And as the world comes to an end
I'll be here to hold your hand 'cause
You're my king and I'm your lionheart.
The first time I saw him back in Twelve was when he planted the primroses outside my house. "Katniss," he had begun cautiously before I had reacted with anger, yelling at him, attempting to mask every other emotion that I was feeling; ones that I had no intention of showing to him. As I berated him, he just stood in front of the new primroses, looking calmly at me. I have no doubt in my mind that if this was back when he had just been rescued from the Capitol he either would have killed me or laughed at me for revealing the monster that I really was.
When I had gotten back inside my house, it was a different story. Once I closed the door sobs immediately racked my body. Seeing Peeta moving, doing more than I had in months was already too much. He looked weak, weaker than he was during the Quell, but in comparison to the broken boy taken from the Capitol, he looks infinitely healthier. In comparison to me, though, he probably looked like the healthiest person in the whole town.
Ever since I had returned to District 12 I had refused to do most types of personal hygiene. Any food Greasy Sae made for me I ate at a turtle-like pace until she was satisfied with the amount and left. I'm positive I had huge bags under my eyes considering I can't even remember the last time I slept normally. Every night I wake screaming, the faces of the dead and left behind haunting me. Each night I see Prim being burnt alive. Finnick's face being ripped apart. Some nights I even dream of the tortures inflicted on Peeta at my own hand, seeing what he sees in a hijacked state.
Every day I have to deal with the images of night flashing through my head, nightmares that can't be escaped because they're reality. Facing the inexorable truth that Prim is gone. That I had nothing left. The status quo of protecting my little sister gone. An infinite cloud hanging over me, telling me I failed my only true goal.
But when I thought of the primrose bushes planted outside and the boy who did them, the sobs had dissipated a bit and there was a strange feeling that I hadn't had in awhile.
Hope.
Hope that maybe there was something salvageable from this wreckage. That the renewal that comes after every winter would appear to bring forth more light and more life. The dandelion that, though it is a weed, is always a constant and can be relied on for even the simplest uses.
And now, the boy with the bread who, so long ago, gave me the will to live, was doing it all over again, though I don't know if he realized it or not.
That day, I showered and dressed and combed and braided my hair. I did everything I could to stop myself from living the half-life that I had become wont to. Greasy Sae obviously noticed my change in appearance at dinner. She eyed me without the piteous look I had been accustomed to. She didn't watch me eat as carefully as she did that morning, like she knew herself that I was trying again.
The next morning, before breakfast, I went hunting. It was, in my standards, an embarrassing attempt. The only thing I managed to get was a squirrel, shot it right where the best meat was. Yet, when I brought it back to Sae she smiled wide, truly seeing myself begin to heal.
I hunted every morning, an excuse to leave the confining house. Then Peeta began to join me for breakfast and dinner, bringing with him a loaf of bread. When Sae finished cooking she would leave and go home, expecting us to talk, to help each other heal, I'm sure. For me, there were no words. For Peeta, he could never quite get the courage to say the right ones. We kept our conversations light and menial, when we - well, he - chose to talk. I never spoke without being asked a question, when I did answer they were short and to the point. We were skirting around edges that couldn't be crossed. Though I know Peeta wanted to.
In my head, I couldn't help but imagine him trying to kill me. There were times when he would noticeably tense, shutting his eyes tight, trying to fight the images that couldn't be made out from real or not real.
It was in those moments when I desperately wanted to help, but at the same time was worried for my own safety. Those dinners were always the worst because after the visions had subsided I watched as if he was a wild dog, ready to attack at any moment. The last time it had happened, I glared at him for the whole dinner. When he noticed my gaze, his eyes drifted down to his plate, ashamed of himself and what he had become. As he was leaving that night, he muttered an "I'm sorry," immediately filling me with guilt. I never said so but I know he can't help it, I know he's better, and I know I should be helping him as best I can instead of treating him like the enemy.
Now, though, as he says goodbye to Greasy Sae and thanks her for the meal, I feel the need talk to him, to really talk to him. No more tentative steps, treating each other like we'll break at any minute, we're not that fragile and we both know it.
Sitting down at the table I stare intently at my plate, not sure what exactly to say, words not suiting me well. "So Katniss, how was your day?" Peeta asks. He tries so hard every day. Asking me the same questions, hoping that I'll give him a different answer each time.
I look up, directly at his clear, blue eyes. Taking a shaky breath, I speak, "What are you doing here, Peeta?" it sounds harsher than I intended and he looks perplexed by my asking something. "I mean, everyday you come back and we say nothing and do nothing and it can't be easy on you, so why come back? Especially if you see me as a mutt," I am rambling, couldn't figure out how to start now I don't even know how to stop until Peeta cuts me off.
"I don't think you're a mutt," he speaks softly, as if calming a wounded animal. "I don't exactly know what to think of you, I know what I used to think of you and I know what he thinks of you, but all I know is that I want to know what I think right now. Coming back, seeing you, helps me remember things more clearly, see things for what they really are and not what was fabricated in a Capitol lab."
"But Peeta I don't even do anything," to me, he should move on, move away from the past that constricts him to fear and anguish, but a larger part, a more selfish part, wants him to stay with me, on some level I'm sure I need him to progress even farther than I have now. "You should be able to move on without me."
"No, Katniss!" Peeta bursts out, anger and pleading lacing his words. "You don't get it! Just seeing you, it makes things clearer yet more confusing. One side still hopelessly loves you while the other just wants to rip your throat out." He has his head in his hands, pulling on his blonde hair, trying to focus using pain; his eyes are shut tight, fighting off flashbacks. "Then there's me. Right now. Stuck between both of them. Two voices fighting for a chance to be heard while the third can't even speak because he's so trapped. But after I see you every day, the evil one - the wrong one - gets quieter, less insistent. I need that, Katniss. That's why I come back."
Lifting his head, his crystalline eyes meet mine, constantly dilating and then shifting back to blue. At that point I feel I have to tell Peeta what is going on in my head. He deserves so much, always being the best of us but getting the worst. If there is anything I can give him, even if it is just words that I've never spoken, I will.
"I can't sleep," I begin, speaking in the simple sentences that doctors had taught me. "I think I'm getting better but the nightmares just get worse. I wake up and they just replay in my head over and over again. I see Prim dying every time I close my eyes," I can feel myself shaking, taste the tears on my lips. Screams of loved ones bounce around in my head. It's all I can do to not scream right back.
Peeta's chair scrapes against the floor and I feel his arms wrap around me. "Please don't leave," I beg. The fear of facing another night alone is too much to bear. A sound sleep seems so enticing; it's something I have begun to crave.
"Katniss, I can't stay. I don't want to hurt you," his voice a whisper, his breath warm on my skin. His arms secure me to the safe feeling that I have longed for. The hope that I felt when I first saw him back.
"I know you don't sleep either," I murmur to him, recalling the times I had awoken in terror only to see the lights on in his own house. "Sometimes I see the light in your room on. Other times I hear you through the open windows, yelling and screaming, things crashing." I'm trying desperately to make him stay. For him to listen and agree. "Just, please. Will you stay with me tonight?" he tenses, his grip becoming tight. I know he's fighting with himself over whether or not the memory he sees is real. The promise he made to me on that day, though the sight before had probably broken his heart, his admiration and love for me would never leave.
So when he kisses the top of my head and whispers out "Always," I know that my boy with the bread is still there.
