One hand automatically touches my neck, against bruises that were faded enough they were barely visible at all. Peeta had done this, just like he had done a lot of things that he'd never dream of normally and I wonder if I should stop there. Leave out the hijacking and all the rest that came after it. "No, you don't understand," I tell him, and even as my voice becomes rough from frustration I know that is isn't his fault. How could he know? None of us expected it. I could never have thought that Peeta could be broken in the way he was.

Just thinking about how he will never be the same again hurts enough to make me catch my breath. There were traces of him still left, of course, and they pushed through the madness at times. When I'd kissed him, he said he'd always stay.

Why do I feel as though I've lost him already? For the second time.

"There's more, and it's worse," but it isn't my right to decide what he hears. "Do you want me to tell you?" Let the choice be in Peeta's hands. I've decided enough for him already. So has the Capitol, and President Snow when they tried to change who he was.

Let him choose, for once.