That one word infuriates her beyond belief, pulls at emotions that are already running high and out of control, replaces grief with anger and rage and hate, which are all familiar feelings for Katniss. The line between them is thin enough to be negligible. They aren't directed at Jason, but he's there and he's refusing to leave, and she has no other outlet other than wanting to scream again, and again, and again. Even if she did now, it wouldn't help, because her throat's already clogged up with tears anyways.

She pulls herself into a sitting position, tiny hands bunched into fists as they rain down against his chest. Weak and ineffective against solid muscle and bone, they bounce right off, probably without even hurting him. But maybe that's the point. Katniss doesn't want to hurt him, she wants him to hurt her. Because she's still punishing herself inwardly, and probably always will be.

Go on, hit me back, her eyes seem to say. Her entire body is tensed for it.