One more week. One more week was all Peeta, Nola, Johanna and Annie had to endure to get out of there. A week, still, was not a comforting time, because they didn't know it, and because everything that happened in that seven-day period was enough to make their lives change forever.

—Peeta —she had managed to articulate on the first day. Her throat hurt when she spoke and more when she swallowed, she felt like she could barely breathe through her nose and so she heard puffs of air coming from her, because she was breathing with her mouth open.

She didn't know where she was, so she didn't even know why she was calling the boy. She figured she had been taken to the cells down there, because the dim light illuminating the room was too artificial to be that of the room she had been provided. Still, she thought she might be mistaken, because her vision was blurred and she felt a deep pain in her temples that made her see black dots every time she fixed her pupils on something. She checked with some satisfaction that she could move, which meant she wasn't tied to anything like an animal, but she soon realized the enormous effort she would have to make if she wanted to get out of bed.

Everything hurt. Her head, her chest, her stomach, her legs. But still, she kept thinking about Peeta, who was probably having a worse time than she was. He'd gotten the worst of it, after all, after she'd revealed to the rebels and possibly the rest of the Districts that the 13th would be attacked in the morning. Was today the day? Nola didn't know. Nola didn't know how long she had been there, sleeping or unconscious. She didn't know if what she had said was true, though it seemed, from Snow's reaction, to be as real as her pain, and she didn't know if her warning would have been enough to save all those, as that avox had said.

Would she still be alive? Well, why wouldn't she be? It's not like she could talk to incriminate herself, much less was Nola going to be the one to blame her with the pain she felt every time she spoke.

Would Peeta still be alive? She hoped so. When one of Snow's agents had grabbed her from behind, Snow had ordered the recording to stop, and one of the assistants had kicked the camera until it rolled across the floor, Peeta jumped out of his seat in defense of Nola, completely out of his mind. Nola had never seen him so angry, not even in the arena trying to protect Katniss, but she thought he would have spent too much time building up all the anger and all those feelings inside him, and that her words had been the trigger.

Nola had witnessed the beating he had taken. Peeta had knocked down one of the agents taking Nola, but another one had taken his place again, and then three others had come in to give the boy his comeuppance. Peeta had managed to fight back at first, but the blows kept coming, and something inside him told him that there was no point in fighting anymore, that there would continue to be three, maybe then more, against him, and that it had been stupid to try to save Nola that way, because now they would need much more help than he had tried to provide.

The clothes that were always left for her in the room were gone. She was wearing a bloody white tank top and gray oversized pants. Her hair was plastered to the back of her neck, cold sweats traveling down her neck, and she wondered if what she felt was cold or hot. She tried to brace herself with a metal bar on one side of the bed, but the pain in her ribs was too intense to get up, so she dropped to the floor, her back pressed against a cold wall, and hissed in pain. She didn't know what had been done to her, but it didn't look good.

—Nola?

Peeta.

—Peeta? —Nola mumbled against the wall.

A grunt of compliance came through the wall she was leaning against. Nola put her hand on top of it, and for the first time saw that her knuckles were bloody and full of unhealed wounds. She guessed that she herself would not have fallen without a good fight.

Nola would swear it was Peeta, but his voice sounded too different. It was strange, because Peeta always radiated confidence and gentleness no matter his condition, but now his voice was rough and a deeper tone than she was used to hearing. So she repeated his name.

—I'm here —the voice replied. Yes, it was Peeta. It was definitely him. But there was something strange.

—Are you all right? You shouldn't have... done that.

—I'm alive. So are you —Nola heard a cold chuckle, as if Peeta didn't believe their luck, but that chuckle turned into a desperate sob shortly after—. I thought... I thought they would have killed you.

—I thought they would have killed you. Are you all right? —Nola repeated, reassuring herself. But Peeta knew what she meant: she didn't want to know if he was alive, she wanted to know what they had done to him.

—After what happened in front of the cameras I don't think they did anything else to me. I did everything else myself. You know... —Peeta muttered—. My good leg hurts. The real one, I mean. I'm remembering that I kicked the bed to get them to leave me alone. I never usually remember what's going on while I'm being tortured. I think that's what they've done to me, because my head hurts like hell again. I can't see my face, but I imagine I have a black eye. How about you?

—I don't think it's anything major. My body hurts, but I don't think I have any injury that's going to kill me. I can't look at my face either, but I haven't slept for quite a few days, so I guess I won't look too good —Nola let out a low laugh, trying to make Peeta smile, but it didn't make much sense either: she couldn't even see him—. They're doing it on purpose.

—What?

—When I was a kid living in District 2, before I went to the Hunger Games, I didn't have a home, so I lived in an orphanage. It was where all the kids without families went. There were nice people, some of the teachers and the ladies in the dining room were nice and cared about you, especially if you were young, but there were also a lot of motherfuckers. There used to be a bunch of older kids that went to work. We made guns, you know, and when you're sixteen you start working. So they would take guns that they made there and they would sneak them into the orphanage. They would wait for some helpless animal to get into the yard through the ditch, and then they would shoot, but not to kill. They would shoot at some part of the body that they could heal, like a leg, if it was a cat, or a wing, if it was a bird or something. They would tell the teachers that they had found it like that, and ask for help to rescue it. They had fun like that because they knew they had power over them. They would torture them, then cure them, and the process would repeat itself again.

There was silence on the other side. It was clear that Nola had disobeyed Snow's most basic rules, and that had infuriated him greatly, so she had earned that punishment. And Peeta, well, he had just been collateral damage. If she hadn't acted out that day, he probably wouldn't be in the state he was in now. The only thing that comforted Nola was that she couldn't see him.

—Something tells me they're not going to heal us this time —Peeta said.

—I don't know. I think we've pissed them off enough.

Peeta chuckled, against all odds—. They must have some pretty fragile plans if two teenagers can make them so mad —Nola stifled a laugh, not even understanding why she felt like laughing. Maybe because she was remembering things from her District—. How did you know? About District 13?

—I'll tell you when we get out of here.

—What if we don't get out? —Peeta didn't hesitate to ask the question. Nola bit her cheek, avoiding tears, and, with a sigh, looked up at the ceiling.

—Then I'll yell it to you when I'm dying.

—Sometimes you have a morbid sense of humor.

—I think it's what's helped keep me alive all this time. If I don't laugh at my own misfortunes, I'll think. If I think, I'll cry. If I cry, I'll get depressed. If I get depressed, then I will want to kill myself.

—That's what I mean —Peeta said simply. Then he whispered very softly—. You saw Katniss yesterday too, didn't you? On the cameras.

—Yes.

—She's ruining everything. I wasn't trying to defend her, I just wanted to make her really realize the damage she's causing. I don't know if she knew anything in the arena or not, but she's seeing the horror in the Districts and she still won't call for a ceasefire. I think I hate her.

Peeta's confession was still rattling around in her head the next day. In fact, it was all she could think about as she went through another sleepless night. The lucid part of her told her that it was impossible, that Peeta, so sweet, so attentive and so patient with Katniss could never hate her, that it must be an effect of the torture and the poison the Capitol was injecting into him. But the other part of her, the part that remained buried in the back of her mind for now, but that occasionally surfaced, told her that Peeta was no longer like that. Peeta no longer had a soothing voice, and surely no bright blue eyes either. Now he would be an empty body, just full of terror and hatred, and Nola thought nothing could be more disturbing than Peeta's transformation.

She still didn't know where she was, or where Johanna and Annie were, or when she would get out of there, if she could ever get out. Hopes were not too high, because no one had come to deliver her a tray of meager food, and when her guts roared reality mixed with fantasy, brought on by the non-existent hours of sleep and the little reserve of food left in her body. The only thing she had left there were her senses, and it was no consolation.

She heard Peeta whimper at times, like he was in pain, like he was sobbing, but she didn't dare ask him. It was partly her fault that he was in that state, so she couldn't find the shame in her body to ask him how he was, because she knew the answer, and because she knew what had caused his misfortune.

Countless hours had passed in her head when she heard the door to Peeta's room open fiercely. The screams were not long in coming, and the guilt once again piled so heavily on her shoulders that Nola felt strong dizziness. Peeta wasn't supposed to be there. Peeta belonged in District 13, or District 12, or anywhere that was supposed to be a safe place, but not there. Peeta was the least deserving of the torture he was being subjected to, the beatings he was being given, or the other inhumane treatment that was surely to come.

Nola struggled to remain quiet until the door opened and closed again, as if they had finished their task there, and held her breath as she heard footsteps walk past her door. "Now it's my turn," she kept thinking, but after a few minutes, the footsteps left and dispelled any doubts in her body: that time it had only been Peeta's turn.

—Peeta —Nola muttered against the vent to get his attention. However, she got no response, so she repeated it a little louder, her concern growing for the possible consequences of the attack on the boy.

—Nola —the blonde heard a pause, and waited anxiously for the rest of his voice, which came with a long sigh—. I'm very tired, Nola.

Nola swallowed—. Do you want to play a game, Peeta?

—A game? What game?

—Remember when we were in the arena and we played "I spy"? And we'd throw little rocks at each other when one of us was wrong.

Against all odds, Nola heard a soft giggle, as if the memory had brought happy thoughts into Peeta's head, and the blonde brightened—. I remember. God, how long ago was that? It seems like yesterday, but, at the same time, my head says it's been months. I don't even know what day it is. What day is it today, Nola?

—I spy with my little eye something that starts with... 'B'.

—How am I supposed to get it right if I can't see what you see?

—You have an imaginative and creative mind, Peeta. Use it —Nola spat with a hint of amusement, hoping Peeta would lighten up with it, and when Peeta sighed a little, agreeing to her game, Nola nodded to herself.

If she couldn't get him out of that torture, she would at least do her best to lessen it as much as she could.

—With B... God, I hope it's not bone —Peeta laughed, to which Nola replied with another wry laugh, shaking her head.

—It's not bone. I don't have any rocks to throw at you, so you have a better chance.

—I don't know what kind of room you're in, but I'm guessing it'll look a little like mine. Bin?

—No, it's not bin either. What's your room like?

Nola heard Peeta hum to himself, thoughtfully—. It's got white walls, I guess it makes you go crazier than you already feel like you are, and since the artificial light is pretty strong, it makes it hurt your eyes. There are no windows, openings or anything like it. The door is on the right side of the room, in a corner, and sometimes the gap there is open, as if I'm being watched. There's a small desk, but there's nothing on top of it or anything I can use on it, so I don't know what the point of putting it there is. Then, in another corner of the room, opposite to the door, is the bed. It has dull gray sheets, and it's not too comfortable, nor too warm —Peeta fell silent for a moment, and Nola turned unconsciously, waiting for more words—. Is it a bed?

—Yes, it was bed. Yes, it's pretty much like mine. There's nothing to give light, and if it weren't for this little trap door, I'd doubt if there'd be any air coming into this room. It's like being in a hospital room but with the written promise that the moment you walk in you won't be cured.

In the early morning of the last day of her stay there, it was Peeta's turn for three times in a row to try to cheer up Nola's stay in that hell hole. He had heard her door open and close rapidly, and the girl's tired cries bouncing off its walls and echoing his own through the crack. Peeta's pulse had quickened, his conscience telling him that he had to do something to help her, but at the same time cognizant of the fact that the harder he pushed, the worse it would be for both of them; so with a shrinking heart, he let Nola be taken by the Peacekeepers against her will.

Peeta didn't know what they were doing to her, he could only imagine them putting her through something similar to his own. He couldn't imagine men beating the crap out of Nola, leaving bruises on her skin or streaks of blood down her neck, because the image he had of Nola was ruthless, deadly and, above all, very smart, so hearing her so frightened and helpless made his insides lurch in horror.

—Nola —Peeta crooned as he heard the girl's body fall over the same spot as the last seven days. All he got in response was a whimper, something so unbecoming of her that his hair stood on end—. Nola —he tried again.

—I see people —was all the girl said, barely a whisper.

—People? —Peeta frowned—. Are they in there with you?

—No —Nola muttered wearily—. Their faces look familiar, but I don't think I know them. I don't know their names, but I see them all the time in my memories.

Peeta grew desperate and frowned again—. In your memories? You mean in your dreams. I thought you said you hadn't slept in days.

—I haven't. They sedate me —Nola confessed—. If I really went that long without sleep, I'd probably be dead by now. I wake up sitting up, tied to a metal chair, with wires all over my body, and I promise myself again that I won't sleep again if the condition is to wake up like this. And yes, I said memories. Those are not dreams. She told me —Nola added with a sigh.

—She? Who do you mean? Nola, you're scaring me. What are they doing to you?

—I don't know. There are people in my memories, but I don't know who they are. There's a blonde girl, a little older than me, very pretty. She greets me with a smile, as if she knows me, but then she comes up to me and plunges a knife into my chest until I bleed out. It's repeated many times, with different people, but in none of the situations do I die, I just endure the pain until the scene is over, and I get bored.

—Have you tried fighting back?

Nola nodded to herself, not knowing Peeta couldn't see her—. Yes. I did it once. I took the knife, pulled it out of my chest and stuck it in her. She was still beautiful even when she died. Her body suddenly disappeared, and I woke up. And when I woke up, they took me out of the room quickly because they said I shouldn't have been able to do that.

—Fuck —Peeta muttered, incredulous. He thought of another way to distract his friend—. Can you describe any of these people to me, Nola? Maybe I know them.

Unbeknownst to Peeta, the girl was struggling to stay awake at the moment. Her head was torn between consciousness and deep sleep, and she was so tired from fighting that she didn't know how much more she could take. Her eyes were already closed when she answered Peeta.

—There is another girl... She has a somewhat darker skin than yours and mine, with cold, almost expressionless eyes. She doesn't have knives, she has a bow and arrows, and no matter how hard she tries to kill me with them, I manage to dodge them, inexplicably, and she scowls and keeps trying because she has infinite ammunition. She always wears a brown leather jacket that's too big for her, a shiny pin on her chest, and a somewhat undone braid —Nola stopped talking, waiting for an affirmative answer from Peeta. She had given the most detailed description she could remember, so she hoped the blond would be able to resolve her doubts—. Peeta?

—Her name is Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. She grew up with me in District 12, though in a very different part of the District from me. We went to the Hunger Games together, and we survived, and then we went back to the Games and you were there, and she became the leader of a revolution. She's getting people killed, Nola. She's going to get us killed too. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her —Peeta repeated, controlling his anger for Nola's sake.

—Why?

—Because she tried to kill me too. And now she's trying to kill you. We have to finish her off before she succeeds. Agreed?

—Agreed —Nola murmured faintly.

A rumbling sound alerted the two blonds. Peeta sat up almost immediately, trying to find the source of the intense sound. Nola, for her part, whimpered faintly, as if the mere sound was capable of hurting her. She put her hand to her head, trying to dull the pain, but there was no way. Suddenly, the lights in the rooms went out, and new noises were heard again in the hallway. Nola heard Peeta shout, asking loudly and angrily what the hell was going on. As if someone was going to give him some kind of answer.

Nola heard Peeta call out to her. She heard him ask if she had heard that too, but Nola didn't answer. Exhaustion had gotten the better of her body, and her slender figure was leaning next to the crack, but unconscious. Peeta pounded on the wall, calling her name again, but getting no response. The boy's eyes opened wide as the gap of the door opened and closed quickly, but an unknown object was thrust into the room, and Peeta heard a hissing sound in the darkness.

Then, nothing.