Let me go!” I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. “I can’t,” he says.

You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me.

Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

Underground. Which I hate. Like mines and tunnels and 13. Underground, where I dread dying, which is stupid because even if I die aboveground, the next thing they'll do is bury me underground anyway.

He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing.

Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," I say. Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave your sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," says Peeta drily.

What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?