"Wake up, training day." I shutter as soon as I feel his cold and chalky hand against my shoulder. It wasn't Haymitch. I pull away more when I realize that it's Peeta. No one can be trusted, but when it comes to Peeta, I can't even have a decent conversation with him anymore without him constantly checking his shoulder, his paranoia overpowering his human sense. Whenever I attempt talking to him, I wonder if Gale would have acted this way after the stunt I pulled last year. I also constantly ponder over what would have happened if Cinna hadn't packed the berries in my well constructed uniform. I would have died. I guess it doesn't matter anyway, because Peeta and Finnick are plotting against me. Everyday after practice, instead of going to the dorms, they plan in the washroom. I wish I could tell Gale, but even if I could, would I? Everything is so questionable and feeble. Sometimes I wish... I shut out my thoughts. I have to stay strong. For Gale. For Prim. For Peeta. Anyways, I know that if Gale heard, I would see the fresh scars. I shake my head. I can't bear the thought of him waking up at one a.m., stealing the rusty carving knife Fromm under his step and running to the woods to numb his pain. No, I can't. If I ever go back to district twelve, I'm going to steal that knife and bury it. I'm beginning to think that I may face this fate in two weeks.