Peeta's footsteps pounded up the spiralling staircase.
"Peeta! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! Peeta!" she called out, her voice breaking on pent-in sobs. It didn't matter though. Peeta ignored her as easily as if she were a painting on the wall.
"At least he paid the paintings some attention," she muttered sourly.
"Oh, Peeta…I'm sorry…I didn't mean it," she whispered. She walked through the house, taking in the sights around her, but not really noticing any of it. And whatever she did notice reminded her of Peeta. The way the leafy green plant in the corner of the huge living room stood up tall; even though it needed the support of the plastic stick attached to it, it had a majestic sense of pride radiating out of it. Like Peeta.
The painting of the man next to the staircase looked like Peeta.
Goddamn it, even the damned wind was emanating a high keening sound, as if it were depressed! Or was that a bird? Didn't matter. Either way, she couldn't take any more.
Walking into the kitchen, she got out a butcher knife. Closing her eyes, she said, so softly it was barely audible, "Peeta."
"I…I love you."
She raised the knife.
She brought it down with such force, Peeta heard it from upstairs.
"Katniss! What was that? Katniss! Katniss!" he yelled frantically.
The sight he beheld in the kitchen was too much for him.
He fainted.
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