I Don't Know What It Is With

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 Here, Not Dead By The Stream As I'd Thought. So Glad I Don't Have To Face Cato Alone.

Because It Doesn't Matter Anymore, And Because I'm So Desperately Lonely I Can't Stand It.

I Thought He Wanted It, Anyway," I Say. "not Like This," Haymitch Says. "he Wanted It To Be Real.

Want A Sugar Cube?" He Asks In His Old Seductive Voice. That's How We Met, With Finnick Offering Me Sugar. Surrounded By Horses And Chariots, Costumed And Painted For The Crowds, Before We Were Allies. Before I Had Any Idea What Made Him Tick. The Memory Actually Coaxes A Smile Out Of Me. "here, It Improves The Taste," He Says In His Real Voice, Plunking Three Cubes Into My Cup.

Whatever It Takes To Break You.