Peeta's POV
No doubt they saw the announcement. No doubt they did. My father must have gripped the edge of the table, hard, the way he always does when something unnerves him. My mother, probably emotionless as ever; the way she's been ever since I returned from the Victory Tour. My brothers, maybe shocked, but none ready to offer me any solace by only caring to visit. I've just officially been condemned to a few more weeks of torture. No. No!! I press my palms to my face; my body shivers uncontrollably. A single tear trickles down my nose and falls into the fabric of the pants I wear. Once upon a time, wearing corduroy was a luxury we could have never afforded. Now though, this life I live is a ''luxury'' which I wish had never come to me.
Wasn't I happy in my own silly way before? Doing things I liked and never denying myself the few simple pleasures that came my way?'Everything. Has. Changed' I groan, juddering with each breath I take. I should be happy that I can breathe; can speak- not unlike an Avox; have not been whipped to an inch close to death; and can still see beauty, like sunsets, and warm-hued flowers, and Katniss.
Katniss.
Lost in my self-pity, I realize a more pressing truth. I cannot, and will not leave her alone.
I heave myself to the bathroom, and repeatedly rinse my face with the cold water that rushes through the faucet; feeling like I should throw up, but unable to even let out a strangled cry. They've mangled the boy inside of me- crushed him to death before I could save him. What I see in the mirror horrifies me. A gaunt, pale face; which was a gauche, full one before. Eyes that talk of nothing but pain and sorrow. Crease-lines in my forehead, that show that I can't ever erase my fears. And most of all, a mind that only does what it thinks is right- unable to see truth from untruth.
'Who am I? What have they made me into? What are they doing to me?' I whisper, pressing my palms against the cold mirror. I want to scream and yell, I want to torch this house, want to destroy this debauchery, this life of nothingness.
No one asked me if I was willing to die! 'No one FUCKING asked!!' I yell, pounding my fists into the mirror, grimly satsified when a few cracks arise.
I try to calm myself later, and settle down into a chair to think. When my stomach growls, I make myself some hot chocolate- it is the only thing my wavering mind can make now. It is only when sipping it, and relishing the calm it brings, I realize this drink is to me what Haymitch's drink is to him. I slam the mug angrily in the kitchenette, and step out of the house. We cannot have a drunken mentor.
'Haymitch!' I knock on his door with a sense of conviction, knowing he will, albeit unwillingly, agree to whatever I say.
I hear staggering footsteps, and he almost giddily falls into my arms as he swings the door open. 'Peeta! Hey boy- hic- seems like the Capitol wants you to die a painful- hic- death, eh?'
I shove him into the bright living room and shut the door loudly.
'Jeez Haymitch! Look at you, blabbering rubbish on a night like this!' I say, pushing him into the sofa and wearily falling into it myself.
'I know- hic- I know what you are going to ask, Peeta; and I won't listen to you. I won't!' he shakes his head as if to clear it, and it's almost pathetic. It strengthens my resolve further.
'You chose her before.'
'No, of course not!'
'Don't deny it, Haymitch. I know you better than you know your own self. You chose her the last time. Well, now you owe me big time.'
Haymitch clutches his bottle of liquor and challenges me to speak.
'And that is why, I ask you to let me go this time too. Katniss cannot go with a..' -here I stutter, for how am I supposed to call him a drunken old fool without him retaliating? 'Proper protection, and proper guidance, that's what we need, Haymitch. And that, is your effing duty this time. Give me a chance to defend her.Bring her back alive.'
