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“Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.” - The Hunger Games
The familiar electric shock as her lips press against mine, my hands quickly swiveling around her back and bringing her closer. An automatic, and I’m sure welcome, gesture considering the number of cameras and reporters watching on the last day of the victory celebrations in our hometown.
But then, I force my mind from the fog that’s overwhelming me - and repeat the mantra I’ve had over the last few days since we returned to district 12. Since she knocked the wind out of me that last day on the train. Since I’d found out the truth.
It’s just for the games. It’s just for the games.
I feel my face heating up just thinking of that day, her confession. And the flood of memories, now tainted, that I go over and over in my mind re-jigging them to mentally scold myself for being so foolish. They’ll think it’s the flush of love, and I feel humiliated all over again wondering what she’s thinking pulling away and seeing my reddened face. Pity? Disgust?
Perhaps I could blame my weakened and sickly state for my confessions and romance in the arena. What must she think now, that even after this betrayal, even after I know the truth, I still can’t stop myself from being drawn to her.
She smiles shyly and looks up into my eyes, I can feel my shoulders sag as I begin to melt into her gaze again.
It’s just for the games. It’s just the games, Peeta come on. I try to shake myself back to reality.
It’s just for the games.
At the end of the night, as we go to part ways and I let go of her hand, I feel her fingertips linger against mine for a second too long - she’s looking down at my hand with a forlorn expression and I catch her eye before she looks away quickly. Embarrassed? Confused? I couldn’t tell in the darkness - as if she hadn’t wanted to let go. Even without the cameras, prying eyes of the public or reporters - she didn’t want to let go.
It’s just for the games, just for the games. It’s just for the games. I tell myself again as I climb the steps in my home and collapse into a fitful sleep.