I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.
“But it wasn’t until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I…” Finnick hesitates.
I think back to the arena. How I sobbed when Finnick revived Peeta. The quizzical look on Finnick’s face. The way he excused my behaviour, blaming it on my pretend pregancy.
“That you what?”
“That I knew I’d misjudged you. That you do love him…”
“Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. ”It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.”
“I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.”
They can pump whatever they want into my arm, but it takes more than that to keep a person going once she’s lost the will to live.