Count to Five

During the second day of training, I avoid Berg completely. I'd woken before him, opened the window as far as it would go and got fresh water. After my shower, breakfast had once again been tainted by her sorrow and I'd swallowed the brunt of Opa's frustrations, although Ari seems to have done us a good deed and handled the evening before. I bite my tongue, there's a pounding in the back of my head and her incessant need for pointless perfection is stinging in a way it does not usually. Berg appears after a while, he looks dreadful but is in clothes for training and only drinks coffee at the table. He keeps trying to look at me, but I avoid it.

I blank him, still not angry. Just nothing, I need him to not exist for a little while. He's lost in himself, and I need to focus. I will talk to him this evening when I am sure of my words. If I open my mouth now I know I will regret it. He stops, seems to accept my silence and drains another mug as we wait for the elevator.

I spend most of the morning with Johanna, this isn't purposeful but at least she doesn't seem up for much in the way of conversation so it's easy. Forgetting the real aim of these days cannot be an option, so after a while, I ensure that I am on the shelter station at the same time as Katniss and although she takes a while to warm up, even when I am on a charm offensive, it happens a little.
We speak about family, I remember her little sister from the interviews and it's clear that Primrose is her world. That's something I can relate too, she asks about my siblings, although she seems to think I am the eldest. It was odd that the Capitol had done this, I'd been painted as this poor rural girl who looked after a large family.I suppose it was to make me look sweet. They had all but written Sian out of history. I set the record straight with Katniss. Sian is oldest, I follow and then the twins, Jaxon and Lin who are sixteen now, finally there is Jem, coming up on thirteen. Well, not quite finally, Sian has two children and they live with us as well.

“You have a busy house.” She says wily, meaning unclear.

“The dog takes up most of my bed as well.” I jibe, let her get that clear in her mind. Whatever she may think of me I do not have random people in my bed each night. Shouldn't matter what she thinks of me, but it's tricky to not read the expressions that cross her face. We talk a little longer, but it's nothing significant. I had done better with Peeta, but at least Katniss would feel she knew me somewhat. That was sure to make everything more difficult. The first time around, unless you choose to, there is little chance or need to know much about the other tributes. They can be dehumanized if you want, some people refuse to speak to any of the others. I suppose it makes it easier when you can't name their siblings. Good, there's a tinge of spite, I don't feel bad about making it a little more difficult for her.

I finish the day with Finnick and Mags, lunch had been much the same as usual and Finnick had once again made his way beside me although we hadn't spoken until that point. I've been keeping an eye on Berg, although I've been certain not to be caught staring whenever I feel like he may have looked back. He's been with Chaff and Alit, who appears not long before we're due to eat and looks even sicker than yesterday. Chaff is happy to have his friend back and his laugh is a constant background noise throughout the day.

Afterwards, Mags suggests, at least that's what I realise she has said once we're halfway there, that we have a go at fire lighting. This isn't a move that makes much sense until I realise it's the furthest to one side and directly opposite the game makers. It allows us to watch who they are watching, and to have the limited privacy that this chamber entails. When it comes to making fires, it is one thing I can claim I am comfortable with.

We'd grown up making fires to boil water, to cook food. When there were no matches left we used a shard of flint. If that failed and the sun was burning high we used an old pair of my mother's glasses and kindling. Finnick and Mags are obviously less adept. Mags is barely able to hold the sticks to form a bow, or strike a match with her claw-like hands. She settles with knotting reeds into a rope, and Finnick and I go through several small fires.

When he passes me some grass his fingers drag across mine, and his eyes flicker. I follow, Peeta and Katniss, deep in conversation. I had no idea how Haymitch was getting on with sorting alliances and knew it was time to take that into my own hands. All of the mentors met after each day, I was stupid to not have gone down to the lounge yesterday. Opa would be hopeless, as much as she may try. That wasn't the only part, Finnick was clearly expecting me to leave this all up to him and go in as blind as I am now. That doesn't sit right with me, all his preaching about the less I know the safer I am should it go wrong. I want to trust him, properly and truly but I need to have my own part in this.

The day draws to an end and everyone starts to filter out. I wait, ignore several pairs of eyes and dawdle, slotting into an elevator with the tributes from District Six. I feel sorry for them. They are both well known morphling addicts, it must be far easier to come across in Six. Their way of coping has been removed and they are clearly in withdrawal, yellow, sallow and sweating. We don't make conversation and they leave, giving me a few precious moments of respite before the elevator zooms upwards.

I get through Opa quickly, have a shower, get dressed and make my way straight back downstairs. The lounge isn't busy, although I can tell instantly that Haymitch is likely at the centre of the small group by the bar. The mentors for One and Two sit aside, they will have made their pact. One of the members of staff simper up to me, blabbering that I shouldn't be down here, this is purely for the tributes' mentors I keep my smile on, voice that obnoxiously weepy tenor and tell him that due to our very sad circumstances- what with Andressa passing so suddenly – I am taking on the role of my own mentor. The sniffle and several quick blinks at the end are what sells him, the poor girl who will be dead within the fortnight trying to hold it together and struggling just a little. He backs off, gestures to the avox gliding around with tall flutes of drink to offer me one. I take it, barely sip it. It's alcohol for sure, but I can't put my finger on what, it's too airy, the bubbles flood and burst across my tongue.

My inner monologue is broken, the chatter increases and then moves off as Haymitch approaches me. He has the same drink in his hand but swallows the contents in one. I offer him my own and he clasps it eagerly. “Sure you're meant to be down here?”

“I'll be mentoring myself.” His eyebrow twitches in humour but he doesn't push any further and places both empty cups down. “I thought it made sense we actually spoke in person.” I start.

“Is this conversation going to be any different to the one I've had with Four?” Tension strikes either side of my mouth and I feel my lips purse, turn it into a smile and then smooth back down my mask.

“Depends on what you've been speaking about.” His eyes dart across the room, guilty. He gestures to a loveseat huddled under a batch of screens. Other mentors are speaking, but I see no one I recognise from District Four. Haymitch starts as soon as we are seated and I cross my legs, eager to leave some space where possible. “I've spoken to them both about alliances a bunch of times.” He admits, shrugs to himself, “Peeta is more...amenable.” It doesn't appear as if he expects this news to shock me. “He likes you though. They both know you and Finnick are interested but that you already have a prior agreement.” It would be lovely to be able to be straight with him, cut through the crap and say what I mean. My guard will not be lowered, not now and certainly not here. “Is that an issue for them?”

“Ten and Four working together? Can't see why. They're both just...making up their minds.”

“Not Ten,” I correct, “Just me.” It's more effort to keep my smile up, “You probably know better what Berg has planned.” I don't like the look that flashes across his features but he clears his throat, moves on, “I'll speak to them both again for you.” Myra from District Nine is staggering over to speak to him, the wide stick only thing keeping her upright. “I'll let you get on.” I allow, though there's a stone in my gut. This seems to have achieved nothing but then, what was I even hoping for? My self-loathing bubbles and I swallow it down. Make small talk to a few people who start on the way out and head back to my apartment.

I haven't decided my words, no tact in my approach. Dinner is served when I reappear and I get the feeling they have been waiting for me. I sit beside Berg, who lifts his brows but doesn't raise any questions at this stage. Opa takes over conversation easily, we do not have Ari or Marc today, it is just the three of us and she needs to fill the large space with speech. She asks after our days, then goes on to describe her own in mind-numbing detail.

I hadn't liked the look on Haymitch's face. When the avox are clearing the table I turn to meet my partner finally, although we're less of a team than ever. “What's your plan in the arena?” A familiar crease appears I bulldoze onwards, “Chaff right? Maybe Alit? Did you even consider speaking to me? Why the hell does Haymitch seem to know what you're doing and I don't?!”

Whatever response I expect, I do not get it. “Don't be a hypocrite. When are we supposed to have discussed it? You were in Finnick's bed the second the ceremony finished.”

“Finnick's bed,” I repeat, feeling the words slice through the air. Opa pushes herself upright. “Why would I be in Finnick's bed?”

“Why the hell not.” His eyebrow quirks and he takes a purposefully long sip of his drink. We're back on alcohol again. There's no sound other than his glass landing back on the table before he speaks, leaning slightly forward as if it's some big secret, “I mean, that's what you do right?” I'm considering his words as he speaks, he cannot surely mean what President Snow has forced on me for the last three years. He isn't speaking about the choice I made right and he made wrong, the family I still have when he lost his. Never in a million years would Berg throw that in my face, not when he'd been there through it all, seen its impact.

The man who spent the night with me, stopped my panicking, tried to convince me I was safe just two days ago would not spit this at me as if I am at fault.

I do not recognise the person in front of me. “That seems to be your thing, right? Finnick this time around, Fabian the last...” The twist in my gut isn't instantaneous, it's been building slowly for the last minute. Flame starts and spreads across my whole body, my fingers itch to meet my palm and form fists. Opa is directly behind me now, as if to restrain me.

She has a fair point, every nerve in my body is set to rip that smarmy look off his face. Anger mixes with something else though, such a wave of hurt I never thought someone like Berg would be able to cause. That he understands the way I have been sold to men and woman alike. He knows all of this, and assumes what, that there is some level of enjoyment in it for me? That I am some sex-crazed maniac who cannot help myself?

He digs deeper, “And that's ignoring the guys from home a couple of years ago before you and Rosa properly settled down.”

Her name is a forbidden word, the knowledge he holds equally so.

I hate him, for making these judgements, for viewing me in the way he must do. He's hidden that well, our relationship may never have been brilliant, strained half the time but even so. I'd never had an inkling these were his true feelings, that I was some low life little girl who opened her legs without complaint each and every time.

Maybe it's true, maybe that why it hurts so much. Opa gasps his name, but I am done, know if I remain in this room any longer I will regret my actions. I tear myself up instead, curve around Opa's arm as she does her ridiculous attempt at being motherly and storm to my room. I turn both locks and am suddenly unsure what to do with myself.

I will not cry. He doesn't get to make me cry. I pace instead, running through his words, again and again, a scramble in my head I'm desperate to dissect. Nothing. If he thinks so little of me why would he even care if I was sleeping with Finnick? What place does he have to make any judgements? Jealousy? Fear?

Opa doesn't try to come down, for that much I am thankful. In the end, I change into a nightdress, perch on my bed and pick at my nail varnish. Adrenaline is all gone now, my limbs are limp and achy.

Fabian reappears beside me. We're bickering about the games, about allying with District Twelve. I stood firm, refused to step down. I remember him pacing how I had just been doing, back and forth, fist bouncing against his thigh as he sat back down. Fabian wanted us to ally. I think Berg had always been against it, saw Fabian as a possible winner. And why the hell not, he was nearly eighteen, nearly a foot taller than me and had been around the slaughterhouses and factories his whole life.

I was a country kid, he was a townie. Numb to death from hours in a slaughter-house, stronger in his shoulders than I could ever dream of. Where I had speed and nature, he had that brute strength, an understanding of weapons. Fabian was a good bet to put your money on. At this point, all Berg had offered me was that I was 'pretty enough'.

Fabian and I must have argued for hours, back and forth on the same points. Districts One and Two had put forward an offer for him. Smart enough to see his chances. Fabian would turn them down, but he wanted it to be the two of us if anything, saw the detriment little Rowan from District Twelve would be.

I'd threatened to split our own alliance then, go at it with just Rowan. It's such a stupid decision, one I would never have suggested as a mentor. Fifteen year old me was even more stubborn than I am now, too scared to go back and doubt herself. I'd won Fabian over in the early hours of the morning, long after Andressa had helped Berg to bed and left herself. We had a plan for the cornucopia, discussed our individual areas of expertise, our weaknesses.

Then I had kissed him. Because he was beautiful, and because I figured I had days left to live. That's a lie, there was another reason, the one only a manipulative little girl would think of. He'd be more willing to save me, protect me if he cared. It could have backfired, but it didn't and he'd returned the kiss just as enthusiastically. Berg didn't even have the whole story, we hadn't gone much further than kissing. Not that that made anything easier, I got as attached to Fabian in that short week as I felt he did me.

And then he died protecting his district partner.
Katniss Everdeen had nothing on me.

There was a comfort in the fact that Berg would never view myself as lowly as I did. I still had that. Fabian must have told him or Andressa, that was the only way I could think of him knowing. Did they view it as reckless teenagers about to die, or had it began then - Berg's view of me. He had started taking more interest just before my interview. Maybe he knew and saw my actions as those of someone desperate to make it, saw a possible victor hidden somewhere in me. He certainly saw a fake, someone who could play the character he wanted.

Maybe he wanted to see how well the little slut could do.

Without using the word he has painted me as it.