A/N- Hi, everyone. Sooo, I will most likely be updating this story, and possibly others, more often in August, as I am participating in Camp NaNoWriMo. I will also be updating other stories, but this one will most likely be most frequent.

Also, as I said in Chapter 4, my 32nd reviewer will be able to choose an important part of the story. So, may the odds be ever in your favor. : )

Oh, and no one thinks they know what's going on with Katniss? Nothing's wrong, so don't freak out. In fact, I'm pretty sure that most of you will be very happy (I know Casey/Starlinglover in person, and I told her the other day; she literally jumped around squealing when I told her). I will be telling you within the next chapter or two, so if you want to guess, now is the time.

And before I forget; I used a scene from the movie in this chapter.

Chapter 6

Although I attempt to remember which direction I am led in, I know instantly that I failed. The labyrinthine tangle of hallways is simply mind-boggling. Throw in the seemingly random staircases and the partially hidden doors, and you get a tangle of confusion.

Finally, finally, finally I am brought to Peeta. But, it's weird; am I supposed to act like nothing happened? Am I supposed to introduce myself? This is the kind of think they should teach in school. I mean, forget algebra. This is so much more confusing!

"Um, hi," I eventually manage, though I feel myself blushing a dark red. "So, uh-"

But I don't have to continue. Because when he looks at me and says my name, it's a question; am I the right person? I can tell that's what he means by the slightly tilted head, a five-degree angle to the left like whenever he's confused, and by the way the final syllable is said in an upwards inflection.

"Yes," I promise, reaching forward and slipping my hand into his, foolishly hoping that this might trigger memories. "Yes, it's me."

And so we stay just like that for the next few minutes. It seems as though he is taking this time to memorize every detail of my face. So I try to smile. Anyone can tell that it's forced, though, by the way my eyes aren't reflecting any emotion and by the tightness in my cheeks. Eventually, an unwelcome tear courses its way down my cheek. "This is all my fault," I manage to whisper. Unable to stop myself, I explain everything that happened this morning. It's an edited version, though; he doesn't need to know about the Games. Not yet, anyway.

But what I'm most worried about is when I have to explain about them. But will I ever have to? Can't I just act like they never happened? If his memory never comes back, he would never know the difference…

That's when I remember. The last day on the train, when we were just about to pull in to the District 12 station, it was as though the world was throwing us around in every which way. Emotionally, at least. So, when Peeta asked me what we were supposed to do next, I was quick to respond.

"We try to forget."

To this day, his answer, his unwillingness to forget the time in the arena, shocked me. And now, here we are. When the time is right, I'll tell have to tell him. Won't I? Fortunately, that time is not now.

But will it ever be a good time? I don't see how it's possible for there to be an optimal time for explaining about that.

Luckily, I don't have to. Instead, we spend the rest of the day, as well as a majority of the night, just talking about the little things; tiny, perhaps seemingly pointless details that make up our intertwined lives.

Everything goes absolutely perfectly, or at least as close to perfect as it can, given the situation, until later into the night, about an hour after I manage to convince Peeta to go to sleep.