Into The Wilderness: A Hunger Games Story

8: It's Complicated

Prim's P.O.V.

I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the day's events in my mind. I remember how gentle he seemed with me, so...so unlike himself. I reminded myself again that it was all fake.

I'm convincing myself that this all has to be a ploy – to keep me on end and unnerved until the Games. Then because of my vulnerability, he'll just pluck me off like that. I snap my fingers to demonstrate my own thought.

"Yes, he will," I've concluded. "Ugh, Prim, STOP being such a pushover. You know he'll kill you."

My own consciousness was boring me to tears. It was pushing me around in mindless circles that I could no longer tolerate if I persisted on asking these endless rhetorical questions to myself. Eventually I found myself pacing around in order to calm my rampant nerves.

I took a deep breath, running my hand through my hair. It wasn't fair! Why does he have to do this to me!? I huff angrily and flop face down onto my bed and let out the scream to end all screams.

Evidently I screamed too loud, so Effie, Peeta, and Haymitch all come running. They took one look at my broken expression and enveloped me in a hug. Well, not Haymitch. He just stood off to the side staring at me and took another swig of his liquor.

After I'd finished my crying jag, we went down to dinner.

This is where I drowned my sorrows and pondered once again how I would meet my bitter end.

- 

The next morning, I wake up to see shards of light dancing around my room. I lay in bed just staring at the last dazzling creation I'll probably ever see.

I shoot up at the thought of the Games. They're tomorrow. I heave a melancholy sigh, step out of bed, and pad to breakfast before going to the stylists.

I throw down a glass of water and some meat drizzled with gravy. I know, odd choice for breakfast, but it's what I'm in the mood for.

When I'm in the middle of my food, the rest of my team and Peeta comes rushing downstairs. When they're in the middle of chatting and eating, I slide upstairs to brush my teeth before heading back to Cinna.

-

Remember how I said earlier that the light would probably be the last dazzling thing I'll ever see? Well, I was lying.

I'm staring at myself in a full-length mirror, and I am a glorious sight. I'm standing in a red, orange, yellow, and black floor-length dress. There are countless gems – real or fake, I don't know – and when I twirl, everything sparkles and throw off bits of light that spin and dance around the room.

I am the most glorious thing I've ever seen. I can hardly recognize myself. I both love and despise that fact.

This time, when I hug Cinna with the tears brimming in my eyes, he says not a word, only brushing what he seems to know are thank-you tears out of my eyes delicately.

We stay in our embrace until I need to go to where all the tributes wait for the three-minute interview. He holds me at shoulder-length and touches up my mascara and says, "Be yourself. Everything else will fall into place."

I give a sullen nod and push open the heavy metal door to the waiting room.

I'm the second to last one there. After glancing around the room, it looks like we're still waiting on Peeta. I'm bouncing in my seat with the nerves and, as much as I hate to admit it, a little bit of excitement. Then, a Capitol assistant with a clipboard and headset calls the boy from one. Then the girl. And then Cato. I'm paying extra-close attention to his interview as a way to distract my erratic nerves.

He comes off as a monster. A ruthless killer who will watch his prey beg for mercy and still kill them anyway. He's pretty much kept that arrogant smirk on his face the whole time.

My heartbeat speeds up when Caesar asks about his love life. Why? I don't actually answer that myself. But his eyes flashed for a split second before he briefly said that there's nobody special.

My heart drops into my stomach and my face must show absolute despair. I can't let anyone else see this. So I take a quick breath, wipe my face clean of emotions, and patiently wait for them to call "Twelve, Girl." Peeta goes off towards the stage and when Caesar asks him about his love life (this seems to be the question of the night), he blushes and stammers out my sister's name.

I smile as I imagine how her face must look right now.

Finally, finally they call for me. I shakily stand up and start towards the stage nervously.

I can hardly hear the faint sounds of the crowd droning as I step out towards the chair opposite Caesar.

Most of the questions are fairly basic: what Capitol thing impressed me most, how I felt about Peeta and Katniss, that kind of thing.

Then he asked me about my love life, and the only response I could muster is, "It's complicated."

I feel the heat flood my cheeks and I look down avoiding Caesar's comforting eyes.

I glance up at the massive TV screen as the cameras decide to pan over the other tributes for their reactions to my statement.

That's when I see Cato get up and walk away.