Chapter Two
Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters and uses of the original sentences or paragraphs are the property of Suzanne Collins. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: I don't know anyones personal view of Prim, but I tried to capture her as best as I could. I'm hoping for positive feedback. That would be really great and make my entire day, no matter what day it is. In this chapter I wanted to accentuate Prim and Katniss' relationship, even strengthen it a little. And of course, push and shove my favorite couple a little further into uncertainty on the point of physical love. (I know it may not seem like them, but to have this story, I have to build it somehow.) Thanks for reading, sorry for typos! Enjoy. -Taryn(:
Chapter Two
Finally, after Prim has finished her stew and has told me almost everything there is to tell, Mother stirs from the methodical sorting of vegetables and chopping meat to look up at me. "Hungry?" she asks and I nod wordlessly.
She ladles out a mug of broth for me, and I ask for a second mug to take to Haymitch. Then I walk across the lawn to his house. He's only just waking up and accepts the mug without comment. I push aside a worry that he might fall back on his words, or has even gone as far as forgetting them. We sit there almost peacefully, sipping our broth and watching the sun set through his living room window.
I hear someone walking around upstairs and assume it's Hazelle, but a few minutes later Peeta comes down. The want to flee out the door is tempting, but I settle on scowling at him across the distance as he comes and tosses a cardboard box of empty liquor bottles on the table. The whole time his eyes don't look at me, once. "There, it's done," he says, staring only at Haymitch.
It's taking all of Haymitch's effort though, just to focus his eyes on the bottles, so I speak up. "What's done?"
His eyes only drop to the bottles for a second, before lifting back to the old man at my side. "I've poured all the liquor down the drain."
This seems to jolt Haymitch out of his stupor, and he paws through the box in disbelief. "You what?"
"I tossed the lot," Peeta says.
"He'll just buy more," I mutter.
"No, he won't," says Peeta. "I tracked down Ripper this morning and told her I'd turn her in the second she sold to either of you." He never wants me drunk again. "I paid her off, too, just for good measure, but I don't think she's eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody."
Haymitch takes a swipe with his knife but Peeta deflects it so easily it's pathetic. Anger rises up in me suddenly. I was mystified by the way he has not managed to look at any part of me in this whole time. Angry or ashamed of what happened last night? Was I not the only one who wanted to forget the whole opening up and sharing stuff?
"What business is it of yours what he does?" I snap.
"It's completely my business. However it falls out, two of us are going in the arena again with the other as a mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team. Especially not you, Katniss."
"What?" I sputter after a minute. An indignation I knew I shouldn't have hit me. It would be more convincing if I wasn't still hung over, but I couldn't help that. "Last night's the only time I've ever been drunk."
"Yeah, and look at the shape you're in," Peeta says right back, looking at me for the first time. I was the first one to break eye contact, staring at the mug in my hands. I don't know what I expected from him after my race to get away last night. An apology, a little comfort maybe. Not this.
I turn to Haymitch. "Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor." I say it in spite of the blonde boy, just to show him that I won't be weak to this.
"Then I'll turn you both in. Let you sober up in the stocks."
"What's the point to this?" asks Haymitch.
"The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor," says Peeta. "Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!" He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door.
Haymitch and I wince at the bang.
"I don't like self-righteous people," I say.
"What's to like?" says Haymitch, who begins sucking the dregs out of the empty bottles.
"You and me. That's who he plans on coming home."
"Well, then the jokes on him," says Haymitch.
Once the broth is gone, I eventually get up and walk over to Peeta's house. This time, I knock, and it takes a few minutes but Peeta answers. "If you're coming over to argue, don't bother," he says almost immediately, but that's all he has time to get out before I step forward and kiss him.
Peeta pulls away almost instantly, eyebrows dented. "What are you doing?"
"How am I suppose to gain your trust?" I ask. "When you can't even look me in the face?"
He's still confused by the experimental kiss. "That was nothing. I thought you were still angry... you don't want me to back off?"
"No, that's not the point," I say, frustrated. "If we're the ones in the arena together don't you think it's important that you trust me and I know you do?"
"I do trust you," Peeta says, and makes that sound like it's been really, very quite obvious.
I weigh that for a moment, then turn and leap down his front steps. I hear the door close just as I open mine, and go in search for my sister. There are only so many weeks I have left with her and I shouldn't waste them trying to puzzle out what has always been a mystery to me. I decide I don't care anymore, it doesn't matter.
After a few days, Haymitch and I agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well. Every night we watch the old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won. I realize we never met any of them on the Victory Tour, which seems odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Haymitch says the last thing President Snow would've wanted was to show Peeta and me – especially me – bonding with other victors in potentially rebellious districts.
Adjusting for age, I also realize some of our opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring. Peeta takes notes, Haymitch volunteers information on the victors' personalities, and slowly we begin to know our competition. Every morning we do exercises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch our muscles. Every afternoon we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees. Officially tributes aren't even supposed to train, but no one tries to stop us. District 1, 2, and 4 show up able to wield swords and spears. This is nothing in comparison.
On top of all that, there is the tension. I don't think Haymitch notices it, because after so many years of abuse his body resists improvement and he's paddling to keep up with us as it is, that a few extra glances or talks go below his radar. He's strong, but easily winded and can't aim. But thankfully he is so focused in his efforts that he can't tell that anytime Peeta and I are within a few feet of each other, he gets irritable and I get snappier.
It isn't like Peeta to be like that, though I guess it has to do mainly with me, being harsher to him than usual. I've never been mean to him, to say the least, there was only that time after the first Hunger Games that we fell into the cold, formal void, but that had never turned into cruel. This is different. We have not talked in private for days and we avoid any sort of touching, even when practice fighting, at all times. Sometimes I'll find myself unable to say anything at all. And even he stumbles on his words.
Otherwise, Peeta and I excel under the new regimen. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. My mother puts us on a special diet to gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles. Madge sneaks us her father's Capitol newspapers. Predictions on who will be victor show us who is among the favorites.
Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and he teaches us all he knows on snares. It's weird, beyond uncomfortable, being in conversation with both Peeta and Gale, but they seemed to have set aside whatever issues they had about me.
One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate."
"Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be happy little victor all by myself."
"And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale.
I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted.
"Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say. I know he didn't mean the question literally but this is as much as I can honestly give. I could not deny the sudden skip of a beat my heart does, thinking if Ihad killed Peeta or let him die. Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it. To me, there's no point in talking about things that might have been.
Even if I killed Peeta, I still wouldn't have wanted to marry anyone. I only got engaged to save people's lives, and that completely backfired. I was afraid an emotional moment with Gale would bring back that stupid idea I had that night I brought Peeta into the woods, so I decided to lay off of his company as much as I could afterward.
On the third week of our training, I wake up to find Prim loitering around in my bedroom and by the door. I sit up, noticing how timid she looks and invite her to sit on my bed. "Is something wrong?" I ask.
Her fingers twist the end of one of her pigtail braids nervously. "You'd tell me if something was the matter, wouldn't you?"
"Of course," I say. There is something off in her tone, like she's been offended. The thought that someone might have hurt her causes me to grow more attentive. "Why? Have you heard something?"
"No... it's just... you never tell me things anymore. You know you can trust me, right? Because I would never tell anyone. And you've looked so upset lately, you hardly ever smile unless it's with me. Haymitch said you were being mean to Peeta, too. I'm not so little, you know. I'm almost fourteen, now. I can handle it. You don't have to worry about frightening me or anything..."
"Prim," I start, but then I stop, not knowing what I want to say. The look of hurt in her face increases until I can do nothing else but lean forward and clutch her head to my shoulder. Her arms slip effortlessly around my waist.
"You don't have to tell me," Prim whispers. "But you know you can, don't you?"
"Yes." I nod and screw my eyes shut, burying my face in her hair. "I know." There are just so many things I don't want you to hear. "I can handle them. You don't need to worry about me."
"But I do," Prim says. "I do all the time. I'm scared sometimes, when you leave the house that you won't come back. And now..."
"Shh." I rock her, one of my hands stroking the side of her face. "It'll be okay. Somehow. I'll figure something out, I always do."
"Yes, but let me help you," Prim begs. Her arms around me tighten. "I can help."
We pull away and I stare at Prim, until I know I have to say something. "What do I say?"
"Anything."
"I don't know."
"Tell me.. about what scares you."
Everything. You, me, Mother, Gale, President Snow, going back. "Something else."
Prim's hand rises, pulls out the tie holding my braid together, and flattens the crimped plait across my shoulder. Intently, as she runs her fingers through it and re-braids, she say, "Tell me about Peeta."
A long exasperated breath escapes me. This one is hard, but not as bad as her last request. If it were anyone else, then I would have left already, gone out to clear my head. But instead I look somewhere over Prim's head, trying to gather what I can share, what would be okay to say.
It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea where Prim stands on the concept of Peeta and I. How much does she know? How much has she guessed, or has been told? Does she know that it really was all a sham? Did she really think I wanted to marry him?
"Peeta... is complicated."
"He loves you," Prim prompts. A hand of hers moves to pull a strand of hair out from behind my ear and, momentarily, her fingers brush up the side of my neck and I lean into them unconsciously. "I can see that. Everyone can." Her eyes find mine, inquiring, a million questions hidden there that she's been holding back. "I didn't know you knew him, before. But during... when you were with him, it seemed like you've known each other for years."
"I did, but not really," I say. "He helped me once, when you were too young to remember. It meant a lot, but I never thanked him for it. There was never a time. Then, the reaping.. and it just didn't seem..."
"No, I can get that," says Prim. The braid is finished, but she doesn't seem to like it, so she unties it, and begins all over again. "Peeta said that I should ask you, when I came to him, about why you two weren't talking after the Games..."
Haymitch, Peeta, who else has she been talking to? Trying to get close to me, forced to talk to strangers just in the attempt? "There was a misunderstanding."
"And there's another one, now? Because of the Quell?"
"Yes.. no. It's complicated." Prim curls her knees up under her and sits a little straighter.
"I can listen, I have time."
Girl talk, sharing my feelings, it's always been something I'm bad at. I struggle for a few moments, watching her watch the braid, then finally I draw a breath, steeling myself internally. What do I tell her? The truth? A few stalling jokes? "I care about him, he's my friend. You don't just go through something like we did, and not care. But I don't... I don't think I love him, not like he loves me. I don't think I can. Then there's Gale, and I love him, I have to. The things we've been through lasted so much longer and we were each other's best friend for so long, it wouldn't be fair that I disregard him. Except..."
"You care about Peeta?"
"Yes," I force myself to say. "I care."
"And the Quell, you've talked about it?"
I shift uncomfortably. "A little."
"What does he want?"
"To go in with me, make sure I win this time, only me..."
Prim looks over my face. "And you don't want him to die."
"No." I can't lie to her. "No, I don't want him to die. I'd rather–"
"You'd rather die for him," Prim finishes, with the words that I wouldn't have expressly used, but it's the truth. The braid this time is perfect and she flicks it behind my shoulder. "I won't be angry, you can say it."
"No, you should be. I shouldn't think about dying, leaving you here alone. You need me."
"I have Mother, and the Hawthornes," Prim says, sweetly. "I don't need you, Peeta does. He doesn't have anyone."
"He has a family and friends. And Haymitch," I correct, but it sounds stale. Prim lets the matter go.
"Are you mad because he wants to die for you? Or something else?" She knows me too well, I realize, when there really isn't a question to her statement.
"I'm not mad," I lie, smiling at her. "Just worried. Like I am now." I get up from the bed and begin to dig around for something decent to wear. "Haymitch and Peeta are going to come hound me if I'm not out in time for our run." I pause on my way into the bathroom, look back and Prim hasn't moved an inch. "Thank you.. for doing my hair."
She smiles shyly. "It's nothing." I close the bathroom door, brush my teeth, take off my pajamas and wiggle into the clean clothes. Even when I pause to splash some cold water into my face, I know she'll still be out there, waiting. "Thank you, for sharing," I hear her call, and I nod. Then I realize Prim couldn't see that.
"And you? There's nothing you want to share with me?"
I wait, pausing with the zipper of my jacket half-way up, before finally, Prim says, "Well, it's nothing big or worrisome. Not really. It's just..."
"Just?" I move to the door and pull it open. Prim is sitting in the middle of my bed, knees hugged to her chest, and I lean against the door way. "You can trust me."
"I know," says Prim. "You don't usually like talking about this, I know, but Mother gets so fidgety whenever I do. And all my friends they're... well they're not you." She bites her lip. "Rory, he's been..."
And everything in my mind comes tumbling over. I don't know what I expected my sister to ask me about, considering I hunt and she heals. We are so different I always thought, but by the telling blush in her cheeks I know that this has to do with all the complicated things in my life that I've never been able to sort out. Now it's official, every Everdeen woman is doomed to have a love life. No matter how much you don't want one, no matter how hard it's to resist. Everdeen woman, they're inevitable. But not me, I've always felt more like my father than my mother, and Prim is her replica. Prettier than me. It shouldn't bother me, that boys notice her, and Rory Hawthorne at that, but it does. She's my little duckling. I can't let boys touch her, kiss her... do that thing Peeta did to my neck. I shudder.
"What has Rory been?" I say, maybe a little sharper than it should be.
"No-th-ing." Prim exclaims, dragging out the word, exasperated. "That's the problem, he won't even talk to me" – I sigh in huge relief at that – "I don't know what I did or said, but ever since a few months ago, during the Victory Tour, he's been avoiding me."
Slowly I made my way back to the bed, and say, "Maybe he's just having some issues at home. Gale and him have been clashing over the hunting in the woods. Especially since what happened with me. He's just.." Hormonal? Going through a stage?
Prim rolls her eyes before I can find the right phrase. "Peeta says that he's probably scared I'll give him cooties still. But I know he just said that so Rory wouldn't hurt my feelings."
"You've told Peeta about this?" I exclaim before I could hold it back.
"Yeah." Prim shrugs, looking at me with startled eyes. "Why not? He's always around, and nice."
"Yes, but, he's.. he's just.." I'm your sister, not him.
"He's just..? Your fiancé? I thought I could trust him." Then she adds, as if trying to defend him, "He really does give good advice. Sometimes he'll take me to the bakery, and he'll let me give cookies to some of my classmates. Do you not want me to?"
"No. No, it's fine," I say, running a hand along my scalp. "I just didn't realize you spent so much time with him."
"I try to spend time with everyone. Haymitch doesn't really like it when I try to talk to him, he says I'm just following him around, but he really likes the goat cheese I make." She smiles. "And Gale, I showed him how to wrap up hands, and clean them, since he's got so many coal miner friends who just don't have gloves anymore and they get so cut up on the mines down there. There's Penny too, from town, she's..." and Prim continued on to tell me a couple of things that I listened to, halfheartedly.
All I could really think is: And where was I?
I know the answer already, though I'm sure Prim and the whole country knew as well. I was off trying to stop and start a rebellion in the same move, hoping for the downfall and tiptoeing right where President Snow has told me to. I've been dealing with things way over my head and trying to juggle a fiancé and a fake cousin, too. There's only so much time to factor Prim in that situation.
Prim only stops when there's a soft knock on my bedroom door. We both look up and our mother calls through, "Haymitch is downstairs, Katniss. He's wondering if you mean to join them in training this morning."
"Yes," I say. "Tell him I'll be right down."
"Will you promise me something?" Prim rushes when I move to leave, and she crawls to sit on the edge of the bed. "Nothing big, nothing like last time." I hesitate, hand on the doorknob, then nod. "Whatever you do in the Games or after or before, will you promise me you'll do it for yourself. Not because you think it's right or because it's the best option, or someone else told you to do it, will you do it for you. For love. The same way you chose to volunteer for me."
"Of course," I say, wondering where this had come from.
Prim saw the question in my eyes. "I don't want you to change. If you can't come home knowing Peeta's dead, than don't come home because you think I need you. Just don't change, Katniss. Promise that."
"I promise." There's nothing more to say so I move to leave and I'm two steps out the doorway when Prim says, "And Katniss?"
"Yes?"
"Did you thank him?"
I turn back. "Thank who?"
"Peeta. For what he did for you, when I was too young to remember. Did you ever get to thank him?"
"No... not yet."
Haymitch is furious when I finally arrive. "If you think you can get away with skipping out on this Career nonsense, than I'm smuggling the liquor from your mother's heath cabinet."
I laugh. "I hear the stocks are quite warm, actually."
"Yeah, and going into the Hunger Games arena is about the most comfortable life choice one can make."
The time for training ends when the day before the reaping another hundred Peacekeepers arrive by train. Too anxious to sleep that night, I go outside, on the front porch, drinking in the District sadly. This is the last time I will see it in the night. My home. The place I grew up.
If anything, the talk with Prim has opened my eyes. Since I don't plan on making it back alive a second time, the sooner her and my mom, and Gale lets me go, the better. I do plan on saying one or two things to him after the reaping, when we're allowed an hour for good-byes. To let Gale know how essential he's been to me all these years. How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage.
As I'm reciting my speech I lean against the porch rail and I see a figure exiting Haymitch's house across the way. Curiosity peaks in me when I see Peeta's stocky frame. I call him over before I remember that we're still not talking.
"Katniss?" Peeta says, nearer. "You should get some sleep. The reapings tomorrow-"
"I couldn't." I slip around the railing and step down a few of the stairs, taking a seat on the middle one. I stare at him, but he continues to look at his feet, and my arms wind around my suddenly buoyant stomach. "I miss you," I admit. I miss talking to him sometimes. I miss laughing with him, and I do not like this new brute Peeta who bosses Haymitch and me around. I know he means well, but I miss sweet Peeta. The one who wouldn't hesitate to make me smile. The one who would offer me hugs and kisses. The one who helped Prim when I was unable to. I'm afraid I've frightened that Peeta away, by that one rash decision I made to take him in the woods.
"We've been together for the past three weeks. I see you every morning." He lifts his face up, and the porch light accentuates the confusion in his eyes. "I'm not avoiding you."
"But it's.. you're.. acting different." Last night, I dreamed of him. It started out as a nightmare, but when I thought I woke, he was there, holding me, shushing me. And that fire, that hunger for kisses inside me roared to the surface with him so close, shirtless, those hot, heavy lips he would drag along my jaw... I had taken advantage of that dream, of this new hunger that he caused. Then, I realized that was a part of the fantasy, when I woke alone, sweaty, and panting.
"I don't mean to be," Peeta replies.
Forcefully, as I realize I've been staring at his lips, I turn my face toward my bare feet. More and more I've been noticing his lips, and his tongue whenever he would speak to Haymitch or me, the way his hands glide along the tree bark as I taught him to climb, when he would twist his body a certain way and his shirt would reveal his hip bones, straining someway. It makes me squirm, it makes me restless and uncertain and completely lost with whatever my mind and body seem to be at odds with.
I wonder if this is what he's felt and always feels. I've never wanted his kisses before this, and I blame him for making me want them. If this is what he feels all the time, how does he stand it? Do I make Gale this way? Do I drive them as crazy as Peeta does to me? It's never crossed my mind before, because I had never understood the feeling. Now that I do, complicated turns into insanity.
"Katniss," Peeta says. He takes a seat next to me and meekly takes one of my limp hands into his. The feel of his thumb running warm along the back of my knuckles makes me heart pick up, something that's never happened before. It makes me worry. Peeta doesn't continue to speak. I look up at his face to see it flush scarlet and he is staring at his lap, at our hands. The night that looms seems like a cloak, pulling vacuüm tight around us, only us. That's when I notice his knee and calf leaning heavily against mine, suddenly overly noticeable in my conscious mind.
"Katniss," he repeats, stronger. "I wish.. I wish that you knew. That you could understand. I know you hate love and the idea of marriage and children. I wish I could help you see the world as I do. But I can't. You are just... stubborn." His lips curl at that. "I like that about you. You are, were, always the girl I would never know. And now, now, I know everything I could have wanted to." I know he means more than just the complicated stuff; yes, my father's bow and arrow, but my favorite color, too, and my love for cheese buns, everything. I summarize his words in my mind sullenly: I'm glad I got to know you, before I die.
"You're right, I don't understand," I tell him. "I don't want to marry anyone and I don't want kids. You do. That's why you should live Peeta, because you do have something to live for. You have a future."
"I want to marry you, Katniss. No one else. I don't have a future when you're gone, and you know it." Peeta runs a hand frustratingly through his hair, and I begin to notice the exposed skin of his neck. Before I know it, for no reason at all, I wonder what it's like to do that kissing thing he did to me. What it would taste like. How it would feel.. then his words snap me back to myself. "Tell me, honestly, who do you think out of the two of us, loves the other more?"
I wince, and refuse to answer, because I don't know. It's too obvious and painful to say. "How can you argue about which of us should move on?" Peeta continues softly. "I love you, Katniss. Do you understand how much it would kill me to know if I lived, you would be dead because of it? Do you know how much I would hate myself if I had a choice to help you live and I didn't take it? Why can't you just let me die?"
"Do I need to love someone not to want them to die?" I say back. "You are my friend Peeta. You matter-"
"Yeah, how much?"
I don't answer. I bite into my cheek until I feel Peeta shifting his hand from mine, but instead of letting him go, I pull him closer. Our lips are locked before I can remember why, or how. Yeah, how much? and I don't know how much, only this much.
Then I move my lips down his jaw, to his neck. It's salty tasting, almost better than his mouth. When he tries to pull away, I only hold his hand tighter, strung between our laps. Touch, taste, warmth, that's all that follows. No arguments, nothing that imitates logic or restraint on either of our parts. The longer I stroke my lips up his neck, the harsher his breath grows. His fingers are a whisper on my skin. A thumb inches around on the flesh at the hem of my shirt. It traces circles, over and around. Fire from inside of me rages, burning, reaching out to Peeta. Hands buried, twisting into his curls. A blush hotter than embers, running along my back and across his cheeks. Any reluctance or uncertainty, all of it, all that puzzle and complicated that's piled up for weeks inside of me, falls away, into the flames. It is as if I have never walked in my skin before, as if I have never known what it was really for. I could just float here, lose myself to him, in these kisses. Forget that torment waiting for us out in the cruel world.
But then, it begins to get dangerous. Never reach your hands into the fire unless you're prepared to get burned and I learn this lesson quickly enough, when I feel the hunger turn from something harmless into a warm ache, igniting somewhere deep inside of me. Begging for more, craving things I don't really know anything about...
I break away, staggering to my feet and I tumble down the few steps to the ground in front of the porch. Peeta sits on the stairs, chest rising and falling rapidly, staring at me with wide crystalline eyes. "It's late," he says, abruptly.
"Yes," I agree hastily. You need to leave.
Peeta nods. He stands up, a bit dizzy, and I scurry past him toward the door. "Sweet dreams, Katniss," Peeta calls over his shoulder as he departs. I don't know what he meant by that but there was a sudden urge in me to ask him to join me. That, at first, worries me, but I am thinking only of the nightmares. And I didn't want to be awake all night tormented by them, yet they are almost worse than the ones I have of him. I don't say anything, knowing that there needs to be space between us. Nightmares or no.
Manipulative is a quality I know well, but it seems Peeta knows it better. He manipulates people with his interviews, tries to get me to feel so guilty about my family I'll stand back and let him give me everything. He tries to manipulate things for the better, really. Only he could make a despicable quality sweet. Yet, I don't think he meant those words to make me want him there with me. Nor to make me 'dream of him' literally, but unfortunately as I lie in bed, twisting and turning, all I can think about is the feel of his arms around me.
By the time my mother comes to wake me for the reaping, I haven't slept a wink.