Archive of Our Own ^beta

I died in the Hunger Games.

It isn’t even the first time it’s happened.

I’ve died in the Hunger Games five times now.

After the first time, I thought it had just been some long, drawn-out nightmare. I had only just crumpled to the ground from the knife in my back when I jolted and awoke in my bed back at home, drenched in sweat.

It was just a bad dream. A really, really bad dream.

But things kept repeating themselves from my dream.

“Look what I shot,” says Gale as he holds a load of bread with an arrow sticking through it aloft.

“Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?” says Madge when we come to sell her the strawberries.

“You look beautiful,” Prim tells me when I’m dressed in our mother’s old dress and she’s pinned up my hair.

I hope that my day will differ from my dream when we get to the Reaping. But Effie Trinket still calls out Prim’s name. And just like in my dream, I volunteer.

Please not Peeta. Please not him. Anyone but him, I silently beg.

But nobody’s listening to my pleas because Effie still picks his name from the bowl.

The reassuring squeeze Peeta gives my hand is the only thing that is keeping me anchored to this reality and preventing Greasy Sae’s stew from making a reappearance all over his shoes.

I say my goodbyes to Prim, my mother, Peeta’s father, Madge, and Gale all over again. I ride in the car with Effie and Peeta to the train station. Peeta still looks like he’s been crying.

But at least he’s not dying in a cave anymore.

When we watch the recap of the reapings later that night, I recognize the faces of the other tributes from my nightmare. Every last one of them is the same.

I fall asleep on the train that night and hope that I wake up for real this time. For surely this is just a continuation of the nightmare.

But I wake up on the train and everything keeps repeating itself.

Peeta knocks the glass out of Haymitch’s hand.

Haymitch punches Peeta.

I stab the table.

A team of stylists laments over the state of my leg hair.

Cinna sets Peeta and I on fire.

Peeta holds my hand.

I kiss him right on his bruise when he tells me that flames suit me.

I wonder aloud to Peeta if we have access to the roof since we’re on the top floor. Peeta looks delighted to show me. I let him.

I don’t slam my door.

We train together. I remember the weak and feverish Peeta in the cave from my nightmare and I try to be a little nicer to him this time. I actually laugh now when he jokes at the camouflage station. Now that I’m less annoyed with him, he’s actually quite funny.

The Gamemakers ignore me again. I shoot the apple out of the pig’s mouth.

I don’t panic and cry like last time. When I emerge from the elevator, I see Peeta in the sitting room with Effie, Cinna, and Portia.

“How’d it go, Girl on Fire?” Cinna asks me. I flop onto the couch next to Peeta and resist the urge to curl up into his side like we’re back in that cave.

“Well, I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers,” I say nonchalantly.

Everyone in the room is silent. Then…

“You what?! ” Effie shrieks.

I score an eleven.

I spin around in a flaming dress for Caesar Flickerman.

Peeta confesses his feelings for me on television.

I don’t push him this time. I wonder if the way I pushed him the first time around put him at a disadvantage in the arena.

“It would have been nice if you two had given me a warning ,” I say after we exit the elevator on our floor. “I looked like an idiot.”

“No, your reaction was perfect,” Portia assures me. “If you’d known, it wouldn’t have looked real.”

“She’s just worried about her boyfriend,” says Peeta.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I tell him, annoyed that he thinks I’m with Gale. Peeta still brushes this off and I’m even more annoyed that he refuses to believe me.

Haymitch lectures me on how this strategy makes me desirable and will bring in more sponsors because I’m hopeless without it. I almost slap him.

I go up to the roof immediately after changing for bed. Peeta joins me later.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“I thought about it. But then I’d miss the party,” I tell him, nodding to the festivities below.

“I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster I’m not,” Peeta tells me.

I was annoyed when Peeta said this the first time. It seemed so pessimistic. It wasn’t until Rue’s death that I understood and appreciated what Peeta had meant to say.

I think about the last time I did this. I thought Peeta had teamed up with the Careers to kill me. Then he got a sword to the leg for saving me from them. If anyone could get through the Games and not become a monster at the end, it would be him.

“They won’t,” I promise him.

I’m in the arena. I run straight for a pack the second the gong goes off. This time, I beat the boy from District Nine to the pack. I hear him cough up blood behind me as Clove throws a knife into his back. Another knife from her is lodged into my backpack.

A few days later I catch a fireball to the face and wake up back in District Twelve.

“Look what I shot.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Primrose Everdeen."

For my third time in the arena, I fall out of a tree and snap my neck.

The fourth, I try and go for the bow and arrow anyway and am killed in the bloodbath.

The fifth time, I accidentally ran right into the Careers. Peeta barely has time to scream my name before Cato cuts me down with his sword.

Everything feels too real. It’s not just a nightmare. A nightmare is something you can wake up from. Now it’s become my reality. For reasons unknown, I’ve been doomed to repeat the Hunger Games over and over.

“We could do it, you know. Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.”

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered this already. I thought about taking my mother and Prim and running away to the woods to try and outrun the reaping. But I couldn’t just leave Peeta behind to face the Games alone. And every time I wake up here, Peeta doesn’t remember me. How could I convince someone I’ve technically never spoken to that they should run away with me on reaping day?

I had tried arguing with myself that it wouldn’t matter. Peeta doesn’t know me yet. But it does matter because I do know him. And I know that leaving him behind will never be a viable option for me again.

“No, we couldn’t. And if you had half a brain, you’d know that,” I snap at Gale. Dying doesn’t put me in a good mood.

I volunteer for Prim. Then Peeta’s name is called.

We get in the car. He’s been crying again. 

I can still picture the look on his face when Cato killed me. I can still hear how my name sounds when he screams it in horror and devastation. 

I finally give in to the impulse I’ve been fighting the last few times we’ve been in this car and take his hand. I’ll die soon, anyway. And then I’ll wake back up here. And Peeta won’t even remember that I took his hand.

And it takes away some of the guilt I carry for accidentally making him witness to my murder.

“Where is Haymitch, anyway?” Peeta asks when we’re in the stables. “Isn’t he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?”

I might have gone insane through all of this if it weren’t for Peeta. Repeating the days with him was…somehow calming. His smile, his kindness, and his presence are a soothing balm to my nerves and mind.

I repeat my same answer about Haymitch needing to stay away from the open flame with all of the alcohol in him and Peeta and I are laughing like it’s the first time I’ve said it.

Well, it is to him, I suppose.

At the tribute parade, I’m the one to reach for Peeta’s hand when Cinna tells us to.

“I’m not sure I can bring myself to smile and wave,” I confess to Peeta. My timing couldn’t be worse, really. We’re pulling out of the stables now. I’ve been told six separate times now how important this parade could be for potential sponsors.

Peeta looks thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ll distract the crowd and they won’t notice whether you’re smiling or not. I’ll just need your help with the zipper so I can strip naked.”

The absurdity of this statement makes me laugh. I hold on to that smile and wave to the crowd.

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.”

My kiss lands a little higher on his jaw this time.

“She has no idea. The effect she can have.”

I still don’t know what Peeta means when he says this. I still clench my fists when I think about what Peeta’s mother said to him when she came to say goodbye. The pain in Peeta’s eyes when he tells me feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach every time. It makes me wonder how much pain from that woman lurks below the surface.

Does she even know the effect she can have on her son?

Peeta excels at the camouflage station and tells me about the differences between the district breads at lunch. We operate flawlessly as a team. It’s gotten easier the more times I repeat this.

“Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink,” Peeta mutters on our way to bed. I make a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

“There’ll never be enough liquor in the world.”

I shoot the apple out of the pig’s mouth and twirl in my flaming dress for the audience.

Peeta confesses his love for me to the entire country.

I run from the Cornucopia with a knife in my backpack and blood on my face.

Ten days later, Peeta and I are running together through the woods when our luck runs out. Cato emerges from the shadows and knocks me down to the ground with one punch.

“Katniss!” Peeta yells. He starts charging toward me. Then he crumples to the ground, coughing up blood. One of Clove’s knives sticks out of his back.

I struggle to scramble to my feet. “Peeta!” I manage to scream right before Cato snaps my neck and I die in the Hunger Games for the sixth time.

I can’t fake any excitement when Gale shows off the still-warm loaf of bread from the bakery. I stare into nothingness.

I see Peeta with a mouth full of blood and a knife in his back whenever I close my eyes. I see the horror in his eyes right before Cato kills me again. 

I can’t die in front of him again. He doesn’t deserve that even if he won’t remember.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

I volunteer.

“Peeta Mellark.”

In my first loop, I had thought Peeta was dangerous because of his kindness. Kind people had a way of working their way inside me and rooting there. Being forced to relive the Hunger Games has weakened my defenses. Peeta has unknowingly carved out a hole inside of me and made a permanent home there. 

He was more than just the boy with the bread now. He was my boy with the bread. He had become something more to me. Something dear. Something precious. The truth of this revelation threatens to choke me like the blood that had been choking Peeta the last time I saw him.

I take his hand immediately in the car, needing something to cling to as I live through this hell. He’s alive. He’s here.

(For now.)

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.”

A kiss to a bruise that lingers a second longer than it did last time.

We walk side by side to the elevator.

“I do the cakes,” Peeta tells me at the camouflage station.

I ignore Cato hurling a spear through a dummy’s head. It’s less impressive when it’s the seventh time you’ve seen it.

“The iced ones? In the windows?” I ask, even though I know the answer. His face lights up when he realizes I’ve seen his work. “Prim always drags me over to look at them. She’s a big fan.”

“Are you?”

I shrug. “They look nice. But it’s hard bringing myself to like something I’ll never be able to afford,” I say honestly.

“We can’t really afford them, either,” Peeta admits. “All we eat is the stale stuff we can’t really sell.”

I’m surprised by this. I’d assumed that as a member of a merchant family, Peeta had access to the best baked goods his family could make.

“It’s too bad you can’t frost someone to death,” I say.

“Don’t be so superior. You can never tell what you’ll find in the arena. Say it’s actually a giant cake—” begins Peeta.

“What’s your favorite color?” I interrupt.

Peeta looks startled I’ve even asked this. I’ve never really asked him anything personal all the other times I’ve done this. But if I’m going to keep repeating the Games, I might as well do something to break up the monotony.

“Orange,” he finally answers. I make a face. He laughs “Not bright orange. Something more soft and subtle. Like the sunset.” I nod, picturing the color. It’s a nice one.

“What’s yours?” Peeta asks.

“Green.”

“Like the trees in the forest?”

I nod again. “Should we move on to another station?”

It’s time for the interviews. I answer the questions the same as the first time. I don’t trust myself to veer from this script. Peeta never veers from his.

“Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember.”

“You two should have told me that was going to be the strategy ahead of time,” I complain again when we exit the elevator.

“You already told me that you’re shit at acting, sweetheart,” Haymitch reminds me. And yet he doesn’t know how many times I’ve repeated this night. “You couldn’t know because we needed your reaction to be genuine.”

“And it was,” Portia assures me. “If you’d known it wouldn’t have looked so real . So genuine .”

“She’s just worried about her boyfriend,” says Peeta, sounding surly. He sounds like this every time.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I insist. I hate that Peeta never seems to believe me every time I say it.

“Who cares?” snaps Haymitch. “It’s all a big show! You were about as romantic as a dead slug until Peeta made you look desirable. And trust me, sweetheart. You could use all the help you could get in that department.”

Cinna catches me around the waist before I can slap Haymitch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Peeta asks when he joins me on the roof.

“How can I when they’re throwing us a party?” I say. I nod down to the festivities happening below. “It’s a little rude not to invite us. We should send Effie after them. She can lecture them on their manners.”

Peeta laughs as he sits next to me. “Now that’d be something I’d pay to see.” We sit in silence for a while, with nothing but the music and lights to keep us company.

“The story you told Caesar would have sounded a lot more plausible if you didn’t say a lot of boys liked me,” I say to him. I’m less annoyed by the love confession after hearing it so many times. But the part about having multiple admirers could still irk me. It was overkill. It’d be more believable if it sounded like Peeta was the only one who harbored some secret crush.

“Hey, that part was true,” Peeta insists. “A lot of guys at school like you. You’ve just never paid attention to any of them. Most of them don’t bother saying anything because they’re worried you’d sooner shoot them.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Plus, you know, everyone assumed at some point or another that you and Gale Hawthorne are together.”

“Well, people should stop assuming that,” I snap. “We’re friends. We’re hunting partners. We help keep each other’s families fed. I’ve never thought of Gale that way.”

And I’m likely never to think of him that way if I keep having to listen to his stupid running away speech. Or see him act like an ass to Madge. Or hear him claim that killing someone is “no different” from hunting an animal. I barely stopped myself from slapping him for that this last time.

“Sorry,” Peeta apologizes. I try and let go of my anger. It’s not Peeta I’m angry at, anyway. Not really.

“Alright, then, Mr. Storyteller,” I say. “You told Caesar that you had a crush on me forever. When exactly did ‘forever’ start? And you better make the story believable this time.” Peeta rolls his eyes. I see a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“Oh, let’s see,” says Peeta thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose ‘forever’ started on the first day of school. We were five. You were wearing a red plaid dress and your hair was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up.”

He’s mentioned his father knew my mother growing up a few different times now. But I look nothing like her. I didn’t think he would have known me on sight when I was five. I can’t even remember if it was my mother that accompanied me to school that day.

“Your father? Why?” I ask.

“He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,’ “ Peeta says.

“What? Come on!” I exclaim. I thought told him to make this story sound more believable!

“No, true story,” Peeta insists with a laugh. “And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he said, ‘Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen.’ “

“That’s true. They do. I mean, they did,” I say. I’m stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta.

“So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the window fell silent,” Peeta says. “And right when your song ended I knew–just like your mother–I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.”

“Without success,” I add.

“Without success. So in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck.”

For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy before I remember that this story isn’t true. It’s a good story, but it’s not real. It can’t be. 

Still, Peeta added enough detail for his story to have a ring of truth to it. There was the detail about my father and the birds. I did sing on the first day of school but I don’t remember the song. There was a red plaid dress that eventually got washed to rags.

And if all that was true, it would explain why Peeta burnt the bread on that awful day. It would explain why he took a beating for me. If all those details are true, how much of Peeta’s story is the truth? How much of it is a lie?

“You have a…remarkable memory,” I say haltingly.

“I remember everything about you,” Peeta says with a shrug. He looks down at the party again. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

I frown. “That makes me sound a little callous and self-centered.” But it’s true. I don’t really pay attention to anyone or anything too far outside of my bubble. Except for Peeta. I’ve kept tabs on him through the years.

“No, you were just focused on more important things,” Peeta insists. “And nobody would think that about you after seeing you volunteer for Prim. At least you’ll see her again, soon.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I say harshly. “Don’t talk like you’ve already given up.”

“I’ve never been a contender in these Games, anyway.”

He says again how he doesn’t want to be another piece in the Capitol’s games. I’d dismissed his thinking first as pessimistic. But I’ve seen people reduced to the worst version of themselves so many times now, I find myself wishing the world had more people who thought like Peeta.

If anyone deserved to win, he did. Maybe he would’ve if I hadn’t died the first time I went through the Games. I wonder how long I’d last this time?

I wake up back in District Twelve. I’ve died three more times in the Games.

On my seventh time in the Games, I tried to rush sawing through the branch with the tracker jacker nest and got stung a lot more. The asphyxiation got to me not long after I hit the ground.

For my eighth time in the Games, I ran to find Rue and instead got impaled by Marvel’s spear.

On my ninth, I fall and break my leg. The pain is so bad I eat nightlock berries so I can start over.

Maybe the tenth time’s the charm.

“Look what I shot,” says Gale, holding the bread aloft with an arrow stuck through it. I laughed the first time I heard this joke. Now I’m annoyed. I really hope he cleaned that arrow before he stuck it through the bread for a dumb joke.

Spending my morning in the woods with Gale does not relax me like it used to. I’m reminded too much of the arena. And thinking of the arena makes me think of Peeta.

I’ve watched and observed him more with the last few resets. I haven’t bothered scanning the crowd for Gale since the second or third time I did this. I preferred keeping my head down and waiting to volunteer. This time, I looked for Peeta. He was already looking at me. His eyes darted away the moment I looked at him.

For the next eleven years, I tried to work up the courage to talk to you, he told me once.

Primrose Everdeen.

I volunteer.

I lock eyes with Peeta as he salutes me with the rest of District Twelve. He looks devastated. I’m reminded of the times he had to watch me die in front of him. I can’t bring myself to look at him before his name is called again the next few times we do this.

Peeta Mellark.

That horrible swoop in my stomach comes back just like it did the first time. 

No, not him.

But yes, it’s him. It’s always him. Every damn time.

My family comes to say goodbye. Then Peeta’s father.

“Your son burnt some bread for me, once,” I tell him on the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth visits. “My sister and I were starving. Your wife told him to throw it to the pigs. He threw it to me instead. That bread saved us. It gave me hope.”

The baker seems touched by my story every time I tell it. He promises to look after Prim.

We take the car to the station. Peeta’s been crying. I take his hand every time. Lace our fingers together.

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.”

I kiss him right on his bruise every time he says it. The first time was because I thought he was trying to get into my head before the Games. Then I did it because Peeta’s consistency helped quiet my mind from the anxiety and fear, and it was the best way to repay him for that. Now I do it for no better reason than I want to.

Peeta told me that I hadn’t been paying attention for the past eleven years. I’m making up for it now.

I see his eyes light up in delighted surprise every time I kiss him. In the elevator, I see his hand reach up to the spot on his jaw out of the corner of my eye.

When he brings me up to the roof, he looks as if he’d be happy to watch me take in the views from there forever.

During training, I can feel the glares of the Careers on me, like always. But I finally notice what Peeta’s been doing in response to it.

My eighth time in the Games, I look up and barely register Cato and Clove glowering at me before Peeta positions his body so he’s blocking the Careers and me from each other’s sight.

“Did I do this knot right?” he asks me. It’s not the first time he’s asked me this. But it’s the first time I’ve realized that he’s done it to distract me from the glares and help pull my attention somewhere else.

After my ninth tribute parade, I see the same hardness in Peeta’s eyes that I saw on the train right before he knocked over Haymitch’s drink when he positions himself between me and the Careers on our way to the elevators.

When Haymitch asks about our special skills on my ninth go-around I’m done hearing Peeta play down his skills over and over.

“I can hunt with a bow and arrow and I know a few basic snares,” I tell him. “Peeta’s strong. I’ve seen him in the market throwing a hundred-pound sack of flour right over his head like it’s nothing.”

“What are you doing?” Peeta asks.

“Telling Haymitch about your skills.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people.”

“No, but you could throw something heavy at someone. Or even throw someone off of you. Which reminds me, he can wrestle, too,” I add to Haymitch. “He came in second in our school championship, only after his brother.”

“What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?” says Peeta in disgust.

It’s almost the same argument every time. I remind him that there’s hand-to-hand combat. Between the two of us, he’s more likely to survive that. He insists that will never happen because I’ll be living up in a tree and picking off people with arrows. Then comes my least favorite part of this day.

“You know, what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn’t mean me, she meant you!”

I throw down my napkin. “Peeta, your mother’s a horrid witch and everyone knows it! Maybe you should stop listening to her and start listening to the people who think you have a fighting chance.”

I stalk off back to my room and slam the door. It’s not until I’m surrounded by the silence in my room again that I realize I meant what I said: Peeta could win this if he played things right. Maybe he did win after I died all those times. The idea is a bright spot in the darkness.

The knock on my door tells me that Effie is here to collect me for training again. But when I open my door, Peeta’s the one standing on the other side.

“Haymitch says you were right,” Peeta tells me. “He said I should never underestimate strength in the arena.”

I nod. “Did he say anything else?” I ask. I already know the answer.

“He wants us to stick together in public. Be friendly. Look like a team. And to stay away from the weights and the bow and arrows. He doesn’t want to give away what we’re capable of.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. You were only trying to help me and I just acted like an ass.”

The sheepish look on his face and his apology are a dangerous combination. I nearly reach out to hug him.

“If anyone was an ass, it was me,” I insist.

“You stood up for me,” says Peeta. “No one’s ever done that for me before.”

Oh, screw it! I think before I throw my arms around him and finally hug him. I let go of him quickly before his arms can even come up from his sides and lead the way to the elevator where Effie will be waiting for us.

“I do the cakes,” Peeta tells me at the camouflage station.

“The ones in the bakery window?” I say. “I’m familiar with your work. Prim likes to look at them. They’re very good.” Peeta beams at the compliments I give him. 

I used to be annoyed by how easy camouflage came to Peeta and the praise he got from the instructor, and the thought of him having access to beautiful things I could never afford. Now I can’t help but wonder how often Peeta gets any praise or positive reinforcement from the people around him.

Is anyone else as aware as I am that Peeta is the best of us? Or have they taken him for granted?

“It’s too bad you can’t frost someone to death,” I joke.

“Don’t be so superior. You can never tell what you’ll find in the arena. Say it’s actually a giant cake…” I let him continue on his giant cake story this time. It’s actually quite funny.

“If you didn’t work in the bakery, what would you want to do?” I ask Peeta at lunch. I’m not one to ask “what if?” questions. I normally think they’re an annoying waste of time. Why ponder what could have been when you’re stuck when and where you are?

Peeta doesn’t seem to think my question is a waste of time. He considers for a moment before he answers, “Art. I’d paint if the materials weren’t so expensive. I have to make do with frosting.”

“Can you draw?” I ask.

When we go up to bed after dinner the next night, Peeta asks me to wait for a second and then ducks into his room. He emerges a few moments later with a drawing of the meadow back in Twelve.

“It’s too bad that the Hunger Games aren’t an art competition. You’d definitely be the victor,” I say genuinely. Peeta’s answering smile makes me feel warm on the inside. 

Looking at the picture later, I’m saddened when I remember that it won’t exist for much longer if I die in these Games again. I fold it up and tuck it into my sock the morning of the Games. It’s still there when I break my leg and eat the nightlock.

“When exactly did ‘forever’ start?” I ask Peeta on the roof. It’s the third time I’ve asked him. The story never differs.

First day of school. A red plaid dress. My hair was in two braids. I sang the valley song. And from that point on, Peeta was a goner.

I like watching Peeta as he tells this story. I like the little facial expressions he makes. I like the gestures he makes with his hands. He has a gift with words. He can make a simple story come alive and make it sound like the greatest love story ever told.

I’m starting to think it’s not just a story. I’m starting to think it might be the truth. And if it is, what do I do with that?

The tenth time I hear Peeta’s name called at the reaping, I can’t help the tear that slides down my cheek. The cameras aren’t on me and I hastily wipe it away before it’s captured for the nation to see.

Cinna and Portia dress Peeta and I in flames.

“Please say something to make me laugh,” I ask Peeta in a small voice after he helps me into the chariot. He looks a little startled by my request or maybe the way I said it, but he manages to say something that does the trick. I hold on to that smile for the tribute parade. 

I don’t let go of his hand.

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.” 

I kiss him on his bruise.

We walk side by side past the glaring Careers.

In the elevator, I watch from the corner of my eye as Peeta touches his hand to the spot where I kissed him.

Peeta’s excitement at showing me the roof is probably my favorite part of reliving this day. The way his eyes light up in excitement makes me feel better, even if it’s for a short while.

They announce the rule change allowing two tributes from the same district. Unexpectedly, I start to cry from happiness. I just have to make it through to the end. Then Peeta and I can go home together.

I’m so sick and tired of dying.

In the morning, I track Peeta like I did during my first round in the Games. I see the blood again. I don’t have to worry about pretending I don’t know where to go. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten this far in the Games, I’ve nearly forgotten where to find him. Peeta’s camouflage skills make him impossible to spot. I’m almost on top of him by the time I find him again.

“Well, don’t step on me,” Peeta warns. I look down and his eyes open among the dirt and mud. I choke out something between a laugh and a sob before I unthinkingly crouch down and kiss him right on the mouth.

It’s not the first time I’ve kissed him in the Games. But that was a long time ago. And when I kissed him before, I was conscious of the fact that we needed sponsors for the “star-crossed lovers” angle Haymitch was probably promoting to them.

I don’t know why I kissed him this time. I just knew I had to.

“Sorry,” I tell him. I wipe my eyes and nose. “Sorry. I’m just really happy I found you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Peeta tells me as I start clearing off some of his camouflage. “Feel free to kiss me whenever you feel like it.”

I wash him up and clean his wounds. I’m no better at this than I was the first time around but I’m too relieved at having him with me to care.

I kiss Peeta in the cave again to shut him up about dying. Haymitch sends the broth. Then he sends the sleep syrup when I have to go to the Cornucopia.

“I’m sorry, Peeta,” I whisper to him long after the sleep syrup has pulled him under. I’m not saying this for the audience, though I’m sure they’re going wild for it right now. I’m saying it because of the look of betrayal in Peeta’s eyes before he succumbed to the effects of the sleep syrup. The guilt weighs heavily on me, even though I know I did the right thing. 

“I really am. I know that you’re angry with me for tricking you. But you need that medicine and I’m going to get it for you. When you wake up, you’ll feel better. And pretty soon we’ll go home together. The first co-victors in Hunger Games history. That sounds pretty great, right?”

Peeta doesn’t respond. I watch the rise and fall of his chest so I can reassure myself he’s only sleeping. It’s time for me to leave soon. I hate the idea of leaving him.

“I’ll be back soon, alright?” I whisper to Peeta. “I promise.” I lean forward and press my lips to his forehead. Some of my tears splash onto his face. He doesn’t stir.

I start to make my way to the Cornucopia.

In my haste and in the dark, I accidentally step on a venomous snake.

I wake up in District Twelve.

“Look what I shot.”

“Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Primrose Everdeen.”

I volunteer.

“Peeta Mellark.”

My stomach bottoms out again.

Please, no, not my boy with the bread.

I don’t bother wiping away the tear that trails down my cheek.

Peeta shakes my hand. The reassuring squeeze is the only thing anchoring me in this nightmare.

I say my goodbyes to Prim and my mother.

Peeta’s dad gives me cookies.

Madge gives me the mockingjay pin.

Gale comes to visit me next and starts giving me advice for surviving in the arena like he does every time.

“Katniss, it’s just hunting,” he tells me. But I know better than he ever will that it’s not just hunting.

The car door hasn’t even closed behind us yet before I reach out and take Peeta’s hand in mine. Lace our fingers together. He’s been crying again.

Haymitch punches Peeta on the train.

I meet Cinna.

I’m relieved when Peeta and I are finally reunited. I don’t know why I never noticed before, but he looks rather handsome in his parade outfit, even before the flames.

“I think our stylists might be a little insane,” I confide to Peeta when Cinna and Portia have moved off to consult with one another.

“I’m trying to focus on the positives,” says Peeta. “At least we aren’t naked.”

The image of a naked Peeta flashes in my mind. Naked, injured, and lying in a stream with a backpack over his crotch, but still naked. My entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Where is Haymitch, anyway?” Peeta wonders as I'm trying to not melt into a puddle at the thought of Peeta naked. “Isn’t he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?”

“With all of that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame.”

Peeta laughs because it’s the first time he’s heard it. I laugh because I never think of myself as a very funny person and I’m proud to have made Peeta laugh. It’s easy, though, when I know he’s always laughed at this joke before.

Peeta and I join hands when Cinna tells us to. 

Peeta looks dazzling with the flames.

We outshine the other tributes.

I don’t let go of Peeta’s hand.

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.”

Another kiss before we go to the elevator.

“I do the cakes.”

“Can you draw?”

He draws the meadow for me again. I insist he has to sign the bottom like a real artist would.

Things have gone horribly wrong for my eleventh time in the Games.

Now I’m the one who’s injured in the cave and Peeta is the one taking care of me. It’s my shoulder and not my leg. So I can still run in short bursts. But I can’t use my bow and arrow without wanting to vomit from the pain.

“Hey, Peeta?” I say as he tucks me into the sleeping bag. “When you said in your interview that you’ve had a crush on me forever…when exactly did forever start?”

I asked him for this story on the roof for the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth loops. I waited to ask him this time around because I thought it would help bring in more sponsors for him if he got injured again. Haymitch wanted a love story for the audience, so the audience is getting one.

I hate that they’re getting one. I want to keep this story for myself.

“Well, let’s see…” Peeta begins. I don’t know why, but I expected the story to be different this time around. I thought it would change now that we had an audience for it. But the story doesn’t change. 

I curl up into his side and listen to him talk about our first day of school and my red plaid dress. It makes me happier every time I hear it. It’s become my favorite story.

Claudius Templesmith announces a feast.

“Don’t go,” I implore Peeta. “I’ll be fine without it. I know some plants that can help me. When everyone else is busy at the cornucopia tomorrow, we’ll go and look for them.”

Peeta smiles and his shoulders sag in relief. “That sounds like a better plan. We’ll do that. It’ll be safer. And I won’t have to leave you alone.”

We settle into the sleeping bag together. Peeta’s arms encircle me. I feel safe, loved, and protected. I feel his lips press against my forehead. I hear some words whispered in the dark.

I wake up feeling cold.

Peeta’s gone.

He went to the Cornucopia.

In spite of my injury, I kick off the sleeping bag, grab my bow, and start for the Cornucopia. There’s still some time before dawn. I could still make it.

But my injury slows me down.

I run onto the field just in time to see Clove stab Peeta.

I let an arrow fly right into Clove’s eye. My shoulder feels as if it’s on fire. My vision darkens for a moment and my knees buckle before I regain my senses. The cannon sounds.

“Peeta!”

I stagger over and drop down to my knees beside him. His skin is ashen and gray as the blood pours from his abdomen. I press my hand there but it’s no use. We both know it’s no use.

“Peeta,” I wail. I don’t recognize my own voice. Something inside me has broken beyond repair. “Peeta, please ,” I say. Please what? Please don’t go? Don’t die? Stay with me?

I can hear Cato yelling for Clove. Good. Let him come. Let him see what I’ve done to her. Let him kill me. I want to wake up back in District Twelve where I know Peeta won’t be bleeding out in a field.

Peeta’s hand weakly grips my blood-covered one. He tries to smile at me but it just looks pained.

He’s crying again.

The cannon sounds but Peeta’s still alive. I glance up to see Thresh has cut down Cato. I know he’ll come after me next. I hope he makes it quick. I turn my attention back to Peeta.

Peeta manages to wheeze out a “sorry,” to me. And then he whispers something mostly inaudible.

His grip slowly weakens into nothing. The cannon sounds for a third time.

The sound that comes out of me isn’t human. I clutch at Peeta’s clothes as I convulse violently with my sobbing. I thought I was living in my worst nightmare before but this is even more terrible than I could imagine.

Peeta’s dead. He’s dead and I wish I were, too.

Why hasn’t Thresh killed me yet?

I look up through my tears and see no one. Thresh has taken off. He has pitied me and spared me. I would have preferred if he had killed me when he had the chance.

I always died before Peeta. He’s never died first. If I die now, will I still wake up back in Twelve? I don’t know.

I curl up around Peeta’s body and stay there. Far longer than I should. But I don’t care. I can practically hear Haymitch whispering in my ear. 

Sweetheart, it’s time to let the boy go.

I kiss his cooled temple but I don’t move from his side. Suddenly, I remember what Peeta said to me in the dark of that cave.

“Don’t worry, Katniss. I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

I thought I had cried myself out. But it turns out I still have some tears left to spare. 

I’ve gone through the Games so many times, I’d forgotten what a great liar Peeta could be when he wanted to.

Rain starts falling down, pelting Peeta and me relentlessly. In spite of the deluge, my throbbing shoulder, and my aching heart, my head jerks as I almost drift off once, then twice.

I blink.

And I wake up back in District Twelve.

This is the only time I’ve looped back to the reaping day without dying or being killed. The number of days I made it in the Games was almost never the same, but I never woke up in Twelve until after I died.

The only thing that changed this time was that Peeta died before me. He’d never done that before. He was dying that one time we were caught by Cato and Clove, but the cannon hadn't gone off yet. I still died first. 

Every night in the Games where I was without Peeta, I would look up at the sky and hold my breath until I saw that his face wasn’t in the sky. His face never appeared.

Now I knew that the loop would reset for Peeta’s death as well as my own. I had hoped to get the both of us through the Games. I had not discounted the possibility that it might end up being only me. But if winning by myself would break the cycle, then why was the loop reset with Peeta’s death?

The truth of my situation comes to me with sudden clarity: I’m not meant to win the Games. I’m meant to help Peeta be the lone victor.

Instead of dread, the idea of dying so Peeta can live fills me with an odd sense of peace. I’m okay with dying for real and for good if it means that Peeta can live and come back to District Twelve. 

If I learned anything from my last loop in the arena, it’s that if Peeta dies, I’ll be broken forever. I won’t ever go back home. Not really. Even if I manage to break free from the loop, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to think of a way I could have saved him.

And I have to save him. There’s no other option for me.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

I volunteer.

“Peeta Mellark.”

I try my best to keep my face neutral. I can’t let the cameras see me crying and weak. I can’t inadvertently hurt mine or Peeta’s chances. Not this time.

Peeta shakes my hand. The reassuring squeeze is the only thing anchoring me to my sanity.

Prim and my mother say goodbye to me. When I’m done giving my last bit of advice to Prim, I turn to my mother. I remember how I felt when Peeta’s cannon sounded in the arena. I understand better now how she felt when my father never emerged from that mine.

“You need to be there for her if I don’t come back,” I urge her. But I know I won’t be coming back this time. “And if you can’t, then ask for help. Mr. Mellark buys her goat cheese. He has a soft spot for her. He’ll help if you ask.” He’s already promised to eleven times. I know he’ll do it again. “And I’ll talk to Haymitch. I’ll convince him to look out for you two if I won’t be able to.”

Haymitch hates me but sometimes he actually seems to admire me for volunteering to protect Prim…when he’s not busy insulting me.

Mr. Mellark visits me next. Has he already visited his son? What did he think when his wife cut his son’s confidence and self-worth into ribbons without hesitation?

“If it can't be me, then I’m going to do my best to try and help your son get home,” I say to Peeta’s father after I tell him the story of the bread one more time. “If anyone deserves to win, it’s him.”

We ride in the car to the station. I look at Peeta. He’s alive. All I care about is that he’s alive and here with me.

I take his hand and lace our fingers together. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze like he does for me every time we have to shake hands at the reaping.

Don’t worry, I want to tell him. You’ll be back home soon.

I’m going to save my boy with the bread.

The train speeds toward the Capitol. I don’t linger in my room until Effie calls me for dinner. I shower and change quickly so I can see Peeta again. I’m happy he’s alive. I want to kiss him senseless. I want to push him over and yell at him for being stupid and getting himself killed for me.

But this Peeta doesn’t remember any of that so I can’t.

Haymitch punches Peeta.

I stab through Haymitch’s sleeve and into the table, pinning him in place. There’s a light in his eyes when he realizes he might have some fighters for once.

What would he say if he knew how many times I’d been killed in the Games?

“You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” Cinna asks me. 

Peeta looks good in his suit, even without the flames. But I find myself wanting to reach over to him and wipe off all of the makeup and reveal the boy underneath. I turn to him when Cinna and Portia walk away to consult with one another.

“Well, at least we’re not naked,” I tell him. Peeta snorts. He wasn’t expecting that kind of comment to come from me. Pretty soon we’re both laughing.

We hold hands as we’re paraded in front of the Capitol.

“You should wear flames more often. They suit you.”

A kiss to a bruise.

“Peeta’s strong,” I tell Haymitch when he asks about our skills. “I’ve seen him lift a hundred-pound sack of flour right over his head at the market like it’s nothing.”

“What’re you doing?” says Peeta.

Instead of answering him, I continue, “He can wrestle, too. He came second in our school championship, only after his brother.”

Peeta scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure after I’m done chucking bags of flour at the other tributes, I’ll be wrestling them to death,” he says sarcastically. I ignore him.

“Haymitch, will you please tell Peeta that he shouldn’t underestimate strength in the arena?”

“Haymitch, will you please tell Katniss that she’ll do better than me when she’s hiding up in the trees and picking off her enemies?”

“I’m nobody’s damn messenger!” Haymitch snaps. “Enough about the boy. What can you do? I know you’re handy with a knife.”

The conversation goes on a lot like it did before. Including when Peeta reveals what his mother said to him. If I hadn’t already decided that I wouldn’t be making it out of the Games this time, my first act as victor would be to kill that woman myself. I hate seeing the look in Peeta’s eyes when he retells the story.

“Well, your mother can take her opinions and shove them up her –”

“Can it, sweetheart!” Haymitch growls.

“I do the cakes.”

I shoot an arrow through the apple in the pig’s mouth, sending the Gamemakers scattering.

“Thank you for your consideration,” I tell them with a bow.

I score an eleven. I’ve been through this enough to know that the score is as much an assessment of my skills as it is a target on my back. The Gamemakers are sending the Careers a message. 

Look at this girl from the weakest district. See how she got a higher score than the rest of you? Go get her. Hunt her down.

I twirl on stage in a flaming dress.

Peeta confesses his love for me to the country.

“You couldn’t have warned me ahead of time?” I ask when we all arrive back in the penthouse. I used to be furious. Now I’m just tired.

“We needed a genuine reaction out of you,” Haymitch explains again. “And we already know that you can’t act for shit. It was better for you to know nothing.” The one thing I don’t have to act out is my constant irritation with Haymitch.

He’s right, though. I can’t act. But I still somehow fool everyone when they watch the recaps. I’ve taken to covering my mouth with my hand because I don’t trust myself to act with the shock and surprise I managed the first few times. The emotions captured in my eyes make it seem like this is my first time hearing it.

Peeta finds me on the roof after I’ve changed for bed. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks me. We watch the party happening in the streets below. We talk. Peeta tells me again how he doesn’t want the Games to change him.

Finally, I decide it’s time to go to bed. I hesitate for a moment when I get to the door and then I cross back across the roof.

“Peeta?” I say to get his attention. He looks up at me and I lean down and quickly press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Stay alive,” I tell him. Then I finally leave the roof.

I kiss Peeta again when I find him camouflaged at the river. Then, embarrassingly, I burst into tears and I can’t quite get them to stop.

“Katniss? Are you okay?” Peeta asks. I wipe furiously at my eyes as the tears keep coming. “Was the kiss that bad?”

My laugh sounds more like a sob. “I’m just really happy I found you,” I tell him.

“You’re happy?” Peeta asks. I nod. He pauses. “Are you sure?”

I don’t know whether to kiss him again or hit him. I clean him up instead.

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house starts pulling me into consciousness. I frown and whimper as a hand strokes my cheek.

I’ve died again. I think I must have bled out. I’ve been caught in this loop so many times that I forgot all about Foxface hiding in the Cornucopia before dawn. I’m an idiot. I should have remembered that. I should have thought of it myself.

Clove didn’t kill me, though she was about to before Thresh pulled her off of me and caved in her skull. I managed to get the medicine to Peeta, at least, before I died.

But something’s wrong. I don’t remember it raining on the day of the reaping before.

“Katniss?” a voice says. “Katniss, can you hear me?”

My eyes fly open. I’m not at home. I’m still in the cave. A pale, familiar face slides into view.

“Peeta!” I gasp. I try to sit up but the movement makes me dizzy.

“Whoa,” Peeta says, catching me in his arms. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision before slowly creeping back out again. “Don’t move too fast, alright? I woke up yesterday evening to find you lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood. I think it’s stopped, finally, but you still need to rest.”

I lift a hand to my forehead and find it bandaged. Even that gesture has me feeling weak and dizzy again. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips so I can drink.

“You’re all better,” I observe.

“Much better,” Peeta confirms. “Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone.”

I reach a hand out and trace a finger along his features. He’s here. He’s real. He’s alright. He’s–

“...alive,” I say dazedly.

Peeta smiles and presses his face into my palm. “We both are,” he confirms. Relief floods through me. This is officially the longest either of us has lasted in the Games. I feel as if I’ve overcome an impossible hurdle and I’m that much closer to Peeta’s victory.

“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

For a short while there, I started to think I had got it all wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t have to die for Peeta to live. Maybe we could both live. Maybe we could both go back to District Twelve as victors instead of as corpses.

I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it.

With a scream, I throw my bow and arrows on the ground. My hopes got needlessly raised and now they were dashed to pieces.

“If you think about it, it’s not that surprising,” says Peeta softly before he tosses his knife into the lake. “Go ahead. It’s alright.” He limps towards my bow and arrow and thrusts them back toward me.

“I can’t. I won’t,” I say.

“I don’t want them to send those mutts back. I don’t want to die like Cato.”

“Then you shoot me,” I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. “You shoot me and go home and live with it!” Because that’s how it’s supposed to go. I’m not supposed to survive this. It’s supposed to be Peeta.

“You know I can’t,” says Peeta, discarding the weapons.

“And you think I can? I can’t go back home without you. And you’re not leaving me here alone!”

“Listen,” says Peeta. He grabs my hands and pulls me closer. He lets go of me and his hands settle on my waist. If it weren’t for the threat of death hanging over our heads, I could almost think this was romantic. “We both know they have to have a victor. It has to be one of us. One of us should get to go home. It should be you. I want it to be you.”

We both know they have to have a victor.

Peeta’s words echo in my head.

Yes, they have to have a victor. And as far as I’m concerned, they can either have both of us or neither of us.

I pour berries into Peeta’s hand first and then mine. Peeta cradles my head with his free hand and wipes away some of the tears with his thumb. 

I’ve been crying again. 

“On the count of three?” I ask, my voice thick.

Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. The boy who gave me my first kiss will also give me my last. How poetic. “The count of three,” he says.

The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.

“Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!”

When I finally awake back in the Tribute Center, without being knocked out immediately with a drug, I feel like a defective mockingjay that is only capable of asking for and about Peeta. I know he’s alive and that’s it. I have to stop myself from breaking something when I’m told that my reunion with him will be shown live for all of Panem to see.

Nobody will tell me anything about him. They talk in circles about him whenever I ask and quickly change the subject.

“Take a breath, sweetheart, he’s fine,” Haymitch assures me.

“You’ll be seeing him soon. Just try to be patient,” says Octavia when I ask my prep team if any of them have seen him.

“I thought Peeta would like this better,” Cinna says carefully about my dress. My first instinct is to protest. My dress is yellow and Peeta’s favorite color is orange. I stop myself when I remember that I only asked him that once and it wasn't during this loop. But beneath Cinna’s benign words, I sense a warning.

I pace back and forth underneath the stage nervously. I know Peeta’s on the other side of that makeshift wall. The crowd’s so loud, I’m sure nobody would hear if I tore it down so I could get to him. I know I won’t be fine until I can see him.

I don’t hear Haymitch until he touches my shoulder. Then I’m trapped in his embrace as he whispers frantically about how much trouble I’m in and how angry the Capitol is for what I did with the berries.

“Your defense can be you were so madly in love you weren’t responsible for your actions.” Haymitch’s words give me pause.

I hadn’t thought about my actions beyond my overwhelming desire to save Peeta. I hadn’t thought of the underlying motivations behind those actions. I just knew that a life without Peeta would be no life at all.

And suddenly I remember that horrifying loop where Peeta died instead of me. There had been something he had said to me as he was dying that I hadn’t been able to process in my grief. It came back to me now.

With his dying breath, Peeta had told me, “I love you.”

Haymitch pulls back from me and adjusts my headband as I try to comprehend everything Haymitch has just told me and my epiphany about Peeta. “Got it, sweetheart?” He could be talking about anything now.

I nod. “Got it. Have you seen Peeta? Have you talked to him? Nobody will tell me anything about him.”

Haymitch gives me a strange look but then it’s gone in a flash and he’s leading me to my circle. “You don't have to worry about him. You’ll see him in just a minute, sweetheart,” Haymitch promises me.

I’m lifted onto the stage and finally see Peeta standing just a few yards away. He looks clean. He looks healthy. He looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen him look before. 

When I see his smile, still the same whether it’s in the Capitol or in the mud, I take three staggering steps and fling myself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. That’s when I realize he has a cane in his hand.

Peeta manages to right himself.

And I burst into tears again.

This probably wasn’t what Haymitch had in mind.

I’m clinging to Peeta and he’s cradling my face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his face barely an inch from mine. I nod.

“Happy,” I explain.

Peeta smiles and I know what’s coming next. “Are you sure?” I laugh and then, finally, Peeta’s kissing me.

They sit us on a loveseat and force us to watch the recap of the Games.

Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what story to tell. This year, they’ve decided to tell a love story.

The first half hour or so starts with the pre-arena events.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

I see myself volunteer.

“Peeta Mellark.”

I thought I had been hiding my emotions better, but you can see my head snap to find Peeta in the crowd in the playbacks.

During the tribute parade, you can see Peeta and I laughing about something as our chariot emerges from the stables.

In the arena, I can see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, how he stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mudbank, whispered my name in his sleep.

I had expected to look heartless by comparison, but I’m surprised by what I see. After that night when I first spotted Peeta with the Careers, the footage shows me climbing down from the tree, looking wistfully in the direction that they took off in.

When I’m preparing to climb the tree and finish cutting down the tracker jacker nest I pause to look regretfully down at Peeta sleeping below.

They show Rue’s death in full, including every last note of the song I sing to her. They omit the part where I covered her in flowers.

They announce the rule change and I can hear the audience “Aw!” when I burst into happy tears at the news. The music changes to something dramatic and hopeful as I work to try and track Peeta down. The audience is eating it up as they watch me kiss him in the mud, nurse him back to health, and kiss him in our cave.

Then comes the moment with the berries. And as I watch myself scream and cry in desperation at the thought of losing Peeta and then again when they separate us in the hovercraft, I finally realize that I just might be in love with Peeta Mellark.

“Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from, what, age five?” Caesar says.

“Pretty much from when I laid eyes on her,” says Peeta.

“But Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real entertainment for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?” asks Caesar.

Well, I just realized it yesterday, but it probably happened somewhere between the fifth and eleventh loops. Or maybe I’ve been in love with him since I was eleven and he threw me that bread, I think to myself.

“Oh, wow, that’s…hard to put into words,” I say honestly with a faint, breathy laugh. I look down at my hands. Help.

“Well, I know when it hit me. I’d had an inkling that Peeta’s feelings weren’t as unrequited as he may have thought, but seeing your reaction to the rule change and when you found him by the river? Oh, that’s when it hit me. That’s when I knew .”

“That sounds about right,” I agree with Caesar.

“I don’t want to get married,” I blurt out to Peeta as we walk back to Victor’s Village. Everyone from the Capitol has boarded the train and left the district: the cameras, the reporters, and Effie, too. But we’ll see them again in a few months for the Victory Tour.

Peeta looks at me with a mix of confusion and amusement. “We’re only sixteen, Katniss. I don’t want to get married right now, either.”

I shake my head. “No, I mean…I’ve never wanted to get married. Not since my father died,” I admit. “The grief almost killed my mother. And Prim and I could have died, too, if it weren’t for…the bread.”

If it weren’t for you, goes unsaid but hangs heavy in the air.

“And marriage leads to children, and I don’t want to see any of my children reaped,” I finish. It’s better for me to admit all of this now. I may be in love with Peeta, but I also want him to be happy. If happiness for him means marriage and babies in the future, I need to give him an out now.

Peeta reaches out and grabs my elbow, gently urging me to stop walking.

“I get it,” he says. “I told myself I would never get married unless I was sure that it would be nothing like my parent’s marriage. And I don’t know what I’d do if I had to watch a child of mine be taken to the Capitol.”

Neither of us mention that the children of previous victors seem to get reaped more often than others.

“Look, Katniss, I don’t want you to feel pressured to be in a relationship with me just because of all that we went through in the arena,” says Peeta.

“You’re not pressuring me,” I answer quickly even as Peeta’s words cause a stabbing pain in my heart. This is sounding almost painfully close to a break up that I've heard other girls in school crying over. Which is ridiculous because Peeta and I haven't even had a chance to discuss what we are to each other. And while my intention was to let Peeta take an out if he wanted it, I wasn't prepared for how much that would hurt.

Peeta blinks in surprise at my words and then smiles as if he can’t believe his luck. “Still, I can’t help but feel that we’ve done this all a little backward. Normally people are friends for a while first before they make big love confessions and risk their lives for each other.”

“I’ve never been that good at making friends,” I admit to Peeta with a laugh.

“Well, a big part of being friends is telling each other all of your deepest, darkest secrets,” says Peeta. He takes my hand in his and we continue our walk to our new homes. “Like…what’s your favorite color?”

“Oh, wow, I’m so offended you would even ask that,” I tell him dryly. “I’ll have to rethink this whole friendship thing.”

Peeta laughs. “Seriously, though, what is it?”

“Green,” I tell him. “What’s yours?”

“Orange.” I pull a face and Peeta laughs again. “No, not like whatever you’re thinking. A subtle orange. Like the sunset.”

I hum as I picture the color. I’ll see it myself in a few more hours.

We slow to a halt as we come near our houses. This is where we’ll have to part ways. Neither of us wants to be the one to let go first.

“Did you want to come over for dinner?” I offer hopefully.

“I’m actually going to eat with my family,” Peeta answers regretfully. I try not to let my shoulders sag in disappointment.

“But your mom already invited me over for breakfast tomorrow. I can bring some bread with me if my leg isn’t bothering me too much,” Peeta offers.

“Don’t overdo it for me,” I warn him. “I can live without bread.”

It’s Peeta that I can’t live without.

“It wouldn’t just be for you. A loaf of bread is the least I can do for Haymitch after what he did for us.”

I’m still unhappy with Haymitch for blatantly ignoring Peeta in the arena until the two of us teamed up. But he still managed the impossible and brought home two victors for the first time in Hunger Games history.

“I was thinking about going by the Hob this week,” I say, trying to delay parting from Peeta for as long as possible. “Would you want to come with me?”

Peeta smiles. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ve never been.” People from the Merchant's side of town don’t frequent the Hob nearly as often as the people from the Seam.

Peeta gives my hand a squeeze. “Hey,” he says. “We’re still a team. We’re still in this together,” he reassures me.

I nod in agreement. “Together.”

And together, we let go of each other and wander back to our own houses. We’re still allies and friends and maybe something more. We’ll be there for each other, but sooner or later, we have to learn how to be on our own, too.

I wake up in District Twelve.

I blink in the darkness and panic for a moment when I don’t recognize my childhood home in the Seam before I remember where I am.

It took three nights of nightmares in my new home in Victor’s Village before I stumbled out to the front porch before dawn and waited for Peeta to emerge from his own house.

It didn’t take long. His own front door opened not even ten minutes later and Peeta emerged with a cane in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. In the blink of an eye, I was across the way and stepping onto the porch. I wondered if I sleepwalked over.

Even in the darkness, I could see dark circles underneath Peeta’s eyes. I knew I wouldn’t need a mirror to know that I would have matching ones.

Peeta held out the mug to me after I sat down in the chair next to his. “Tea. I put a little honey in it,” said Peeta. I learned in all the loops with Peeta that he didn’t normally like anything sweet in his tea. Maybe he made an exception for honey. Or maybe he had made this just for me. A suspicion that was more or less confirmed when I offered him a sip after me and he shook his head.

We sat together in silence for a while as the darkness turned into the soft light of early dawn.

“Nightmares?” Peeta asked.

“Nightmares,” I confirmed. I gave him a questioning look, he nodded, and I knew it was the same for him.

He reached out and took my hand in his. We continued sitting there in silence while I drank my tea. By the time my cup was empty, we had had an entire conversation made up of just looks and nods and Peeta tracing patterns on the back of my hand.

So Peeta wasn’t at all surprised when I let myself into his house that night after my mother went to bed. I had found him still sitting up in bed with a lamp on beside him. In his lap was his new sketchbook. 

Victors are supposed to pursue a talent after they return home to be showcased on the Victory Tour. Peeta’s talent was easy. He’d pursue art and begin painting. My main talent was illegal, so finding something more suitable was going to be a challenge.

“Hey,” Peeta said softly.

“How’s it going?” I asked, nodding at his sketchbook.

“I was just testing out the pencils,” he explained. He turned the page toward me. Peeta could make even scribbles look like something special.

“How’s your talent going?” Peeta flipped the sketchbook closed as I folded back the covers and climbed into bed beside him.

“Nonexistent,” I answered honestly. “I’m supposed to go and see Madge tomorrow and see whether or not teaching me piano is a hopeless cause.” My body felt heavy with sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. This was what Peeta and I agreed on early that morning. We both needed a good night’s sleep. And that meant we needed each other.

I heard the lamp shut off and I felt Peeta’s strong arm wrap around my waist and then I was asleep.

I had dreamed I was back in the arena again, but it hadn’t shifted into a nightmare this time.

Peeta’s still sleeping peacefully beside me, his breaths steady and even.

I feel thirsty so I silently slip out of bed, grabbing the lamp on my side of the bed on the way out. I don’t light it until I’m out of the bedroom so I don’t wake Peeta.

I’ve just finished my water and set the glass down next to the sink when I hear a yell and something heavy falling to the floor upstairs.

Peeta .

“Peeta?” I call out, taking the steps two at a time with the lamp in hand. “Peeta?” I repeat, sounding frantic when he doesn’t answer me. I rush into his bedroom, bathing it in the golden light from the lamp.

Peeta’s leaning up against the wall, breathing heavily. The blankets and sheets are in a tangle around his waist. He cards his fingers through his hair as I see one emotion after the other wash over his face: fear, relief, anger, and shame.

“I woke up and you were gone,” Peeta explains. “And I forgot about my damn leg.” Though he’s never said anything to confirm my suspicions, Peeta’s been self-conscious about his missing limb. He had already removed his prosthetic and hidden his lower half under the covers when I came over. I knew he wasn’t ready for me to see the amputation site on its own.

“I was just downstairs getting some water,” I explain. “Would you like me to go and get you some, too?”

Peeta considers this for a moment before he nods in agreement. I leave the lamp in the bedroom and make my way back to the kitchen in the dark. Peeta will be able to haul himself back into bed without my help. And he obviously doesn’t want an audience to see him do it either.

I go slowly back up the stairs, making sure to let my steps fall a little heavier so Peeta knows I’m coming. He’s sitting up against the headboard, the blankets straightened out.

“Thanks,” Peeta says as he takes the glass from me. I climb back into bed beside him and wait for him to speak. I don’t have to wait long.

“We were back in the arena,” Peeta explains. “And I lost you. So when I woke up and you weren’t here, I panicked.” He puts the glass down on his bedside table with a heavy thud and drops his head into his hands. I can see the veins on the back of his hands and arms bulging as he grips his hair.

Gently, I put my arm around his shoulders and pull Peeta close to me so his head is resting against my chest. I feel the tension ease out of Peeta as he wraps his arms around my waist. I drop my head so my cheek is resting against the top of Peeta’s head.

“Sorry,” I apologize.

“Not your fault,” Peeta mumbles. “I was just being stupid.”

“You weren’t,” I insist. If I woke up and Peeta had disappeared, I would panic, too. I start running one of my hands through Peeta’s hair and absently begin to hum to myself.

I don’t even realize what I’m humming until Peeta, who I had thought had fallen back asleep, asks, “Is that the Valley Song?”

“Oh, uh, yes?”

I can feel him hesitate before he speaks again. “Could you sing it?”

Smiling, I reach over and turn out the lamp before I begin to sing the song that had been a defining moment in Peeta’s life. And, unknowingly, mine as well.

And though we may be cursed to have nightmares of the arena for the rest of our lives, at least I know that we'll never have to go back again.