LIAM DRAGS ME INTO his room, locking the door behind us.

"Let go of me," I protest.

He releases my arm, then grabs my face between his hands. I flinch, uncomfortable with being manhandled.

"Listen to me," he says firmly. "You are going to have to learn to get control of yourself."

I open my mouth but he cuts me off.

"He deserved it: Yes. But you're in the Hunger Games; you're going to have to deal with a lot worse than Padraic-without letting it get to you."

Grabbing his wrists, I pry my face away.

"I didn't ask for this," I spit.

Liam laughs bitterly, turning to the window. "You think I did? You think any of us did?" He glances back at me, lips twisted. "You're theirs now; a part of their Game."

Ever fiber in me rebels, denying this. They don't own me. It doesn't matter that they could order my death on a whim, wipe out my entire District with an order, like they did to 13. They can't have me.

"You need to decide," Liam says, more calmly this time, "whether you're going to play or not."

I scoff at the apparent stupidity of his statement. "I don't want to die."

And once I say it, I realize how true it is. I'm scared. Terrified. I could be dead within a matter of days.

Liam turns, angling his body towards me. "You'll never get anywhere playing not to die. That's not how the Games work." He leans forward, inches away from my face. "You have to play to win. Or not play at all."

I look away, unable to hold his unforgiving gaze.

I don't want this. I don't want to become a fixture of their morbid show; dressed up, acting for the cameras. But what is the alternative? Death?

Two impossible choices.

"If you decide to play, then you have to do everything I say." Liam leans back, out of my personal space. "I'll give you until tomorrow morning to decide."

He opens the door and stands there. I stare at him for a moment before realizing that he's holding it open for me.

"No fighting with the Tributes," he mutters under his breath as we head back to the dining room. "It's illegal."

I round the corner, immediately spotting Padraic's smug smirk. Staring him down, I take my seat across from Licinia and pick up my knife. His expression flickers, darting down to the utensil in my hand and I feel a rush of something. Satisfaction? Victory? All I know is that, for the first time in my life, I feel genuine hate for another human being.

Dinner is an awkward affair. Licinia tries to get a conversation going with Julinia about our costumes, but ends up just pushing food around on her plate and downing multiple glasses of wine, constantly refilled by the Avoxes. I finish my food and leave the table without dallying.

Later, lying in bed, I mull over Liam's words.

Playing not to die...

Or playing to win...

I don't want to become a puppet of the Capitol, pretending to be something I'm not as every bit of myself is smothered and covered in makeup and fancy clothing.

But, in the end, I'm human.

And I want to live.