"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," the president's voice blares over Madge's television as a little boy dressed completely in white raises an ancient wooden box above his head, opening it slowly. My eyes stay fixed upon the rows of sealed yellow envelopes; there are so many that it's clear the original deviser of the Hunger Games was expecting it to last for many, many years. It feels like an eternity before President Snow unseals the envelope to reveal a square piece of paper. His puffy, grayish lips pucker slightly as he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Madge looks at me wide-eyed, brows drawn together in anguish for me. My body is frozen to the plush, velvet couch I sit on, but my fingernails dig so deeply into my skin that blood droplets form from the marks.

My first thought above anything, above anyone else is Peeta Mellark. His bright white, infectious smile. His beautiful, dreamily blue eyes. His laugh. His paintings. His long eyelashes. Everything about him, gone in the half-a-minute it took for Snow to announce his demise. There's only three victors still alive from District 12; one female and two male. Where Katniss goes, Peeta will inevitably follow. Which means he will die.

An animalistic scream of pure rage emits from the back of my throat as Madge tries to calm and comfort me. She shakes my shoulders violently and is raising her voice at me to get me to stop screaming hysterically, but her voice is muffled to me as my vision takes on a red tint—just like when Cato stabbed me. My shrieking drowns out the sound of the National Anthem and the hard thud of parental footsteps running down the stairs. It drowns out my common sense and human rationale. All I can hear and see and feel is fiery-hot, venomous anger pulsing through my veins and clouding my vision as I sprint from Madge's house, where I've been staying for two weeks, to somewhere only my subconscious wills me to go.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing in front of his house. My heart thumps wildly as I step onto the porch and bang repeatedly on the wooden door. I can hear his bare feet shuffling slowly across the floorboards. He opens the door so quickly it almost slams me in the face.

The emotions pass on Marvel's face: first surprise, then curiosity, then something a normal person would consider anger but is really his normal temperament towards me. "What?" He asks, eyelids fluttering in frustration. I haven't seen him in months, but now I see that that time period can change everything. He is over a foot taller than me, his chest broad and extremely well-defined like that of a grown man. His dark, curly brown hair is cut short again, but a short, scruffy beard still covers his jaw. His face has lost the soft teenage fluff in its cheeks, and his entire essence screams "mature." The shock of the drastic change in his appearance leaves me speechless for a moment.

He repeats, "What are you doing here?"

I manage to calm myself enough to say, "Peeta…" At this, Marvel huffs in frustration and begins to close the door on me, which I stop with my foot. "Did you watch the television?"

"No…"

"Please let me in," I ask, breathing heavily. "It's cold."

He looks at me for a long moment, brows furrowed in consideration. He finally decides, nodding his head behind him to the inside of our old home. I walk in and close the door behind me, looking around at the humble shack and wondering what might've been. I could be living happily here, married to Marvel and raising fat, pretty babies. Except I wouldn't be happy. I've never really wanted anything but Peeta, and now I can't even save him.

"The Quarter Quell…they're choosing victors as tributes…Katniss will go...and Peeta will go to protect her just because he loves her…"

Marvel just stares at me for a second and crosses his arms, flexing his enormous biceps. "I thought he loves you."

My eyes drop. "Please don't talk to me about that. Please."

"Whatever."

"What do I do Marvel?" I cry, my palm sliding up to my feverish cheeks as to wipe away the tears pouring from my eyes like a waterfall.

His temper flares up at me again. "I don't know Bree! I have no idea why you came here in the first place!"

"I can't just let him be doomed to death!"

"It's his choice; you can't do anything, no matter how hard you try," he says, softening a little bit as he rests his hand on my face. "I've forgotten how pretty you are."

I smack away his hand. "Help me, goddamnit!"

Marvel narrows his eyes at me and reaches for his canvas-like jacket. "I can't do anything for you," he begins, sliding his arm through the sleeve of the jacket. "But what I do know is that I have to see Madge."

"Madge?"

"Yeah, we're friends," he says, "You don't know where she goes every day at lunch?"

To be honest, I never considered it. She just says, "I'm going for a walk," and she's gone for about an hour until she returns, winded with flushed cheeks and nothing at all to discuss. "Not until now," I conclude, mostly to myself. I wonder if they've ever kissed.

He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot. "Well, I guess you do now."

An immeasurable silence passes between us (seems like I've been getting a whole lot of that lately), and I wonder, why did I come here?

Marvel must be able to read my thoughts because he answers, "You expected me to welcome you with open arms…"

My heart drops again, and for the moment, this predicament is more important to me than Peeta, because Marvel and I have unresolved issues. "Well…sorta…"

"…after you left me kneeling on the ground. You literally ran out of that door," he whispers painfully as he shuts his eyelids. "And I loved you."

I am speechless as I try to come up with a legitimate response for my behavior, but then I realize there isn't any. I did leave him kneeling on the floor while he proposed to me. I did run out of the door to leave him for Peeta. And he did love me…He did…

"Don't say anything. I understand how you feel about him. I've grown, too, Breelle," he says, running his hand through the chestnut ringlets on his head, and I realize this is the first time he's ever really said my full name. "I've changed. All I've ever really wanted was your happiness. So go to Peeta. Kiss him and whatever. But please, just be happy."

A sad sigh escapes my lips as I instinctively wrap my arms around him. This shocks him at first, because he stands frozen for about five seconds, but then he melts into me, and holds me close. He holds me closer than we've ever been before in just a simple, innocent hug…and yet it is so much more than that. We are one, and have always been one. He's always been a part of me and me a part of him. In a parallel universe where the Games haven't ever been invented, we would be married right now. I wouldn't love Peeta. Everything could be easy and we would be in District 1, raising the perfect family. But in this world, the Hunger Games do exist, and that's why I'm here in the first place. That's why—after everything that's happened, after all the trials and tribulations we've been through—I still ended up in his arms, and he ended up holding me. No matter how much I love Peeta, fate will always draw me to Marvel, and that's that.

He tilts his head down to mine, breath growing thin, and I close my eyes while my lips tingle in anticipation for what I am not sure if I want to happen…and then a rush of frigid air hits my face. When I open my eyes and look around the room, he is nowhere to be found. The only trace he's left of himself is the open door to outside.

At first I don't quite understand what's going on until the pain of realization smacks me on the cheek.

He left because he chose Madge over me.