To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.
I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.
My lips are just forming his name when his fingers lock around my throat.
And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen when we get home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.
You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.
What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.
You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers. "Real," I answer. "Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm okay once I realize you're here.
You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.
I don't want to lose the boy with the bread.
Don't let him take you from me.
Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.
You here to finish me off, Sweetheart?
Katniss. I remember about the bread.
I did not get my Spaghetti-O's, I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.
You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him.
The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.
I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it.
Maybe I'll be like the man in the Hanging Tree still waiting for an answer.' Gale who I have never seen cry has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over. I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes and misery.
Oh, that I do know...Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without.
Because...because...she came here with me.
Katniss, the girl who was on fire!
Your favorite colour . . . it's green?" "That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange." "Orange?" He seems unconvinced. "Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once." "Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you." But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.
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