"Peeta? Where's Peeta?"

It's all I've been saying since I left the arena, the only words that leave my lips - the only thing I need to know.

As soon as we arrived back at the Capitol, I was taken to some sort of hospital and hooked up to a drip. I have not been told anything. Every time someone enters the room to attend to me I fire this same question at them. They remain silent, as though their tongues have been cut out. Which is probably about right knowing this fucktard world.

Man, I've had it with this life. I can't usually stand self-pitying people, but right now I'm right there with them: leading the victim parade and waving my white flag.

Ginny will be fine. She has Harry. They'll look after one another. If Peeta has somehow not made it, then I'm going to find a way to top myself, with or without nightlock. I don't want to go back to District 12 without him.

Which is strange because before all of this happened, I barely acknowledged the boy with the bread. But there's no denying that we've formed an unbreakable bond over the past... what - days? weeks? I have no idea how long ago the reaping was, how long I've been living this absolute nightmare with only Peeta as the light in the all consuming darkness.

The door slides open. I sit up at once as the once handsome, dirty blonde haired man enters.

"Haymitch!" I say at a rush, so ridiculously pleased to see someone who may actually give me some answers. "Peeta - is he alive?"

Haymitch nods and I want to weep with relief. The tight knot of anxiety that I've been carrying around with me loosens.

"Can I see him?"

Haymitch shakes his head and I begin to wonder if he's had his tongue cut out too. I wait anxiously as he sits on the edge of my bed and takes my hand. I hate this. I hate that he's looking at me as though he's about to give me some terrible news.

"You've made me so proud out there, sweetheart," he finally says.

"Why can't I see Peeta? Is he okay?"

"Peeta's fine. He just needs some medical attention, like yourself. You're both malnourished and dehydrated and have experienced substantial blood loss."

Okay, I can cope with this. But it's not enough. I need to see him for myself.

"You can't see him until he's all fixed up," Haymitch adds, clearly sensing I'm about to ask again. "President Snow wants your reunion to be in front of a live audience."

"What? That's ridiculous." I scoff. "Why? We won the Games, we're free. The Capitol no longer owns us."

Haymitch throws his head back and gives a manic laugh. "That's a good one, sweetheart," he says, wiping his eyes.

I'm feeling frustrated and want to slap his fucktard face. But I don't out of fear he'll leave without telling me more.

"Veronica," he says, his expression suddenly serious as he uses the name my mother gave me, "do you think I'm free? I'm never free. And neither are you and Peeta. You don't win the Games. You survive them. And then you're going to have to accept that year after year, you'll be mentoring two children before sending them to their deaths until it's all you can do not to go insane."

He pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a long, hard swig of what I can only assume is hard liquor.

And suddenly I can understand why he drinks.

I would feel sorry for him if I wasn't feeling so sorry for myself. Because he's right. Peeta and I cannot escape this. We should have done a Romeo and Juliet and swallowed the nightlock berries when we had the chance.

"On the bright side," Haymitch says, screwing the cap back on his flask and smacking his lips together, "we'll be working together from now on. The Golden Trio! We'll be neighbours, too. About time, it's been bloody lonely over at Victors' Village by myself all these years."

He gets up and goes to the door. "Oh, by the way, the Capitol are pissed at your little stunt with the berries. So I suggest you play on that whole love thing. Tell them that your love for Peeta drove you to insanity, that you couldn't possibly live a life without him. Think you can do that, sweetheart?"

Wordlessly, I nod.

But I won't be playing, not really. Because, the truth is, I really can't live without Peeta.

*****

"And here we have, the nation's favourite sweethearts, REUNITED!"

I look around, blinded by the lights beaming down on me. It hasn't helped that I've come up from the darkness below the stage. I am looking for him, for Peeta, but I cannot see anything.

I hate this. I hate that this couldn't be done in private. I want to tell Peeta what he truly means to me, but not in front of a crowd like an act.

And then suddenly there he is, looking clean and brand new. But it is his smile which draws me to him, and the way he holds out his arms as I run to him. I cling to him tight and without hesitation. He smells all fresh and different to in the arena, but he feels the same. He feels like my Peeta.

"Oh, Ronnie," he says, although I can barely hear him over the roar of the audience.

It would be a sweet moment if this wasn't being witnessed by millions of people cheering deafeningly.

I lift my face and stare into his blue eyes, locking my gaze on his, trying to silently tell him that this is real, that everything I feel is genuine.

"AW, CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?"

I wish I had my bow and arrow so I could shoot that stupid Caesar Flickerman right off the stage.

Peeta lets go of me and grasps my hand. I want to leave. I want to get away from all these eyes and just lie with him somewhere in the peace and quiet. I want to press my ear against his chest and allow the steady rhythm of his heart to lull me into a peaceful sleep.

But, instead, Peeta leads me over to the two-seater sofa on the stage. As soon as we sit, he curls his arm around my waist, pulling me protectively to his side. It's all I can do not to press my face into his shirt and hide away from all of this.

I allow Peeta's presence to calm me. I allow him to take charge and do the talking as Caesar fires question after question at us. But I can tell this won't wash with the garish presenter who aims his questions more and more towards me.

"You're very quiet tonight, Girl on Fire," Caesar says, "anything you'd like to add about how you felt when you realised your heart returned Peeta's feelings?"

Okay, I'm seriously annoyed that this is what they are so fixated on. They don't give a flying fuck about how all the murder has mentally scarred and traumatised me for life, how I'll never be able to close my eyes without seeing Rue die in my arms over and over again.

But I remember Haymitch's words, and I take a deep breath, focusing on Peeta who is looking at me with such adoration.

Making my voice as sickly sweet as possible, and trying my hardest to look all coy and bashful, I say, "I knew I loved him the moment I realised that I couldn't and wouldn't ever leave the arena without him. Without him, I'd rather be dead."

It has the desired effect. The audience actually sighs as Caesar fans his face with his cue cards.

Peeta entwines his fingers with mine, smiling down at me with an expression so full of love, it actually hurts my heart.

"I feel the same," he says, "but you have me now. I'm not going anywhere."

I return his smile, but I can feel mine is more strained. I worry that Peeta will take this the wrong way.

I am so overwhelmed at being on this stage, for lying, yet at the same time not lying to Peeta, that I find - to my horror - I am unable to suppress a sob. The audience mistakes my tears for joy.

"I think you may need to get this one to bed," Caesar says, to the whoops and whistles of the audience. "It's probably about time you two lovebirds consummated this thing. Tell me, were you ever tempted to get a little extra action on those cold nights inside that sleeping bag?"

I cannot believe what I am hearing. I actually feel sickened. And I can tell Peeta is too by the way he suddenly tenses.

"No, not really," Peeta says, his tone somewhat stiff. "You know, on account of us trying to stay alive and all."

Caesar coughs awkwardly, and I am truly glad when he chooses that moment to wrap the interview up.

Peeta never lets go of my hand as we stand up and leave the stage. We hurry straight towards the elevators, as though afraid we will be called back for an encore. I am so glad to finally be alone with him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me to him tightly as the elevator rockets us upwards.

"They wouldn't let me see you after we left the arena," I murmur as I fiercely cling to him, pressing my face into his neck, "I just wanted to know you were okay, to see you for myself. Not on the stage, in front of them."

"I know," he sighs heavily, holding me a fraction tighter, "but we're here now, and hey - we're finally alone and no longer being watched."

I lift my face, and smile at him. My heart gives a flutter at the thought of being properly alone with him. However, at that second the elevator comes to a halt and the door slides open into the penthouse.

We are immediately greeted by an explosion of noise as the District 12 clan all gather round to excitedly congratulate us. My hand is ripped from Peeta's as Effie pulls me to her and engulfs me in a heavily scented hug. Behind her, Octavia, Flavius and Venia are all shrieking with delight.

As pleased as I am to see everyone, I did not want to let Peeta go. I am not ready for that. I am desperate to be somewhere private with him so I can talk to him openly and honestly from the heart before facing everyone else.

"Great job out there, sweetheart," Haymitch roars loudly, patting a hand down on my shoulder once Effie finally releases me to hug Peeta. "Very believable. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay."

I see Peeta freeze out of the corner of my eye.

No. No, no, no.

"It was just an act?" he asks quietly, looking from me to Haymitch, his face falling.

"Uh- maybe we should leave these kids to catch up," Haymitch says quickly with a grimace. "They must have a lot to talk about."

He throws me an apologetic look before he departs, dragging Effie and the others with him, leaving me and Peeta alone.

I force myself to look up at Peeta and wish I hadn't. His face is awash with hurt and confusion as he looks to me for answers.

"Peeta, I can explain-"

"Did Haymitch coach you to play up to the cameras? And don't lie to me. I deserve the truth."

He does deserve the truth. So I nod. Peeta looks utterly crushed. He takes a step away from me.

"I was doing it to save you," I say quickly, wanting to get everything out, "when Haymitch told me about the petition-"

"Petition? What petition?"

"The one the people were signing to get two tributes to win the Games if they are from the same district."

"You knew about that before we entered the arena?"

Oh fuck, this sounds so bad. Slowly, I nod.

"But Peeta, you need to understand." I say desperately. But I can see Peeta won't understand anything I have to say anymore.

"You used me," he says, his voice hollow. "You and Haymitch both did."

"We were trying to save you!"

"You both think I'm so pathetic that I can't save myself?"

"Well, I'm not being funny, Peeta," I say before I can stop myself, "but you would be kind of dead right now if it wasn't for me!"

Wrong thing to say. Peeta looks furious. No, hurt. No, both.

"I poured my heart out to you, and this whole time you were laughing at me. My god you can act, because I believed those kisses were real."

"They were! Well," I add, knowing I need to be completely honest, "kind of... eventually."

Peeta's jaw drops open as he takes in what I'm saying. He shakes his head wordlessly. "Ronnie, is anything you've said to me real?"

"Yes!" I say, quickly grabbing on to this fact. "It's true that I didn't want to leave the arena without you! That was real, Peeta! You and me, whatever this bond is that we have now, it's real."

But Peeta just shakes his head again, looking sad. "But it isn't what I thought it was at all."

"I thought you knew Haymitch wanted us to play the romance up for the cameras." I plead, wanting desperately for him to understand. "After your interview on that final night, he told me you did me a favour, remember?"

But Peeta just looks at me, his face darkening.

"Yes, I do remember. But that's the thing Ronnie, I never thought you would stoop so low as to play that game. We could have still done this if you had come up to me and said, 'Hey Peeta, nice bread, but not my type. Let's get through this as allies, okay?' What the fuck did you think playing with my feelings would achieve?"

"Because Haymitch is right," I say, driving a hand through my hair in exasperation. "The Capitol are dangerous. It's better for them to believe that our motives were just about being crazy in love, and nothing else."

Peeta looks as though I've just slapped him. I want to take back my words but I know it's too late.

"What else would it be about?" he says, a slight tremor to his voice.

"Haymitch is worried that after the thing with the berries, they see me as a threat. Peeta, if they suspect anything like that then my sister could be in danger. I can't put her life at risk, you understand?"

Peeta looks torn. "I just need to know, Ronnie. Was that just a stunt? With the berries? Or was it because you genuinely didn't want to live without me?"

I hesitate. I don't mean to, but I want to be honest, and that means stopping to think about my true motives.

It's enough for Peeta, however. He turns around and storms off and I am too ashamed to try and stop him.

The distant slam of his bedroom door shatters my heart.

******