The Hunger Games (Hunger Games, #1)

by Suzanne Collins

But instead of fleeing the room, the girl closes the door behind her and goes to the bathroom. She comes back with a damp cloth and wipes my face gently, then cleans the blood from a broken plate off my hands. Why is she doing this? Why am I letting her? “I should have tried to save you,” I whisper. She shakes her head. Does this mean we were right to stand by? That she has forgiven me? “No, it was wrong,” I say. She taps her lips with her fingers then points to my chest. I think she means that I would just have ended up an Avox, too. Probably would have. An Avox or dead. I spend the next hour helping the red-headed girl clean the room. When all the rubbish has been dropped down a disposal and the food cleaned away, she turns down my bed. I crawl in between the sheets like a five-year-old and let her tuck me in. Then she goes. I want her to stay until I fall asleep. To be there when I wake up. I want the protection of this girl, even though she never had mine.