Oh em gee, you guys, I'm updating! It's been a while. Well, it hasn't been too long, but it's later than I'd hoped it would be. I've been taking care of my dad after his surgery, which I think I already mentioned. But now he's back at work, so I get days alone at my house, and in turn, you guys get updates. I wanted to address the fact that I kinda skipped a lot of stuff that probably should've been there pre-games. Like I'm sure there would've been stuff in between, and I kinda skipped it because I feel like these Games are being really rushed due to their controversial tributes, compounded with the fact that last year and the year before, the pre-games stuff led to the thoughts of rebellion. Anyway, now that's all cleared up, so I'll get to the story.

Disclaimer: *the credits roll after Catching Fire* Me: alright, let's do this, Joshy. *the two of us pull out flamethrowers.

Me: I gave you a chance, movie! But he didn't take his shirt off, so I'm afraid I shall have to torch this theatre. Josh, now.

*Josh takes shirt off* Josh: Let's do this.

Me: Wait, first things first. Before I do this, let me assure you losers that I DON'T own the Hunger Games.

*We turn on the flamethrowers and proceed to torch the theatre*

Chapter 14

Finnick and Braxton's shaky alliance was extremely unnerving. I was constantly afraid that the second Finnick turned his back, Braxton would finish him off. That fear had almost come true after they first formed their alliance, right after dark.

I don't think Finnick had realized how severe the cut on his throat was until it was almost too late. They had been walking along through the thick trees, and all of the sudden, Finnick collapsed to his knees. Braxton turned to ask him what was wrong, but Finnick couldn't speak. He clutched frantically at his throat, his hands shaking violently, trying to staunch the bleeding. He choked on the blood caught in his throat. He coughed and coughed, but that seemed to worsen the problem, sending blood shooting from his mouth and impairing his breathing.

"Brax- Braxton," he managed to choke out, his normally humor-filled voice broken and gargled. "Help. Me…..allies…" He could barely finish his sentence. Braxton sighed, like this whole situation were such an inconvenience to him. He ripped a scrap of his dark black shirt, the only piece of every tribute's ensemble that was not eye-catching, and wrapped it around Finnick's throat. He pushed him backwards until his back rested on a large rock and leaned his head back. He was trying to slow the blood flow between his body and his throat. Holding Finnick still, Braxton pressed down on the piece of cloth wrapped around Finnick's neck, hard. A strangled, watery sounding cry escaped Finnick's lips, but the steady flow of blood from his mouth seemed to slow.

I wanted to monitor this whole scene between Finnick and Braxton, but the camera cut away. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in. Peeta pulled me against his chest as the scene changed to show Ari. She was almost upon the cornucopia, which must be why they were showing her. On the electronic map in the corner of the screen, another blinking dot sat motionless behind a nearby tree; it seemed to be watching her.

She noticed something was off around her. She clutched her spear in a clenched fist, preparing to fight. And this was a smart plan for her, because almost as soon as she'd realized something strange, a man jumped out from behind a thick tree and attacked her. His arm lashed out at her, the small hunting knife in it barely missing her abdomen. She shrieked in anger and lunged, thrusting her spear towards his heart. She wasn't as unlucky as he had been. Her spear quickly found its target. The man gasped and looked down at his chest in disbelief. But Ari wasn't finished.

She ripped the spear from his chest roughly. Shoving him to the ground on his back, she thrust it in his heart once again. I clutched onto Peeta as a disgusted sound passed my lips. She got on her knees, one on either side of his torso, and smirked at him.

"Thank you for your participation in this year's Hunger Games," she said in a sickly sweet voice. It was the first time I'd heard her speak. She leaned down and looked in the dying man's eyes, then, to everyone's surprise, she kissed him square on the lips. She lifted her head and wiped the blood from her lips, getting off of his chest. The cannon sounded, and Ari walked away, taking his knife and her spear, along with a small woven basket the man had on his person, filled with different leaves and herbs. Ari frowned, thinking. And I realized I was having the same train of thought.

This man hadn't made that basket. He was one of the married tributes whose spouse was also in the Games. The man was from District 3, like the boy from my games who helped the careers dig up he mines. He wouldn't know how to weave a basket. But his wife was from District 4. She would easily know how to weave. And Ari realized this, too. "Where are you?" she said, scanning the forest. Her eyes suddenly lit up, her nostrils flaring, and her head snapped to the right. She ran off, full sprint, deeper into the forest. And the camera panned away. I tried not to pay too much attention to the other tributes. I only noticed those I felt were important.

And thinking that made me sick. They were all important. They had families and lives outside of this arena, but it was easy to forget that when you're watching someone you love go through this experience. So I didn't watch the others. I only monitored Finnick, Braxton, Ari, and a few others I had noticed before the Games had started. Night had fallen earlier, but it was only now that the anthem played, and the seal appeared overhead. Nine dead in the bloodbath. I guess the Cornucopia didn't have to be present for the tributes to attack each other at the start.

I watched the faces of these brave rebels go across the screen. The girl Finnick had killed for his trident, the man Ari had killed at the start, and the man from 3 that Ari had so brutally murdered. The look of shock on that poor man's face will haunt me forever. I only hoped that his wife had been in hiding somewhere else and not watching it happen. She must know by now that he's dead, but she didn't need to see how. Finally, the death count was over, and Caesar and Claudius Templesmith signed off for the night.

The first night was over. Tomorrow we'd find out what had happened overnight. If there'd been any deaths in the middle of the night, if Ari had found that woman. If Finnick had succumbed to his injury. If Annie's baby was to be fatherless. I reached over and embraced her, telling her that he'd be fine. But I could feel myself shattering.

Peeta stood up and offered me his hand. I got up with him, but we didn't leave just yet. Peeta knelt down and picked up Prim, who had fallen asleep. He carried her in his arms, being careful not to wake her, all the way to hers and my mother's section of the forest. We both kissed her on the forehead before setting off toward our own tree.

When we got there, we sat down in silence, a little space between us, my arms at my sides and his clasped together in his lap. As few minutes passed as we sat there in silence, processing what had happened today, mentally analyzing Finnick's chances for survival.

I tried to be strong. I had to be strong. For Annie, for Prim, for Peeta, for myself. I had to be strong because it was expected of me. I was the strong one, the one who didn't crack under pressure, who thrived under it. I should have expected Peeta to read my thoughts, but when he spoke, I was still surprised at what he said.

"You don't have to be strong for me. You know that, right? I know you feel like everyone is depending on you, and that you can't be sad, that you can't cry because that'd be weakness. It's not weakness to weep for a friend. It's compassion. And compassion, to me, is far more appealing to me than a hard outer shell. Katniss," he turned to me now, pulling my face to look at him. "Katniss, when was the last time you cried?" His eyes glistened as he looked at me. And I broke down.

Sobs ripped through my body, shaking my entire form and making my vision blurry. Tears poured down my cheeks without let up. "Peeta, I-" I began, but he cut me off.

"Shh. Don't say anything. Just come here." He pulled me against him. I sat between his legs, curled in a ball, wrapping my arms around his waist. He stroked my hair and whispered soft words to me, telling me he loved me and that he was here for me, always. I couldn't remember a time where I had cried harder than this. Not even when my father died. I suppose that now I cried for every sad thing that had ever happened to me. I cried for my father, for Prim's name being called, for going into the games, for Rue, for nearly losing Peeta, for everything unfair thing that had been thrust upon me. By the end, I had cried out all my sadness. I thought of Peeta, and my tears were happy, grateful. I had Peeta with me, to hold me, to say the things I need to hear, to love me. And I was never going to give him up.