Disclaimer: The characters belong to Susan Collins. The plot belongs to me. I borrowed some passages from Mockingjay and I have put them in bold. This story is sort of an epilogue within an epilogue but it easily picks up where the final chapter leaves off. Enjoy!

I wake early in the morning to discover I am alone in my bed. I check the clock. 6:30. Peeta must have headed to the bakery early this morning.

I swing my legs out into the cool morning air and make my way to the kitchen where I see that Peeta has left me a note. I sit at the table and Buttercup comes trotting over to me. He rubs himself against my legs, purring instead of hissing at me.

It's been nearly two years, but that amount of time has had no effect on my overwhelming emotions and nightmares. In fact, I'm convinced that I could live forever and my nightmares would never dissipate. It's the same for Peeta. For the most part, he manages pretty well. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. In those moments, I am as helpless as I was when he was electrocuted in the Arena. I watch him and relive horrors of my own until I feel his arms around me.

There is nothing to trigger my fear but being alone in my house- where I swear that I can still hear Prim walking around laughing, talking to Buttercup, humming absentmindedly. Prim as she should have been. The cat still sitting at my feet. The sense of being hunted, not the hunter. Sometimes, even the faces of those in the book and Peeta, Haymitch, and I so caringly created.

Today, I don't know what does it, probably several different factors. But suddenly, I am filled with overwhelming dread, a need to get out. I rush back up the stairs and dress myself. I sling on my father's hunting coat. Before I can really register what I'm doing, I've written a note to Peeta and I am headed to the woods on this cloudy day.

I run to my old hunting rendezvous, where the old Katniss sits on the log, waiting for me. Once I'm there, she takes me by the hand and instantly calms my fears as she leads me deeper and deeper into the woods.

It's raining when I quietly make my way back to my house in the dark. I enter the Victor's Village. There is smoke coming from the chimney of Haymitch's brightly lit house. Mine is as dark as the night. I consider going over the Haymitch's until Peeta comes home. But I don't. I walk straight to my front door, propelled by some shred of courage I must have found in the woods. It's this shred of courage that convinces me to go face my fears.

I quietly enter my house where nothing seems amiss except for the feeling that I have acquired over years of hunting. I can only describe it as the quiet of the woods before a terrible storm or after a major predator-like a bear- has killed its prey. Complete silence. Eerie silence.

But I don't let it hinder me as I see that the note I left this morning has been untouched. Then I notice the bread. Two loaves sitting on the counter. I approach them.

"Greasy Sae?" I ask. No one answers. I look at the bread. Cheese loaves. Slightly burnt cheese loaves. "Peeta?"

"Right here," he whispers dangerously as a hand covers my nose and mouth.

I feel my eyes grow in alarm as I realize he is trying to kill me. Suddenly, I'm back in the Arena. A different Arena this time. One where he and I are forced to fight to the death. My survival instincts kick in and I feel flesh against my teeth. Then blood. Peeta lets go and I run, head to the door. Screaming for help, for Haymitch, for anybody to come to my rescue, as I run. Peeta grabs me from behind and spins me around to face him. His hands close around my throat.

"I gave you bread once. In the rain. My mother was screaming at you for looking through our trash bins. You distracted me and I burnt the bread. My mother hit me. She hit me because of you! Real or not real?" he demands.

I can't answer. All I do is try to fight as Peeta's hands tighten around my throat, strangling me.

"Real or not real?" he screams.

I don't know how long this goes on. All I know is that darkness was beginning to cloud my vision, so very welcoming. I am tempted to give in.

Until I hear a thud right above my left ear. Until Peeta's hands loosen the grip around my throat and I drop unceremoniously to the floor. I lay there and beg death to take me. Then there are footsteps.

"Don't you dare give up on me, sweetheart!" he growls.

I open my eyes. "Haymitch," I croak as he pushes hair out of my face. I reach for him, making sure he is real.

"I'm right here."

Then I begin to cry. My mentor just sits down and pulls me into his arms. He holds me there as I sob. I look over his shoulder and see Peeta laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. A knife sticks out of his left shoulder, it has punctured his heart. I start to cry even harder.

At some point, Haymitch must have carried me back to his house because I wake up on his couch. I hear voices in the next room. I listen as Haymitch speaks. Greasy Sae responds. Then the unmistakable voice of Effie Trinket. They are talking about me, about what happened last night. I easily sneak into the kitchen.

Haymitch is standing at the sink with his back facing us. Effie stands nearby as if debating whether to approach him or not. Greasy Sae is sitting at the table, looking at her hands.

Putting my hand on the doorframe, I dare to speak. "Haymitch," my voice is barely a whisper. Effie and Greasy Sae look up, startled at my appearance. Haymitch doesn't move, does nothing to acknowledge my presence. I try again. "Haymitch, what happened?" even though I know the answer. I just feel the need to say something.

I have always known that Effie has always been sensitive but it takes me by surprise when she runs from the room in tears, muttering about "tragedy" and "star-crossed indeed". My hands instantly go to my throat where I can feel the tender skin. A tear falls down my cheek. Greasy Sae guides me to a chair and leaves quietly.

Haymitch finally turns around looking more disheveled than I have ever seen him. Tears are in his eyes. His liquor bottle in hand. I can see the answer- the one I already know- in his face. But that doesn't stop me from asking.

"Real or not real?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I had no choice." Haymitch turns away and throws his empty bottle. It shatters on the ground with my heart. He slides down to the floor and draws his knees up to his chest. I bury my head in my arms at the table. Both of us overcome by grief.