"Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?" I say.
"I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says.
"You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down.
"It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I’m okay once I realize you’re here."
Volumnia: “Come let us go. This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioles, and this child like him by chance. Yet give us your dispatch. I am hushed, until our city be afire, and then I’ll speak a little.”
We’re clones! We’re someone’s experiment and they’re killing us off! Is that helpful?
waking up and realizing you still have more time to sleep
The odd thing about this form of communication is that you’re more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many… somethings.