I wake up to the sun streaming in through my curtains. My head is pounding and my eyes feel swollen. The moment I realize I must have been crying, memories of last night flood my mind. Snow announcing the quell. The horrible dress. Peeta carrying me upstairs and holding me until I feel asleep. Peeta. I look around, half expecting to see his sleeping form next to me. He isn't there, and I am ashamed at the disappointment I feel. Of course he would't stay.

I sit up and immediately feel a rush of dizziness. With much effort, I manage to stand and walk to the bathroom. My head is pounding so fiercely I can hardly hear myself think, not that that stops the thoughts from coming.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and instantly wish I hadn't. The makeup that my prep team had painted onto my face so meticulously the day before is now a series of streaks tracking the path that my tears had taken down my cheeks. My eyes are red and just as swollen as they feel and my hair is stuck to my neck from the sweat that seems to drench me every night as I dream of the Games.

I sigh and turn on the shower. As the hot water works in vain to clear my mind, I hear a loud clatter coming from downstairs. At first I assume it's just Prim or my mother being clumsy, but when there is a second noise, this time louder, my suspicion grows. I turn off the tap and step out of the shower. After I wrap myself in my towel and braid my hair quickly down my back, I step into the bedroom to find some clothes. The noise comes once again and I pull on a sweater and jeans before I speed down the hall to the stairs.

"Prim?" I call, "Mother? Hello?" There's no answer and I increase my pace, practically running down the stairs into the kitchen, where the crashes came from.

"Hello, sweetheart," comes Haymitch's gruff drawl. He is opening and closing the cupboards, most likely looking for liquor.

"We don't have any booze, Haymitch," I snap, "Stick to wrecking your own house." I move around the island to start picking up the pots and pans that ended up on the ground in Haymitch's drunken quest.

"Ah, I'm not just here for booze, sweetheart. I figured you would be wanting to have a little chat with me and I decided to be extra nice and come to you, so you didn't have to venture into my wreck of a house," he sneers.

"Why would I want to have a chat with you?" I fire back.

"Well, well, well. Look it here. I was right. You really don't deserve him," Haymitch gives a humorless laugh and flops himself down in a chair. I just glare at him, waiting for him to explain. "Two victors are going into those Games. One of them is going to be you. After you fell apart in the middle of your goddamn photo shoot and cried the night away in lover boy's arms, he came to me. While you were sleeping, he woke my ass up and made me swear to him that he would be the one to go into those Games with you," my heart sinks to somewhere near my stomach as he continues, "He's still protecting you with everything he's got and here I thought that maybe you would be wanting to do the same. But I was right about you in the beginning, sweetheart. You could live a million lifetimes and still never deserve him."

I close my eyes and swallow, trying to hold back the bile I feel rising in my throat. "Haymitch," I say. But he cuts me off before I even have a chance to try and put everything I am thinking into words.

"Don't worry about trying to fix your little slip up. I'm going to do what I goddamn well please. We won't know what is going to happen until it does. But it's his turn to live, if we're going to go by you're little owing people system. Just start thinking a little quicker on your feet, sweetheart." He pulls himself out of the chair and walks through the door, closing it behind himself right before I empty the contents of my stomach into the sink.

I rinse my mouth and run my sleeve across my face before turning around and sinking into a sitting position. Clutching my legs, I bury my face into my knees. I know I care about Peeta. I know I care about Peeta more than I'd like to admit that I do. I know I would do anything to protect him. I also know that while I was busy wallowing in self pity I forgot to actually act on those feelings. Once again, Peeta was the better person, putting my safety in front of his fears. I wipe the tears off my cheeks, pick myself up off the ground, and begin to make my way towards Peeta's house. I know I have a resolve that nothing will break. As long as I am alive, I will do everything in my power to make sure that Peeta Mellark does not die.