So it seemed like I disappointed some people with my last chapter…consider this my formal apology :(
To the person who was sad this story isn't primarily romance: I'm very sorry. I DID want this to be a more romantic story, but the truth is I am not very good at writing love scenes (or plotting a book) so it just didn't turn out that way. If you stick it out to the end, Katniss and Peeta DO get a happy ending though.
To the person who wants Katniss to end up with Gale: as of right now, you can make a case for Everthorne, (which is how I wanted the story to turn out so I'm glad somebody thinks that!) but the problem is I don't like Gale and I make him the bad guy whenever possible. Again, sorry to disappoint.
Please enjoy Chapter Seven! Honestly it's not very good. It kind of reads like I wrote while on a lot of cold medicine. Writing is hard.
I stay in my room as long as I can the next morning, after spending most of the night in Gale's. I ignore Effie's knocks until I'm too hungry to bear it. I wait a minute longer, making sure she's left the hall, before I creep out of my room. There's no need to creep, really. I'm not doing anything wrong, but old habits die hard, I guess.
My hope is that I'm so late to breakfast, everyone else is done eating and has gone their separate ways. No such luck. They're all there, although none of them seem keen on striking up a conversation with me. Haymitch is nursing a cup of coffee and regularly supplementing the caffeine with hard liquor from his flask. Gale and Peeta are staring straight ahead, eating their respective breakfasts, and Effie is taking turns glaring at all of them. Her eye is twitching in a way that indicates she is not in a good mood.
I feel no sympathy for her. Oh no, her charges aren't "behaving themselves" as well as she might like. The rest of us have real problems.
I sit down without a word and start shoveling food onto my plate. Honestly, after the massive meal I had last night, I'm surprised I can even manage to be hungry now, but I am. Starving, actually. Fortunately, the breakfast arrangement is just as sumptuous as last night's dinner. There's no way I'll go hungry, and in fact, I think it's a lot more likely I'll eat myself sick.
There's no talking, at least. We're still leaving that for later, I guess. Presumably, that's Gale's work. I know him; I know why he wants to stay in denial for as long as possible. Refusing to talk about it won't help us any in the arena, but really, aren't we beyond help already? Just because of where we're from?
I don't know why any of us even try. I don't know how Gale tried, but look where it got him: now he gets to watch his girlfriend fight to the death in the same spectacle that ruined his life.
I spend most of the day in the viewing car, ignoring the frequent raised voices and Effie's attempts to lure me into conversation. It's both more and less impressive in daylight. The view of the stars through the glass had been incredible, but I enjoy getting to see our surroundings too, as we breeze by at two-hundred miles per hour. By the time something catches my eye, we're already past it. It's a very effective distraction.
As we get closer to the Capitol- the place where it all ends- the others join me in the viewing car. All of them, even a ruffled-looking Gale who looks like he'd much rather be somewhere else. I glare at Haymitch, daring him to explain.
"Wanted to make sure you greeted your adoring public," Haymitch drawls, clearly drunk. "We're getting close to the city."
The glass-topped car is at the very back of the train, so I'll just have to take his word for it. That's not what I care about, anyway. I glare at him even harder. "You mean the Capitolites?"
My distaste seems to annoy Haymitch. He takes a big swig from his flask. "I mean, your future sponsors."
I roll my eyes and look out the window. "I won't get any sponsors."
"Not with that attitude," he grumbles, sprawling out next to me on the padded seat. Everyone else sits down too, spaced out around the car so we all have a view. "Happy face. Smile and wave."
'Happy' feels totally foreign to me right now, but arguing with him would be worse than complying this time. I feel the train lurch as it begins to slow down; we are entering the city. Barren desert turns to false metallic life, buildings a dozen stories high, vehicles that look like bugs, and people that look like animals. A lot of those people are looking at me.
Effie nudges me, reminds me to "make a good impression". When I stare at her blankly, Haymitch smacks my arm and orders me to, "Smile, dammit!"
All of this seems to come to Peeta naturally. He grins and waves at the Capitol citizens lined up to watch us arrive, probably charming every single one of them effortlessly. I'm not sure if I'm more jealous or annoyed. Not one to be outdone, I slap a smile on my face and try to get better results.
The crowd seems to react, as if I- who am apparently some kind of celebrity, in the Capitol- am waving to each and every one of them personally. Some of them even seem to swoon. I'm flattered, but in a much more real sense, I'm horrified. Don't they get it, that this is the worst thing that's ever happened to me? Don't they realize what they're cheering for?
The train ride ends soon, luckily. I gather my few possessions- the blue dress I traded for simple black pants and tank top, Prim's ribbon that's tied firmly around my wrist- and we're shuffled into the station. Shortly after that, we're shuffled into the Tribute Center, one of the few buildings from the Capitol I recognize. They show it on TV often enough, so everyone knows the accommodations are fantastic…until they kill you. It stands twelve stories high- one for each district- with several levels belowground, for training and styling and god knows what else.
Effie is in her element. She leads our ragtag bunch around like some pied piper of unlucky street urchins, swiping her key card as necessary to get us where we need to go. "District Twelve, you lucky ducks, you get the penthouse!" she trills, somehow out-walking the rest of us in obscenely high heels.
"Don't you also get the penthouse?" Peeta asks warily. I think he's worried he'll be left alone with Haymitch, Gale, and me, which is understandable. Haymitch is a wild card, I'm aggressive, and Gale hates him. As bizarre as Effie is, there's a case for her being the sanest of the bunch.
"Well, yes," she says eventually. "But I don't need to be associated with it. Come, come!"
She's leading us into what I believe is called an elevator. I'm wary. I understand the concept of 'rooms that travel to multiple floors', but I've never experienced it for myself. There's no budget for such things in District Twelve.
I find myself not wanting to step into it, but no one else seems bothered by it at all. Even Peeta, who has definitely not been elevated before, plays it cool as a cucumber. I suck it up and we all squeeze in, making an already-uncomfortable situation worse. Effie taps a few buttons, and up we go.
There's a slight humming noise, but otherwise, I wouldn't know we were moving. Just like the train. I look around the small room- Effie is still talking, but I'm ignoring her- but before I can decide if I like it or not, we have arrived.
"This is for us?" I can't help but ask when I first step into the penthouse.
It's huge. No, it's obscene. I look around the space that's meant for five people and envision my whole district moving in with room to spare. A massive open kitchen, although I'm sure we won't be expected to cook. A dining table made of obsidian, floor-to-ceiling windows with a relatively disappointing view. I see doors that must be bedrooms, which are surely just as dramatic. It's the train times a thousand.
"Yes, it will have to do for now," Effie replies, in her distinct Capitol trill. "I'm sure you'll get used to it, Katniss- this will be your home until you go into the arena!"
I don't know how that's supposed to be comforting. This doesn't feel even a little bit homey. In fact, it makes me feel tiny and hardly like a person at all.
Haymitch is clearly not reflecting on his humanity. He pushes past the rest of us and heads straight to the place he feels most at home: the bar. "Pour up!" he says cheerfully, tasting a little of this and a little of that. "Anything for you, Eff?"
"Nothing you've put your mouth on," Effie replies tartly, shooting him an irritated look and then moving on. Haymitch is clearly beyond help. She takes a much kinder tone when she speaks to Peeta and me. "Let me show you to your rooms," she offers. "You'll have a few hours to rest before dinner."
Ever since the Reaping, it has been a relentless cycle of eating and resting. I don't know why that bothers me. Rest and food are both things I consistently lacked in District Twelve. Perhaps I already fear I'm getting soft, even after only a day.
"Go on, dear," Effie says encouragingly, when I linger in the doorway. "I'm sure you'll want to freshen up. I know I do."
I look at her scathingly. Freshen up. Do most of the tributes come in with powder compacts and hairbrushes? I don't even have a god damn toothbrush.
"The powder room is fully stocked; don't worry!" Effie says quickly, as if that was really what I'm worried about, not my imminent death. "The closet too- everything should be in your size!"
I turn to glare at her again, but it's hard to follow through. She seems so genuinely excited for me, perhaps knowing that a "fully stocked powder room" is a luxury I've never had before. I look her up and down again, taking in the ridiculously wide and colored skirt and the high heels and the wig the color of a Cheeto Puff. She is ignorant. She is clueless beyond belief. But I believe that she is kind.
One could argue that that's more important. You are born with your intelligence. You have to choose to be kind.
So I let my face soften. I even manage a quiet "thank you" as I slip into the room that will be my home until they send us off the slaughter. Effie pats me on the shoulder before darting away as well- probably to perform whatever bizarre ritual she considers "freshening up".
My room is huge. There's so much space I don't know what to do with it. I can walk between the bed, the dressers, and the giant screen that replaces a window without bumping into anything on either side. The bathroom is just as luxurious as the one on the train, maybe even more so. I peek into the shower and gape at the panel of buttons you have to use to make it work. I've never had a shower before, but in my wildest dreams I never imagined it would be more complicated than "on" and "off".
I hang my dress up in the closet- which is stocked like Effie said, mainly with things I would never wear- and sit down on the enormous bed. It makes no sound, like it functions completely without springs. I shift my weight a couple times, testing it, and it still refuses to squeak.
I spot a remote control on the bedside table, with just as many buttons as the shower. It must be for the gray screen that covers the whole wall in front of me, so I pick it up and tap a few buttons experimentally. The screen pops to life, blaring some kind of Capitol news report. I turn that off quickly while trying to figure out how to lower the sound. Only a few of the buttons are labeled! Are they making this difficult on purpose?
It's more trial and error than anything else, but eventually I find something I like. Instead of a loud TV program, I turn the screen to a forest scene, with trees just like the evergreens at home and a babbling brook that runs down the middle. I can even hear the babbling, along with birds chirping, from half a dozen small speakers placed throughout the room. I close my eyes and it's like I'm there, aside from the bed that doesn't squeak and the artificial coolness to the air.
It keeps me occupied and in a vague state of peace until Effie knocks on my door and calls me to dinner. This time, I don't stall. I've spent enough time hiding. It's time to face the music.
Somehow, Haymitch has beat me to the table, although maybe he just never left it in the first place. I'm sure he has a bedroom, but I'm equally sure his main priority is proximity to the bar, and the table is closer. He's got his flask out again, surely filled with some new and exciting liquor he pinched from the bar, tipping it into his wineglass so he can have more alcohol per drink. I wrinkle my nose and sit as far away from him as I can, at the head of the table.
Annoyingly, there's no food out yet. Peeta sits at the other head of the table, Gale stalks in and sits next to Haymitch, and Effie places herself across from the mentors. As soon as she lays her napkin across her lap, it begins. Servers in maroon tunics seem to appear out of nowhere, all carrying heaping trays of food. The dining table goes from completely empty to completely overloaded; I'm almost surprised it doesn't sag with the weight.
I spread my napkin on my lap and start to serve myself, but Haymitch stops me with an ahem. I draw my hand back from the mashed potatoes I was about to heap onto my plate. "…what?"
He leans forward, making sure everyone at the table is paying attention to him. The servers- Avoxes, the Capitol's slaves- continue to bustle around us, but Haymitch doesn't care. "As of right now, there will be no more stalling."
I scowl. I had already decided to quit stalling, but he's sounding awfully condescending about it.
He actually bangs a fist on the table, not hard enough to hurt, probably, but enough to make the silverware rattle. "We. Need. A plan!"
A plan. He's right, I guess. Normally, I would have a plan, but this is one area where I'm out of my depth.
Peeta speaks up timidly. "I was thinking-"
Haymitch shakes his head. "Nope, don't want to hear it. I've already got it figured out."
Gale scowls at him, although he's pretty much been scowling this whole trip, aside from that brief window where we were alone. "You're not even going to hear him out?"
It's odd to hear Gale stand up for Peeta, but not as odd as it is to hear Haymitch speak in a completely lucid tone. Especially considering how much alcohol I've watched him consume today. "You really don't know what we're dealing with, do you?"
"I think I might have some idea," Gale says flatly.
Haymitch shakes his head, as if Gale's very recent and very awful experience with the Games counts for nothing. "No, you don't. You had a bad day. These guys are here for a reason. Well…maybe not you."
He points at Peeta, who quite frankly looks terrified.
My eyebrows knit together. "Because…we were Reaped?"
Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Yes, you were Reaped. But do you really think it was a coincidence?"
"Um…yes?" I try.
"Well, THINK AGAIN!" Haymitch practically yells, a sharp contrast from the secret-telling voice he'd been using before. I draw back without meaning to, putting my hand even further away from the mashed potatoes. "Think about it, Katniss. You and Hotshot pissed off a lot of people last summer. A lot of important people. Wouldn't it be convenient for them if you were just…never a problem again?"
My throat runs dry. "So you think…I was Reaped on purpose. To punish Gale."
It's not really a question at this point. It makes more sense than anything else Haymitch has ever said to me. I know the Hunger Games are a tool to keep the districts in line. Why not direct that towards individual people while they're at it?
I squeeze my eyes shut. I know Gale and I made a mistake, kissing at the train station, but I didn't think we'd still be paying for it now. I didn't think I'd have to pay for it with my life. A pained look crosses Gale's face and I'm sure he's thinking the same thing.
"Bingo!" Haymitch replies. I don't know that word, but his tone is much too cheery for the situation.
"So they'll never let me get out alive." Also not a question.
"Not necessarily." Haymitch holds up a hand, possibly just for dramatic effect. I wonder if someone has replaced his usual alcohol with cocaine or something stronger. "This is where the plan comes in."
Right. The plan. I stare at him blankly, wondering what could possibly get me out of the corner I'm backed into.
"The Capitol wants you dead, yes." It surprises me he's not lowering his voice. If we must watch what we say in Twelve, surely they're listening even more carefully in the Capitol, aren't they? I know in my gut that they are, and I know that Haymitch knows that too.
I guess it's just past the point of mattering.
"…but the Capitol won't be the one to kill you," Haymitch concludes. "Not directly, at least. You can probably count on a fire, an earthquake, or a flood, but they're probably counting on another tribute to take you out."
"So…what. I need to fight?" I ask. "That's a given. It's the Hunger Games."
He looks annoyed that I've interrupted. What did he expect? He's not making any sense and I have questions. "Yes, you will need to fight. And you'd better hope you have some marketable skills under all that attitude, because it's not going to be easy."
I bristle. "I know it's not going to be easy."
"But it's not enough just to fight. You need to make yourself unkillable."
Here it is. The moment where I really, truly, give up on life. I ignore Haymitch's scolding from earlier and heap potatoes onto my plate, not bothering to reply. Everyone else had started eating ages ago, anyway.
"How exactly is she supposed to manage that?" Gale asks flatly. He is speaking with his mouth full again.
"She will be quiet and stop appearing with problematic people," Haymitch says pointedly. "He's got the real job."
Again, he points at Peeta, who looks really concerned this time. He wipes his fingers on his napkin quickly. "Job? Like, I need to fight too?"
Haymitch sighs crankily. "Yes, you will need to fight, if you want to survive- stop asking that! But just as importantly, you need to earn the Capitol's favor. The two of you come as a package deal this year; if they love you, they'll have to tolerate her. Of course, she still might be executed for treason at some point…"
I shift uncomfortably in my very comfortable chair.
"…but the more Capitol admirers you have, the better," he concludes. "Although, by the looks of you…"
"Peeta's very charming," I interrupt, knowing it'll bother him. "You should have heard him last year. Gathering sponsorships, he had the whole crowd under his thumb. He's like…"
I trail off awkwardly when I notice how everyone's staring at me, and I wonder why I started the sentence in the first place. I look down and stab a piece of asparagus with unnecessary force.
"I, for one, think this is entirely ridiculous," Effie says firmly. "Haymitch, to even imply that the Reaping is somehow biased…"
He just shrugs. "If you're going to be like that, does it really matter?"
It does matter to me, and I do believe it was more than a coincidence, but I have to focus on the future now. The part where I do whatever it takes to survive. I clear my throat, capturing my mentor's fleeting attention. "Alright, Haymitch. It doesn't all come down to Peeta having admirers in the Capitol, does it? What else is involved in your plan?"
If he detects the note of sarcasm on "plan", he gives no indication of it. "You're right. You'll need allies- more than just each other."
I glance at Peeta across the table, not meeting his eyes. Are we allies? Right now I think we're strangers, more than anything.
"Protection, really, to make sure Katniss isn't disemboweled or burned alive as soon as the Games start," Haymitch muses. "You'll team up with the Careers."
There's about thirty seconds of silence before we all start voicing our disapproval.
"We are not joining the Careers!" I exclaim. Their performance from last year is all too fresh in my mind. The effortless, practiced way that they killed. The twisted way they enjoyed every second of it. I've already decided I'll do whatever it takes to survive, but I will not become that.
Even Effie is fuming. "Haymitch, you can't possibly-"
"I won't do it!" Peeta adds. I haven't seen him this indignant in a long time.
"That's a terrible idea!" Gale puts in. How strange it is, for the two of them to agree. "After what I did to their tributes last year? They won't want an alliance with Twelve. They'll want revenge."
You might be wondering, is it really possible for an entire district to hold a grudge against one person? I've asked myself the same question. The answer is yes. Districts One and Two take losing personally, and Gale- aided by several other factors- took the crown from them last year.
"Then we'll just have to change their minds," Haymitch sneers. His tone always shifts when he's talking to Gale, as if he can't possibly be civil. "Everyone will be out for blood- that's the fucking point- and they won't underestimate her just because she's from Twelve, thanks to you."
"Are you blaming me for winning?" Gale asks disbelievingly.
"Your victory was a coincidence. Her death won't be."
A shiver runs down my spine at how sure he already sounds. Maybe there's no point to trying, or the plan. Maybe I should drown myself in the bathtub before the first night in the Capitol is over.
"Stop acting like she's incapable of defending herself," Gale says hotly. "Have you seen her with a bow? She's a crack shot! She's better than me!"
"I know she can shoot," Haymitch says huffily. "But this is the fucking Quarter Quell! Being a good shot isn't enough- she. Needs. Allies!"
"She has me!" Peeta jumps in.
I glare at him. "Don't act like you're here to protect me! You don't owe me that! You don't owe me anything!"
Suddenly overwhelmed, I push my seat back and grab a plate full of rolls before storming out the door. I need to get out of here, be anywhere, anywhere else, before I say something I regret.
§
Rolls in hand, I look around at the space outside our suite. The elevator's right there, but I don't really want to brave that without Effie. Instead, I spot a service staircase, meant for the Avoxes who bring our meals. It takes a key card to go down, but you can go up without one. I spring at the chance to escape this hellhole, even just for a little while, and I bolt up the stairs to the roof.
The Tribute Center comes to a point at the top, but there's a small platform that's probably meant for workers of some kind, not for me. I claim it as my own anyway, curling up with my back pressed against the rail. I set the plate of rolls down next to me. I don't know why I took them. I hardly feel like eating.
I know it now, even more clearly than I knew it the moment Effie called my name: it's over. My odds were poor even when I was just another unfortunate Seam kid. Now that I know the Capitol is after me, personally, that this "accident" is at least partially my own doing, there's no hope. If the Capitol wants me dead, I'll die. That's just the way it is; that's how it's ended for lots of people.
There's one thought that keeps me going, and that's Prim. What will happen to her if I die in the arena. I can't expect Gale to support my family forever, if I'm gone. No, I need to make it home, if at all possible. I need to be there for her.
I wish I could be inspired by that thought, but it really just makes everything seem even more futile.
Angrily, I take one of the dinner rolls I have no intention of eating and chuck it over the railing to the sidewalk below. In the dark, from so high up, I have no way of knowing where it'll land, but I hope it hits some Capitol citizen and ruins their evening. That's the only revenge I have the option of getting.
Just like everything else for me lately, that doesn't work out. The bread roll hits some invisible wall and bounces back into my lap. I scramble around to look, making sure there wasn't a net or something I hadn't noticed, but no. There's nothing. When I turn the roll over in my hands, I notice that it's now perfectly toasted. There must be a force field surrounding the building, preventing hopeless tributes like me from throwing themselves off the top of it.
I'm still marveling over my toast when the stairs door swings open again. I freeze, worried I'm about to be dragged away by Peacekeepers- even though the force field thing indicates they're aware tributes will be up there- but it's just Peeta.
Actually, I cringe. That's almost worse.
"Hey," he says quietly, sitting down beside me.
I turn away, refusing to look at him. While running away is something I typically consider cowardly, I had done it for a reason. "How'd you find me?"
"You left the door open."
"Oh." I cringe at that too. Another poor decision that has come back to haunt me, albeit with a shorter waiting period this time.
I wait for him to try to talk to me. I'm sure that's what he's here to do, and I'm just as sure that Haymitch sent him. Haymitch would have wanted someone to go after me, but he would have insisted it not be Gale, so that must be it. Besides, no matter how kind I know Peeta to be, I doubt he'd go after me unprompted. With the way things are…
He doesn't say anything, though. It annoys me. As much as I didn't want him to broach the subject, I expected him to. Eventually, I take matters into my own hands, unable to take the churned-up feeling in my gut any longer. "I'm sorry I never told you. About me and Gale, I mean."
"No, it's alright. I pieced it together on my own," Peeta says.
For some reason, him telling me it's alright doesn't make me feel any better. I push on, as if I need to explain myself. "He can be a little…possessive, I guess," I tell him. Then, feeling like that doesn't paint Gale in the correct light, I add, "Losing Madge was hard on him. And now…now that the same thing's going to happen to me…"
"I hope that's not what happens." Peeta doesn't manage to sound as optimistic as he usually does, but he at least sounds neutral while I feel hopeless. "I mean, I've already somewhat resigned myself to death. But I'd like to avoid it if possible. And, regardless of whether I "owe" you or not, I do intend to protect you."
My expression hardens. "I told you…"
He interrupts. "Have you considered I might want to protect you for selfish reasons?"
I let out a bark of laughter. "What's the selfish reason to protect someone?"
"I stand a lot better chance of survival with you than without you."
I pause. I hadn't thought of it that way. As usual, I had only thought of myself.
There it is, then. My second reason not to roll over and give up right now. First Prim, and now Peeta.
The first really should have led me to the second, given that Prim had been the first one to remind me I was on a team. But I'm here now. That counts for something.
"So…me and you and the Careers, huh?" I ask bitterly.
Peeta looks equally bitter. "I don't like it any more than you do, Katniss."
The rest goes unspoken. But we have to try.
"There's got to be some other way, right?" I suggest, somewhat desperately. "How important is it we go along with Haymitch's plan? I mean, can we really trust some old drunk with our lives?"
"He did get Gale out alive," Peeta points out.
Yeah, and look how that turned out, I want to snap, but I hold back. Yes, almost everything has been horrible since Gale came back from his Games, but I wouldn't wish him dead for anything in the world.
"So you trust him?" is what I actually ask.
Peeta shrugs. "We don't have much for options. No offense to Gale, but this is his first year as a mentor and Haymitch has twenty-some."
I guess that is a big difference. I imagine us handing the reins of our lives over to Effie or, even worse, trying to navigate the Games and the Capitol ourselves. "I guess he is our best option."
I'm surprised by how easy it is, sitting and talking with Peeta like this. It doesn't feel like it's been a year. I suppose I should be grateful for that, that we can pick where we left off so easily, but with everything that's happened to me lately, it's hard to be grateful for anything.
We talk for a long time. About the Games, about Haymitch, about everything. We fill in the gaps we missed in our year of avoidance, something I suddenly feel incredibly guilty about. I resolve to, if we survive the next month, work things out between Gale and Peeta so I can speak to both of them comfortably. I had never meant to choose between them, my closest friend and greatest confidant, and I wish more than anything it had never reached that point.
"So, we're going to try?" Peeta asks, once the sun has disappeared completely and we're both pretending we're not cold. The rolls (which we toasted using the force field) are long gone.
I gnaw at my lip, but I nod. "Yes. We'll try."
WOW that was a lot of words. My bad. I need to stop apologizing for everything.
Next chapter…TRIBUTE PARADE!