Chapter Text
I avoid Peeta for about a week. You would think I’d have a better strategy by now, but I really don’t think I could handle seeing him. What would I even say? Gale thinks it’s because I’ve taken his side, and I allow him his delusions rather than admit my own stupidity. After a week, I remind myself Peeta’s going through a lot. Crystal just died, and his father’s sick; I can’t be so self-centered. Not like last time. I work up the nerve to knock on his door again, squirrel conveniently in hand.
“Katniss,” he mumbles as he comes out, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Come in.” I’ve never seen him look so nervous.
I’ve hardly stepped foot inside before we both start apologising. I quiet and let him talk. He's better at that than I am anyway.
“Look, Katniss, I’m really sorry. That was completely inappropriate. I was going to come up and apologise, but I’ve just not had the time…”
“Peeta, it’s fine!” I interject. “I mean, I think I was complicit. I--” I pause, because I realise he’s apologising, and I thought I was the only one who had anything to apologise for, but it’s not like he pushed me away, I suppose, hindsight being what it is. “You kissed me back.” I mumble. Shocked. Confused. ….Thrilled.
He sighs. “Yes, I know.” He shakes his head in what seems to be disbelief. “I’m sorry. You caught me at a low point.”
“So you would never have kissed me normally!” I cross my arms, trying to pretend I don’t feel hurt and rejected.
He gapes and opens and closes his mouth. “I-- Katniss...you’re only sixteen.” He almost groans as he says my age, and I see self-loathing cross his face.
“I’ll be seventeen in less than two months,” I can’t help pointing out, wincing at how childish it sounds.
He laughs bitterly, and rubs a tired hand across his face, shaking his head. He’s barely looking at me.
“You know what!” I say throwing my hands up in the air. “Let’s just forget it ever happened.”
“Yes, let’s.” He says in relief, and after a couple awkward false-starts. Breakfast together seems to go back to normal, but I leave with the feeling that nothing has been resolved at all, and a sense that, every once in a while, I was sure I saw admiration in Peeta’s eyes: Admiration from a man of a woman.
This time, I am there for him as he watches a parent die. I am there when he goes to the funeral, sneaking in the back as quietly as he can, uncertain of his position in the family. At his father’s insistence, Peeta is allowed to visit...but that is it as far as his brothers are concerned. Every so often when I reach out to touch Peeta, to comfort him, I think I see a hunger in his eyes to match the thrill I feel in my belly. I pretend not to notice, and so does he.
Gale is fuming as we approach the Quarter Quell, and he works overtime to convince everyone to join the rebellion. He has reluctantly accepted that we have to wait, so his rally cry is “We won’t let this happen again.” Few people commit to the cause with the terror hanging over them, but I can feel a simmering rage as Reaping Day approaches, and I think soon something will cause us to boil over.
Gale’s boiling point comes with Reaping Day exactly. I thought he’d already reached it; I was wrong.
We all file into the square as always, but this time there is only a tiny crowd of twelve year olds in the centre. I can hear muttering all around me. Seeing it is so much different than hearing about it, and I am sure that once this Quell was over, Gale will have no end of supporters. The Capitol is tying a noose around its own neck.
“Ladies first!” Effie dances up, completely oblivious to the malevolence she receives. “….Mina Tanner!”
A small Merchant girl walks up.
“And next ...Rory Hawthorne!”
“NO!” I hear Gale snap, his eyes blaze with wildfire. I see two of his friends hold him back as he struggles against them before he slumps and tears slide down his face. My heart breaks for him, but I also worry that his reaction will either make things worse for his family, or make Rory look weak. He can’t afford that.
“Well...isn’t this exciting! If it weren’t for this Quell, why you might never have had the chance!”
Mina and Rory grimace in lieu of a polite smile, and Effie tries to salvage the situation by asking for a round of applause. No one does. Our unplanned unanimous act of defiance. Peacekeepers escort the two tributes into the Justice Building.
I immediately head to where the Hawthornes are. Hazelle has tears quietly streaming down her face, but her expression is so impassive I wonder if she even notices. Posy is sobbing in her arms. Vick is trying to be strong and I can see he is holding everything back. Gale stiffens his spine and comes over and places his brother on his shoulders. He doesn’t even look at me. I wonder if Gale blames me for not backing him at the meeting where he and Peeta came to blows. As worried as I was about Rory, I never considered that Gale’s desperation to overthrow the Capitol now was because he anticipated this very outcome. I am filled with self-hatred.
I stand there, stupefied; I wonder if I would even be welcome at the Justice Building, and if this is how Peeta felt when his niece was Reaped. Prim tugs on my arm and this is what shakes me out of my trance. She is crying too and wants to go see Rory. I cannot deny her, so we go. Momma follows close behind. She looks pale as a sheet and close to fainting. For once, I sympathise instead of clinging to the hate for her weakness.
Inside the Hawthornes have decided to each take turns speaking to Rory. They have three minutes each and it goes family first, youngest to oldest, although Hazelle goes with Posy. Prim has to wait twelve minutes before it’s her turn. She spends the time clinging to me tightly as she cries. Momma holds us both and I notice one of Hazelle’s friends is there with an arm around the poor woman’s shoulders. When Prim’s name is called she runs in, and before the door closes I see she rushes into Rory’s arms. My eyes widen slightly. I never realised they were so close. Of course, I try to reassure myself, Prim is so sensitive, I am probably overreacting. Prim hugs even creatures as obnoxious as Buttercup. Gale finally breaks his silence with me, as he comes out and sits down next to me.
“It’s not right.” He spits out. “A man should be able to protect his family. This--It’s---” He has no words, and I lean over to hold him. Three minutes later it is my turn, and as I leave, I see my mother has taken my place to try and soothe Gale. She smiles at me as if to reassure me that she’ll take care of him while I am gone. She wraps her arms around Prim too when she comes over. I feel an odd soreness in my heart, another piece clicking back into place. I did not have to ask her. This time, she was there. I feel a lump in my throat as I enter into Rory’s room.
I don’t bother commenting on his tears. With everyone twelve and inexperienced, Rory’s tears won’t matter too much, and he’s probably able to match any career district too. His tears might make people leave him be even, like Johanna’s tears did. Besides, what would saying anything do?
In truth, I have no idea at all what to say. Strategy, I’m sure Gale has covered, if not everyone else. Rory’s probably tired of saying goodbye at this point too, or not saying goodbye, if there’s hope. I settle for giving him a hug as well, and he seems grateful not to have to talk. Finally, he whispers, “I don’t want to kill anyone. Prim understands, but I…”
“Don’t worry about it.” I say, surprising myself. “You might not have to. You can hide, and you can feed yourself. Let the Games pick off the rest. When the time comes, what’ll happen will happen.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He mumbles. “Gale says it’s no different from hunting.”
I hesitate, because it’s awful, but it’s true.
“It is,” I hedge, “but the technique’s the same, if you really need it.”
We don’t speak anymore after that. I hold him and absentmindedly run my fingers through his hair as gently as I can until the Peacekeepers come. Then I kiss him goodbye, and try to burn his image into my eyes in case I never see this boy again.
I stumble down the steps of the Justice Building avoiding everyone. I know I probably shouldn’t leave Prim behind, or the Hawthornes, but they’re alright, I think. It’s me I don’t know what to do with. A part of me still wonders if this is all my fault. I shiver in the summer air and wrap my arms around myself like I’m trying to hold in my guts.
“Katniss,” I hear a voice call out softly. I look to my right and see Peeta. He’s hiding in the shadows of an alley. I walk over and he immediately wraps his arms around me. I rest my head on his chest and breath in his scent and hear his racing heart.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He whispers into my hair as he lays a cheek on the top of my head. I close my eyes and allow his warmth to cocoon me. I know I shouldn’t, but I allow myself to pretend I’m safe.
He wins. Against all odds, Rory wins. But the odds were in his favour, so perhaps he wasn’t beating anything. The careers weren’t prepared, because their children have always been the safe ones. They died quickly.
That left the districts who hadn’t been killed by District Fours’ kids, who had the advantage of being able to swim in the tropical-clock arena they created. Rory was one of them. He was always a smart boy. He could swim; he got his hands on a bow; he figured out the clock. He stayed safe. It was one of the quickest games in arena history, and very few kills. Children died from poison fogs, or from mutant monkeys, not from each other. The Capitol citizens complained of boredom, and we in the Districts seethed. Gale speculated that not dragging it out too long meant the Capitol knew not to test us too much. Gale senses weakness.
Perhaps he was right in his ruthless analysis, because we are stewing. I can feel it. They took our twelve year olds to punish us, but Rory survived. Rory survived. Rory survived and everyone and their cousin believes he was supposed to die for Gale’s crimes, but he didn’t.
Gale is beaming with pride, and for once he doesn’t have to worry about his family starving. It’s nothing good for the Capitol. Now that Gale doesn’t need to work as hard, he’s planning rebellion even harder.
“It’s perfect, Katniss!” He proclaims when we’re in the woods. “Even the Careers will be mad about this. The Capitol really sold them out.”
I nod along, and say nothing. It seems I always say nothing, not because I’m not as excited as he is. I can feel the anticipation coursing through my veins, sharpened and clarified and honed with my fear. I say nothing because I don’t know what I can say that won’t encourage him.
Gale starts dropping hints again. Rory’s a victor now. Food isn’t a fear for the Hawthorne family. By extension, food isn’t really a fear for my family either. Gale’s even more of a catch than he ever was, and he knows it. If the rebellion’s successful, we might not even have to worry about the Hunger Games either. Gale is finding more and more excuses to drop by. He leaves money on the table just because he can. I don’t like the pressure, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.
I don’t know what’s going on with Peeta either.
Nothing is, of course, and perhaps nothing will ever, but his gaze still lingers, and ever since he held me at the Justice Building, he’s taken to meeting up with me here and there. Nothing happens. Nothing ever happens, but like a fool, I hope. Hope is always for fools, it seems. Peeta was always the one that gave me hope so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.
But if nothing happens. And why should it ever happen? (Surely the age difference isn’t insurmountable?) Why should I hurt Gale? Couldn’t I love Gale? I don’t know. So I stay silent, and I hate it.
The Capitol is hardly stupid though. Dividing the districts, pitting us against each other, they know that a divided enemy is easier to defeat. So is a half-starved one. The extra food the Capitol sends us starts coming late and spoiled. People seethe and mutter, but food is tight again. How can they risk anything when it could mean starvation?
“They’re doing it gradually too.” Gale fumes as the seasons shift into winter. “If they just stopped Parcel Day there would have been a riot, but because they do it slowly it’s business as usual. Goddammit!” He curses the Capitol further and I glance around. We are fairly isolated, but we aren’t outside the fence. We can’t even get out there anymore, and I don’t want us to get captured and executed.
“Speak softly, Gale!” I hiss.
Last week they’d replaced Cray with Thread and increased the number of Peacekeepers in the District. People have been swinging from the gallows and whipped in untold numbers. The Capitol is playing it smart, but I almost wonder if they aren’t pushing too far. If they make death for a chance at freedom seem better than a slow death here… They’ll give the rebellion support back.
Gale and I part ways, as he heads over to Victor’s Village to visit with his family. I begin to head over to the Hob. Peeta should be there around this time today. With access to the woods no longer available, I wonder how much longer he’s going to be able to maintain his bakery. I’ve started to notice deep worry lines in Peeta’s forehead that refuse to go away. How’s he supposed to support his kids, and their families too now that Jude is married?
Peeta looked like he was about to cry the last time I saw him. Elliot and Cole had signed up for Tesserae, as the only Reaping age “men of the house,” they had felt it was their duty. They’d only told him afterwards. I held Sarai when she found out later and sobbed and sobbed. Colleen stood like a shadow in the corner and tried to look strong. Later at Madge’s, she breaks down as well, terrified if they should ever have to return to the Community Home. I try not to think of what I would do if Prim signed up for Tesserae. I resolved to keep a closer eye on her so she couldn’t take it out without my knowledge. I don’t care how often I have to put my name in so long as she never does.
Ever.
I smell smoke in the air, and blood-curdling screams reach my ears. I gasp and run down the path. The Hob is on fire. I see some desperate people scream for water to stop the flames, but I fear there’s no use. There is too much coal dust in there, everywhere, seeping into the cracks. This fire will never simply be put out.
“Peeta!” I shout. He spins around. Jude is next to him, doubled over coughing from the smoke inhalation. Peeta turns back horrified and starts rubbing his back trying to help him breathe.
“Is he okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jude croaks out, wiping his mouth and trying to stand straight. He keeps coughing although the worst of it seems past. Peeta slings Jude’s arm over his shoulder and starts to cart him home to his house in the Seam. I start to follow, before I realise I ought to go visit Peeta tomorrow. I know I won’t be able to handle seeing Jude’s wife and tiny son and realise he has to go down the mines. I can’t go to Peeta’s house and tell his kids that he is probably going to have to go down the mines too. My eyes are burning, but not solely from the smoke. I feel like I had rocks for breakfast.
Prim sobs in my arms when I make it home. She cries until she sleeps. I didn’t think I would sleep at all, but I must because I realise I am dreaming. Mines explode. Peeta’s dead. My father dies. I scream. Sarai starves. Images overlap and correlate and I keep startling myself awake. As soon as the faintest hint of light gleams to signal dawn, I leave for the Mellark’s. I know Peeta will be awake.
I knock on the door and wait. No one answers. I furrow my brow and knock again. Still no answer. Why isn’t he answering? I start banging on the door.
“Peeta!” I shout. I don’t care that I’m making a scene. Where is he? Did the Capitol find him? Was Jude’s smoke inhalation worse than I thought?
“Katniss!” The door swings open as I am mid-knock. I almost lose my balance. “Katniss, what’s wrong?” It’s not Peeta. It’s Colleen. Her expression is incredulous. I try not to look disappointed.
“Sorry.” I mutter. “I was just looking for Peeta and I thought he’d be here.” Colleen invites me in and heads towards the living room as she explains.
“He’s at the Mellark Bakery. He went to talk to Uncle Ryen.” She shrugs her shoulders and sighs as she sits down. “I don’t know how the conversation went, but I guess Peeta’s father’s last wish was that they would reconcile so… Well, I guess no matter how bad things are between them, they don’t want to see him as a miner.”
“So, he’s working back at the old bakery?” I confirm. She nods. My chest eases. He’s alive. He’s alive and he won’t be going down that death trap they call a mine shaft.
I take in Colleen more fully now and I notice the dark shadows under her eyes and the slump in her shoulders. She looks about as tired as I probably do. I am reminded that Colleen lost her father in the same explosion that cost me mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask haltingly. She smiles weakly.
“I’m fine. It took Peeta a while to sort things out last night. The children were worried.” And you were too, I want to say, but I don’t because I wouldn’t want to be called out on that if I were in her shoes. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about him down there.” She admits. “I’ve already lost one father.” She shivers abruptly but it serves to shake her out of her stupor. “Did you come here to trade?”
I drop my gaze self-consciously and nervously run my fingers through my unbraided hair. I had come here in such a hurry, I hadn’t even bothered with an excuse. A part of me had even assumed that with Peeta maybe I hadn’t needed one.
“Um, no. I just wanted to check that everything was alright here before school.”
Colleen looks a bit bewildered, but accepts this. She graciously thanks me for my concern and walks me out. As I head home, I can feel the cold wind keenly against my flushed cheeks.
Colleen’s observation drives home an important problem though. I can’t hunt. And if I can’t hunt, I cannot provide. I’ve really nothing to trade. And since I turn eighteen in only a few months, I won’t be able to take tesserae out in Prim’s stead. And if I can’t hunt, the only option to protect her and keep us fed is the mines. And I can’t bear that. I can’t bear it and I feel trapped. Not having an excuse to see Peeta wrenches, but it is hardly the least of my problems.
“Typical Townie,” Gale complains loudly. “Just run back to the family business, huh? Must be nice.”
“Seriously, Gale?” I huff and roll my eyes. “You’re the brother of a victor. If anyone lucked out for family, it’s you!” Why resent people for what they can’t control? Peeta had no way of knowing if his brother would forgive him, and no reason to risk everything he has to help.
“You know, Katniss,” Gale says with an intense look in his eyes. “What’s mine is yours. If you’re struggling with Prim just let me know.” I meet his gaze and I know he means it, but I feel guilty, because I know friendship is not how he means it. It feels like I’m using him.
It feels like I owe him.
The trapped feeling just continues. I can’t visit Peeta. I practically never see him anymore. I can’t hunt. Prim is losing weight. Gale wants more than I can offer, and soon I will be an adult and obliged to deal with him and the mines. The Games are looming. The rebellion is laying low, waiting for a signal, a rallying cry from the other districts. Once again, I am just waiting for the change in season, for dandelions, and warmth, and just knowing how this all ends. Momma, of all people, mentions talking to the foreman. Without me supplying her herbs, she has no way to support us. I take out more tesserae.
It’s the first time in years that we argue. Oh, we’ve argued before, of course. When she tries to mother Prim, and I try to mother Prim. But those arguments are snide, cutting remarks from me that she guiltily accepts, remaining distant for a while.
“Whether you like it or not, I am your mother and I’m supposed to take care of you!” She shouts at me.
“Well that’s not how it’s been for years.”
“For months!” She spits out. “Only for months. After your father died, and I’m sorry for what happened, but after that you’ve helped a lot, but you’ve certainly not done it alone despite how it must have felt!”
I am so furious and so shocked, I don’t even know how to respond. Tears brim unshed in my mother’s eyes.
“But what are you going to do, Katniss? You’ll be eighteen soon. No more tesserae from you! Shall Prim sign up? You can’t make it to the woods, so one of us has to go down those mine shafts, and it is not going to be my daughter!”
She quivers with rage and fear and grief, and I am left unable to respond. I am not used to feeling treated like a child by my mother. I don’t usually choose to let her. I force away all gestures, scared of losing it again. Ever since Gale kissed me, we’ve been better, but I wasn’t expecting this. My heart clenches and I feel twelve again, wanting my mother again. I’ve blocked that feeling of helplessness for so long, but it all comes flooding back, because somehow I never imagined that I mattered. Prim matters. Momma and I protect Prim. I can't remember the last time I truly felt like she protected me. Like anyone did. The idea of her becoming a miner so that I don’t have to breaks something fragile in me and I run away and sob like I haven’t in years.
By the time April comes, it seems my eighteenth birthday is approaching like a noose. I finally take a gamble. Using our very meagre savings, I buy a rope. Walking carefully along the edge of the fence, I find what I’m looking for. A tree tall enough to be higher than the fence with branches that extend over to the other side.
It takes a few tries but I carefully tie the rope to the branch above and climb my way up the rope. It’s a bit taxing, but years of roaming the woods and pulling the weight of a heavy bow have granted me above average strength and grit. I untie the rope when I reach the top so no one will see it then carefully crawl along the branch over the humming fence. When my feet finally touch the soft forest floor, I feel so at home I almost cry for the joy of it. My every sense tingles as I breathe in the smells and feel the wind. This is freedom, as close to it as I’ve known.
I run over to where I keep my bow and carefully string it. I run my fingers along every line. It’s in good condition. I’d worried.
Gripping my bow in my hands, I breathe. The relief flooding through me is so intense I feel tears in my eyes. Forget just being in the woods, this bow was freedom. It meant I could support myself and my family. No having to worry about the crushing mines, or marrying someone, when I don’t want to, just because I have no other option, like so many women before me who stare with haunted eyes. This thin bit of crafted wood is my liberation.
The next morning I rise before the sun and walk the old path up to Mellark bakery. It’s been a very long time since I’ve traded here. I hesitate just a second before knocking on the door. I am disconcerted by the change in vantage point. The last time I knocked my arm stretched out higher; the door had seemed bigger.
“Katniss?!” I am relieved to see it is Peeta and not his brother who has come out. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“No! I have something to trade.”
The gobsmacked look on Peeta’s face almost makes me want to giggle, surprising even me. I can hardly remember the last time I giggled.
I quickly explain to him what I did and once his heart rate goes down he asks about the state of the farm. It’s in disarray, of course, but there’s still food there growing wild. I can see the gears turning in Peeta’s head, and as he hands me some bread rolls, he agrees to meet me on his day off to explore.
I walk away with a smile on a face.
Peeta and I soon come to an unspoken agreement to meet in the woods once a week. These are moments I guard jealously in my heart. Every peaceful minute I spend with him amongst the trees fills me with a peace that never fully leaves me for sometime after.
I think Peeta must feel it too. Just some instinct in me that I feel when I hug him goodbye, or his smile when he sees me. Suddenly, my eighteenth birthday coming up in a few weeks seems so pivotal for different reasons. I wonder if it will matter for Peeta for the same reasons it does to me: I will be an adult, in the legal sense. Yet, as my birthday draws closer, I notice a permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows, rare frown lines deepened around the corner of his mouth. Every time I ask, he says it’s nothing. When I push, he says they aren’t his secrets to share. But I wonder what it can be, he wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing with me? I know about the rebellion; I know about his struggles at home, or with the kids. What else is there? It’s only because I trust him so implicitly that I am able to accept it.
On my birthday, Peeta has to work, but Colleen kindly slips me a cupcake he made. It is beautifully crafted with a frosting dandelion on top.
Eighteen is an important day, and I think seeing me cry made my mother want to try and really make it something to celebrate. The truth is, I have realised, while I thought of myself as a tiny adult, I was shouldering adult responsibilities with the freedom of a child. Now that I am eighteen, Thread will need to account for why I am not working. Even though I’m back to hunting, that won’t last once I’m past my last reaping. Turning eighteen feels like a death sentence. I did not realise what little freedom I had until it was gone. Regardless, Colleen and Madge and the Hawthornes are all cooped up in our house to celebrate what feels to me like doom. I try not to let it show as they all sing happy birthday.
Gale must be thinking along the same lines. The very next day he finds me to ask what my plans are.
“I don’t know, Gale.” I snap.
“Look, Katniss. I know you’ve been back to the woods, but that can’t last. Even if your mother goes down, I doubt it’ll be enough to support both you and Prim. Could she even take the work anyway?”
I feel like clenching and unclenching my fists, but that would let on just how mad Gale can make me sometimes. I am mad at him for reminding me that my back is against a wall. I am mad at him for trying to take advantage. I am mad at him for the slight against my mother. I am mad, period, because underneath everything, I rage against the Capitol for creating this mess: A world where families are created for survival, and not love, because no one can provide for their loved ones.
I have no good options, the mines, or Prim takes too much tesserae, or hanged for poaching, or marriage and perpetuating the cycle. I think I would rather die.
I also realise, in a flash of insight, I could never love Gale. Not that I don’t care about Gale, I do, but I will never love him the way he wants me to. I don’t think he has ever understood me. If I tried to explain, he would probably take it as I would rather be dead than marry him, or that if he can just overthrow the Capitol, I’ll marry him. But marriage isn’t a transaction. I think Gale’s just used to thinking of me like that. Gale deserves better anyway.
“Gale, I don’t want to marry you.” I finally calm down enough to say.
“I know you don’t want to marry, Katniss. I know you’re scared, but every option is scary. At least, this one you’ve got me.” He looks down at me with a cocky smile. “We’d be fine. The only thing you’d ever have to worry about was the reaping.”
But, I think, I didn’t say ‘I don’t want to get married’, I said ‘I don’t want to marry you’. Then I think what I would say in some absurd world where Peeta asked, and I know I might want to say yes, but would I? I still remember what Prim said after Crystal. I know people die, everyone dies, regardless of mines or reapings. Every time you love someone it costs. So what does it matter having children? They probably won’t get reaped anyway being the usual justification. But it’s not good enough. How can it be good enough? You can feed children if you have the means. You can fight disease. How can you fight a reaping? You are intentionally putting a child at risk, and I. Just. Can’t. It feels like I have a block in my head when I try to imagine it. Maybe, I’d say, yes, but I wouldn’t be bringing any more children intentionally into this world.
“Katniss?”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I just can’t, Gale. If I must, I’ll brave those mines.”
As I anticipated, Gale’s brow furrows and he insists I can’t be serious, but I hold my ground. Gale storms off in a huff. Gale is a trapper. It doesn’t matter if it’s people or animals. He thinks he’s right and if people don’t agree he just needs to snare them just right and they’ll see sense. I’ll probably have to walk out of the mine shaft black with dust for weeks before he’ll accept that I mean what I say.
I almost bite Peeta’s head off the next time we’re in the woods and he asks me how it feels to be eighteen. Even the woods cannot make me forget that particular frustration.
“What's wrong?” He asks gently and sits down. I almost laugh, because trust Peeta not to escalate but just sit down like he has all day to listen to me complain.
And I do. Like lancing a boil, it all drains out of me: The fear, the uncertainty, the anger.
Peeta is quiet for a long while when I finish, the same worry lines wrinkling his face. He sighs deeply.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for awhile, but I wanted to wait until you were eighteen. Just on principle.”
He runs a nervous hand through his hair, and refuses to meet my eyes.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about how the rebellion got started,” he says, taking the conversation nowhere I’d expected, “but the Victors are a huge part of it. They get to go to all the districts when they win, and they can pass messages to other victors in other districts. That makes them important to getting rebel cells going all over Panem. Now that we have a victor and strong rebel sentiment in every district, we just need to rally everyone. The best way to do that, to make sure it happens all at once, that everyone sees it, we need it to happen during the games. Everyone watches those games.”
“Okay,” I drag the word out struggling to see where he’s going. I sit down next to him. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Well,” he works up the nerve to look over at me, “the new gamemaker is a part of the rebellion, and he’s going to help, but in order to get people to notice, to see who the true enemy is, we’re planning to bust down the shield, and get the kids out.”
“They can do that?!”
“Yes, District Thirteen wasn’t entirely destroyed. They went underground and they have a lot of military equipment and training. They would come to get everyone out.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“They don’t think they’ll be able to break through the shield without someone specifically on the inside using a special electric wire to punch through it.” He sighed deeply again. “The only way we get someone inside is if they volunteer. You’re an archer, Katniss. You have the skills they need, and you’re an adult now.”
“You mean…?”
“I mean, we’re asking you to volunteer at your last reaping.”
I feel lightheaded. I feel like everything is swirling around me. It’s hard to remember where I am.
“Katniss?” I vaguely hear Peeta asking as I slowly return to my body. I don’t reply. I’ve never considered volunteering...unless it was to protect Prim. I suppose that could be what this was, but…
“How could they even guarantee that I would survive?”
“The gamemaker’s on your side,” Peeta says, taking my hand and rubbing his thumb back forth across the back of mine, “as well as some over the other tributes.”
“Right,” I whisper, like the air has been punched right out of me. I am so lost in the implications of this my vision goes blurry. Volunteering is crazy, and a war would not be safe but...But so many more children will die if we don’t end this. And I cannot stomach the thought of the mines, but even if I never went down there I can still feel their oppressive walls creeping in on me. What other option really is there?
“If you need time to consider,” Peeta says but I interrupt him.
“No,” I whisper before gathering my composure to speak more firmly, “No, I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” Peeta gently puts his right index finger under my chin to tilt it up. He makes a point of meeting his blue eyes with mine as if testing my resolve.
“I’m sure.”
Peeta laughs mirthlessly and looks away.
“What’s so funny?!”
“Oh, nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Part of me was hoping you would say no, even thought I needed you to say yes.”
“Why?”
“No reason,” he says, but he squeezes my right hand softly, the hand I realise he is still holding. “I’m just not looking forward to seeing you in the arena.” He looks a bit shy at the admittance and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
I smile softly and lean my head on his shoulder. Peeta puts his arm around me and we stay there in comfortable silence for a long time.