Part I
"The Memorials"
Chapter One
It has been years since I thought of that day. It happened without warning, like someone sneaking up on you and scaring you. It just takes a single drop of water that falls on the top of your head through the branches of the forest to immediately take me back to that moment.
I see her there lying completely exhausted. My hand slowly touches the smooth rocky surface, trying to make sense of it all. Is this real? The rain has begun to fall, and all I see is the gash on her forehead. The gravity of the situation hits me and I quickly hide from the entry point of the cave, knowing full well that they are still out there looking for us. I can feel my heart beat begin to rise and my breathing shallows.
"This isn't real," I say out loud. "It already happened, we survived this."
The device begins to beep. It brings me back to letting me know that I am reaching the tipping point. The sound begins to quiet and my eye sight begins to blur. I know that my time is running out before I either lose it or black out. My hands reach the chain around my neck and then the whistle. Putting it to my mouth I blow through it and hear the four note whistle of Rue's song before I almost collapse. The beeping is faint but I can feel the rough bark on my hands.
My fingers want to dig into the bark and if I could I probably would. Think of the song, think of her, I say over and over. Think Peeta, think, how does it go. The breathing is all I can hear, all I can focus on. My mind is having a hard time concentrating on anything.
The thumping sound of foot steps is something that breaks the rhythm of the heart beat. I feel the presence of someone behind me. My instinct is to tighten the grip that I have on knife that is in my other hand and turn quickly around. The Games it seems never leave your mind, it is like it is hard wire into your body, into your mind. Closing my eyes tightly, I can feel my body growing tense, the muscles contracting in preparation of the upcoming fight. The muffled of a voice is something that I hear through it all. My body is about to react when I finally feel her hand covering mines. I open my eyes and look at the hand with the burn scars like mines. The silver ring around one of her finger catches my attention. It is her.
The grip on the knife lessens until it finally falls to the ground making a thumping sound. I can feel her other hand work around my waist and up my chest to my heart. The familiarity of this relaxes my muscles and finally the sound is coming back.
"Peeta," she says. "If you can hear me, nod your head."
I nod my head yes, which causes her to place her head on the back of my shoulder in relief.
"Are you okay?" she says.
The breathing through my mouth lessens enough to allow me to speak. It is raggedly and long between words.
"I...am...okay," I say. "But...no...tickling...please."
I can hear her hold her laughter back. It causes her to drop her hand around mine and place it over her other hand that is still on my heart.
I lower my hands to meet hers. Her hands feel so warm, but I can feel the shaking in them. Bringing my lips to her hands, I kiss them gently which causes the trembling to slowly steady.
Turning around the first thing I see is her grey eyes. She maybe older but her eyes never change; they are the same when I first lay my eyes on them. The passion never really leaves them that inner fire still burns as bright and as hot as when we were in the rebellion. Now they mostly burn with worry for me, or when she is the thrill of a hunt.
"I almost...made it," I say. "Just a couple more ...meters and I would have...beaten you."
She smiles knowing that although it maybe true, she would never admit it. It has taken almost fourteen years to beat her but I still remember when I caught up to her.
It was probably ten years ago when we were in the forest trekking. I could tell she was really pushing herself from the way she was breathing. When we finally made it to the lake she looked at me.
'That is what I get for going to sleep late,' she says. 'You almost caught me.'
Both of us have our hands on our knees there gasping for air.
'So because you went to sleep five minutes after me that is the reason you were slower today,' I say smiling. 'Well just know that you have two good legs and I am missing one, so just saying.'
This time around I was actually ahead by two to three minutes before it started to rain.
"I think you might have hit your head, because I was ahead of you," she says. "Not behind you."
I place my hand on my head and look for where I might have hit my head.
"Nope," I say smiling. "Can't find it, means that I might be saying the truth."
She nods her head no and with a pout on her face crosses her arms. The amount of energy that the episode took out of me is self evident when I crouch to my knees and place my head beside it. She realizes that I am still too weak and the fun and games are over. Crouching next to me she grabs my chin and lifts it up.
"Sorry, seems that last one knock out the wind out of me," I say lifting my hand to her forehead looking for the scar of the gash. There is nothing, not one evidence of a scar. "You had a gash on your forehead, real or not."
"A gash on my forehead?" she says. "Was that the memory that you experienced?"
I nod my head yes.
"We were in some cave, and I woke up finding you in a pool of blood and a gash on your forehead. It was so real, and I felt so helpless. I thought I had lost you."
Closing my eyes fighting back that image, wishing to forget it permanently. I can feel he hand on mines, and then in my cheek.
"That was real," she starts to say. "It was back in our Hunger Games; I had gone to get your medicine and had a little run in with Clove."
The story triggers the video that I watched back on the train heading for the Capitol. It did happen and worst I was the reason why it happened. The guilt is something that I have to deal with; the fact that I had placed her in danger is something that I try to come to terms with.
"You almost died," I say. "You almost died because of me."
She places her finger on the gun shot scar on my chest. It is her only way to remind me of what I have done.
"You," she says with emphasis. "You almost died because of me."
She moves her hand to my thigh where the scar uses to be. It was the fight with Cato, to save her. She later saw the games on her own, and didn't talk to me for a month. Even though the games ended years ago and the people who were responsible for it are long gone, she was mad because I didn't tell her about my plan, of what I was doing. I had never seen her that mad, but she got over the feeling and we made up.
"You almost died there too," she says upset.
She stands and crosses her arms clearly still upset about that moment, just like I was when she almost died. Lifting myself, placing my hand on the tree for support I stand on my two feet. Trying to walk, I see that I can't yet, without help. The worst episodes tire me out to where all I want to do is sleep.
"Katniss," I say.
She turns around and walks over to me.
"There is something that I want you to know," I say.
She places her full body under mines and props me up to help me walk. We have come to each others weaknesses and mines is still the same. My weakness will always be her and she knows that.
"You will always be the reason why," I say. "I do it because I love you, and I think you do it because you love me."
There is only silence, and as we walk towards the fence I get a little bit more of my energy to get my hands up stopping her. I need to see her face; I need to know what she is thinking. We stop and look at each other there in the rain. Both of us drench from the rain, both of us muscle aching from the years of abuse of the Capitol and of the war.
"I don't regret anything," I say. "At the end of the day, I got to share my life with the woman of my dreams."
"I don't either," she says. "Fourteen years ago, you asked me if I still wanted to have breakfast with you, my answer till this day hasn't changed."
She grunts as she lifts me up again.
"Now come on, let's get you inside and out of those wet clothes," she says.
We get to the fence and she places her hand on the door lock. There is a light that comes alive and reads her hand print and the door unlocks. Pushing the door, I see the familiar sight, the lake is still untouched and the trees still touch the water.
The door sounds as it closes and I can hear the lock latches. We walk around the lake and finally the house that we both started fourteen years ago to build comes into view.
Little by little, we have made our home into something that we have both dreamt about. The little concrete house that we knew as children is still in original design and if you are looking for it, you can clearly see it.
The additions came as we had time and as we had vacation. Their were only a few things that we had to ask then President Paylor for, a power source that is renewable by the sun and wind, a biometric lock on the fence, and finally a refrigerator. Everything else we made from the woods around us. It took us trial and error, especially the new roof. Those nights that it rained we had tons of pots and pans getting the drops of rain.
I can still here the drops, and how we made a song out of the beats of the rain drops. Walking to the porch I see the bench, the wood and vine still holding it together from the first day that it was made.
"Going to put you on the bench okay," she says as she eases me onto the bench. "Be right back going to get you a tea, it will help you."
Sitting there I look out at the wood chimes that we hung up that day we came back here. It must have a couple of months after the Harvest Festival when we got married.
It was the morning of the first day of spring. The winter we spent in our house in the Victors Village. That was a hard winter; we only had enough because the whole district shared everything they had. It was the first time we all met in the institute to stock the storehouse for the winter.
Each resident has an option to store a portion of their food there for the entire District. It isn't a law, but people here in District Twelve look out for each other so many of us participate willingly. There are some that do not have enough to set aside and therefore this is what this was made for. There are some though that does not participate because they do not want to and still request a portion in the winter. The director of the institute still offers the portion.
"Have to believe that one day they will help out someone here," she would say.
"Delly, you were always the one to believe the good in everyone," I say. "I am glad they made you the director."
"Well you have to look for that light in the darkness," she says smiling. "Some snob from the Merchant families taught me that."
"Oh so now I am a snob again," I say laughing. "What was it you said that day in my wedding?"
"Well I was only sparing your feelings, it was after all your wedding day," she says as a matter of fact. "Couldn't well tell you the truth now, could I?"
Delly always knew what to say to get me to smile. I hand her the breads the bakery made, and of course she asks me if I needed any portion for the winter.
"Give it to a family who needs it," I say. "Katniss and me we are fine with what we have."
I turn and walk through the halls of the institute. The bright different colors on the walls are meant to inspire you to think outside the box. The courtyard littered with snow is where you could go to think of those thoughts that are outside the box. I see the painting that I had donated to the art wing. It is of Katniss holding a young Primrose by the hand from the back, looking through the display case window of the old bakery. The only way you could know that it is Katniss and Primrose are the one braid for Katniss and the blonde two braids for Primrose.
It is being hung at the entry place of the art wing. Walking to the doors, I hear Delly calling me from the hallway.
"Peeta," she says. "Wait."
Turning around I see she has a box in her hands. She is quickly walking down the hallway, but still saying hello to everyone that is there. Once she is at the front door with me, she hands me the box.
"The children from the art class wanted you to have this," she says. "From what I can understand, it is a thank you present for teaching them this semester."
Opening the box, I see the four sets of wind chimes made out of wood. They are not your typical wine chime designs, these have holes drilled though the pipes at angles for different notes as the wind breathed through them.
They still make noise even with little wind. The rain drops make a specific noise on the wind chimes. Always thought it was a very special thing to feel the rain in the middle of the day when their are no rain clouds in sight. How does that happen, I wonder.
After a couple minutes she comes back with a tea that she knows help me feel better after an episode. She is wearing a green sweater that is a little bit larger.
"It always did look better on you than me," I say smiling. "Well to be honest, everything looks better on you than me."
She helps me take off the wet clothes and while I remove my under shorts she still covers her eyes while peeking through. I grab her hand and pull it down, laughing.
I think that is what makes our marriage work so well, we know how to make each other laugh.
"I think you and I have seen each other from head to toe," I say.
Finally she comes and helps me put on my shirt. We sit down on the bench and finally take a sip of the hot tea. She told me once that it comes from the jasmine plant, so a couple of years ago we planted some jasmines around the house. That and some lilies and primroses, the combination of colors are both beautiful and the smells are intoxicating.
She grabs the book from inside the living room. The book has been both a therapeutic as well as a record of people we have known and places we had been.
She opens it and turns to the place where we placed all of our memories of the Hunger Games. I look at all the entries, where I had placed everything that I had remembered. Turning the pages I see the place where we put injuries that we suffered and location where it had occurred.
She points to her column and there I see the entry of the fore head, and who caused it and whether it was naturally healed or by medicine by the Capitol.
"See," she says.
I nod and grab her hand. The rain still hasn't stopped but it has lessened a little bit.
"Feeling better?" she asks with a small hint of concern.
"Yes much," I say standing up and showing her that some of my energy had come back.
She pats the spot next to her on the bench, and it reminds me of those dreams I had with her and this place. Although the bench looks a little different from what I had dreamt, it still has the same beautiful woman next to me.
I take off my transmitter from my neck and hand it to her.
"Good thing I had this," I say.
"Remind me to thank Beetee, next time I see him," she says.
It was a peace offering I think. That day when we saw Beetee back in the Capitol she was still very much upset about the war. Well I could tell from the way she push him into a wall, using her fore arm to cut off his air way.
"Tell me," she says. "Tell me that it wasn't your bombs; tell me it wasn't Gale's plan. Come on lie to me Beetee, just like you did back in the Quarter Quell."
Trying to get her off him was like trying to remove paint from a building. The attendants just stood there shocked not sure what to do.
"Lying is not going to get me out of this predicament," says Beetee.
I can see her fore arm dig in a little bit more causing him to gasp a little bit.
"Katniss," I try to reason with her. "He can't speak if you choke him."
She turns and looks at me.
"She can't ever talk, not to me, not to you, not to no one," she says.
"Killing him won't bring her back," I say.
She lessens her grip from his neck. The color slowly returns to his face. The things we do for the ones we love, surpasses what we think we are capable of. The line sort of blurs and if you are not careful then you can pass it completely.
"There is no point to lie to you," says Beetee. "It was my design but it was not supposed to be used on the children, and neither on our own people."
"She was killed helping people, the very people that your bombs hurt," says Katniss. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't end your life right here."
"There is none. There are many things, many regrets that I have to keep with me until I die. One is the death of your sister," says Beetee.
She lets go of him and walks away, but not before she smash her hand into a wall. Good thing that the wall was drywall, and not a concrete wall. She stops frustrated, and finally allows me to comfort her. She cries in my arms, and finally Beetee walks next to me.
"There could be nothing that I could do to make up for it, but this I hope helps you both," he says handing me the transmitters.
"What is this?" I say.
"If you are ever separated and need help, it monitors each of yours vital signs, and it will let you both find each other. It gives an audible call and then turns on the transmitter to help you find the other," says Beetee.
That little thing became the way we would be able to find each other whenever I would have an episode. I haven't had that many episodes, as I had learned how to keep my heart rhythm to a steady pace.
She holds both transmitters in her hand and places them on a hook next to the door. It is a rule that we have that when we are going out without the other that we would wear each others transmitter.
Handing her the empty cup she helps me inside the living room where I sit down in the sofa. Our home is very basic and not too flashy. Everything inside we have made by hand, from books we each learned how to become handier.
There are some things though that we buy when we are in the district. Like the fabric for the cushions of the sofa we bought but we got the filling from the feathers of the geese that we would hunt, the meat to eat, the feathers for pillows or cushions.
After placing the cups in the kitchen, she walks back and sits down next to me. Then after a couple of minutes she turns, and puts up her feet on the arms of the sofa, laying her head on my lap. I brush her hair with my hands and she just closes her eyes and smiles.
"Did I tell you today how much I love you?" I say.
"No," she says.
"Well I love you more times that my heart can beat," I say.
"You always did have a way with words," she says. "You sure that you never had any girlfriends back when we were kids?"
"Nope, you were the only one I wanted," I say.
"Well what if we didn't end up together?" she says. "What then?"
"You know, I never thought that far ahead. I guess I always knew that I would someday end up with you," I say. "Something that my heart always knew what my mind never could comprehend."