Okay, so hello! Well this as stated in the summary will be my version of what happens between coming home and our favorite couple having kids, from Peeta's POV. This is going to be my summer project so until June, I'm going to try and update as frequently as possible but with no such schedule. But when summer rolls around I'll be updating weekly. So there ya go. Enjoi
It takes six months. Six months in district thirteen in which I waver between being so excited to go home, to so violently disgusted by the thought I get sick. This in hindsight is probably why they kept me there for so long. I go through more therapy than I would have thought necessary during my duration in thirteen. Every day is committed to it. Some of it is physical, like for the burns I received all over the right side of my body during the bombing of the capital. New pink skin is painted on to me, I think they call it graft, and I am commanded to stay still for 2 long weeks. Not that I would move anyway, it hurt too bad. But mostly my therapy is mental. The doctors and I spend all the time we can sorting through my memories, every memory I have, and determine which are real and which are not. I'm pleased that majority of my memories seem to be real, and the longer my doctors and I work on them the more memories that come back. I come to find that over time distinguishing my memories gets easier because those that were … affected by the capital have a shiny texture to them. Like when I think of Katniss stabbing me her face and eyes glow, so unrealistically I know that it is fake. My flash backs come less frequently as time and therapy go on. But much to my dismay the doctors inform me that these flashbacks I have worked so hard to repress will always be a part of me, I will have them all my life. However, I learn I can keep "Bad Peeta", as I call him, from taking over if I list all the truths I am 100% sure of in my head. My name is Peeta Mellark. I am 18 years old. I bake. I paint. I survived the Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen is my friend.
Slowly but surely some small amount of feeling for Katniss weasels its way back into my system. It's not the same as before. I do not love her, but there is something there. It becomes harder and harder to not think of her, sometimes dwelling on parts our past that anger or annoy me, but mostly I reflect on the few true moments we had together. Like our nights on the train, or the week we added onto her familys book.
It is in the middle of June when Doctor Wyse cuts of my medical bracelet that claims I am mentally unstable and tells that I am finally cleared to go back to district 12. He tells me I should try and fall into a routine, keep things normal, call him once a week, and only spend as much time with Katniss as I can handle. I agree to his conditions eagerly before I ask him for one final favor, that a dozen or so Primroses be sent home on the train with me so that I can bury them in her honor. I had the idea ever since I heard the news, but when I went to voice them Katniss I was told she had been moved back to district 12. I didn't know how to feel about that, so I choose to do something the old Peeta never would, ignore my feelings altogether. Wyse agrees easily and everything is arranged for my trip home.
The flowers sit next to me on the train and I think of her. Of prim, laughing and dancing with me in the kitchen the day she begged me to help her make a cake for her cats birthday. It took all day to make the cake to Prim's specifications but it was fun. I miss her. The little girl who was more of a little sister to me than anyone I had ever met. She was so pure, so innocent, and so full of life. But her life is done, cut too short. I let a tear fall from eye before I can stop myself. I can only imagine the pain Katniss has gone through; knowing that the only person she ever really loved will never come back to her. My heart breaks for her. But we've both lost family, I however, lost all of mine. None of them survived the bombing. They're gone too. Sometimes I don't know whether I still hold Katniss accountable for this.
The rain ride takes 3 days, but I'm glad for the alone time, I wallow in self pity and by the time I get off the train in district 12 I think I can handle this. But I am not prepared for shear destruction that awaits me. There is nothing left but the crumbling frames of houses that were burnt down. The entire ground is buried in ash, and I can't but to think that as much of the ash is dedicated to wood and brick, a small amount of it is flesh and blood. The thought repulses me and bring the collar of my shirt up to my mouth to keep from breathing it all in. I decided that my first stop when I got here would be straight to my house in victor's village to shower and drop off my small suitcase. I try, I try so hard to keep my eyes straight ahead, push the wheelbarrow full of roses and concentrate on the unscratched mansions ahead. But the closer I get to the heart of the town, the harder it gets. At first I glance fleetingly at a collapsed building here and there, but my glances get longer and by the time I'm in front of the bakery, my stride falters. You'll have to face it eventually I tell myself. But right now? Am I ready for this? Is it too soon? There's only one way to find out. I close my eyes and count to 10 before reopening them to look at the remains of home.
At first I don't even see the rubble that was the bakery. I see the life I lived there, the life my family lived, fleeting memories that are so bitter sweet. Challah teaching me to wrestle the first day I got in a fight and lost. Samuel teaching me the perfect way to pick up a girl. Staying up past bedtime with them both and telling scary stories until I was shaking in fear. The first time my mother hit me, when my farther held me in his lap and let me cry my eyes out against his shirt. Walking hand and hand with him on my first day of school. Decorating my first cake, which brought on a rare moment of pride from my mother and a smile I never, had the privilege of seeing again. The memories crush me with such a force that my legs give out from underneath me and I fall to the ground. They're probably still in there but I can't bring myself to look. My brain succumbs to a deep black hole where the only things I see are the dead. My family burning alive, Finnick being eaten by mutts, rue being stabbed, Portia being shot, prim blowing up, Michelle dying because of me, Mags running into the mist, the morphling sister throwing herself in front of me. The yell to me to help and as the sobs shake me I know I can't. There's nothing I can do now. They're gone. Dead. All too young. All my fault.
It might be minutes, hours, maybe even days later that I finally cry myself dry and am able to concentrate on the things around me again. The crying tired me out though and it takes much more energy than normal to push myself up. But I do. I try to find something solid to concentrate my thoughts on, something that won't remind me that everyone is dead. Well not everyone. And there it is a sliver of hope. Katniss isn't dead, she's fine. Well maybe not fine but she's alive. I saved her. She's alive because of me, and maybe the same can be said for her. I take a deep breath and exhale; I should probably be getting to her house now. I know she isn't expecting me but it still feels like I'm late for an occasion. I take one last look and whisper quietly I love you. I am so sorry. And I know this is the closet to closure I will get.
I take my time pushing the wheelbarrow up to victors village and I debate whether I should go home first or just go straight to the Everdeen household. I choose the latter because it seems rude to keep Prim's memorial waiting any longer. I make my way over to the side of the house and concentrate wholly on my actions to keep the thoughts of death away. Shovel. Dig. Plant. Water. Repeat.
About 7 flowers in I hear a door open and I am broken from my reprieve. Here goes nothing I think to myself as I see Katniss make her way to side of the house. My first thought is shock. She's so …small, fragile even. The skin is drawn so tight around her bones I'm afraid it might tear. Her eyes once large and grey are now vacant and sunken deeply into her skull. Her hair is much shorter, and slick against her head with grease. I can make out the faint hint of scars at her wrist. I'm disgusted. Who's been taking care of her? Probably Haymich that drunken bastard. He should have helped her, atleast made sure she was eating. I should have been here, I could have helped her. The first thing on my to-do list is to make her eat so much bread, she's fat. I look up cautiously from assessment to meet Katniss stare when I notice she's angry. No, she's pissed, it's clear by the way she's shaking with her hands balled up at her sides, maybe she's thinking the same thing I am, that I should have been there to take care of her. But before I can voice an apology her face falls in confusion, her eyes flickering between myself and the primroses almost comically. I hold back a chuckle because I am well aware that something like that would result in more anger on her part. The doctors warned me she'd be unstable, I'd have to be careful with my actions. "I thought we could plant them. For her." She says nothing. We stare at each other for a while before the corners of her lips turn up slightly. Not a smile but almost one. She nods and heads back inside. I can feel my own smile as I finish planting, and it hurts my cheeks. I'm vaguely aware of a shower turning on in the distance but I'm too busy replaying Katniss almost smile in my head. I'm taken aback by the fact that I want to see more of it, a real smile, I want to hear her laugh again. It takes me awhile to put a name on what I'm feeling but by the time I'm done planting and walking up the front steps of my house I've decide on longing. I've missed her. But I know better, things will never be same between us, but I won't give up on us.
Oh Peeta. Well wadda ya think? Rviews are always much appreciated, especially if you have any helpful hints for better capturing Peeta's personality.
Oh and also like always reviews = shout outs!