Prim's P.O.V.
The Hunger Games are today.
I don't get a wink of sleep all night. That's not exactly a good thing, considering tomorrow I'll be in an arena trying to fight for my life against twenty-three other people who are trying to kill me. I shudder at the thought of it.
I sluggishly haul my lazy self out of bed with a reluctant sigh.
I groggily look at the clock: 6:36 am. Oh, groan. I drag myself into the shower and scrub myself as clean as I'll probably get for the next few weeks.
After I shower, dress, and braid my hair back as tightly as possible, I head down to breakfast about half an hour later.
When I get downstairs, Peeta's already there. His sleepless night is visible on his face and in his eyes.
"You didn't sleep either?" he questions.
I laugh mockingly - but don't say a word otherwise - to prove my point.
I know the insomnia is inevitable. I'm expecting within the next few days it'll etch itself into my face, carving out the space under my eyes until I'm nearly beyond recognition. It makes me nervous.
At the buffet, I pile my plate high with food. I know that I probably won't eat it all, but I need to eat as much as humanely possible.
So I do. I shove down as much food as my stomach can hold, which isn't much. Peeta understands what I'm doing and follows my lead.
When our teams come downstairs, they offer words of comfort, advice, and numerous hugs. Right now, it's just after eight. We need to be in the launch room – a.k.a. the stockyard – by nine, although the actual Games don't start until ten.
After we finish eating, it's quarter after eight. Haymitch and Effie give us their parting words. "For now," they tell us, and I can immediately tell that's bullshit. We won't be seeing them again anytime soon, which I'm sure of. That's when Portia and Cinna finally whisk us off to the stockyard, away from them.
Sounds mean I know, but whatever.
When we get there, I'm sweating buckets and my head's pounding in rhythm with my heart.
I'm panting nervously, and Cinna is there instantly, embracing me comfortingly, hushing me like you'd hush a crying baby. Don't cry, Prim. You can't afford it. After I stop hyperventilating, Cinna pulls a jacket off a hanger from a hook on the side of the room and zips me into it.
Without a word, we embrace again, and he says, "Prim, you're going to win. I'm not allowed to bet, but if I would, I'd bet on you." I glance up at him. "Really truly?" I whisper. He gives me a small, wry smile. "Really truly."
I take a few steps back and all at once, all too quickly a glass cylinder is lowered around me. I take a deep breath and look into Cinna's hazel eyes. Head up.
He mouths, "I'm betting on you." My eyes almost fill with tears, and I quickly form a heart with my hands as a form of gratitude and love as the cylinder tube starts to rise.
Peeta's P.O.V.
I'm being bid goodbye by Portia in the stockyard in the final minutes before the Games. My thoughts momentarily fly to Katniss. I wonder what she thought of my confession the other night. I give a smile as Portia gives me a hug. "Good luck, Peeta. Keep her safe." I already know who she means. Prim. The girl I love's sister. Even if I do win, there's no way she'll like me. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.
I sigh. "Okay. Thanks Portia. Really." I give her a hug. Probably her last from you, I think. Will I ever stop being so cynical? It's hard to be anything but right now.
I step back into the cylinder tube, and it closes me off from the rest of the world, and I'm rising to my undetermined fate in only a matter of seconds.
Good-Bye.
Cato's P.O.V.
The Games are today.
Clove and I couldn't be more gleeful about this. After our conversation last night, we're all rejuvenated and ready to go.
-
"Cato?" Clove peeks her little face in through my doorway. I turn away from the window.
"Yeah?"
"Are you excited?" she questions.
I ponder this for a moment. Am I? I've realized that I'm not as excited as I thought I was to kill Prim.
"I guess..." I trail off.
She enters the room fully now.
"What do you mean 'I guess'?"
I shrug. "I don't know."
I run my hand through my hair and flop down on the bed staring at the ceiling as Clove sits cross-legged at the foot of my bed.
"What's wrong?" she asks soothingly, like a mother would ask after a hard day at school. Not that I would know that - my mother wasn't the coddling type.
I'm taken aback by the gentle edge in her voice. This is a side of her I've rarely seen. During our time at the Academy, she was always the fiercest warrior, ready to train at all times. This is the Clove that I'm not used to. This could be a Clove I can actually tolerate.
"I'm...confused," I respond begrudgingly.
"About what?" she asks.
I sigh. Should I tell her?
"...Her." It's the only word I say, but she understands.
"Well...do you want her dead or alive?" she questions, trying to help me get to the root of things. My subconscious wonders if she's going to try and use this against me.
"I don't know!" I explode, standing up and pacing around the room. I try not to break anything.
She flinches from my sudden outburst. "Well...what is it you're thinking then?"
I sigh. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. "I think...I don't want anyone to touch her but me." This seems to be the only way I can voice what I'm thinking.
"In a good or bad way?" she quizzes.
"Both."
"If you found her, could you kill her?"
"...Probably not."
"Well then, there's your answer."
My eyelids droop with exhaustion and exertion. She senses this, and says "Get some sleep Cato. You'll figure this out as you go."
I crawl into bed and she tucks me in like I imagine a caring mother would.
I hear the door click shut and slip gratefully into unconsciousness.
-
I'm bidding farewell to my stylist, even though I'll probably see her again sometime soon. I know what I want now, I know what I need. I gratefully stepped into the cylinder tube and it began to rise. My heart gave a happy leap inside my chest, and I felt the wind on my face and I felt home.
Then I saw her. And I knew what I had to do next.
Prim's P.O.V.
I blinked as I surveyed the area where I'd be spending the next few weeks of my life. There was a lake to my left, and woods to my right. I know Haymitch would automatically want me to head for the lake, but my gut is pulling me towards the woodland. I know if I don't stake a claim in it, someone else will and I simply can't afford that.
I glance at the items spread in front of me. The weapons don't matter to me. I glimpse at the large black backpack that could hold anything, anything at all.
I look around at the other tributes. I'm scanning around the circle until my gaze lands on Cato.
His icy blue eyes catch my own only for a brief moment, but that's all I need to see him mouth the words 'I'm sorry.'
Then the gong sounds, and we're off.