A/N: So I really can't thank all of you guys enough for all the support with this story it has motivated me so much you really don't know. IN FACT! Chapter 8 is practically almost finished and I hope to post sometime next week so be awesome and leave lots of reviews and I will make that happen ;) I think you'll especially want the next chapter after this one lol. Thanks as always to my wonderful betas (Court81981 and WickedlyClever) who have shaped this story into something decent, I could not do it without you ladies.

IMPORTANT! I'm changing my tumblr URL to: thegirlonpeetamellark dot tumblr dot com - So please go follow me and I'll post a sneak peak for Chap 8 this week =) thanks!

You are way too early.

I bite my lip as I stare at the clock in my car, debating whether it would be completely ridiculous for me to show up to Peeta's office almost 20 minutes before the scheduled start of our session. The rational part of me knows that it is crazy, but there seems to be a bigger part of me that just doesn't seem to care.

Eventually I find myself walking up to his office door only to find it already opened.

I spot Peeta at his desk with his back facing me.

"Ow dammit!" Peeta whispers under his breath.

"Um hello?" I laugh lightly, knocking on his door to announce my presence.

When he turns around he shoots me a brilliant smile, his entire face lighting up.

"Hey!" he says enthusiastically, and I'm thankful he doesn't mention how absurdly early I am.

"Let me just go throw this in the microwave. It's my dinner tonight and well, I haven't eaten all day," he laughs, holding up what looks like a frozen tray of macaroni and cheese.

"Frozen dinner? Aren't you suppose to be like...a baker?" I question, scrunching up my nose at the unappetizing meal.

"You said it yourself. I'm a baker...not a chef," he explains with false indignation. "And you sound just like Delly. What's wrong with frozen food?" He asks, pretending to look hurt.

"Delly?" I find myself asking, before I can think twice.

"Oh yeah," Peeta says, a smile in his eyes, "my friend Delly. I went to college with her. She was with me at the bar the other day when we ran into each other. The blonde, short one," he adds. "She's always giving me crap for eating frozen meals."

"Oh," I respond, feeling relief wash over me. I hadn't realized until that moment how much the idea that the girl he had been with was his girlfriend had been weighing on me. Having to watch them interact, the familiarity, the closeness, the way they seemed to be so completely comfortable with one another felt like a knife to the gut.

I refuse, however, to analyze or reflect on why I feel that way at the idea of him with another girl.

"Yeah, Johanna thought that you guys might have been together," I lie, trying to cover for my momentary inability to speak.

"Yeah no," Peeta laughs. "She's one of my closest friends. Nothing more."

"So no girlfriend then?"

I feel my chest tighten the moment the words leave my mouth. The sudden rash and bold moment that let those words escape vanishes as quickly as it appeared. I feel my entire face flush as I mentally curse myself for saying something so stupid. I'm being nosy and intrusive and he doesn't have to tell me whether he has a girlfriend and to be honest I'm a bit scared to hear the answer because-

"Nope," Peeta responds, his voice steady. "I'm extremely single," he laughs it off like a joke.

I don't find it particularly funny though. For some reason, his answer seems to calm the raging storm in my heart. I finally drag my eyes up to meet his and he gives me one of his signature half smiles.

"I'll be right back," he says, moving past me and out into the hallway. "I'm going to go nuke this in the kitchen."

When he leaves I drop my bag on the couch and wander around the room for a bit.

The small, intimate space has come to mean so much more to me than I would have ever expected over the past couple of months. It was in this little office that I really got to know Peeta, that I started talking about all the good times I spent with my dad, that I finally let myself feel the pain and hurt from losing him in a way I never had.

Even without the things Peeta makes me feel that I'm still having a hard time processing or even acknowledging, I know that I will always feel a special connection to him for the rest of my life. I never once expected or thought that anything would ever come of this grief counseling Haymitch suggested as a means to get my sister back. All I wanted was to get through it with as little trouble as possible so my request to become Prim's guardian stood a decent chance. I had no interest in sorting through my deep and dark twisted past and all the pain I had buried away. I learned from watching my mother go from a woman head over heels in love to being completely incapacitated after my father's death, that letting yourself be open, letting yourself feel the kind of emotions that are all consuming, good or bad, only leads to heartache and misery.

But then Peeta came and changed everything.

There's something about him, that I can't quite put my finger on, that made me take down my walls inch by inch, lower my guard and slowly start to let him in. Maybe it's because he was just so damn persistent and I didn't really have another choice. Maybe it's just because he took it slow and earned my trust before anything else.

But somewhere deep down I know that it is a lot more than that. There's something about Peeta that shines out of him, this light that burns as bright as the golden mess of hair on his head that is impossible to ignore. He sees the good in people, he believes in the good, he focuses on the rainbow that fills the sky rather than the raging storm that preceded it. It's something I've never been able to do, something that's almost impossible for me to do.

And to see him be such a hopeful and optimistic person despite his own hardships makes me think of him as the first hint of spring after a particularly brutal winter. It's like what he said during that very first session, 'that no matter how bad your losses, it can be good again'. And now, after getting to know him, after his help navigating my way through the the trauma and tragedy of my past, I'm slowly starting to believe that sentiment.

Since the time I broke down in his arms while reading the letter I wrote to my father our sessions have become steadily less intense. It's a good thing though. I'm still working through my grief, filling handfuls of notebooks with my writing nearly every day, but I don't have to let him in on all of it. He says all that matters is that I'm honest with myself.

I still feel the raw, blinding pain when I think of my father and the topic of my mother makes my insides twists with anger and longing, but I'm making progress.

It's not perfect, but it's something. And I have Peeta to thank for that.

I come around his desk, noticing that it looks like a hurricane came through the room and spread papers everywhere. There are piles of unorganized stacks of folders and various forms covering every inch of the dark wood.

I realize I shouldn't exactly be looking at his things when something catches my eye.

At the edge of his desk is the corner of a paper peeking out from a bunch of other papers. This paper is different though. From the small part that is showing I can see the heavy shades and distinctive lines of a piece of art.

Letting my curiosity get the better of me I reach out and pull the paper from the bottom of the pile.

My breath catches.

What I'm looking at is a masterpiece. I let my eyes roam over the page, taking in every small detail in fascination. It's a picture of a family. Well, technically it's a picture of what looks like a father with his three sons. The father is wearing an apron and laughing, holding the youngest, a boy about 5 years old or so, on his shoulders. He shares the same wavy, unruly hair as the child and by just looking at the illustration of the little boy in the picture I know that it's suppose to be Peeta.

The other two children are walking along the father's side and are considerably older, 9 or 10 easily. They have different hair and coloring than the pair, but they're looking up at the man with the same adoration.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest as Peeta's words come back to me. The day he shared about himself when I was still in group therapy, the day he chased me out in the parking lot afterwards and asked why I wouldn't let him help me.

"I lost two people really close to me, people who I grew up with, who I loved with my whole heart. My older brothers died when I was really young."

I bite down hard on my lip, willing the tears away. Thinking of this little boy on his father's shoulders losing both of his brothers and having to suffer through that pain for the rest of his life makes me want to break down. It makes me want to cry and scream over how unfair it is that someone so good and kind got such a raw deal. It also makes me wonder how he can still be who he is today, how he can still be happy despite everything.

I put the paper back on the desk where I found it, unsure if I can stand looking at that image a second longer when I notice that there are more illustrations.

I pick up the stack of papers and am blown away by what I see.

Every drawing is as good as the last, a river leading into a valley at sunset, a meadow with tall grass and birds and flowers everywhere, and several more scenic landscapes.

In the back of my mind I realize I shouldn't be looking at these, that they're private and Peeta might be upset if he found me looking, but I can't seem to pull myself away.

Finally, I reach the last drawing and my heart stops.

It's me.

Or the way Peeta sees me at least. I'm sitting on a rock at a lake; a completely isolated body of water surrounded by pine trees. My hair is in it's usual braid over my shoulder and I'm smiling.

I can't think, I can't breathe. All I can do is stare at this picture and wonder if this is really how Peeta sees me. Because the girl in this picture is not how I see myself at all. This girl is beautiful and full of life and-

I hear footsteps coming down the hall and I immediately shove the papers back under the pile where I found them. I freeze, unsure if I should move away from his desk to not look like I've been snooping or if it will just look worse if he finds me darting away right when he walks in.

Before I know it he's pushing open the door and I've yet to make a decision. In a last moment of desperation I reach out and grab one of his business cards from the corner of his desk to make it look like I have an excuse for being over here.

"Damn it, this is hot!" Peeta complains, holding the tray of steaming mac 'n cheese as he comes into the office.

"I didn't know you were so professional," I try and keep my voice steady as I hold up his business card. Attempting to play it cool like I wasn't just having a total freak out before he came in.

Peeta just laughs and shakes his head, "Oh yeah, my dad ordered me like 500 of those when I got hired," he explains, coming over to his desk and putting his dinner down. "I tried to explain to him that I don't really need them, but he was so proud."

He's silent for a moment and I just look at him as he stares down at the cards on the desk. A frown has worked its way onto his features and the thought of him unhappy makes my stomach turn unpleasantly. His eyebrows pinch together and the corners of his mouth are tilted downward.

"How is he?" I ask carefully, wondering if he's open to talking to me about such intimate details of his life. He's mentioned before that his father has cancer but we haven't really gone into further detail than that. Peeta has always made sure to keep the focus on me, on my issues.

Peeta shrugs without meeting my eyes. "He has surgery in a week. They're going to try and go in and get most of the tumor."

His voice is steady, although he seems to be working to keep it controlled and emotionless. He continues staring at the business cards and my hands tighten at my sides, my heart aching for him. With each of my parents' deaths it was sudden and jarring, they were here one day and gone the next. I wonder what it must be like to have the possibility of losing someone you love hanging over you day after day in such a long, drawn out manner.

The thought makes me shudder because I can't decide which is worse.

I reach up and touch his arm, bringing him back to me.

He starts a little at the touch, clearly caught off guard, but then he relaxes. He seems to shake his head a little, as if it's truly that easy for him not to let the dark thoughts consume him, and then offers me a small smile.

He grabs the business card out of my hand and then leans down and grabs a pen from his desk. "Here, to make you feel special," he begins, scribbling something on the back of the card. "I don't think I've ever actually given one of these out. But for you..." he trails off as he stands back up and offers me the card.

I fight back a smile and roll my eyes.

"I'm honored," I tease, taking the card from him.

"You should be," he replies, "I even put my cell number on the back."

My heart starts to pound like it's trying to escape my chest, but I try and play it cool.

"Well, thanks, now I really do feel special," I laugh, slipping the card into my pocket for safe keeping.

"So umm..." Peeta trails off, not meeting my eyes, "I have...news."

I feel my chest constrict, suddenly afraid of what he is going to say.

"Um okay?" I try and laugh it off, try and pretend I'm unfazed by the vague statement.

"Come here," he says walking over to the couch and taking a seat.

Okay. Now I'm really scared. I sit next to him and try and imagine what he could possibly have to tell me. My mind is creating a thousand different horrific scenarios when he starts talking.

"So I've been talking with Haymitch, updating him about your progress. He's really happy that to hear that you've been taking steps in the right direction," he explains.

"Oh, okay," I respond, starting to relax a little. That's good news, actually.

"The thing is though..." He adds, and my stomach drops a little. "He suggested that we start to reduce the number of sessions we have together. He wants us to cut down to twice a week and then eventually only once a week."

"What? Why?" I ask, confused and more upset than makes sense at the news that I actually don't need this grief counseling as much anymore.

"He said that if he gets reports from me not only indicating how you've improved, but that I even think you need fewer sessions a week it will look really good when he brings your case to the judge."

"Oh..." is the only thing I can manage to say as the news sinks in.

This is what I wanted. I wanted to get through these sessions just so I stood a better chance at getting my sister back. This is good news. This is great news.

So why does it feel like my heart has dropped into my stomach?

"Well, great..." I finally mange to reply, forcing a smile.

"Yeah," he responds and he seems less than enthusiastic about the idea as well.

I spend the rest of the session hating that I only have so much time left with him.


Gale is on top of me.

Gale is kissing me.

Gale is running his hand up the outside of my thigh, coming to rest on my hip where he tugs at the material of my underwear.

His kisses are long and desperate and for some reason it feels like I can't breath. And not just because my lips are being occupied.

There is a funny feeling of pressure on my chest, although he is holding his body weight above me with his arms, and my head feels cloudy like I'm in a daze.

I pull my head back against the pillow and press my hands against his chest to push him away just slightly.

We both take a moment to catch our breath.

Gale's lips return to me before I'm ready though. He starts kissing up my neck and along the underside of my jaw. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to clear my mind and wondering what's wrong with me.

"God I've missed you," Gale breathes against my skin, "I'm sorry I've been working so much."

He has been putting in a lot of hours at the law firm lately, but he hopes to get hired there when he graduates so he doesn't really have a choice. He has been getting home so late though that he has mostly been just crashing at his place down the hall rather than waking me up in the middle of the night.

This is the first time in a long while that he has been home early enough to sleep in the same bed as me.

"Katniss..." he hums against my throat and I feel his length pressing against my inner thigh.

My heart starts to hammer in my chest. I don't know what's happening. I can't explain it. All I can think is that this just feels...so much different than before. It feels nothing like those times before when Gale and I have made out and done...other stuff.

Back then it was easy and comfortable and nice.

Now, however, there is something strange and uneasy stirring in my chest as he continues to attack my lips with his own. And of course I'm racked with guilt for even thinking such things. Gale is my boyfriend and my best friend of 7 years and I love him. He's always been there for me and I can't imagine him not in my life.

I take into account that it's only this part of our relationship that feels off to me now. That talking and spending time with him lately has been just the same as always.

He returns his lips to mine and kisses me deeply, pushing his tongue into my mouth.

When he pulls away, he whispers something he's never actually said out loud to me.

"I want to make love to you," he says, his face hovering inches from mine.

The pressure on my chest intensifies and my stomach turns to knots. I look into his eyes and hate that I'm feeling the way I am because Gale means so much to me and the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt him.

"I'm sorry," I respond looking away from him. "I'm just not ready yet."

Gale is a saint. There are not many 20-something guys who would be with their girlfriend for over a year and still be waiting patiently for her to decide when she wants to lose her virginity.

After a long moment of silence he presses a kiss to my forehead. "It's okay," he tells me before rolling onto his back beside me on the bed. "But I still want to, Katniss," he adds, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as I curl into him. "Eventually."

"I know," I respond, kissing him on the cheek.

And to relieve some of my feelings of guilt, and to thank him for being so patient with me and waiting, I trail my hand down his stomach.

I slip my hand under his boxers and grasp him firmly, starting to work him up and down.

He sucks in his breath through gritted teeth and moans his appreciation.

"I love you," he whispers as my hand trails over his head.

I return my lips to his so I don't have to respond.

I use the moisture that has leaked from his tip to help guide my movements and concentrate on helping him find his release.

He is panting his appreciation now, his hand tangled in my hair, but my mind has started to wander again. I think about how early I have to be up for work tomorrow, and that I'm supposed to meet Johanna for lunch and that I haven't seen Prim in almost a week and a half.

When his entire body starts to tense it brings me back to the present moment and I feel even more guilty than before, because what is wrong with me? Why can't I just focus on making my boyfriend feel good?

After he finishes and cleans up he offers to return the favor.

But I lie and tell him I'm too tired.

Shame is not a strong enough word to describe what I'm feeling as I close my eyes and hope for sleep that never comes.


"I told you she wasn't his girlfriend!"

I roll my eyes at Johanna as she stops in the middle of our run, putting her hands on her hips and looking irritatingly smug. We're on a hiking trail a little ways out of the city. I guess she got bored using my gym all the time and wanted to try something different so I tagged along because I thought the exercise and fresh air would do me some good.

Help to clear my mind.

"Well, I mean, it wasn't like it was that crazy of an assumption to make," I defend myself for thinking Peeta was dating his friend Delly. "I mean they were all over each other all night."

"Not really," Johanna replies as she starts walking the trail again. "I mean, yeah they were hanging out, and they might even have been a little touchy-feely, but it was super obvious they were just friends."

"How do you know?" I scrunch my nose up at her.

"Because people who are fucking have a certain energy about them," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And they did not have the 'we've fucked a bunch of times' feel to them."

I laugh despite myself. "Okay, whatever you say."

"It's true," she replies, "and I'm super good at spotting it. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I didn't spot it with you and tall, dark, and handsome the other night."

I stop walking, looking over at her with wide eyes. "How do you..what..."

"So basically you just confirmed my theory," she puts a hand on my shoulder. "I was 95% sure before, but now I know."

She doesn't say it in a mean way, just very matter of fact. I feel my face heating up, avoiding her eyes. "But damn, why aren't you letting him hit it? I would," she winks at me with a little laugh.

I take a deep breath and look away. I hate talking about this kind of stuff with people. I've actually never really talked about it with anyone and since Johanna is the only close female friend I've had since high school I haven't had many opportunities to anyway.

It feels...strange to be discussing such intimate details of your life so openly.

"I just...I've never done it before and I'm just not ready," I mumble.

"You mean you're a...oh damn. Okay, well then yeah that makes sense," she returns and I'm thankful she doesn't make a big deal about my inexperience.

We continue walking along the trail. Apparently we've run as much as we can for today.

"So can I ask you what you're waiting for?" Johanna speaks up after a moment of silence. "I mean, you guys have been together for over a year, right? And you've known him since you were a kid."

I take a deep breath and chew on my bottom lip as I contemplate how to answer her.

Because the truth is I'm not really sure what it is I'm waiting for anymore. The truth is that ever since I've started grief counseling, ever since I've really acknowledged my dad's death and worked through that pain, my walls have slowly started to crumble. I don't feel like there's this huge guard up around my heart anymore, letting myself feel things...both good and bad...isn't the terrifying idea it once was.

But for some reason I can't explain I'm still not sure I'm ready to go down that road with Gale just yet. Especially when just kissing him has been making me feel conflicted and confused lately.

"I don't know..." I finally respond, deciding to just be honest with her.

She laughs lightly and the sound puts me at ease a little. She's not judging me, she's just listening.

"Well, brainless," she begins, using my the nickname that almost sounds affectionate coming from her, "you should probably figure it out. Cause he probably won't be able to wait forever."

I realize she has a point, but before I can respond she speaks up.

"Hey will you come with me somewhere after we grab lunch?"

I'm so caught off guard by her rare and sudden request I respond almost immediately.

"Sure."

We grab lunch at our favorite deli, but instead of going wherever it is she wants to next she suggests getting ice cream. I go along with it, but I can't help feeling that she's stalling for some reason.

Finally, we get in her car and she drives us to the hospital.

She's silent after she parks the car and I look over at her, frowning as she stares straight ahead, seemingly lost in her own world.

"Johanna?" I say quietly and she jumps as if I've startled her and she forgot I was here.

"Let's go," I gesture towards the hospital entrance and she shoots me an appreciative smile as we get out of the car.

I follow her through the front lobby and into the elevator which we take up to the fifth floor. She gets off the elevator and leads me down the hall to a room where she stops at the doorway. She looks at me once, searching my face for I don't know what.

Finally, she moves into the room and sits at the bedside of a girl that looks strikingly similar to her.

Suddenly, words she spoke back when I was still in group therapy, the only words I ever really remember her saying in any of those sessions come back and hit me full force.

"I lost my sister. Well, not technically. She's on life support. Brain damage from the car accident. It was a drunk driver."

A lump starts to form in my throat and I sink down into the chair beside her, blindly reaching out and grabbing her hand. She squeezes it to the point of pain but I barely notice.

"I wanted you to meet my sister," she barely gets out before her voice cracks.

"She looks just like you," I return, offering her a shaky smile that she struggles to return.

After a long moment she takes a deep breath and looks much more composed than before.

"I'm going to let her go."

I look over at her in surprise and she just nods her head.

"I guess Sunshine has been helping more than I realized," she tries to laugh it off, but I can see the truth in her eyes. In that moment I feel my heart swell with gratitude and pride thinking of Peeta and how many lives he touches, how he has helped not only me, but so many others.

"Will you be here with me when they do it?" She asks me, suddenly looking close to panicking.

"Of course," I tell her without hesitation, my heart aching that she has no one else in her life to ask to be by her side at a moment like that.

"Of course, I'll be here," I repeat. "I will be right next to you."


It's a Friday night and I'm already in my pajamas by 9pm.

I'm moving around my kitchen making mac 'n cheese when the phone rings.

I reach out for it with one hand and hold it against my ear with my shoulder as I continue to stir the boiling macaroni.

"Hello?"

"Katniss, darling!"

I can't help but chuckle as the familiar woman's voice booms through the phone.

"Hey Effie," I greet her happily. Although I never would have expected it I've come to actually respect and even like the woman who has been taking care of my sister for the past few months. She's definitely...different. And I don't think I would normally get along with her very well if we hadn't been forced into these circumstances by fate, but she has become someone I trust.

For all her quirks, Effie has been doing a really good job with Prim. She has taken care of her better than I could have hoped for and made this time with out my little duck bearable, instead of excruciating like I had expected it to be.

"How are you dear?" Effie questions and we make small talk for a little while as I bring the pasta over to the sink to drain.

I notice though that there is something off about Effie, something in the tone of her voice that makes me think there's something she's hiding.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing so well," Effie returns and for a moment there is nothing but silence over the phone.

The moment lingers a second too long and instantly I know something is wrong.

My stomach twists unpleasantly.

"Effie, what is it?" I ask, desperation seeping into my voice. "Is it Prim? Is she okay? Just tell me, please."

"Prim is fine," Effie assures me and my anxiety eases up just a little. "She is wonderful in fact. Her report card came in the mail today actually. She had nothing but A's and B's."

"That's great," I return, now genuinely perplexed over what could be wrong.

"But there is something..." Effie says at length and the pressure on my chest returns.

"Well, what is it?" I ask carefully.

"Katniss dear," she begins and I wait with baited breath for her to continue.

"I've been offered a job in New York."

My head starts to swim as I try and work out why she is telling me this. I don't say anything for a long moment and then she continues.

"They want me there in 6 weeks, darling."

I'm still in a sort of daze, trying to process what she's saying and how it affects me.

She sighs, as if she realizes I'm not putting two and two together and then continues.

"I'm going to take it, Katniss. And if Prim is still my legal responsibility she will be coming with me."

I gasp, a sort of choked whiny sound that escapes before I can stop it. I cover my mouth with my hand and lean against the kitchen counter because my legs feel like they're about to give up on me.

Effie is still talking, about how she's sorry to do this but she doesn't have any other choice and that Prim is her responsibility. I'm not really listening though because I feel like the walls are closing in.

I knew things couldn't stay this good forever, I knew that eventually it would all come crashing down around me. Things in my life fall apart. They always have and they always will.

This thing where Effie took great care of Prim and I got to see my sister anytime I wanted was just a reprieve from the usual shit storm that is my life. I knew it wouldn't last, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it would all blow up in my face eventually.

"Katniss, darling, I am truly sorry," Effie's voice comes back to me over the phone. "You can always come visit you know. New York is just a short plane ride away."

I don't remember much after that. I think I eventually said goodbye to Effie, hanging up on her mid sentence. I think I may have just stared unblinkingly at the cooked pasta sitting in the sink, suddenly repulsed by the idea of food.

The next thing I know I am in my bed, curled up under the sheets alone and sobbing uncontrollably.

My cries of anguish are a lot like the ones I experienced that time with Peeta in his office. Tears over losing someone that I love. And now it is happening all over again.

Sometime much later I eventually wear myself out and fall into a restless sleep.


I'm in a meadow.

I'm surrounded by tall green grass that is alive with different flowers and birds.

At the edge of the meadow there is an electrical fence.

As I approach it I have the strangest sense of having been here before, in a different time, maybe in a different life.

Something tells me to listen for the hum of the electricity although I don't expect it to be on.

It's never on, I think, wondering how I know that.

When I hear nothing I slip through a gap between the wires. On the other side of the fence there is a forest. Tall, lush trees that remind me of the woods my father used to take me camping at.

In the woods I find a bow.

I use it to take out a doe and two small squirrels. Then I begin gathering plants, strawberries and katniss flowers. I can't explain it, but I know that I need to find food, I know that my survival depends on it.

I'm washing up in a creek when I get the feeling I'm being watched.

I turn around quickly and see two blonde braids whip around the large trunk of a tree.

"Prim!" I call out, wondering what on earth my sister is doing here.

I move towards the tree but I see her take off, scurrying quickly away from me. All I can see is the back of her, her blonde braids and her untucked shirt hanging out and flopping in the wind.

My heart starts to speed up. Why is she running away from me?

"Prim!" I cry out again, hurt and confused as to why she is ignoring me. I take off through the woods trying to chase her down but she eludes me. Every time I think I get close enough to grab her I try and reach out for her but she is just an inch out of my reach.

"Prim!" I begin to shout hysterically, wondering why she just won't come back to me. I never see her face, just the back of her, turning and twisting through the trees and bushes, doing everything she can to evade me.

The scene transforms in an instant.

We're in the middle of a street and there is complete chaos. People shouting and crying and guns going off. I see her up ahead near a group of children, blocked off by a group of men in white uniforms. I call to her again one final time and when she finally turns around so I can see her face everything explodes into one giant ball of fire.

I wake up with a start, sitting up in my bed, the sheets are twisted around me uncomfortably and my entire body is drenched in sweat. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I recall the pure panic that consumed me when I thought that nightmare was real.

As the relief that it was just a horrible dream starts to take over it is quickly washed away when I remember the conversation I had with Effie last night.

The thought of losing Prim, of her moving away, of not being able to see her anytime I want hits me like a ton of bricks and I feel close to losing it.

With shaky limbs I climb out of bed and start searching through the scattered clothes on my floor.

With trembling hands I find the jeans I had been searching for and reach into the front pocket.

I pull out the small business card and blindly reach for my phone on my bedside table.

I don't even take a moment to hesitate or second guess as I dial the numbers.

He picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Peeta, it's Katniss."