Unlocking Doors
My days begin and end with nightmares. There is no stopping them, I learned this right after I get back to 12. I try staying up, try keeping my eyes open in the hopes that I will finally escape. I sit on my back porch, black circles under my eyes, in the moonlight, staring off into space. The wind stirs my hair, raises goosebumps on my skin, as if trying to remind me that I am alive, and pretending otherwise will not make that fact disappear. I ignore it, like I do everything else. All the phone calls from Dr. Aurelius, all the gentle touches from Sae, all the memories pounding on the walls around me - I ignore them all and I cannot find it in myself to regret it.
It is not until the sun rises, and Sae comes into my empty house calling for me, that I realize that I am crying. The tears are hot and salty, and they burn the cuts on my face from my constant scratching. I make no attempt to move, or wipe my tears, or call back to Sae whose voice becomes frantic when I do not respond. I just sit there with my tears and my memories that, no matter what I do, will not leave me alone. Both seem to follow me wherever I go, and I hardly remember the time before, when I was not constantly on the edge of breaking. And, when I close my eyes, my body slumps to the deck with a sickening thud.
...
I wake up in my bed screaming within the next blink. Flashes of lost children and dead people - Finnick, Cinna, my father, Prim - swirl in my head, and I throw myself on the ground, banging my head on the floor. I do not recognize the words escaping my mouth. They jumble together, reminding me of my hallucinations in the first Games from the tracker jacker venom, and I scream louder in my terror. I know I beg Prim in my screams to come back or to take me with her, to stow me away in her arms and bring me to a place where I do not have to hurt anymore. I cry louder when Prim does not come back for me, and I keep banging my head until I blackout - or so I am told by Sae when I wake up in what passes for a hospital in 12.
The people, with their white coats and sterile smelling rooms, at the hospital do not allow me to go home for a month, putting my under suicide watch. I beg to Sae to make them let me out so I can go back to my empty home and be alone. The hospital does not allow me to be alone, does not allow me one minute to my own thoughts. Sae says its for good reason, says that who is she to allow the Mockingjay to die under her watch?
I scream at her to leave when she nods after the doctor asks if she wants me to stay. Mockingjay burns behind my eyes, and I feel as if I might vomit if anyone else says the word. When Sae leaves, I fall back onto the bed and start screeching until they drug me into silence.
...
My brain swells, and I sweat uncontrollably. Everything is blurry, and I feel nothing. The morphling puts me to sleep, and I have no dreams.
...
When the month is over, I go from begging to leave to begging to stay. The morphling becomes my friend, allows me to forget, and I do not want to leave its comforting arms of black silence. I hope I am sly enough to get my addiction past the doctors, hope that I can leave the hospital with enough morphling to keep me out of my head for the rest of my life, but they recognize the symptoms and take away my sweet escape.
I spend another month going through withdraws. Dr. Aurelius comes to visit as I shake in a corner. The physical effects of the withdraw have long passed, but mentally I am unprepared to face the demons hiding within my own mind. I shake because I fear going to sleep, and my lack of sleep keeps my body constantly on the brink of exhaustion. Before, I used it as a ploy to get more morphling. The hospital was desperate to get me to sleep, and I traded sleep for morphling with willing eyes and grasping hands. When Dr. Aurelius learned of this, he stopped it, and parts of me hate him for not giving me what I want.
"You do not want to become an addict, Katniss," he says to me one day as I huddle in the corner, arms around my knees and a glare on my face. "I see what happens to morphling addicts. None of it is good."
I do not reply to him, but sharp anger comes to the forefront of half-crazed mind. It is the most passionate thing, besides sadness, that I have felt in a long time. It terrifies me as much as it gives me hope.
I also see what happens to Victors, I reply to him, through lips that do not move. None of it is good.
...
When I finally speak to Dr. Aurelius, I am allowed to go home. I am not eager to get back to my empty house in Victor's Village. What I hated about the sterility of the hospital has become what I love about it. There are no memories in these white walls. Just emptiness. Just highs and no lows. Just black voids.
My house fills me with things I do not want to remember, and I keep a glare glued on my face when the hospital security escorts me from my room and into the car waiting outside. I see Sae for the first time since I yelled at her when I get into the car, and guilt rises within me when I remember the words I threw her way. I stay stubbornly silent despite my guilt, ignoring her when she tells me hello and ignoring her when she tells me of what I missed while in the hospital. It is nothing I have not heard before. Dr. Aurelius tried everything to get me to talk, and even though I stared at bare walls, I listened more out of boredom than curiosity.
All the car ride home she tells me of news from the other districts. I pay no mind to any of this, preferring instead to stare blankly at the window, seeing none of the commotions beyond its pane. Every so often I see my reflection, and it is a girl I do not recognize. I try not to dwell on it, because I know I will start to cry if I allow myself to see the mess I have become, because I know that the things Dr. Aurelius tells me will come back to haunt me and demand I get better.
It is in that moment, with Sae talking in gentle tones and my eyes catching my own in the glass pane, that I realize that I do not want to get better, that getting better means that I will have to face my demons, face myself.
The tears fall too quickly to stop, and the moment the car stops in front of my house, I sprint out of it, away from my reflection, away from my realizations. Up the stairs I run, up away from every ghost on the ground floor, up away from Sae, who I can hear bumble around in the kitchen with her noisy granddaughter. I sit in my bedroom, against the wall underneath the window, with tears streaming down my face and my fists clenched.
I cry for no one this time. I cry simply because I cannot contain my tears anymore. My mouth opens in noiseless sobs, and the only sound in the room is my ragged breathing. It comforts me that I am crying because I want to, not because I have to, and that makes me cry harder because selfishness rules my life.
For my whole life the Capitol has been my villain, has been the reason for every bad thing in my life. My father's death, Gale's obsession with weapons, my mother's depression, Peeta's hijacking - all the Capitol, all Snow. Whether they he was directly involved or not, it was his fault. Now, the Capitol is gone and Snow is dead. Now, the only one to blame for my lack of recovery, for my obsession with dying, for my inability to live, is myself, and that burns me worse than any fire could.
And my tears burn hot like lava, and though they dry, they scar my face worse than the skin grafts on my stomach and shoulders.
...
It takes me a couple weeks to venture down stairs. Sae smiles at me when I cautiously make my appearance. My eyes avoid the hall leading to Prim's room, though I see that the dust that once piled there is gone. By the look of the clean floors and spotless windows, Sae has been cleaning, and I am surprised when I am not irritated at the thought of Sae cleaning the house that Snow gave me. Instead of irritation, I am relieved that I will not have to do it when I find the energy to do something other than cry.
...
My recovery starts slowly. I start eating three meals a day, bathing regularly, and even looking out the window into my backyard. I still do not look into the mirror when I shower. Before I ever venture into the bathroom, I ask Sae to cover the large, floor-to-ceiling mirror with a sheet I find strewn in the closet. She looks at me with concerned eyes, asks me why I want to cover up a mirror, but something in my face tells her not to push further. And so she does it with little more than a sigh and walks out, leaving me alone in the bathroom clutching a towel and a small bottle of shampoo. I still cannot find it in me to yank it off. I reason it is because I do not need it, that I managed brushing and braiding my hair without a mirror for sixteen years, so I do not miss looking in my reflection. I know this is not the truth, but it is a good lie.
This goes on for months, and the routine becomes my friend more than the morphling ever was.
...
I do not notice a difference in myself until one morning before breakfast, when I am looking outside while braiding my hair with slow fingers, and I see how the woods have grown like a wildfire outside. No Capitol gardeners come to trim it anymore, so it overtakes all that it wishes. The large pines grow strong and hearty beyond my fence, and I feel a small pinch in my heart as I stare at them. My hands twitch for my bow when I see a squirrel run up one of the trunks.
When I tie off my braid, I stare at the windows, and I do not realize that my hand is flat against the window in obvious yearning until I feel the cold of the glass against my palm. I blink in wonder at my hand, and for the first time in many months, I debate going out into the woods.
As soon as the thought comes, a name appears with it. Gale. How can I go out in the woods without Gale? My whole life in the woods coexisted with Gale, the boy who loved me and the man who killed my sister. To go out in the woods alone would celebrate and demean my friendship with Gale. This makes me want to go into the woods even more.
No tears fall with the mix of emotions, and I realize that this is the first time that I have thought of Prim without crying, even if it is just a passing thought. I do not know how to feel about my lack of reaction, but I do not dwell. I flip around, away from the window, and open my bedroom door before walking down the stairs. Sae is there, like always, smiling and bidding me good morning when she sees me in the dining room.
I do not smile back, and I do not tell her good morning. Instead, I stare at her with uncertain eyes before saying, "I think . . . I think I am going out in the woods today."
She blanches when she hears my voice, and her eyes widen in obvious surprise. I try to maintain eye contact, irritated when I realize I am trying to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, no matter how small it is.
Before I can ponder my irritation further, she recovers coolly and replaces the surprise with a searching gaze that makes me uncomfortable. I hold my ground until she sighs softly and says, "You will back before nightfall."
It is not a question. It is a statement. It is a warning that she does not completely trust that I will not go running back to the hospital for the morphling.
I nod without hesitation and walk towards the pegs that hold my father's coat, my bow, and my arrows. I do not say goodbye, because I plan on saying hello again before the sun sets.
I go out my back door and creep down the path to the woods to avoid being seen. The last thing I want is to be caught by anyone who knows me. And when I see the fence, I almost forget who I am now. I am transported back to a time where nothing hurt too much, where I could handle anything that I was thrown. I felt powerful back then, I realize. I felt in control back then, when I defied the Capitol every day by going out in the woods. I felt invincible back then, as if my small defiance made all the difference in the world.
How naive I was back then. I thought I was free from the Capitol's control when I left my district's boundaries. I know now how so very wrong I was.
My first hunting trip is mindless. I do not think of Gale. I do not think of Prim. I do not even think of Sae who waits for me at my empty house. I hunt and I trap. I shoot and I kill. I stalk and I seize. It is mindless, easy as breathing. No demons follow me to the woods the first hunting trip, and I return to 12 with arms full of game and a small smile on my face.
I spend all my daylight hours in the woods. Sae does not stop me, and she packs me lunch and dinner for my time in the woods. I do not eat them at first, throwing the stale bread to the geese that frequent the woods and using the meat as bait for the traps. Instead, I eat from the earth, picking berries that I have not eaten in years and frying squirrels and the deer I got on a lucky day. It makes me feel normal, makes me feel like Katniss, when I cook for myself, and I discover I will do almost anything to feel like Katniss again.
...
The woods soon become my woods, and Sae allows me the luxury in exchange for my company on the weekends and some weekly phone calls with Dr. Aurelius. It is an easy agreement, and I find myself getting a little better with each passing week, find myself more good days than bad ones. The trade-off works more to my benefit than I thought it would when I first made it.
...
I still do not venture into town. Socializing always challenged me, but familiar faces, beyond those I am used to, cause nothing but harm. However, I cannot escape all of my past. Haymitch proves as much when starts to visit me. He first appears in my living room without even knocking, in the middle of dinner on a Sunday. He is sober but he looks like an alcoholic, looks like Haymitch, and my breath catches in my throat when he shoots me a crooked grin.
"Well, hello there, sweetheart."
I have a mental breakdown after he leaves the first time. I do not go to the woods the next day and spend the whole day in my room, back to the corner wallowing in half-forgotten memories. The next couple times are easier but not by much. I allow Haymitch's presence simply because I owe him at least my company.
But with Haymitch comes remembering, and I am not fond of it. Haymitch was there before everything happened, and he was there when everything was happening, and he will be there when nothing at all happens again.
With each passing visit, I remember Prim and her happy smiles. I remember my mother and her blonde hair. I remember my father with his voice like leather. I remember Cinna with his soft smiles. I remember Gale and his ridiculous nickname. I remember things I had forgotten. I remember memories that are not just sad but happy. I remember my life before, when I was a person whole and not broken.
But, suddenly, a different face, one that I avoid thinking about, comes into my mind. One with sweet blue eyes and soft blond curls. One with a soothing voice and a passionate mouth. I remember lips and love and everything I have not felt in these past months. I remember gentle touches with gentle fingertips. I remember hard hands crushing my neck and hard eyes looking not at me, but through me.
I remember Peeta. I remember that he suffered worse than I did.
I remember that I do not know where he is, if he is alive, if he is okay.
I remember and I do not want to forget.
...
The next morning I am in the woods before Sae can give me my pack. I leave my bow and arrows on the pegs, but I wear my father's jacket, breathing in his scent as I sit on a large tree branch staring out into the forest tinted with the orange of the rising sun.
Orange.
Everything about Peeta rushes back to me while I sit on that branch. I remember the Games, both of them, and after. But I do not see the death. I see only Peeta. Peeta, with his boyish smile and hopeful eyes. Peeta, with his deep frown and focused eyes. Peeta, with his raging face and his blank eyes as his hands wrap around my throat as he tries to kill me.
Selfish does not describe what I am. I see endless months of doting upon everything bad about myself. I see the endless hours sitting up in my room crying over people who would not want my wasted tears.
I see Peeta alone, wherever he is, pondering all that he lost alone. I had Sae. I have Sae - and Haymitch.
I remember what Peeta told me during the Quell, that I was the last thing he had. And, whether he remembers me, the real me, or not, I allowed him to lose me too.
The tears I cry do not come out in sobs. They come out slowly and trek down my face like a river. But they do not scar me when I wipe them off.
...
I go home long after night falls, and Sae is waiting up. She does not look concerned before I enter, and she does not look concerned after I enter. Instead, she picks up her sleeping granddaughter from her place on the couch before I can even take off my boots.
"Goodnight Katniss," she says unceremoniously. And she leaves.
She returns only every other day after that.
...
I do not approach her about Peeta. Instead, I work on getting myself better, getting myself to the point where I could look him in the eyes and not break into a million pieces. Dr. Aurelius's phone calls go from weekly to daily, and I start to work on a book of memories. When Dr. Aurelius first mentions it, I am uncertain if that will help me. Reliving the things that already haunt me seems backwards. But he says for me to try it anyway, and when I do, it actually works. I am grateful. I have an outlet for all the things I cannot handle on my own, and that thought comforts me when I cannot sleep at night.
It is while I am working on the book that Sae comes over with her granddaughter, who is still a curious thing despite not being completely there. I am proud when I can answer her simple questions without struggling too much, and I see Sae's smile even though she tries to hide it.
She starts frying up some of the salted deer meat I have in the fridge, and I continue to work on the book under the watchful eye of Sae's granddaughter.
It is not until that the little girl curls up on the sofa in the other room and falls asleep that Sae says, "Peeta is in District 12."
I drop my pencil at Peeta's name, and my hands immediately grip the table. My knuckles whiten as I fight to maintain composure. I am in no danger of crying, but I am in no position to act nonchalant at the news of Peeta being back in District 12.
Back in District 12.
Sae does not acknowledge the dropped pencil or my white-knuckled hands. She continues cooking, and I notice she cooks almost the whole bunch of meat before I am able to respond.
"H-he's back?" My voice sounds alien, so different from when I talked with Sae's granddaughter, and I am surprised when it cracks.
Sae nods, ignoring the hoarseness of my voice like I ignored her in the beginning of my recovery. "Yeah, just back from the . . . well, what used to be the Capitol." She nods again, smiling softly as if recalling a fond memory.
She continues telling me of Peeta, of how he spent all these past months in a rehabilitation center trying to recover all that he lost. "He looks good," she says as she fries up the last bit of meat, "almost back to normal. The way he looked before. It amazed me when I saw him across the street the other day, while you were out in the woods. He was talking to Haymitch, and he did not notice me. He wouldn't, you know, as he never really knew me. But I recognized him. He and Haymitch looked to be having a big discussion - not heated or anything, but something important." Her eyes are far away as she tells me her story, and mine are glued to her mouth as if I could see the words escaping it, as if I could will the words onto the papers in front of me to make sure I am hearing her right. "I had stopped walking and had stared at him like he was a ghost. Of course, he did not notice. And when he was done with his discussion, he just walked back into his house and shut the door behind him. The chimney has been smoking ever since. Suppose he's making bread in there? I'm no baker, so I hope he is. It'll be nice to have something edible to put the meat on."
Sae falls silent, and it is clear that her story is over. I am numb afterwards, unseeing and unfeeling. I pick up the pencil I dropped and close up the book, place the pencil gently on top, and wait patiently for Sae to finish up and leave, though I have no idea what I am going to do after she goes. She picks up her sleeping granddaughter after packaging up the meat and says goodnight the same way she does every other day, but this time there is a smile on her face that I cannot explain. When she leaves she does not lock the door.
I stare at the closed door, thoughts racing and heart pounding. Beyond that door, down those steps, across the street is the house that has Peeta, alive and well and healthy and rehabilitated. The thought of Peeta back to normal terrifies me and excites me. The thought of Peeta seeking help while I spent my time crying out my misfortunes makes me feel guilty. While I wallowed in self-pity, not thinking of Peeta or how he was doing or where he was, he spent his time getting better, and just weeks ago I worried over whether or not he was okay.
My feet move before my brain. I am walking to my door before I can stop myself, opening it before I can think where I am going.
This is crazy, Katniss! My mind is screaming at me to think about this, to think this through, but I ignore it dutifully.
I can see Peeta's smoking chimney, see the lights of his kitchen on, see flashes of life that had not been there before. I could see Peeta with just a few simple steps, and my heart jumps in absolute elation at the thought. I could see Peeta within the next couple minutes. I could see Peeta within the next couple minutes.
However, I am not allowed to just ponder seeing Peeta. Because I walk the few simple steps from my door and turn to my right when I see movement out of the corner of my eyes. My body instantly goes into attack mode, and my hand automatically reaches towards my back, to where my arrows would be, when I see Peeta, shirt covered in dark soil, standing next to a row of freshly-planted primroses with another bush in his hands.
He saw me before I saw him, but my gasp at his presence makes him jump nonetheless.
"Hello Katniss," he says cautiously after a moment. My mouth continues to gape, and my heart races like a hummingbird's wing in my chest.
Before I know what I am doing, I am running back into my house, racing up the stairs and flying into my room where I know I will alone. I put as many walls as I can between us, needing time to think and to breathe and to recover from my shock upon seeing his face for the first time in months.
But I do not lock any of the doors separating us.
FIN
A/N: Hope you enjoyed. All mistakes are mine.