We kiss. We kiss and we do it for a long time. Somehow we've made our way from the foyer to the couch in his living room, clumsily banging against walls and bumping into furniture. Peeta, in his eagerness, knocked over a lamp but that's not important. The only thing that's important to me now is the way his mouth is moving against mine and the way he's running his hands over me; the way I feel because I want Peeta. Only Peeta.
His hands run up and down my back, periodically resting on the exposed parts of my stomach and he's the only person in the world. No words are spoken, mostly because I think we're both tired of it for now. At least I am. The only sounds are those of our lips connecting, punctuated with heavy, ragged breathes. Every few moments he brings his hand up and runs it down my neck and all I can remember is the way he kissed me there this morning.
It's then when I realize I don't really know what I'm doing. Sure, I know how to kiss Peeta but that's about it. I don't know where I should move my hands, which are currently playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I don't know how to make him feel the way I do and I want to so badly.
We're both seated on the couch and I have to strain to kiss him properly. He's managed to pull me close but it's not quite working, not quite close enough, so without removing my lips from his I throw my leg around his waist and straddle him.
The movement seems to shock him and he pulls back, staring. His eyes are foggy, unfocused, and his mouth is slack. I can feel his short, quick breaths on my face. I decide not to waste anymore time staring at his lips and, instead, start trailing kisses from the area under his ear down to the curve of his jaw.
I immediately know I'm doing the right thing because Peeta lets a heavy breath and tightens his grip on my waist. I work my way back up his throat and can feel his pulse thrumming away. I kiss the spot. I kiss it again, pushing my tongue against the skin, and I can feel his heartbeat grow frantic.
Peeta removes his hands from my waist and starts to run them lazily up and down my legs, all the way up to my thighs where my dress has risen up quite a bit. I know I should be more concerned with the rate at which we're moving but my mind is too foggy to fully register what's happening.
I continue kissing his neck and throat and eventually feel Peeta's lips on my shoulder. My hands have left his hair and are currently gripping his shirt, which I realize is still the dress shirt he wore to the party at Mayor Undersee's house.
He kisses his way from my shoulder back to my face, pressing his lips against every inch of exposed skin he can find.
I miss his lips…
And I think that he misses mine because when they connect again it's with such ferocity that I grow lightheaded. I'm pulling at his shirt, trying to unbutton it so I can feel the skin of his chest. He grips my legs and pulls me down, flush against him, and I feel the bulge in his pants that's grown more and more prominent. Not only that but, considering the way I'm sitting over him and the way my dress has risen up, I feel him against me. There. The sensation is so foreign and surprising that I jump away before I can register how amazing it felt and the way it made my eyes roll back in my head.
The daze clears from Peeta's eyes and suddenly he is apologizing profusely.
"I'm sorry! I'm shouldn't have—it's too fast. I'm sorry!" His voice, which had started out thick and throaty, has become slightly frantic. He raises his arms in my direction but decides against it and lets them flop back down at his sides, like he thinks I'll run away. Did he forget my outburst on the porch? I'm the one who ran to him.
"No, it's okay," I assure him while trying to catch my breath and simultaneously shake myself from the fog that surrounds my head. "It's just…very new."
I realize how corny and stupid the words are as they leave my mouth but it's true. The physical and emotional aspects of my relationship with Peeta are brand new. I take his hand to let him know that what we were doing was okay. That he didn't make any mistakes. He stares at our fingers and looks up, beginning to speak, but suddenly jumps off the couch, cursing his way out of the room.
Confused, I turn around to see what caused the outburst and watch as smoke billows from the kitchen.
"The bread! I left it in too long!" Peeta calls from the kitchen.
I run over to where he is, trying to straighten my dress as I go, and see him pull two completely charred loaves of bread from the oven. I walk quickly around the kitchen and open the windows, hoping to give the dark smoke somewhere to go.
As I'm opening the final window I hear Peeta speak.
"That's the second time I've ever burnt bread," he says with a small laugh. "I guess you're the only person I'll burn it for."
I stop what I'm doing immediately and look at him. He's watching me with a small smile. The first time he burnt bread both saved my life and cost him a beating. The words I told him earlier on the porch solidify like cement in my brain.
"I just want to be with you. Only you."
But the way he said it, the way he told me he'd only burn bread for me, is something of a promise.
My mind flits quickly to the District 12 marriage ritual. The toasting. When two people make a fire and, together, toast pieces of bread. I push the thought out of my head. I can't think about it. I don't want marriage. Marriage means children and I can't do that. I can't bring a child into this world. I have the fleeting feeling that I should tell Peeta this but ignore it.
I think back to what Peeta and I were doing on the couch. I wonder what would have happened if we didn't stop. If I had hadn't pulled away.
Sex means children too.
Even if Octavia gave me that shot, for me sex will always lead to pregnancy, which will always lead to children. I can't eliminate that fear. That dread. It will always be there.
Peeta sees that I've grown quiet and comes to me, kissing me lightly on the lips. I know he would never pressure me into anything. It's part of the reason I'm here right now. Why I trusted him in the first place, among other things.
For now I'll abandon thoughts of marriage and children. For now I'll just let myself be with Peeta.
I look over at the clock against the wall and see that it's almost 1 a.m.
"It's really late," I observe and Peeta laughs.
"I guess we were kind of distracted," he muses and, as if on cue, I blush.
"Are you going to stay over?" he asks me hopefully. For anyone else, there would be an ulterior motive behind the request. But for us sleeping together is completely innocent. A protection from the nightmares we can't face alone.
I fiddle with the hem of my dress. I'd obviously hoped to stay over. That's part of the reason I ran over here. But then I realize I don't have a change of clothes and I really need to shower. I don't even have shoes.
"I need to change. And shower," I tell him, but the way he's running his hands down my neck makes me start to think it's not that important.
"I wouldn't mind if you stayed in that dress," he says with a smirk and I roll my eyes.
"Of course you wouldn't," I respond drily.
"You can borrow some of my stuff. They'll be big but I don't think it matters. You can shower here, too. I have an extra bathroom upstairs," he says as he snakes his arms around my waist and I just want to kiss him again.
"Okay, thanks," I tell him softly. The smoke is clearing out of the room and I turn my attention to the burnt loaves sitting on the counter. "I see you wasted no time in getting some baking done while we were apart," I tell him with a grin. I expect him to laugh it off but he frowns instead.
"I was worried you were drifting away again. That it would be different when we got back to 12. You were acting different," he says faintly, jaw set and staring at a place above my head.
"It is different," I tell him. The words feel strange leaving my mouth but I don't regret them. I need to make him understand that this wasn't a decision I made on a whim. That kissing him on the couch was more than just hormones, it was an action I chose because I choose him. I bring my lips to his and kiss him softly. When I pull away I look him straight in the eyes.
"I am different now."
After my shower I pull on Peeta's clothes, a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts that are too big. It was awkward at first, Peeta handing me his underwear to sleep in, but now I couldn't care less because they smell so strongly of him that I find I've been standing in his bathroom sniffing his t-shirt for a full two minutes. Embarrassed by myself, I rush out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He's already showered and sitting on his bed, staring into space. When he sees me his whole face lights up.
"I can't decide what looks better on you. My clothes or that dress," he says.
"Cinna would be insulted by that statement but these are much more comfortable," I tell him with a smile. I lift my hair away from my neck to start braiding it and Peeta's eyes go wide.
"What?" I ask him.
"Your neck," he says, surprised. I stop braiding and hurry into his bathroom to look in the mirror. Sure enough, the purple marks are even worse than before. I can just imagine Octavia and Venia giggling between themselves. I scowl, realizing that they will be extremely hard to cover up now that my prep team is gone. I'm still frowning when I leave the bathroom.
"Yeah, well those are your fault," I tell Peeta, a tinge of annoyance to my voice. The irony is that I thoroughly enjoyed the process.
Peeta is not phased and just smiles stupidly at me. He actually looks quite smug. I decide to ignore him and instead walk around his bed and crawl under the covers, glowering. At least it's cold. I'll be able to wear a scarf tomorrow without seeming suspicious.
Peeta rolls over to me and places his hand on my neck.
"I'm sorry," he says truthfully. "Does it hurt?"
"No," I respond. I probably wouldn't have even known they were there if it weren't for my prep team's interrogation.
"Did it hurt when it happened?" I turn to face him and see that he's grinning at me.
"No," I breathe because he's moved closer and I'm reminded that no, it absolutely did not hurt when it happened.
"Are you ashamed of it?" he asks, nuzzling my neck. If he keeps this up we'll probably end up in the same position we were on the couch not too long ago.
"No." I'm surprised by how quickly I can answer that particular question. "Not ashamed. I'm just...embarrassed that they're so prominent. I don't want Prim or Mother or Gale to see them." I feel guilty, all of a sudden, when it comes to Gale. I can't pinpoint it, though.
Peeta pulls back slightly, contemplating my answer.
"Okay," he says softly, understanding crossing over his features. He brushes the hair away from my face.
"But, you know, I think we might match tomorrow. You were doing some pretty awesome things to my neck earlier. What if I'm embarrassed, too?" he asks with a grin and I can feel my face flush. "How inconsiderate of you to put me through the same torture," he pouts, trailing his thumb over my bottom lip. I'm both surprised he has the nerve to bring that up and pleased that he liked it so much. The expression on my face must be quite comical.
"Take your leg off," I tell him, changing the subject.
Peeta meets my eyes and lets out a soft breathe.
"Okay."
I watch him as he rolls over and detaches the prosthetic limb, obviously still not quite used to having an audience. He's wearing pants again and I try to push away my disappointment that he decided to wear a shirt. When he rolls back over to me I don't hesitate to find my favorite spot on his chest, my head directly over his heart.
His chest rises and falls with each breathe, his hands playing with my hair, and the feelings I had for him yesterday, the ones that drove me here in the first place, come flooding back with force. I realize this is absolutely where I'm supposed to be. I can't imagine anywhere or anyone else.
I bring my hand down and place it on his bad leg. I want him to know that I want him here exactly like this. This is the boy who I want, the one with the scars and bad memories. The ones with the scars and bad memories who has been able to remain exactly the same person.
I'm surprised when he places his hand on top of mine so I look up and see him staring down at me, his eyebrows drawn up slightly.
"I can't believe this is real," he says quietly, as if it were actually a dream. I realize that, for him, it might have been at one point. But it's definitely real now, even if it took me months to see just how real it has become.
My answer to him is simple.
"It is."
As I'm walking to the Seam, I note that it's early on Monday morning and the Quarter Quell will be announced on Wednesday, probably in the evening. I have basically three full days for my mind to stew, conjuring up every terrible situation Snow could create. As if the Hunger Games aren't bad enough, every 25 years the Capitol creates a "Quarter Quell" which is essentially a 'special' edition of the otherwise annual Hunger Games. For the first Quell, citizens of each district had to vote on who they wanted to enter the arena, basically leaving the districts responsible for killing their own children. The Second Quarter Quell forced twice the number of children into the arena. I know this year will be one thousand times worse than the Quells that preceded it. I have no real proof, of course, but the way Snow's face folds into that sickening grin of his every time he mentions it makes the blood drain from my face and I just know.
I replay our conversation over and over, trying to find any loopholes in his affirmation that everyone I love will remain safe but can't find anything he said that sticks out at me as particularly dangerous.
The morning air is frigid and it bites at the exposed parts of my face. I pull my jacket closer to my body. I'm actually almost thankful that I had to go back to my house to change and get a scarf to cover up my neck; without it I would be a lot colder. Luckily, Prim and Mother didn't see me creep into the house during the early hours before dawn. I'm going to have to find a way to tell them of my current sleeping arrangement or otherwise be prepared to sneak around for a long time.
Peeta was surprised when I woke him up; I didn't want to leave without telling him. I explained that it was the only time I was guaranteed to catch Gale before he went to work and the miners work such long hours I wasn't sure if I would be able to catch him in the evening. He didn't seem that surprised when I told him I needed to talk to Gale; Peeta probably expected I would need to see him at some point. After all, Peeta saw how distressed I was when Gale was threatened.
He promised to drop by with some bread later in the morning and I sealed that promise with a soft, slow kiss, enjoying the look on Peeta's face when I pulled away.
I continue walking through Town and into the Seam. After about 20 minutes I reach the Hawthorne's door just as Gale is leaving the house.
"Gale," I greet him. He turns at the sound of my voice, surprised to find me roaming the Seam at 6 a.m.
"Hey Catnip," he says softly. He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, his face sunken in. His jacket a little too big. It's clear he hasn't been able to hunt. We're standing rather far apart and he's carrying his mining gear in one arm. Gale obviously doesn't know what to say because he turns his attention to his boots while shifting uncomfortably in front of his door.
"I missed you," I blurt out. I didn't realize how much I missed him until now, actually. I miss my friend. I miss the relationship we had before I was sent into the arena. Before everything changed.
Gale moves his mining gear on his shoulder.
"I missed you, too," he says softly. "Walk with me, I'll be late otherwise."
I follow him through the Seam. The awkwardness of our reunion only slightly dissipating as Gale tells me about what I missed during the few months I was gone. He sticks to safe ground and only talks about the Hob and the mines, never once mentioning Peeta or the Tour.
"How's your family?" I ask him, hoping he'll give me reason to offer him food or money. He's so very thin now and I know his family must look the same.
"Fine. It's been…different…without being able to hunt," he explains delicately.
I nod, knowing he doesn't want me bring it up but I can't help it.
"Gale, let me help you. I have more money than I know what to do with," I say quietly, our feet crunching in the snow.
"No, we'll be fine," he says firmly, watching our feet as they move. It's so like him to do this but luckily Gale and I are exactly the same so I know how to break him.
"What if it were my family, Gale? You would do the same, wouldn't you? You would offer to help me."
Gale grunts something unintelligible in response and I breath deeply out of my nose.
"What would you do if you were me in this situation?" I ask. I think I may have gotten him because he turns to look at me finally, a hint of defeat in his eyes.
"Katniss." The sound of him speaking my real name surprises me, like it always does. "Thank you, okay? I'll think it over." Gale speeds up, not looking back. The discussion is over.
"So you haven't gone into the woods at all?" I ask, walking quickly to keep up with him. He's obviously in one piece so clearly he hasn't been caught doing any illicit activities. I look up at Gale and see him grin devilishly down at me.
"I didn't hunt. That's what you said," he tells me quietly, so no one can hear us.
"What else would you be doing?"
"Fulfilling my promise to you," he answers simply.
Of course.
I had completely forgotten that I had asked him to get the materials for my bow and arrows. My smile is one of excitement because he's clearly succeeded. Why else would he be grinning like that? But then I realize my stupidity and selfishness. To ask that of Gale was completely insane, spurred on by my fear of Snow. I put almost everyone I know in danger by asking that of him. When I tell Gale this he just rolls eyes and continues walking.
"Please. I didn't do it just for you. I need to protect myself and my family, remember? That's what you said. And it was a good idea." Nothing I can do will reverse his actions so I decide to accept this change in events rather than argue with him and berate myself. Besides, their just branches and other natural materials. It could be worse.
"So what did you do with the materials? Where did you put them?"
"Under your bed," he says with a straight face.
"What?" I shout. Does he realize how dangerous that is? How strange that would look, hauling tree branches and pieces of wood and sinew through town and into the Victor's Village? Not to mention what could have been picked up by the recording devices. Gale shushes me and straightens his mining gear on his shoulder.
"You need to have a little more faith in me, Catnip. It's fine, believe me."
We're getting closer to the entrance of the mines and Gale and I will have to separate soon.
"Gale," I start and he looks at me. I'm not sure what to say anymore. We're in a public place and I don't want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves. "Thank you. For keeping your promise. For everything." He nods his head stiffly in response.
"Can you come to my house in the Victor's Village when you get a chance? They're announcing the Quarter Quell on Wednesday," I tell him.
"I'll be there," he answers. Our friendship has become awkward. Ever since I returned home from the Games it's been strained. It's sad, how quickly people can change. It's sad because I know I'm partly responsible.
I watch him as he walks away, through the crowd of miners, tapping three fingers of his right hand to his right leg. Wait.
"Gale!" I shout. He looks over his shoulder and follows my gaze, watching me stare at his tapping fingers. A look of recognition passes over his face and he shakes his head almost imperceptivity, eyes widening only slightly.
"I can come over tonight," he calls. All I can do is nod as Gale disappears down the entrance to the mines while I'm left alone with a million questions.
I hurry back to the Victor's Village, my mind spinning from both Gale's strange 'signaling' as well as the pile of branches that are apparently under my bed. By the time I arrive back to the house Prim is coming down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Hey, where were you?" she questions but I brush past her up the stairs.
"I was talking to Gale in the Seam before he went to the mines," I explain quickly, vaguely pleased that I can answer her without bringing up my sleepover with Peeta. I don't hear her answer because I shut the door to my room, fall to my knees and peer under my bed.
I don't see anything. No branches, no arrowheads, no bones or string sinew. Nothing that could be used to construct anything.
I lift my head out from under the bed and think.
"Under your bed" he said.
Something's wrong. Gale wouldn't lie.
I look back under the bed again, intent on finding something. This time, however, I look up at the underside of the bed and gasp at what I see.
Gale has tied my father's bow and my original quiver of arrows to the bottom of the bed with old twine. I scuttle out from underneath the bed, afraid that my staring could somehow cause them to suddenly be known.
How did he do this? How did he manage? How did he carry these through town without being noticed? The questions keep coming and I have zero answers. The thought of him carrying branches through town worried me. This is exponentially worse.
I try to collect myself on the floor of my room. I won't touch my bow and arrows. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. I'll have to wait until Gale comes by later to ask him the multitude of questions that are flowing through my head. Now, though, I can't be in here.
I get up off the floor and turn to go downstairs when a blue glint catches my eye. I pick the sea glass up off the floor from where it fell last night.
This little object is too precious to be left out in the open. I briefly consider taping it to the underside of my bed when I realize it's not dangerous and that would be ridiculous. I search my room, looking for someplace to put it but come up empty handed. I go across the hall, into Prim's room, and find a small, empty box. She probably used it stow hair ribbons but there are so many little boxes on her dresser that I know this one won't be missed. The sea glass fits perfectly and I walk across the hall again and put the box in one of my drawers where I know I won't lose it.
When I make my way downstairs, mother and Prim are seated at the kitchen table and I'm not surprised to find Peeta there as well. He's placed a large plate of cheese buns on the table. I mean to smile at him but it comes out as more of a grimace, the thought of the weapon tied to the underside of my bed too distracting to push away. Peeta notices my change in demeanor and his eyebrows come together in a combination of question and worry.
"Peeta brought breakfast, Katniss," Prim explains, mouth full of cheese bun. I nod at her and glance at Peeta again. My stomach flips when I see his neck, which is currently sporting a dark purple blotch under the left side of his jaw. The shadows his jaw creates on his neck hide it fairly well. He's lucky it's not very noticeable. I'm not as fortunate. I'm still wearing the scarf from earlier and it's hot and itchy in the warmth of the house.
"Katniss always said she wanted to try cheese buns so I decided to make them," he tells Prim, who is putting a cheese bun on my plate.
I take the seat next to Peeta and find his hand under the table and with the other I stuff the cheese bun into my mouth. I'm sure it's delicious but I've lost my appetite. Peeta holds my hand lightly, running his thumb over the inside of my wrist. It helps me relax somewhat, but not completely. I take another cheese bun from the middle of the table. I'm not hungry but I figure that I might as well occupy myself with something to keep me distracted. I stare pointedly at my plate and focusing on eating. I'm sure Prim thinks my strange behavior is due to my 'unaccepted feelings' towards Peeta. That's fine by me. I would much rather have her think that than know the truth.
Peeta makes small talk with Prim and Mother before they leave for the day, Prim off to school and Mother to our old house in the Seam. When they leave Peeta turns to me.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.
Without speaking I lead him upstairs and into my bedroom. Once inside, I point to the bed, motioning for him to look underneath. He kneels dutifully, struggling slightly due to his bad leg. He must see the offending weapon immediately because he pulls back so quickly he knocks his head on the bed.
Peeta looks up at me in shock and I nod at him gravely, making my way into the bathroom and turning on the faucets in the sink and the shower. I sit down, my back resting against the wall. Peeta joins me on the floor and I take his hand, gently playing with his fingers.
"Before I left for the Victory Tour I told Gale that I wanted him to go and collect materials for me to use to make my own bow and arrow set," I begin, briefly looking up at Peeta who regards me silently.
"I was very scared. Snow had just come to visit me and I thought the idea of being able to protect myself and my family if anything had happened was a good idea. I told this to Gale and then completely forgot about it."
Nights spent with Peeta and the stresses of the Victory Tour seemed to distract me to the point that I had totally forgotten I had ever asked Gale to do that. Peeta remains silent, waiting for me to finish my story.
"When I saw him this morning, he told me to look under my bed," I stop playing with his fingers and look up at him. "He brought my bow and arrows from the woods. I don't know how he did it, and obviously Snow doesn't know about it or Gale would be dead, right?" I ask.
"I would think so," Peeta replies. He's pulled his hand away from mine and started to run it through his hair, a habit I've noticed he does when he's thinking something over.
"And, Peeta, have you noticed anything strange in the way people are acting?" I ask him, thinking about the way Gale tapped his fingers against his leg. The same gesture I saw in District 11 and the same gesture I saw from Finnick Odair.
Peeta removes his hands from his hair and looks at me.
"What do you mean?"
"In District 11 I first noticed it. There were people tapping their legs with three fingers. Like this," I tell him as I demonstrate the motion. Peeta shakes his head so I continue speaking. "At first I didn't think anything of it. It could be a nervous habit or something. But then in Snow's mansion I saw Finnick do the same thing. And this morning Gale did it."
"I've never seen anything like that. I guess I wasn't paying much attention. What do you think it means?" Peeta asks.
"I'm not sure but I don't have a good feeling about it. Gale said he would come over later. Probably to explain."
Peeta nods, taking my hand again. He's quiet for a while, staring at our fingers in his lap.
"I have to tell you something," he says softly. "I completely forgot about it until just now. Do you remember when Haymitch came out of my room before we went to Snow's mansion for the Capitol party?"
I nod, Haymitch looked slightly angry, Peeta looked distracted. I hadn't really thought much of it at the time and I, like Peeta, had forgotten about the exchange.
"It was after our interview with Caesar. I told that story about how I planned to go talk to you after the Reaping but didn't have the chance. Remember?"
I nod. I thought he might have been lying, crafting another brilliant story for the citizens of the Capitol. But the moment our eyes met I knew it was the truth. The longing, the sadness that he couldn't do what he had planned, was etched on his face. I'm not likely to forget that story.
"Well," Peeta continues, "Haymitch said that I may have angered Snow. That I overdid it, making the Capitol seem like the bad guy. Giving people another reason to hate The Hunger Games."
I had never thought of that. To me, that story was another piece of mine and Peeta's ill-fated relationship, not something to incite anger or hatred.
"That plus my speech in District 11…it can't be good, can it? I might have pissed Snow off," Peeta adds, a hint of worry to his voice.
There are so many things I've taken for granted. I was so focused on myself not angering Snow that I never thought Peeta might do it.
"Do you think the finger tapping or whatever it is has something to do with the rebellion?" he asks.
"Maybe," I whisper, fear trickling down my spine. Peeta's confirmed in words what I've already accepted. I didn't want this. I didn't want to spark this rebellion. I tried. I really, truly, tried to calm it. I hope Snow knows that. "I guess we'll have to wait for Gale to know for sure."
The rest of the day is spent in anxious silence. Peeta bakes at his house, explaining that he might as well get started on it considering he hasn't be able to provide the Seam with any bread in the last two months. I sit on the counter and watch him, not wanting to be alone. We don't kiss and we don't talk much, both of us lost in our thoughts.
Around dinnertime we walk over to my house. Peeta insisted that he didn't need to come over, not wanting to be an imposition, but I told him that I want him to be there, briefly running my fingers over the purple mark under his jaw, hoping to remind him that it's different now. We're different now.
Peeta is better at casual conversation than I am and is able to entertain Prim with stories from the Capitol while I clutch his hand under the table, thinking about rebellions and the Quarter Quell.
I don't want to watch the recap of the Victory Tour but Prim insists. I sit between her and Peeta and watch as the screen fills with images of the star-crossed lovers smiling and waving to different crowds. I don't process the words that the news anchor is saying. I'm only able to watch the way I look at Peeta after I kiss him on the train platform, or the way I lean into his touch. I guess my change in behavior is pretty obvious.
I flush beet red when they show Peeta and I kissing in Snow's mansion, uncomfortable that Prim and Mother can see the way our bodies are pressed together so tightly it's unclear where his ends and mine begins. I watch as they show Peeta's arm run down my back and I can't help the goosebumps that appear on my arms and legs at the memory.
Prim giggles when they show Effie rubbing the red lipstick from Peeta's face and when I look to gauge Peeta's reaction I see the corners of his mouth twitch up in a half smile. When I look away I see that Prim has been watching us, not the television, and my blush grows impossibly darker. I'm too afraid to look at Mother.
"It would seem that the 74th Victory Tour has been deemed a success," the news anchor concludes, the screen filling with a picture of Peeta and me smiling in front of District 12. "We would like to inform our viewers that Wednesday evening, President Snow will issue a public statement regarding this year's Quarter Quell. Be sure to tune in for what is likely to be quite an exciting announcement."
Just as the woman on screen disappears, I hear a loud knock on the door and I jump up to open it, Peeta's arm falling from around my shoulders.
Gale is still in his mining gear, his helmet and other equipment abandoned on the porch next to his feet.
"Catnip," he greets me with a half smile.
"Come in," I tell him quietly.
Gale looks to see Peeta on the couch with Prim and his expression changes somewhat before he masks whatever emotion just betrayed him. Mother has left, probably to retreat into her room for the night. She never does stay up late.
"Hey Prim," Gale says. Prim smiles beatifically at him and greets him in return. I'd much rather just get down to what's been bothering me all day.
"Prim, I need to talk to Gale and Peeta alone…about…the Tour…" I trail off, hoping she will get the hint that she can't be here. Prim pauses before she nods and goes slowly up the stairs, Buttercup following at her heels. I watch as she disappears around the corner and turn back to Gale once she's gone.
To my surprise, Gale takes after Prim up the stairs but heads into my room. I exchange a look with Peeta before we follow him.
I walk into my bedroom to see that Gale has already entered my bathroom and is turning on all the faucets. I look back at Peeta and see his look of amazement before we join Gale, who is seated on the edge of the bathtub.
"What do you know?" Gale asks us automatically, directing the question at Peeta more than at me. His demeanor is cool with the tiniest hint of anger to his voice. I have the urge to snap at him but see that he's glancing quickly between Peeta and me. We're seating directly next to each other on the tile floor, arms brushing together, my hand casually resting on top of his.
Guilty, I move my hand and put them both in my lap. I get the sinking feeling in my stomach that I've betrayed Gale. I promised to him before we left for the Tour that there was nothing going on between Peeta and I. That it was all an act. While that might have been true then, it isn't anymore. My eyes travel to the corner of the room and I spot Peeta's t-shirt and boxers in the corner, the ones I wore to sleep last night. Gale follows my gaze and I see his expression drop tenfold. If our relationship wasn't obvious before it is now. But I miss Gale. I miss being his friend. Can't I just have him as a friend? He's making it hard. I'm making it hard, I guess.
And instead of explaining things like I know I should, I answer Gale's question.
"We don't know anything. All we have are questions. Like, how did you know to come in here and turn on all the faucets?" I ask him.
"It's a long story," Gale explains as he stairs at the wall behind me.
"We have time," I answer, partly annoyed that he's beating around the bush.
"When you told me that Snow came to visit, I tried to find out as much as I could about the rebellions in the other Districts. Obviously I couldn't go asking regular District 12 citizens. I couldn't go through the Hob or Town because I'm sure they're monitored. So I went to Madge Undersee."
I feel my mouth drop open in surprise. That's extremely ballsy of Gale to do considering Madge is the daughter of the Mayor. On top of that, I thought Gale hated Madge.
"Anyway, I wasn't sure what I was going to say to her or exactly how I was going to say it. To be honest I kind of just planned on…coaxing it out of her. Information she may have heard or rumors that spread around her house. Her father is in direct contact with the Capitol, after all," he explains.
My disgust is obvious. I've heard rumors in school that Gale got along…well…with girls but I never thought he would sink so low as to manipulate them for information. Especially Madge. Gale looks over at me, expressionless, and I feel Peeta shift uncomfortably next to me.
"Turns out she's smarter than people give her credit for," Gale says quietly, looking at his hands. "Madge new what I was after and she was more than willing to help me. I didn't end up having to persuade her in any way. She told me about the rebellions in 11 and 8. The signal," Gale adds, gesturing with his fingers, "is a sign of the rebellion. People who tap three fingers of their right hand to their right leg are in on it."
I'm too shocked to speak and Peeta grabs my hand. I look over at him and see that he's watching me. Neither of us know what to say but Peeta speaks first.
"What does that mean? Is there a rebellion actually brewing or are people just angry?"
"At this point it's too soon to tell. Madge is giving me updates whenever she gets them and I've been discretely passing along the signal to people I know I can trust," Gale answers.
While I new deep down the signal was a sign of the rebellion, actually hearing the words is so much to handle that I find it difficult to wrap my head around. For the time being I switch the subject.
"How did you get my bow and arrows?" I ask Gale.
"With Madge's help. The Mayor knows when the District 12 fence is electrified, where cameras are placed, who is watching which parts of Town and the Seam. Madge tells me everything."
"How does Madge get this information? Wouldn't it be hard to come by? I can't exactly see Mayor Undersee telling her this stuff?" I tell Gale, disbelievingly.
"Like I said, Madge is a lot smarter than people think. She has her ways of getting information."
"Is that how you knew to come into the bathroom to talk without being heard?" Peeta asks.
Gale nods.
"Madge told me that the Victor's houses are bugged. Only with recording devices. No video cameras. They stopped putting video cameras in the Victor's Village homes once Haymitch found them and kept bashing them in," Gale says and I smirk. I would expect nothing less of Haymitch. "Although there are video cameras outside of the Victor's Village houses. You have to know where to go to be out of line of them. That's how I got your bow and arrows in here," Gale says with a small smile, proud of himself. "And in the bathroom, when the faucets are running, it's almost impossible to hear what happens or what's said. How did you know about that?"
"Lucky guess," says Peeta, not elaborating on our time on the train.
"Does Madge know about anything about the Quell?" Peeta asks and I find I'm scared for Gale's answer.
Gale shakes his head.
"She doesn't," Gale answers and he finally looks me in the eyes. "I've asked."
"How many people know? About the rebellion, I mean," I ask Gale.
"Not many. Fifty, maybe? Slowly growing. We're extremely careful about it."
"How did District 11 know to use the hand motion, then? How are the Districts connected in this?" I ask him, curious and nervous at the same time.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," he responds.
I am distracted all of Tuesday.
Last night I asked Gale to come back for the Quarter Quell announcement. He agreed and after he left, Peeta went home and I went to check on Prim, who had fallen asleep during our time spent in the bathroom. Mother's door was closed.
Peeta and I went to bed silently, not sure what to say to one another, still processing the bombshell Gale sent our way not hours ago. Somehow, though, it's easier to handle in Peeta's dark room, curled up next to him.
Tuesday morning I walk with Peeta to the Seam, both of us carrying giant bags full of bread. I watch in silence as Peeta makes his exchange with Sae, in awe of how easily he can appeal to her. I actually think I see her smile at him as he walks away. On the way back home I pay close attention to the people we pass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the secret hand motion that is a sign of the rebellion. I don't see anything.
That night, as I'm walking over to Peeta's house after saying goodnight to Prim, I'm surprised to find him sitting on the floor of his porch, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket.
"Hey," I say softly. "What are you doing out here?"
"Watching the stars. It's clear tonight," Peeta says quietly. I've been very distant all day and Peeta's obviously noticed. I barely touched him at all, barely spoken a word to anyone. I feel bad, knowing that Peeta must have the same nervous feelings yet he's been productive, dropping off food and trying to speak words of comfort to me.
Again, I've been the selfish one.
"Mind if I join you?" I ask him.
"I think I would mind if you didn't," Peeta says with a small smile.
He opens his arms and makes room for me between his legs and I sit down on the porch between them. Peeta wraps both his arms and the blanket around me, a cocoon of warmth, and I lean back against his chest. We sit in silence for a while and I stare at the stars, bright against the black sky. I remember looking up at them during our time in the Capitol but they weren't this bright, somehow they seemed dimmer and less extraordinary in comparison to all the lights and buildings.
"I used to do this when I was little," he says softly into my ear. "When my mom would get too angry or when I wanted to escape for a while."
Peeta says the words sadly and I find his hands, interlacing our fingers together. The fact that Peeta's experienced his fair share of demons in his youth sometimes slips my mind. It's embarrassing how ignorant I can be.
But I know how he feels now, in this moment. His mother isn't looming over him this time, the Capitol is. It doesn't end. The Games, then the Tour, then the whole issue of the rebellion and tomorrow the Quarter Quell will be announced.
"Not that I'm not happy now. I'm so happy" Peeta continues, placing a light kiss above my ear. "I just wish it were different."
"Me too," I whisper softly. I've always wished it were different. There's not much else I can say so we sit for a while watching the stars. For a moment, I allow myself to think about what it would have been like. If Peeta and I weren't reaped and there were no Hunger Games. No Capitol. No rebellion. No secrets.
I sink deeper into his arms and imagine that I would like it. I would like watching the stars with Peeta on cold nights. I would like kissing him and holding his hand. I could get used to it. But I wouldn't start it. I would be extremely difficult and I would have shut him out, just like I do for everyone. I remember his confession to Caesar, the way he described how he was going to come find me after the Reaping.
"Peeta?" I ask softly, my voice surprisingly timid.
"Mmhmm," he hums and his chest rumbles with the sound. And he's warm.
"Tell me about the flowers," I say. "The ones you got on Reaping Day that you were going to give me."
I've thought about them, the flowers. They've been in the back of my mind for a while. Peeta stiffens slightly and I almost regret asking, but he pulls me closer to him, locking his arms around me even more tightly than before.
"They were yellow. They cost a lot of money, which I obviously didn't have, and I put them under my bed in a small glass filled with water, hoping that Rye or Barley wouldn't find them and make fun of me."
I twist my neck up to look at him, forgetting about the stars completely and instead choosing to watch him as he tells the story.
"I thought you would like yellow flowers," he says, mostly to himself.
My throat closes up and I wonder if he knows about the yellow dandelion I saw the day after Peeta threw me the bread. I do like yellow flowers, actually. It took me a long time to realize it and he has no idea.
I rest my head on his shoulder and stare into his blue, blue eyes and wait for him to finish the story, even though I know how it ends.
"Something tells me you wouldn't really have appreciated them, though," he says with a smile and I laugh loudly, the sound echoing in the night.
"No, I would've hated you and those flowers," I say softly. "But Prim would have loved you and those flowers and she would have made me talk to you or thank you or… something. She would have made you goat cheese and you would have probably brought her cookies and you two would have developed quite the friendship."
I bring my hand up and rest it on his jaw before I continue to tell him what I've already thought about while I lay in his arms at night. When I feel myself laughing with him. When he makes the world disappear.
"But I'm starting to think that you would have crawled your way into my life anyway, and I would have started to not hate you as much. You would work your charm and I think eventually…eventually I would have started to love those flowers," I tell him quietly, choosing my words carefully.
Peeta brushes his fingers over my cheek and they rest on my neck, where the purple bruises have begun to fade. He smiles a real smile, one that fills his whole face and I can't look away.
"It would have happened either way," he tells me. It's not so much a question as it is an affirmation. The way he says it, and the way my heart fills to the brim when he does, only solidifies what I know to be true.
"Either way," I murmur in response.
His mouth meets mine and when I close my eyes-the Games, the Victory Tour, the rebellion, the Quarter Quell-they disappear, and I see stars again.
"We should talk to Haymitch about this," Peeta tells me quietly as he pulls another loaf of bread out of the oven. He doesn't specify exactly what 'this' is but he doesn't have to. It's Wednesday morning and Peeta and I have been silently counting down the minutes until the Quarter Quell is announced while trying to simultaneously stomach the idea of a rebellion that is brewing beneath our noses. I realize that we haven't included Haymitch in on the news we received from Gale Monday, which was not a good idea on our part.
"I guess you're right," I tell him. I'm not particularly fond of Haymitch, especially since he started mocking mine and Peeta's relationship, but he needs to know what's going on. Plus he might have more information to bring to the table.
"Although he's probably passed out on his couch. You might need to throw a bucket of water on him," I add a bit sourly.
Peeta's smile doesn't reach his eyes. There haven't been many true smiles from him or me during the past two days. The stress of the Quell and the rebellion are sometimes too much to handle. It's another strain that's been put on our very new, very budding relationship. Brief, stolen kisses and warm caresses are all we have the energy for, the looming threat of whatever rebellion might be growing makes our relationship seem trivial.
But it's not. It's the only thing keeping me sane; he's the only thing tethering me to the ground, keeping me from blowing away. I let him know this, not with words, but with my actions, hoping he will understand.
I take his hand openly in public. I even kissed him in front of Prim during breakfast this morning. On the cheek, but that's still something, right? I don't do these things, and he knows that. I think he loves when I do those things, even though it stresses me to. It's during these moments when he seems the happiest, the most like himself, and I find I'd be willing to kiss him again and again, in front of anyone, to make him smile the way he did when we were on the beach. Or the way he smiled at me last night on the porch.
Peeta pulls the final loaf of bread out of the oven and we walk together to Haymitch's house. I've only been in there once, before the Victory Tour, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. The lingering smell of old liquor and vomit was too strong to tolerate for long.
Sure enough, Haymitch is passed out on his couch, an empty bottle hanging out of hand precariously, ready to hit the floor at a moments notice.
Peeta walks over to him and pokes him with the end of his shoe.
"Haymitch," he says loudly. "Haymitch. We need to talk to you."
Haymitch grumbles something in response and rolls over.
"Haymitch, wake up," Peeta shouts. I walk into the kitchen, if you can even call it that in this house, and find an old pot, fill it up with ice cold water and bring it into the living room where Peeta continues to shake a completely unresponsive Haymitch.
"Use this," I tell Peeta with a smirk. Peeta looks at me, takes the pot and throws it over Haymitch's head.
Haymitch shoots off the couch, issuing a string of colorful expletives before he tries to punch Peeta in the face. It doesn't work, probably considering that Peeta isn't drunk and therefore much better on his feet.
"Good morning," I tell Haymitch dryly. "We need to talk to you."
"That's no way to get me to want to talk to you, sweetheart," Haymitch snarls at me, his hair dripping wet on the dirty floor.
"It's important, Haymitch," Peeta says quietly, gesturing around the house, trying to make Haymitch understand that we need to go someplace quiet to continue this discussion.
"I've lost interest in important things," Haymitch tells Peeta while sitting back down on the couch.
"Haymitch, the Quarter Quell is being announced tonight. I know you know that," Peeta tells him in a low voice.
"Don't care about the Quell. Ends the same way every year, why would this year be different?" Haymitch says, tipping the contents of a random bottle down his throat.
It didn't end the same last time. And it's not going to end the same this time because I'll do all I can to help whoever is forced into the arena. It's my obligation as a Mentor to do that. It's Haymitch's obligation as well.
"We care about it, Haymitch!" I shout.
My outburst startles Peeta who flinches at the sound of my voice but I focus on staring daggers at Haymitch.
"I don't care if you don't give a shit about anything but we have an obligation to the children that are picked this year and that is to help them!" Haymitch's expression is unreadable and he takes another large sip from whatever's in the bottle he's holding. My face heats up and I can feel the rage and anger I've felt the past few months bubble to the surface. It's my breaking point.
"You're useless," I hiss at him, my voice filled with venom. "Completely useless. The fact that you stayed sober enough to keep us alive is beyond me!"
I know that I'm being harsh and I don't mean the words that are spilling out of my mouth but I need to yell at someone. I need to scream my frustrations at a real person and Haymitch is the easiest target.
My hands feel empty so I pick up a bottle of white liquor and throw it as hard as I can against the wall. I'm about to pick up another when I feel Peeta's hands on my arm.
"Katniss," he says quietly, and I drop my arms in defeat. Peeta leads me to the door and pulls me into a hug. I melt into it, easily distracted by the comfort his warmth brings. He doesn't say anything for a few moments but I don't mind the silence. I take a few calming breathes, inhaling the scent of his shirt, while he rubs his hands up and down my back. I feel my shoulders relax and he pulls back to look at me.
"I'll talk to him," he says. "You go back to my house. I'll meet you there soon. Alright?"
In any other situation I would be angry and a bit offended that Peeta thinks I should be 'sent home' like a disobedient child but I'm so thankful that he isn't making me relive our discussion with Gale that I simply nod and head out the door.
I lie in Peeta's bed and wait for him to come back, studying the blue stitching of his bedspread. I know that if I let my mind drift to the Quarter Quell I'll just become distressed so I stick to tangible objects. I notice that Peeta's room is the exact same shape as mine but his, somehow, seems a lot more like a home. Maybe it's his smell that lingers in the air or the simple fact that I like his room better than my own. Probably because everything about his room reminds me of him.
I must have drifted off at some point because when I wake up, surprisingly nightmare free, Peeta is lying next to me sketching in his notebook.
"Good evening, sleeping beauty," he says, eyes never leaving his sketch. I sit up and stretch before I move over to him.
The evening sun is casting shadows over his face and his mouth is puckered in concentration. I should ask him about his conversation with Haymitch but I can guess where it went. Peeta's good with words, which is why I was the one sent home.
"He forgives you, you know," Peeta says. "For yelling at him. He won't say it but I know he does."
Peeta licks his lips, concentrating on the movements of his pencil. I glance down at his sketchbook and see that he is drawing a girl. I know it's supposed to be me because the girl in this picture is asleep on a bed. My hair is falling over her face and her lips are slightly parted. But this girl is much more beautiful than I am.
"That's not a very accurate representation of what I look like," I tell Peeta as I take the sketchbook from his hands. Peeta looks up in confusion but I've moved so close that when his head turns to me our lips meet. I toss the sketchbook behind me somewhere on the bed and Peeta doesn't seem to miss it so much now that I've occupied him with something much more enjoyable.
Our kissing becomes heated quickly. We've missed each other and he rolls on top of me, pinning me to the blue bedspread I was studying intently less than an hour ago. I decide that it's much more effective to kiss Peeta when I need a distraction and that I'll have to do it more often from now on.
His hands move expertly down my sides, precariously close to my chest, before brings them back up and knots them in my hair. It may be the stress of these past few days, but I'm feeling bold and I slip my hands under his white t-shirt and glide them over his stomach.
Peeta makes a sound in the back of his throat that sends an electric current through my body and I wrap my arms around his back and pull him closer to me.
He breaks away for a moment and looks at me, his blue eyes impossibly dark, his cheeks flushed and breath heavy.
"We should probably slow down," he says but the words don't have much meaning as he moves to brush his lips over my collarbone.
"Probably," I agree as I pull his face back to mine and start kissing him again. Peeta's hand creeps down my sides again and slips under my shirt, resting on my bare stomach. I'm the one to break away this time, breathing ragged. He doesn't move away and I don't want him to. I close my eyes, rest my head on his pillow, and listen to my heart beat in my ears as he inches his hand up my torso, stopping just below my bra, all the while pressing delicate kisses to my neck and throat.
"You have to let me know. Let me know if we're going too fast," he says, voice deep and husky. I shake my head in what I hope is a 'no, it's not too fast' signal and my lips find his again. His tongue is hot and demanding and I arch my back closer to him in an effort to push his hands in the direction that I want them.
Peeta's hand glides over my bra and I emit an embarrassing sound into his mouth and I feel him smile. I want him to continue touching me so badly. I want him to squeeze me there. I want so many different things to happen that it scares me so I'm both thankful and disappointed when he removes his hand from my chest. He pulls back for a moment and we stare at each other. My arms are still under his shirt and his rest on my stomach.
I let out a slow breathe, one I didn't realize I was holding in, and Peeta kisses me on the cheek before rolling off of me. I turn on my side and see that he's watching me, a giant grin plastered on his face.
And I almost say it: that three-word phrase that's been haunting me for a while now. Because it makes sense, doesn't it? It makes sense now.
I kiss him on the nose instead.
We missed dinner, apparently too caught up in each to notice the time.
We head over to my house 20 minutes before the Quell is set to be announced. Peeta's arm is slung over my shoulders and I lean into his warmth even though it's not particularly cold out tonight. We're crossing the street when Peeta speaks.
"I always hated that thing," he says.
"What thing?" I ask.
"That genetically altered rose bush beneath the sign of the Victor's Village," Peeta explains, nodding his head to the right. I follow his gaze and see the bush, full of red roses, beneath the white sign with the words "Victor's Village" printed in bold letters. I hadn't really noticed it before, even though I guess I should have. Roses don't bloom in the winter, do they?
"A mutt plant?" I question.
"I guess. Obviously it's there to look pretty but I don't like it. Though I guess it's a small thing to be worrying about now," he considers.
"Do you think it's dangerous?" I ask him and Peeta smiles.
"No. I've already gone over there to check it out. It's just a rose bush."
I'm about to respond but we're already across the street and at my house. Prim is waiting by the door and suddenly my anxiety about the Quarter Quell is all that fills my mind.
"Gale's here, Katniss," Prim says somberly. Thankfully she doesn't ask why Peeta and I missed dinner—it's not important. Not compared to this announcement. I've been stewing over it the past three days. I tug on her braid in a strange attempt to lighten the mood and I think it works a little.
I walk into the living room and see that Gale is seated on a chair in the corner next to my mother, who is standing nervously behind the couch. Gale raises his head when we enter, giving me a strange, forced nod. I take a deep breathe and sit on the couch, pulling Peeta down next to me, refusing to let go of his hand.
Prim sits next to Peeta and he puts his arm around her in a comforting gesture. I close my eyes and take deep breaths out of my nose to calm myself. Peeta squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. I open my eyes and he gives me a small, reassuring smile. One that I can't return.
I hear a knock on the door and Prim jumps up to answer it. To my surprise Haymitch, who is looking slightly more sober than I've seen him in months, walks in. He won't look at me but he nods at Peeta. I guess their discussion went better than I had expected.
Haymitch pulls a chair from the kitchen into the living room and sits down, rubbing his face roughly with his hands.
I turn my attention back to the television screen just as it lights up and a news anchor starts to speak.
"Good Evening, Panem. Tonight we have a special announcement directly from President Snow regarding the upcoming Third Quarter Quell." Peeta tightens his grip on my hand as the anchor goes into detail about the history of the Quell and the importance of the Hunger Games. I block it from my mind. I've heard it dozens of times and I still don't believe it. I can't, especially now that I've lived it.
All too soon, Snow's face fills the screen and my stomach rises to my throat. I'm sure my grip on Peeta's hand has become painful but he is squeezing back with equal force.
"Good Evening, Panem," he starts in his slow, lilting voice. He's dressed in a black suit that's accented with a red rose pinned to his lapel. I hate him.
"The Third Quarter Quell will be different from any we've ever experienced as a country and will teach the all of the Districts an important lesson: not even those strong enough to survive the punishment of the Capitol can fully escape it." Snow smiles as he speaks and my blood curdles under my skin. "At the same time, this Quell will show that the Capitol is generous as only 12 tributes will be Reaped."
I don't remove my eyes from the television screen. I don't blink. I don't breathe.
"One surviving Victor from each of the Districts has been chosen by the Gamemakers themselves by way of vote. The chosen Victor will demonstrate his or her skills in this year's arena. Those Victors selected will be transported to the Capitol in one month's time and the Quell will begin one week later. There will be no sponsors. There will be no Mentors. There will be no volunteers."
I stare at the screen not fully processing the words that I just heard. Snow's face disappears and is replaced with a picture of a handsome young man from District 1. Next to his face is a list of statistics from his first Hunger Games: letters and numbers that mean nothing to me because I'm still trying to understand what's happening. This man on the screen was obviously chosen to compete again. Chosen by the Capitol to die. Again.
Faces flash before me, and I recognize a few of them. A woman named Enobaria from District 2, a tribute so vicious she ripped out another tribute's throat with her teeth. To celebrate that feat, she had her teeth altered to resemble small fangs.
More faces appear on the screen but I'm too preoccupied to really see them. I'm too busy piecing together Snow's words in my head: the Capitol's Gamemakers are choosing this year's tributes out of an existing pile of Victors. Only one from each District.
I see Finnick's face fill the screen, next to more statistics: number of kills, weapon of choice, past sponsor count. Seeing Finnick's face saddens me because I know I will have to kill him because it's obvious that I have been chosen to go back.
I'm positive about it. It's what Snow said—my family will be safe but he never said anything about me. The logical part of my brain is rationalizing the decision. It makes complete and total sense. Snow can eliminate me easily, no literal blood on his hands.
Yet the emotional part of my brain is slipping into a frenzy and it seems that part is overtaking my calm acceptance very fast.
I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and bile rise in my throat. I recognize a few more Victors who have been chosen but can't really concentrate on anything other than the terror that's coursing through me.
I can't go back. I can't go back. I can't go back.
I repeat the words in my mind as the panic eats at me, making my vision swim.
But my fear turns to confusion and then complete heartbreak when the District 12 Victor is chosen.
It's Peeta.