When I wake up I'm automatically out of sorts, in part because it's dark outside, but primarily due to the fact that I'm completely naked. But once that realization hits, the events from this morning come to focus and I can feel my whole body flush. I'm lying across Peeta's chest and, as carefully as I can, I peel myself off of him crawl out of bed. Luckily he is out cold and doesn't notice.
He must have been truly exhausted, I think to myself as I grab my clothes off the floor and head into the bathroom, which is a mess.
I gently pick the bow and sheath of arrows off the floor and prop them up in the corner. I retrieve the arrows from where I shot them this morning and clean the bits of shampoo and soap off before returning them to the quiver.
It's not until I'm in the shower with the water running do I allow myself to fully process what happened. My words. His actions. Our actions, if I'm being completely honest.
I use my fingers to gather some of the spilt shampoo off the ledge of the shower before working it into my hair and I let my mind wander.
I wish this morning didn't happen. I wish I didn't say those words, let him touch me and let myself be so absolutely intimate with him. Not because I didn't want to but because this just means it's going to be so much harder when I have to say goodbye. It's the exact reason why I don't let myself be impulsive in that way. It hurts too much afterwards. It's easier to keep myself locked away.
Weak.
I was telling him the truth, though. I love him. I didn't want to love him, never wanted to love anyone, but I do. And I needed him to know. He needs to go into the arena knowing that I'm here waiting for him.
But saying the words, and acting on them, scares me. It makes my feelings more tangible; much more real. Everyone I love gets hurt and because this love for Peeta is so intensely different—a physical and emotional ache—I fear that he will be punished more severely than anyone.
Through my mental rambling I notice that my fingers have started to prune so I towel off.
Before I leave the bathroom I wipe at the mirror to look at myself, suddenly extremely self-conscious. He saw everything and I didn't realize just how vulnerable I was until afterwards. I think he liked what he saw, though. I clearly remember his shallow pants against my neck and the feel of him pressed tightly to me. The memory alone is enough quicken my heart rate.
I pull apart my towel. I'm not as thin as before; the extra food adding some weight to my body. My hips seem slightly wider and my breasts are fuller. It's not awful but nothing special. My cheeks are not as sunken in as they were before the Hunger Games but the bags under my eyes remain. The stress of the current situation doesn't lend me much sleep. Peeta's bags are exponentially worse.
For a second I think that he would be better off with someone else, someone who isn't so emotionally damaged. Someone who wouldn't regret this morning's actions because they're too scared to deal with the consequences. But the thought of him touching anyone the way he touched me earlier makes my blood boil and I push the idea away from my mind.
Quietly, I pick some clean clothes out of my dresser and slip them on in the bathroom. My mind is still a mess. My feelings waver between guilt, fear and acceptance. And that four-letter word. It's a strange combination.
I brush my hair and braid it before I go back to Peeta, who is still asleep. The blankets are tangled around his legs and his bare chest just reminds me of earlier. I have the strong urge to kiss him there, hot and wet, but I resist. His hair is tousled and falling over his forehead. He looks so peaceful, so calm, and I can't help it when I brush the hair out of his eyes. He really is beautiful.
The contact, unfortunately, seems to rouse him and he opens his eyes, confused, before he seems to remember where he is. I watch the memories from earlier flash across his face and I can feel my face heat up.
"Why are you wearing clothes?" he asks, voice rough from sleep. The words should disconcert me but the way he says them, confused and slightly disappointed, almost makes me smile.
Almost.
"Sorry," I mumble. "I felt like I should shower…I was feeling…" I let the sentence trail, not sure what I was feeling, but Peeta finishes it for me with a devilish grin.
"Dirty?" he asks before laughing softly. That only makes me blush more and I try to look away but he just pulls me down so I'm lying on top of him. He's smiling so wide I wouldn't be surprised if his face split in two. It's contagious and I try to hide mine with a scowl. It feels selfish to be happy. Naïve.
Peeta's face turns serious almost immediately.
"You regret it, don't you?" he asks quietly and I frown, guilt seeping from my pores. I wonder if he could somehow hear my thoughts from inside the bathroom. From inside my head. When I don't answer he covers his face with his arm. I slide off his chest and his Adam's apple bobs.
I ruined it already.
To try and calm myself I trace the muscles of his arm with my index finger, thinking about how his arms always draw me in. Ever since those first awkward days sitting in his kitchen, watching him bake.
"What makes you say that?" I ask, guarding my voice.
"You can try to pretend I don't know you, Katniss, but I do." He waits for me to answer but I don't have one ready for him.
"Never mind. I don't want to know. I was so happy this morning and I'm going to stay happy for the next two weeks. Until…" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "I'm just going to live in that moment…when you said you loved me. I'll stay in it forever."
I've been on the verge of tears ever since the announcement, like a saturated sponge. The slightest nudge and I'd start to leak. This is a big nudge and I can feel the tears forming behind my eyes but I won't let them fall. I've done it too much and crying won't help anyone anymore.
"But that won't make you stronger, that won't help you in the arena," I whisper, again going back to the only way I know how to cope with our situation: training. Surviving.
Hiding.
"But it does," he says with a smile. "It gives me something to fight for," he says seriously, staring at me with such intensity I feel like he can see right to my soul. And the obviousness of it all hits me. The reason for his behavior these past two weeks. The retreating and the submission. He didn't think he was worth it; he didn't understand. He was questioning my feelings for him as I retreated into myself.
"I don't regret anything," I tell him, and on some level it's true, it's only a lie by omission. I regret everything, but not for the reasons he thinks, so I continue talking. "Everything I said, I meant. Everything I did, I meant too." I know I will have to explain myself, the real reason I'm filled with such regret. How it's a complete internal conflict. How it doesn't change the way I feel. But right now I simply can't.
Peeta looks relieved. Either that or he's decided it's not worth it to fight with me anymore about this. I'm not sure which I prefer.
"Maybe you're the one who regrets something, huh?" I ask, playfully but forced, hoping to lighten the mood. I trail my hand down his stomach and loop my fingers through the belt holes on his pants, not meeting his eyes.
I'm praying Peeta's hormones will distract him, bring him back to this morning and not to the emotional waterfall I always seem to be heading towards. Luckily, I win. His lips ghost my ear and I break out into goose bumps.
"That could not be farther from the truth," he whispers, hands inching under my t-shirt.
I remember now. I remember exactly why I let myself fall with him this morning, doing things I never thought I would do. Ever. It's simple and obvious in this moment, with his lips close to mine and his hands on my bare skin. So simple. Only when I let myself overanalyze my feelings does it become messy.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I don't know, we hear a knock. Our heads snap towards the door and we freeze.
"Katniss?" Prim asks.
Peeta glances at me and it takes me a few seconds to answer.
"Uh…yeah?" I squeak. I pale at the possibility that Prim or Mother heard Peeta and me this morning. I can't remember if we were loud. Hell, I couldn't remember my name at the time.
"Are you napping? Dinner is ready. Do you want me to go to Peeta's and get him?"
Speechless, I look to Peeta.
"Hey Prim. I'm here. Katniss was quizzing me on plants. We'll be down in a minute," Peeta says calmly, looking to me for confirmation. I let out a breath and nod.
"Okay," Prim answers and I hear her go back down the stairs.
Peeta gets up and finds his shirt on the floor. When he looks at me I see a variety of emotions playing in his eyes. I walk over to him and kiss him softly.
"I love you. Fight for that," I whisper despite my fears, hoping those words will give him the strength he needs to come back to me. To give me the strength to accept how I feel without regret.
The days pass. I continue my archery lessons with Peeta and he's actually not that bad, a lot better than I thought he would be. Obviously he's not as good as Gale or me but he has the potential to be decent. He laughed when I told him that.
He's gotten faster and stronger in the short amount of time we've been training, learning how to maneuver himself on his artificial leg. He claims it doesn't hurt as much but every night I insist on massaging it, secretly cherishing the moment because I'm not sure how many more there will be.
He still bakes every morning and he insists on bringing the loaves of bread down to the Hob himself. I've started to hold my head higher when I walk with him even though the looks people give him break my heart. Peeta pretends not to notice.
We kiss more. I've been more open with my affection for him even though it scares me for the same reason saying those three words scare me. I kissed him in the Hob once. It was only a quick peck on the lips but the stupid grin he had on his face for the rest of the day made it seem like something else completely.
We haven't done anything too scandalous since that one morning. I stand strong with my desire for him to become more adept at survival skills. I pretend I'd much rather him exercise and study than fool around with me. I don't think he believes me, though, because when we're alone in the dark things get heated fast. His hands wander, but never too far. I honestly think he's just happy I've allowed this much, like he's living some sort of dream and doesn't want to wake up—accepting whatever love I will give him at this point. His nightmares even seem to have gotten better. He sleeps more, not enough, but more than before and that, in and of itself, is something for me to hold onto.
A few days before the Reaping, Peeta and I are looking through my father's book of plants. It's what Prim and Mother have been using to tutor Peeta and Mother had let us bring it to his house tonight. She is very protective of that book so I know that when she offered it to us, the action was more complicated than she let on.
The book sits next to me on the couch and Peeta's head is in my lap. It's moments like these where I can almost forget where we'll be in only a few days. His eyes are closed and I'm playing with his hair, scratching his scalp softly as I ask him questions.
"Tell me about Poison Ivy," I say, fingers tangling in the blonde strands.
"Poison Ivy is native to 12 and could possibly be found in a variety of other Districts due to its resilient nature," he recites. "It's green and can be characterized by its clusters of three leaflets. The leaflets grow on their own stems and are attached to one main vine. Don't touch the vine, it's very poisonous. Don't touch Poison Ivy at all. Itches lead to rashes which leads to infection." I watch his lips form the words and when I'm satisfied with his answer I kiss them.
"Very good," I say against his mouth.
We break apart when we hear a knock at the door and we look at each other, confused. The only people who come to Peeta's house are Mother and Prim and we've already said goodnight to them.
Peeta leaves me on the couch and goes to open the door. I hear a quiet exchange before Peeta comes back into the living room followed closely by Gale. I'm pretty sure the surprise on my face is evident. I haven't seen Gale since the announcement.
I guess I should be happy to see him but I'm more wary than anything. The only times he's sought me out was to talk about the rebellion and I don't care for that news. I don't care for the rebellion at all. I see the tapping fingers in the Hob and around the mines, the number growing with each passing day. I know that there is a bigger picture that needs my attention. Gale has insisted multiple times, before and after my Games, that the Capitol's tyranny needs to end. That the rebellion is good. Necessary. I agree. Of course I agree. I sparked it, didn't I? But right now, all I can see of this rebellion is how much pain it's caused. I tried to calm it but it spiraled and I failed. The rebellion equates to failure in my eyes. My failure. I failed to keep those that I love safe.
Gale doesn't look shocked to see me at Peeta's house at this hour and I'm not sure what to think of it. At this point, Mother knows I sleep here. I briefly wonder if it upsets her. I'm only sixteen, after all. I might be setting a bad example for Prim and for a second I feel guilty. Maybe that's how Gale found out about us. Prim may have told Rory about our sleepovers.
I can't bring myself to care that much. I can't really seem to care about anything other than Peeta lately and that nasty regret that I harbor burns hot in my mind.
"I wanted to show Peeta how to set up some snares…might come in handy," Gale explains quietly. It's the first time he's said Peeta's name, not referred to him as 'baker boy' or 'Mellark' or, simply, 'him.' I glance back at Peeta who seems equally confused about the situation.
An "oh," is all I can muster and I watch from the couch as Gale starts to diagram a snare at the kitchen table. I get up and walk over to the two of them. It's so strange to see them working together, Gale's patient explanations and Peeta's attentive note taking. I've kept them so separate in my mind that seeing them together is almost surreal.
"I'm going to see Haymitch," I announce. Gale shrugs and Peeta looks surprised. He's wanted me to go to Haymitch for weeks now and I've always shrugged him away explaining that Haymitch is a useless drunk. But Gale's appearance has spurred a renewed hope inside of me. If Gale, someone I never expected to be of any help to Peeta, can prove useful, maybe Haymitch can as well.
Haymitch's lights are off, which isn't surprising. It's late at night and Haymitch's lights are rarely on to begin with, even during the day. I don't knock on the door and I find Haymitch sitting upright on his dirty couch.
"Don't you knock?" he asks, peeved. "What if I was having company?"
I'm too shocked to make any sort of witty comeback. I truly expected him to be unconscious and covered in vomit.
"You're not drunk?" I ask. Haymitch laughs bitterly.
"I'm only a little drunk," he mutters, picking at his fingernails. "Drinking doesn't help my thinking."
"What do you mean?" I push.
"I've been thinking about the same thing you've been thinking about, sweetheart."
I'm silent, unsure of how to react. I honestly thought Haymitch would have drunken himself into a stupor to deal with the announcement. It didn't even cross my mind that he may have been trying to help. Of course that's the reason I came here, to see if Haymitch had any words of wisdom about the Quell. I was so focused on not wasting any time training Peeta like a Career that I hadn't really even thought about Haymitch being of any help until Gale came. I realize my mistake.
Haymitch lies back on the couch and takes a swig from a bottle I hadn't noticed before.
"I wondered why it took you so long to come over here," he says. I frown but don't respond, waiting for him to continue.
"It's unfair," he croaks. It's not the direction I thought he would take and my hands start to shake but he continues on.
"You know, I tried to get you out of the arena last time. It's a miracle, that rule change. As a Mentor, you can't save both kids. You just can't. You need to choose one," he explains as if he's trying to convince himself he did the right thing. "You were tough. You could make it. He was a goner. In more ways than one."
Haymitch essentially choosing me over Peeta is not new information but being reminded of it doesn't help, especially at a time like this. It just another addition to the list of injustices that Peeta's experienced. I've become an obstacle in his survival since the day he was Reaped.
"And now he's a goner again," he says. "And there isn't anything we can do about it sweetheart, trust me, I've thought about it."
I blanche. I'm used to Haymitch's pessimism but the fact that he's tried to remain sober enough to think of a way to get Peeta out and failed to come up with an idea is like a kick to the head. I've refused to think of what will happen if Peeta doesn't make it. I've refused because it's hard and I hide from what scares me.
"You've thought about it, though," I prompt, ignoring my panic, the way my heart is beating and my palms are sweating. "You've tried to think of a plan?"
Haymitch studies me silently. He seems very old in this moment. Thin, greasy hair and saggy, dull skin. His expression is both exhausted and haunted.
"I know you think it's your fault, and I guess on some level it is," he says, not answering my questions. "But him being picked this time around? That was his fault."
My eyebrows knit together in confusion. How on earth is this Peeta's fault? Haymitch sees my look of doubt and stares at me hard before he continues speaking.
"You changed for them. You did everything you were supposed to do. You turned into a girl who was stupid with love for that boy."
I'm about to protest when he silences me with a flick of his wrist.
"You may not have meant to do it, but it happened. Everyone knows how you feel about him, sweetheart. It's no secret. You're a shitty liar and a terrible actress."
Like a blow to the chest I'm brought back to Snow's office at the Capitol Victory Party all those weeks ago.
"You're a terrible actress and yet I believe you."
I can almost see Snow's obscene grin leering at me from his spot behind the desk. I feel faint and sit down in the closest chair.
"It's funny how that works, isn't it? Love is a funny, fickle thing."
I might be sick. President Snow knew I was in love with Peeta before I did. Before Peeta did. I passed his test with flying colors because I became exactly what he wanted without knowing it. Haymitch must see me starting to understand because he barks out a laugh.
"Yup. You did it. You were the puppet. The boy is the one who can't be changed. While you were busy falling in love with him, he was busy starting fires all over the Districts. That speech in 11 was just the start," he says and I think back to our first stop on the Tour. The offering of our winnings, talking about Thresh and Rue like they were dear friends and not just Tributes. The gunshots. Peeta caused that. I helped but I guess he was the one who really triggered it.
"But that interview with Caesar at the end? That blew the cap off. Made the Capitol seem evil. Truly evil, for ripping you away from him. He's the real danger to everyone," Haymitch explains, turning to watch the shadows dance across the walls.
I guess it all makes sense now, in some sick sort of way. I may have sparked the rebellion with my stint with the berries but Peeta's honesty and goodness kept it going. He just kept adding fuel to the fire.
"Peeta was picked because he won't play by their rules," I say, speaking for the first time in a while. I'm oddly detached in this moment, which is probably why I haven't started crying or hyperventilating. I think back to the time before our first Games when Peeta was so worried about the Capitol changing him.
"I refuse to be a piece in their Games," he had said. I thought it was a silly thing to worry about at the time.
"He can't," Haymitch continues. "Doesn't know how. He doesn't realize he's doing it."
It's a lot to accept and I'm still grappling with everything when Haymitch speaks again.
"He'll die in there."
I look up at him. He stares back at me unflinching and I want to scream, to throw something, but I'm glued to the spot.
"That's why nothing I do will help. You training him may keep him alive a while longer but he's got a giant red marker on his back."
Haymitch pauses, making sure I'm hearing exactly what he's saying. "And I think they're hoping his death will be the end of you too, sweetheart. Not your life, maybe, but your spirit. Kill two birds with one stone."
I walk back to Peeta's house in a daze and see Gale exiting the front door. We stare at each other a few moments. I'm too shaken by my discussion with Haymitch to say anything of value to Gale so I just stare. The slight hope I had earlier, that maybe it isn't all lost, doesn't exist in me anymore.
"Thank you, Gale," I say softly. Gale sighs and buttons his jacket. It must be cold but I can't feel anything. I'm numb.
"I can be a good guy, you know," he answers.
"That's why you came?" I ask, unconvinced. Gale is a good person, I know that. That's how I learned to trust him all those years ago in the woods. But he's barely spoken to me since our fight months ago and he is busy working extra hours in the mines trying to feed his family. Not to mention, spearheading the rebellion in District 12. But he hates Peeta.
I want Gale to tell me that the reason he's helping Peeta is because he has a chance at survival. That it's not a lost cause. I want him to give me hope again.
"Because I love you," he answers back. "And you love him. I just wanted to help."
I watch him walk away, the snow beginning to fall, before I walk back into Peeta's house. I close the door behind me and turn around. Peeta is watching me silently and Haymitch's words are glowing, hot and shiny, in my mind. He'll die in there.
"How'd it go?" I ask him in a voice that doesn't seem like my own.
"Good. Gale's a good guy," he responds, eyes trained on mine. All I have the strength for is a nod.
"How is Haymitch?" he asks and I can't answer him. I can't meet his eyes because I'm not sure what I'll find there. Instead I stare at his hands, trying to find comfort in just looking at them.
"I've talked to him, too, you know," he says.
Of course he did. It all fits together like a perfect puzzle: Peeta's hopelessness, his attempts to convince me he won't come back. My eyes are surprisingly dry. I feel hollow.
"I know everything he's probably told you. It's why I've been trying to talk to you for so long," Peeta continues. I can't move, knowing that if I do I'll just run away.
"It's not your fault," he says.
He walks over to where I am at the door and rests his hands on my cheeks. Finally, I look into his eyes. They're blazing.
"It's not," he repeats and then he's kissing me, forcefully, like he's persuading me to believe him with his lips. And I kiss him back, pouring everything I can't find words for into it. This is the only thing that can comfort me now. His words won't work but this might.
He keeps me restrained against the door, pressing his body against mine and I sigh into his mouth. Why is it in times like these I realized I've missed the feel of him against me? I know I'll regret this, like I regret all our kisses, in a few hours but I can't stop.
His hands go under my shirt and straight to my chest. He's never been this straightforward, always hesitating on my stomach or flat out waiting for me to move his hands upwards.
I respond by moving to kiss his neck, appreciating the saltiness of his skin on my tongue. I want to forget that my conversation with Haymitch ever happened. I want to forget what's going to happen in a few days. Just let me forget everything.
Peeta is trying to figure out how to remove my bra from this position against the door but stops when I whisper in his ear.
"Upstairs."
He grabs me from behind the knees and hauls me up the stairs, two at a time, periodically placing hasty kisses on my lips. He kicks the door to his bedroom open and flops us down on the bed. Peeta pulls away to look at me but I can't face him so I peel off his shirt and attack his chest with my mouth, wanting to kiss him there ever since I saw him lying in my bed that morning. I'm being sloppy and slightly rough but his hands are in my hair and he's making appreciative sounds so I continue.
It's not until I feel my shirt being lifted over my head do I stop what I'm doing and help Peeta with my bra. He's much gentler than me, flipping me over and starting at my throat, placing light kisses all over my shoulders. My hands find his hair and his nose traces my right breast. When his mouth covers my nipple I arch into him and lock my legs around his waist. He's hard.
His hands trail down to my pants and when I feel his fingers trying to unbutton them I jerk back and Peeta's hands fall away. He looks dumbstruck, like he's made a massive mistake. Before he can start apologizing I push on his chest until he's lying down.
"You first," I say and he just looks at me. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.
I unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs. They catch on his artificial one but only for a second. I look back up at Peeta and then down at his boxers. He's straining against them and when I feel him over his underwear he exhales sharply.
He wants to touch me—I can see that his fingers are twitching so I move to kiss him again. He pulls me on top of him and my legs straddle his stomach. Peeta kisses me wetly as he moves his hands over my breasts. The ache between my legs is growing but this time, I want to touch him before he touches me.
I pull away and start to remove his boxers but he grabs my wrist to stop me. He's struggling for words and I'm surprised that I'm the first to speak.
"I don't know what to do," I blurt out.
"You don't have to do anything," he responds earnestly. His eyes are bright and he's breathing heavily.
"I want to," I explain. "I want to touch you. Just…you need to show me what you like," I say, though it comes out as more of a whisper.
"Okay," he breathes. "Okay," he says again, as if to remind himself where he is, to center him in this moment.
I pull off his boxers and stare at him. I've never seen a naked man before. I would always leave the room when Mother and Prim had to deal with that kind of stuff. Even in our Games I refused to look at Peeta when he undressed so I could clean his clothes.
I can't look away now. He is as hard as a rock. Curious, I grip him in my hand and Peeta's head falls back. Worried that I did something wrong I take my hand away.
"Was that wrong? I'm sorry," I say, embarrassed, but he just grabs my hand and shakes his head.
"No," he says quickly. "No, that was perfect."
He guides my hand to him again and I grip him, to enthralled to be blushing. He puts his hand over mine and holds tightly. Slowly, he moves us up his length, breathing heavily into my ear. It sends tingles down my spine and straight to the area between my legs. There's a droplet of liquid coming out of his tip and he sweeps a finger over it, bringing the wetness down his length again. After a few experimental pulls, he takes his hand away from mine and starts to kiss my neck as I stroke him.
My hesitancy from before slips away. Clearly he's enjoying himself and that's what propels me to grip him harder and speed up my pace. That and the sounds he's making against my neck, too far gone to form coherent words. His kissing turns into panting and moaning and after a few minutes he stiffens, groaning out my name. I can feel him throb under my hands and he releases himself onto his stomach. Instead of fretting over what to do about it I decide to just kiss him.
It takes him a few seconds before he's kissing me back.
"That was amazing," he whispers. "You're amazing," I smile into his mouth and his hands move over my chest and down to my pants.
"Can I help you now?" he asks, eyes big and blue.
"You don't…I just wanted you to…"
Peeta stops me with his lips.
"I really want to touch you," he says and I just nod, because words at this point have escaped me. He eases down my pants and underwear and I close my eyes as Peeta begins to rub me. I try to kiss him but my muscles won't coordinate so I just pant loudly into his mouth. We're both naked and I can feel Peeta pressing against my thigh. He's hard again and I realize we're both very close to each other. One wrong movement and we could connect. I stiffen and pull away and Peeta, eyes so dark they're almost black, looks back at me. His hands remain where they are.
"Trust me, Katniss," he whispers and the way my name sounds as it leaves his lips, throaty and thick like hot steam, pushes me over the edge.
Afterwards, when we're both cleaned up and wearing our pajamas, my head resting on his chest, I begin to regret everything again. My mind is screaming at me, telling me just how hard it's going to be in a few days. My heart is in total disagreement, knowing it would have been difficult either way.
Peeta is lazily tracing shapes on my cheek with his finger, breathing deeply, on the verge of sleep.
"I love you, Katniss," he tells me quietly.
'And I love you,' I answer in my head, feigning sleep, the regret winning out for once. Every time we touch each other, each kiss we share, brings me a twinge of pain because I know I will crave them when he's gone. Tears burn behind my eyes. I'll miss him so much.
And I love him. Oh god, I love him so much. And it's not that surprising, now that I think of it. I've tried so hard to fight it, to fend it off, so of course it would just fight it's way back with unparalleled force and hit me harder than I could have imagined.
In my dream Peeta and I are in the forest from our Games. I am painting a large "X" on his face with the red paint from his studio. He's helping me. Twice he makes me change the shade of red because it's not bright enough.
"How will they see me?" he questions and I just nod in agreement. When I'm done I hear a cannon shot and look around in terror.
"Where did it come from?" I ask him, panicked, searching the surrounding area, but we're all alone. When I look to see why Peeta is so quiet I shriek. His face is chalk-white and there is a deep gash in his chest that's leaking blood at a fast rate.
He collapses and I fall to my knees, trying to stop the bleeding.
"Stay with me!" I shout at him, my hands fluttering uselessly around his now limp body. He's losing color and my hands and knees are covered in his blood.
"Always," he answers faintly, his eyes losing focus.
"I mean it, Peeta!" I shout at him, angry now. How can he have let this happen?
The cannon shoots again and I scream and yell, not believing it's happened. I clutch Peeta's dead body to me until I feel a clawing at my shoulders. I turn around in surprise and the wolf mutts look at me curiously. I try to run away but it's not me they take. The wolf with Rue's eyes grabs Peeta's arm and drags him into the distance and before I know it, I'm alone.
I'm thrashing and my throat feels like it's on fire. I'm still in the woods, I'm sure of it. I'm still shouting Peeta's name, hands searching for the mutts, but the scenery begins to fade and I'm back in Peeta's room.
"I'm here," he says soothingly. "I'm here, you're okay." I quiet momentarily and twist my head to look at him. He's holding me and his face is close to mine. There is no red paint on it.
"I'm here," he says one more time before I burst into tears.
He's here. But for how long? My hands are trembling and I run them over his face: cheeks, nose, chin, lips. I try to commit them to memory. How long will he be here with me? Before the Capitol takes him away?
"You're here," I confirm, sobbing loudly, touching his face. "You're here."
"Shh, I'm here. I'm not…I'm still here," he says, his voice thick and breaking. Tears start to leak out of his eyes. They're fat and slow, the kind that escape when you try your hardest to hide them. I watch in both wonderment and dismay as they slide down his face. I've never seen him cry. And I made him do it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, still sobbing, trying to wipe his tears away but they keep coming, harder and faster. His throat tightens with the effort to control himself.
"Me too," he says.