Month 3
I feel fat. My clothes are starting to stretch to the point of discomfort, but I refuse to wear the new ones Peeta has ordered for me.
In a moment of weakness, I allowed him to take a photo of my distorted figure... and he's likely been painting me (and it, I'm sure), but I don't want to see anything. I'm not ready for that yet.
He doesn't push it. Like always, he is impossibly patient with me. He lets me have my moments of insanity, steadfast in his reassurance.
I'll never deserve him. These should be the happiest moments of his life, and I'm ruining them. I ruin a lot of things. How can I have the audacity to think that I won't ruin it as well?