If He Wants Me Broken,

Suddenly I Am Furious, That With My Life On The Line, They Don’t Even Have The Decency To Pay Attention To Me. That I’m Being Upstaged By A Dead Pig.

I Notice Her Blouse Has Pulled Out Of Her Skirt In The Back Again And Force Myself To Stay Calm. "tuck Your Tail In, Little Duck," I Say, Smoothing The Blouse Back In Place. Prim Giggles And Give Me A Small "quack." "quack Yourself," I Say With A Light Laugh. The Kind Only Prim Can Draw Out Of Me.

Yeah, About That,” Says Peeta, Entwining His Fingers In Mine. “don’t Try Something Like That Again.” “or What?” I Ask. “or . . . Or . . .” He Can’t Think Of Anything Good. “just Give Me A Minute.

My Little Sister, Prim, Curled Up On Her Side, Cocooned In My Mother’s Body, Their Cheeks Pressed Together. In Sleep, My Mother Looks Younger, Still Worn But Not So Beaten-down. Prim’s Face Is As Fresh As A Raindrop, As Lovely As The Primrose For Which She Was Named. My Mother Was Very Beautiful Once, Too. Or So They Tell Me.

You Would Think After All The Hours I’d Spent With Gale– Watching Him Talk And Laugh And Frown– That I Would Know All There Was To Know About His Lips. But I Hadn’t Imagined How Warm They Would Feel Pressed Against My Own. Or How Those Hands [...] Could Entrap Me… I Vaguely Remember My Fingers, Curled Tightly Closed, Resting On His Chest.