Author's notes:
Hello all. Thanks for reading "Never Look Back". This is my first fic some please read and review. This story is a bit of a slow burn, but I really want you to understand how confused Katniss is in her own mind. Anyway, Thanks
PS All credit for the Hunger Games, characters and related terms goes to Ms Collins. Only the story is my own
If I had to compare my life to anything, it would be thunderstorms. A sudden onset of brisk winds, bringing forth the unpredictable melody of teardrops. I love to watch them; storms.
Back in my early school years, a teacher told us that they were the result of the air becoming "unstable". When two extremes, hot and cold, collide. Release, I think that's what it is. And yet, I can't imagine the confrontation that preceded this peaceful display.
Hot and cold. Separate they are unbearable, dauntingly so. Yet combined they create a perfectly warm and welcome sensation. Soft caresses, gentle touches, a sigh of both pent up excitement and its impending release. The feeling of wanting more and the hope that it never ends. But it has to start somewhere.
Hot and cold.
Surely the path my mind was laying down would be anything but brief and unfulfilling. It's easy to fantasize about something you've never felt. Release. I guess it's the unknown, the idea that anything is possible that drives my thoughts. I suppose that's why all these syfi/romance movies are so popular. When life has settled into a routine, naturally people objectify themselves as characters. The ones who live out our wildest fantasies fight against oppression, and against all odds, and succeeded. At least that's what I think. Then again, my mind would actually have to take the backseat for a while and let someone else's ideas ignite the spark for once to let that happen.
Fat chance. That's why I'm here, after all. I doubt this is what my counselor meant by keeping a journal. He was probably thinking I'd just jot down what I ate for breakfast or how some crappy chain of events made me feel so I could "reflect on my feelings", only to forget about it when I turn the page.
I wish. The truth is I wish I could just scribble down some random piece of my life, look at it briefly, then move on. You know, that whole storm thing, that's just one of more than a dozen things to pop into my head within the past hour or so. What's worse, that same train of thought will be back to haunt me, even weeks from now.
Trains. The train horn breaks up my latest ramble. It's not terribly close to the point where it wakes me in the middle of the night, but it does pull me back to reality quite often. I have to wonder though….. What is it like to live close the tracks? Does one just get used to it? I think if I ever bought a house, I'd actually choose to be closer, just to save me from my own mind.
No, I'm not crazy… well not entirely. I have these episodes. In all actuality they are panic attacks, I just don't prefer the terminology. Anyway, my episodes, I can handle those. A little "me" time usually does the trick. My headphones turned up so loud that the world around me seems like the perfect music video. The soundtrack to my life. What eats me alive is the fear of the attacks. My mind never stops. It's always ready veer off course, crash and burn. Waiting yet not waiting. It's these moments that drive me insane. Is what I'm thinking real? Why am I talking to myself?
Wait…. Stop Katniss…. Wake up.
I'm not on my front porch anymore and the rain has stopped for now. Where am I? At the store? Why am I here? Do I need something? Is it really past midnight? I catch myself asking these questions even though I already know the answers.
I can't remember the last time I went to a store with the strict purpose of buying something. Don't get me wrong, I love to get out, but the buying part of it hasn't been my motive for a while. It was more of a cover really; a reason to escape from the reality of my life. This was my release.
But it was my secret. Everyone just assumes I have a shopping problem. Truth is, I hate shopping. I just can't seem to rationalize it. Heck, I could make $1 million a day and I'm sure I would still have a problem buying $50 jeans. So, as you can imagine, the majority of my clothes are past their prime. Most are probably around five years old or so and severely outdated.
No, the real reason I shop, the reason I can navigate every store without a single glance, the reason I blackout, only to find myself surrounded by materialistic obsessions is simple. I'm running. Running form my obligations, my reality, and my relationships. I'm running from myself.
You see, my problem, the whole reason I'm sitting here putting pen to paper is because I "lack proper coping mechanisms" and have "an inability to process basic situations". What the hell does anyone know about the life I live within? I dare you to imagine.
Stop. Breathe.
Let me start over. "Hi, my name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old. I live in the northern limits of District 12 with my parents, my sister Prim, and my boyfriend, Cato." Despite the apparent fullness of the house, I constantly feel trapped and alone. But I guess that's what I get for opening my heart to someone.
I met Cato at school. "I know this guy who is perfect for you! He's honestly the sweetest guy I know!" That's exactly what my best friend had told me 3 years ago. If that was the case, my current days wouldn't be so dark. I don't know, maybe it is my fault. I let him into my world, told him all my darkest secrets. I mean, what else could I do? His dad left him when he was four years old and started a new family in another district, and his mom was the very definition of dysfunction. For someone with such beauty, she sure had her share of demons. Then again, who was I to judge?
I don't know if could ever bring myself to have children. I'm too damaged. How can I hope to give my kids advice when I can't even figure out my own issues? Don't get me wrong, I would love to have them; I just don't think it would work out.
Anyway, after a crazy night which involved his mom beating him to a pulp and a midnight search to track him down, I convinced my parents to let him live with us. They were against it from the start, but somehow they caved. I know I don't say it enough, but maybe they were right.
The first time he pushed me against the wall, my elbow left a hole in the drywall in my bedroom. His first swing at my face only grazed my cheek, but his grip on my neck left a bruise. When I denied him access to my most private area, he forced his way though. I went numb. It was either that or acknowledge that what I had feared was true. Even things that once brought me joy were replaced with his interests. I had lost my life, yet I was still breathing.
After a while, the bruises heal, the yelling subsides, and the tears dry. But I don't like who I see in the mirror. I'm not me. I am an empty vessel that once carried a free spirit. I had felt love before, but now my heart was filled with disgust.
I have to buy something, or else return to face an assault of questions or something worse. Tampons, perfect. My excuse for being away from home as well as my savior from pain. He doesn't dare try to touch me when it's "that time of the month". He would believe it too. I pick up what I've decided on along with some miscellaneous filler items to help explain the time spent at the store, and head for the check out.
As I place my items on the conveyer belt, I feel the presence of eyes on my face. "Cookie Dough huh?" referring to the pint of ice cream I had just placed down.
"Of course. It is the best flavor after all." I respond, slowly raising my eyes to match his. I'm almost too awestruck to finish my claim. He is my height, five foot seven or so, blonde hair brushed slightly to the side, his blue eyes are deep with character.
"I don't know" he sharply inhales, his lips pulling tightly with his boyish grin. "I think Cake Batter wins the whole 'double dessert' flavor category."
I can feel my cheeks rush with color, which he notices, letting out a small laugh. "Tie perhaps?" I suggest.
"Fine… but just this once!" he turns to the cashier and accepts his change. His presence is hypnotizing and even the cashier seems to lose herself staring at him. His hands appear gentle but are supported by strong arms. Arms that would provide shelter and safety, they seem. Unlike the ones that left their mark on me. I catch myself in his trance in time to hear him ask if I am okay.
I simply nod, letting a small smile escape my face. He returns with one of his own, thanks the cashier, and turns to collect his bags and disappears from the store. I turn my attention to the cashier and complete my transaction. I'm still not quite collected, as I almost forget to grab my bags. My heart is fleeting, as if no matter how hard I try, I can't catch my breath. It's a strange feeling, one I'm not familiar too with, but none the less, this mystery boy has given me a reason to smile.
Once again, I'm zoned out, walking through my life as if I were on auto-pilot. I don't want to wake up and risk losing this sensation. I make my way to my car, starting the engine without thought. As I make my way to the roadway, I once again lock eyes with my mystery boy, waiting in the brisk night air for the bus. Before I can pull up beside him, the bus arrives and I lose view of him as he gets on. Perhaps it was for the best; I have absolutely no idea what I was planning to say. And with that, the bus pulls away, headed towards the city, and I proceed in the opposite direction, his image still locked in my mind.
I don't remember the drive home. My head was occupied, desperately holding on to his image. His piercing eyes, his warm presence, all too fair to be real. Had I imagined him? Was he just another escape from my bitter life I had projected into my mind? No, he was real. The way my heart fluttered at the very thought of him had to be real. I decided then and there that he was.
The familiar sight of my parent's house brings me back down. How I wished to stay in my thoughts, with him. I knew once I opened the door, I would lose myself to Cato's wrath once again.