When I wake up this morning, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, unwilling to move. I'm hoping that today isn't the day – that maybe I've miscounted or the calendar is off, but then I remember the large dinner we had last night. It's tradition that we stuff our faces as much as possible before Reaping Day – in case it's our last meal home.

So far, I've been lucky. I've gone four years without my name being drawn and if the odds are really in my favor, I'll go five years without being reaped and never have to worry about myself again.

But this year is different than other years – because this year is Prim's first year. She'd woken up in a fit of screams and tears over a nightmare of her name being read last night. And honestly, I'd had the same nightmare as her, but if I wasn't there to comfort her, who would be?

I'd even gone out of my way to make sure that she had as little slips as possible in that bowl. No tesserae. Not one. I took them all – my total adding up to over twenty, but I'd lost track. As long as Prim was safe as possible, my consequences didn't seem so awful.

I glance at the clock on the wall – I'd slept in fairly late. I feel more tired than usual, even with the extra hours of rest. My bones crack as I stretch to my limits getting out of bed. Every part of me has the sensation of being pulled down on – that I have weights on every joint of my body. I wasn't exactly sure when I did fall back to sleep after Prim's nightmare. The sobs had quieted down after twenty minutes or so, too tired to cry anymore. I, on the other hand, was now being haunted by my dreams as well as Prim's.

When I started worrying like this, I played a game. I listed all the things that are good in my life.

We ate good food.

We are alive.

Prim says she has a surprise for me.

I'm going to the bakery.

Prim is safe.

The bakery.

I moved a lot faster then, racing to pull on my dress slacks and button down shirt, hastily tucking it in. I grabbed the first two socks I saw in my drawer – not really paying attention to color or pattern and slicked back my hair like Mom always did for me on the morning of the Reaping.

But as of now, she lies in her room, facing the wall, blankets up to her chin. I don't know if she's actually asleep or not – but for the past few years, there isn't much of a difference.

I rush out the door down the street, trying to keep my emotions under control. Part of me wants to run back inside and hide under the covers of my bed where I feel the world is safer, and the other part wants to smile because I'm going to the bakery.

There isn't really anything particularly exciting about a bakery. It's just bread and cakes with good smells and warmth, but yet, I can't control the hot glow that swallows my chest.

Maybe it's the memories associated with it – the fact that the bakery is where I was saved, where life finally started for me.

Or maybe it's because Katniss Everdeen.

Who knows?

I push open the door, bells jingling at my entrance. No one's manning counter. The shop is technically closed in honor of Reaping, but I can hear a very familiar voice from somewhere in the back.

"Now, I want it to say, 'Prim Loves You.'"

"Hold on, ducky. I have to make sure there is enough frosting first. You've got your sights set pretty high."

I hear a sweet harrumph and then the dramatic stomp of foot.

"Are you trying to pout?"

Prim giggled. "Was it convincing?"

A bell chime laugh replied, "Not even a little bit."

I glance around the corner into the kitchen. Prim is dressed in proper Reaping clothes – a skirt and blouse that I know is a hand-me-down from a neighbor, standing on a little stool to peer at the cake in front of a beaming grey-eyed girl.

"Peeta!" Prim gasps, a hand covering her mouth. She flops in front of the in-work masterpiece, shielding it from me. "Don't look! It's not finished!"

I respond accordingly, covering my eyes and groaning. "Well, I don't know how I'm supposed to get to the square now. I can't see!"

I hear Prim sigh, "Is it okay if I just give it to him now, Katniss?"

"Of course," I can hear the smile in her voice. "I think it looks pretty darn good, don't you?"

I uncover my eyes to see Prim nodding enthusiastically. Katniss hands the cake over to Prim before handing it to me, Prim smiling bashfully.

"What's this?" I ask. "Did you make me a cake, duck?"

She shrugs as if it's nothing. "Katniss did most of it," she explains. "But I wanted you to have something nice for your last Reaping."

The thought pulls the string around my tight, making breathing and coherent thoughts hard. I pull her close and place a kiss on her head. "Thank you, Prim. It's beautiful," and I intended the words for Prim, but when I say this, my gaze flickers over to Katniss who is smiling brightly at the exchange.

She looks tired – glowing, but tired. She has her Reaping clothes on too, a simple blue dress that shows off exactly how tiny she is. Her long brown hair gathered in a halo-like brain around her head and I smile. Always an angel.

Her and I don't talk often. I mean, how could we? We're too different, her and I. Her family, and when I say family I mean her mom, doesn't approve of my lurking around the bakery. I still try hopelessly, trying to start a conversation, but I just can't really seem form a sentence in her presence. There's too much to say – so much that it wants to all fly out of mouth at once, and I can't let that happen. It'd probably scare her away.

If her and I make it out of the Reaping – I'm going to thank her, once and for all. And maybe when I get it off my chest, I can actually try to pursue her.

Maybe.

"We need to head on out," I mumble. The dreaded time is drawing near. At the rate we're going, we aren't going to be getting to the Town Square any too early.

"Okay," Prim whispers. The happiness immediately drains from Katniss' face as well as any trace of color. "Do you want to eat the cake on the way?" I look at the huge, flowery pink and white cake in her arms – too big to hunker down within a few minutes – or at least not long enough to savor the taste of hard work. She's put too much effort on this, and I know it would hurt her if I didn't eat it – and if a Peacekeeper saw it with us, they'd probably take it for themselves without another thought.

Katniss then steps in, "Why don't you leave it here, Prim?" she suggests. "You two can come back for it after the Reaping." When we come back. The way she says it makes me believe for a minute that there is no way that either one of us is in danger. I smile and nod at her in thanks.

"We will," Prim nods. She clutches my hand and leads me towards to door shouting her good byes to Katniss.

Katniss waves to us, but looks directly at me when she says quietly, "Good luck." She must know. She must know about all of my slips – you didn't have to be a genius to guess that I'd had to take out some. Most of the Seam kids had to.

I say a quick prayer in my head as we walk down the brick roads to the square.

I ask God to keep Prim safe. I ask Him to watch over the tributes from 12 during the Games, whoever they may be this year.

And lastly, I ask Him to take care of Katniss – keep her safe and keep her happy, regardless of what happens today. I doubt she's taken out any tesserae. Her family seems relatively wealthy – but you never know.

Solemn faces march into the square – almost looking like soldiers heading into a battle they know they're going to lose.

I see mothers and fathers kissing their children's heads, and I know Prim sees it too because she cringes – probably wondering why her own mother doesn't do that. You'd think that she'd at least make an attempt to see her –wish her luck, but she's probably still nestled in her pile of blankets wallowing in pity.

As we approach the twelve year old section, I give Prim's hand one last squeeze and her head one last kiss.

"You'll be okay," I say. "I promise."

I know from the look in her eyes that she wants to protest, but she keeps her mouth shut in a firm line.

And with that, I turn away from the most important thing in my life and head towards my age group, leaving her alone with the possibility of uncertain death.

As more people trickle in, I spot Katniss walking next to Delly Cartwright, who appears to be animatedly telling a story. From the little murmurs I can make out, – her story seems to involve boys. Katniss nods politely and gives a sincere smile. It's so genuine, it stirs something warm in my chest.

She's comforting Delly – in these final moments before the Reaping she's letting her drone on about killer arms and blue eyes, something that Katniss could care about less from the looks of it, but she's not about to stop Delly's mind from escaping for a little while.

Then her eyes meet mine, a misty grey color that have invaded my dreams for years. She mouths something to me; something that I can only guess is,

"She'll be okay."

And then, I feel hope.

"Good morning District 12!" The living rainbow, Effie Trinket, sings over the town's speakers. She's always been way too perky, and today it affects me more than normal, makes me sick. "How are you all doing this lovely day?"

No one answers, but I do hear a sarcastic snort come from Katniss, a few people glancing her way. Delly elbows her, and I can't help but smile a little – until I catch Prim's shy stare.

I nod at her, promising her things I wish I could guarantee.

She introduces Haymitch Abernathy – only remaining victor from 12 and the town drunk. He makes an inappropriate comment into the microphone before flopping into his chair half asleep.

They play the anthem then, and make us sit through the video like they do every year – we even get to see some of the most gruesome Victory deaths again. I shut my eyes and try to forget that it could be Prim or Katniss up there – even me.

"I just love that," Effie sighs at the closing line of the footage. I don't even know what the last line was – always tuned out, busy in my own thoughts before it was finished.

"Now, let's mix things up this year, shall we? How about our gentlemen first, hmm?" she smiles and then trots her way over to the boys' bowl as best as she could in her killer heels.

She fishes her hand around in the bowl until she catches a name that she deems appropriate. She unfolds the slip in her manicured claws dramatically before clearing her throat.

She reads the name, and I hear it, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't recognize the name.

People are turning to look at me, watching my face, I guess.

"Peeta Mellark? Are you out there?" Everyone's stares are turned towards me now. But I can't think, and when I do, all I can filter through is how it isn't me– I'm not Peeta Mellark. I want her to do a recount, even though it isn't possible. I wanted to argue that I wasn't him – because at the moment, it would really suck to be Peeta Mellark.

I feel my feet carry me to the stage. I hadn't told them to do that, but they seemed to know what to do, so I trusted them. Sad, pitiful eyes meet mine – I even receive a few claps on the shoulder.

Effie extends a hand to me, welcoming warmly. Her cartoony, bubblegum hair and lips even more disturbing up close.

"Hello, Peeta," she grins. "What an honor!"

I wanted to vomit at the comment, but she's already moved on to the lady's bowl – Peeta Mellark's name already forgotten.

My head's clouded with shock. It's like nothing could penetrate the cushioned wall my body had set up around my mind to protect it.

Except for the name Effie reads.

Primrose Mellark.

My brain knows who that is.

It's my sister.

I was in the Hunger Games with my sister.

And Effie made sure to point it out, jabbering about how amazing it was that a brother and sister would both be competing in the Hunger Games – especially without volunteering, how this was the most exciting Reaping yet.

I convinced myself I was dreaming. The bile in my throat had begun to rise dangerously. I dug my nails in my palms hard enough that they were bleeding, but I couldn't wake up. I was stuck in this horrible dream world.

This was worse than my nightmares. Far worse.

I was in the Hunger Games with my sister.

Not only would she probably die, I might be the cause of it.

NO.

I'd never be the cause of her death – I'd die protecting her, but what happens when I die, who will save her then?

Weak, tiny Prim - the twelve year old with the golden curls and the beautiful smile who baked me a cake for my last reaping, - the one who cries when she eats breakfast because she's so thankful.

I can't do this. I can try though. I can save her, - I just have to stay with her – maybe we'll hide it out. Find somewhere safe in the arena if we're lucky. I can kill – maybe. If I can forget that they're people, just for a second then maybe I can do it.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Effie stopped talking.

It'd really been only a few seconds since Prim's name was called, she hadn't even reached the stage yet, but a dark haired beauty was practically throwing herself in front of Prim, avoiding the clutches of nearby Peacekeepers.

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Prim started sobbing then as the woman cupped her cheeks, crouching down beside her.

"Shh, Prim it's okay. Go find my dad," she whispered to her.

"NO!" Prim's cries wracked her entire body. I saw the woman swallow down the emotions, her throat bobbing.

"Prim, it's okay, go find Dad."

Out of nowhere Madge appears, she must have been watching closely. Her eyes are glazed over as she scoops up a sobbing Prim into her arms. She continues to shriek for me – for both of us.

"PEETA! KATNISS!"

I try not to cry, I really do. I feel one slip free down my cheek, but that is all I allow to get by.

Katniss is yanked up stage by Peacekeepers and thrown next to me.

My guardian angel.

The lump in my throat is impossible to swallow now.

"A volunteer!" Effie announces. She starts applause, but no one joins in. Instead, the spectators gradually respond by pressing three fingers to their lips and holding them up to us.

It was an old funeral gesture.

Fitting.

Effie seems peeved by the action and continues while the entire District salutes the living going to die.

"What is your name, dear?"

She stares at the ground in front of her, not seeing as she says, "Katniss Everdeen."

My Katniss.

Effie's eyes widen, "No relation?"

Katniss shakes her head.

"Well," she murmurs. "That's very brave of you." She says this quietly, almost as if she doesn't want to microphone to pick it up. Effie quickly plasters the huge grin back on her face before returning to her duties.

"Go on now! Shake hands, you two!" she beams, shoving us closer.

Katniss' eyes are clearly haunted, filled with tears of her own, yet she does not shed them.

And instead of shaking hands with her, I pull her into my arms, gasps erupting from all corners of the arena.

Tributes did not embrace.

But then again, this was no ordinary tribute.

This was the girl with the bread.

The girl with the bread, once again, was saving my family.

And now I was being thrown into a death arena with her.

I whisper into her ear every thank you and apology that my brain could muster out, the ones I had been suffocating inside of me all these years. My heart breaks when I feel her let out a shaky breath, obviously controlling tears.

And when we pull away from the hug, she takes my hand in hers and squeezes like she had done five years ago when I was starving in the rain.

She was comforting me. Telling me that it was going to be okay.

Damn angel.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you the 74th Annual Hunger Games District 12 tributes! Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

No one claps.

I don't know why I think of this now, but I do.

I think of Prim's cake – and how it'll sit on the counter of the bakery, never to be touched by the person it was given to.

And then I think of Katniss, her hand still clutched tightly in mine.

The Baker's Daughter doesn't deserve this. She deserves to grow old with some Merchant boy – have kids, make cakes, be happy. But instead is being sentenced to death.

She volunteered. It's not even like Prim was her sister or anything – sure they were close. Prim was always down at the bakery, learning the trade, but nothing like a family member.

She was willing to die for Prim.

It is then I promise myself I will do the same.

I am willing to die for Katniss Everdeen.

Note: This chapter took me several days to write – still not where I wanted it, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Next chapter is the trip to the Capitol where they may be a lil' bit of...you know...

HAND HOLDING.

DUN DUN DUN.

I want to thank everyone for the reviews and favorites! They mean a lot to me, being a first time writer and all.

Reviews are highly appreciated!

Peeta says that if you review; he'll hug you and whisper things in YOUR ear ;D

See y'all Monday!