I Do not own the Hunger Games!
Katniss' POV-
BOOM. A clap of thunder announces itself. It's a sunday. Me and Peeta were just out in the meadow having an afternoon picnic when the storm started. Now, here we are, soaking in the middle of the kitchen, panting from lack of breath.
All of a sudden, Peeta lets out a shaky laugh. It starts out quiet, but gradually gets louder and more full. I can't help but laugh with him. This picture of us right now is so crazy. Pretty soon both of us are on the floor laughing like a bunch of mentally unstable people. Which, I guess we are, really. Eventually, the laughter dies out, and we lay on the kitchen floor. We face each other.
I look at him, and give him a genuine smile. He glares at me. What? Oh No. I can see the glazed, cloudy look in his eyes. He's having another episode again. "Peeta" I try to say calmly as I can manage. "It's not real. Whatever you're thinking, it's not real." He turns to me sharply.
"You." He says sternly. " This, is all you fault." He gestures to all around him. "These..." lightly touching his scars, "...they're all from you." The words escape from his mouth with a raspy breath.
Stay calm. I order myself. I fight the nervous tremble to bolt out of here and run, but I owe him. The thought enter my mind like a snake. It's like Haymitch said. I will never stop owing him. The least I can do is stay with him. It's what he deserves, after all.
" It's not real. Whatever you're thinking. It's not true." I repeat. I am more speaking it out loud for me than for him. I fight the internal battle of disgust of how selfish I am. He takes a step towards me, my feet, forced to stay planted firmly on the ground. He throws his hand in my direction, making contact with my face with a loud slap. BOOM. The lighting strikes again.
Slowly, I lift my gaze towards him. It's not real. This isn't my Peeta. I can't mask the hurt no matter my efforts.
"You killed them all!", he screams in my face, spitting as he does so. "I hope you're satisfied, They're all dead because of you!" He picks up the nearest object, a capitol glass vase that came with the house in the Victor's Village, and smashes it on the ground.
"It's not real!" I yell, regaining my ground, louder than him attempting to muster up my courage. "Not real! Not real! Not real!"
Not real.
I'm on the verge of tears now, but I can't let my fear show.
He stares at me, still catching my breath, different emotions passing through is face. Anger. Confusion. Sadness. And then finally exhaustion. BOOM. The storm is raging now. A faint memory of the storm on our first games comes back to me. We are in completely different circumstances, now.
Peeta, now noticing the damage he has caused, drops whatever glass remained in his hand. His hand, now bloody, he slumps against the wall and sides to the ground. I kneel beside him, holding his hand. "Katniss, Im so sorry..."
He came back to me.
"Shh... it's okay." With my other hand I smooth back his damp hair. His head leans back against the wall with a thump. I shift so a lean against the wall beside him, still holding hands.
We sit in silence for what feels like forever. Simply holding hands. Nothing else but the sound of our breath, trying to hold onto what little sanity still remains. After what feels like an eternity, Peeta suddenly speaks up.
"Im so tired, Katniss."
I don't know the reasons why, but somehow those four words do it for me. The final weight that breaks my back. I break out into sobs. What? Were did this sudden burst of emotion come from? I can't stop. Peeta hold me while I cry into his shoulder, whispering soothing words into my braid. BOOM. The storm, still as rough as ever.
"Im so sick of this." Peeta speaks with a pain in his voice. He's frustrated. This is the Peeta that rarely makes and appearance.
"Look at us!" I can plainly see how broken and misused we are.
"They've destroyed us, Katniss!" He moves from our embrace and stands up. Quietly, he speaks again. "I don't want them to take one more thing from us, do you?"
I stand up straighter, crossing my arms. What is he thinking? "So what do you want to do about it?" BOOM. Will the storm ever end?
Peeta takes in a sharp breath. I know he as in idea. Quickly, he strides into the Capitol pantry and brings out a simple, district 12 loaf. The kind that I would know anywhere. He holds it out, raising his eyebrow as if asking for permission. I let out a shaky breath, lets a tear slide, an give a soft nod of my head.
BOOM. The thunder ever present. I lay out the still wet blanket that we used for the picnic in the meadow today. Beneath the fire we recently made. Peeta, just have sliced the bread, comes to sit in front of me beside the chamber of flames.
We make promises to each other.
We make promises to each other in our wet clothes. Covered in blood, mud and tears. not once taking our eyes off each other. I love this man before me. And I tell him about 30 times while we sit here. More for me than myself. He repeats it back to me, and no matter how hard I hard I can't seem to wipe the smile off my face. I don't care through.
We toast bread together. All the while holding hands. Slowly, with shaky, nervous hands and only the sound of our ragged breaths to break the silcence, I give him bread to eat and he does the same. I stare into his pircing blue eyes and know instantly with out a doubt in my mind that there is hope. Through my fear of the future I know that somehow, together we are okay. He leans forward.
"Stay with me" He whispers into my ear, sealing the promise.
"Always."
BOOM. The storm, it feels like, will never end.