Chapter 2

Sunlight streams through the glass windows. I open my eyes and attempt to focus on my surroundings. My stomach lurches, and I hastily run to the bathroom, retching up all of yesterday's dinner. I peel off my soaked T-shirt and replace it with a clean dress.

Breakfast is a dull affair. Effie chirps on about the day's schedule as usual, and Peeta tries to get me to eat. My protests are ignored, and somehow, he manages to feed me some toast.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Peeta asks, munching on a piece of bread. "Effie says we won't reach 10 till tomorrow morning."

"Nothing," I reply, giving him a blank stare. Instead of leaving, he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the dining hall. Hand in hand, we race across the hallway, and just for a moment, I am consumed by this childlike exuberance.

"Where - are we go-ing," I manage to say in between breaths. Peeta leads me to the glass-paned compartment we sat in last time. I gasp as I absorb the snowscape beyond the glass—the once green stretch of trees blanketed with thick white snow. Each snowflake sways its way from heaven, and the air is filled with hushed whispers of delicate ice crystals as they settle on each branch. I meet Peeta's bright blue orbs and mouth a silent thank-you.

Peeta pulls out a blank canvas and hands it over to me. I set it down on the stand and patiently wait for Peeta to hand me a brush.

As soon as he does, we melt into our surroundings as the rhythmic strokes of brushes fill the air. And for once, the relentless turmoil in my head is veiled.

"Peeta, can you help me with the sky?" I ask.

"Sure, what color?" He replies, clearly happy to be finally teaching me something.

"Orange," I say with a hint of a smile. His cheeks redden, pleased at the mention of his favorite color. He comes up behind me and encloses my hands with his. The canvas booms with warm hues of oranges, brilliant yellows, and fiery reds. And just for a second, I meet his gaze, unwilling to look away that even time freezes in reverence.

Peeta then gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he dips his brush into a bottle. Paint splatters across my face. My eyes widen as I reach for him.

"Oh no, you did not!" I exclaim as I pick up my brush to retaliate.

I throw myself at him, and we tumble to the floor. I lather his face with layers of paint. Our laughter intertwines and bubbles forth infectious, yet so carefree. I make a note to myself to remember this moment.

"Come on, let's go get cleaned up," Peeta says and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder.

"Peeta, put me downnnn," I protest between laughs. I playfully punch his back, even though I'm secretly enjoying the fact that he's able to pick me up with such ease.

We reach the bathroom, and he sets me down. He pulls off his shirt, revealing his hard lean muscles, and sets it on the counter.

"Like what you see?" Peeta says with a mischievous smile.

My cheeks redden as I realize I had been staring at him the whole time.

"I- I was looking at the wall, okay! Not you!" I stammer out defensively.

"Sure you were, sweetheart," he says with a wink.

"Katniss! Peeta! Dinner!" Effie calls out from a distance. Just in time, I think, because I wasn't sure how to reply to what Peeta just said.

Dinner is quiet. Whatever tension occurred earlier between me and Peeta dissipates as the night draws closer. Exhaustion weaves through my veins as I grapple my way through dinner.

"Katniss, I've noticed your situation. So I specially requested the Capitol for some medicine. Take them; they'll help you sleep," Effie says as she hands me a yellow translucent bottle.

"Thank you, Effie. I'll take them tonight," I reply.

I finish dinner and grab the pills from Effie. On the way, I slip one into my mouth and collapse on top of my bed.

I'm running in the woods, no, in the arena. I feel warm slime sliding down my ears. The tracker jackers are gaining on me. One jab, two, three... The jackers encapsulate my body, feeding off every inch of my skin.

Peeta's POV

I've been pacing the hall for the past couple of hours; sleep has become a fictitious desire. Every time I lay my head down, the arena comes alive, greedily snatching away any sense of sanity I had regained.

That's when I hear her—a blood-curling scream enough to make each strand of hair stand erect. My body acts before my mind as I bolt towards the owner of the cries.

I find her sprawled between layers of linen, fighting for control, pleading for help. Her howls pierce my ears.

"Katniss, wake up, Katniss," I urge her to open her eyes.

Her entire body quakes at my touch. I gently cup her face and will her to look into my eyes. I then realize it's sleeping pills; they're just prolonging her nightmares more than usual. I pull her into my arms and whisper soothing words into her ears. After what feels like a century, her breathing finally slows, and she turns her head to look at me. Her once fiery gray eyes now look like melted slush, worn out with defeat. I use the ends of my sleeve to wipe her tumbling tears. She crumbles into my arms and cries her heart out. I enfold her frail body into mine, willing to never let go.

As her eyes begin to shut, she manages to say one word. "Stay." Katniss whispers. "Always," I promise as I plant a kiss on her head.