"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning… won't help in my case."
"Why ever not?"
"Because… because… she came here with me."
My face blanches white, but I remain stoic and maintain my hard gaze on the television. The unforgiving dirt floor offers no protection or comfort from the words Gale has spoken. My life has become a bitter void since he left, chosen alongside Madge Undersee, to enter the Hunger Games. I thought he was mine; I thought it was destiny that we met in the District 12 forest, fighting for our lives because of a mutual paternal absence. We've only been friends since then, but I always assumed there was something more. I guess he just proved me wrong. On live television.
I've hardly noticed Peeta Mellark standing a few feet away from me, watching my every move – or lack thereof. He comes to our house regularly to deliver bread in exchange for medicine for his brothers. They got into a bad accident in the bakery, and have serious burns covering most of their bodies. He doesn't usually speak much other than to ask for the medicine, which I don't mind because I'm not one for talking, either. But this time is different; the Hunger Games have nearly begun.
"Katniss?" I can't look away from the television, though. My eyes want to forever remember the moment I lost the man I thought I belonged with. I am impervious to him reaching out to me, but when his palm connects gently with my shoulder, I draw in my breath sharply and shy away, and he automatically retracts his hand. I expect him to leave immediately, just as almost everyone else in my life has, but he sits down next to me instead, a cautious foot away. My gaze remains on the TV, which has already tuned out of Gale's interview and now shows a flustered Caesar Flickerman conversing with Claudius Templesmith on the interviews. My hands are balled up in fists, the knuckles white with the tension.
"Katniss," Peeta says with more conviction, his eyes glued to my face. "It's just an act, Katniss. He doesn't really mean that. It's an angle to get sponsors." What he says might have merit, but the words still hurt. I just thought that he felt differently about me, that he saw me as more than just Katniss.
"He really loves you, you know."
This uttering is a surprising revelation, and my head snaps towards him. I search his eyes for honesty, and find a striking, perpetual vastness of blue. I see longing, and compassion, empathy, and a twinkling splinter of hope. He holds my gaze with an unabashed seriousness. We maintain eye contact for a long moment, and he turns away first, my cold stare seeping into his warm and inviting personality. I turn away, too, but not because I'm uncomfortable. I didn't know Peeta Mellark ever noticed anything about me.
He sighs, not in relief, but in regret - maybe for something he didn't mean to do, or something he wished hadn't happened, but I disregard it as irrelevant. His leg muscles flex as he forces them to push himself upward, and the sound of his black sneakers fades away until I can't hear him anymore. I turn around to look at the emptiness my home has become, but instead find him still standing in the doorway. My eyes flicker up again to small, piercing crystals, waiting for a new declamation, but he only murmurs in a low voice, "And with good reason."