It's been two months since the primroses that Peeta planted bloomed. I marveled at them now, the early morning sun making the dew drops on their bright yellow petals shimmer. I could smell the delicious aroma of fresh bread as it wafted towards me from the open windows of Peeta's house.
Peeta.
It's unbelievable that after everything we've fared and the torturous things he alone survived that he would be the one who came out on top. I haven't seen much of him since he planted the primroses, but I knew he was doing so much better than before. He baked me two fresh loaves of bread every morning and respectfully left them on my doorstep. I would stumble downstairs from my bed when I heard his loud footsteps nearing. I waited, barely breathing, behind the door until I heard the clink of the tray on the steps and his heavy footfalls disappearing, then I would dart out and grab them and run back upstairs, locking the door behind me.
Sometimes I would eat them both before Greasy Sae came to fix them with something, but she never minded. It was a feat that I was eating again, and I knew that she would never dare say anything that might send me into a relapse.
Sae would attempt to send me into town on days when I didn't feel like hunting. She'd cajole me out the door with a list of groceries and a handful of money, but no one ever let me pay for things. Despite my protests, I suppose getting free groceries was a small thank you from the people of District Twelve for "saving Panem".
It made me sick.
Occasionally, I'd see Peeta during one of my trips. He would smile cautiously, maybe give me a timid wave, and continue on, never pressuring me to do or say anything. On my best days the most I could offer was a nod in response or an awkward smile that happened so fast it probably looked like a mouth spasm.
He still had his flashbacks, and nightmares, too. Haymitch didn't need to tell me, but the condescending glare I got whenever we crossed paths told me that he knew, too. I could hear Peeta at night, through his open windows, screaming my name and his parents' names and the names of everyone we've lost.
Because of me.
I could hear him curse my name and scream and crash around when he was having a flashback, then go eerily quiet and then the worst; moan and sob because he felt incredibly guilty.
Because of me.
He never came to me, though. For help, questions, for anything. I can see it in his eyes- when I do see him- that he feels extremely guilty over everything.
Because of me.
Haymitch was wrong. I could live ten million lives and never deserve him. Not for a second.