“But it wasn’t until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I…” Finnick hesitates.
I think back to the arena. How I sobbed when Finnick revived Peeta. The quizzical look on Finnick’s face. The way he excused my behaviour, blaming it on my pretend pregancy.
“That you what?”
“That I knew I’d misjudged you. That you do love him…”
Sometimes when I’m alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.
Maybe I’m a crook for stealing your heart away And maybe I’m a crook for not caring for it And maybe I’m a bad, bad, bad, bad person
“Not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this arena,
trying to think my way out.”