The Hunger Games - Primrose Everdeen

Chapter eight

At first the hot chocolate burns my tongue and stings my throat. A Capitol server - Whom clearly is not an Avox - ask's if I would like an ice-cube for my piping hot drink. In response, I nod. After the ice-cube melts, I sip away at the delicious refreshment wrapped in my small hands. Even if it is just for a small while, I let myself enjoy everything. My mind thinks happy thoughts. Not my depressed family or weeping friends. Instead, I think about the hot chocolate. What make it absoulutely burst with flavor? Is it just chocalte and milk with minature marshmellows added in or is there more to it? There's even a taste of cinnamon, where does that come from? Who invented it? Why would someone randomly think adding milk, chocolate and heat it up then add in marshmellows? Was this person rich or poor? How long has the beverage even been around for? 

Somehow, my careless thoughts lead to the Dark Days. The rebellion of which bought forth the brutal and grizzly Hunger Games.

Right as I finish my drink, a tear slides down my cheek and lands in the cup. They don't hold back, just fall right from my blue eyes. I push my chairout and dart for my private quarters. On my way there, Peeta emerges from nowhere and I slam right into him. He analizes me for a secound or two then wraps his strong arms around me. At first, I'm startled and frightened by his touch, but it's so gentle and welcoming that I allow it. His voice is soft and comforting as he strokes my hair. "Prim, it's okay. Everything will be fine. I promise. Even though in one day we will be in a fight to the death together, his words are sweet and sincere, so much that they make sense. I don't fight out of his arms, or bicker about my death. I just allow the words to swoop me up and take me to a better place. In fact, he pulls away first.

"Thank you, Peeta." I whisper.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Most definately, there is fight in you." His words are so convincing. I want to beleive him. I need to beleive him. And a part of me does.

I stare at him, try to figure him out. "Why are you doing this? Encouraging me to win? To fight?"

Tears spring in his eyes. "Not everything has a reason." It's obvious that this is not the real answer, but I don't object in fear of seeing him break.

"Okay." I say instead. Now there is no point in going back to my room. Nothing's there that I need and supper will be served in just minutes. So, I turn on my heels and march back to the dinning hall. Everyone -Haymitch, Effie, Portia (Peeta's stylist), Cinna, and the prep teams - has already gathered around the table. That was speedy, I think.

Dinner is served and conversation at the table spreads like wildfire and soon I am conversing just like everyone else. Soon enough a laugh even slips from my lips. Cinna and Peeta are my favorites by far, although the rest of them are inching uo there too. Once I realize that Peeta's tied for first, I gradually slip from the conversation and lose my appetite. Unless something miraculous happens and I get Peeta to joing Rue and I than these antics must end. How would it look if I see Peeta, with his bright, dazzling eyes and loose blond curls, up in the night sky with the other fallen tributes and burst into tears? Even if I do manage some sponsors, none of them will spend another penny on me. Anyways, Rue and I are already a perfect survival team, we don't need Peeta to just add another mouth to feed, more lips to quench from thirst, yet another tear filled goodbye. We'll make out fine without him.

Haymitch, who is actually sober for once and isn't nursing a nasty hangover, glances towards me. "Prim?"

"May I be excused?" I ask. Effie is about to answer so I just leave anyways. Not that it actually matters. I settle for the living area instead of my fancy room because I'd like to not miss the training scores which will be aired tonight. Tear's stainone of the fancy pillow's that I've stuffed my face into. 

Effie sighs, while Haymitch just groans. Cinna coaxes me into a sitiing position and even get's a small chuckle out of me. While the scores are being announced, I take notice of two things. One; all the Carreers get at least an eight. And two; Peeta keeps drifting his eyes back to me as if to make sure I'm alright.

Rue scores a 7. The boy from her district, a ten. We fall deathly silent as Peeta's is announced. His score of an eight is followed by congratulations to Peeta.

The room spins as it's time for my score. Six. That's it. A six?! I can almost throw knives with fatal accuracy. I can blend into the terrain. Tie outstanding knots in just a matter of secounds. Yet I get a six?! For some messed up reason, everyone is telling me, "Good job", and, "Well done, Prim!". All of a sudden I find myself screaming with furry. "No! They didn't even pay attention to me!" Before I can say anything else, maybe even curse, I storm from the room and find myself flung across my bed balling my eyes out. No one bothers me. Thankfully, I'm left alone throughout the night. At some point, after at least an hour of tears, I drifted into a slumber, because Effie is at my door waking me up.

Awake and refreshed, I take a hot shower to wash away all of the recent events that have taken place, all of the feelings I held. There's a new light shinning in me. Maybe Peeta was right... Maybe I can win.

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