Jan 19, 2015
"How do you not like bread?"
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"How do you not like bread?"
"I don't care. Talk to me."
"What do you want?" Peeta grin his jaw tight, the drugs they had him on were making it hard to move much less talk.
"It's just a cake." Not a big deal. He was trying to bake again, it kept his hands busy.
"What do you want?"
"You can tell me what's wrong. Being silent about it isn't helping you."
"I'm ..."
he was going to say fine but it was all too fresh
"better."
Peeta decided was the right word.