'But in the meantime I'll just wait here and listen to you when you speak, or scream,' — Foster The People, Waste.

'Shut up,' a voice unfamiliar to my ears growls aggressively. ' Shut up.'

My eyes open within a second.

I had been taking an afternoon nap. Finnegan had encouraged it greatly, saying that he'd keep guard and it'd all be fine.

But, of course, afternoon had lapsed into evening. Evening, the time when other tributes hunt us down.

I look around myself, eyes flickering from place to place, not daring to move an inch.

I spot Finnegan just metres away, a knife held to his throat by 7's male tribute.

I quickly scramble to my feet clumsily, reaching for my spear. It's still where it always had been, luckily. It obviously hadn't crossed our attacker's mind to take my weapon. All brawn, no brains. What about Brawn instead of 7 as a nickname? I joke with myself in an attempt to stop myself becoming panicky. I breathe deeply.

Brawn smiles, his fingers tightening around his knife's handle.

'Don't do anything stupid, Odair. Your boyfriend could be dead within seconds. I hope you fully get that,' he says, easily restraining Finnegan as he struggles, just with his arm.

'I do,' I say, glad of the steadiness of my voice.

'Well, that's great.' He laughs, a cold, soulless laugh. 'This is hilarious. Jacob told me this would be good.'

'What did Jacob say?' I demand, the words slipping from my lips by accident.

'Oh, not much. Just that the proper way to get to you was through your district partner.' He laughs again. 'Nothing big.'

My feet are rooted to the ground. One false word or movement and Finnegan could be gone within seconds. I can't let that happen.

'Cat got your tongue?' Brawn sniggers.

'No,' I answer. This is the only chance I have to save Finnegan. It's give or take whether Brawn will actually do what I expect him to, though. If he doesn't, I'm dead. For certain. 'But Zamuel will soon have you.'

Brawn turns around quickly. I have to do what I have to do to save Finnegan. Aim, throw the spear. And it's done.

The spear hurtles through the air.

I know it's hit my target by the scream that pierces the air.

I blur my vision, I don't see him dying. I never want to see him. This is a show of cowardice on my part, but I couldn't care less.

But my eyes are itching to be opened, to witness the watershed before them.

They prise themselves open and I feel the urge to throw up. I'm a monster.

I condemned the others for killing, but now I've joined their ranks.

I struck to kill. It wasn't just defence on my part.

It seemed the only thing to do.

But now...

Finnegan runs towards me having escaped Brawn's muscly arms, a look of horror upon his face which I will not forget for the rest of my life.

Brawn is lying on his back on the ground, sprawled just feet from us. The empty look in his eyes is another I'll never forget for as long as I shall live. He'll haunt me. I deserve it.

The sound of his cannon fills the arena.

He died quickly. I realise that he turned around as the spear was heading through the air towards him, guaranteeing him a blow to the heart. A flash death, but death no less.

My breathing quickens. I'm panicking.

Finnegan grabs my hand and picks up our possessions briskly, swinging them over his shoulder.

He now looks reasonably calm. Whether he's looking like that for me or not, I don't know. It's my best guess that inside he really is hyperventilating, but I don't know.

We reach a humble clearing a little north of our old camp and set up there. Finnegan wants to go out and look for food, but I beg him not to go. It's not for my own selfish benefit, at least, but for him. I'm not having anyone hurting him, or getting close to hurting him ever again.

Maybe it is a bit selfish, actually.

I lean into Finnegan's shoulder, his arm wrapped around me for comfort.

'Why aren't you disgusted by me?' I ask him. 'I just murdered someone. I'm a murderer.'

'You're not the murderer. We all know who the only murderer is,' he whispers back soothingly.

I know what he means. 'You promise?'

'I promise.'

He means the Capitol. Even in my state of panic and mental breakdown I can see this.

A scream itches to escape me. I try to let it, but it doesn't. It refuses.

'You're not okay,' I say through gritted teeth. 'He just tried to kill you. Why should you be comforting me?'

'He didn't kill me, though. I'm more worried about you than me, to be honest.'

'Why are you worried about me?' I say with bewilderment. 'I don't have any major wounds. I'm quite unharmed.'

'It's not your physical health that worries me, Absidee,' he admits.

'Okay.' I stare at my boots. 'Do you mind if I scream?'

'What?'

'If I scream.'

'Don't ball it up inside.'

I manage to scream this time. I scream into my shirt as not to attract any more killers. I scream for half an hour. Then I just cry.

Finnegan pulls me closer to him, then lifts my chin up with one hand and begins to kiss me.

It's just comfort kissing, he doesn't know what else to do. He's not just trying to comfort me, it feels like he's trying to comfort himself too.

Despite myself knowing why he's doing this, I can't help the flutter within my stomach.

He pulls away. 'I'm so sorry. I shouldn't do that–'

'No,' I interrupt him mid sentence. 'Please do.'

'You don't have to–'

'Finnegan.'

I lean in again and begin to kiss him. It becomes more and more frantic, and then too much.

I pull away. The rush of feelings is too much for right now.

'Finnegan, I,' I can't finish my sentence. I begin to cry again. Since when did I become such a weepy wreck?

Since I became a murderer, apparently.

'Don't worry,' Finnegan whispers to me. 'Don't worry about a single thing.'

We begin to drift off into sleep, the soft trendils of it pulling us both in.

I'm just about to sleep when I hear him say it, which causes me to doubt myself the next morning.

'You know what?' I'm sure I hear Finnegan say under his breath. 'I think I love you, Absidee.'