The Hunger Games ~ Peeta's POV

Chapter 16

Ch. 16

When I sleep, I dream. Not disturbing ones, not like the ones resulted from the Tracker Jacker venom. Sweet dreams, like milk and honey, making me loathe myself for waking up again when I do. I fall in and out of it, and it reminds me of how my mother would knit a scarf or two when she was in a good mood. In and out. In and out. The only difference is that her knitting was crooked.

I know I'm going to die here, now, or at least soon. I would almost be happy to, in this place I'm floating in. Where am I? I don't even know anymore. It's not like it even matters. The only thing that really matters is that I'm happy here. Ready to die. Eager, even. Wanting to stop the sharp pain coursing through my leg, making me cringe...

I snap open my eyes, dazed. Taking in my surroundings, I groan. I wish I could die in my peaceful dreamland, not clutching onto my leg in pain, gasping for breath. Not in the real world. Not here, in the arena.

Vaguely, as if from another world, a familiar voice booms above me. He's saying something about two tributes surviving the games, if they're from the same district. I feel a small spark of hope that maybe, just maybe Katniss and I can both live in these games. But I try to demolish it. I'm going to die, anyways. So why bother?

Then my peaceful dreamland takes control again and I'm out like a light.

The soft tit-tap of shoes on the rocks snaps me out of my sleep. Panicking, thinking it's Cato, I close my eyes and hold my breath anxiously. I think I hear someone whisper my name, but I can hardly hear it over the too-loud ringing in my ears. It's a very feminine voice, so it could only be...

Katniss!

I open my eyes just enough to make out her silhouette. Yep, it's Katniss alright. I muster up enough strength to say something, but it sounds choked and hoarse.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I mimic Haymitch.

"Peeta?" she whispers to me, "Where are you? Peeta?" She walks along the edge of the creek bank, and I close my eyes as she gets closer.

"Well," I say. "Don't step on me." She's nearly on top of me now; I doubt that her stepping on me would help in the least.

I open my eyes to look at her, and she gasps as she sees me. I give a light laugh, but it's all I can manage in my condition. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she examines me more closely.

"Close your eyes again," she orders, and I do. She inspects me for a moment. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

I smile, my eyes still shut. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die," she says solidly.

"Says who?" I say, and my voice cracks.

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," she declares happily. Huh, so it wasn't a dream.

My eyes snap open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me."

She reaches into her bright orange pack and pulls out a water bottle, giving me a drink. "Did Cato cut you?"

"Left leg," I confirm. "Up high."

"Let's get you into the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she says.

"Lean down a minute first," I tell her. She crouches beside me. Just because I'm about to die doesn't mean I can't goof off. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it."