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Haymitch lets out an incoherent groan and tries in vain to lift himself from the pool of sick he's fallen into. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. The smell is atrocious, not to mention with every movement the drunk smears more brown liquid onto his hands and clothes. The alcohol we can always detect on his breath smells twice as bad splashed all over the floor.

I glance towards Katniss to see she's already looking at me. She nods almost imperceptibly, and with a resigned sigh I stoop down with her. I grab ahold of one of his arms. With a heave and much grunting, we've got Haymitch on his feet.

"I tripped?" he stares blearily around, bemused. "Smells bad." He wipes a vomit-smeared hand across his nose and I suppress to urge to be sick myself.

I sigh inwardly as I realize what has to be done. "Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit."

And so we make our way slowly down the hallway to Haymitch's compartment. It takes all our combined strength to keep him upright, as he's tripping over his own feet every other step. Once there we dump him unceremoniously into the tub. I feel a prick of satisfaction as he groans in protest.

Katniss turns on the shower, sending a burst of cold water onto Haymitch's unconscious form. I glance sideways at her. She looks uncomfortable.

"It's okay. I'll take it from here." Her gray eyes meet mine again, questioning me. A shiver goes down my spine.

"All right," she says slowly, measuring her words. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

I shake my head violently. "No. I don't want them." The last thing I want right now is someone from the Capitol--with their ridiculous hair and makeup and body modifications--breathing down my neck. All they do is remind me of the Games.

She drops her eyes down to our mentor and does that little nod again, the one you need to watch closely for to catch. I find my eyes tracing the soft curve of her cheek and the slope of her neck and then that familiar feeling of warmth is filling my chest.

But then she turns and she's gone.

I watch the door shut sadly. All of a sudden an image drifts forward from the recesses of my mind. Small, young Katniss with a grin on her face, following her father through the streets of District 12, staring at him like he's the only creature in the world. She used to wear such pretty dresses back then. Simple, inexpensive, but pretty. She wore her hair down much more. And she smiled. She smiled a lot, then. Before she knew true heartbreak.

I shake the memory away and turn back to my charge. With a grimace I peel back his clothing. It's soaked through with cold water and traces of vomit. I rush through the task of cleaning him. I do only the bare minimum to at least make him decent. Because frankly, at this point in the game I owe nothing to this man.

After a few minutes he looks clean enough. All of Haymitch's clothing, except for his underwear, is lying in a sopping heap at my feet. I shut off the water and leave as quickly as possible, wondering how long it will take him to wake up and realize what's happened.

I walk blindly through the train, barely registering as I pass Katniss' room. Her door is shut tight, I can't tell if she's inside or not. But it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters right now is that I can feel myself spiraling. I'm letting the demons back in.

I shut myself in my room and fall back onto my bed, cradling my head in my hands. The sun is steadily sinking. Warped, dark shadows fill my room, flickering as we rush past trees and small hillsides. I don't bother turning on the light.

I've never been one to deal well with stress. I can act very well. I can put on a facade, a mask so to speak, and seem to keep everything together under pressure. I can smile. I can laugh. I can joke around and lighten the tension as if nothing is wrong. But on the inside it's a whole different story.

I can feel a scream building up inside of me. I refuse to let it out. In a silent fit of rage and anguish I lurch to my feet and send my fist flying into the wall. Over and over and over again until my knuckles and bright red, raw.

The wall looks good as new. I can't even put a dent in a wall, how am I supposed to kill a person? How am I supposed to survive against a Career?

I strip off my shirt and kick off my shoes before falling onto the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers over myself. Despite the late hour the air still feels hot and humid. It's moist and clogging. We must be getting close.

The image of my father and his bloodshot eyes blooms behind the walls of my closed eyelids, but before I can contemplate the mix of emotions this sparks, I'm asleep.

I'm sitting on the front stoop of the bakery. Judging by the softness of my hands and the knobby knees they're resting on, I must be young. Very young.

I look up and see little Katniss. She's wearing an old, faded dress. She wears a makeshift braid with little bits of hair sticking out haphazardly. It's definitely not the neat work of her mother. She must've tried to fashion it herself with a clumsy, weak hand. Her cheeks are hollow and her legs are skinny. She's tugging a small wagon along behind her, and I feel a knot twist in my stomach as I realize it's full of tesserae.

All of a sudden she turns, locking eyes with me. Her face is stony. She's right in front of the bakery now, only a few feet away.

A hand grips my shoulder. I can't move to see who it is. My eyes are still locked on Katniss. My mother's voice whispers softly in my ear.

"You have to kill her, Peeta. You have to kill her."

Katniss has let go of the wagon handle. She's stepping towards me. Her eyes look so sad. So broken. I realize with a start that the small girl before me is holding a knife. Her knuckles are white. Slowly my eyes find their way back up to her grays. A tear trickles silently down her cheek.

She's crying.

"You have to kill her, Peeta. You have to kill Katniss."

I open my eyes with a start, sucking in a deep breath and trying to calm my racing heart. I'm laying on my back. Sunlight streams across the ceiling.

It's already morning.

Just as I'm about to sit up and get my bearings, the door creaks open and Effie goggles in at me. I sit up in surprise and my face flushes red as I realize I'm still shirtless.

Effie's eyes widen and she immediately gets flustered. Her eyes sweep upwards to fix on the ceiling.

"Goodmorning! You left you door cracked open, I thought you were up and about already…" her uncomfortable chirp trails off and her eyes flicker down to fix on me before snapping back upwards. "It's going to be a big, big day! You really must get out of bed, breakfast is already being served in the dining car!"

With that said she skitters away, leaving the door hanging open.

I groan in embarrassment and rub my eyes. She surprised me so much that I forgot about the dream I'd had. I can already feel the fine details slipping away, the images growing fuzzy and swirling together.

Katniss had been crying, though. I remember that.

Trying to put it out of my mind, I lurch to my feet and step over to my wardrobe. I pull out the first outfit my fingers find, only pausing long enough to make sure it matches before pulling it on. The last thing I need to do is arrive at the Capitol looking tacky and disheveled. The Capitol people are so superficial and hold appearance in such high regard, I know even a small thing like that would probably cut my chance at getting some decent sponsors in half.

One quick trip to the bathroom later, I head to the dining car.

Effie is the only one inside. She has her back to me, making coffee by the looks of it. The scent of freshly cooked eggs, ham and potatoes permeate the air and I realize how hungry I am.

Effie turns at and beams at me, the awkwardness of earlier evidently forgotten.

"Ah, sit down, sit down! You'll love the meal!" She gestures towards a chair. "Do you know what hot chocolate is? It's quite delicious, I've noticed most of the tributes have never heard of it. Shocking, I say…"

She continues to ramble on as I make my way to my seat. I take a sip of the brown stuff and realize it's delicious. I'm just reaching for a roll when Haymitch slouches in, one hand rubbing his temple. He grunts a greeting and falls unceremoniously into his seat at the head of the table.

"Goodmorning, Haymitch." Effie's voice is suddenly stiff and forced.

He ignores her greeting. "Who left me in that bathtub last night?" He points his fork menacingly at me. "Was it you?"

I shrug and break the roll in half. I don't feel like talking to the drunk.

He ignores me and swings his fork over to point at Effie. "How about you, sweetheart?" His mouth twists into a cruel grin. It seems years of dealing with the woman has taught him just how to irk her. "I was practically naked when I woke up. Don't tell me you were trying to catch a peek with me in such a compromising state?" He laughs. "Eh, sweetheart?"

Effie stares at him for a moment, her face growing red and her eyes squinting in anger. Clearly, this kind of talk does not constitute "good manners." Haymitch chuckles again and she shoots him a disgusted look before exiting in a hurry. She's barely out the door when Katniss appears, looking startled.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch crows, still looking pleased over having infuriated Effie. Katniss looks at him warily and slides sideways into her chair, eyes falling to her platter of food. Her fingers trace the top of a mug of the hot chocolate Effie had been talking about. She brings it up to her nose to sniff.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say. "It's good."

She takes a sip and her eyes widen. My mouth curls up in a grin as she sucks it down within moments. Her attention hardly breaks as her gaze falls to the food and she digs in.

We eat and eat. I vaguely register that this will probably be the last meal before we reach the Capitol. I've finally slowed down and am now lazily eating some pieces of bread dipped in hot chocolate, when I realize Katniss is staring intently at Haymitch.

He's drinking, again. The red liquid reeks and he keeps pouring water in it to thin it and make it last longer. There's already a pink hue to his cheeks. His eyes are glassy. Who knows how much longer he'll last.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss' voice breaks the silence. Her tone is clipped, her words short.

He pauses, staring over the rim of his glass at her. "Here's some advice. Stay alive." He laughs loudly to himself.

I feel my face harden. Rage burns inside of me. Why does he think he has the right to toy with our lives this way? Why does he have the right to tune out and sit back, make us do all the work? Make us fight even more for our lives than we already need to?

Katniss' eyes find mine again.

"That's very funny," I say. My voice is hard. "Only not to us."

Haymitch stops laughing, his eyes glittering in a mix between amusement and irritation as he surveys us. Then in a blur movement he lurches forward and punches me in the face.

My head reels as the force of it sends me falling onto the floor. I curse inwardly and clutch my jaw, wincing and trying to get back to my feet with as much dignity as possible. I hear a strange thunk, but I can't see anything from my vantage point.

"Well, what's this?" I hear Haymitch say. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I pull myself up from the floor to see Katniss standing up from her seat, face alive with anger. She's driven the tip of her butter knife into the table, barring Haymitch from grabbing his glass full of spirits.

My face is throbbing. I see ice beneath the tureen of fruit and reach for it, eager to press something cool against my cheek.

"No," Haymitch says, stopping me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." He seems serious all of a sudden.

"That's against the rules." I say dumbly.

"Only if they catch you," he corrects. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He turns to Katniss then. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She deliberates for a moment, staring at the knife still embedded in the table. Then she yanks it out and takes one stride towards the far wall, focusing intently. One snap of the wrist later, the knife spirals through the air and buries itself between two of the wall's wooden panels.

I'm not sure whether to be impressed or frightened.

Haymitch hardly acknowledges the feat. Instead he gestures for us to come forward. "Stand over here. Both of you."

We step forward and I find myself standing uncomfortably close to Katniss. Her shoulder is practically brushing up against mine. I try not to think of it and instead focus on Haymitch, who's started circling, examining us like we're cattle on display. He pokes at us, even squeezing my upper arm at one point and examining my hair. I resist the urge to back away from him.

Finally, he steps back. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I feel like that last bit would be insulting under normal circumstances, but at the moment I honestly could care less. The better looking we are, the more likely we'll receive help in the arena. Sponsors are key.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you." He pauses, observing us silently. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

Not exactly what I wanted, but I have to admit it's better than nothing. It's better than entering the arena completely defenseless and unprepared. This is a lifeline, albeit a small one, and I'm willing to take it.

"Fine," I say quietly.

Katniss doesn't see as satisfied. "So help us! When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone--"

Haymitch shakes his head, waving her question off. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But--" she tries again.

"No buts. Don't resist." With that, he picks up his bottle of alcohol and exits without looking back. It seems that little tidbit of advice is all we'll be receiving from him today.

Seconds after the door shuts, the windows go dark. It's as if we've been plunged underground. I have a moment of panic before I remember sitting in school, listening to my teacher talk about the geography of Panem. We're passing through the mountain range that serves as a buffer between the Capitol and the rest of the world. We're even closer than I thought.

I feel Katniss step away from me lightly. I don't look in her direction. Instead I focus on the train windows, waiting for the light to come back. My last moments of freedom are slipping away, second by second.

The sun streams through the window again, momentarily blinding me after the long minutes of darkness. The train is slowing down and as soon as my eyes adjust, I see it.

The Capitol.

Buildings tower up into the sky, colorful and glinting in the sunlight. Strange looking cars that shine brightly roll down the streets. Strange looking people drive them and strut down the streets. The people have noticed us, their faces lighting up in excitement. They don't even look human. They look like some strange breed of animal, one that for some inexplicable reason can speak our language and laugh like us and act like us.

I don't know what it is about this sight that does it. But all of a sudden everything becomes real to me. I'm here. I'm in the Capitol. I'm at the mercy of all these people and their silly whims. I am about to go into the Games.

And I am prepared. I'm past the hysterical phase. They will not control me. They will not make me weak.

Katniss steps away from the window and brings me back to the present. I know what I have to do. Stepping forward, I let the light fall on me and lean towards the window, my face breaking out in a grin. I raise my hand and wave. The Capitol people are besides themselves at this and start cheering and waving enthusiastically.

I turn back towards Katniss, meaning to tell her to join me. But I'm stopped short by the hard look on her face. The imagine in my dream comes back to me in vivid clarity, the stone-faced little girl with a knife in her hand. I see nothing but anger and distrust in her eyes. Is she already lost to me?

I shrug pathetically, uncomfortable beneath her accusing glare. "Who knows? One of them may be rich."

I turn back to the window. I wave. I smile. And I try to ignore the pricking sensation on the back of my neck. One that tells me she's still glaring.

Strangely, it feels like a death sentence.

Description
Haymitch lets out an incoherent groan and tries in vain to lift himself from the pool of sick he's fallen into. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. The smell is atrocious, not to mention with every movement the drunk smears more brown liquid onto his hands and clothes. The alcohol we can always detect on his breath smells twice as bad splashed all over the floor.

I glance towards Katniss to see she's already looking at me. She nods almost imperceptibly, and with a resigned sigh I stoop down with her. I grab ahold of one of his arms. With a heave and much grunting, we've got Haymitch on his feet.

"I tripped?" he stares blearily around, bemused. "Smells bad." He wipes a vomit-smeared hand across his nose and I suppress to urge to be sick myself.

I sigh inwardly as I realize what has to be done. "Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit."

And so we make our way slowly down the hallway to Haymitch's compartment. It takes all our combined strength to keep him upright, as he's tripping over his own feet every other step. Once there we dump him unceremoniously into the tub. I feel a prick of satisfaction as he groans in protest.

Katniss turns on the shower, sending a burst of cold water onto Haymitch's unconscious form. I glance sideways at her. She looks uncomfortable.

"It's okay. I'll take it from here." Her gray eyes meet mine again, questioning me. A shiver goes down my spine.

"All right," she says slowly, measuring her words. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

I shake my head violently. "No. I don't want them." The last thing I want right now is someone from the Capitol--with their ridiculous hair and makeup and body modifications--breathing down my neck. All they do is remind me of the Games.

She drops her eyes down to our mentor and does that little nod again, the one you need to watch closely for to catch. I find my eyes tracing the soft curve of her cheek and the slope of her neck and then that familiar feeling of warmth is filling my chest.

But then she turns and she's gone.

I watch the door shut sadly. All of a sudden an image drifts forward from the recesses of my mind. Small, young Katniss with a grin on her face, following her father through the streets of District 12, staring at him like he's the only creature in the world. She used to wear such pretty dresses back then. Simple, inexpensive, but pretty. She wore her hair down much more. And she smiled. She smiled a lot, then. Before she knew true heartbreak.

I shake the memory away and turn back to my charge. With a grimace I peel back his clothing. It's soaked through with cold water and traces of vomit. I rush through the task of cleaning him. I do only the bare minimum to at least make him decent. Because frankly, at this point in the game I owe nothing to this man.

After a few minutes he looks clean enough. All of Haymitch's clothing, except for his underwear, is lying in a sopping heap at my feet. I shut off the water and leave as quickly as possible, wondering how long it will take him to wake up and realize what's happened.

I walk blindly through the train, barely registering as I pass Katniss' room. Her door is shut tight, I can't tell if she's inside or not. But it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters right now is that I can feel myself spiraling. I'm letting the demons back in.

I shut myself in my room and fall back onto my bed, cradling my head in my hands. The sun is steadily sinking. Warped, dark shadows fill my room, flickering as we rush past trees and small hillsides. I don't bother turning on the light.

I've never been one to deal well with stress. I can act very well. I can put on a facade, a mask so to speak, and seem to keep everything together under pressure. I can smile. I can laugh. I can joke around and lighten the tension as if nothing is wrong. But on the inside it's a whole different story.

I can feel a scream building up inside of me. I refuse to let it out. In a silent fit of rage and anguish I lurch to my feet and send my fist flying into the wall. Over and over and over again until my knuckles and bright red, raw.

The wall looks good as new. I can't even put a dent in a wall, how am I supposed to kill a person? How am I supposed to survive against a Career?

I strip off my shirt and kick off my shoes before falling onto the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers over myself. Despite the late hour the air still feels hot and humid. It's moist and clogging. We must be getting close.

The image of my father and his bloodshot eyes blooms behind the walls of my closed eyelids, but before I can contemplate the mix of emotions this sparks, I'm asleep.

I'm sitting on the front stoop of the bakery. Judging by the softness of my hands and the knobby knees they're resting on, I must be young. Very young.

I look up and see little Katniss. She's wearing an old, faded dress. She wears a makeshift braid with little bits of hair sticking out haphazardly. It's definitely not the neat work of her mother. She must've tried to fashion it herself with a clumsy, weak hand. Her cheeks are hollow and her legs are skinny. She's tugging a small wagon along behind her, and I feel a knot twist in my stomach as I realize it's full of tesserae.

All of a sudden she turns, locking eyes with me. Her face is stony. She's right in front of the bakery now, only a few feet away.

A hand grips my shoulder. I can't move to see who it is. My eyes are still locked on Katniss. My mother's voice whispers softly in my ear.

"You have to kill her, Peeta. You have to kill her."

Katniss has let go of the wagon handle. She's stepping towards me. Her eyes look so sad. So broken. I realize with a start that the small girl before me is holding a knife. Her knuckles are white. Slowly my eyes find their way back up to her grays. A tear trickles silently down her cheek.

She's crying.

"You have to kill her, Peeta. You have to kill Katniss."

I open my eyes with a start, sucking in a deep breath and trying to calm my racing heart. I'm laying on my back. Sunlight streams across the ceiling.

It's already morning.

Just as I'm about to sit up and get my bearings, the door creaks open and Effie goggles in at me. I sit up in surprise and my face flushes red as I realize I'm still shirtless.

Effie's eyes widen and she immediately gets flustered. Her eyes sweep upwards to fix on the ceiling.

"Goodmorning! You left you door cracked open, I thought you were up and about already…" her uncomfortable chirp trails off and her eyes flicker down to fix on me before snapping back upwards. "It's going to be a big, big day! You really must get out of bed, breakfast is already being served in the dining car!"

With that said she skitters away, leaving the door hanging open.

I groan in embarrassment and rub my eyes. She surprised me so much that I forgot about the dream I'd had. I can already feel the fine details slipping away, the images growing fuzzy and swirling together.

Katniss had been crying, though. I remember that.

Trying to put it out of my mind, I lurch to my feet and step over to my wardrobe. I pull out the first outfit my fingers find, only pausing long enough to make sure it matches before pulling it on. The last thing I need to do is arrive at the Capitol looking tacky and disheveled. The Capitol people are so superficial and hold appearance in such high regard, I know even a small thing like that would probably cut my chance at getting some decent sponsors in half.

One quick trip to the bathroom later, I head to the dining car.

Effie is the only one inside. She has her back to me, making coffee by the looks of it. The scent of freshly cooked eggs, ham and potatoes permeate the air and I realize how hungry I am.

Effie turns at and beams at me, the awkwardness of earlier evidently forgotten.

"Ah, sit down, sit down! You'll love the meal!" She gestures towards a chair. "Do you know what hot chocolate is? It's quite delicious, I've noticed most of the tributes have never heard of it. Shocking, I say…"

She continues to ramble on as I make my way to my seat. I take a sip of the brown stuff and realize it's delicious. I'm just reaching for a roll when Haymitch slouches in, one hand rubbing his temple. He grunts a greeting and falls unceremoniously into his seat at the head of the table.

"Goodmorning, Haymitch." Effie's voice is suddenly stiff and forced.

He ignores her greeting. "Who left me in that bathtub last night?" He points his fork menacingly at me. "Was it you?"

I shrug and break the roll in half. I don't feel like talking to the drunk.

He ignores me and swings his fork over to point at Effie. "How about you, sweetheart?" His mouth twists into a cruel grin. It seems years of dealing with the woman has taught him just how to irk her. "I was practically naked when I woke up. Don't tell me you were trying to catch a peek with me in such a compromising state?" He laughs. "Eh, sweetheart?"

Effie stares at him for a moment, her face growing red and her eyes squinting in anger. Clearly, this kind of talk does not constitute "good manners." Haymitch chuckles again and she shoots him a disgusted look before exiting in a hurry. She's barely out the door when Katniss appears, looking startled.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch crows, still looking pleased over having infuriated Effie. Katniss looks at him warily and slides sideways into her chair, eyes falling to her platter of food. Her fingers trace the top of a mug of the hot chocolate Effie had been talking about. She brings it up to her nose to sniff.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say. "It's good."

She takes a sip and her eyes widen. My mouth curls up in a grin as she sucks it down within moments. Her attention hardly breaks as her gaze falls to the food and she digs in.

We eat and eat. I vaguely register that this will probably be the last meal before we reach the Capitol. I've finally slowed down and am now lazily eating some pieces of bread dipped in hot chocolate, when I realize Katniss is staring intently at Haymitch.

He's drinking, again. The red liquid reeks and he keeps pouring water in it to thin it and make it last longer. There's already a pink hue to his cheeks. His eyes are glassy. Who knows how much longer he'll last.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss' voice breaks the silence. Her tone is clipped, her words short.

He pauses, staring over the rim of his glass at her. "Here's some advice. Stay alive." He laughs loudly to himself.

I feel my face harden. Rage burns inside of me. Why does he think he has the right to toy with our lives this way? Why does he have the right to tune out and sit back, make us do all the work? Make us fight even more for our lives than we already need to?

Katniss' eyes find mine again.

"That's very funny," I say. My voice is hard. "Only not to us."

Haymitch stops laughing, his eyes glittering in a mix between amusement and irritation as he surveys us. Then in a blur movement he lurches forward and punches me in the face.

My head reels as the force of it sends me falling onto the floor. I curse inwardly and clutch my jaw, wincing and trying to get back to my feet with as much dignity as possible. I hear a strange thunk, but I can't see anything from my vantage point.

"Well, what's this?" I hear Haymitch say. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I pull myself up from the floor to see Katniss standing up from her seat, face alive with anger. She's driven the tip of her butter knife into the table, barring Haymitch from grabbing his glass full of spirits.

My face is throbbing. I see ice beneath the tureen of fruit and reach for it, eager to press something cool against my cheek.

"No," Haymitch says, stopping me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." He seems serious all of a sudden.

"That's against the rules." I say dumbly.

"Only if they catch you," he corrects. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He turns to Katniss then. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She deliberates for a moment, staring at the knife still embedded in the table. Then she yanks it out and takes one stride towards the far wall, focusing intently. One snap of the wrist later, the knife spirals through the air and buries itself between two of the wall's wooden panels.

I'm not sure whether to be impressed or frightened.

Haymitch hardly acknowledges the feat. Instead he gestures for us to come forward. "Stand over here. Both of you."

We step forward and I find myself standing uncomfortably close to Katniss. Her shoulder is practically brushing up against mine. I try not to think of it and instead focus on Haymitch, who's started circling, examining us like we're cattle on display. He pokes at us, even squeezing my upper arm at one point and examining my hair. I resist the urge to back away from him.

Finally, he steps back. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I feel like that last bit would be insulting under normal circumstances, but at the moment I honestly could care less. The better looking we are, the more likely we'll receive help in the arena. Sponsors are key.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you." He pauses, observing us silently. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

Not exactly what I wanted, but I have to admit it's better than nothing. It's better than entering the arena completely defenseless and unprepared. This is a lifeline, albeit a small one, and I'm willing to take it.

"Fine," I say quietly.

Katniss doesn't see as satisfied. "So help us! When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone--"

Haymitch shakes his head, waving her question off. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But--" she tries again.

"No buts. Don't resist." With that, he picks up his bottle of alcohol and exits without looking back. It seems that little tidbit of advice is all we'll be receiving from him today.

Seconds after the door shuts, the windows go dark. It's as if we've been plunged underground. I have a moment of panic before I remember sitting in school, listening to my teacher talk about the geography of Panem. We're passing through the mountain range that serves as a buffer between the Capitol and the rest of the world. We're even closer than I thought.

I feel Katniss step away from me lightly. I don't look in her direction. Instead I focus on the train windows, waiting for the light to come back. My last moments of freedom are slipping away, second by second.

The sun streams through the window again, momentarily blinding me after the long minutes of darkness. The train is slowing down and as soon as my eyes adjust, I see it.

The Capitol.

Buildings tower up into the sky, colorful and glinting in the sunlight. Strange looking cars that shine brightly roll down the streets. Strange looking people drive them and strut down the streets. The people have noticed us, their faces lighting up in excitement. They don't even look human. They look like some strange breed of animal, one that for some inexplicable reason can speak our language and laugh like us and act like us.

I don't know what it is about this sight that does it. But all of a sudden everything becomes real to me. I'm here. I'm in the Capitol. I'm at the mercy of all these people and their silly whims. I am about to go into the Games.

And I am prepared. I'm past the hysterical phase. They will not control me. They will not make me weak.

Katniss steps away from the window and brings me back to the present. I know what I have to do. Stepping forward, I let the light fall on me and lean towards the window, my face breaking out in a grin. I raise my hand and wave. The Capitol people are besides themselves at this and start cheering and waving enthusiastically.

I turn back towards Katniss, meaning to tell her to join me. But I'm stopped short by the hard look on her face. The imagine in my dream comes back to me in vivid clarity, the stone-faced little girl with a knife in her hand. I see nothing but anger and distrust in her eyes. Is she already lost to me?

I shrug pathetically, uncomfortable beneath her accusing glare. "Who knows? One of them may be rich."

I turn back to the window. I wave. I smile. And I try to ignore the pricking sensation on the back of my neck. One that tells me she's still glaring.

Strangely, it feels like a death sentence.