It started the day her sister's name was pulled out of the glass bowl in the centre of District Twelve. Well, it actually started the day she sung the valley song in music class, but that was the day it began.
I enter the cordoned area dedicated to all the sixteen year old boys whose names lie in the graveyard of the reaping bowl today. I don't want to seem too eager by standing at the front, or too scared by standing at the back, so I pick a spot in the middle just nearby the aisle in which the two chosen tributes will start their death sentence.
Effie Trinket is, by no surprise, dressed in pink. She always is, on Reaping Day. However today she grins a little wider than usual, but I can see it's just for show. Effie does her little intro speech, which is also just a little too perky, and then begins the reapings.
"Ladies first!" Effie cries, her Capitol accent slurring the 's'. Her fingers waver above the thousands of slips in the first bowl and then dive in, retrieving one singular paper. She opens it slowly, allows one second of agonising silence, then announces: 'Primrose Everdeen!'
My heart skips a beat at the name but I calm when I realise it's not her, it's not her. The crowd draws a collective murmur in response to this small twelve-year-old girl being picked. My eyes find Katniss in the girls' section. Her eyes are glazed with fear.
Primrose is almost at the stage when she begins to move. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and I watch a small 'no' escape her lips. She pushes through the crowd. "Prim!" Katniss radiates grief and she stumbles into the aisle. "Prim!" I gasp when I realise what she's about to do.
"I volunteer!"
Katniss' throat breaks and her announcement silences the crowd like it's them who have just sentenced their own death. She pushes Primrose behind her. "I volunteer as tribute!"
It is then when my heart begins to break.
"Lovely!" I hear Effie say. She trails off into some small confusion which I can't hear because it is her. Katniss has volunteered to die.
This is the girl I have loved since I was nine. I didn't know it then, of course, but I know it now, and I know I always will. My throat dries up as I faintly hear the mayor confronting Effie, but I focus again when Katniss is bustled up to the stage. All the while, Primrose is screaming so hard that Katniss looks like she is about to cry. "Prim, let go," she says, and pushes her back slightly. But she doesn't release her. "Let go!" Primrose is then picked up, still screaming, by a boy I immediately recognise as Gale. I go cold at the sight of him. But that can't matter now.
"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" Effie smiles, oblivious to the tremendous heartache she has surfaced by picking that one particular slip. "What's your name?"
Katniss is silent for a second. "Katniss Everdeen," she announces, and I hear just how hard she's trying to keep her voice steady. My heart beats fast.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
There is silence yet again, the only deliverable response to Effie's awful words. I am struggling to breathe now, panic is settling inside of me. I do not want to watch the girl I love die. So I do the one thing I can think of. I raise my three left hand fingers to my lips and then to Katniss. My last and only sign of respect to her.
To my surprise, almost as soon as my fingers have left my lips, odd people around me do the same. The number of raised hands grows until almost all of District 12 are honouring the brave girl stood before us.
Katniss is on the brink of tears but is saved by an inebriated Haymitch throwing his arms around her shoulders. I shudder.
"Look at her. Look at this one!" He yells, and Katniss winces. "I like her! Lots of..." His lips fumble for the right word. "Spunk!" Haymitch suddenly lurches forwards to the edge of the stage, and I'm thinking he's going to fall, when he points an unsteady finger into the crowd. "More than you!" His finger swerves into focus of the cameras. "More than...you!" Then, he does fall, and knocks himself out. A few people laugh. Good.
I turn my attention back to Katniss, my heart in my throat.
Then Effie begins again. "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"
I know at this point my name could be drawn and my life would end. But then, I would be in the arena with Katniss. This thought panics me and my breathing quickens. I blink fast as I think, what would I do then? The thought comes to me immediately: I'd do anything to keep her alive. To send her back home to her family, to Primrose, to Gale. She'd probably marry him. It would just mean I wouldn't be alive to see it anyway.
But then, I have good odds. My name is in the bowl only the required amount of times. My father never let me take any tesserae. My mother, of course, beat him for it at first, but must have found some loving in her to let it slip her notice every year since then. My slip count was lower than Gale's, lower than Katniss's. But then again, so was Prim's.
Effie Trinket then walks over to the bowl, and this time picks the first slip her hand falls on. She hurries back to the microphone, one hand on her wig, and undoes the slip.
"Peeta Mellark!"
Those two words. They hurt me more than any strike my mother ever delivered, and they are my name. I stand still, unable to move my legs. I'm still processing the shock when someone presses a palm into my back and I begin the walk to the stage. I don't know what to think, what to feel. I am going to die. She is going to live. It is this thought that brings me to my senses.
I reach the stage and my eyes finally catch my father's. He presses his lips together and glances at Katniss. He knows my predicament. He always has.
My mother, however, surprises me. She is crying. She has never shown me any love. This is the closest to love I will get.
Then, I see my brothers. One in the pen with my mother and father, and one in the one where I stood minutes ago.
Effie asks for volunteers. The city centre is silent.
I allow myself one look at Katniss, and in that moment, she looks at me. I see the day I gave her bread. I see her in the rain, curled and dying, a bundle of baby clothes lying a few feet away in a puddle. I see her eyes drooping. I see the two loaves tumbling into the flames. The lash of my mother's hands. I see my own pulling them out, stepping outside, and tossing them to her feet. Now, the gesture seems cold, like I was feeding a stray pigeon. But I pushed them into the fire on purpose. Just like she has done to herself.
The Mayor takes to the stage and begins to recite the Treaty of Treason. Most of the people in the district know it by heart and so I being one of them tune out for a minute. I stare at Katniss out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn't seem to notice. Then the Mayor looks out way.
"You may shake hands."
I breathe hard. I reach out my hand to hers. She takes it and although it is covered in a great number of weals and welts, probably due to her years of hunting, it is soft. I shake it, but hold it for a second and squeeze. She doesn't catch my eye.
When she releases my hand it feels like a contract has been signed. I have to keep her alive.
We are herded back into the Justice Building, into separate rooms. We have an hour to say goodbye. I wonder if my mother will come in, wish me luck, send me off. I have just sat down when the door swings open and my mother storms in. I jump up.
"Mother...uh. Mom," I stumble. She takes a step forward but falters. She was never one for close contact.
"Peeta."
This is the first time I have ever heard any sort of soft emotion in my mother's voice. She says my name like a goodbye, and her throat catches. Then she lurches forward and hugs me.
The hold is too tight, and I don't relax. But she is hugging me. There are so many words I want to shout at my mother, scream at her, but I, like my father, hold my tongue. I could never say those things.
"District Twelve may finally have a winner," she says quietly. "She's a fighter, that one."
She holds me like this for a few minutes, and I begin trying to pull away. She whispers something into my shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
I open my mouth but I can't say a word. But then, she releases me and stalks out of the door with one small final glance. I don't know what to make of it.
Then, my father walks in. I don't hesitate to embrace him. And when I do, I finally begin to cry.
He doesn't say anything for a bit. He holds me, too, silently allowing me to cry into his chest like a child. I don't try to stop and he doesn't try to stop me.
When my tears do slow, I pull away, feeling pathetic. I stare at my toes.
"I brought you these," he says in a gruff voice. I look up. He holds up a bag of my favourite chocolate chip cookies. "They were to celebrate you from not getting reaped."
I've only had the cookies three times before, when we could afford to put some aside for ourselves. The last time I had them they were still warm, and we'd bought some of Primrose's goat's milk to have with them. My throat tightens.
"Give them to her." I say. My father raises his eyebrows. "She needs them more than I do." He nods.
"What will you do?" he asks, and I just shake my head. I feel like now if I talk about her I'll only cry again.
"Good luck, Peeta." Dad mumbles. "I love you. Try hard. For both of us."
I have a feeling he isn't talking about my mother.
We sit in silence for the rest of the hour. My brothers come in, which is good. They don't know about Katniss.
When they are all ushered out, I begin crying again. I think of Katniss. Her grey eyes, brown hair so dark it's almost black. That one braid her hair is always in. She has always been so beautiful. I wipe my eyes and walk out of the room.
We are bundled into a car. The journey is short and silent to the station. Then we get out and board the train, standing in the doorway so the cameras can see us. My face is still wet. Then we step back, and the doors close. Katniss Everdeen stands two feet from me, and already she feels miles away.