Jacob plunges into a deep sleep, but instead of finding peace and rest, he is trapped in a vivid and terrifying nightmare. In his dream, he finds himself once again in the arena of the games, facing Cato, the imposing and lethal tribute from District 2.
The nightmare unfolds with chilling intensity. Jacob feels adrenaline rushing through his veins as he desperately fights for his life. Every move, every blow, and every strategy is executed with precision, but Cato is relentless. His strength and skill surpass Jacob's limits, pushing him to the edge of defeat.
Darkness looms over Jacob as the nightmare intensifies. He can feel life slowly slipping away from his body, as if each of Cato's blows were a direct stab at his existence. Pain and agony take hold of him as the sensation of death envelops him.
Suddenly, Jacob wakes up abruptly, his body drenched in sweat and his breathing uneven. He finds himself in his room, surrounded by the safety and tranquility of his real surroundings. However, the chill of the nightmare still lingers, and his heart pounds heavily in his chest.
The feeling of being close to death, even if it was only in his dream, leaves a deep mark on Jacob. He touches his chest, feeling the quickness of his heartbeat, reminding him that he is still alive and that every second counts. The nightmare has reminded him of the fragility of his existence and the importance of valuing every moment granted to him.
Jacob sits on the bed, allowing his breathing to gradually stabilize. He becomes aware of his surroundings, of the reality that surrounds him. Although the nightmare has been terrifying, it has also reminded him of the strength and determination within him. He refuses to be defeated, to allow his fears and nightmares to dictate his destiny.
The nightmare has left a scar in his mind, so much so that his hands are still trembling. He walks towards the center of the room, the light filtering through the curtains making it easy to navigate.
Jacob, lost in a whirlwind of uncontrolled emotions, lightly strikes the wall of his room. Each blow increases in strength and desperation, and soon his fist begins to leave traces of blood on the surface. His eyes reflect a wild gaze, as if he were battling his own inner demons.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
At that moment, the door bursts open and Haymitch hurriedly enters. His eyes widen upon seeing the chaotic scene before him. Without wasting a second, he pounces on Jacob and grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him firmly.
"Enough, boy! Stop right now!" Haymitch exclaims with a hoarse and authoritative voice, trying to break the trance Jacob has immersed himself in.
Jacob, with his breath still labored and his fists tense, finally becomes aware of Haymitch's presence. His wild gaze slowly fades as his mind reconnects with reality. The blood staining the wall is a tangible reminder of his lack of control.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Haymitch," Jacob whispers sincerely, his voice trembling. "I let anger take over, I lost control... My hands were shaking, Haymitch, I had never felt this way before."
Haymitch lets out a tired sigh, but his furrowed brow shows his disapproval. "You can't allow your emotions to overpower you like this, Jacob," he responds firmly. "You're a victor, and you must behave as such. Now more than ever, you need to keep a cool head and focus on the game. Your journey doesn't end after becoming a victor, and that's something you must remember."
Haymitch's words resonate in Jacob's mind, like a necessary and timely warning. He understands that he must find a way to control his anger and channel it in a more constructive manner. He promises himself that he won't succumb to unrestrained fury again.
With his eyes still clouded by emotional turbulence, Jacob looks at Haymitch with gratitude and determination. "You're right, Haymitch. I can't let this happen again. Thank you for stopping me."
Haymitch nods, his expression softening slightly. "Remember, Jacob, the interview is crucial. You have to show them that you can control your impulses, even under pressure. You didn't just fight to survive in the arena, you also have to fight to maintain control of yourself."
Jacob nods, feeling calm beginning to wash over him. Although the challenge of mastering his emotions seems overwhelming, he is determined to overcome it. He rises from the floor, takes a deep breath, and apologizes once again.
"I truly am sorry, Haymitch. It won't happen again... This was just a mistake." Jacob promises with conviction, his eyes sparkling with newfound determination.
Haymitch gives Jacob a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I know, Jacob. Now go and get ready for your interview. Remember, the Capitol will be watching, and you have a chance to show them who you really are."
With those words resonating in his mind, Jacob heads towards the mirror in the room. He gazes at his reflection and confronts his own image with renewed determination. From now on, he will control his emotions and show the world that he is more than just a victim of unrestrained anger. He is a winner and ready to face any challenge that comes his way.
The interview takes place a bit further down the hallway, in the lounge. They have cleared out a space and set up the stage, surrounded by vases of red and pink roses.
There are only a handful of cameras to record the event; at least, he won't have a noisy crowd in front of him.
Jacob sits at the dining table, his body still tense from the anger that consumed him moments before. His trembling hands can barely hold the coffee cup, and every movement causes a sharp pain in his bruised knuckles. The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence, as if the air itself is charged with tension.
At that precise moment, the door swings open and Haymitch rushes in, holding an ice pack and some pills in his hand. His eyes land on Jacob's battered hands, and a look of concern appears on his weathered face.
Haymitch quickly approaches Jacob and hands him the ice pack and the pills. "Take it, it will help alleviate the pain a bit," he says in a hoarse but concerned voice. Jacob nods gratefully and places the ice pack on his aching knuckles. The intense cold spreads through his hands, providing temporary relief that soothes his physical discomfort.
As Jacob takes the pills, Haymitch stays by his side, observing him with tired but attentive eyes. "You need to be more careful, kid," he warns with a grave voice. "Anger won't get you anywhere, it will only hurt yourself." Jacob silently nods, aware of his recklessness and the consequences it could have on his path to victory.
It's curious that a man like Haymitch would say that, but Jacob, amidst all this, was just adapting.
At that precise moment, Portia, Jacob's stylist, hurriedly enters the room. Upon seeing the wounds on Jacob's hands, her face fills with horror and concern. Her eyes scrutinize the injuries attentively, searching for a quick solution.
Portia's creative mind seems to be working at full speed. With determination, she goes to her case and takes out a pair of elegant and sophisticated gloves. Her nimble fingers slide the gloves onto Jacob's hands, ensuring to cover the marks without compromising the aesthetic appearance.
The gloves fit perfectly, enveloping Jacob's damaged hands in a layer of elegance and concealment. Jacob looks at his hands encased in the gloves and lets out a sigh of relief. Thanks to Portia, he will be able to hide the wounds and maintain his impeccable image during the interview.
The discomfort in the room slightly dissipates, replaced by a sense of relief and gratitude. Jacob looks at Haymitch and gives him a grateful glance. "Thank you for caring," he murmurs softly. Haymitch nods, his face reflecting a mix of pride and paternal concern.
With the gloves in place, Jacob feels more confident and ready to face the challenges that await him. He knows that the interview will be a crucial moment in which he must maintain composure and convey an image of strength and determination.
As Portia continues with her preparations, the tense atmosphere gradually eases. Jacob thanks Haymitch for his support and Portia for her quick solution. He is determined to overcome any obstacles that stand in his way and prove that he is more than the wounds on his hands.
"Alright, you look perfect... The medication won't make you feel any pain, but you might experience some discomfort due to the heat... That won't be a problem," says Portia, making some final adjustments to his all-black suit.
"I'll be fine, don't worry." Jacob had recovered from his nightmare, that feeling of losing and failing had consumed his mind, but everything was fine now since this gave him much more stability to continue acting in front of those he wanted to deceive.