I woke up screaming again with sweat pooling under my back and tears streaming from my eyes. I saw her face again, I see it every night, along with the fading countenances of others. Prim will never leave my memories, never stop haunting me with questions that I don't have the answer to. I don't turn the light on, instead I try to fight against my mind and get the sleep that always seems to evade me. I take deep gulps of the cool night air and count backwards from ten. Nothing works. Nothing but...
Buttercup jumps swiftly onto my bed and startles me slightly. I look at him sternly and watch as he kneads the pillow beside my head and lays down. Surprisingly, Buttercup has taken a liking to me ever since Prim died. But I feel like he's waiting for something, for her to pick him up and cradle him like a baby. Waiting for her to scratch the rough fur around his neck and croon to him a little lullaby.
I force the words into my head again. She's not coming back. Just like Finnick, Cinna or Rue and everybody else who was lost in the war against the Capitol. I forfeit the idea of being able to sleep dreamlessly and walk over to my window. Even with the window open, and the cold breeze pouring in, I still feel droplets of sweat sliding down my back. The door to his house is open with shards of light shining through and he's lying down on the grass again. Staring at the moon that's just barely slipping through the clouds to shed it's light. This is the fourth night this week that he's done this. I wonder what he's thinking and if he's not sleeping for the same reasons that I'm not.
I sigh loudly and take out my braid, running my fingers through the uneven dark locks. I smooth my hands over the stray hairs and rebraid it. I take my time pulling on my jeans and throwing on a long sleeve shirt. I leave my shoes off and slowly walk over to the door of my room. When I open the door to my house he quickly looks over at me and then resumes his position. As I move closer to him I can see he has his arms crossed behind his head and he's quietly humming to himself.
I lay down alongside him close enough to the see rise and fall of his chest but not close enough to be touching him. Without hesitating, he reaches over and grabs my hand and slides his fingers in between mine.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks softly.
I'm about to roll my eyes when I realize something. He sees what I see every night. He lives through a memory with that person just to be reminded that they aren't around anymore. Just like I do. He wonders about how he could've stopped what happened to them if he just changed one little detail. Asks why he was put in that position or why he couldn't have died too because the pain is just too much.
Without realizing it my throat is suddenly tight and there are tears pouring off my face and splashing onto the dewy grass. I wonder if he cries like this and I imagine him doing so. It seems so out of place that I push the mental picture aside. My breathing hitches and Peeta looks over at me, bewildered.
Suddenly, Peeta sits up and puts my face between his gentle hands.
"No. No, please don't cry. I'm going to take care of you, please just don't cry." he says this like it's a mantra and I will myself to believe it.
I try to hold my breath so that the hiccups will disappear. But one by one, just like my tears, they escape. No, I don't do this. I don't hopelessly break down in front of people. Granted it's Peeta and he knows me no matter what, better than anyone alive, and he's been through everything I have and more. But this is wrong, I'm supposed to be strong. The mockingjay, the girl on fire. But then again I abandoned that facade long ago.
I look at him and his eyes are focused on me and he still has an astonished look on his face. I breathe deeply and say the only thing I can.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peeta." His eyes soften immensely and he pulls me close. I try to stop the flow of tears and I'm thankful for the support of his strong arms, because without them I might collapse.
"It's not your fault. I've never blamed you." he whispers and kisses my temple.
After my body and mind has calmed down considerably, we lay back on the grass and I use Peeta's arm as a pillow. Before I know it, I'm fast asleep.
I wake up back in my bed with sheets splayed out all around me. I realize that Peeta must've carried me up here. I lay my head back down slowly onto the pillow but it doesn't smell right. I can only place this smell to the boy with the bread. I know it distinctly. I sit up on the bed and look around the room. The room is basically empty of proof of inhabitance except for two paintings. One is of Peeta's family, probably painted from memory. The other though, is a portrait of me. My hair is in it's signature braid and I have the slightest smile on my expression.
The next thing I notice is a delicious smell wafting throughout all of the rooms of the house. I follow it instinctively, seeing as all I've been eating lately was less than ripe fruit and pieces of bread. I walk into the living room where there is a pillow placed on the first cushion of the couch. I guess Peeta slept down here. For a moment I puzzle over why he would pass over a giant bed for a less than comfortable couch but then quickly skip the thought.
In the kitchen peeta is cleaning dishes and rinsing them off. There's water sloshed down the front of his shirt and soap bubbles by the side of his jaw. There are two plates sitting in the dining room table with steam coming form the top of them. On both plates is a pile of fresh fruit, slices of bacon, eggs, and a peice of toast with butter running down the sides.
"Why am I in your house?" I ask questioningly. It's not like I mind the change of scenery but still, I'm curious.
I look over at him and find that his eyes are turned away from me and he has on a guilty expression and his cheeks are brushed lightly with red.
"I thought I'd sleep better if you were in the same house as me." He says quietly.
"And did you?" I wonder aloud.
"Yeah, much better actually. No nightmares at least." he trails off. I can't blame him because I slept like a rock last night.
"You didn't have to sleep on the couch you know." I said this questioningly because he and I have slept in the same bed before. It's not like it was something altogether new. We tried to sleep in different houses but every time, it ends with terrible nightmares and screaming. Peeta was just someone I needed in my life now.
"Yeah, I-I just wanted you to be more comfortable. You know, to not have to share the bed with me."
"I would've been fine." I assure him.
He pours two glasses of orange juice and sits down at the table with me. I wipe away the few bubbles left on his face and smile up at him. I take my silverware in hand and scarf down everything on my plate. Come to think of it, I hadn't eaten dinner, or lunch yesterday. I guess I haven't really been keeping track. I look up and turn to see Peeta looking sternly over at me.
"Have you been eating?" He asks with a worried look on his face.
"Yeah. Mmhm." He looks doubtful but asks for no explanation.
"Well if you're hungry or too tired to make anything, why don't you just come over here, okay?"
"Sure." I say, waving him off. He sighs exasperatedly and reaches for my hand once I put my glass down. He interlocks our fingers and holds on tightly.
"I'm serious." By this, I'm taken aback. "If you ever left, now, after everything, I don't know what would happen to me." As he says this I think that It's weird that he says left instead of died. I look him in the eyes and can see, that in fact, he is totally serious.
"I won't leave you. I promise." I say this as slowly and clearly as possible. Putting emphasis on each syllable.
At my words his expression becomes much lighter. And he sucks in a deep breath.
"Alright. Did you have any plans today." I think back to what I usually do in my house all alone. I realize that most of the time I'm sleeping. Or trying to anyways. Or I'm thinking of all of the people who have been in my life. Past, present, or future. I usually don't do anything that productive.
"No." I say quietly.
"Good. Because I do." I wonder weather he had already had an agenda or if he made one because of me. "We're going to bake." He says this and his eyes have that little light in them so I just shake my head.
"Peeta, we've tried this before. I'm no good at it." He laughs lightly and gives me a small smile.
"But I am." He replies. "You just do what I say and you'll be fine."
"Now we put them in the oven and wait. That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asks innocently as he washes his hands in the sink.
"Well let's see how they taste, and then we'll talk." He gives me a small smile as I join him by the sink and he dries his hands with a towel. Peeta wraps his arms around me and begins to play with a stray lock of my hair. Instead of pushing him away, I turn into his arms and wrap mine around his waist.
"Peeta?" I ask.
"Hmm?" he mumbles.
"That painting of me up in your room, when did you do that? I've never noticed it before." I look up to see him avoiding my eyes and blushing again slightly.
"A while ago, why?"
"You don't have to be embarrassed, I was just curious. It's really beautiful." I compliment him to make up for my brash choice of words. It's not like It wasn't true, but he never gets to hear about how amazing his paintings are. I'm the only one who ever gets to see them.
"Thank you, but it's only beautiful because of the subject of the painting. I guess it's better than bringing the more gruesome images in my dreams to life though." I nod fervently and look back up at him.
"Peeta, did you- oh, never mind." I sigh, it was hard to keep all of my emotions bottled up inside of me when he could be feeling the same things as me.
"What? Katniss, you can tell me anything. Please?"
"Did you ever wonder what would've happened if we hadn't threatened to eat those berries when we were in the arena?" He gasped slightly and then looked at me strangely. To be said aloud, this was uncharted territory. Peeta and I never liked to talk about what happened in the games, it was kind of an unspoken rule that we don't.
"No, not really, at that moment all I knew was that I wanted you to live. There wasn't any other option, and since you weren't going to let me sacrifice myself, I was willing to try anything. It was our only hope at the time, and I don't regret it. Even if it did mean starting the rebellion."
"Oh." that was all that popped out of my stunned brain and through my mouth. At that moment, I knew that he loved me, completely and with all his heart. Whatever he had been through, whatever the Capitol had done to him, it didn't matter. I didn't deserve him, now or then. "I don't deserve you." I replied.
"Stop." was all he said. He didn't like when I talked that way, though I didn't see why, it was just only the truth.
"No, it's true. I don't deserve you, but I do love you." He smiled at my confession and ran the back of his hand along my cheek.
"It's weird to think about it though. Maybe, right now I'd be dead and you'd be in Gale's arms instead of mine wondering who the next tributes would be." to me this was honestly a difficult thought to process. In the end, I think Gale and I are to alike to be anything more than friends. That doesn't mean I still don't miss him like crazy, I just don' t think we would've made the greatest couple.
"I don't think it would have worked out that way. With the Capitol still running the districts, I don't think I could've ever loved anyone the way I love you." Peeta smiled widely at me and held my face between both of his hands and kissed me sweetly on the lips.
"Good." he replied.
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