第117章

  why do they stay to watch?
  and now i know. it’s because you have no choice.
  i startle when i catch someone staring at me from only a
  few inches away and then realize it’s my own face reflecting
  back in the glass. wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tan-
  gled mat. rabid. feral. mad. no wonder everyone is keeping a
  safe distance from me.
  the next thing i know we’ve landed back on the roof of the
  training center and they’re taking peeta but leaving me be-
  hind the door. i start hurling myself against the glass, shriek-
  ing and i think i just catch a glimpse of pink hair — it must be
  effie, it has to be effie coming to my rescue — when the
  needle jabs me from behind.
  when i wake, i’m afraid to move at first. the entire ceiling
  glows with a soft yellow light allowing me to see that i’m in a
  room containing just my bed. no doors, no windows are visi-
  ble. the air smells of something sharp and antiseptic. my right
  arm has several tubes that extend into the wall behind me. i’m
  naked, but the bedclothes arc soothing against my skin. i ten-
  tatively lift my left hand above the cover. not only has it been
  scrubbed clean, the nails are filed in perfect ovals, the scars
  from the burns are less prominent. i touch my cheek, my lips,
  the puckered scar above my eyebrow, and am just running my
  fingers through my silken hair when i freeze. apprehensively i
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  ruffle the hair by my left ear. no, it wasn’t an illusion. i can
  hear again.
  i try and sit up, but some sort of wide restraining band
  around my waist keeps me from rising more than a few inch-
  es. the physical confinement makes me panic and i’m trying
  to pull myself up and wriggle my hips through the band when
  a portion of the wall slides open and in steps the redheaded
  avox girl carrying a tray. the sight of her calms me and i stop
  trying to escape. i want to ask her a million questions, but i’m
  afraid any familiarity would cause her harm. obviously i am
  being closely monitored. she sets the tray across my thighs
  and presses something that raises me to a sitting position.
  while she adjusts my pillows, i risk one question. i say it out
  loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will
  seem secretive. “did peeta make it?” she gives me a nod, and
  as she slips a spoon into my hand, i feel the pressure of friend-
  ship.
  i guess she did not wish me dead after all. and peeta has
  made it. of course, he did. with all their expensive equipment
  here. still, i hadn’t been sure until now.
  as the avox leaves, the door closes noiselessly after her and
  i turn hungrily to the tray. a bowl of clear broth, a small serv-
  ing of applesauce, and a glass of water. this is it? i think grou-
  chily. shouldn’t my homecoming dinner be a little more spec-
  tacular? but i find it’s an effort to finish the spare meal before
  me. my stomach seems to have shrunk to the size of a chest-
  nut, and i have to wonder how long i’ve been out because i
  had no trouble eating a fairly sizable breakfast that last morn-
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  ing in the arena. there’s usually a lag of a few days between
  the end of the competition and the presentation of the victor
  so that they can put the starving, wounded, mess of a person
  back together again. somewhere, cinna and portia will be
  creating our wardrobes for the public appearances. haymitch
  and effie will be arranging the banquet for our sponsors, re-
  viewing the questions for our final interviews. back home,
  district 12 is probably in chaos as they try and organize the
  homecoming celebrations for peeta and me, given that the last
  one was close to thirty years ago.
  home!