"Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

I look up at Haymitch in surprise. "What?"

This information has unsettled me despite feeling I should be relieved that Peeta has chosen to distance himself from me.

Up until now, we have been training side by side. I wonder if my score with the Gamemakers has made him despise me somehow. You see, for part of the training, each tribute had fifteen minutes to impress the Gamemakers with their strongest skill. During my turn, they were all more interested in a dead pig they were about to feast upon than watching me.

So, I made the fucktards notice.

And it worked.

However, it seems that Peeta is now upset with me for outperforming him.

Well, boo hoo Peeta Mellark, be a pathetic, sulky prat. I have a game to win, and I will not let crybabies like you drag me down.

"There's no hope," Haymitch sighs heavily after four hours of coaching me on interview techniques, "you're about as likable as a dead slug."

Fucking charming! I glower at him as he drains a glass of vodka. "People do like me. If you must know, I have someone begging to marry me back home."

Haymitch sprays vodka everwhere. "Fuck me. You kept that one quiet. Well, let's use it then. The audience love a tragic love story. It makes them want to root for you."

"No." I say at once, shaking my head. "I refuse to bring it up."

"Well then you die, sweetheart."

Ugh, I hate it when he calls me that. "I don't care. I'd sooner die than exploit my private life like that."

Haymitch squints at me. I can almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain from where I sit on the other sofa.

"What?" I snap. "I mean it, there's nothing you can say that will change my mind. I will smile as hard as I can, and maybe even twirl in whatever pretty dress I am forced to wear, but I will never ever talk about home."

Haymitch, to my surprise, doesn't push it. "Okay, whatever you say. Anyway, our time is up. It's Peeta's turn next."

"Fine." I mutter, and quickly leave for my bedroom before I can bump into the Baker Boy.

The following day, I am indeed beautified for the interview.

Cinna doesn't disappoint in the dress area. I hate having shallow thoughts, but I can't help but feel utterly beautiful as I stand once again in front of the full length mirror and see my reflection.

"Fuck-" I breathe, my wide eyes roaming impressively up and down the fiery red dress made to fit my body, and my body only.

Cinna chuckles behind me. "Maybe less of the cursing when you're on camera. Haymitch would definitely not approve."

This, as Haymitch has pointed out at least a hundred times already, is our last chance to impress the sponsors. And by the looks of it, Cinna has done much of the heavy lifting for me in that department.

Good God, I hope the sponsors are shallow.

We line up behind the other tributes. I train my eyes straight ahead as much as I can. But when the small girl from District 11 glances back at me and smiles, I find I cannot help but smile back. The girl called Rue reminds me so much of Ginny that I have to blink my eyes before tears can come, and I look determinedly back up ahead.

Don't get close. Don't ever get close.

Behind me, Peeta stands. I sense by the way he shuffles his feet he is just as nervous as me. We have not exchanged a single word since Peeta has asked to be trained separately.

But right now, at this moment as we await our turn for our interview, I want to so desperately turn around and seek some sort of comfort from him - even if it's just a shared look simply acknowledging that we both know how the other is feeling.

However, I close my eyes and conjure up my sister's face. Ginny. I am doing all of this for Ginny. Stay strong. I need to stay strong for her. Peeta is the enemy and he can fuck right off and die.

If only I can believe my own words.

*****

I am twirling. Fire flames around me. The audience's cheers are deafening.

"Our very own GIRL ON FIRE!" Caesar roars.

Breathless, I leave the stage and Haymitch throws his arms around me. "That's my sweetheart!" He hollers jubiantly, hugging me tight. "You killed it out there! You killed them!"

Ha! If only that were true.

"Oh, Ronnie," Effie trills, clapping her hands together, "you were simply radiant! Who would have thought?"

I glare up at her as Caesar loudly introduces Peeta to the stage.

We all fall silent as we turn to the monitor backstage and watch as Peeta strides confidently onto the stage, carrying his charm and style with him as naturally as a bee pollinates a flower.

"So, Peeta," Caesar says after they have shared a joke about smelling like roses, "do tell us, is there a special someone waiting for you at home?"

I watch as Peeta's gaze drops for a second. He shifts in his chair before looking back up to the host.

"No. No, not really," he says quietly, breathing out a shy smile. His eyes flick to the camera briefly and then he looks away. He swallows.

"Handsome man like you?" Caesar says with a laugh. "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

"Well," Peeta pauses as he swallows again. "There is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

The audience murmurs sympathetically. Caesar smiles, his grin so wide, it shows off all his pearly white teeth. "She have another fellow?"

I feel as though I am holding my breath as I stare intently at the screen, my eyes not blinking once.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her." Peeta says.

"So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"That's the thing, though," Peeta says, giving his shoulders a heavy lift. "Winning won't help in my case."

Caesar looks shocked. "Why ever not?"

My vision blurs. My heart is in my throat. I know what Peeta's going to say before he even says it. And I silently plead and beg for him to stop.

Peeta looks straight at the camera, and it's as though he's looking right at me.

"Because," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "she came here with me."

The audience gasps. A hand smacks my shoulder. But it's not that which has winded me.

"Genius!" Haymitch laughs, smacking me once again. "I knew that boy wouldn't let me down!"

I'm still trying to catch my breath when Peeta runs backstage to join us. By this point I am searingly angry, with no thought other than to hurt him.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I scream in his face, slamming him up against the wall. "WHAT WAS WITH THAT BULLSHIT OUT THERE?!"

He looks shocked. Confused, even. But he doesn't fight back, doesn't even attempt it.

"Stop it." Haymitch yells as he grabs me from behind and drags me off him. "He did you a favour."

"He made me look weak!" I yell.

"He made you look desirable!" Haymitch snarls back, pushing his face down in mine. "And in your case, sweetheart, you'd do well to play along. The Capitol thrives on a good love story and what better story than this? I can sell the star-crossed lovers from District 12."

I throw him my filfiest look. "We're not star-crossed lovers."

"Haymitch is right," Cinna says, quickly intervening with his calm demeanor. "This is the best angle to play if you want any chance of survival."

I feel frustrated, hurt, and humiliated. Effie grabs my arm and quickly coaxes me towards the elevator. "Come now, let's get you upstairs so you can get some rest before the big day. It's been an emotional time of late."

As she pushes me through the door, I steal a glance back at Peeta, but he is looking down at his feet, determinedly not meeting my eyes.

******

I cannot sleep. Too much is racing through my mind. For hours I toss and turn in my bed, but it is just no use.

The morning will bring the first day of the Hunger Games and the idea fills me with complete and utter terror.

Will Peeta try and kill me the second we are released into the arena? Will I try and kill him?

I wonder if we will get a chance to interact before we go in? The regret I feel at lashing out at him feels like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.

Haymitch is right - Peeta had done me a favour by pretending to have a major crush on me. But I hadn't been able to look past my hurt and humiliation to thank him.

I glance at the clock. 3:05am. Frustrated, I decide to get out of bed and go for a walk.

The penthouse is in darkness as I tiptoe through it. I decide against switching on the lights as I do not want to draw anyone's attention to my late night wanderings.

I notice the door to the rooftop is open ajar, and I know straightaway that Peeta is up there.

Quietly, I creep up the steps leading to the rooftop, and sure enough, there he is, leaning against the railing and looking up at the star filled night sky.

"It was meant as a compliment, you know," he says without glancing back at me. "I never wanted to upset you."

Sighing, I move across the roof and join him, leaning against the railing next to him.

"I was just taken by surprise," I murmur, following his gaze up into the night sky. "It would have been nice to have been in on it."

Peeta finally tears his eyes away from the stars and looks down at me, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "In on what? You mean Haymitch's plan to present us as star-crossed lovers? I mean... yeah, I could see how that would work in getting us sponsors. But I don't think he came up with that until tonight."

It's my turn to frown. "Haymitch didn't tell you to say all that up there?"

"No, Ronnie. He just told me to play up being funny and charming. That other stuff... it just sort of slipped out. Anyway, none of that matters now, not after tomorrow."

Our eyes lock for a moment. The adam's apple bobs in his throat and he looks away.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say.

We lapse into a comfortable silence, the both of us looking back up at the stars in the sky.

"I guess you couldn't sleep either, huh?" Peeta eventually asks.

I shake my head. "I can't stop thinking about tomorrow. About what it will be like. How the others will be. And if it came to it... would I be able to kill?"

There is a moment of silence as Peeta takes in my words, quietly contemplating his own words to me.

"I don't want the Games to change me," he eventually says, his voice quiet and morose. "I mean, I know I'm a goner. But I don't want to die not being me. Does that make sense?"

"You mean you won't kill anyone?"

Peeta shrugs. "Maybe, if I had to. I don't want to go down without a fight, at least."

"Would you kill me?"

He stills at my question. "No, Ronnie. I could never kill you. But I'd let you kill me, if we were the last ones left."

"You'd die for me?"

A beat.

"Like I said, I don't want to die not being me. Goodnight, Ronnie."

I close my eyes as I take in his words.

Eventually, I whisper, "Goodnight, Peeta."

But when I look up, he's already gone.

*****