The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.

As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!

I don’t want anyone with me today. Not even him. Some walks you have to take alone.

As we ride the elevator Gale finally says “You're still angry.” “And you're still not sorry,” I reply. "I will stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?” he asks. “No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion,” I tell him.

What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in.

Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.