Here's a bonus chapter for the week because I'm pretending I have fans. I am still suck at 666 views on this story, and I even went in and opened it as a guest profile and it didn't change so I probably actually am cursed. That checks out because I have had the SHITTIEST month….man.

The buzzer goes off, buying me a little time. Those seconds slip by all too quickly and the cameras find me, broadcasting my reaction live. Instinctively, I cover my mouth with one hand, giving me the tiniest semblance of privacy. I don't know what I'm supposed to be thinking or feeling right now, what expression I should give the cameras, but I really can't even care.

You already have.

Me. He means me. Peeta Mellark has just confessed his love for me, on live television, without my consent. Without any truth to it, either. I think I'm going to punch him. No, I'm definitely going to punch him.

Emmer from Eleven leans over, eyes as wide as saucers. The white of his eyes is stark against his dark skin. "Is he talking about you?"

I grind my teeth, hopefully inaudible over Caesar's closing comments. "Shut the fuck up and never talk to me again."

Emmer shrinks back- he's a skinny boy of around fourteen and I'm sure I look scary right now. I feel no remorse for snapping at him. It is a very, very small issue compared to what I'm going to do to Peeta as soon as I can get him away from all these damn cameras.

The broadcasting screens all around the stage switch from Caesar's face to the Capitol seal, and I take that as a sign that filming is done. I get up from my seat, clutching fistfuls of my dress so I don't punch anyone, but a hand gripping my arm stops me from storming off. I turn around, flames flashing in my eyes, and I'm surprised to find it's Haymitch. How did he sneak up on me like that, again?

"Don't react," he orders. He takes a strangely gentle tone with me, as if he's trying to calm a troubled horse. "Do not react. We're going to the penthouse. We'll talk about it there. They're still watching you here. Do you understand me?"

"I am going to tear him limb from-"

"Do you understand me?" Haymitch repeats. There's an edge to his voice now, and I have to acknowledge that even though I made a teenage boy pee his pants just moments ago, Haymitch is scarier than me. I nod reluctantly and clamp my mouth shut, coming to a mutual understanding.

I take the elevator with Haymitch and Effie. Haymitch says that Peeta is being hounded by reporters, and Gale is "supervising". I don't know how true that is, but it's probably good that we are traveling separately. It would not be good for Peeta to be near me right now. Call it a hunch.

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. How could he? Really, how could he? There had been a time- more than a year ago- where I had considered the possibility that Peeta had feelings for me, or I for him. Now he's gone and made a joke out of it all. Made a joke out of me.

I am going to punch him in his stupid face.

I think Haymitch is hoping I'll cool down in the minutes we spend waiting for Peeta. I do not. I pace the penthouse, across the room to the big window and then back to the door. The blisters I predicted sting with every step, and my hair is tumbling down from its elegant bun, but I don't consider taking a break. I can't. I can't.

I hear the elevator ding, and all my anger rises into a peak. Without meaning to, I start for the door. Haymitch catches me by the arm yet again. "Easy, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that!" I snap, tugging my arm back.

The door bangs open before I can decide if I'm going to charge it or not. Gale barges in first, his jaw set and his fists clenched in a way that shows he is upset about this too. I guess that doesn't surprise me, but I have been too consumed by my own feelings to give any consideration to Gale's.

Peeta follows shortly behind him, looking a little bit sheepish. Is that regret I see? I don't care. Haymitch releases his grip on me (I have lulled him into a false sense of security) and I lunge at Peeta, knocking him back against the door. He lets out a strangled noise of surprise but doesn't fight me, even though I know he could easily push me aside. He had to know how I'd react.

"How could you?!" I yell, not hesitating to get right up in his face. I can see him flinch in high definition, but still I press on. "Saying all that shit about me? Telling them you love me?"

"Katniss, I-"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Haymitch takes it upon himself to intervene, grabbing me roughly by the shoulder and yanking me away from Peeta before I can do any real damage. "Let's talk about this like civilized people."

With my falling-apart hairdo and the murder in my eye, I don't think I look very civilized right now. I don't really feel like acting like it, either. Nevertheless, I obey, not wanting to embarrass myself any more than Peeta has already embarrassed me tonight.

Haymitch turns to me first, probably because I'm more likely to fly off the handle. "Quit trying to fight him. He gave you a better angle than you ever could have hoped for, and if you had any common sense, you'd be grateful for it."

"He made me look weak," I snarl.

"He made you look desirable," Haymitch corrects. He sounds so patronizing I could see myself turning on him too. "And guess what? You never could have done that on your own. Not to mention, the rumors he just started are going to snuff out every rumor about you and Hotshot."

Gale bristles at being called "Hotshot" but doesn't say anything.

Haymitch turns to Gale next. "I'm guessing that little stunt was not your idea?"

"Well aren't you observant," Gale sneers. "He didn't tell me a thing."

For the first time since we've all been standing here yelling, Peeta gets defensive. "Hey!" he protests. "I tried to run it by you this morning, but you wouldn't listen!"

"I might have listened if I'd known you were going to do something crazy!" Gale retorts. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"It wasn't crazy!" Peeta insists. "And I was thinking-"

"It absolutely was crazy!" I chime in, but they're both so absorbed in staring each other down that I don't think either of them hears me.

"It wasn't crazy," Haymitch declares. "It was strategy. You all want a win for District Twelve, don't you?"

Somewhat reluctantly, we all nod.

"Then quit bitching and let's move forward," Haymitch declares. It's so strange for him to be the rational one, guiding us and actually giving useful advice. I guess I shouldn't have underestimated him. "This is our last chance to talk strategy- let's not waste it." He claps Peeta on the back. "Well done tonight."

"What about me?" I can't help but ask.

Haymitch shrugs, somewhat dismissively. "You…exceeded expectations."

I had been so worried about my interview at the time, but now it feels so far away. It's hard to focus on my own performance when I am still seething over Peeta's. No matter what Haymitch says, I can't quite reconcile with it, and a part of me is still so angry to have been put on a pedestal like that…but I have to move on. Peeta is my teammate. By tomorrow morning, I need to be back on his side.

§

I can't sleep that night. Bits of interviews and our last discussion of strategy dance around in my head, preventing me from resting at all. My tossing and turning eventually leads me out of my bedroom, but the door to the rooftop is locked this time. I guess they can't be too careful, the night before the Games.

As I sneak back to my own room, I notice that the light is still on in Peeta's. For a moment, I consider knocking on the door, trying to talk to him. trying to sort this whole mess out. In the end, I can't. There's no way I can say what's truly on my mind without sounding completely pathetic.

Did you mean any of it?

Was it all a lie, or just mostly a lie?

Do you realize what you've done to us?

I try to shake my head, shake it all off. When Haymitch had laid it out in front of us, it had seemed so simple. In my own mind, it sounds like a task as impossible as winning the Games. Another role- a role I didn't ask for- for both of us to play.

No, I can't talk to him. Not without losing my mind. I turn on my heel and return to my bedroom, where I hardly get a wink of sleep.

§

They only allow us a few minutes to say goodbye in the morning. We don't even get to eat breakfast together; they'll feed us on the train. Peeta shakes Haymitch's hand and then Gale's, but he gives Effie a hug. The woman seems to be tearing up.

With some degree of hesitation, I copy his actions. Haymitch makes a little "tuh!" of amusement and Gale's hand feels stiff and uncomfortable in my own. Only Effie is truly pleasant, and I think that's because, for once, she is not talking.

She sniffles and manages a few words. "Good luck out there, darlings. We'll be rooting for you every step of the way."

I snort. I can't help it. "Please. You might be rooting for us, but Haymitch is hoping at least I die as soon as possible."

Haymitch scowls at me. "Hey, I want to see you win, too! I rooted for Hotshot the whole time he was in the arena, and we all know what I think about him."

Gale nods along with a scowl; Haymitch's feelings towards him have been clear for a long time.

"…of course, that might just be 'cause the girl was too much of a weenie to even kill spiders," Haymitch concludes.

"That's so unfair!" I butt in. "You can't say that, just because she's a girl and-"

Gale shakes his head. "No, he means it. Madge really refused to kill spiders."

I see Madge out in the woods, gently transporting a wolf spider to a tree trunk by help of a leaf. I see myself banging my head on said tree, getting a forehead-full of spider guts. Even in my daydreams, she manages to outshine me.

Haymitch flashes a smarmy grin at me, revealing a very yellow set of teeth. "You're not like that at all, are ya, sweetheart?"

I glare at him, barely reining in my temper. "Not even a little bit."

Before long, they stick us on a train. We are in separate cars, of course. The Capitol won't even allow me the small comfort that Peeta might bring. Even though I'm still angry with him, it would be better than being alone.

It's not a long ride, but it's dull- the train we're on has no windows. I guess they don't want us to learn anything about the arena until we're in it. All the same, I wish it would last forever. Right before we arrive at who-knows-where, someone injects a tracker into my arm, and I am shuffled into an underground chamber where I'm greeted by a familiar face. Cinna. Without thinking, I rush into his arms and he gives me a squeeze, even though I know there's no time to waste.

"I never got to tell you how well you did last night, Katniss," Cinna tells me, as he pulls a few items on hangers out of a cabinet.

I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. "It got a little…hairy…after the interviews."

"Understandable." Cinna holds up the garments and inspects them. "Thermal base layer…reflective down jacket…it's going to be cold where you're going."

I can only nod as I pull on the uniform, the clothes I'll most likely die in. I walk a few steps around the small gray room, testing out the outfit. Although the coat and leggings are thick, they are flexible, allowing me similar range of motion to what I'd have in my hunting clothes. They are also extremely effective at retaining body heat. Room temperature quickly becomes too warm, but I can't make myself wish for the cold of the arena. I'd rather be a little sweaty than dead.

"One more thing," says Cinna. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out something I'd completely forgotten about: Prim's ribbon, black with pink stripes. I swallow hard as he unbraids and re-braids my hair, securing it with both an elastic and the ribbon, tied in a bow. At least I'll have her with me- that small, impractical reminder of home.

Cinna puts his hands on my shoulders, all but forcing me to meet his intense gold-lined gaze. "I want to see you come out of this alive, Katniss, and I have every reason to believe you will. May the odds be ever in your favor."

I swallow hard. Saying goodbye to Cinna is just as hard as saying goodbye to Prim and Mom, probably because I'm so much closer to the end. "That's all you've got for me? Yesterday, your advice got me through my interview."

Cinna smiles wryly. "I know a lot more about interviews than I know about the arena. I would hope the same advice stands."

"Be myself and they'll all like me?" I try.

"And also, knock 'em dead," he finishes with a smile. A shadow crosses his face. "Katniss…it's time."

I'm not going to be a baby about it, but there's definitely a part of me that wants to. I cannot cry, though. I can't.

There's a clear tube in the center of the room, and I step into it. Cinna gives me one last encouraging nod as the door slides closed with a whoosh. There's no going back now- there's been no going back for a long time.

A machine beeps, and the floor of the tube lurches upwards, taking me with it. The ceiling opens up above me and I feel my first gust of cold wind. I crane my neck for a last glimpse of Cinna- the one thing that still ties me to the relative safety of the Capitol- and he is gone all too quickly. I'm in the Hunger Games now, and the arena takes me with open arms.

I have made the decision now; even if nobody is reading this I am going to post the whole thing (and the 3rd book as well) because it's not about reads: it's about me and I wrote something and I'm proud of it. (Proud-ish. I know it's not that good.)

I also want some closure for this fic so I can start writing something NEW. Something that will probably never make it to fanfiction-dot-net. Or alternately I should get involved in a current and active fandom…but that means consuming popular media. And I'm like the opposite of a hipster: I don't get interested in stuff until 10 years after it's popular.

I am the worst.