It doesn't take Antonio long to catch up with me. I growl at him.

"What the hell was that!?" I whipped my head around to face Arthur, "You didn't tell me he'd do that!" My pulse is racing.

I punch Antonio in the face, blacking his eye, and run off.

It doesn't hit me till I'm in my hotel room what an idiot I am. I didn't let them explain, I blacked Antonio's eye, and if anyone saw that punch I would be in deep shit. Our romantic dynamic would fly out the window and there would be no way to get it back.

I had single-highhandedly ruined our chances of winning. I lay on my bed, and curl up into a tight ball before I start crying. The stress of this entire situation makes me want to jump off the Slaughter House roof. I made a massive mistake and I can't fix it.

These violent mood swings will be the end of me.

An hour later, there is a knock at my door. I don't answer.

"Are you decent?" The door asked, in a would-be English accent.

"Don't come in."

He ignores me completely. He opens the door, and sits beside the mass of blankets that I've built around myself in an attempt to feel better.

"Romano Lovino Vargas, look at me."

"No." I bury my head deeper. Maybe if I keep this up, I'll suffocate.

He pulls me up by the collar of my dress shirt. I'd thrown the jacket somewhere in my rage fit. My eyes are irritated from crying, and my cheeks are probably red.

"Why did you punch Antonio?"

I hiccup, "I..I don't know."

The would-be Brit sighs, "You can't keep this up with you beating the shit out of your boyfriend."

"I can't do this!" I growled, my eyes were watering, "I'm going to have my throat slit for being an idiot and fucking with District 1!"

Arthur sighs, and it's silent for a moment.

When he finally speaks, I'm so startled that I almost fall off my bed.

"You both like to wrestle. It's like you're couple bonding time, or whatever. This time you were a bit too rough, and blacked his eye. That's what I'll tell everyone. If anyone questions it, you spill the same story," He looks up at me, "Are we clear?"

I nod, taking in a shaky breathe. He drops me on my blanket pile, and ruffles my hair a bit. He turns on his heels, "Dinner will be ready soon, get cleaned up."

The door shuts, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I'm so willing to do everything that Arthur says. He won the Hunger Games. I wasn't even alive when he did though. I feel like I should follow his instruction, but a part of me is very hesitant to trust him. Truthfully, I feel like I can't trust anyone now.

When I finally peel myself off my bed, my legs are wobbly. All of my strength was spent crying. I slap myself in the face. I won't make it out alive, at this rate. I can't stop every five mintutes to cry like a little bitch. Crying is for the weak.

I walk into the bathroom and rinse my face off with cold water. It doesn't do much for my reddened flesh.

I fix my clothes, and smooth back my hair.

You're not an idiot.

You are a Vargas.

You've survived this long.

When I go to the dinning room, everyone looks at me. Their eyes pierce and burn my flesh. I take a seat and avert my gaze, "Where's Antonio?"

"Taking care of that shiner you gave him, kid. I honestly didn't know you had it in you!" Felix laughs, and Arthur elbows him in the ribs.

"Ouch! Arthur you are such a barbarian!"

"Better than being too weak to compete!" Arthur smirks.

Felix mumbles something about how he would maul Arthur later, but either the Brit didn't hear it, or just didn't want to comment.

The food is good, but I barely register the taste in my mouth. My mind is focused else where.

Antonio comes down with an icepack on his eye. I swallow thickly.

"I'm so fucking sorry," I say.

He smiles. God, I hate it when he does that.

"It's alright, Lovino. You just went a little crazy."

I hate that he's so forgiving, and the fact he gives the best hugs, and he can make me feel better. I hate that I hate him so fucking much. Why? Why can't I actually feel love for him? I'm sure that if I'd gotten to know him before all this shit happened, I would feel less hate. I would feel less guilt.

I want to get him out of this mess, but the only way to do that is to win. And in order to do that, I have to pretend to love him. But, what will happen if my feelings begin to feel real? My stomach begins to knot up, and I can't eat anymore.

After dinner, he corners me in the hallway.

"Why did you punch me?"

"I don't want to talk about punching you. I need sleep." I growl,

"I want an answer," He says,

"You're not getting one,"

"And why not?" He smirks.

"Because I'm angry and confused and tired. It's not a good combination." I run a hand thew my hair and let out an angry sigh.

"Why are you confused?"

"Move out of my way before I black your other eye!" I snarl,

He's dangerously close to my face, and my cheeks turn red.

"Is it because you like me?"

I can't take anymore and shove him off me, before running back to my room.

I dream of the people who had laid in this bed before me, and their mangled bodies on TV for everyone to see.

They were just a bunch of kids like me, who had died for entertainment. I wake up angry, and frustrated. There is literally nothing I can do except play these stupid games.

I mutter a silent prayer. There are 2 more days until me and Antonio and I will be in the arena.

Arthur greets me and Antonio downstairs. I smell whiskey on his breath.

"Ello childrens, how are you this Morning? Get enough sleep? Get enough food? Good, Good. Sit yer asses down." He says, slapping me on the back.

"Don't touch me," I growl. I noticed I've been doing that a lot lately, but I don't think I'll stop.

We sit at the table, then Arthur takes out a knife. My eyes widen, and before I know it, the knife had stabbed the wood in between my fingers.

"Today we start training, pussies."