Hunger Games still belongs to Suzanne Collins. And I can't wait for Mockingjay later this month.


"One of the outer districts, this is nonetheless a crucial one. These brave and hardy workers descend deep into the earth each day to mine the coal that keeps our nation running."

That was how District Twelve was introduced each year at the games. It made District Twelve sound like a fabulous place to live. One of the larger districts and definitely the poorest, it was home to eight thousand people. Despite that, we were crowded in three main areas: the Seam, the Town, and the Hob.

But now Peeta and I would move into Victor's Village. It was roughly a ten minute walk from the town square, but the sheer grandness and luxuriousness of it made it seem like it didn't belong.

And quite frankly it didn't. Victor's Village was an imposing reminder to everyone else in District Twelve that three of their own would live in the lap of comfort while they starved to death in safety.

The houses themselves, twelve in total, were large and gloomy. Although I was definitely biased. Any house would look awful when you had to murder children to earn it.

"Are we going to live here now, Katniss?"

I smile softly at Prim, who walked between Peeta and myself. If it wasn't for her, I would stay in my house in the Seam. But Prim deserved three meals a day and a house that was never cold. "Yeah, little duck. You'll have a room all to yourself. And there'll be plenty of room for Lady and Buttercup. But don't think you can bring home any more pets," I playfully scold. She giggles happily and grips my hand a little tighter.

"But I can still sleep with you if I get lonely?"

I didn't answer her immediately. Instead I snuck a look at Peeta. Her innocent question reminded me of last night, when sharing a bed with him meant neither of us dreamt of the games. I had convinced myself it was a one-time thing. I couldn't clutch Peeta like Prim would her goat. Last night had been an exception because my nightmare was worse than usual. It wouldn't happen again, because I didn't want whatever was going on between Peeta and I to be based on Snow and his twisted Games and expectations.

Peeta was watching us from the corner of his eyes. When the blue orbs flicked my direction, the lines in his face softened. Suddenly, I realize that, while I had Prim with me, he had no one. I had spotted the rest of the Mellarks at the train station, but none of them were walking with us to see where they'd be living now that their son was a Victor.

I frown, unhappy with the realization that Peeta's family hadn't bothered to join us or even welcomed their youngest member home.

"Of course you can," I finally answer Prim. "Why don't you pick your room first?"

Prim raced up the steps to the house I was given. My mother followed sedately. That left Peeta and I standing in the street between our two houses. His was right across from mine.

His smile looks brittle and his eyes are dim. Peeta's falling apart in front of me. After all we had been through together; I didn't want to leave him alone. Not now, anyways.

"Do you want to come over to my house?" I offer, thinking it strange that I actually had a house I'd want to invite people to. Our house in the Seam was small and cramped and even if I had had friends, I wouldn't have wanted them visiting. "Until your family comes? You could help make lunch. I'm not a very good cook."

I was more of the cook fresh skinned meat over a fire type. That I could handle. Working ovens and stoves to create the feasts we had been served in the Capitol? Not going to happen.

Peeta shrugs harshly. "My folks are staying above the bakery. The shop's a lot of work. My mom doesn't see the point in relocating and have to walk to the store and back every day when they have rooms directly above it."

His tone was light, as if he understood and agreed with his family's decision. I thought them unspeakably cruel for leaving Peeta to fend for himself, but I didn't say that to him.

"I'll see you tonight," he says, turning away.

"Tonight?" I parrot.

This time his smile is real and a spark of amusement lights up his face. "The Victory Banquet?" he reminds me, and I feel like an idiot for forgetting about it.

Snow was uncharacteristically generous when he doubled the rations District Twelve would receive because two of our tributes won the Hunger Games. It was only fair, he had said, that each Victor was rewarded, and that meant, until next year's games, District Twelve's monthly deliveries of food and medicine and everything else would include two portions of the extras that came from having a Victor. Mayor Undersee had decided to celebrate the good fortune with a banquet apparently.

I thought it a bad idea. Better to make sure everyone in the district got food than to waste half the month's allotted supply on a fancy dinner party I didn't want to attend.

"Right," I say. "See you tonight." Then I turn around and hurry into my house.

It's large. It could fight ten buildings the size of my old home inside it and still have room to spare. There's an office and study, which are supposed to be used for my talent. I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to do for that. My only talent is hunting, and that's illegal.

Upstairs are several bedrooms, and Prim's already claimed the one on the corner overlooking the street. It has two walls with windows and is very bright and very Prim.

I choose one on the other end of the house, not wanting her to hear me screaming and crying at night.

I spend the rest of the day with Prim, telling her about the good parts of the Capitol, like the food, and sending her into fits of hysteria with descriptions of men and women wearing bright fuchsia or lime green and other colors that made you want to close your eyes from fear of being blinded.

My gut twists with each story I share until I have to force the words out of my mouth. I had thought Prim's presence would be like a balm. That her cheeriness and innocence would chase away memories of the Games. Instead I was reminded of them all too forcefully as I carefully chose what tidbits to share with her.

Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? Was there nothing that wouldn't remind me of the Hunger Games?

I felt immensely stupid. Of course there was no escaping. So long as the Games existed I would never be free. And Peeta too. Both of us would have to return year after year to mentor new tributes, most likely to watch them die. In the history of the Games, there had only been four Victors from District Twelve, including Peeta and myself.

I push away all thoughts of the Games. I wasn't going to let them taint Prim. I had taken her place to keep her safe, to keep her alive. And against all odds I had won.

"Katniss?" she asks, after I fall silent. Besides laughing at the extreme Capitol fashions, there weren't a lot of good stories I could tell her. I only saw the people through glass windows and as crowds at interviews.

"Is it over?"

"Yes," I lie immediately. We both know it's not, that my responsibilities as a Victor means it will never be over, but in a way it is. Prim will never have to spend a sleepless night worrying that the morning's update on the status of the tributes will say that her sister had been killed.

I survived. I kept my promise to her. And at the moment, that was all that mattered. We were both alive and safe for another year.

"Enough talk," I decide. "There's a party tonight and you can try the lamb stew for yourself."


The Victory Banquent was tense. I felt more uncomfortable seated at a table with the Mellarks, my mother and Prim, and the mayor and his daughter than I did in the aftermath of the Games with Caesar Flickerman.

The food was delightful, the only good part about the evening, and just about everybody stuffed themselves with as much as they could eat and snuck rolls of breads into the folds of their clothes to take home for tomorrow. Mayor Undersee gave another speech about honor and the Games that had me struggling to keep down the little food I had eaten so far.

"Does this disgust you as much as it does me?" I jerk when Peeta whispers in my ear. Wordlessly, I nod. "Do you want to get out of here?"

I don't hesitate. I throw down the napkin I was fiddling with and follow him away from the town square. The baker's wife glares as we walk by and it's only Peeta's hand on my wrist that has me passing by her without saying something.

We walk in silence, not towards Victor's Village like I was anticipating, but towards the fence that marks the boundary of our district.

He leads me straight to the whole in the fence Gale and I use to reach the forest.

"How did you know about this?" I ask.

Peeta turns to face me. "I watched you sneak out a couple of times."

I blink, surprised by the answer. He had told me in that cave that he always noticed me. Words for the camera, I had thought. Clearly that wasn't so.

"I've loved you for a long time," Peeta states quietly. I flinch at the confession, even though I've heard it several times already. Thankfully, Peeta is so lost in his own musing that he doesn't notice. "What would you have done if I followed you out here?"

"Shot you," I answer honestly, which elicits a deep laugh. "I would have with the noisy way you walk. You wouldn't have gone unnoticed," I defend.

Peeta stops laughing. A shadow crosses his face. As stressful as the end of the Games was and my annoyance at his inability to walk quietly, that was actually a fairly peaceful part of the Games. It didn't hurt to think about the time spent with Peeta.

I set my jaw. I don't understand why that upset him but I wasn't going to apologize. He wanted an answer.

"I suppose we ought to head back," he says suddenly.

"Right," I agree hollowly. I don't want to leave but I can't see any reason to stay.

That feeling accurately describes most of my interactions with Peeta. So far it's all been a confusing mix of wanting him to stay while wanting him to leave me alone because I don't want to get hurt like my mother did.

I don't want Peeta to become such a large part of me that I don't know who am without him.

Guilt pools in my stomach. I don't think there's anything that will stop me from being afraid of turning out like my mother. Maybe trying for something with him is a waste of time. I'm damaged and it's not fair to make Peeta deal with that. I'm only going to end up hurting Peeta in the end and he doesn't deserve that.

We reach the town square but Peeta continues walking. After a moment's hesitation, I follow. He stops in the center of the street between our houses and kisses me unexpectedly.

Unlike the previous ones, which have been soft and gentle and warm, this one passionate and raw. I kiss him back.

He pulls away to breathe, touching his forehead to mine. "Good night, Katniss." He kisses me lightly and enters his house.

Tomorrow, I think, staring at the door long after it closes behind him, I'll tell him I can't do this.

Robotically, I make my way upstairs and go through the motions of preparing for bed. That night I dream of him dying and my screaming wakes Prim. I assure her that everything's fine and I don't need to talk about it.

"Talking is supposed to help," she murmurs into my stomach. I card fingers through her hair, an activity that usually lulls her to sleep.

"That's what Peeta said," I say absentmindedly.

Prim sits up, staring at me with wide blue eyes. "I like Peeta," she states firmly. "I'm glad you're with him."

"Yeah, little duck?" That was the problem, I realize. I like him.

"Yeah. He makes you happy. You deserve to be happy."

"I was happy without him," I insist.

"No you weren't. You were surviving," Prims says gently. Of course I was surviving. I hunted and foraged illegally in the woods so my family wouldn't starve. "But now you're living."

"When did you become so wise?"

"When Effie pulled my name out of the bowl."

I automatically pull her small form tighter to me at the casual mention of her Reaping. Illogically, it sounds worse to hear Prim say it than when Effie announced it two weeks ago. Even after all I saw and did in the Games, that was high on the list of my most terrifying moments.

"Everything will be better tomorrow." Prim yawns.

"Go to sleep," I tell her. She does readily enough, blonde head resting on my chest. It's several hours before I fall asleep, unable to get her words out of my head.

Was I only just surviving? Was living better?