The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 26

In the dark mustiness beneath the stage, I wait my turn to face the audience. I can feel Katniss' presence and I close my eyes, calming myself. Soon. The wild cheers for Haymitch finally start to subside and the metal plate beneath my feet begins to rise. I have a bad moment when I flash back to rising on an identical plate into the arena, but the thunderous roar of the crowd and hot, white lights distract me enough that I'm able to hide the shiver. My eyes are adjusting to the glare when across from me I see the familiar dark hair and clear gray eyes emerging from below as well. I feel like I'm taking the first gasping breath after being underwater for far too long. The physical need to hold her almost makes my knees buckle. The plate bumps to a halt and the vision of her, at last, in the flesh, right in front of me, sends a zinging electricity from deep in my belly out to the tips of my fingers and toes. It bursts out in a smile so wide I worry it will split me in two. Irresistibly, I'm pulled toward her, my compass to her true north. She crosses the stage in three quick bounds and then, finally, she's in my arms.

Burying my face in her neck, I bunch my fists in her dress, pulling her to me as closely as I can. Her arms are around my neck, and for a minute we just cling to each other. The sound of the crowd fades and I'm only aware of her scent, her breath against my ear, her hands gripping in my hair, her trembling body pulling tight against mine. Only of her. I lift my head and we lock eyes. She gazes back at me with such a depth of relief and joy that I start to shiver. My hands slide up her shoulders and I run my fingers lightly along her jaw, her cheekbones, drinking in every inch of her. I can't stand it any longer, and with a groan low in my throat I pull her into my kiss. The aching sweetness of her lips, how she presses against me and the hungry way I claim her mouth as my own, the entire world is only us. She is all I will ever need. There's a tap on my shoulder, but I push it away without a thought and Katniss holds me even tighter. Finally, Haymitch literally breaks us apart and shoves us toward the victors' seat, but even then I don't let go of Katniss' hand. I don't think I'll ever let her go again.

Caesar sits opposite us and Katniss curls up next to me, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her. She wears a light dress of soft yellow, matching my shirt under the black jacket, but my first instinct is to worry she isn't warm enough. Old habits. Caesar makes a few jokes about us having no secrets and we both smile and respond dutifully. Holding Katniss close, I concentrate on her. The way her lashes curl onto her cheeks when she sweeps her eyes down shyly. How natural it feels, like a piece had gone missing and was now returned, to have her next to me again. The small pause, as though choosing her words so carefully, before she answers any question put to her. I allow these small details to fill my mind and I try to separate myself from what is about to come. Breathing steadily and calmly, I prepare myself to endure it.

I wasn't prepared. The seal fills the screen, just as it filled the sky each night to announce the death of another child. I'm surprised by how hard this hits me, I look away and try to regain my composure while Katniss reaches shaking hands to grip my own. Together, we watch as the people we came to be connected to in such a violently intimate way repeat the beginning of the end of their lives. Watching Cato proudly take the stage in District 2, so confident, so blissfully unaware of what was coming. The gasp of dismay that runs through the crowd in District 11 when tiny Rue is called. Katniss thrusting Prim behind her and volunteering her life instead. The reapings, the training, the interviews, all compacted into the first half-hour of the three-hour showing.

Reaction shots of Katniss and I are shown in the corner of the enormous screen and I do my best to match her blank mask, but we both are shaking and our hands are gripped so tightly our knuckles gleam white in the spotlights. The focus shifts to the arena and I have to consciously choose to keep my eyes on the screen as death after death is cut throughout shots of Katniss and me making our way closer and closer to the final confrontation. I watch with mixed horror and pride as Katniss sets herself up to survive in the woods. She almost died of thirst before figuring out how to find water, deftly setting snares to catch food, protecting herself high in the branches of the trees. The firestorm is almost harder to watch than it was to live through. Katniss looks so alone, battling her way through until she came to rest in the pond. I hadn't realized how horrible the burns had been and I press a kiss to the top of her head, aching as I watch her in such pain. The same is true after the tracker jackers, seeing her fumble with Glimmer's misshapen body for the bow in a fog of venom is terrible. And then Rue. Katniss told me the story of what happened, but seeing it play out is devastating. Katniss makes a small whimper sound, too low for anyone else to have heard, and buries her face in my shoulder. I squeeze her close and a hot tear slides down my cheek. Transfixed, I hold her tight on the couch next to me while I watch her sing Rue to her rest, her voice cracking and skipping, her heart visibly breaking.