Always

Protect Her

Waiting in the launch room turns out to be harder this time than the last. My hands are cold and clammy, but Cinna wraps his warm ones around mine to comfort me. Fear is gliding icily through my veins, freezing me.

The hand that is not grasping Cinna's rests over my stomach, the roundness of my tummy. I move my hand to run across my stomach and I stare at my hands, wishing this child could have been born in a different time.

If Cinna notices my movements, he doesn't comment. We don't speak. Trying to make my mind focus on anything other than the fact that at any second a  voice will sound over the intercom and tell me to prepare for launch, I think of Peeta. The first thought to enter my mind is how he was speaking to the baby this morning. I'll always remember every word he said, but there is one phrase that I'll always recall first. The very last thing he said. Daddy will protect you.

Daddy. Peeta is going to be a father. It's funny, I've really only been focusing on the fact that I'm going to be a mother. The thought that Peeta will be a father causes my lips to twitch upward in a ghost of a smile. I've always held the belief that Peeta would be the best father in the world.

Daddy will protect you.

I don't doubt him.

My mind focuses on Peeta, on our goodbye. How if I had I kept my eyes open I could have memorized his face, his eyes, his smile. But then I would have had to watch him walk away, and I can't begin to wrap my head around that. Maybe I got the less evil goodbye.

After I'd opened my eyes to find Peeta gone, Cinna and I made our way onto the roof. Exactly like the year before, a hovercraft appeared and dropped down a ladder. The moment I'd grabbed a rung, I was frozen with an electric current and hauled up. The very same woman from before implanted the tracker into my arm. Eating breakfast was a trial due to my nervousness, but I managed, telling myself that it was good for the baby.

The stainless steel table where my outfit for this year's games sits, haunts me as I look across the room. Whereas last year I got a shirt and pants and boots, this year I get a blue fitted jumpsuit made of a sheer fabric. A large, six-inch wide purple belt is wrapped around my waist. This is my favorite part of my outfit because it partially shields my stomach. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles covers my feet.

Cinna couldn't really tell much of the possible conditions in the arena due to the outfit, only saying that there might be hot weather. But that's all he needs to say, before my mind jumps to awful conclusions.

A desert styled arena, that stretches for miles and miles. But no water is to be found. My mouth becomes parched just thinking about it.

My mockingjay pin is fixed on my jumpsuit, glinting even in the fluorescent lights of the room. Cinna gives me a small smile at our silent act of rebellion.

"Please prepare to launch."

The female voice cuts through all my thoughts, and I'm forced to face the present. I'm about to enter the arena. Still clutching each other's hands, Cinna and I walk to the pedestal that will raise me up into the arena.

"Remember, girl on fire," he says. "I'm still betting on you." He kisses my forehead and let's me go.

Unlike last year, my pedestal does not automatically rise up into the arena. Instead it stays planted in the launch room. I look at Cinna through the glass tube I stand in, and he looks just as confused. That is until the doors to the room open, and 3 peacekeepers dressed in all white come forward.

Immediately, two of them grab Cinna by the arms and handcuff him while the third, wearing metal-studded gloves, punches Cinna with such force as to knock him to his knees. A startled cry escapes my lips that quickly morphs into a scream as I'm forced to watch the three Peacekeepers beat a defenseless Cinna. His face hits the glass tube and blood splatters onto it. I'm pounding on the glass, screaming my head off, but either they don't hear me or they don't care.