"Katniss," Prim called urgently. "Katniss, wake up!" Why was she shaking me? Why did she want me to go so badly? She and I had been fine, laying on the beach of the Quarter Quell. We giggled about old times. Even in my dreams, the back of her shirt stuck out like a duck's tail.

"Katniss, what are you doing? Go!" This wasn't Prim's voice. It was Cato's. Or was it Thresh's? Was I even dreaming?

"Katniss!"

My eyes snap open. Peeta hovers above me, making sure I'm alive, maybe. He lets out a sigh.

"You wouldn't wake up," he said. "I was afraid that you had lost consciousness." This hasn't happened in ten years. Why would he worry?

"I was with Prim," I whispered.

His eyes widened momentarily, registering that he pulled me away from one rare good dream. I shake my head, knocking back the cobwebs of sleep. Had it been ten years? Or only a few months?

"What year is it?" I ask.

With this question, Peeta becomes alarmed. He presses his hand to my forehead, to check for a fever. "How long has it been since she died?" I demand. I sit up now, pushing him away from me. I regret it immediately.

He sighs.

"Katniss, it's only been a few years. Remember?"

I do remember, and now, I'm even more ashamed. Sometimes, I have nightmares. Peeta has flashbacks. But I haven't relapsed like this in ages. I see the rejection across Peeta's face. "I'm sorry, Peeta," I whisper again. My left temple throbs, although I know the pain is purely mental. I put my hand to it. Peeta wraps his arms around me, and I lean into him. Yes, this feels right. I look up at him.

A smile crosses his face. "You love me. Real or not real?" This was our game now. A reminder that we should not take each other for granted.

"Real."