hutchersonheart:

I’m more than just a piece in their games.

“I guess it was the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress, and your hair was in two braids instead of one.”

“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?”
“All right,” he whispers.

 “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our rubbish bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.”

‘That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.”

“We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then… for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.”

I just can’t afford to think like that.

“No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.