I think of asking Haymitch what "getting to work" may mean, but decide against it. I'll find out soon enough, anyway.
Haymitch leads me through the penthouse to my room. He continues to walk through it until he comes to the bathroom. He stops, then turns to look at me.
"We need to get you ready for everything. I have a feeling that this showdown isn't going to end easily. Or quickly, for that matter. They're going to milk this for all it's worth, and you have got to be ready for anything. Is that understood?" Haymitch is dead-serious.
"Yes," I mutter.
"Good," Haymitch says while turning the bathroom door handle. "So, you'll trust me, right?"
I glare at him, suspicious. "That depends," I reply.
"It shouldn't."
"But it does."
Haymitch smirks playfully at me, and I know that whatever we're doing will not be fun. For me, anyway.
"For the past couple of years, the Hunger Games have been taking place in either extreme or mild climates. There hasn't been very much variety," Haymitch begins, taking a seat on a ridiculous chair in the overly large bathroom. "That means, that the Gamemakers will most likely change it up a little bit for you two. Or however many of you there are.
"Your arena will either change constantly, providing for many ways of survival and death, or it will stay the same, like on a big slab of metal or something of that sort. Of course, that could mean a fast ending to one of you, or a very long, drawn-out Games for the viewers.
"The latter, it appears, seems more unreasonable given the circumstances. Like I said before, they want to milk you and Linsky until you're both dead, practically. And the Capitol doesn't particularly like either of you, if you know what I'm saying. The prior may seem more likely, but it almost seems more ludicrous. I mean, with an arena where natural surroundings cause you to cope so often, when will you two ever fight? I'm sure that they don't want you to die of natural causes. That'd be too boring, right sweetheart? You know how they play now, don't you?"
I say nothing at first, but I do nod. Once, slowly.
Haymitch stands up after a long pause, and makes his way over to the shower. He removes the basin at the bottom of actual shower and presses two buttons. Water comes flowing out of the golden faucet like a waterfall.
I watch as Haymitch sets the basin on the floor in front of me.
"Well, get on the ground."
"Why?" I ask, though it's obvious that Haymitch is going to make me hold my breath.
He rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that sass. Now, do it."
Unwillingly, I sit cross-legged on the cool tile of the bathroom. Haymitch looks exasperated with me, so I quickly change my seating position, so I can dip my head in the water easily.
"Thank you. Now, I'll time you. Go."
I plunge my head into the water.
As soon as my face touches the scorching water, I know that I should probably have tested it beforehand. Of course, while you're in the Games, you don't have time to think like that, so I imagine that Haymitch must be at least somewhat pleased that I didn't argue with him.
Ten. . . . Eleven . . . . Twelve . . . . Thirteen . . . .
I think my lungs are going to burst. Then I think of how long the kids in District 4 must be able to hold their breath, but I don't care. I try to pull up, but the moment the back of my head hits the surface, pressure is put on it, forcing me back into the pit of water hot as lava.
I know it's Haymitch's hand. I can feel his fingers pressed together. For a moment, I don't try to struggle, knowing that it won't be of any use. And then I realize that he could kill me right here, right now. That's the real reason he wanted me to do this. Not because the arena would be completely submerged underwater. No, he knew all along that I would just do as he said, even if I do, or did, argue with him. Eventually, I always end up where he wants me to be.
And then I realize I could be drowning right now, and I didn't react fast enough to please my mentor. As soon as I'm let up, he's going to tell me what I did wrong. If he lets me come up at all, that is. Then again, if he kills me right now, the Capitol wouldn't be pleased, and Haymitch would most likely be put to death. Oh, well.
I can't hold my breath any longer; I need air. In desperation, I inhale the water, hoping that it will contain oxygen, as unlikely as I know that is. I can practically feel my lungs fill with water. Haymitch's hand feels like a thousand pounds, pressing against my skull. There's a constant pounding, that's literally hurting me with each passing moment.
And then my hair is being pulled, and I'm choking. I'm choking on air, on water that's halfway entered me body. I feel myself being thrown into small convulsions, but it's as if I'm not me. My head hurts, and the pounding hasn't really subsided.
I'm wet all over, and I think I'm on the floor. Not knowing the state I'm in is the worst part; I don't know if I'm lying down, or still on my knees.
As I found out after a minute or so of trying to keep calm, I was lying down, and I'm still lying down. That is, until I feel myself being pulled up from my arm.
"You hesitated to react, sweetheart. Your lungs are weak, you can't recover quickly enough. There are three ways I could have killed you right now, without any weapons and not using any direct brute force. What do you have to say about that?"
I spit up some water before replying with, "I knew you were going to tell me I hesitated."
Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Oh, really? It's because you knew it was me. Well, if it's only you and Linsky in that arena, and you know that it's only you and her, would you have reacted the same way?" he asks me.
"Of course not! She--"
"You're always in the Games, Katniss. Always. There's no escaping that fact. It doesn't matter if you like it, because that's the way it is. Nothing is going to change that fact." We stare at each other for a moment.
He's told me all of this before, but never like this. I've never seen him so . . . so vulnerable before. Right now is the moment that I realize that even when everything is over, and even if I die, that won't be the end. I'll always be expected to be the person that loved Peeta Mellark in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. I'll always be the "girl on fire," the girl who was in the Hunger Games the year that the Capitol was tricked. If I don't keep up my image, if I make even one microscopic false move, President Snow will make sure that my family will pay.
President Snow thinks he controls the entire country, like a glorified dictator. Honestly, he does sort of control the winners of the Hunger Games. But if everyone, all at once rebelled, he couldn't control it. Even with all the Peacekeepers in the world, they wouldn't be able to break people's hope.
However, we don't have hope. And I can't criticize anybody for that, because I don't have much hope, either.
In the Seam, there was never anything to hope or wish for. Well, there was food, but not one person tried to make things better. Instead, we were all jealous and spiteful. We were envious of those more fortunate, and disgusted with the Capitol residents. We lied and stole and cheated. The only days we all came together was the reaping, ironically, and the days of the mining accidents.
But then there's Prim. My dear Primrose Everdeen, the girl that I must fight for. The girl every person loves, and the girl I offered up my life for. My sister. One of the very few people I have left, and the one I have to protect the most.
So I stand up from the wet floor, dripping and cold, but determined.
"Do it again," I growl.
"What was that?"
"Do it again!" I shout, all patience lost.
Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't comment further. I get down on my knees again, and breathe in from the bottom of my stomach, filling it up with air as though it's a glass. Then, I plunge my face into the basin and count.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. . . .
I try to come up, and feel the hand. Immediately, I kick out and feel the hand retract instantaneously. I open my eyes, already standing up, and see Haymitch clutching his stomach.
"Well done, sweetheart," he says, and means it, but there's a trace of sarcasm hidden somewhere in his voice.
Effie chooses this time to walk into the bathroom, unfortunately.
"Katniss! What have you done? The floor is a mess! Oh, my, we'll have to get someone to clean this up! And we have to clean you up, too! Honestly, do I always have to babysit you? And Haymitch, get up off the floor! Up, up, up!" Effie shrills, her wig leaning to the left.
Haymitch and I exchange a glance when Effie turns to get an Avox. It's a look that says, "She only ever cares about the messes, doesn't she?"
After all, Haymitch was on the floor clutching his stomach, and the only thing Effie was worried about was the floor.
"It's only water," I hear myself mutter scornfully. Apparently, it's loud enough for Effie to turn on me.
"Excuse me," Effie begins, eyelashes batting involuntarily. "Did you just sass me?"
"Yes, I did Effie. I'm training, and I would appreciate it if I could do so, so I don't die tomorrow, or whatever."
Effie literally staggers backwards a bit. "Well, then. Manners, Katniss, remember your manners. . . ." She straightens her wig as she leaves the room, leaving behind a tense air.
I can hear Haymitch chuckling. I give him a look similar to his amused one. He gives me a thumbs-up.
"What's next?" I ask.
"Let's do this again. Try to splash around as much water as possible for the lady, out there," Haymitch says coolly, smirking.