Disclaimer: I own nothing.
In my dreams, Katniss dies. She dies screaming, crying, begging. Some nights, she dies quickly, with just a slice to the throat from Cato's sword, or a misstep onto an exploding mine. Other nights, she slowly bleeds to death, or is eaten alive by mutts. Every time, I'm too far, too late, too weak to help her. I wake with her tormented shrieks still ringing in my ears, unable to move, think, breathe.
How can I welcome sleep, knowing what it brings? How can I rest after a nightmare, when I must spend the next hour convincing myself it wasn't real?
My solution is to avoid sleep altogether. I wander the train until someone catches me and asks me to return to my room. Then I stare out my window and wait for the sun to come up. Or I paint. It helps, but not enough to make me want to go back to bed.
One night, I accidentally doze off while reading. I dream Katniss and I are set on fire. We both scream in agony, thrash and stumble about in an attempt to extinguish the flames. I wake up with a start, but her cries continue. My heart pounds as I try to remember where I am, where she is, and that we're both safe, but my mind won't accept that last part, because she's still screaming. I jump out of my chair and race down the hall, to her room, where the danger is. But all I find is her struggling against her sheets, fighting a nightmare of her own.
Relieved, but only a little, I rush to her bedside and call her name over and over. She doesn't react until I place a hand on her shoulder. Then she yelps and jerks away from me, eyes wide with terror. "Shhhh! It's all right, it's just a dream." I say, both to her and myself. I doubt she even hears me. She's bewildered, disoriented, trembling, and so am I. I stare at her as her eyes dart over my face; I wonder if her nightmares are as awful as mine. Judging by the tears running down her cheeks, I'd say they're worse.
Without thinking, wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly. She could shove me away, but instead she hugs me back and buries her face in the crook of my neck. We stay like that for a while, until she sniffles quietly next to my ear. I pull back and she wipes her eyes. "Are you okay?" I ask. She nods and averts her gaze, clearly not wanting to share the details of her dream. Was it about me? I'm not sure I want to know the answer to that question.
She clears her throat. "Sorry if I woke you up."
"You didn't," is all I say back. I don't want to upset her with my nightmares, too. Or tell her how happy I am to see her alive for the first night in months. I've probably overstayed my welcome, anyway. "I hope you can get some rest. Good night, Katniss."
But before I can turn to leave, she grabs my arm. "Please..." she whispers, a pained expression on her face. "Would you... stay with me?"
I should say no. Should tell her friends don't usually share a bed, if 'friends' is in fact what we are. Should ask if she's only suggesting it in hopes to impress Snow.
But I don't. Instead, I say, "Yeah, of course," much too quickly, and climb into bed next to her and pull her close. Because my nightmares aren't about my own pain. They're about hers. They're not about her leaving me. They're about me never being there when she needs me the most.
So I stay with her. She is, after all, the girl of my dreams.
A/N: Thanks for reading!