Chapter Text
The audience doesn’t react right away. For a few seconds, the startled faces in the crowd are stunned into silence. Then rage sets in as they start screeching, calling out the Quell and demanding a stop. All together, their voices become this mess of screams and howls, indiscernible. The thrum of their combined voices makes my heart race.
One thing is clear: Katniss’ pregnancy was the final straw. I hope she’ll forgive me, because every camera must be on her right now. But much like last time, I couldn’t tell her beforehand, not even as my plan was coming together. Her confusion is necessary to drive the point home. I stare out at the masses of people while Caesar attempts to calm down the crowd, but when my buzzer sounds and I go back to my seat, it’s clear that they won’t back down from this.
The anthem blasts through the room so loudly that it rattles in my chest. As we all rise, I reach out for Katniss’ hand. Her presence steadies me, and I need it more than ever. She looks at me and her eyes flick down to my cheeks. I realize that I’m crying. I don’t wipe the tears away, letting them show instead. This idea, this concept that Katniss could truly be pregnant and be sent into the Games anyway, tugs at something in me that I hadn’t let in before. How cruel it would have been to have children, how hopeless it would have felt to see them go into the Games. To love and lose so easily because someone else wills it.
Katniss takes my hand and I look down the row of tributes. Then, I see how she reaches out to Chaff. How he reaches out to Seeder. Before I know it, all of us are holding hands in one long chain. If even us tributes can come together, how do they expect the Games to happen? A heady rush of victory courses through me at the sight. But the screens go black the second the cameras know what is happening. Doesn’t matter. Our image has been sent out into the world already.
Chaos ensues as the lights die down on stage in a flash, but I hold on to Katniss and guide her to the nearest elevator. I can hear Finnick and Johanna behind us, struggling to attach themselves to our little duo. Then an indignant cry from Johanna as someone steps in her path. I look behind us to see Peacekeepers block them so Katniss and I go up alone, peaceful after the loudness of the night. Our elevator ride is spent in silence. I lean back against the glass wall to catch my breath.
Once we step out, I make sure to check in with Katniss before anything else: “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”
“Nothing,” Katniss says. I smile, happy despite myself. What I’ve done, what we’ve all done tonight, can’t be undone now. Back home, my family will deal with the implications of what I’ve said. Katniss and I will have to deal with it soon enough.
We wait for Haymitch and Effie and the stylists, but my heart sinks as only Haymitch steps out of the elevator, looking frazzled.
“It’s madness out there. Everyone’s been sent home and they’ve cancelled the recap of the interviews on television,” he says, his face stricken. Katniss and I run to the window to watch the mayhem below on the streets.
“What are they saying?” I ask, picking up on the distant shouting. “Are they asking the president to stop the Games?”
“I don’t think they know themselves what to ask. The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol’s agenda is a source of confusion for the people here,” Haymitch says. “But there’s no way Snow would cancel the Games. You know that, right?”
Part of me hoped he would, if only because of public pressure. Haven’t I done enough? The people are all but rioting in their own capitol. But as I look down at the scene, see how the colorful masses move, it hits me that they’re not Snow. In the end, he makes the decisions. Foolish, really, to think he’d be swayed that easily. And now he’ll retaliate in the arena, where anything in the form of punishment goes. The victory from earlier drains out of me and I press my forehead against the window.
“The others went home?” Katniss asks.
“They were ordered to. I don’t know how much luck they’re having getting through the mob,” Haymitch says.
“Then we’ll never see Effie again,” I say, turning to face him. “You’ll give her our thanks.” Especially on the work she did with my token.
“More than that. Really make it special. It’s Effie, after all,” Katniss adds. “Tell her how appreciative we are and how she was the best escort ever and tell her . . . tell her we send our love.”
We don’t speak for a while, because this is it. Haymitch isn’t supposed to come with us either. This is the last time I’ll ever see him.
“I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well,” he says finally.
“Any last words of advice?” I ask. I can almost predict what’s coming.
“Stay alive,” he says with his usual gruffness. Yet it’s unlike any other time he’s said it. He gives each of us a hug, and I make sure to squeeze his shoulders before I release.
“Go to bed. You need your rest.”
“You take care, Haymitch,” I say. I look at Katniss, who nods. I can tell she’s having difficulty keeping it together. We walk away, but before we get to Katniss’ room, Haymitch calls on her.
“Katniss, when you’re in the arena…” he starts to say. Then he scowls at the floor.
“What?” she asks.
“You just remember who the enemy is,” he says. “That’s all. Now go on. Get out of here.”
Katniss frowns but doesn’t question his words. We stop in front of Katniss’ room and I tell her I want to shower and take the makeup off my face. My cheeks are sticky with tears and watered down foundation.
“No. Stay,” she pleads, not letting go of my hand. “I have a shower in my room.” I nod and follow her into her room. I think she doesn’t want to be alone. In truth, I don’t want to be either. I shower quickly, making sure every last bit of the prep team’s work is washed away one last time. I don’t bother putting on my leg to cross the short distance to Katniss’ bed. We settle in together, knowing that any second of sleep is precious now. Without words, we lay down and try to rest.
Sleep doesn’t come. I hold Katniss like I always do, with her head resting on my chest. I snooze, coming in and out of consciousness, unsure of what time it is. I’d rather not know. Katniss doesn’t move. I don’t want to disturb her. So I sleep on and off in the wee hours of the night, hoping to get at least a bit of rest before going into the arena. Some is better than nothing.
By the time light starts filtering through the curtains, I can hear Cinna and Portia. I must have slept an hour, maybe two. Their arrival means Katniss and I will be separated until we meet again in the arena. Katniss stirs at my touch and I whisper that I have to go now. I give her one final kiss in the little privacy we have left. “See you soon,” I say.
“See you soon.” In my head, I make myself remember her how she is right now: hair in a mussed braid, looking me in the eye with that crease between her brows, and smiling a little. Cinna knocks on the door and Katniss lets him in. He looks between the both of us. I thank Cinna for everything before I leave the room.
“How are you feeling?” Portia asks when we meet up at my door.
“Do you want the honest answer or the brave answer?” I reply.
“Let’s go with honest today,” she says.
“Then I’m tired. And not feeling brave at all,” I confess. She goes in for a hug.
“Do you have your things?” she asks, nodding to my room. With a start, I realize I left the token on my bed. I run in to grab it, handing the box over to her.
“Could you get this through so I can wear it?” I ask. She opens the box and nods.
“Consider it done,” she says.
Portia guides me to the roof. Part of me wishes Katniss and I had spent our last night under the stars when I feel the fresh air on my face. We step onto the ladder that will bring us up to the hovercraft. The current makes me freeze up and I fight back nausea as I recall the last time I was on here, a wave of dread washing over me. This isn’t what I need right now. I breathe through it, allowing myself to feel and then letting it go. By the time we’re on the hovercraft, Portia looks at me with a troubled expression. A doctor injects a tracker into my left forearm before I’m released.
I sit down with Portia in a room that’s decked out with a full buffet. After my nauseous spell, I’m not sure I can eat.
“Please, eat something. Anything. You look pale,” she says gently. I take a piece of toast with some seeds baked into the crust and swallow the bites with sips of tea. I won’t make the same mistake of drinking all that water like last year. I need to keep my wits about me if I want to keep Katniss alive.
I take a shower in the Launch Room and Portia helps me dress. The fitted blue jumpsuit clings to my metal leg and I have to adjust it before I can do up the zipper in the front. A padded plastic belt clings to my waist. Portia helps me put on light shoes with rubber soles, so unlike the shoes I’m used to that I spend the rest of the time in the Launch Room pacing to help me get accustomed to them.
“It seems like this material is suited for hotter weather, since there’s no insulation,” Portia says.
“You think they’ll put us in a desert?”
“Not sure. The fabric is too thin to offer real protection, unless they’ve treated it.” She takes something out of her pocket. “Here, can’t forget this. Luckily someone on the hovercraft here is qualified to do the inspection.”
It’s Effie’s token. I put the locket on and tuck it under the jumpsuit. The metal is thin enough so that it doesn’t show.
I pace some more as Portia hands me another bite to eat. It’s a piece of a bun dipped in hot chocolate.
“Remember: I’m rooting for you. Always,” Portia says. I still for a moment and look at her. She hasn’t needed to be this kind to me; stylists rarely are. But she’s gone out of her way, together with Cinna, to make Katniss and I unforgettable. Her kindness is something I will never be able to repay. The only thing left for me to do is go up to her and embrace her tightly. She hugs me back immediately. She’s the last person I’ll ever see out of the arena. I’m glad it’s her. Tears fight their way to my eyes but I push them down, because the last thing I need is to appear in the arena in a fit of grief.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice muffled slightly by her shoulder.
“It’s been a privilege,” she replies. She musses my hair after she lets go. “There. Now you’re ready.”
The pleasant robotic voice tells me to step on the plate that will take me into the arena. I do as I’m told. The glass cylinder slides over me and I put my hand on the glass. Portia does too. We nod at each other in a final goodbye and then the plate starts to rise. It’s dark for a few seconds, until sunlight blazes into the shaft and I’m pushed up into salty, humid air. A strong breeze whips at my face. Unfamiliar sounds flood in and I try my best to adjust to this scene. I look down at my feet. Only the plate I’m standing on is still. It takes me a few seconds to see that I’m surrounded by water in every direction. Waves of it lap at the base of the metal, droplets falling on my rubber shoes.
Our training back home covered combat and survival, but water was never an option.
And now I don’t know how to swim.
