Chapter 01

 I leave the box still wrapped in the fluffy robe. I feel my body shiver with the cold air after the world of hot jets in the shower, which makes me turn my heels and dive back into the warm water. My mom is knocking on the door without stopping. Certainly, armed to the teeth with cameras and camcorders to record a historic night, for the life of a high school party that right now, honestly, I have the slightest desire to go.

I tell her to leave several times, and finally, if she gets tired of beating, I must have made her give up on the idea of ​​taking my photo in the bedroom, and to film me and a long, weird and sparkling dress that Cinna had made to order for me. me, sliding slowly down the stairs. I can hear my mother's scream of madness and thin moans of excitement from Portia, Vênia, Octavia and Flavius, of the pride of their little girl. Wonderful. And Boba. And sparkling.

I remove the robe and slide the thick red dress carefully over my body. I comb my hair carefully, and intertwine it and a single inlaid braid, which falls over my back and coils it in a sky-blue ribbon over its middle, following the outline of the braid, until the rest of the ribbon floats over the end her. I put the long needles on my feet, although I still don't have time to practice walking on them.

“Damn it, Effie! How can you handle this torture of balancing yourself all the time ?! What a crap… OUCH! OUCH!… ” I think to myself.

My face is well decorated too. Reddened cheeks with hints of skin tone and my eyes covered with a shadow of strong dark layers, and give a kind of bluish glow in the middle and at the ends, and completed by a thick layer of liquid eyeliner at the beginning of the shadow, and lashes hairpieces that make the effect of reddish-blue sparks when I blink, proudly created by Octavia - before throwing her into the room like everyone else. I dip my lips in thick blood-red lipstick. I stare at the creature and stand carefully in front of me in the desk mirror.

— That's not me... — I say to the mirror, sighing.

My hair tousled in the braid always dirty with mud or yeast from the bakery, and a face free of any dust or transformation effect, with a simple white t-shirt and folded and wrinkled jeans, which makes me feel at ease, were brutally mutilated and replaced by a lady with shiny eyelashes and clean, curly hair. Me here. Prey. Struggling to breathe under her dress. I think about taking it off and giving up the idea of ​​playing the idiot who doesn't know how to dance and hold a right boy's hand, when this time, it's Cinna who knocks on the door speaking firmly:

— Are you ready, dear? — It said behind the door.
Cinna's firmness in her beautiful, husky and quiet tone of voice scares me a little, but it puts me under control, reminding me that I'm doing this, for a start, for personal reasons. For something more important than myself.
I slide my fingers into the lock, and put the heels back on while I steady myself by leaning on the door. I breathe a dull breath. I slowly open the door, as I start walking carefully down the suede corridor very slowly, mentally hoping that there aren't so many people in the living room, with their piercing eyes, looking me up and down. And photos. And photos. And more photos.

And kisses and hugs. And compliments, like “You look so beautiful!”, Or “all the guys at this party are going to be crazy about you! Look at you! ”, But honestly, I don't give a damn. But I have to put up with it, for everyone's sake. Until my family is finished, I will have to and be content with the fact that the party will be over, which wouldn't be so bad.

— Here she comes! Here she comes! Shoot, honey! — I hear my mother yelling at my little sister, with the camera ready to strafe me with love arrows.

I start down the stairs that lead to the room where everyone is, but I take a little surprise. There is almost no one waiting for me. Not as many as I expected, probably. Only my mother, my younger sister Prim, clinging to the mangy of her favorite cat, out of the thousands she has, Buttercup. Then my gaze fixed directly on the boy in the well-polished, blond, overwhelmingly attractive-looking suit, hunched over on the couch with his hands clasped looking down. He's my partner. Peeta.

I know he wants to get this over with as soon as I do. And just one night. When it's over, we won't even have to exchange a word again, or even look at each other's faces. He will be free of me, and I will be relieved.

— Katniss! Katniss! Look at you! What a beautiful girl you are! Look at that dress! That's a dress! Much better than those horrible rags you use every day, by the way… 

Mention Effie, my mother's friend who just drank a few glasses of wine by the breath against my dust-covered face, suddenly appearing there and talking loudly, while she is clinging to my shoulders, turning me around to see me spin like a little princess.

— Effie... — I sniff, and raise my eyebrows —... where did you come from, in ...? — I bend over looking behind her, trying to find the “secret passage” she used to teleport from one minute to the next in front of me.

— Ah, I just arrived. I was there... uh... there ...— She makes an expression that seems to have difficulty remembering where it had appeared. — Er… uh… H… H – Haymitch! W-what is the name of that room where we really prepare the food? — She says adjusting the wig this time lilac.

We heard the refrigerator knock. An adult man, with a gray beard, blond hair, straight and a little long, falls over his eyes with the suit - which should have been new - dirty, appears, holding a bottle of hot beer in his left hand and adjusting the falling pants.

— Kitchen, Effie. It's... the kitchen... — He walks slowly towards me, making me step back and curl my body against the wall to escape his greasy breath, while he raises his fingers and rests on my chin, lifting it at the same time. — Not bad, sweetie... not bad at all... — He glances at mine, then looks down to examine my body — Oh... if only I were younger...

— H-Haymitch! Shame on that face! Katniss's family is seeing and hearing from you very well! — Effie pronounces as if she were reading my thoughts. — Have an education with your student, please!

Haymitch takes a fierce look at Effie, and matches her in the same way, and the two remain like that for a few eternal seconds. He then steps away from me, and sprawls on the couch, almost hitting Peeta's head with the beer bottle.

— Ha ha ha!… regards Ms. Everdeen. Relax too, dear Effie. I did it to tease you a little bit. — He turns from the sofa, and turns to me and loud and clear: - It is not me who is like the little princess here, but this prince here ... — He raises Peeta's arm in a salesman pose, but Peeta doesn't even seem to care. — This one! He is the guy. He defeated the muscular dark-haired Gale, and out of all the gang of useless perverted boys in that city just to go out with her... Incredible! — Haymitch ends by embracing Peeta who does not show any reaction.

I'm dumb. My stylists and my mother look at each other, and Prim looks at me maliciously, and Buttercup seems to do the same.

Defeated? Did you defeat Gale, my ex-boyfriend, who betrayed me and left me to suffer alone? Other guys, how so? I think to myself.

Gale is dead to me.

What did he do to me is unforgivable ... why bring it up now? I am completely lost in shaky thoughts when I find that everyone is laughing, as it is only now that everyone has realized that Haymitch's intention was to make a joke. I remain serious, and I look angrily at Haymitch who stares at me, and I have nothing to answer him until my thoughts are released if my permission to the mouth:

— There is? As well? I don't love Peeta or anything ... no! Love? no… I-I mean I don't like him that... love... no… where did you get that idea, Haymitch?… — I say stuttering, already shooting myself mentally.

A blush - forced - very red takes over me, filling my face completely. I dodge to the side and realize that Peeta and I look across. Those beautiful blue eyes, make me startle in the dress. Either way, this is true.

I start to shake seriously. Peeta starts to laugh and lets out a delightfully beautiful laugh as he gets up and walks slowly towards me. This time he is the one who holds me in the face, imitating Haymitch with his fingers. He plays with my braid on his back and then reaches out his right hand on his jacket and pulls out a plastic box with a clean, perfectly scented rose. Peeta fits the rose on my chest and attaches it to my Mockingjay brooch, fitted with the pale rose, and takes his same hand to mine, weaving it in a warm embrace of his fingers.

We looked. He now seems to freeze in fear suddenly.

Just one night, Peeta. Just one night... it will end quickly... Only tonight we will be together... then you can go on with your life in peace...

I can't control myself anymore. He looks at me again and smiles weakly again. I stand still, controlling myself not to falter once again with everyone when he breaks the silence of the audience, who all the time, watched them in silence from the couch.

— Know. Haymitch is right. You do not love me. Real or not Real? — He smiles maliciously, making me blush silly. I return to the seriousness of the fury that comes from the way he provokes me, and I reply almost sharply:

— Real. Totally Real, Bread Boy... — I turn to the side, not daring to let go of his hands that keep me warm, and take a deep breath.

— Let's go then? —  Ask Haymitch.

— Yes… let's go… — Peeta replies. My mom remembers the camera in your hands, and run to take one last photo.

Peeta slides his right hand around my waist, pulling me closer to his body, and holds my hand to the side, while I grab his back from behind so I don't fall off the top, balancing myself. We smile as happily and lyingly romantic as we can. The flash is released in a muffled noise, and the quick light leaves me with no vision. I remain in the smile when at last Peeta whispers in my ear:

— Are you ready, Katniss?

Several things cross my mind. I can't think of anything else about reality; things are at stake. I just nod my head in confirmation, and he says something like, “Good… Haymitch is going to drive the limo, right?”, Which completely dislikes my mood. Haymitch driving a car with us inside? It is the same as leaving a baby holding a match surrounded by clothes and clothes and gasoline around it. We would be giving our trust and lives to a drunk driver who screams at himself.

Uh… screw it. I don't care about Haymitch and his wonderful drunk driving skills. As long as Peeta is holding my hands, I know that I will not fall from a cold performance. Nor of reality. This is something they will never take away from me. Peeta. He is mine. But I'm too stupid to confess that, of course, because in one way or another, he would never choose a sloppy, angry, cold Katniss.

Just tonight. I swear that only tonight we will be together, I will never ask him for anything again, I will disappear from everything if necessary. I just want you to help me escape the simulator, to escape the games. I need to save Prim, but I want to live. Just fall in love with me one more night, and I'll set you free. Peeta and me. This is impossible to achieve, only in my deepest dreams. Or rather, nightmares of the Arena. Love is confronting the arena. But there are much worse games than this one.

(…)

Four minutes later.

Haymitch spins around and does a somersault until he reaches the limo door.

He claps his palms in his suit pockets, trying to find something - car keys, perhaps - but in a vain attempt. He kicks the car door and starts screaming in rage, bumping the beer bottle on the hood with a horrible scratching noise, which is replaced by the sound of beer pouring over the upholstery of the limo and dripping on the floor. This can only conclude a single thing. Haymitch is drunk to the bone. Peeta and I watched him break into his own car when he finally decided to let go of my hands and send them in his jacket pockets. My reflexes move without my permission, trying to recover my sources of soft heaters in vain when Peeta breaks the silence between us:

— Will the police see you drive and arrest us? — He asks. My options for answers are obvious, but I don't want to plant fear in you tonight.

Today everything needs to be perfect between me and Peeta for me to win. Even if you have to put a drunk Haymitch on the wheel...

— That really sucks... — Continues Peeta. — He swore by his beer, that he would try to sober up enough to take us to the prom... but apparently, I can't even trust that bottle over there.

I get a little serious for a few moments, and then I start to laugh a little when I notice his funny joke. I pull his eternally warm hand out of his pocket, and entwine it in mine, pulling his body closer to mine as well, in an attempt to be a message that we are well and united.

— Yeah... you're right... but be careful... — I laugh again. — You are over eighteen years old, you can already be in cane, blondie. - I'm so close to his face, I blow his hair down on his blue eyes, and I shy away again remembering that I can't be so comfortable with Peeta like that.

— Really? And you Everdeen? You can also become a juvenile delinquent, smart… — He says, kissing my head on the top.

We laugh briefly in distraction when Haymitch screams our names to bring us into the real world, honking loudly and mercilessly to wake us up.

— Come on! Move, you brats! I don't have all night, no!

We start laughing out loud at Haymitch, wet, stinky, and with legs spread out in front of us, when it is Effie who opens the door behind us, bumping in front of us another bottle of beer, making us automatically let go of each other's hands.

— Haymitch! Shut up this car! Mrs. Everdeen's neighbors will be annoyed! Have holy patience! — She screams huffing as she walks back to the room slowly. Peeta and I look at each other, mentally confirming what is happening now.

— I never saw you drunk like that... — I say looking at the locked door. — I mean... she always says to avoid drinking alcohol, and she always confirms that when she comes to parties here at home ... but something must have changed her mind.

— Katniss... you urgently need to cut the alcohol in this house. — He says laughing. I can't help but smile and agree with him with my head - After all, living with Haymitch is the same as being contaminated with him.

Damn it! Do not laugh! Do not laugh. Proceed, and conquer it ...

— I think you're right. But now we… — I pull his arm towards the stairs, dropping him right away. Peeta picks up the message and goes down in the same stream as me.

— You're right. We need to go, or we will be late.

His hands touch my red cheeks, and another blush takes over my face, stroking me. I feel a tremour when I feel his other hand go around my waist, and before I know it, we are so close together, so close, that a simple movement of lips to speak, would be kissing him. I can't resist again. He's too close, and his hand pulls me towards him. Our eyes are closed, and I feel the start of his lips touching me, when Haymitch cuts us off completely, honking more loudly this time so that we get into the car immediately.

— Hurry up! Get in this crap right away, or I'll throw up on you two! — He screams again, hitting his fist on the hood again.

I try to loosen my arms when Haymitch's phrase runs through my head like an arrow: I'm going to throw up on you. Disgusted. It is the reaction I feel right now. Complete disgust. I turn away from Peeta's face, which shows disappointment at the quick end of the kiss. I feel regret, and I think I'm going to punch Haymitch as soon as we get to the party. That's what we can get there still alive.

We still have their faces glued together. Peeta lets out a smile as he rubs his nose on my neck to the ear and bites his lip with action. He looks down at me, until he embraces me again, ignoring Haymitch's call.

— It is so good to see a life ahead and know that you want to be by my side. — Peeta laughs lightly, but my heart hardens immediately with his unexpected confession.

Just don't… drop you too, Katniss. It is an act.

— IT IS. I think so too. — I whisper almost harshly, trying not to cut the tension that builds up in my chest. I gasp slightly, when I watch Peeta's expression change, as he feels his face muscles relax in my neck, and slightly, he pulls away.

What did I do? Should it sound more natural to agree with him? Why do I need to elude you like this? What I felt for Peeta is not the fire that burns inside me anymore ... But... I can't make mistakes. And this was a kick on the post. Without saying anything else, I hurriedly walk to the limousine, and Peeta follows behind me when my mother opens the front door almost desperate to wish us luck from afar. Peeta waves to my mother and smiles covertly, although it looks very real. Then he goes in the back first, and I follow him, casting a deadly, angry look at Haymitch as much as I can, and he responds to me mentally: “Is it the most you can do? I've seen the scariest look on Effie. ” And I get in the car.

He closes the door with a loud noise and goes to the front of the car, also entering and starting the hitch. Haymitch squirms backward, trying to back up and maneuver the limo. He succeeds almost frighteningly and goes on with the car. We see my mother through the back window waving Effie, Portia, Octavia, Flavius ​​, and Prim to us, and I wave my hand back at them, smiling gently, when in fact, I am in pure terror that will happen to us at this party.

When we turn the corner, my mind returns to itself, making me realize something in almost half a second. There is a "wall" separating Haymitch and us right at the back of the limo. Me and Peeta. Alone in a huge dark limo.

— Enjoy. — I hear Snow tell me through the microphone on the prey in my ear.

(…)

Peeta pushes the left button on the car door, closing the window on my side completely. The silence seems deadly...

I remain serious and controlled enough not to say anything. The only noises that come out of me are breathing and heartbeat, which may not seem like much, but they speak for themselves, which I want to say. I notice my aching joints from the prolonged stretch of an icy position, and then I allow my body to rest on the soft padding of the limousine's leather seat. The sensation that I feel at this moment, is of relief and pleasure, I let out a huffing breath, and I notice the thick cold air that comes out of my mouth, accompanied by the weak breath that appears to me. I look to the left, not ignoring his presence. If I had been able to do that, I wouldn't have chosen him for the Game. I couldn't help it ... my mind went blank, and I ended up saying almost literally everything without thinking. The wish that I want to have been drunk with Haymitch at that time, takes over my being, although my subconscious, warns me that it is not entirely true.

But now is not the time to go back like a fool. My choices have had dire consequences in the future, with Peeta in it all. I didn't want to involve you in this ... but I don't think anyone else would go with me to this damn dance. Not being Gale. But he is dead in my eyes. Just the possibility of watching Gale in the hands of another and involved in the dancing body of another woman at the ball, makes me want to shoot everything and everyone in that place. But I wouldn't be crazy enough. Or brave. All that crosses my mind now, is that I have to make Peeta burn with passion for me, once again. But this will not be a simple task alone. Confidence. It is what he probably expects of me again at the opportunity of this ball. But I still don't understand the content of that word yet. Not the way I want to appear.

I watch Peeta still press the button on the car door that closes the darkened windows. He holds it tightly as if it were an absurd attempt to get my attention.

He's staring blankly, staring at nothing. I move my body into its "territory" of the limo, and gently remove its finger from the button, feeling its left hand on my right. He, at last, dares and look again, and I remain silent, raising my eyebrows confusedly at him, in an attempt to try to clarify everything that is happening here. He looks immobile. Silent, and coldly serious, looking beyond. His silence disturbs me psychologically, making me rest my head on his left shoulder, adjusting my arms, fitting on the other side of his. I imitate Peeta's way of observing from a distance, when it crosses my mind, what he could have discovered from my dungeon.

— I gave you an indirect kiss. — He starts unwillingly.

— What?

— It was reflex. Sorry about that. - He finishes without much certainty and gets serious and rigid again.

Is he referring to what happened on the porch? He doesn't move. It looks like it was telesquestered.

Ha ha ha…

"Telesequestre ...".

The word travels in front of me, making my pupils dilate. What does that mean? What does this word mean?

Peeta and I have been having strange dreams. He and I exchanged conversations during classes, intimate enough to talk about our way of acting, without hiding it from anyone. For example, I have been having nightmares. According to Peeta, he too, but not as many as mines. Worse.

These are my following nightmares: Forests of wild breeze, electric fences without ligation, bread, starving people and malnourished children digging in the earth for something to satisfy their hunger, deadly weapons, clocks covered with something mossy and red, which looks like blood, trident, bloody bow and arrows, music, holos, pearls, people dressed like clowns covered in glittery flashes, explosions, soup from heaven, for falls, tattoos on my arm, dresses swallowed by fire, deaths, beasts running behind me, and Peeta and me. Me, holding two tiny baby hands. One from a girl, the other from a boy. And a Fourth World War.

And End. I wake up screaming at my warm computer on top of my lap plummeting to the floor. I don't know what these nightmares mean. I think I've been watching too many movies or cartoons, but they came out of nowhere, during the time of the political party when I met Haymitch when I really woke up. And they are getting stronger, ever since I met Peeta at school. As if it were all going to happen. And that he would suffer. But let it all be carried away by the tide of the beach of my dream, and I notice a golden brooch, with a bird, which appears to be a smaller species of heron and nightingale, holding the bloody arrow on the chest of the white-haired woman, and clothes of politics of my dream.

And then, I wake up again.

I start to moan from the headache. I place both hands on my forehead, which starts to heat up, rubbing my eyes that are sore from the irritation of makeup, completely blurring Octavia's desperate work. My mind fades again, and I am totally desperate to be held. For a short moment, my head stops hurting, and immediately, I look for a victim willing to hug me and get rid of idiotic deadly dreams. Soon I remember Peeta beside me. I do not know what to do. My goal here is to be cool with him, but I'm so desperate to cry for the little braided girl who is killed in my dream - that reminds me a lot of Prim, as strange as it is and crazy. But I'm crazy enough to get the formality out of my head and I realize that from now on, I'm going to improvise.

I get up in the limo, still moving, and remember Haymitch. He seems to be driving the car well, making me sigh with relief at not passing a police car right now. I walk again on the suede rug that completely covers the floor of the car, and I stand right in front of Peeta, who remains silent and without looking at me.

I start to get furious at Peeta's lack of reaction for no reason, and I start - pushing hard - crying like a pathetic right in front of him. The tears mixed with the thick shadow of the black liquid eyeliner, roll down my pink cheeks, making a path stained with black, taking away its pink beauty.

I make a face at him, and he doesn't even realize that I'm crying for no apparent reason, which makes me shout a single word that came from the memories of nightmares:

— Real! Peeta, real! Damn, real! — I scream with all my strength at him, in an extraordinary sound, and the walls of the car shudder.

Silence.

Peeta looks at me. We exchanged desperate looks, and Peeta seems to be showing happiness. I go without reaction, trying to mentally explain to myself why I shouted this.

I'm about to sit back on the upholstery when Haymitch brakes the car hard on a speed bump, causing Peeta's body to fall on top of mine in the middle of the carpet. We lay, one on top of the other without reaction, just feeling pain, when Peeta brings her hands to my cheek, cleaning the black waterfall from my swollen eyes. He smiles, without me understanding anything, when he says in my ears:

— Thanks. Now I know that you like me. That is real. I was silent because I wanted to see your reaction. You… you hadn't confirmed the question at the farm… ”His eyes cloud. — But I see that it is much more real than I expected.

He holds my arm closer to his body, and I have no reaction to the middle of crying. I'm going to do that again, to speak without thinking. I need to hold on, no matter how much he makes me feel that way.

Forgive me Peeta. Forgive me for not being sincere in heart enough to deceive you with this, but she is in danger of life. Forgive me ... forgive me ...

I'm lying now on Peeta's belly, and I say as sincerely as I can get this:

— Peeta. I love you.

He has no reaction in the first few seconds. Then, I watch him smile at me, and hug me on the floor of the car even more lovingly. I am silent and afraid of what he will say to me, and finally, he says:

— I love you too. — He moves away from my face.

— Why do you keep moving away? — I reply without finishing, afraid of him. He then smiles strongly with a satisfied look and says:

— It's all right. — And kiss me.

His touch is soft and graceful, and something about his shyness makes me feel beautiful. Then we gasp in separation and find ourselves blinded by desire.

I am surprised, but soon the exchange of affections, which become preliminary. As I scratched Peeta's shoulders, they were now pulling my waist up. Not knowing what to do with it, I took my legs around his waist and pulled him even closer to me when he pulled my dress up hard.

— Katn ... — He says, but I do not avoid preventing him from saying anything.

— Life is too short to wait, Peeta... — I whisper back in response.

His hands were big and strong, they pulled my waist towards him and I tried to breathe every time he released my burning lips to migrate to the neck with light bites. I thought he would complain about it, but instead, he groaned and pulled my hair with a little exaggerated strength to kiss me desperately, but I was so intoxicated that he could skin me alive there that I wouldn't feel any pain, other than that fire that seemed to consume me.

We get up together and remove my shoes to lean against the upholstery when Haymitch brakes the car again.

This time it was violent. The brake makes me fall out of Peeta's arms. He tries to pull me, but his reflexes are not good enough. When I find myself, my head penetrates hard into the iron stuck to the wall of Haymitch's limousine, making me pass out and bleed from my ears and all over my skull.

Peeta desperately screams my name and shaking me, when it is Haymitch who opens the door at desperate speed, facing the scene of my body lying on the floor and bleeding out of control.

I'm dead.

(…)