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daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition
of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what
my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch,
with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone,
no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don’t
want to end up like that.
“But you won’t be alone,” I whisper to myself. I have my
mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then . . . I don’t
want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother
passed away. I know I’ll never marry, never risk bringing a
child into the world. Because if there’s one thing being a victor
doesn’t guarantee, it’s your children’s safety. My kids’ names
would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else’s. And
I swear I’ll never let that happen.
The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the
cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into
if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who
can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes
him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there
are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least,
we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve
saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always
be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything
beyond that though . . . and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me
watching Peeta, all the way from District 12.
Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s
shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on
me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.
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