We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared.
And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.
I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.
If you hit bottom, there’s a whole lot of people here to help you up.
And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.
I always channel my emotions into my work. That way, I don’t hurt anyone but myself.
He hasn’t accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread, is fighting hard to kill me.
Don’t. Don’t let’s pretend when there’s no one around.
I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.
I don’t want anyone with me today. Not even him. Some walks you have to take alone.
That should have been my strategy! By the time I’ve worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, I’m watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range.
You don’t destroy what you want to acquire in the future.
But some secrets are too delicious not to share.
A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it.
At once, it’s clear I cannot gush. We try me playing cocky, but I just don’t have the arrogance. Apparently, I’m too “vulnerable” for ferocity. I’m not witty. Funny. Sexy. Or mysterious By the end of the session, I am no one at all.
Peeta: You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you. Finnick: Oh, Peeta. Don’t make me sorry I restarted your heart.
Time and tragedy have forced her to grow too quickly, at least for my taste, into a young woman who stitches bleeding wounds and knows our mother can hear only so much.
In the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too.
Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots.
I guess there isn’t a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being.