Hi everyone, this is my first fanfiction. Enjoy.
Not finished yet.
I don't own The Hunger Games or the song "Waste" by Foster the People, which inspired this story.
Everyday that you want to waste, you can.
I sit on the living room couch, staring into the red and orange flames dancing and kissing on a bed of firewood. Orange was Peeta's favorite color. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to remember how his fingers had tightened around my throat or how the friendly, beautiful blue in his eyes had turned against me and surrendered into a black abyss. Instead, I concentrate on how I kissed him that night in the cave and the night on the beach during the Quarter Quell. I try to reach out to the fire in my belly, eagerly adding to it by feeding it wonderful memories. I feel an ember slowly climb up, but Peeta's black eyes cut right through my mental process. His harsh black eyes in my mind cause mine to open and I let out a gasp of defeat. He doesn't want me anymore. He would never be the same.
I stay on the couch everyday all day except for when I hear Greasy Sae's familiar shuffling footsteps on my doorstep. We eat in silence. I help to clean the dishes and put them away, but always in silence. She leaves and I continue my trance on the couch. After I hear my own frequent yawns I retreat to my bedroom and surrender myself to the nightmares I deserve.
I hear Peeta next door. Dropping heavy boxes, opening and closing his door. During a normal quiet dinner, Greasy Sae mentions that Peeta has moved back here to District 12. She sneaks a peek at me, then looks away because she doesn't expect a reaction from me anymore. However, she doesn't see my eyes flit up to her in surprise. I quickly glance down at my food again, avoiding conversation once more.
After some weeks, Greasy Sae tells me Peeta has been baking. He bakes bread for her and Haymitch. I don't expect him to offer any to me. Then one day I hear the doorbell ring. The welcoming chime is a strange occurrence. If Greasy Sae delivers my meals she usually just knocks once and lets herself in. Haymitch hardly ever visits me. Nevertheless, I don't move from my seated position on the couch. I hear Peeta's heavy footsteps as he walks away from my door. Minutes later I hear his door shut. Only then do I push myself up from my safe abode and open my door. Lying on my front step is a plate with two loaves of bread. I bend down to pick it up when I see a flash of blonde hair and a swishing curtain in Peeta's upstairs window.
And that's what I do everyday. Wake up, eat with Greasy Sae, sit on the couch, and accept Peeta's bread. One day I hear his heavy, clumsy steps approach my porch. In a spur of the moment action, I push myself away from the couch and stride to open the door just as he's about to set down the bread.
I open the door all the way and see his tired blue eyes open wide at my gesture. I never answer the door after all. I try to smile. "Hi."
Peeta takes in my appearance. I wonder what he thinks of my disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, and pale skin. His eyes roam over my face before I look down at the plate of bread in his hands. He hands it to me and I take it. His wavy blonde hair is tangled but looks recently washed. His skin isn't pale like mine, but isn't glowing either. There are fresh burn scars on his hands and I find myself staring at them.
"Burn scars," Peeta says sheepishly as he examines the marks himself. I find myself thinking about another time, when burn scars meant you had been running through an arena of forests with fireballs aimed for your head. "I've been trying to get back into my baking." His voice brings me back to the present.
I nod. Silence. The plate of bread in my hands smells good. I wonder if he smells like bread. He always smells like bread. Peeta turns and points his thumb back to his house. "I should go."
He doesn't leave though. He can tell I want to say something. Say, 'I've missed you'. 'Thanks for the bread'. Anything, the voice in the back of my head pushes me. I look down at the two loaves sitting on the white china.
"Are you hungry?"