As the chariot starts to move, Peeta gestures for my hand. "Cinna said for us to hold hands," he offers with a small smile. I hesitate, unsure it's a good idea. As we emerge from the tunnel, the pounding music, the cheers, the bombardment of spectacle and crowds quickly erases this thought from my mind. I hold onto Peeta like a lifeline. He is so steady, solid as a rock, and it soothes the tension in my chest.

The cameras hone in on us and I see our faces projected on giant screens everywhere. We look magnificent. Sexy. Intimidating. As Peeta leans over to whisper in my ear, I realize something else. We look like a team.

"You should wear flames more often, Katniss," Peeta whispers, "they suit you." I flush and squeeze his hand. "You don't look bad yourself," I say.

It feels good to be so powerful in this moment. Even if it's just a façade, I feel the hum of a self-confidence I haven't felt in over a year. After puberty, I quickly realized the efficiency of flirting. Once I realized it's potential usefulness, it became a powerful tool- negotiating trades, evading curfew, even getting Prim a proper tutor. She definitely has what it takes to be a healer, maybe even a proper doctor, if she can just keep her grades up. I lost that skill on that night a year ago, so this brief glimmer of it again feels…almost hopeful.

I wish I could bottle this moment because I know it will fade too quickly. I want to hold onto this feeling of every muscle in my body remembering that it is strong, it is attractive, and it is a force to be reckoned with. I wave and blow kisses to the crowd, basking in my invincibility because I can feel the vines of doubt and fear lurking in the periphery. I know I am broken and don't have a chance at winning the Games. But right now, just for this second, all of Panem is looking at me like I am already their Victor and just the tiniest part of me believes it's possible.

When our horses pull our chariot in front of the president's mansion, the music ends with a flourish. President Snow is a small man, dwarfed on his dais by oversized architecture. Some of the cameras cut to his face, but even more remain focused on Peeta and I. As he finishes his remarks, his eyes flit to mine, just for a second. His cold, empty eyes bore into mine with an intensity that cuts straight to my soul. I hold my face steady, but I feel myself collapse on the inside. I have seen that look before- a look that says I am thing to be used, crushed, played with, and destroyed at whim. I am nothing. I feel dirty, worthless, disgusting.

I almost stumble as the chariot jerks forward and Peeta squeezes my hand tighter. "You ok?" he asks. I try to talk but nothing comes out so I give a little shrug and focus on waving to the crowd. My movements have become rigid, mechanical, but it has gotten dark enough that the crowd can't tell.

Effie is gushing when Peeta leads me down off the chariot and I still don't have my voice back. He lets go of my hand, but Peeta sticks close as we make our way to the elevator. I nod when Effie looks at me, relieved that in her exuberance she doesn't seem to notice my distress. I make a beeline for my bedroom after she gives us a tour of the District 12 suite.

I hastily shed my costume and hit random buttons in the shower, covering myself in a nauseatingly floral scented foam in the process. I finally find the right settings for a hot spray of water and sink to the floor, hugging my knees. I sit there for a long time, watching the makeup and body paint streak down my skin. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to survive the Games. I don't even want to survive until the Games. I know I have to, for Prim's sake. If I were to do something drastic now they would throw her in to replace me. I know that in my heart.

So I just sit there on the floor of the shower, determined to keep breathing until the Games start but not trusting myself to do anything else.

The last time I was ready to give up was the winter after my father died. I was eleven. My family was starving and my mother had fallen into a depressive state so intense we couldn't rouse her. She didn't talk, barely ate, just sat on her bed and stared. I didn't know Hazelle was a mind healer, and because I hid my mom's illness, no one knew to send her to us.

I was too young for tesserae and with no money, I was scraping together anything I could find trade or sell to keep my sister and I fed. On this particular day, I had gone to the bakery to ask for scraps. Trash, really. I knew they wouldn't be able to give me product they could sell. I hoped for stale or moldy bits that had to be tossed. Mrs. Mellark threw me out with a flurry of insults. I sank to my knees against a tree as hunger tore through my stomach and despair rained down from the sky. I felt jealous of their pig, basking in the rain to roll in fresh mud and clearly not missing meals himself. I didn't know what to do. I was unwilling to go home and watch my little sister starve to death. I leaned against the tree and gasped for air, too tired and scared for proper sobbing. It took everything I had just to keep breathing.

I looked up when I heard shouting inside the bakery. Mrs. Mellark hit her youngest son across the face. She stormed off yelling, and he came outside holding two burned loaves. Looking at me, Peeta tossed them in my direction before going back inside. I scrambled after the bread, picking them up so fast they were barely damp, cradling their warmth to my chest all the way home.

A knocking on my door brings me out of my reverie. "Katniss?" I hear Peeta's muffled voice. I reply, "One second" before I realize my voice is back. I quickly dress and meet him in the hallway.

"Hey, Cinna showed me this rooftop garden I think you would like. Wanna check it out?" Peeta offers.

I nod and follow him to the stairs. The garden is surprisingly beautiful, and peaceful, considering that we are the middle of the city. The trees aren't large, but they are vibrant, and flowers bloom out of planters and containers tucked all over. There are benches and chairs, even a grassy patch.

"This is lovely," I coo.

"I thought you might like it."

We stay up there enjoying the evening breeze until Effie calls us down for dinner.