There he was. Peeta. I couldn't believe it.
The only thing separating us was the thin, transparent glass splitting the room from the hallway where I stood. So close, but I never felt more far apart from him.
His skin was pale and gray, like death was beginning to welcome him into the afterlife. His eyes were sunken into his skull and his cheekbones protrude outward, his emaciated face a mere shell of what it once was.
My heart began to pick up pace as my eyes slowly familiarized myself with the husk of the man that lay on the other side of that glass.
"What has the Capital done to you, Peeta?" I blurted out loudly to no one. That was the only thought I could muster as the team of medical professionals began to swarm around him and feed tubes and wires around his body.
The dilapidated building we were using as a safe haven from the Capitols rampant and unforgiving attacks was in no means state-of-the-art, but had the bare minimum necessary to hold us refugees. Holes littered the entire facility and broken infrastructure cluttered the ground, making walking a problematic task. The smell of smoke and mold was all around, as if it had seeped into the wall itself. The light above me flickered on and off intermittently, making the anxiety inside me heighten with each flicker. Through all these problems however, I'd pick this old, run-down building over the Arena anyday.
"Believe me, they'll do everything they can to make sure he pulls through sweetheart." Unbeknownst to me, through the muffled noises across the glass, Haymitch had made his way to my side, placing a rough, calloused hand upon my shoulder. I looked over and my nearly-teary eyes met his.
Age, stress and alcohol abuse had taken a toll on his body and face. His skin sagged around his eyes and neck, making him seem much older than he actually was. Several rings of sleepless nights also began to fill the space below his eyes. His breath reeked of alcohol, and to my knowledge it was still before noon. He also looked to be suffering from minor undernourishment, as his clothes were loose and ill-fitting to his gangly frame. Even through that, he was still a brute of man. Although he would often get himself into trouble, as his mouth often worked faster than his brain. But right now, he was my only counselor. And one of the only ones I could truly trust.
"What have they done to Peeta?" I ask again, this time letting my hoarse voice ring in Haymitch's ear. Haymitch remained quiet and his eyes met the cold floors. Tears began to run down my face not only in sadness, but in anger and frustration.
I tearfully began to pound on his chest, with all the strength I could. "What have they done to him!?" I bellowed through blubbering sobs. Haymitch let out an audible sign, but his face stayed fixated on the floor.
"They messed him up pretty badly," Haymitch finally responds. Another loud, audible sigh later, his eyes met mine. "He's been beaten, malnourished, and mentally broken. The Capitol essentially made him their puppet, force feeding him false-information and misconstrued views of us and the Rebellion as a whole." His face dropped once more. He lets out another loud sigh and says " Come with me to the meeting room. There is a lot we need to discuss."
He slings his arm around my shoulder and begins to lead me. My head drooped down and I took in the many broken tiles that lay strewn around. My first instinct was to shrug him off, but I fought that urge and let my body follow his directive. Through the various dimly lit hallways and corridors, we eventually stumbled upon a room labeled "Assembly Room". The sign was old and decrepit, not much different from the rest of my surroundings. Before Haymitchs' outstretched arm could make contact with the door, he gave me a slight shoulder squeeze of reassurance. I look up and his face cracks into a half-grin.
Enough to make my heart slow down, but not merely enough to stop the unending thoughts that took over my brain, clouding it in uncertainty.
The door slowly creaked open and there stood Plutrach, Finnick and Gale. Their eyes meet mine one-by-one, and then each other. Nothing is said for what feels like minutes, until Plutarch begins to slowly approach me.
"Great," Plutarch begins, breaking the awkward silence. "Now we can finally start." He claps his hand together, ringing loudly around the quiet room and through my eardrums.
Plutarch Heavensbee was a large man, whose belly protruded over his tightly placed belt. Short and stubby, he was no taller than I but could easily over power me at any given time. He had a receding hairline, but his golden hair and baby-blue colored eyes would make him a possible catch for any middle-aged widow. What he lacked in stature he made up for in intellect, wit and charisma.
We were enemies at first, and he tried to show me early signs that he was part of the Rebellion. However I shrugged them off, not knowing his true intentions at first. But after the Games, he saved me and a handful of others. But not the person that mattered the most in my eyes.
Peeta.
Everyone in the room began to grab a chair and take their seats, one-by-one, around a barely still standing wooden table. The table itself was wobbly and uneven, as if one side's legs were shorter than the other.
"Katniss, please sit," Haymitch says, pulling a squeaky chair from the table and gesturing to me.
I was too full of uneasiness to sit still. "No," I exclaimed. "I don't want to."
Haymitchs' eyes met Plutarchs' once more and they nodded in unison, allowing my wish to remain standing to stay true.
"Alright then," Plutarch begins, another loud clap which makes me wince in annoyance. "The mission to save our fellow tributes and rebels was far from a complete success, but we managed to pull through. We had some minor casualties, however we were able to get out in time and with everyone, including Peeta and Johanna."
Johanna Mason. I remember the first meeting with her. Within that elevator, Peeta, Haymitch and I received an eye-full of her. Much to my dismay but the boy's pleasure. She had a skinny frame, but did not lack muscle due to it. She could swing an ax just as fast as any man from my district could. I thought she was conniving, but sly and cunning as well. And that's what worried me about her. Traits that usually shouldn't be together in one person. But those were the traits, among her ferocity and wicked ability to murder, that led her to victory in her Games. While I still don't trust her fully, I knew I was completely indebted to her for getting me through mine.
"Where are the others," I intruded, my voice hoarse from the crying.
"They are being treated and hope is high for their recovery," Plutarch shared.
"And Peeta?"
Plutarch and Haymitchs' eyes both trailed off, staring into the nothingness of the room. Anger began to fill my head and I could feel tears begin to swell up once again.
"And Peeta?!" I couldn't hold the anger anymore. Tears began to stream down my face and fall to the dirty floor below.
Plutarch lets out an audible sigh. "We have the very best medical staff taking intensive care of him. They are going to go above and beyond for him specifically. He's been through more hell than anyone else we rescued."
A glimmer of hope began to fill my chest, making the fear and anger that was occupying the space dispel. But I knew, more than anyone in the room, that hope was a dangerous thing. Plutarch must've felt the energy shift within me and began to make his way to where I stood.
"We will pull through," he began, placing both hands on my shoulders and his eyes staring deep into mine. "We will do all we can to get everyone back to themselves, especially Peeta."
Right at that moment, he seemed to wince. Not physically, but emotionally. And I felt it. The shine in his eyes dulled over slightly as he tried to muster up a smile.
He was lying.
I took his hands from my shoulders and let my head droop to the floor. I begrudgingly about-faced and opened the door to exit. Before I could take a single step, Plutarch's voice rang in my ears.
"Please Katniss, there is a lot of information we need to go over. And you have to be here."
I didn't care. "I'm going to Peeta."
"Sweetie," Haymitch starts. "Please just stay and listen."
I swung my body back around to the audience, and with all the strength left over, I screamed.
"I said I'm going to Peeta!"
The room got quiet, enough to almost hear the beating of the tired, weary hearts of those standing inside. Everyone's eyes once again met each other across the room and Plutarch let off a sigh of reluctance. He folded his arms and turned away. "Go."
I ran out the room and let my legs take over. They got me back to the outside of the glass overlooking Peeta's bed and I began to sob as my brain began to contemplate the worst. I sat on the broken down couch placed in the hallway and placed my face into my hands, littering them with salty tears. My body trembled and shook with each deep inhale. I was unaware that Gale had taken a seat next to me.
"I'm here for you Catnip," he says, his rough raspy voice reminding me of simpler times. Back before the Games. Back when we were two young partners-in-crime scavenging in the woods outside of 12. I realized it was the first time I had heard his voice since he had gone on the Capitol rescue mission. It felt like an eternity almost.
His shadow began to darken my view and I sat up, not knowing what was happening. He had begun to lean in to hug me.
"Don't." I began but his arms began to wrap around me. I pushed them away, making him raise his eyebrow in inquisitiveness. He stared at me, his steel gray eyes unmoving. He tried once more, this time much slower, but didn't break eye contact from me. My brain, along with my psyche, was far too exhausted to brush off a second advance so I submitted and let his arms envelop me. His arms were strong and muscular, from years of hunting and coal-mining. He placed his chin atop my hair and pulled me deeper into his embrace.
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I began to sob harder than before, my body shaking harder and harder. Still, his arms stood around me with the same intensity. I knew once he let me go, the anger and fear would return once more, but even this temporary relief felt wonderful.
"It'll be okay, he says. "Peeta and everyone will be okay" He squeezes me tighter, almost becoming painful. "I'm sure of it." His voice slightly quivers at the end, and I knew why.
He was lying too.