The emotional trauma was too much. Katniss killed herself. She stuck the trigger to her head and pulled it. I thought she was going to be okay. The war was over and we won, but I guess one too many people got killed that war. Prim's dead and so is her dad and now Katniss is. Mrs. Everdeen has no one left. I never suspected but Katniss wasn't as strong and I thought she was.
I can't do it anymore. No more. I just can't. The nightmares, it's the nightmares. I wake up and I think they're over, but all I wake up to is a different one that I can't wake up from. This is my escape. The girl on fire has burnt out.
"That's all she wrote?" asked Peeta as his body quivered. His elbows were on the table bracing his head with his hands.
"Yes", choked Haymitch. He folded the little crumpled note and carelessly tossed it onto the table as he leaned back onto the wall and put his hands in his pockets.
Peeta's fingers locked together in a tight fist. His brows pushed together and his skin folded between them. The tears rolled down his dirty cheeks leaving a streak of his clean pale skin. His back started shaking and he placed his head down onto the table between his arms. I got up and walked over to him and as gentle as I could I placed my arm around him to steady the sobs escaping his mouth.
T he little room where all of Katniss's closest friends and family were became an emotional oven as everyone took in her last words from Haymitch . Her mother is in corner slouching in her chair with her hands in her lap. Her face is blank and she has no tears as her head gazed into the palms of her hands. Haymitch walks over to me. "Come on Gale," he says, "we got to get them out of here." I nod in agreement.
"Come on Peeta," I say softly. He doesn't respond. His sobs have stopped but he is still lying face down on the table. I look over at Haymitch who is gently helping Mrs. Everdeen up out of her chair. She only makes it a couple steps before she bends and vomits onto the floor. She starts to convulse as animal like sobs start to flow out from her. Haymitch is still trying to help her up with one of her hands, but she places her free hand into the vomit and sits. The guttural sounds rack her body and are all I can hear. She grips onto Haymitch's hand and rocks back and forth. I turn back to Peeta, "Peeta, we have to go." I place one hand under his arm and the other across his back. He starts to lift his head. "There we go." I say encouraging him to move. He puts his hands on the edge of the table and pushes his chair back.
"Come on," Haymitch says as quaint as he can though he had to raise his voice to overpower Mrs. Everdeen's wailing which have now turned to screaming. She starts to hit his thighs as he tries to help her up. With a heavy sigh, Haymitch lifts her off the ground and holds her like a baby in his arms. They exit through the door and I can hear her screams growing faint as they travel down the hall. By now Peeta has rising completely and I start to lead him to the door. The walk to his room is quiet with my occasional urge to keep him moving. His muscles are tense and rigid under my hands. His gray t shirt sleeves cling tightly around his biceps. When we get to his room I sit him down on his bed. He puts his arms in his lap and stares at the wall with no expression. His sandy blonde hair his snarled and knotted. I place my hand on his hair and try to smooth the wild locks. As I slide my hand across his head he seems to relax a little and closes his eyes. I sit next to him on the bed as I pat and smooth his hair. From the side I can see his square jaw loosen, he swallows, and sighs a bit. After I am content with the state of his hair I stop. "Try to rest," I say and I start to get up, but I'm met with one of Peeta's strong hands around my wrist.
"No," he says quietly through his barley opened lips. I look at him and he is still staring at the wall. He pulls me back and I sit back in my spot.
"Do you want me to stay?" I ask. He doesn't respond. "Peeta?"
"You remind of her," he says so soft I can barely hear it.
"What?" I had to make sure I heard him right. Peeta turns his head and looks at me with his ice blue eyes.
"Katniss, "he says. "You remind me of her. Always have. Your skin is like hers; your hair is like hers too." I'm not sure how to react to this comment, but before I have time to answer Peeta is crying. His face contorts as he buries it in his hands. I slide closer to him and put my arm around his shoulder again. A lump starts in my throat and I try to swallow it. I can feel each sob come up from his stomach and get coughed out and every time he gasps between them I can feel his back expand and shake.
The lump becomes too painful and I cough out something between a cough and a whimper. Then I allow myself to cry. I look away from Peeta to the corner of his room and let my lip tremble and the tears roll. I was in District 2 this whole time and I could have helped my best friend and I didn't. I was too busy being mad and her, mad at her for loving someone else. Mad at her for not loving me. And now she's gone and nothing, absolutely nothing can bring her back. I exhale a sharp breath as I wipe my eyes with my free hand. When I look back at Peeta for signs of relief, but he is crying harder than ever. I know for a fact we have both been starving for human contact, for touch, emotion. So I hug him. He doesn't hesitate to hug back. We both cling to the only part of Katniss we have left. I can feel his tears wet my shirt and his quick breaths against my neck as he buries is face into my shoulder. His arms are wrapped around my torso and his hands are griping the fabric of my shirt. My arms are wrapped around his lower back and one of my hands is touching his bare skin. The heat from it soaks into my hand and warms it in a matter of seconds. I pull him closer wanting more. His sobs become less frantic and it soon turns into short, quiet gasps. He pulls away first. "Gale, I need you to stay here tonight, I can't be by myself." His eyes are red and puffy.
"I will," I say. My voice is rough and the tears sting my cheeks. I wipe them away and Peeta does the same to his. Neither of us feels like moving so we just lay down next to each other on his bed. Our shoulders touch, the contact his comforting and nice. Peeta props himself up on one elbow and reaches to shut off the one lamp that lights his room. He wipes his nose a final time, and clicks the lamp off.
"Goodnight," he says to me the darkness.
"Night," I answer feeling the warm spread from my shoulder throughout my body.