The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Twenty

 Katniss' eyes glimmer dangerously, and I know what she's about to say before she says it.

        "Let's get this down you."

        I scoff and eye the broth dubiously. "Little to no chance of that happening."

        "It was sent by Haymitch,"Katniss says, "how can you refuse?"

        "How can I indeed..." I mutter.

        "You might not feel like it now, but your body will thank you later."

        "By spewing up my guts!"

        Ignoring my comment, Katniss persists, "Surely it's better to drink this than starve?"

        "I'd rather starve-"

        "Come on, Peeta!" she says, rather harshly. "If you don't drink this, you'll die!"

        "Isn't that what everyone wants anyway? I won't be a burden anymore." And, I add silently, my body would finally succeed in finishing me off. It is ironic that what's keeping me alive is trying so desperately to kill me.

       "You're not a burden!" she whines. "Stop being so silly. I want you to live. If you were to d- please, have some. Please!"

        I look at her again, and feel a pang of guilt as I notice her expression.

        I weaken. "Okay. Just a sip."

        Immediately Katniss is crouching at my side, holding the pot to my lips. I take care to drink no more than one mouthful- and immediately regret it. I don't know what he's put in there, but it's possibly the rankest thing I've tasted in the Arena- and that's saying something. Showing this, I purse my lips together in a grimace and shake my head. "It's absolutely vile!" I exclaim.

        "Well it's not meant to taste nice- it's meant to build you up." Katniss peers into the bowl. "Parsnips, carrots, swede... I think that's a dumpling floating in there?"

        I attempt to push the bowl away, and succeed only in spilling some on the floor.

        "Peeta!"

        I say nothing but flash her a disinterested glance.

        "Look: you're going to drink this. All of this. I'll hurt you if I have to. And we're staying here until the bowl is licked clean." She's lost her temper, and in response, I laugh, though it quickly turns into a cough.

        "I think you're more bitter than the soup!"

        "Good. So, let's try again, shall we?"

        "Uh-uh. You may scare me, but the idea of swallowing that vile stuff is scarier."

        "If you don-" Then she stops and tries a different tactic: she sits next to me, draping an arm around my back, and places the soup on the floor for a moment. I watch it like a hawk in case some of it ends up in my mouth without me noticing. "Peeta." I cannot help but feel this is the calm before a storm. "I can't begin to imagine the pain you're going through right now. But I know how I feel, and I'll be much happier if you get some soup in you. I couldn't bear it if you died, knowing I could have stopped it, if only you'd drunk this!"

        I respond with stony silence, and just as I shut my eyes, willing sleep to overpower me, I feel her lips on mine. My eyes open again.

        "Do it for me?"