"And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead … Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people ...

So what should we do with our last few days?"

If I'm honest with myself, really brutally honest, I did it for me. Because his embrace offers something beyond comfort and security. There is something tantalizing there, something I've never experienced but desperately want more of. Something I can't name … a foreign kind of hunger, which gnaws at me ever more steadily as I stay in his presence.

It's him.

And so, when he walks me to my room after dinner on the day of our private sessions, my hand stills in his. I squeeze his fingers tighter without thought, and he mirrors my action, grinning at me. And when my eyes lock on his, when the shock of blue seems to make something constrict in my chest, I know. I know what I want – no, what I have to do before I die.

But I can't. It would be the most terrible, selfish thing to do. I can barely let myself think of what life will be like for Peeta after these games. It's still awkward to think of someone like him, someone so good, loving me so completely. The only thing I do know is that I don't deserve it, and that I can't change it. He's said it in so many ways, never pressuring me to return it, never fawning over me, simply … factual. Peeta loves me.

I need you to make love to me.

The thought flashes across my mind instantaneously, irrevocably. Like his love, the idea is irrefutable and present., and has been there, hidden, for who knows how long.

I need you to make love to me.

He looks at me slightly quizzically, and I know he has seen something in my eyes. All I can do is hope that it's too dark for him to see me blush, to possibly guess what I am thinking. If anyone can, it's Peeta.

Or Gale …

The thought of Gale knowing my feelings is like a thunderclap, loud and intrusive, shattering the moment. I drop my gaze from Peeta's and study my shoes.

What moment? Between you and yourself?

Which is perfectly true. Even if Peeta guessed what I was thinking, if he knew what I had been about to ask him to do …

He would say no.

My heart sinks at the realization that Peeta, good hearted, upstanding, sweet Peeta, would say no. Not because he wouldn't want to, but because of me. He'll think he's taking advantage of me, using me before we face our deaths. Or, I suppose, he could be thinking of himself. How he couldn't bear to be with me in that way, and possibly watch me die. Perhaps it would be better if we saw nothing of each other until the games. Wouldn't that be better for Peeta, in the long run? He wouldn't lose a girl who loved him back … he would lose a girl who was indifferent to him. Who pretended to love him to save her own life, but who, in reality, cared nothing for him. Wouldn't it be easier for him to let me die then?

No.

Peeta will love me no matter what. I've pushed him away before, ignored him, like after the cameras finally left. It will be horrible for him no matter what.

I cringe at my own narcissism, but remember, finally, my pledge to keep him alive this time around. This, at least, makes me a bit more worthy. Maybe not deserving of his love, but surely deserving of his … of his …

Just the thought makes me flush, makes me feel heat in my stomach like never before and … a wetness, I realize, below. The things I would let him do to me, if he wanted …

Anything. I would let him see, touch … do … anything he wants.

But of course, for Peeta, it wouldn't be like that. It wouldn't be just raw fucking. For Peeta, it would be an act of love. I force myself to meet his eyes, though their warmth does nothing but increase whatever fire began burning in me with the realization that I wanted him.

And suddenly I can't stand it anymore. I have to ask him. But I don't know how. How do you ask someone to … to do that to you? Is there etiquette for that? And so I say the only words I seem capable of forming, hoping my true intentions are clear beneath them.

"So what should we do with our last few days?"