Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of make my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

I go back to my room and lie under the covers, trying not to think of Gale and thinking of nothing else.

Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave.

Yeah, about that,” says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. “Don’t try something like that again.” “Or what?” I ask. “Or . . . or . . .” He can’t think of anything good. “Just give me a minute.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his word. This is probably overdue anyway since he’s right, we are supposed to be madly in love.

I know. I was hoping," I say. "Exactly. Because you're desperate," says Haymitch. I don't argue because, of course, he's right.

What do you think?" he asks. "I hate them," I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?" "I see them every night," he says.