The Awful Thing Is That

Better Not To Give In To It.

I Cover My Face With My Arms Because This Isn't Happening. It Isn't Possible. For Someone To Make Peeta Forget He Loves Me . . . No One Can Do That.

My Death Could, In Fact, Save Him. If It Can't, No Matter. It's Enough To Die Of Spite. To Punish Haymitch, Who, Of All The People In This Rotting World, Has Turned Peeta And Me Into Pieces In His Games. I Trusted Him. I Put What Was Precious In Haymitch's Hands. And He Has Betrayed Me.

My Words Hang In The Air. I Look To The Screen, Hoping To See Them Recording Some Wave Of Reconciliation Going Through The Crowd. Instead I Watch Myself Get Shot On Television.

But It's Not Safe And I Can Feel Him Slipping Away, So I Just Get Out One More Sentence. "stay With Me." As The Tendrils Of Sleep Syrup Pull Me Down, I Hear Him Whisper A Word Back But I Don't Catch It.