"Are we really having this conversation again?"
"Katniss, I don't want to know how to shoot that thing!" Peeta complained, pointing at the arrow I was holding.
"But you agreed to do it yesterday. I want you to know how to protect yourself if anything bad happens again," I said, getting irritated with him.
"What, do you think all hell is going to break loose again, and we are going to be thrown back into the Hunger Games?"
"No… Maybe. I don't know, Peeta! The Hunger Games aren't the only bad thing that happened! You went to war. I went to war with you. Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, died from going to war. What if another one sneaks up on us, and they are trying to get to you, not me?" I'm yelling now. I lose my mind when I have to think about
"What are the odds of that?" Peeta said, rolling his eyes dramatically. I just glared at him. "Katniss, look me in the eye and listen." I did as I was told. "When I went to war, when you went to war, something happened. I know we weren't behind everything that happened then, even if you can't stand to believe it, but we- no, you- ended that war. You understand? I still remember watching that video of you in the arena, when you shot that arrow… You didn't even know what you were causing… but all of your actions, from shooting President Coin to teaming up with Maggs, for crying out loud- that ended it all. You are the reason we are alive today. The reason we have children-" We both glance at their bedroom door, our son Jemiah and our daughter Madeline "-the reason we even have a family. You saved us from everything, Katniss, so please don't be afraid. Relax yourself and enjoy what you have done, what we have created. Please."
"What, so you think I can just… forget everything that happened? I still have nightmares, Peeta." Tears started rolling silently down my face, and Peeta pulled me into his chest, but I kept talking. "What if there is still Capitol left, in hideout? What if they come for me, for you, for them?" I continue to cry my heart out, thinking back to Prim and Maggs and Finnick and Rue and the people I killed, until my sobs turned to whimpers, and finally nothing at all. Peeta lifted me up and carried me back to our room down the hall and put me on the bed, my head on a pillow.
He looks into my face solemnly. "Nothing will happen. I promise you. But if it makes you feel better, you can teach me how to shoot tomorrow. You can show me every day for the next month. But get some rest. You're exhausted."
He crawls into bed beside me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back to his chest. He buried his face in my hair, which was to my waist now, as he did every night. I heard his breathing slow and felt his grip loosen on my waist. As soon as I know he is deeply under, I pull his hands from around me and pad down the hall to the kids' room.
I open the door and walk over to Madeline's bed. I look at her little porcelain face, and watch as her chest rises and falls. I do this almost every night, to make sure my babies are OKAY. I run my finger down her cheek, feeling its softness. I stay there a moment before I go check on Jemiah.
When I get to the bed, I almost laugh out loud. Like every night, he is sprawled across his whole bed. But tonight it's almost unbearable to not wake him up and readjust him, because his whole lower half is hanging off the side of the bed. Hold my breath as to not make a sound, I grab his feet and pull his legs around, placing them back on the end of the bed. As usual, he doesn't even stir. Jemiah is the heaviest sleeper I have ever seen, even heavier a sleeper than Peeta.
I think back to when Peeta and I were in the arena our first Hunger Games, and finding the parachute with the sleep syrup. I fed it to Peeta and went to go get his medicine, running out into the field…
And I was sucked back into the memory. It happens a lot, when I think about the arena, and I get sucked back into the memories. I black out and relive it. Over and over again
And this time is just as bad as any.
I remember grabbing the little orange backpack, putting it on my wrist.
I remember Clove running at me, throwing knives. I remember one cutting me above my brow.
I remember her sitting on my chest, about to cut me apart…
"Mommy!" "Mommy, wake up please!" "MOMMY!"
Crying.
Yelling.
And I know I'm back to reality. Those are my children. That's my husband's hand, stroking my face.
I open my eyes. I see my children and Peeta leaning over my face, staring worriedly down at me. Peeta's face has less worry than my kids', because they have never seen this happen before. But Peeta has. Many times. He lived through it with me.
"Honey, it's okay. I heard something hit the floor, and you were lying in here. But you're alright, you're alright…" Peeta reassured me, over and over. He kept stroking my hair until my tears stopped, and I sat up. He got me back to bed, left the room for 5 minutes to put the kids back to bed, and came back to our room and sat on the edge of the bed next to me.
I looked up at him. "We have to tell them everything that happened. Everything." I whispered, not wanting to believe it.
"I know." He whispered back, stroking my cheek. "I don't want to, either."
I looked at him knowingly. "Soon. Very soon."
And then the realization hit me. We would have to tell them soon. Too soon for my taste. If I could handle it, I didn't know.
But we would have to tell them soon.
Tomorrow.