"I could just tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn't send."
"Well, I never had the opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up."
My initial annoyance at this has long since died down and I am aware of myself enough to register relief. Relief… and shame. The look on Katniss's face when I lost it – lost myself – in a haze of red that I'd interpreted as anger. Anger at what? Anger at Katniss? No, I've tried that – I can never manage to make myself angry with Katniss, even when she had the disgusting decency to save my life by breaking my heart. Anger at Haymitch, then. But no – looking back now, objectively, at the scene in the room where nobody goes, even then I'd known that he was right. That I would have done the same thing in his position.
The haze of red, I realise now, was directed at myself.
Because I didn't realise.
Because I let Katniss suffer through this alone.
Because I was pigheaded enough to act angry when all I wanted was to take that beautiful, considerate girl into my arms and thank her for caring just enough not to burden me with this.
The only thing I feel for Haymitch is a fresh wave of relief, now, because it turns out that he was thinking what I was thinking all along: when the time comes, if you have to make a choice, choose Katniss.
I'm relieved too because when I kissed Katniss in the arena sometimes I could half see, half feel her turn her body minutely to glance into a nearby camera. I'm relieved because I know, now, that she was looking for Haymitch. Asking his approval.
It still hurts, but it hurts less than it did when I could have sworn she was looking for Gale.
Gale. I recall, now, that at least a portion of my anger is down to him.
"Snow knows he's not really my cousin now." Katniss's voice is almost a whisper now, and I only have to wonder why she is avoiding my eyes for a moment because then she speaks again: "someone saw him kiss me by the fence in the meadow."
The red haze begins to settle over my vision again before I can shake it away. I do, though, because I know that really, I have no claim over Katniss. Snow may have forced us together but Gale has the right to tear us apart. Because although I might convince myself otherwise, she never really wanted me. She just wanted to come home. And, if she could, she wanted to take me home, too.
I know I should be thinking about what Katniss said, about Snow's not so subtle threats, but I can't do it. I know I should be angry but I just can't force it.
I just keep picturing him, kissing her by the fence in the meadow that separates the part of her life that has always been his from the side that I had thought might one day become mine.