It's funny, you know. I've had so many dreams about her.

So many kisses. So many embraces. But it's nothing like the real thing, there in that cave. Somehow it's both better and worse in real life. Better because something that is real is always better than the idea of the thing. Worse because, well, because I know I am still dying and I've put her at so much risk by being so useless. This is not what I expected when I considered my mortality that night before.

I take the opportunity to savor every kiss, every touch. I'm blown away by how much care she treats me with. True, she's still squeamish, and I know that there are cameras everywhere. But I hope some of it is real. Some of it has to be real, because I'm as good as dead and she's perfectly free to leave me be and hunt down the others. I know the rules have been changed, but what use is the rule change if it means making her more vulnerable? But no. She feeds me and kisses me and humors me when I ask for a story. It's so frustrating. The fever only makes my confusion worse. I swear, sometimes I just wish I could grab her and ask,

"Is this real or not real?"

I can't do that, though. As far as the audience is concerned, this is real. Katniss and I. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve, reaped together against all odds. How tragic. How romantic. How enthralling. This is what keeps her alive right now. So I continue to live the fantasy, trying all the while to maintain my own sense. Which is hard, not just because of the fever and the slow death. But also because I'm in love with her.

I'm in love with Katniss Everdeen.

It sounds crazy to me, even as I listen to her talk about the goat and her family. I love this girl, the way she gets caught up telling me about the people she loves most. She's dirty and grimy and there's blood under her fingernails and I love her. No one else sees this Katniss, not usually. They got a glimpse of her at the reaping when she volunteered, but she normally puts on that stony look and ignores any attempts to get close. At moments I wonder if I could have ever gotten to know this Katniss outside of the arena. She's normally so closed, that perhaps I had to end up in this position to ever fully put together all the bits and pieces that I've fallen in love with into one person. I'm privileged to be right here, even knowing there are cameras rolling in the background, even knowing I will die soon. After all, she rescued me from that riverbank. She came and found me.

The trumpets play. Claudius Templesmith again. Not to announce a rule change, but a feast. I could spit. The Capitol is bored. They want their blood. No amount of kisses could satiate those bastards. Romance was a nice interlude, sure, but The Hunger Games thrives on their blood lust. So a feast is called to get us all together and thrill the Capitol audience with even more gore. Ah, but this feast is going to be different though, according to Templesmith. Everyone left needs something. We need something. The medicine for my leg.

Katniss jumps up as soon as the announcement is over, but I grab her.

"No," I say. "You're not risking your life for me." She's safe here and I'm content knowing that in my last moments. Katniss won't have it, though, and I feel that nervous knot in my stomach. Is this real? Does she really want to risk it all for me? She's usually so bad at lying. I can tell even as she pretends now she won't go. Katniss actually wants to try and save me, at the potential expense of her own life. After all, Cato and Clove and Thresh - that huge tribute from District Eleven - are all still left. All much larger and more skilled than Katniss. Finally I seem to make her agree to stay, but she's not happy about it. I try to appease her as I eat my soup, even though I'm still not even capable of being hungry, but there's that stormy look.

Katniss goes out for a while and I lie back and let out a sigh. Safe, I must keep her safe. As long as I'm alive, she's alive. I'll guarantee it, if it's the last thing I do. Which it will be. I knew full well going into the Games I was going to die, but your own death always catches you by surprise.

Katniss returns before I can mourn myself. She has some mashed up berries that she insists I eat, which I do, because I don't want her to be mad at me. In my last moments I want Katniss to understand. Forgive me, Katniss.

There's something odd about these berries, though. I can tell there's mint, but there's some other taste, too. It's overly sweet. A wave of nostalgia crashes on me and I know I've had these before. But that's not possible, is it? Sugar berries, she calls them, and I have never heard of those. I swear I've tasted them before, though. I reach for a way to describe them that might help me realize where I've had them before. Then a word comes to me.

"They're sweet as syrup," I say, that last word hanging in the air after I've said it. "Syrup." Before I can spit them out, Katniss has her hand over my nose and mouth. A poison. Not a poison to kill, but to make me fall asleep. How did she get it? Why is she doing this? I must get them out. Katniss has to be safe. She's smaller than I am and normally I would be able to pull her off and spit out the berries, vomit what I've already eaten, but I'm weak from the blood poisoning. When I do finally get her hand off my mouth, I wretch for a few seconds, trying desperately, but I'm fading already. The syrup is strong and fast acting.

I get maybe one more dry heave before I lost consciousness.