Sunlight peaks through the fibers of my bedsheets, waking me to confront the pounding in my head. A sour taste resides in my mouth and my center suffers from a familiar, dull ache. I roll over to find a more comfortable position which will shield me from the morning light and suddenly realize I'm in my own bed - I have no recollection of how I arrived here and I sit up quickly, throwing the covers aside to investigate both my body and the room for clues.
I am dressed in a plain white silk night gown with plain white cotton panties. My hair is dry and loose over my shoulders - its scent, fresh and clean.
My room remains the same, save for the usual fruit basket that appears mysteriously every day on the center table by the small couches. Today it has bottles of different colored spirits and tonics. I see the silver sheen of a small parachute draped over the side of the basket, reminding me this is meant as a special delivery. The thought that our sponsors weren't just a bad dream sends cold shivers through me.
Something groans and shifts under the covers to my left, giving me a start. Cautiously, I lift the edge of the duvet to investigate, afraid to see red again. Instead, scruffy blond hair lays on the pillow next to mine. I sigh in relief but wince in pain. The sharp pressure behind my eyes makes me feel nauseous. I slip out of bed as quietly as I can and make my way to the bathroom. I stop at the shiny new gift basket to take a closer look - not sure if I should trust any remedy that is tucked inside.
A card, addressed to me, is leaning against the basket. I look to Peeta to make sure he's still asleep and I pick up the card.
Our Darling Katniss,
What a wild night we had! It was everything we wanted and a little more than we expected.
Don't worry about that - we've all made that very same mistake!
What a laugh! Good luck in the Games - we'll be watching!
~Garret and Acantha
P.S. Red is for your Head – Blue makes you feel like new – Green makes it all a dream.
I take the card with me to the bathroom and tear it into little pieces which I throw into the toilet. What a night indeed - it frightens me that I don't remember how I got to my room, especially bathed and dressed. The last thing I remember is I got sick on the carpet by the table and an Avox rushed me off to the bathroom. Because I downed the entire glass of the stuff, I threw up everything I had, for a long time. Once the dry heaves came, the Avox gave me water - or so I thought. And that was it.
My fear suddenly shifts to Peeta - what happened to him in my absence? I sink down to the floor in disgust and think about how I left him - Garret hovering over Peeta like he was his prey. I was supposed to protect him. Tears fill my eyes and my heart shatters as I put myself back in that room. Is this what I am saving Peeta for? To be used and sold after he wins?
I think further back and see myself over Peeta - and I gasp - it wasn't just the Sponsors that devoured Peeta - I had an equal part in it too. My hand presses to my belly, the dull ache that remains was because of Peeta.
No. Because of me.
I see him laughing and giggling - I remember the minty taste in my mouth and I scramble to the toilet and throw up.
Acantha's red nails flash across my vision. Her red mouth on mine. I heave again at the thought of her hands guiding me so easily.
I wonder what would have happened if it weren't for the broth Peeta and I shared. How else would they force us? The thought makes me think of dusty floors and I taste brass.
Suddenly there is a knock at the bathroom door and a quiet voice on the other side asks me if I am okay. I'm caught off guard and I don't answer as I watch bits of paper spiral with bubbles of vomit. The door opens just enough for Peeta to poke his head inside.
I quickly flush my shame before he can come in.
"I'm not feeling well, just leave me alone," I plead before I turn to look at him. His face is fresh and for once he looks well rested, even though his brow wrinkles in concern. Peeta pushes the door open and gives a single hop while holding onto the door frame. He must have heard me getting sick and he rushed to the bathroom and didn't have time to put on his prosthetic.
"Want me to get you anything? I can call Effie again," Peeta offers. His toes flex against the tile as he keeps his balance on one leg.
"No nothing. I'm still not feeling well from last night."
"From the dinner, you think? Hopefully not a flu."
"No, from the. . ." I can't bring myself to put what happened into words. "You know. . ." Peeta sees me hesitate and I turn away, blinking back new tears.
He hops over to the sink and fills a small glass with water.
"I don't know," he says as he lowers himself onto the floor. He crawls to me carefully across the bathroom floor, the glass bounces and sways in his hand, spilling water over the sides, "what's the matter, Kaniss? Who can I call?" He offers me the glass, which now contains about half of what he put in it. When I don't take the glass of water, he leaves it on the tile within my reach.
Why is he acting like this? Why isn't he puking with a hangover? Why is he acting like nothing happened? I can't hold back the tears anymore, and I start to cry from worry and frustration and damnit this headache hurts. "Don't you remember? Last night? The cave? The soup?"
Peeta's face softens at his realization. "Oh, Katniss, that was a long time ago," he sits back on his bent right knee, leaving his left leg splayed out to the side. "You must have had a bad nightmare brought on by a fever. Here, let me feel your forehead," he leans forward again reaching for my head. I shake my head and push his hand away. With utter confusion, I scoot back against the wall – I can't bear to look at Peeta.
"You don't remember?" I ask, my heart drops. What did they do to him?
"I remember the cave, yeah."
"No, I mean last night?"
"Last night? Katniss, what are you going on about?" Peeta asks again.
I look at him in disbelief. "You were there, Peeta!" I almost shout, "and I . . . something bad happened," I wrap my arms around my knees. I'm not ready to say the words out loud.
"Last night we were up on the roof, silly. You just had a really, really bad dream. Nothing bad happened," he scoots forward and puts a hand on my arm.
The roof? What? I give my full attention to Peeta.
"When did we go up to the roof?" I demand, wiping snot from my nose with the back of my hand.
"After dinner. It was really nice. Kind of like last year – really quiet, we were alone." Peeta reaches up and tears off some toilet paper and hands it to me.
"No, that's not right," I stammer, blowing my nose in the tissue.
"You must have had something funny last night at dinner. That's why I stick with water – I can't trust these people," Peeta said lightly, half joking, half serious as he picks up the glass meant for me and takes a swig. I look at the tile and see a ring of water left by the glass and remember the small table in the suite.
"But you had champagne last night," I state.
Peeta shakes his head, "Sparkling water, at dinner with our sponsors."
A new wave of emotion crashes over me.
I'm already devastated that I lost track of the last hours of the night. What if I had drank whatever that was in that crystal glass? What if I didn't purge that horrible minty concoction? My stomach churns at the thought. I scramble from my seat and lunge for the toilet to relieve myself of my guilt and stupidity.
Peeta wobbles forward on his knees and takes my hair in his hands and rubs my back, allowing me full concentration on the bowl. How sickening to think that not only do they purchase Victors, but they can easily make them forget. What's worse is they can change memories too. I tremble hard with another set of dry heaves.
"This reminds me," Peeta says sweetly, "of when I was little and my mom was pregnant. I'd rub her back just like this," he chuckles at the memory.
"As long as I don't remind you of Haymitch," I spit into the toilet and flush it, hopefully, for the last time.
"Seriously though," I continue, "that's all we did? After dinner we came back up here?"
Peeta nods and lifts himself up using the bathroom counter. "That's right. Ended the night with a nice mint tea and went to bed."
I take Peeta into my arms and sob into his chest, "You're right, it must have been a really bad dream, because I totally forgot about last night." I might as well go along with his narrative, because what is the point of telling him the truth, especially with less than forty-eight hours left before we have more important things to worry about? I can never imagine Peeta struggling with the same burden I have been carrying since the Reaping. He said he didn't want the Games to change him - if he knew what happened, it would destroy him - because for me, it certainly has.
Tearfully, I help Peeta back to my bed, ignoring the basket of elixirs – I will never trust anything from them again. I'll suffer through this headache today, even if it blinds me.
We tuck ourselves under the heavy white blankets and relish the quiet.
It's a routine we have, Peeta and I. Most mornings, I lay with my back to his chest, his arm over me, and his hand on my heart, waiting for its drumming to placate. I listen to his breathing as he strokes my hair. I first found solace in his arms on the train - reluctant in the beginning, but his hands never strayed from my shoulders. Though his body is hard, there's a softness to his touch and a warmth that engulfs me that I didn't realize I was missing since my mother abandoned her reality.
Peeta is used to my quiet tears. Truthfully, I feel the safest in his arms. No judgement, just patience. This time, my tears aren't from fear brought on by the nightmares or sadness from being torn away from my family, these are from anger. Not the hot frustrated anger I had in the training center or when the Quarter Quell was announced that made me lash out and break everything I could, but a seething, simmering anger. It is an anger I know well; it appears every once and a while, however it comes more frequently, but it's been there since my father died.
Eventually my sobs dwindle and my eyes dry. I whisper so quietly I can't even hear,"I'm so sorry, Peeta," before I drift back to sleep.
Soon, we're roused by my prep team.
.oOo.
Since my first act of defiance against the Capitol, all of Snow's punishments for me have been in the shadows – now it is time for him to make me suffer in the spotlight – turning my bridal gown into my shroud.
"I could have used you last night," I say, just as Cinna lifts the beautiful silk and pearls above my head. He stops and lowers the gown with a sigh.
"Mrs. Papaver's dress was pretty bad, huh?"
I had almost forgotten about that green atrocity. Oh, to go back to that moment where I thought that would be the most embarrassing moment of my life.
"Goodness, it was bad. But not as bad as what I had to wear after that," I look away from Cinna, hoping he gets my hint.
"After the dinner? Like an after party?" Cinna asks and when I answer with silence he clears his throat. "Like. . . a private party?"
All I can do is nod. I don't think I can ever let the words escape from my lips what exactly happened last night. Cinna is my closest confidant and his time in the Capitol makes him privy to more insider information than anyone in my circle - that I can trust, anyway.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you," he turns and lays the gown on the bed. "I was . . . needed elsewhere. I was afraid something like that would happen. I wanted to be there, to at least guide you in some way if that happened. I'm so sorry you were all alone. Are you okay?" he asks as he takes my hands in his.
"I wasn't alone. Peeta was with me. He's okay, but he doesn't remember anything. Is that good? Is that normal? I mean, this hasn't happened before has it?" My voice breaks at the sheer thought and I turn back to Cinna, wide eyed and truly frightened.
"What happened, exactly?" Cinna asks. I purse my lips and I shake my head. Cinna exhales and rephrases his question, "I'm so sorry. I mean, why doesn't Peeta remember? Did they make you eat or drink anything?"
I remember the lone crystal glass in that red room, and equate it to Peeta's condition. "He had champagne, I think. I didn't. But, we both had like a soup during, uhm, well, before things happened."
Cinna nods, "Was it minty?" I swallow hard and say yes. "That's to make things. . . a little easier. But it won't make you forget." I look at him and realize he knows this from experience and my heart aches for him.
"Then why didn't they force me to drink the champagne?"
"That's typically encouraged for those who are especially nervous, but never forced. You must have been very brave." I picture Peeta, perspiration on his forehead, tugging at his collar, clearing his throat every other word - Acantha leading him to his spot among the silk boulders, her bosom conveniently close to his face. Of course he would take the glass from Garett.
"This whole thing is so messed up. I wish someone would have told me. Haymitch was gone. Effie was gone. You. Why wouldn't anyone tell us something like this would ever happen?" I ask, holding back tears, not wanting to ruin Venia's final masterpiece that was my makeup.
"I can't speak for them, but I think it may have been a last minute change in schedule. This year has been so full of surprises that I can't even keep track. I hope that what happened hasn't changed you – I mean, I hope it hasn't extinguished that spark in you. If anything, I hope it made it burn brighter," Cinna squeezes my hands.
"What if we win again? Will this keep happening?" I can only protect Peeta as far as the arena. I hate the thought of Peeta taking the place of Finnick in those peoples' beds.
"I have a feeling things are going to be much different after you win." Cinna says confidently as he kisses my forehead and brings back the wedding dress.
.oOo.
Cinna was right, there had been a lot of last minute changes. Cinna's dress, Peeta's announcement about the baby, the alliance with Finnick and Mags.
Everything has been such a rush, I can't keep dwelling on the past. The mind games, the abuse, the threats – I realize they are all pinned directly on me to slow me down, to mess me up, to completely destroy me.
I hate to have to push it all aside, to pretend it all didn't happen, because I have to focus on what is directly in front of me now, here in the arena. And that's Peeta.
And he's not breathing.
AN: Thank you all for stickin' around! Sorry this one was so short. I'll make it up to you in the next chapter ;)
I'd love to hear from you too with your lovely reviews and comments.
