Why does Daddy cling to the back of chairs sometimes, Mommy? Why does daddy cry? Why does he scream, and yell? Why did he hit you, Mommy?

I used to ask all of this and more a few years ago, around the age of six. Blissfully not understanding, not knowing what my parents had faced. Flashbacks, Mom calls them. Today, she told me everything. I had been given a basic knowledge of Dad's problems and why they were here, but no background, or what caused them. But Mom told me.

"Kelleny, I'm going to tell you everything, right from the start. But do you promise not to tell your brother?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Twenty-five years ago, there were something called the Hunger Games."

"I know them, they teach about it in school."

"So you know my little sister was picked. I volunteered, because I knew she would die. And Daddy was picked too. Before we went to fight in the Hunger Games, your daddy told the world he loved me - on television. I thought he was lying, but he wasn't."

"They never told us that."

"I know. I pretended I loved him. I didn't then, I do now, see?"

"Yeah."

"In the arena, he tried to protect me. From everything. He got hurt very badly for it, but I saved him. We were the final two, and we thought we had won. But you know the rule allowing two tributes from the same district to win?" I nod. "They took that back. One of us had to die."

"But-"

"I pulled out nightlock - poisonous berries. We were about to commit suicide, both of us, when they gave back the rule. They'd rather two victors than none. We returned home, safely. But the Capitol and the people who ran the Games - Gamemakers - weren't happy. We had shown them up. They wanted us - especially me - to die." I gasp. "To get rid of us, they pulled out a quarter quell that was sure to kill. That was that the tributes were really victors. I had to go back into the arena. Me and your father."

"But you're alive. And Johanna." Mom talks to Johanna, and I like her. Funny, but sad. Rude, funny and sad. Just like Mom and Dad.

"Yes. Because the rebels who were beginning an uprising had a plan. I blew out the arena, and they rescued me and a few others."

"But - not Dad."

"No."

"That's why he's funny sometimes, then?"

"No. He was still protecting me, there's more honey."

"Okay." There are tears in Mom's eyes.

"Your father was taken by the Capitol, along with Johanna and Annie. They tortured him there. They beat him, and cut him, and burnt him, and electrocuted him. But then, they realised they could hurt him in more ways than physical. Do you know Tracker Jackers?"

"Yeah, you dropped a nest of them on the Career group and Dad."

"Yes. They used the venom of Tracker Jackers to confuse your dad, and then told him I killed his family, made him believe horrible things - lies - about me mostly. So that he'd see me as a huge threat, that he'd try to kill me. When we got him back, he tried to."

"Kill you?"

"Yes. He tried to strangle me. I was okay, after a while. They put him through therapy, and he got better - slowly. He's okay now, but he still sees these things sometimes. When he cries, he's telling himself I'm not dangerous, trying to stop himself, because that's hard. He cries because he remembers things like his time in prison too. He hangs on to the back of the chairs and things because it helps him focus, the pain tells him to stay, that he's safe. He screams, and yells, because he's angry at me. But the fake me, not the real me. But this is only sometimes, honey. Most of the time, he's the loving person he's always been. He loves me, and especially you two, and he's happy. Okay?"

"Yeah." I get up from the chair, and shuffle to my room. I have to think about this. As I'm thinking, Dad comes in.

"Hey honey. Do you want to go down the bakery, we've got cakes to ice and they don't do themselves, sadly." I agree and the day is normal. But three months later, Dad has a flashback.

It was unusually quiet when I when I went downstairs. Dad is usually up, baking or gardening or whatever takes his fancy at seven am. He's up, but he's not doing whatever he pleases. He's hanging onto the back of the sofa, teeth gritted, tears racing down his face. He doesn't acknowledge me at all. Instead he balls up his fists, hits the sofa a few times, and then begins to punch himselff hard, carelessly. The nose, the cheeks, his chest, and his stomach. I pull the fist away, taking the fingers and spreading the out. He wrenches his hand away and begins to slap himself fiercely. He starts to strangle himself and there's nothing I can do. I know he can't kill himself, just knock himself unconscious. Then, his hands will relax. He slumps over, not unconscious but woozy, onto the floor. He curls against the wall, cowering. He starts to whimper.

"Please. Please. Please. Please don't hurt me! He's screaming quietly, very quietly, his fist jammed into his mouth. I kneel beside him, speaking very quietly and very slowly.

"Shh. Shh. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm your daughter Kelleny. The rebels won the war and you're safe now. Katniss - Mom - loves you very much, and so do I and my brother. You're safe - safe - very safe now. I'll protect you."

He sits up, still fearful. "Will you?"

"Yes. You're in your home now, safe. You've got two children with Katniss, and are properly married. She loves you very much. This doesn't sound like anything Snow would say, does it? He can't say anything now, because he's dead."

He looks up, smiling slightly. "I remember." He wipes his eyes and nose, still shaking. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. We stay like that until he stops shaking. I give him a blanket and make him tea.

"Where's your mom?" he asks.

"I think she's gone hunting. Why?"

"She'll just worry if we tell her this happened. Why don't we pretend it never did, huh?"

I laugh, and nod. "Okay, I'll get breakfast."

Next time, though, it could be worse.