Frankly, I'm not sure what it is that brings me out of one of the most peaceful slumbers I've had in the arena so far. But I'm sure I can accredit this unhinging pang of worry that's brewing up in my gut. Looking behind my shoulder, I heave a sigh of relief. Cato's face is merely inches behind mine. His dusty blonde hair is tickling the side of my face, and his warm breath is caressing my ear and neck. I'm just glad he's sleeping lightly, otherwise his buzz-saw snoring would be racking my eardrums to death. But the sounds of his inhaling and exhaling is both relaxing and endearing, just like the way his arms are boa constricted around my waist, pulling my back up against his warm chest. His strong and steady heartbeat seems to transmit through his embrace to my body, almost as if his heart were singing a lullaby to mine. I can't help but smile, remembering everything from this morning, before we fell asleep. It all feels like a happy dream, despite the fact I spit semen all over his pelvis. And that we didn't get to fuck. I shudder at my incompetence, it was so stupid of me. I'm going to try to forget about that part and just remember how good it felt. His skin on mine, the warm pleasure that we were able to deliver to one another. I didn't want it to end.

But why is this feeling just taking over my being?

I stretch my arms over my head and survey the surroundings. First, I look in the direction of my feet, toward the opening of the cave. We must have slept for a few of the accelerated hours here, because the sky is an eerie shade of navy twilight. Starless, cloudless, dark blue sky. The moon is shining as brightly as the sun, illuminating the entire arena. There doesn't really seem to be anything happening out there, so I gaze upward toward the interior of the cavern. A familiar gleam flashes within the wall, sending a cynical chill up my spine. They've replaced the camera. But how? Did someone sneak in here while we were asleep? I try to collect some logical reasons for how it could have resurfaced, but the tightening grip around my middle writhes my thoughts as well as my intestines.

"Shit, don't scare me like that, Peeta!" Cato mumbles, breaking out of sleep as well.

"What are you talking about?"

He sighs, before letting me go and sitting up to stretch. The sudden removal of his arms leaves a stain of warmth on my body that dissents with the cooler cavern breeze that hits it.

"I just had a shitty dream about you." he tells me, his voice frantic and hazy.

"A nightmare?"

"Yeah, or whatever you want to call it." His face scrunches up and turns red, as if he were embarrassed to admit to having one. It's nothing new to me, as haunting images are no stranger to my sleep.

I move closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. Partly because I want to console him, and partly because I'm cold. "What happened in it?"

He looks down. "You died in the bloodbath. Like my brother. Someone just picked up a trident and speared it right through your back."

"Well, I'm still in one piece, although I came pretty close to being squeezed to death." I joke. It's now that I realize I'm actually starting to adapt his sense of humor.

His face contorts into his idiosyncratic smirk. "Yeah, well it's better than being speared with a trident."

I sit upright. Now I'm a little curious, feeling like prodding into his mind a bit more. "Was Oslo speared with a trident?" I ask.

Every time I ask about his family or his past, he always seems so hesitant. Almost as though he has to push the words forth, and his pensive pauses along with shaking his head is his physical preparation for speaking of it. But I don't blame him. I'm just glad that he trusts me enough to mention it at all.

"Yeah, he was. And actually, Peeta, you remind me a lot of him."

"How so?"

"You look like him. A lot. He was artistic, funny... A really good guy. But he was strong, like me. He never cried." He stares into space, almost as though he can see his brother's face right before him.

I decide to let his implication that I'm weak just roll off my back. I guess he doesn't need me to get all offended over something stupid when he's trying to talk about such a tender subject. "I guess you miss him."

I can tell I've struck a soft spot when he buries his face in his hand, almost as if he were in a forlorn state of disbelief over the whole thing. It's sad, really, seeing someone grieve. Even if there are no tears involved. "More than you know."

We sit in silence for a moment. I really don't know how to comfort him. He's just trying to be tough, setting up a dam for the tears I can tell want to roll out. In a way, I almost wish they would, so I could stop looking like a crybaby pussy to the whole country as the only boy who cried in the Games. I wonder if any other male Tributes have broken down emotionally as well. But then again, I don't want Cato to cry because his strength is really the only thing keeping me sane. If he cried, I definitely would too. I would hate to see him so hurt. Once I start crying for a specific reason, my mind conjures up a domino effect of other things to cry over. I try to avoid tears as much as possible, and usually I'm a levelheaded person. But the arena's just been forcing them out of me.

"When I started at our training academy, I was five years old. Oslo was eleven, one of the bigger guys. And he stood up to whoever fucked with me, because I couldn't fight back yet." he recalls out loud. He smiles sadly, staring straight ahead. "But I guess we both thought of the Games as our only hope, to get away from mom and all. Everyone just takes it seriously in Two. Volunteering's supposed to mean you're strong, not that you're..." He stumbles over his next word. "... Weak."

"I'm sorry that happened to you." I say slowly, managing to muster up a somewhat sympathetic sentence. "I mean, I don't find you weak at all. I just wish you weren't hurt so much."

"It's fine. I'm a man, Peeta. I can handle stuff like that." When he finally looks at me, I notice every feature on his hawk-like face stands out in the dark twilight, much like a star misguided by the moon's broad light. "But thanks for listening. I guess I deserve a good person like you."

Something twists inside me, imploring my words out of my mouth. "I love you, Cato. I'll listen to whatever you decide to tell me."

"Good." he smiles confidently, lightening the mood. "Then listen to this. I think fooling around with you was really fun. And I know I mentioned fucking you earlier, but you never really said yes. So I want to do it if we get the chance."

"Even though I screwed up something as simple as a blow job?"

He sighs, picking up on my incompetence on the subject. "Peeta, it doesn't matter. Do I have to spell it out? I really wanna top you. I bet you're good and tight."

I think about how it might feel. Honestly, I didn't really think it through much when he mentioned it earlier. I was just too caught up in my hormones at the moment. Every guy dreams of getting head, but I doubt many think about getting their asses penetrated. Yet, I think about how happy I was with Cato, even though I almost got affixiated and made a complete idiot of myself in the process. I guess I can't really screw up when I'm the one on the receiving end, and now that I think of it, the thought arouses me. It might be fun. I wouldn't mind giving him my virginity, either. But definitely not in the arena.

"Alright." I consent, not resisting the smile that's spreading out on my face. "If we can get out of here."

He kisses my lips with force, reaching over and cheekily rubbing the seat of my pants. "It's a plan, then."

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A silver parachute dives down to the mouth of the cave, glistening in the moonlight and landing perfectly in the center. We glance at each other.

"I thought I busted the camera, how are they watching us?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

I feel a cold sweat come over me. I should have told him the camera was still in here before he vented to me all his emotions, let alone proposed sex! Damnit, I swear everything I do is so brazen sometimes. "I-I think they replaced it." I stammer.

He shrugs. "Well, at least we got a gift out of it. Why don't you go get it and bring it here?"

"Of course, your majesty." I chuckle. In reality, I'm just glad he isn't fuming over the fact that I didn't tell him earlier. I mean, I would honestly be furious at me if I were in his shoes.

Indebted, I retrieve the parachute. The silver pot feels oddly lightweight. As soon as I sit back down with it, I open the lid, our two pairs of curious eyes surveying its contents.

"A cupcake?" I utter, sort of confused as to why the sponsors would send something like that. We surely don't need it.

"No, Peeta, I thought it was a fucking dinosaur." Cato banters.

I can't help but laugh at the thought of Haymitch getting drunk and sending us a dinosaur. Now that I think of it, though, it's possible. Highly unlikely, but still possible.

"Well, maybe I ought to check the note." I add, picking up the piece of paper under the small snack cake.

"Hey, cut it out with destroying the camera! We want to see you lovebirds, too. -E"

Cato rolls his eyes. "Enobaria's so nosy sometimes."

"I think everyone in the Capitol is right now. The Games are the highlight of their year."

He sighs, picking up the cupcake. It's beautiful, really. A dark brown cake topped with a swirl of thick, rose colored frosting, garnished with a plump raspberry. Both of us drool over it just as much as we do over one another.

"Here," he says, handing it to me. "You split it. I don't want to make a mess of it."

Simply seeing the bright color of the frosting and smelling the fruity fragrance brings me right back to the Mellark bakery, where icing cakes was the only thing that could clear my often busy mind. I'd need to frost an entire cake factory before my mind was purged of all my thoughts from the arena.

I split the beautiful cake in two equal halves, before asking the ever-vexing question. "Do you want the raspberry?"

Cato's eyes light up. "If you don't want it."

I sigh. I love raspberries, but since I love Cato more, I hand him the more decorative half of the cupcake. "It's fine. Here, you take it."

I take a small bite of my half, while he takes a huge bite of his. The expression of satisfaction that crosses his face looks nearly identical to the one he made when I'd pleasured him earlier.

"Mmmm," he says, crumbs falling from his lips. "Coffee cake's my favorite."

I can't help bursting out in laughter. "Coffee? This is easily dark chocolate."

He shrugs. "So? They don't give Careers dessert at the Capitol. Besides I'm not a connoisseur of cakes like you are."

"Alright, that might be true. But this doesn't taste like anything close to coffee cake."

We savor our sweets, while the melody of the Capitol anthem swells the arena. Like every other night, we let our conversation fall to silence as we observe the newest faces in the sky. I brace myself. First comes the boy from District Eight. I had a feeling he was the one the cannon went off for earlier. The boy from District Eleven was much bigger and hardier than he. But I'm surprised that he survived as long as he did.

My eyes can't stay dry for long as the girl from Twelve's sharp, grey ones pierce directly into mine. It's almost as if the projected image of her were directly staring me down, full of resent and disdain. For the brief moment she looks down on me, I feel a penitent stab in my heart. Guilt feels just as bad, if not worse, than what I think being killed would feel like. I've never even imagined killing anyone. Let alone Katniss.

"I'm a murderer, Cato." I say, still trying to come to terms with it.

He's still licking frosting off his fingers, like this whole thing didn't even phase him. "Well, so am I. Guess we better get used to it."

I grimace at his apathy. "How long do I even have to get used to it, Cato? There's only one Tribute left. Besides us. The Games will be over soon. And we can't get out of here ali-"

Then, like an epiphany, a thought that brings me a peaceful feeling of hope just comes to my mind. "Wait a minute... Cato, why do you think they gave us the cupcake exactly?"

Perhaps a bit confused by my change of direction in thought, he pauses to think. "Um, well, I think they like us being together."

"If they planned on killing us both, to speed up the Games, do you think they'd still be supporting us like this?"

The look on his face tells me I've present an acute point. "Are you saying that maybe they might grant us a joint victory?"

"Maybe."

Delaying conversation for a moment, we sit and think about what that might mean for us. Crowns, the Victory Tour, going back to our home Districts. Well, that would be the only difficult part for me, returning home after everyone knows and has seen what I've done... But I guess it wouldn't be as hard with Cato with me as it would be if I were alone. At that point, we'd be able to have a real relationship, and everything that came along with it. The corners of my mouth almost touch my ears. That's all I've ever wanted.

"I hope we win together, Cato. I really wouldn't want it any other way." I say, realizing the spark of childlike enthusiasm in my voice.

Yet he remains very serious. "I hope so too."

"Twelve hasn't seen a victor since Haymitch. And Panem's never seen a joint victory!"

"District Two would be ashamed." he says, his cool tone clashing with my energy over the subject.

"Why?"

"Because Careers are supposed to be bloodthirsty killing machines. Right up until the very end. That's what bringing pride to your District is. But I haven't really even killed anyone since Jayel." He sighs, staring up at the moon. "And anyways, just because they send us a cupcake doesn't mean we're in the clear. You don't know what kind of shit the Gamemakers have planned."

My heart sinks. I kind of want to forget about Jayel. And I really did think that cupcake could have gauged the perspective of those in control of us. "I guess you're right. I just... I really don't want to go back without you."

He turns to look at me. His china blue eyes are almost shining translucent in the moonlight. "I don't want to go back without you either, Peeta."

I'm not sure what drives me to, but like a child, I crawl humbly into his arms. I sit between his legs as he wraps himself around me from behind. I twist my neck to look up at him, where I find him smiling lightly before leaning in to join our lips together. It has to be the most delicate kiss ever given, seasoned with notes of dark chocolate, flavored with sympathy and not in the least bit forceful. I guess as much as I've adopted Cato's condescending sense of humor, he's taken a bit of my sensitivity back in return. Still, he's very dominant and strong, which is the Cato that I've always known. As much as I was intimidated by it at first, I really wouldn't really want him any other way. It's like he's my anchor in this sea of bloodshed, and this embrace is our only hope.

Almost as if on cue, the deep, familiar sound rocks the arena. A cold sweat ghosts over me as I feel myself begin to panic.

"Cato, the cannon!" I whimper.

He pulls me closer. His face is still calm, but I can feel his rapid heartbeat on my back. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. You're safe."

I wish I could let his reassurance sink in, but the tinge of worry that I felt this morning is now enormous and explosive, making me want to vomit from the pure pressure of it. "I wish I could believe that." I tell him.

He kisses the top of my head, which I'll admit feels good, but it isn't comforting me like he intends for it to.

Suddenly, a noise in the distance causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand straight up. I've never heard anything like it before. It was a shriek, too shrill to have come from an animal, yet too guttural and inflected to come from a human. The more I listen, the more those awful sounds continue. My heart races... Is this the end?

"Cato, what was that?!" I whisper loudly, prodding him as if he'd actually know.

The older boy remains calm on the outside, even though I can tell he's scared shitless within. "I don't know any more than you do." he stutters out, trying to keep his cool. "Just that this is some creepy-ass shit."

We listen to the screeches and wails, trying to figure out where exactly they're coming from. Oh gosh, I swear I'm going to be sick. The moonlight is setting one hell of a spooky atmosphere for the noises that seem to be only about a mile away. But I can't see a thing.

"Damnit, what is that?" Cato unlatches his arms and stops holding me. He stands up and equips his sword. Great. Now I'm shaking even more.

"Whatever it is, I don't think you can face it with a blade alone. You can't die on me!" I yell, but with limited volume. Any louder, and I'd just be spewing out vomit instead of words.

"I've got this one, don't worry." he says, putting on his brave facade. But I see no reason in faking anything right now.

As soon as he positions himself into a fighting stance at the mouth of the cave, though, the noises stop. It's not even a gradual quieting, either. More like a slamming halt. One second is filled with an atrocious sound, the next with pure silence. Something definitely isn't right. The night's so quiet that I can hear both mine and Cato's pounding heartbeats. He looks just as puzzled as I am.

"What the hell? It just... Stopped." he says, cocking his head to the side.

But as soon as he turns to face me, I jump, screaming at the top of my lungs and releasing every pent up endorphin in my body. "Cato!" I yell his name, crawling backwards into the cave.

When Cato twists around to look, he too, screams in horror, jumping back in my direction. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life...

This can't be happening. Oh lord, tell me it isn't...

A wall of fire has sprung forth out of the ground, reaching higher into the sky than I can even see, easily past the roof of the cave. But it's not the scorching heat of the fire itself, nor the awful smell of rotting flesh that coaxes the vomit right up my throat and onto the sleeping bag - but the howling, gnashing, screeching bodies that lunge into the cave after us. Cato's sword has disintegrated in the fiery wave from hell. I feel another heave in my burning throat, but either I've got none left, or perhaps even my vomit's too afraid to surface. My mind has already linked together the reason that this is so profoundly horrifying.

Twenty-two clawed, half decayed, molten bodies slowly crawl toward us, bringing the flames into the cave with them. Each of their faces, if there is much more than an ashen skull and a gaping mouth left, is easily identifiable. One of them is just too familiar: stringy, black hair. Freckled chunks of skin falling off her face. Black sockets for eyes. It's howling in a pitch that no human could match.

These are the dead Tributes.

"Peeta!" Cato screams my name as he dives onto the floor, pulling me down with him as we crawl to the very back of the cave, about twelve feet away from the opening. Stalactites melt off the walls and ceilings from the flames. It's getting harder and harder to breathe... Smoke has infiltrated the cave. The shadows of the Tributes' claws precede the fire itself, and their piercing screeches increase in volume. They're crawling in to kill us, moving at a slow and tedious speed. This is it, I tell myself, repeating it so that it clicks with me. I'm going to die. Cato's going to die. The Capitol won't help us. Haymitch can't help us. We won't have a vict-

My thoughts are interrupted by Cato. "Is this what you want?!" he shouts, staring directly at the camera, which is oddly the only thing remaining in tact in this tragic kamikaze.

We both sit with our heads between our knees at the back of the brightly lit cave, at the complete and total mercy of the thickening plumes and the flaming corpses that are slowly crawling inwards. The stench of their decaying flesh is absolutely revolting, and the smoky air makes it almost impossible to breathe. Is this even legal for the Gamemakers to do this? Finally, the initial shock of it all begins to wear off, and my tears begin to flow. In minutes, I'm drowning in my own breathless lament. The bitter truth hits me now.

There can only be one victor.

"Cato!" I shout over the crackling snarls of the fire, grappling onto the boy. We end up intertwined in each other's arms, crouched at the back of the cave.

He, too, has watering eyes. "I promise you won't die, Peeta. I promise. I'll take this one for you."

No! He can't die! I shake my head, as if I could convince him otherwise. But I know it's not his choice.

"No, Cato! You can't die! You're... You're my strength!" I say, choking on both the smoke and my sobs. "Cato... I... I can't live without you."

The first tear trickles down his beet red cheek, along with tendrils of sweat. His breath becomes heavy from the heat. "I was always dead anyway, wasn't I?"

I bury my head in his chest, my head throbbing in pain as I bellow out my helpless grieving. I can't even speak a single word.

Make it stop, someone! Please make it stop!

The smoke's getting thicker. My skin is burning from the close proximity of the fire. My mind is clouding up. It's all I can do to pull my face out of his chest to take a last glance at his face, to savor it while I still can.

"Don't cry over me. I'm a scared, little bitch, Peeta, I...I don't deserve you or your tears. I'm fucking weak." he says shakily, letting his emotions flow.

"No! Cato, no!" I cry pathetically.

His eyes slowly avert from mine, to the shrieking flame wall, which is barely ten feet away. Our time's running out. I see it flash across his face. Fear. I can feel him trembling beneath me. His mask of persevering strength has been ripped off, exposing him for the frightened boy he truly is. He's actually allowing me to see his foible of weakness. And it only makes me want to endear him more... If only there was some way I could take both of us away from here.

Just then, a crippling burn shoots up my leg. I yelp in pain before looking down to inspect the damage. The rotten, flaming version of Glimmer has lurched forth, scorching my calf with the tip of her claw. Cato once more comes to my rescue and kicks her away, burning his own foot in the process.

Both of us look up behind us at the same time to see the growling, braided huntress pounce toward us.

Katniss.

He pushes me out of the way, pinning me against the cave wall. He plops down on his stomach at my feet, as the fire closes us in even tighter. They're so close to us... Screeching, erupting with hatred and vengeance. I'm drenched in sweat. I swear I'm burning alive. This is much worse than any nightmare I'll ever have. This is hell incarnate.

"One last kiss, Peeta." Cato whimpers through his tears, lifting his head up slightly. "Please."

Although every cell in my body is panicking, I force myself to sanity. I don't want to waste a precious second. I lean down to him, and with all my strength, press my lips against his with a passion more fervent than the heat of the flames before us. Feeling my face get even warmer, I pull away. The howling creatures are lunging forward, only standing at an arm's length away from Cato's feet.

"I-I love you, Peeta," the boy stammers out. "Stay strong for me."

I take his hand and squeeze it lightly, looking directly into his watering eyes. "I love you too, Cato. M-More than anything in this world."

The boy smiles sadly, caressing my hand. "Please remember me." he whispers.

Before I can assure him that I'll never be able to forget him if I tried, the evil glare of a flaming beast behind him tells me that I don't have time.

"No. No! Cato!" I holler, letting my sanity sieve right through me as I watch the horror of horrors unfold before my very eyes: Katniss stabs her claw into Cato's lower back like a fork in a slab of meat, dragging his bloodied body into the flames. The trail of blood that follows him back into the flames act like kerosene, feeding the fire and coaxing the it even closer to me. His final, blood-curdling scream... it resounds through every fiber of my body...

I watch his icy blue eyes melt...

...From a blazing blue...

...To absolutely nothing at all.

I can't watch the rest of his body be devoured by those savage creatures. I can't even hear his cries of pain over my own. The smoke... it's suffocating me. Fuck, I can't see anything! I press my knees to my chest, my body convulsing painfully at each sob.

This is the end... Cato is dead.

No. He can't be. He can't be!

I can't stop screaming or crying. My chest is so tight. I swear I'm going to explode...

Please take me, too. Oh lord, I'm suffocating. Please let me die... Please...

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyelids feel so heavy, as if they were cemented shut. It feels like hours before they can open. But when they do, everything looks fuzzy and white. I blink a few times, bringing my sight into clearer focus. I'm clothed in a white cotton gown. My skin feels cool and balmy, enthused with an aura of what could be menthol. A needle is embedded into my arm. I recognize what it must be - morphling. The Capitol's best post-anesthetic sedative. It's working miracles. The pain... It's all gone.

It feels like, at this moment, I can forget there was ever any pain at all. I have a feeling I'm not even in the arena anymore. The air is much cleaner. My mind is padded by the drugs, and I dare not remember what lies under it. I'll avoid it as long as I can. Right now, I just want to stare at the fluorescent, glowing ceiling, trying to focus on the calming sound of my vital monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It sounds nothing like the parachutes in the arena. It's almost as though they sounded worried or despaired as they floated down to us. But this series of beeps is consistent and calming, even though I'm too drowsy to think about what could be causing it. Some sort of monitor, maybe? The lulling sound tranquilizes me as I slowly close my heavy eyelids, falling into a sleepy state of comatose bliss.

...

"Pee-ta!" I hear a shrill voice call out my name, before I've even had a chance to fall back asleep. I try to ignore it, but that tactic proves itself futile. Her voice just doesn't stop.

"Peeta!"

I struggle to open my eyes once more, where my blurry sight collides immediately with Effie's electric fuschia dress. I think I'll need more morphling just to soothe my head from looking at a color that bright. I mean, I haven't seen any bright colors in over a week. My eyes aren't used to it yet. But there she is, just as extravagant as I remember her to be. Her candy-pink wig, curled perfectly around her signature flower hairpiece. Long, false nails painted lavender, and of course, a layer of makeup probably nearing an inch thick.

"Effie..." I stammer. I guess speaking is a little more difficult than I thought, too.

"Oh, Peeta," she says, smiling sadly. She moves closer to my bedside, dodging cords and machines. When she's sure she isn't going to break me into a million pieces, she offers me a gentle embrace "I'm so sorry about what's happened to you!"

She gives off a strong floral scent, which makes my stomach churn a little. All my senses seem to be extremely vulnerable right now. But before I open my mouth in response, a harsh and familiar voice rises up from the chair behind her. "Aw, come on, Effie, don't make him remember it yet."

"Haymitch?" I question the voice, slowly sitting up. I recognize him as well. Stringy, blonde hair down to his shoulders. A five o'clock shadow crowning his harsh face. A brown coat with a wrinkled shirt, and of course, his trusty flask at his lips.

"Haymitch, his interview and crowning is tonight! He'll need to remember it sooner or later!" The woman says, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

My mentor takes a swig of what I'm guessing is liquor out of the flask. "Trust me," he says, slurring his words. "It's something you're gonna want to be numb for."

Effie rolls her eyes, exasperated. "It's something you've got to be sober for, Haymitch!"

He scoffs, taking another drink. He's clearly intoxicated.

I might be numb to emotion, but I'm perfectly aware of reason. Aware enough to know that Haymitch has more experience with the Games than Effie has, and that he's probably got a reason to be drunk. If his memories are just as painful as mine, and alcohol combats them as well as this morphling does, then I don't blame him. My whole body feels desensitized, and I can hardly remember the fact I was ever in the Games. Maybe it's because I'm avoiding the thought. But at least I'm not horribly bereaved over it.

"Oh, Peeta, they extracted you from the arena just in time. You had second-degree burns, and your lungs were almost completely ashen from the smoke! I'm so glad you're safe!" exclaims Effie.

I groan, trying not to focus on what she's saying. I want my memories to float around in oblivion for as long as the morphling will allow them to.

"Yeah," Haymitch adds. "You're a trooper, kid."

Finally, a man with icy, silver hair in a white coat walks in through the door. He looks much more professional and composed than Haymitch, who slyly slips his flask into his coat, hiding it away from the other man's sight.

"Is he ready, doctor?" the peppy, Capitol woman asks, hovering over me.

The doctor presses some buttons on my vital monitor and jots something down on his tablet of paper. After a brief hesitation, he removes the needle from my arm and detaches the sensors from my chest and pulse. I'm too numb to even feel the pinch of the needle.

"Alright, Peeta, you're good to go. You gave us quite a scare there. I, uh, hope your interview goes well." he says, before hastily exiting the room. Almost as if he couldn't bear to talk to me.

Well, it would surely go better if they didn't cut off my drug supply. I have no idea how I'm going to power myself through watching the scenes from the Games without it. Though I feel numb right now, I know that there's just a tempest of emotion just waiting to storm over me. I'm not exactly looking forward to it.

"Come, on, Peeta!" Effie coaxes, practically pulling me off the hospital bed. "You'll need to pay your stylists another visit before you appear on television!"

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"About a day. Don't worry, it's normal for the condition you were in." she replies, as if second-degree burns and black lungs were an every day occurrence. "Now, up and at 'em!"

I grunt, lifting myself up out of the bed. Since I'm still drugged, Effie lends me her hand as she helps me walk down a long, white corridor to a steel elevator at the end. Her heels clack loudly against the vinyl, while Haymitch's loafers tap at a much less menacing pitch. My feet are bare, and the cool sensation of the slick floor feels fantastic compared to the hot, compressing boots I wore in the arena. I notice my injuries on my leg and my foot are both gone as well. My stomach twists a little. The memories of how I got those injuries are beginning to fade into clarity.

As we ride up in the elevator, Effie pats me on the back. "Oh, Portia and your prep team will be so happy to see you, Peeta. Everyone's been just raging about you! Yours is the most popular name in the entire Capitol!"

Haymitch leans lazily against the wall, having drank the last drop of his liquor. "Yeah, besides Cato's."

Cato.

Effie scrunches her face up at Haymitch. "Don't start, Haymitch."

"It's the truth," he says, filling the entire elevator with his strong breath of alcohol. "He's right up there with Katniss. 'Cause no one would've guessed that they swung that way."

Katniss.

The elevator doors roll open, leading me back to the familiar, bustling salon where I was initially prepped for the first set of interviews. I never knew there was a hospital underneath it. Utopia, Dima and Wellum come barreling toward me, their arms wide open. They all look slightly different. Dima dyed her hair bright orange. Wellum has lost some weight. Utopia's hair is tied up in a different fashion than before. I groan. I'm too tired to deal with them right now.

"Peeta!" bellows Utopia as she flies into my arms, hugging me with all her strength. "Oh, Peeta, I cried so much watching this year's Games!"

Wellum simply pats me on the back. I'm sure that after watching the way I interacted with another man, he's a bit too intimidated to show much more affection to me. I don't blame him. "Yeah, that was pretty deep. I'm really sorry that happened to you." he says.

"Thank you." I say, acknowledging their respect. Although it's difficult taking anyone that so closely resembles a clown seriously.

Effie converses cordially with Dima, discussing something I can hardly hear over Wellum and Utopia's chatter. I hear the words "morphling", "sensitive" and "ready" uttered in pieces of their discussion. Although I'm not sure where they all click together. Finally, Effie and Haymitch excuse themselves and board the elevator again. Effie makes no other effort to talk to me, but Haymitch smiles sympathetically in my direction.

"Come on, Peeta, we've got to wax you up." Dima says, patting my back and guiding me down the hall. I cringe as the memory of being waxed slowly floats into my mind. For some reason, this hall seems a lot longer than the one on the floor below it. They walk me into the room with a bed and black light, instructing me to lie down as Utopia and Wellum spread the thick goop all over my legs.

"Peeta, you're the all the rage here in the Capitol!" Utopia says, slapping a cotton strip of cloth onto my leg.

"Yeah, everyone is talking about you. Peeta this, Peeta that. I hear it everywhere I go." Dima tells me.

"That's nice to know." I reply, not sure if I'm being sarcastic or not. All I know for sure is that I'm trying as hard as I can not to think about what happened in the arena. I think my stylists are avoiding the topic as well, keeping their enthusiasm about my victory at a trivial minimum.

I wince, hissing in pain as Wellum rips a piece of fabric off of my other leg, along with a patch of hair. "Oh, honey, I know it hurts, but it will all be over soon." Utopia coos.

Wellum narrows his eyebrows, fixing his gaze on his wax strip. "I'm trying to be gentle as I can. The last thing you need right now is more pain."

Along with my legs burning from having the hair yanked out of them, I feel the first sting in my heart as well. No amount of morphling can mask my hurting soul. And no amount of avoiding the matter will heal it. "The only thing I need right now is him." I say, quietly.

Wellum, Dima and Utopia all stop waxing me for a minute and just look up at each other, as if I were a child that had just unknowingly spoken a newly learned curse word. They know exactly what I'm talking about. My words resound in my head, overpowering the upbeat music in the background that plays over the small speakers on the ceiling.

I need him.

It's almost as though my barrier of numbness has just burst, and all of my memories and emotions are flooding over and drowning me. Cato died. I'm still alive. Because he died. And it's all this fucking Capitol's fault.

"Peeta," Dima says, stroking my hair. "Let's try not to think about that right now. You're safe and sound. And everyone loves you. So many of our male coworkers have come out of the closet, thanks to your bravery and boldness with Cato in the arena!"

"That... That doesn't make me feel any better." I retort. I can't stop the tears that start to swell my eyes. My body tells me to smack the bitch in the face, just for being part of the Capitol, but I restrain myself. Great. Now everyone thinks I'm a gay icon, too.

"Tell you what," the striped-haired man says, seeing my tears. "Since you don't feel good, we won't make you wear any make-up, if you don't want to. We'll just wax you and do your hair, get you a bite to eat, and then send you over to Portia. Alright?" he bargains.

I try to make myself smile out of respect. "Thank you, Wellum."

My prep team offers me their overly polished grins, returning to their job of waxing. What stupid concerns they have. They can mend whatever physical wounds I have, but they'll never be able to fill this gaping hole in my heart.

Finally, they've finished my legs and are ready to start on my chest.

"Anyway, on a much happier note, Lola and I are getting our hair dyed on Saturday!" Utopia enthuses to Dima and Wellum. I don't even pay attention to their near useless conversation. I wish that my concerns consisted only of things like the color of my hair. But they run much deeper than that. As Wellum spreads the hot substance over my chest, I can't help but notice that my heart is physically aching. My stomach feels knotted under all the pressure. I close my eyes, trying to channel the last bits of morphling in my system. But it's no use. As if he were hiding in the insides of my eyelids, Cato's face is the only thing I can see.

I stay silent, trying to choke back tears through my prep team's entire shift with me. My throat feels heavy and molten with hot saliva, and my head pounds. I feel so devastated. Usually, I can at least foresee into the near future, hopeful about the things yet to come. But that fire in the arena burnt a lot more than the undead. It burnt my first love. It scorched our plans of winning the Games together and leading a better life. It damned my future to lie in ashes, to the point of no return. I don't even want to know what happens next. It makes me sick just to think about going home, facing all of the judgement for my relationship, and worst of all, for killing Katniss. I'll have to face Gale. Prim. Mrs. Everdeen. And I know they'd never forgive me. I take a deep breath to combat the sickness in my stomach. I just want to go back and relive every short moment I've ever spent with Cato. I feel as though I wasted too much time being afraid of him, looking at him like a monstrous Career, when truly he was just as human as me.

By now, they've waxed my entire body, moved me to another room and have styled my hair in the same fashion as they did for my last interview. I'm surprised I haven't broken down yet, because the pain I'm carrying feels much heavier than any sack of flour I've ever had to lift. The rage I feel towards this world is roaring louder by the second, but it just manifests itself in sadness. Sitting in front of a mirror in a salon chair, I watch a single tear roll down my cheek. Shit. Thankfully, my stylists' backs are turned, allowing me to quickly wipe it away, and save it for later when I'm sure I'm alone. I've already cried enough in front of Panem's people, I surely don't need to do it again.

"Alright," says Dima, walking over to a tablet embedded in the wall. "What'll you have to eat, Peeta? I can give you whatever you want."

Food is the last thing on my mind. "I'm really not hungry."

The citrus-haired woman frowns. "Peeta, you have to eat! You haven't had food in so long!"

"Oh, get the tacos, Peeta, they're fantastic!" Utopia chirps.

I sigh. "I guess I'll have tacos, then."

"Coming right up." Dima says, pressing a few buttons on the tablet. Not even thirty seconds later, she opens a small door of a cubby in the wall and pulls out a plate of three decadent tacos. I would normally be impressed, but I don't care about Capitol technology. In fact, I despise it. It's what the Gamemakers used to kill so many Tributes, Tributes that didn't deserve to die.

"Here you are, Peeta." She hands me the plate. "We're going to take our break now, so we'll just be in the next room over. We'll send in Portia in a few minutes."

"Alright."

It smells like it was just cooked minutes ago, unlike the stagnant food that we had to eat in the arena. But food means nothing to me right now. Reluctantly, I choke it down. I don't really want to eat, and means that my prep team has decided to take their break, I could easily shove this in the trash. But I know it's probably best for my body to be nourished, so I let myself eat.

When I've finished my last bite, I sit back in my chair and sigh. Words can't even describe how much I don't want to be here right now. I don't really even want to be anywhere, for that matter. I just want to disappear. My mind tracks back, over my first few days at the Capitol. Over my stay with Katniss. Trying to take her hand in our chariot. How Cinna crafted her into the girl who was on fire. How she was the epicenter of my heart at the time. I chuckle. How foolish I was. I can't believe I made such an idiot of myself during our interviews, when I told everyone that I loved her. I wonder how everyone received that back home. It doesn't matter, though, I killed her. Now they think I'm a traitor. A murderer.

Before I know it, my head is buried in my arms, which rest on the little table below the mirror. I'm sobbing so hard I can hardly breathe. But why? Is it from fear? From grieving? Or a combination of everything? Oh gosh, it hurts so bad. I'd like to ask God himself if it's even just to bestow so much pain on one person.

"Peeta?" A familiar, breezy voice calls my name.

I look up to see Portia, who immediately walks over and gives me a gentle embrace. I'm not sure why, but I hug her back as if she could ease all my pain. My anger has even subsided for her; I just don't feel like she's to blame for Cato's death.

"Oh, Peeta," she begins, patting my back. "I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now."

"It's horrible, Portia." I tell her through sobs.

"I bet," she says, patting me on the back. "What an awful way to lose someone that you love."

I shake like a leaf in her arms. I don't even care that she's seeing me like this. I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I hope you don't hate me for killing Katniss, either."

She shushes me, like a mother to her baby. In a strange way, it's comforting. "Peeta, Tributes have to kill each other. Even if it's your District partner. Honestly, Peeta, I look at it like you just proved to everyone how deeply you loved Cato. And that's more beautiful than anything."

I've never looked at it that way. It definitely makes me feel better, but it doesn't change the fact that I still don't have him here. Finally, my tears become slightly more controlled. "Thank you, but really, I just want Cato. That's all I want."

She steps back, the look on her face is forlorn. "Sadly, I can't give you that. But I can give you something close."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

The blonde woman smiles placidly. "As you know, it's mine and Cinna's job to devise the most creative and loudly speaking outfits for you Tributes - or in your case, victors, to wear. I've collaborated with Cato's stylist. And we've both decided it would make an incredibly bold statement if you were to wear the exact same outfit that he wore for his first interview. The same one that touched his very flesh. Don't you agree?"

My heart swells at the thought of wearing Cato's outfit. I'm not sure if it's making me more upset or more happy, though. I'm still crying. "The exact same one?"

She smiles. "That's right. It'll be just like the way you wore his coat in the arena."

I throw my arms around her. "Thank you, Portia."

"No problem at all, Peeta."

When she's finally finished dressing me, I look in the mirror at the black leather getup. I sigh, remembering the boy who wore this before me. The pain of just hearing his name or thinking of his face is enough to move me to tears, but I feel as though my eyes have simply ran out.

"What do you think?" Portia asks, smiling.

"I've never felt more confident in anything I've ever worn." I tell her. It's the truth. It's almost as though his confidence could rub off on me through these clothes.

"I'm so glad. I'm sure that wherever he is, Peeta, he's definitely proud of you."

Chills pervade my spine at the words she just uttered. I'm beginning to like Portia a lot more than I did initially. "Thank you."

"Now," she says, assuming her business-like attitude. "We need to get you to the auditorium. Your interview starts in about ten minutes."

I take a deep breath, preparing myself to face the torturous recap of the Games. I can only hope that Caesar Flickerman will have just as much compassion as Portia. But I highly doubt it. So I just wish I had more morphling.

Unlike my last interview, I feel incredibly nervous. A man from the camera crew directs me to a red, plush love seat next to an enormous screen, instructing me to sit there for the remainder of the show. I stare at the other, empty cushion, with hopeless thoughts of what could have been clouding my head. I bite my lip. I've got to be strong now.

Within minutes, a sea of unfamiliar faces fills the auditorium, happily chattering with one another as if this were a much lighter occasion than it is. Those stupid fools, just mindless puppets of this fucked up world. They're purposeless.

Anticipating Caesar's entrance, I try to put aside my bitter resent of the Capitol. The lights dim dramatically down, and a strobe light spotlighted onto the stage nearly blinds me.

"Three... Two... One... Action!" shouts the camera man in the back.

The familiar and haunting tune of the Capitol anthem fills the air, as the blue-haired, shiny toothed man bounces onto the stage, waving warmly at the applauding audience. He plants himself in the chair on the opposite side of the large screen in between us.

"Welcome one, welcome all, to the annual Victor's Crowning!" he hollers with detestable enthusiasm. The crowd goes absolutely wild, cheering my name. I twiddle my thumbs, shuffling nervously in my seat. Here it comes.

"We bring to you the victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, Mr. Peeta Mellark!"

The crowd deafens me with their applause. Caesar smiles his classic, cheesy smile until the noise dies down. "Now, Peeta, this was certainly the most entertaining and captivating Games in the history of the very event. From your escalating relationship with Cato, to your surprise decision near the end, I was very surprised at the things that took place."

It's my turn to speak. Holy crap, it's my turn to speak. But what do I say?

"So was I."

"If I remember right, Peeta, last time we met, you had said that you were in love with Miss Katniss Everdeen, is that correct?"

This is it. If I can nail this one with just the right words, I could perhaps buy myself some mercy from District Twelve. "Yes, yes I did."

"Let's watch our first clip of the arena."

I brace myself. On the screen, I see our former band of Careers chasing Katniss up the tree with the tracker jacker nest. I watch Glimmer try to shoot her.

"Let me get her!" she cries, aiming her arrow, shooting, and of course, missing.

But what nudges my heart is the familiar boy I'm standing next to. The one who tries to scale the tree with his sword. I feel my eyes water, but I bite my lip harder. I think of Haymitch's compliment that he gave me before my last interview, that I have a way with words. I focus on that phrase, letting it boost my confidence. I'm not going to cry.

"So, as you see here, it looks like your allies tried to kill her. And Mr. Cato Villier was one of them. Is that correct?"

My emotions shake a little. I never knew his last name. Still, I maintain my composure. "Yes. But I think it would just be proper to inform you that Cato did not. He and I made an agreement, that he would refrain from killing her. Scaling the tree like that was really all to trick the other Tributes."

Caesar smiles, leaning forward in his chair. "Sly move, Peeta. Now let's move on to another tasty bit in the arena, shall we?" he consults the audience, who lets out a roar.

On the screen, I see Cato and I, bent over Clove's body. I lean back, trying to focus my eyes on the frame of the screen rather than the image itself. I don't want to become emotional during this interview. I'm determined to be a strong man today. I can't possibly wear Cato's clothes and be weak. But listening to the footage is just as difficult as watching it.

"Clove!" I hear myself yell.

"Clove, stay with me!" I hear Cato's voice. Oh gosh. It hurts.

"Peeta..." I hear her last word. My name.

The cannon booms. Caesar decides to spare a drop of mercy and pauses the clip.

"How did you feel when this girl died? It looked like it hit you in a hard place."

I'd certainly like to hit Caesar in a hard place, but I try to cast the urge away. "Well, it definitely did. It's always hard when an ally dies."

The television host nods. "Tell you what, Peeta. These seem like unpleasant memories to you. Let's move into a happy one, shall we?"

The audience roars. I know exactly which event he's talking about. I decide to watch this, no matter how much it hurts. I want to see it.

"I don't want a bitch, okay? I want... something else." The Cato on the screen says in a hushed voice.

"A guy?" I ask.

"Yeah, pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

I can almost hear the tenseness in my voice. "Not at all."

Suddenly, we kiss. It's absolutely beautiful, to say the least. I can't help but feel a sting of sorrow, though, knowing that it's nothing but a memory at this point. The audience swoons, cooing over the sight. The clip pauses.

"How did that feel?"

I smile sadly, staring at the image on the screen of our perfectly locked lips. "Absolutely perfect."

"Have you ever had a kiss that good?"

"That was actually my first kiss."

The crowd goes insane with applause. Are they happy for me? I don't know. There certainly isn't any reason to be.

Caesar chuckles. "What a perfect kiss! Now, you and I both know there is some other footage with that same topic that we can't show, at the mercy of our younger viewers. And I'm sure you all know what it is, am I correct?"

The audience screams. It's a bizarre feeling, to have a crowd of people enthusing over my sexual experiences. It's invasive, to say the least.

"How did you feel about that, Peeta?"

"Well, if you couldn't tell, it felt good." I say, causing the audience to laugh. I admit, I'm a little disgusted at myself for approaching this matter with such distaste. It was a very serious thing, but I'll do what I can to keep my emotions at bay.

"Of course it did! Let's roll some more footage, but this time, I'm sorry to say, it won't be as pleasant."

For about twenty minutes, I watch some of the other Tributes' demises. I watch Marvel spear the District Eleven girl in the stomach, then Katniss shoot him in return. I have to be honest, I never really cared for Marvel. It didn't phase me much. I also watch a recap of the Bloodbath, and of the fox-faced girl's poorly thought out move that led to her death. I clench my fists. It's all the Capitol's, namely President Snow's fault. As unpleasant as this is to watch, I know it won't come near to the things I will have to see next.

And when that moment finally comes, Caesar leans in toward me, as if to console me from a distance. Personally, it just feels like mockery. "As we approach the end of our show, Peeta, there are some very important moments in the arena that I'm sure you haven't forgotten."

I take a deep breath. "Yes, there are."

Katniss's whispery voice comes through the screen. "Come on, Peeta. It's either you stay with me and win, or be with him and die. You choose."

I hiss at the sight of myself knifing her violently into a bloody pulp. I feel an immense wave of shame come over me. Without even thinking, I place my palm over my face. The audience makes sounds of repulsion... Maybe I can't buy myself much mercy after all.

"That was a brave act on your part, Peeta. It's not too often that an outlying District team kills their partner."

I sigh. It definitely wasn't brave, you sadistic freak. "I wish there was some way that it didn't have to happen. I can only pray that the people back home can forgive me."

Shit. That's going to sound corny as hell. I can just imagine Gale stewing over it right now, plotting out his revenge on me for killing his girlfriend. I guess I could understand where he's coming from, though. I would kill the Gamemakers for killing the one I love if I had the chance to. The audience bought my line, though. They're making sympathetic cries.

"I would surely hope so. I wish you the best of luck." Caesar says, his voice low and serious. "Shall we watch the next clip?"

I shrug my shoulders, trying to look like I don't care. In reality, I'm right on the border of a breakdown. "If you insist."

How can they even make me watch this? This clip is painstakingly long, beginning with Cato and I eating the raspberry cupcake. The audience laughs at his misinterpretation of its flavor. I make myself laugh as well, trying to combat the rising madness in my soul. Soon, I'm watching him hold me, listening to our dialogue about hope of winning together. I blink back tears, wishing I could just have stayed in his arms forever. Once the fire ignites and the beasts within it ravage their way into the cave, I decide not to watch. This time, however, I openly stare at the floor. Everyone should understand how difficult this is for me. It feels like ages that I stare at my shoes, listening to the desperation, the insanity and the steady flow of commitment that is spoken by Cato and I.

"Please remember me." The boy on the screen says.

I hear the flames crackle and ignite, and my bellowing out for him. I can't help but shed a single tear from just listening to it. When the clip pauses, I wipe my cheek and stare bravely up into Caesar's face, who looks very emotional himself. I can even hear sniffles in the hushed audience.

"I definitely will remember him." I say, using all my strength to say it with a straight face.

Caesar wipes his eyes with a bright blue handkerchief from his pocket. "I'm sure you'll never forget him. I know we won't."

I feel a tear develop in the corner of my eye as well. Maybe he was a little more merciful than I assumed. "Thank you."

"Did you really love him, Peeta?"

The room falls silent, waiting for my response. "I still do."

The audience groans in sympathy for me, as Caesar sheds another tear. It feels like I should be the one doing all the crying.

"Anyway," the polished man says, standing up and requipping his expressive stage voice. "Please welcome President Snow onto the stage!"

The audience hoots and screams as the snake-eyed, white haired man steps forth with a golden crown, shaped like a laurel wreath. Almost identical to the one Cato wore in his chariot. I could kill him right now, but I've seen enough death already to be turned off to the idea. Maybe I'd just like to sock him in the face. Either way, as much as I despise this man for putting all these innocent teenagers through this, I lower my head and allow him to crown me.

"May I present to you, victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games." he declares, raising my hand up in the air. His deep voice booms through the auditorium, which is already ablaze with noise from the spectators.

I stare over the sea of faces, watching them all admire me. But I have no pride to show. I can't help but think that it's all for a lost cause.

An avox escorts me back to the Penthouse. The elevator is still just as magnificent as I remember it to be, Transparent and scenic, allowing one to see the entire city skyline and the orange sun dropping behind it from an overhead view. I remember watching the sunset before the Games began, almost positive it'd be the last one I'd ever see. And I wish it was. I find myself missing Cato even more after watching those clips, and it feels as though I've packed my emotions down so tightly, they're about to erupt. It's near impossible not to cry at this point.

Finally, the delicate ding chimes at the twelfth floor, and the doors part. Effie and Haymitch rise up from the table to greet me. I'm surprised they'd even spit in my direction after what I've done to Katniss.

"Oh, that was a simply splendid interview! You're so very strong, Peeta! I'm so proud of you." she says, once more giving me a powerful, olfactory hug.

I return the affection, despite the strong scent. A saline drop falls from of my eye. "I tried, Effie. But it was truly difficult."

I think Haymitch is sober, because when Effie hands me over to his churlish embrace, he smells of cologne rather than liquor. His posture is even peculiarly proper, for him at least. "Well done, kid. You took some pretty hard knocks. Hell, even harder ones than I've taken."

I hang my head, pitying Haymitch but knowing no victor of the Hunger Games could possibly be as despondent as I. "I just hope you guys don't hate me after what I did to Katniss."

Haymitch pats me on the back. "Kid, everyone's got to kill at some point in that arena."

"And you did it for love!" Effie bubbles, more animated over my tragic romance than I am. In fact, hearing her say that makes me feel even more devastated.

I flop down on a plush chair, feeling relieved of the pressure to look strong and composed. I even take off my crown. "I wish Cato didn't have to die." I tell them, through a light sprinkle of tears.

"The Games are a cruel place." Effie says. "But thankfully, you get to go home tomorrow!"

My heart drops. My palms sweat. My mouth goes dry. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, of course, it does.

"Home?" I squeak.

"Well, of course! You can't just live here for the rest of your life, I'm sure your family would love to see you!"

Haymitch and I exchange gazes. He knows exactly what I'm thinking. I can't go home. I just can't. After what I've done to Katniss, after I've had a relationship with Cato... I'd be ripped to shreds. People from the Seam would place dirt at a higher value than me, and that's saying a lot coming from the poorest District in Panem. Delly would never talk to me again. Gale would kick my ass... The list goes on.

"When do I have to go home?" I sniffle, my heart racing near the speed of light, sending me into a panic.

But Effie seems unaware of my worried state. "We'll board the train tomorrow morning. It will be a big, big, big day!"

Haymitch walks over to the table, retrieves a bottle of liquor and takes a huge gulp. "I think we ought to give him some time to process it, Effie. He's already had a big, big, big enough day."

The woman seems confused. "Pardon?"

He motions her toward the elevator, without explanation. "Come on. Let's just give him the Penthouse to himself for a while."

"Alright, but there really is so much to do!" She agrees with reluctance, stepping in the elevator.

Haymitch shoots me a despaired smile once she's entered, setting his bottle of liquor quietly on a side table by the door. "Knock yourself out, kid." he whispers. "Welcome to victory."

The door rolls shut.

I stare at the bottle of alcohol, knowing that it won't do anything for me. I appreciate his offer and all, but the mere thought of becoming an awful drunk like Haymitch doesn't sit well with me. Then again, he probably knows how I feel better than anyone, because it's rumored that he lost a lover in his Games. But I remain upright in my decision to refrain from drinking my pain away. I know exactly where I want to go. I bate my jumping breaths, listening to the elevator descend, ding and resurface before stepping inside. I take a deep breath, as my finger quickly presses the "OBSRV" button.

I halfway expect to see Cato, standing at the chair. But the room is empty. As soon as I step out of the elevator, I swear I can smell nicotine. As if it were an immediate response of my body, I fall onto the floor, shaking with the loudest sobs I've cried since the arena. There's no one here to judge me.

Cato, where are you when I need you? I'm not strong, and as much as you think you were weak, I'm much more so. Even in your clothes, I'm nowhere near as strong as you.

I drag my tired and weary body over to the chair and sit down. It's as if the chair were my life ring in this sea of tears. Memories, although short lived, come raging over me like a furious tempest.

From the moment I first met you, I was always enthralled by you. It was here that I smoked my first cigarette with you, and it was here that you told me about your home. You've had a hard life, haven't you? I can't help but wonder how that vile woman - your mother - must be perceiving her loss. But it doesn't matter. You're with your brother now. I hope you're much happier. Your chains are gone. It was here that we made our alliance. And in the arena, you were always my pillar of strength, even when I didn't realize it. I'm disgusted with myself over how much time I wasted fearing you. You didn't have to act macho for me. I would have loved you no matter what. I remember our first kiss. I remember when you told me you loved me. Hell, I would kill Katniss again if it would bring you back. You promised to let me live. I remember when we made love, or whatever it was. I didn't mind giving you my innocence. You deserved it. You never had your own. I wish our plans of a life together could have actually happened, there was so much left undone... So much I didn't know about you. I know it was short, the time we had. But you've changed me. You have a hold on my heart that no one's ever been able to grasp. And your horrible fate, Cato, I could have taken it for you. I don't know why I didn't jump into the flames and let you live, but I hate myself for not. I would give anything to be in your arms again. Anything.

I feel breathless under my airless bout of madness... I swear I can see his face.

I wish I still was holding your hand, Cato. If your hands were in mine, I would be sure they wouldn't sever...

When I open my eyes, I stare around the room. The lights of the night sky are blurred together by my watery vision. I wipe them dry, still shaking from my sobs. A small escape shaft in one of the window walls catches my sight... Strange. I've never noticed it before. I pull myself over to the small door, which is just big enough for a person of Utopia's size to fit through. I open it, feeling the cool breeze entice me, as if it were begging me to step forth. A rush of adrenaline amplifies my tears... Should I do this? I think of what lies ahead - returning to District Twelve, facing my life without the one person who's changed it - it just seems so rational. I'm usually a sane person, but this... It feels so right. My breath hitches as I dangle my legs over, feeling them tingle fervently. I stare up at the dark sky above, almost as if I could see those eyes glowing down on me, and his arms stretched out, expectantly open as if to welcome me into the clouds. I inhale deeply.

Cato, wherever you are, I'm coming for you. I will not live in a world without you, just singing the blues of helplessness.

Author's Note: Well, there's the end... Oh gosh, I feel like I've disappointed everyone. :( My lack of smut in the last chapter... my lack of reviews for the last chapter (barely any), and of course, this. I apologize if I disappointed you. I feel like a crappy author. But thank you for your kind reviews, even though they were few. :) I appreciate whatever I can get. I'm considering going back through and revising most of this story, so if you have any suggestions, PLEASE review. I beg of you. xD

Was everything done alright? I've had this ending in mind since June, and I'm just dying to know what you think. I know it's a lot to read, 10k words, but please review. Thank you so much to my loyal readers. I love mingling with you about this amazing pairing. 3 I appreciate all the criticism and praise I got too.