It was dark and it was cold. In my lap sat the band that I had removed from my dripping hair to undo the braid, and the tapes. I still knelt in the middle of the floor, staring at nothing and pondering. I was procrastinating and I knew it.

"Coward," I muttered to myself. I hated myself for not having the courage to take a single step forward and put the tape into the player. "It's not like you haven't seen it before, Katniss." I thought to myself. When I remembered sitting on stage, next to Caesar Flickerman and his midnight-blue eyeliner, curled into Peeta's side, and watching what all of Panem had seen, it seemed like only yesterday. But that was a lifetime ago, back when I was just District 12 Victor and Star-Crossed-Lover, Katniss Everdeen. Back when the title, "Girl on Fire" meant next to nothing. Back when mockingjays were just a Capitol mistake, and not an emblem of rebellion. If I had only known then that it was merely the beginning of what would change.

Often, I wonder if I would have taken change better if only there were a way that I could go back and warn myself. If I could go back to the day of the reaping and tell myself to enjoy those last moments in the woods with Gale, because it would be the last time that we would truly be friends. If only I could scold myself on the days that I passed up an opportunity to watch Prim milk Lady or sing her a lullaby. If only I could stop myself before I said and did hurtful things to Peeta.

I had a lot of regrets. Some of them were small, like not showing enough appreciation when Cinna would ask me what I thought of his creation, or pushing a hand off my shoulder when my mother would try to comfort me. Sometimes I even regretted yelling at Haymitch.

"Katniss…" It was said so quietly that I had barely heard it, but his voice pulled me out of my sorrowful thinking. I got to my feet, my knees aching from sitting so long, and shuffled to the couch. In his restlessness, Peeta had kicked the sheet from the left side of his body and the pillow that once propped his leg had fallen to the floor.

"What is it, Peeta?" I asked him, struggling to see his face in the dark. The little moonlight that came through the window was my only help. "Peeta?" I asked again when he didn't answer and reached down to pull the sheet back up to his waist.

"Katniss?" His voice responded, sounding alarmed. It was rough with sleep and I quickly realized that I had woken him up. He stretched his arms out behind his head before rubbing his eyes with balled fists like a child might. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

"Sorry, Peeta. I didn't mean to wake you up. I just thought…Well, I worried that you might-" I took a deep breath to steady my words. The late hour of the night was getting to my head and jumbling my thoughts. Finally, I said, much quieter than before, "You talk in your sleep."

His bright eyes met mine briefly before they closed and he reminded me between a deep yawn, "So do you." I blinked and looked down. Mine wouldn't exactly be considered talking. It was more like screaming. After a minute of silence, I admitted softly, "Yeah, I guess I do."

I don't know why we were whispering. Everybody that could be woken in the house was already awake. For a moment, Peeta didn't say anything and I wondered if sleep had claimed him once again.

"I'm sorry, Katniss." He then whispered in a voice that was barely audible. His eyes stayed closed and his face remained expressionless, only his lips moved. I waited, hoping he might continue, before the silence grew too long and I finally questioned. "For what, Peeta?"

I sat down on the edge of the sofa and he took a deep breath. "For breaking my promise." His eyebrows lowered. "I promised that I would fix them."

For a second, all I could do was stare at him. Was that all that this boy was thinking about? He was worried about breaking a promise when he should have been worrying about the gash down his skull.

"Peeta, you don't need to apologize. You tried to fix them, and that means everything." I struggled to get the last part out of my mouth. Despite my anger at him for running out into the depths of a ruthless storm, alone, I decided that he didn't need my scolding right now. He needed my appreciation. After all, I didn't need any more regrets to add to my list.

"I will fix them. I'm just taking a break," His pale lips mumbled. I shook my head, wondering what it was about that drug that screwed with his mind. Of course, his head injury couldn't be helping with that either.

"Don't you worry about that now. You'll need to rest for a while and get better." I told him. He slowly nodded his head and I caught his face between my hands. "Stop moving. You need to just hold still."

His skin was cold to the touch. He didn't move once I restrained him though, he just went limp. I sat like that for a moment before I pulled my hands back to myself and scooted further onto the couch. "How do you feel?"

He let out a sigh before answering, "It's okay." I rolled my eyes and stretched my legs out, allowing my head to rest on the far side of the pillow that Peeta's head was propped on. "You don't have to pretend, Peeta. I won't think less of you just because you're in pain."

As he faced the ceiling, I could see a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, it stings a little." He allowed. I laughed softly and pulled myself up on my elbow to lean forward, as I had done countless times to Prim, and lightly kissed his head, just beside the injury itself.

His eyes flashed open and he slightly turned his head so that he could see me. "What was that?" He asked, a little louder than our whispering.

"Don't flatter yourself," I teased with a smile and placed my head back on the pillow. "I was just kissing it better." He raised an eyebrow and I turned over to face the other way and as sleep came to claim me, I could hear Peeta's quiet laughter.

My eyes fluttered open at the sound of mewing and I groaned, almost wishing that the stupid cat hadn't found his way home just so that I could sleep a little longer. I sat up, careful not to wake a sleeping Peeta, and rolled off the edge of the couch. It was still kind of dark, which led me to believe that it was still night until I flung open the door to let Buttercup inside. It was faint, but I could still notice the slight glow of the sun behind the gray clouds and judging by its height, it was later in the morning.

Haymitch must have insisted that Sae stay home because there was no evidence of her being in the house. I walked back over to see Peeta with his arm tucked behind his head and his chest rising and falling rhythmically and then noticed the black tapes that sat in the middle of the floor.

I immediately rushed over and stooped to pick them up, thankful that I had noticed them before Peeta. As quietly as possible, I tucked them both away behind the television so that they were no longer in sight.

The morning seemed dull. I couldn't visit with Sae because she wasn't here and it wouldn't make any sense to go to Peeta's because he was currently asleep on my couch. So I decided to sneak up the stairs and take a shower.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into the warm water, noticing only now that last night, I had been nightmare free. Secretly, I hoped that Peeta asking me to sleep there hadn't only been an effect of the drug on his mind. I hoped that maybe now, he realized that it would be okay to fall back into our old routine.

Once I was dry and dressed, I braided my hair behind me and started for the stairs. I could hear him before I saw him. I got to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see him stand and have to steady himself on the edge of the couch.

"Careful," I warned him and his gaze flashed up to me. ""Morning," Was his reply with an impish grin.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. I reached down to pick up the pillow that he had knocked down again and answered. "Fine. What about you?"

"Pretty good." I could hear him yawn. "No nightmares?" I asked him, remembering the way he tossed and muttered in his sleep.

"No," He hesitated. "No nightmares. Just…weird dreams." He laughed once and I looked away, wondering how much of it was dreaming and how much he remembered of his odd drug-inspired comments. And me kissing his wound.

"How are you feeling?" My eyes returned to meet his. He considered it for a minute, looking up as if thinking. "I'm a little dizzy and my head's pounding, but I don't really feel-" His hand reached up to feel the gash. "It might hurt if you touch it," I warned him, reaching up to stop his hand and lower it to his side.

He just sighed and sat back down on the sofa. "How are you doing?"

I sat down next to him and sighed as well. I knew he was referring to my break down over the flowers yesterday.

"I'm okay." I assured him before saying in a softer voice, "I'm sorry you had to see that." It was quiet for only a second.

"Hey," Peeta said, lowering his head so that he could see my eyes. "You don't need to apologize. I know it's hard for you."

Him saying that made me feel guilty. Peeta was always there, comforting me when I would cry for Prim, but he had lost his entire family. And not once had I ever asked if he wanted to talk about it or if he was okay.

I stood up suddenly, taking a deep breath. I just needed some space. "Just stay down for a minute. I'll be right back." To escape, I went into the kitchen and got Peeta a glass of water, unscrewed the pill cap to fish out a colorful pain killer, and just before I was ready to return to him, I remembered the cupcakes that he had so kindly brought for me early yesterday morning. The cupcakes that I had promised myself that I would try and never did. So I picked one out for Peeta and one for myself and, with my arms full, walked back in to deliver it to the small nightstand that sat next to the sofa.

I could tell that he wanted to take the pill but he put it off as long as he could. He ate slowly and sipped at his water until I finally spoke up.

"Peeta, you need to take it." I took it in my hand and offered it to him. He stared at it for a minute and shook his head. "It will make me sleep."

"You need sleep. It will help you heal." I tried, holding my hand closer. "I don't want to sleep anymore."

"Peeta," I reasoned impatiently. "It's better than being in pain."

Finally, that seemed to convince him. He reached out and pinched the tiny pill between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. I suggested that he move upstairs and sleep in the bed so that maybe he'd be more comfortable and after more convincing than it took to get him to take the pill, he finally agreed and with me carrying the pillows and sheets, he hobbled up the stairs in front of me, clutching the railing so that he didn't fall.

While Peeta tried to sleep upstairs, I headed back down to the kitchen and raided until I found some stew from a couple of nights ago and fed the remainder to the scruffy cat. When I returned to check on Peeta, he was no longer awake.

He slept the day away without waking. Sae stopped by once in the late afternoon with a bowl of some steaming meal that I put away for later. In the meantime, I assumed her job, cleaning up the house. Sae did a better job of it but as least the mud and grime was scrubbed from the floors and table. Several times, I considered watching one of the tapes, since the rain still hadn't ceased to fall and Peeta continued to sleep. But I didn't talk myself into it until it was dark again.

I had just eaten a small portion of the vegetables and rice that Sae made and was rinsing the dishes when I decided on it. I had nothing left to do. It had to be now or never.

So for a second time, I stood in the middle of the room with the tape in my hand, willing myself to take that step forward and turn it on. Even then, it took more convincing. But slowly and gradually, I made my way forward and removed the tape from its black and gold shell.

As soon as the tape was in, the screen lit up and Claudius Templesmith's voice was booming the words, "Let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I backed up, in a daze, all the way to the sofa and once the backs of my calves touched the fabric, I fell into the seat. The tape was in. There was no going back. "You can do this, Katniss." I told myself each time that I got the urge to race forward and shut it off.

It began with the introduction, the history behind the Hunger Games, the reason for its existence. It showed the re-run clip of District 13 with the mockingjay wing that Twill and Bonnie had once pointed out to me when I found them in the woods all that time ago. Then the reaping began.

District 1 was up and Glimmer, not puffy and distorted as I remember her, stepped onto the stage with Rue's killer, Marvel, who received an arrow straight through the neck. They shook hands and were parted with, "And may the odds be ever in your favor." The odds were not in their favor.

Then Clove climbed the stage with a grin on her face and, with a shudder, I watched as Cato joined her with a grin to match. They shook hands and parted. The odds were not in their favor.

District by district, the tributes were reaped. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

The District 10 tributes left the stage and now the camera was in District 11. I stared at the screen intently as her name was called. As little Rue climbed the stage, I was disgusted with the people that stood watching in the audience. How could they watch a young girl crawl up to meet her death and not volunteer to take her place? I would have done it. I did do it. Then Thresh's name was reaped from the lot and he stalked up to the stage. Just seeing him stand next to her, just noticing how helpless she seemed next to one of their own, they should have known that the odds wouldn't be in her favor.

Then the view changed and I was staring at District 12. I was looking at my home before the bombing, although on the day of the reaping, it never really looked like home anyway. Effie clicked up to the stage in her heels and read from the first paper, "Primrose Everdeen." I held my breath as the camera searched for her in the crowd. Then, there she was. There was an ache in my chest, a terrible pain that made my arms wrap around my torso in attempt to keep me from falling apart. The most time was spent on the reaping of District 12 by far.

"Prim!" My own strangled voice came through the monitor now. The camera now finds me, weaving through the crowd. "Prim!" I watch myself on the screen as I push her behind me. "I volunteer!" Some of the crowd gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!"

I watch as Prim clings to me crying, "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" Then the me on the screen speaks so harshly that I add this to my list of many regrets. "Prim, let go." And then again, my voice rings out. "Let go!" I close my eyes, listening to her protests coming through the screen as Gale carries my little sister away. Then Effie invites me on stage and I realize just how much I hated her back before I knew her.

They cut out the scene of my fellow District 12 members, many of them dead now, pressing three fingers to their lips and holding them out in my direction in respect, admiration, farewell. But they couldn't cut out the entire scene. Then, Effie was pulling another slip from the ball and, from her heavily painted lips came the name, "Peeta Mellark!"

Slowly, the cameras zeroed him out. Realization sunk into his features as he pushed his way through the crowd. He met me at the top and, as instructed, we shook hands. At that time, we had no idea that we would become the star-crossed lovers. We were not anticipating our victory and especially not to be reaped yet again for the Quarter Quell. We were not expecting to be the cores of an uprising, a rebellion.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor." Nobody said it like Effie Trinket. And as I watched Peeta and I on the screen, I saw fear in our eyes. I saw disbelief. And as we stood up there, we had no clue that-

"The odds were always in our favor." Peeta's voice came from behind me and not on the screen. I whipped around to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, the moonlight illuminating only half of his face. I hadn't heard him come down the stairs and I wasn't worried that he would be upset about me watching the Games. The only thing that I could think was: He was right.