Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there.
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.
Crying is not an option.
The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment.
But just before they cut back to the main newscaster, I see the unmistakable flash of that same mockingjay's wing. The reporter has simply been incorporated into the old footage. She's not in District 13 at all. Which begs the question, What is?
Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it's futile, she can't be saved.
You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.
Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.
Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life.
How are you managing? And don't say you're fine." It's true. Whatever the opposite of fine is, that's what I am.
A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.
No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her.
And it takes so much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much.
Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts." "Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.
I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.
One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.
I must have loved you a lot.
Sometimes things happen to people and they're not equipped to deal with them.
And then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.
I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you.
I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble.
Stupid people are dangerous.
The air's warm with hopeful hints of spring in it. Spring would be a good time for an uprising, I think. Everyone feels less vulnerable once winter passes.
All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.
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