab the soap, producing as much lather as my hands can hold. My fingers ignore the shocks of pain as they try to remove all remnants of Thread from inside me. If Flavius and Octavia were here with their weird concoctions, I doubt even that would even rid me of his doings.
When I feel I have successfully scrubbed off a layer of skin, I shut the water off and sit in silence. All of Panem will be watching me tomorrow, including President Snow. As if the games weren't enough evidence of his power, I can't let him, or the people of Panem know about his recent sick display of how his laws are enforced.
"I've had Victors before," Thread's words ring in my ears. What lines did they cross? Are there other duties Victors acquire besides reading cue cards to the cameras? I shudder to think of brightly colored Capitol men putting their hands on me. My family already knows I have killed for them, but do they need to know every detail of how else I have kept them safe? If I don't come back - when I don't come back - will my mother and Prim be safe? Will 12 even have a chance, especially if men like Thread are running things? All the more reason for me to make sure Peeta wins. He and Haymitch made Thread stand down when I couldn't. Peeta spoke to the other Districts for me. He was the reason the sponsors even noticed us in our first games. If he wins, he can be the speaker for the Districts.
The bitter darkness that hangs outside shifts into a mournful shade of grey as the sun hesitates to rise, afraid of the tragedies that will happen under his rays. The moon is more suited for the event, for she forever wears a face of sorrow. A blanket of clouds will block his view today, but those witness to the premiere of the calamity will feel the heat of his discontent seep through the covers.
I wrap myself in my blanket and sit in the chair by the window and imagine the townsfolk stagger from their beds, forcing themselves to do something with their precious few hours of free time before the Reaping. The bakery will be receiving their usual customers but the prettiest of cakes won't lighten the gloom that must hang over the simple stone building. A few townsfolk pass by the Victor's Village gates and pause for a moment, already giving their condolences, and are shooed away by the two Peacekeepers.
When I see a new team of Peacekeepers make their way through the gates, I take it as my cue to start getting ready. The lack of color makes me wish there was a bouncy purple wig beckoning me instead.
"Fifteen minutes Miss Everdeen!" One of the Peacekeepers yells up to my window.
Even though I witnessed their approach, my stomach drops at the announcement. I unravel myself from my quilted cocoon and start for the closet. My body protests the move but I have to remind myself that I go quietly with the escorts, or be dragged through town in my pajamas. I have to maintain some dignity.
The pain in my abdomen has subsided slightly, however, there is still a queer sensation of hunger pangs mixed with an overly full bladder – yet at the same time, it's completely foreign and wrong.
It confuses me to think of how hyped sex is, especially in the Capitol. Last year, I would overhear girls at school talk about some kind of pact; when they turned sixteen they would lose their virginity the eve of the reaping, just in case they were called to the games. I was sixteen when I was reaped, and the only possible pairing for such a pact, would have been Gale. His strong, yet gentle hands in places my prep team haven't touched, his grey eyes mirroring mine, his hunter's grace, slow and precise...
I couldn't think about that then, nor can I think about that now. I have death waiting at my doorstep, and I haven't even brushed my hair.
Moving about my bedroom, my thighs ache with every step, making my mind wander back a few years. Madge's uncle had brought along one of his horses for his weekend visit. I spotted her on one of my walks, trotting along the huge property. She looked so happy. I found myself not being jealous of her activity, but sharing her awe in being in the presence of such a glorious creature. I had seen a few horses around the district before; their sweaty manes hanging over scrawny neck muscles and jagged humps of vertebrae, struggling to break ground with rusty plows. But this particular animal, graced with Madge in its saddle, had been raised with Capitol wealth. It was all white with a tan braided mane and tail adorned with white roses. I could have watched her for hours. When she spotted my admiration, she offered me something I could only dream of. Oh, we rode for the whole afternoon, taking turns hoisting each other up onto the gigantic beast. The next day, I was almost late to school, waddling and grinning the whole way.
When I reach my bed, I look down at my father's jacket. The happy memories fall away when I see the once glossy red that tarnished the leather is now a cracked dark brown. "Just part of their games." I remind myself. I fetch the still damp towel from my shower and wipe the sleeve clean. I hold it up, dust off any other soot and carefully hang it in the closet.
Despite the heat, I find a pair of pants made from thick, heavy fabric and slip a belt around my waist. The only blouse I can find that didn't have an intricate plunging neckline was a dark green sleeveless top with tiny gold buttons. I check my exposed arms for any evidence of last night and notice how toned they have become from just a few weeks of training. Panem will not see that frail girl in her mother's dress today. My body feels less vulnerable in this outfit, especially with the oversize boots that complete the ensemble.
The brass Mockingjay flickers in the light, catching my eye from its place still on the bed. My hand hovers over the pin, weighing its influence in my mind, I think back to Bonnie and Twill from the woods, to the rebels in the streets bearing my symbol, to Plutarch's pocket watch. Thread may have used it to silence me, but it won't make me stand down. It may be a game to them, but this time I have a purpose. It is time to stop falling into the past, and start thinking about Peeta's future.
I pin my token to my collar to complete my look of defiance, quickly braid my hair and open my bedroom door.
"Mom! Prim! Five minutes, we gotta get going!" I yell. No answer. I pound down the stairs, calling out again. "Mom? Prim?" I run through the kitchen, dining room and finally into the living room. I find the front door slightly ajar. I yank it open, expecting to find my mother on the other side. Instead, a group of Peacekeepers are assembled on the front porch. The sight of their white uniforms sends uneasy aches through my chest that makes me swallow hard.
"It's time," one says and gestures to the gateway with his rifle. The others follow suit and clear a path for me.
"Where's my mother? My sister? I thought they would walk with me?" I ask, craning my neck to look around the officers.
"We have to go now." The first one says. I start to protest by refusing to move until I see my mother when one puts his hand on my arm. I flinch and pull away, stepping backwards into another Peacekeeper's hard Kevlar vest. I spin around and take a defensive stance. Floor boards creek under the weight of the men as they encircle me. Everywhere I look, I see tinted visors, reflecting my frightened face.
"Goddamnit, where's my mom? Don't touch me! Prim! Mom! Back off!" I need room. I need air. Why aren't they listening? Gloved hands reach out to restrain me. I grab hold of one white vest as leverage as I kick another in the side of his knee. A snap rings out and a muffled cry follows from underneath the helmet. I bring my boot back and knee the first man in the groin, sending him down next to his partner. Before I can turn to fend off the others, I am thrown backwards down the steps onto the walkway, sliding at least five feet on my back. The remaining men hoist their guns to their shoulders and quickly make their way after me.
"Just tell me where my mother is!" I raise my hands in surrender. "That's all I want to know!"
One Peacekeeper turns back to his fallen comrade who is on his knees, head on the ground, holding his crotch, "Sir, what do you want us to do with her?" Groans and obscenities from the crumpled man are all that answer.
"Get away from her! Goddamnit, that's enough!" A voice rings out from across the way. I turn my head and see an upside down Haymitch running into my yard. "Katniss, your mom and Prim are already at the square. It's some new procedure shit they got goin' on. C'mon, guys, if you would get your heads out of each other's asses and answer the poor girl, this wouldn't have happened!"
The unfortunate guard who received my knee to his balls rolls over and throws his helmet off. "Gha, you fucking bitch! Oh god... I thought Thread knocked some sense into you!"
I speak up before any other details are spilled. If Haymitch finds out about what Thread did, we'd both be shot right here in the yard. "I'll go! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Just let me go!"
The guns don't move. Their captain stands up, still gripping his codpiece. "She's interfered with a Peacekeeper... again. She should get the firing squad!" I almost welcome a firing squad at this point, but then I think of Peeta; he needs all the help he can get.
"Guys, c'mon," Haymitch says coolly with outstretched arms. "It's the Quarter Quell!" emphasizing the words as if he, himself, were Caesar Flickerman. "She's gettin' reaped in less than an hour. Give the people their monies worth, eh?"
The men shift slightly, awaiting their orders. The captain gives one last tug and spits on the porch. "Get her out of here." Without skipping a beat, I jump up and take my place next to my mentor. The remaining men fall into formation around us. I look back to see the captain pace on the porch as he watches us march away.
"I hope a Career rips your tits off!" he calls after me, spitting again. I turn forward and a smile creeps across my face.
Haymitch starts up with another one of his lectures, "I'm gettin' real tired of savin' your ass. I was joking last time when I said you weren't all that bright. Now, I am starting to believe it."
"Last time, I swear. Now it's time to save his," I say and point to Peeta a few yards ahead of us at the main gate of the Village. He has a collection of his own escorts. There is a frantic look in his eyes. I hadn't noticed he had witnessed the scuffle.
"Katniss! My god, are you okay?" He pushes past the wall of Kevlar and leather and pulls me into a tight embrace. The cameras aren't set up here; he must be warming up, because this almost feels genuine. "I tried to help, but they wouldn't let me through," Peeta stammered.
"I'm fine, really." I pull away from his grasp, glancing at his scared, boyish eyes. It is the same look he gave me in the cave when my face was covered in blood. Maybe he was being genuine after all. Before I can explain, our shepherds move us to the square.
"Welcome, welcome!" A golden Effie sings her traditional introductions.
