So, yeah, just wrote this up really quick. Just watched the Super Bowl, and I'm just full of victories today! I won the coin toss, which means I get a free pizza, the Ravens won and I decided to cheer for them because I don't usually even watch football, and I won the coke chase! It's going well, I tell ya.

Anyway, this is small and bittersweet. I actually wrote part of it during Finals week on a piece of paper while running on no sleep and Red Bull. Had to change it around a bit, because some of it didn't even make readable sentences.


I open my eyes slowly and push myself up. They've finally taken the restraints off, but won't let me out of the room just yet. It's funny, hearing Plutarch; I heard him on the phone with Katniss once, talking about how I could feed myself. It sounds pathetic. I don't understand why any of them bother; it's not like she cares. She wants me in here. The nightmares weren't as bad tonight, though. She was only in a few.

I stretch out and yawn, and when I bring my hands back down, one lands on something smooth. I look down: it's a folded piece of paper, its edges torn at parts and some small holes from erasing too roughly. It's confusing, especially how it could have gotten here without me waking – any little noise wakes me now.

I decide to brush it off for the moment and read the note before I start questioning. The last thing I need is to be strapped down again. I blow out a breath and carefully unfold it.

Dear Peeta,

I saw you today. It was our first conversation since the Quarter Quell. The conversation did not exactly go well, and I already wonder if you even remember it, with how much the Capitol messed with your head. Being hijacked…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for how badly I've been treating you…or more so, my thoughts toward you. And I have hurt you so many times before. Seeing you like this, it has showed me how much I have taken advantage of you, and I tried to disguise this with hate so I didn't have to face my feelings. The guilt. The feeling Finnick pointed out to me before we had you back – if we really do have you back.

He said he knew my love for you was an act…but then he said that when you hit that force field, his opinion changed. It seems everyone knows how I feel but me. Even Snow seems to know, or else he would have just killed you. He would not have tortured you; wouldn't have made you forget how you feel about me, or felt. I know I deserve your hatred. I dragged you through an emotional hell and back. I don't deserve someone as good as you.

Gale's hinted that I care about you more than I know. I know it hurts him, but his honesty means a lot. I know that whenever I kissed him, it hurt you. But I hurt him, too, because he knows that I'm not really there. Either that or I catch myself thinking of you. How nice your lips feel on mine. Snow knew that the only way to break me was to take someone I love, and I'm sorry that he took you. I am also sorry that I didn't realize how I felt sooner. That you had been taken away before you knew.

People say that the most tragic part of your highjacking was you losing your love for me. The Star-Crossed Lovers broken apart. But they're wrong. The most tragic part is that they took away the one think that made you different. Hope. You would not be a part of their games; would not submit, no matter what they threw at you. They took away your free will. But, I'm starting to have faith that we will get you back, because I realize that you'd have faith for me. Your hope is what saved me all those years ago, and now I know you can bring that hope back to save yourself. In all honesty, you're one of the strongest people I know. Your mind, and your heart. This is how I know that you will be all right. It's my turn to have hope. I still have the pearl you gave me in the Quell; it's one of the things that have kept me sane. I think it's about time I tell you the truth.

Even now, I can't work up the nerves to write it down, so I hope this let you know.


I sit there, staring at this letter in my hands. There's no way she wrote this. This is just some cruel joke. Either that, or she wrote it to confuse me, like the mutt she is. I rip the letter up into shreds and throw the pieces on the ground, because I don't even want to look at them.

She's a lying mutt. Nothing more.

Um, so, yeah. Don't really have any afternotes, so...

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