Guess what?

I'm sick. AGAIN.

But I don't care, I got 3A's and a D (but that was in Physics so mehh) in my exams last week! :D

And they kissed! :o

Chapter Twenty-Five

I stumbled back upstairs, my father calling my name from a mere distance, yet feeling so far away from me. My lips tingled, my head was spinning and my heart crashing against my ribcage. I wanted to run out the door and sprint down the road to the Seam, grabbing Katniss and pressing my lips on hers again. My pressed my shaking fingers to my mouth, the tingling intensifying as I imagined them to be her lips.

I paused just short of the door leading to the living area, taking deep breaths to slow down my racing heart. I could hear the blood gushing through my ears, her soft voice filling them with the gentle sound of her laugh. Images of her popped into my head; her small smile tugging up the corner of her mouth, the persistently loose strand of hair that swept across her forehead. I found myself itching to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, reaching out into empty space before me.

I heard voices from the television, Caesar Flickerman interviewing Seneca Crane and Plutarch Havensbee about the opening of the Games. Deep voices mumbled in the background as I walked into the room and made my way slowly over to the love-seat Katniss had sat in not ten minutes previously. "Are you alright son? You seem a bit pale?" My father's voice carried from across the room, again seeming like her was a million miles away instead of six feet. I raised my head to meet his, colour rising in my cheeks as his eyes met mine and he put two and two together, as a knowing look flashed in his eyes. "Good for you son." He stated simply, a small smile lifting his features.

I smiled back weakly, leaning into the seat and stretching. My muscles were aching, I noticed and I was shivering, yet it was a balmy evening. None the less, I focused on the television screen, catching a few of the words that tumbled from the Capitol men's mouths. "District Twelve tribute, Peeta Mellark.. he did well yesterday... Determined to get home after all.. guess his brother will be happy.." I looked over at my father, who had been looking at me.

He sat up, attempting to conceal a smile. "Darius told me about your trip to the headquarters. I guess you don't know what Kade said about you then?" He asked, offering me the second mug of hot chocolate. I declined, and shook my head in response. He took a sip of the cooling liquid and relaxed back into his armchair, "Caesar asked him did he have someone special to come home to, to which Kade answered yes. He surprised your mother with this answer, we didn't think he had had a romance with anyone. But then I knew he meant someone else. You, Peeta. He's coming home for you." He looked at me with a soft fondness. My father was truly my role model, the person I had always grown up wishing to be like. But now, after hearing what Kade had said, I now had two aspiring figures to look up too.

I stared off into space for a few short seconds, trying and succeeding to blink back the tears that were threatening to overflow at any second. I caught the change in picture on the television in my peripheral vision, and focused on the screen. They had started broadcasting the Games again, and for some unknown reason they flashed up the score the tributes received in training. Although, for those who had died, they replaced the number with the word "deceased". A cold-hearted reminder that only the strongest survive, the tributes with the highest scores.

I realised then that I did not even know my brother's own score. When I was younger, I had convinced myself that if ever my brothers or cousins were Reaped, I would watch the Games with such passion that they would make it back to us alive. But I had only watched yesterday's portion, not the interview, nor the training highlights. I wondered why Kade wanted to come home for me, I was useless. It reached the end of the string of images, Lillyian's pretty face flashing on screen with a cold, demeaning "deceased" stamped underneath.

I promised myself that in the next few days, I would bake a few loaves or convince my father to allow me to bake a small cake for the Fletcher family, to show them that Lillyian wasn't just another tribute, she was a hero. I studied the screen until Kade's face appeared. He looked different that the person I was accustomed to seeing every day. He had blue eyes, like every other merchant, but in this photo they seemed to sparkle, lighting up his entire face. His hair was an entirely different shade than mine was, his more darker than my own, and he was blessed to not have the sometimes frustrating wave mine held. In his photo however, his hair looked several shades lighter, and had been sculpted up with a waxy product. He looked great. I wondered how he had looked during his interview.

"His stylist, Portia I think her name is, has done wonders to that lad," my father laughed softly. Kade was always the scruffiest of us sons, forever tormenting mother with his ragged appearance. He didn't seem to care in the slightest, sometimes purposely falling in mud to dirty his trousers or tear his shirt on a rusty nail. I laughed at the memories, catching a brighter smile lift my father's face.

After all the pictures had ran through and Seneca Crane greeted the audience, the camera immediately zoomed in on the small camp of tributes gathered around the Cornucopia. It was not dark, but it wasn't the brightest of light either, which made it difficult to determine who was who unless the camera zoomed right in. There was movement amongst the tributes, two burly figures working on something within the empty monument. Their physical build instantaneously informed me that this was the infamous Career pack, the tributes who had been trained from day one to kill mercilessly and survive at whatever cost. I had only hoped Kade had stayed away from them.

The camera zoomed in even closer, allowing us to see one of the males lifting a few sticks of wood out of a medium sized backpack. He arranged them inside the mouth of the cornucopia, placing them in a lattice arrangement. The other tribute was riffling through three other backpacks, being assisted by another; this time a small but built girl. Eventually, she found what they were looking for and tossed the small box over to her cohort at the cornucopia. He lifted out a small stick, and struck it against the side of the box. They were building a fire. Luckily having came across dry wood and matches.

I wondered if Kade had anything other than the rope and plastic sheet in his back pack. My stomach had been twisting into knots with anxiety, wishing the camera would hurry up and focus on his. Luckily, I didn't have much longer to wait, as it flicked over to Kade after a few seconds. He had emerged from the small hole he had dug for himself in the ground and was crouching in the snow, his blonde hair barely visible under his hood. He held a knife in his right hand, a small knife in his left. He turned his head slowly, scanning the ground for something invisible to my eyes. He suddenly lunged forward, stabbing his knife into something in front if him. Swiftly, he wrapped the animal in the net and carried it back into his snow cave.

A fresh trail of blood followed him. I only hoped that he would have the sense to cover the betraying liquid before he got caught. He through the small bundle down into his cave before walking back to the trail, kicking fresh snow over the dark red circles. I sighed heavily in relief, not realising I had been holding my breath. I looked closely at the screen, in the area where he had kicked the snow from. Faintly, I could see thin blades of grass poking up from the white layer. I wondered why the snow was deep where Kade dug his hole, but not here.

He had jumped back into the pit, and was now unravelling the mesh in front of him. Miraculously, he had managed to spear a rabbit, the small creature now taking its last few breaths as my brother placed a hand on its soft fur. He closed his eyes and mouthed something to himself, aware that the cameras had microphones that could detect even the quietest of whispers. At that moment, he looked straight into the lens of the camera, his blue eyes flashing with emotion as he nodded gently to himself. My stomach lurched in that moment, the intensity which my brother glared at the nation with unsettling me.

Could Kade really kill someone as easily as he had killed the rabbit? Would the Games change him forever, like they changed Haymitch Abernathy? From all the Games I can remember, the victors had gone drastically downhill from when they won until they reached District Twelve in the victory tour. Of all the victors I can remember seeing stand outside our justice building, Finnick Odair from District Four seemed to be the happiest, smiling and posing for the cameras as Mayor Undersee shook his hand as he commiserated our District's loss. Deep down, I knew it was an act. In Panem, the Capital believes that everything is an act, you need to put on a show to win.

I felt sick, sick with fear and nerves for my brother. Would I ever truly see and talk to him again, or would it be a mere shadow of the man I once knew? I focused my attention back at the screen, trying to focus on my brother than the nausea I felt within me. He had finished skinning the rabbit in the time it had taken me to run through my thoughts, and was now lifting a bit of the plastic sheet that dipped into the hole. Behind it lay a small, dug out cavity. The entire thing was made of ice, not snow or earth like I had though. On closer inspection, I discovered that some of the snow had melted, most likely due to Kade's body heat. There was a distinct brown line met with patches of icy blue, alerting me that the "hole" Kade had found was more likely to be a river bank, where the water met land. It was just frozen.

Another miracle. He had wood and matches too. He set about lighting a small fire in the ice cavity, humming to himself as he did so. Instead of lightening thought, my stomach grew heavier with nausea, for what reason I did not know. Kade paused mid action, dropping the glowing match as he did so. I could hear footsteps, heavy on the crunchy snow below them.

A figure appeared in the corner of the screen, their head dropping down into the hole. They held a sharp, bloodstained knife in their hand as they smiled down at my brother, their hood covering their eyes and hair. I saw the fear in my brother's eyes as he stood there, trapped and waiting for his death.

My stomach plummeted, a hot feeling flowing up from my abdomen as I hurled for the bathroom, the nausea too much for me to handle any longer.

Review! :)