I spit at my reflection in the mirror, cursing myself mentally for my failure during training. I missed the bulls-eye twice. Twice. I never miss. And not only did I miss, but I missed the day before the reaping.

I see my reflection in the perfectly clean mirror of my bathroom. I see the sweat from my frustration in training glistening against my peach skin, my dark brown hair a tangled mess and falling loosely around my shoulders. My dark blue eyes look tired and I can see a small bruise forming from where my trainer had struck me. Calliope has never been much for patience and understanding.

Done with my self-loathing, I turn on the bathroom faucet and let the cold water run over my aching hand. I continue to let the water run over my hands until I hear screaming from down the hall. The blood-curling shriek makes me jump. Father must have another one of his victims in his bedroom again. Knowing what my father is capable of, I shiver at the thought of what he could be doing to that poor girl. Knowing my father's preferences, I know that she can't be much older than I am.

I turn off the faucet and begin to get undressed, thinking that maybe the sound of the shower water will drown out the young girl's cries of pain. I step in the shower and turn the pressure on full blast, but it still doesn't stifle the sound of the girl's screams. I try not to feel pity for this girl. I know from past experiences that I should just look out for myself, especially when it comes to my father. Every time I hear the sound of a shriek from a young girl coming from my father's bedroom, I simply remind myself that it's better for it to be her than for it to be me.

I hear one last cry and then silence, and I instantly know that my father's already done with this one. He always leaves them there once they've stopped screaming because it takes away the thrill. He prefers it when they beg and plead for the torture to end.

I quickly turn off the shower and step out of the chamber. The bathroom mirror is foggy and I can no longer see myself, which I prefer. I pull on my clothes without bothering to dry myself off and step out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

I quickly look around the small hallway to make sure that the coast is clear and sneak off to my bedroom. I try to open and close the door without making it creak. Turning around, I nearly jump when I see someone sitting on my bed.

I mockingly clutch my hand over my heart. "Holy crap, Helena. You almost gave me a heart attack."

She laughs as I plop down next to her. "One can only wish."

Helena Waxburg is my one of my best friends in the entire country of Panem. She's been my neighbor my entire life and is a master at picking locks. Which explains why I often come into my room with my window wide open and Helena sitting on my bed.

I roll my eyes at her. "Oh, please. Your life would be so boring without me." Even though I'm half-joking, we both know that what I say is true. I'm her only close friend.

Suddenly, Helena's usually bright and cheerful face turns serious. "Please tell me that you aren't volunteering this year, Andy."

I sigh and mentally groan at the nickname. "Helena, I-"

She tucks a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "Why can't you just wait until next year? You have another year." I can see tears forming in the corners of her dark green eyes.

I look down at my lap, not wanting to look at her depressed expression. "I have to, Helena. I just have to."

"Why?" She asks putting her hand on my shoulder.

I shrug her hand off, almost in an angry matter. "You know why!"

She grows silent. Of course she knows why. Everyone in the neighborhood can hear the screams coming from inside the Perro house.

"I can't stand living her anymore, Helena. It's driving me crazy. If I win, I can live in the Victor's Village and never have to see my father again. I can start over." I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asks, and I feel the guilt beginning to creep over me. I hadn't even thought about Helena.

I nod in response. "Of course. I'll take your whole family with me. The houses in the Victor's Village are huge."

I look up at her and see a hopeful look in her eyes. She shakes her head in response. "But what if you don't win, Andy?" She says, and I can see the horror on her face as she realizes the truth. There's a huge possibility that I won't win. It's the Quarter Quell, which means that there are twice as many tributes this year. Instead of facing twenty three competitors, I'll be facing forty eight.

Despite my doubts, I tell her, "I will win. I promise. I'm not letting anything stand in the way."

I eventually get her to leave and I find myself lying face-down on my bed, breathing deeply and calmly. I feel the guilt continue to wash over me, knowing that I've just made a promise that I most likely won't keep.