PURE ➳ everlark

Chapter 3 - Televisions

Chapter 3 - Televisions

I'm on my way to the dining hall with Prim, my mother, and Gale, when his communicuff beeps.

"They want us in Command," he informs me, earning a nod from me. As Gale begins to march towards the nearest elevator, I try to gather myself, seeing as this is a pretty bad time for an endless Mockingjay discussion. My mood is already, obviously, pretty sour, and I can't even begin to imagine having to discuss my position as the Mockingjay only mere hours after I found out that I was pregnant. When we're in the elevator, he turns to me. "What's wrong?" In answer, I just snort and shrug. I turn away from him, not wanting to look at him, feeling weirdly guilty whenever I do. But, Gale being Gale, isn't having me ignoring him. He wraps his hand around my arm, and spins me around.
"Katniss, I'm serious. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I growl, trying to pry my arm from his grip, but he won't budge. He looks at me, his grey stare so intense that I think I see lightning in them.

"It's nothing that concerns you. Let me go!" He lets go of my arm, but then says, "I'm not letting this go until you've told me what it is." The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, letting Gale and I walk out.

Gale stalks over to stand beside Plutarch, while I stay put by the door, silently hoping that they won't even realize that I'm here. They're all huddled around the television that almost constantly shows Capitol broadcasts. They're all so consumed by whatever's on the screen, that I entertain the idea of just leave, but then Plutarch - without even looking in my direction - waves at me to come join them. I honestly can't think of anything that the Capitol would show, that would interest me. It's always the same: pictures from the war. Propaganda. Reruns of the bombing on 12. Warnings from President Snow.

So it's almost comical to see Caesar Flickerman, all dolled up, with a hard and serious expression on his face. Not something I even thought he'd ever be remotely capable of pulling off.

The cameras slowly start zooming out, and you can tell there's another person beside him.

It's Peeta.

A sound comes past my lips. It sounds like I'm gasping for air, like I've been under water for too long, and finally found my way to the surface.

I push people, elbowing my way through the crowd, until I am standing right in front of the screen, my hands placed on his face.

Even though he isn't here, even though all he is, is just colors and pixels, and I can't actually feel him, but I don't even try to stop myself when I run my hands all across his face.

I'm whispering and mumbling incoherent noises and words as I search his face for any sign of torture or horror. But his eyes are as clear as day, his skin as smooth as porcelain, and his body as healthy, if not more than usual, as ever. The Capitol has all either covered up or healed all his bruises, wounds and cuts from the arena, polished him down, and left is a boy, healthy and clean.

Even though his facial expression lacks any kind of tortured look, his face is still contorted in a hard look, as if his face was cut from marble.

But no matter how good and healthy he seems to look, no matter how long I stare at him, I just cannot connect this boy, and the bloody, beaten boy that haunts my nightmares.

Caesar looks at Peeta, as if he's trying to read him, like he's trying to prepare himself for... something. What it is, I don't know.

"So... Peeta.. Welcome back."

Peeta sends Caesar a small smile, but it seems forced, almost angry. At first, I can't help but think, what do you have to be angry for? Just look at yourself, but then I think about how I would feel being most likely forced to do an interview in the Capitol, after being abducted by them.
"And you thought you'd seen the last of me," Peeta jokes, lightheartedly, even though his voice lacks its usual playful tone.