A/n Hi guys, this is my first fan fiction published, a Peenis(ehe) fan fiction. It takes place after the third installment of the Hunger Games trilogy "Mockingjay", I do not own any of the characters in the story. Please leave some reviews, telling me what you think, because I'm really nervous:S thanks so much guys! ~Eli x

I'm staring into the flames of the fireplace. The bright orange flames dance and collide, rolling over one another like an ocean of fire. Fire. Fire. Fire reminds me of Cinna, of Peeta, the 74th Hunger Games, the Capitol, Peeta, rebellion, Haymitch, Cinna, the Capitol, the continuing destruction of the Hunger Games. My heads so mashed up I feel myself wanting to claw my eyes out.

Day after day I am sat like this, by the fire on my couch. A blanket is slung half-heartedly on me and only for the daily visits of Greasy Sae to feed me and clean the house, I am almost certain I would be sat just skin and bone in a festering house. I do not move. I do not speak. I can't even think of Prim. My memories of Prim are reserved for my nightmares. They always begin as memories.

For the past few weeks it's been the same one. It starts off with me and Prim, when we were young. It's just before my father died, a happier time. We're playing by the side of the house while I sing to Prim, as she plays with a half-penny doll and I plait her hair. My mother walks by as she greets our father returning from work, kissing him on the cheek. My father bends down and picks her up, spinning her as she giggles like she's a teenager. He then drops to his knees to kiss me and Prim on our foreheads before entering the house with Mother. "Katniss- dinner is ready!" I don't go immediately, finishing off an intricate plait at the back of Prim's head. "Prim!" she shouts. Prim stands up, when another voice shouts "Primrose Everdeen." I turn to Prim and she is no longer the four year old child sat before me. She is the twelve year old girl shivering before the reaping, "Katniss, who is it?" she whispers. We enter the house to the interior of the Capitol Training Room, where I trained for the Hunger Games. Effie Trinket is stood on a podium, "Our female tribute, Primrose Everdeen!" She shouts to the adoring crowd who are all sat in rows. The scene has changed to Ceaser Flickerman's interview stage. Prim is stood in the middle now, tied to a post, crying as I near her. "Prim," I shout in agony, watching my sister writhe in pain, "Prim!" She turns to me, "Stay away from me you murderer!" and with that, my hands automatically release an arrow to her heart. I'm unaware I'm holding the Bow, and turn to President Snow behind me with puppet strings. "We agreed we wouldn't lie to each other, Miss Everdeen," he smiles, as the scent of roses and blood suffocate me. The terror mirrored on my mother's face to mine, as I look around for help. I see Peeta affected by the Tracker Jacker venom, not my Peeta but the cold and cruel Peeta which came to me in District Thirteen. He bare's his teeth, and looks Physcotic. I search the crowd for Gale, but I only see his retreating figure, never looking back. I am truly deserted now. I cry my sorrows but they all murmur "Murderer," getting louder till there so close I can feel there breaths tickling me, their beginning to smell of a mixture of blood and roses. Their faces morph into those I've witness die and killed. Rue. Cato. Thresh. Boggs. Clove. Finnick. Fox Face. Coin. Leeg 1. Snow. Prim's face stands out the brightest, screaming into my face when I awake with a start.

But these nightmares, they let me know who I really am. I am a person incapable of love. I hurt those I love the most. I am heartless. As I sit here every night reminiscing my losses, I lose the will to go on. I just want to end this pain I'm living through. The constant reminder that I am unwanted, I slip into a vacant daydream. But one night it changes, and the pattern is broken.

I'm in my usual foetal position, blanket strewn over my emotionally exhausted body. The tears are once again escaping my black lashes and rolling down my face, staining my cheeks. I hear a knock at the door, and assume its Greasy Sae calling for one reason or another. She should know by know I don't move positions and the door is unlocked at all times. The knock comes again, more forceful this time. I turn my head ninety degrees and decide to leave it. Let her think I'm asleep, I don't care anymore. I close my eyes to feign sleep when the heavy kitchen door unlocks and a gush of frost-biting wind blows a lock of my neglected brown hair, greasy from months of no attendance. The door closes again and the warmth from the fire fills the room once again, the faint smoke fumes close to my chest. I wait for Greasy Sae to do what she's come to do, for whatever reason she is here. I hear footsteps behind me, but they sound uneven. A scent of cleanliness and rose body wash wavers in the air. A deep voice clears his throat and I sit up as straight as an arrow. I whip my head around and there he is. Peeta Mellark stands before me, looking at strong and tall as ever. The ashy blonde strands of hair pushed back, and a long scar from his eyebrow to the bottom of his eye pink and puckered from a fight which ensued months ago. His sparkling blue eyes which were always filled with deep intensity now look at me in curiosity and tense. Words fail to escape his perfectly arched upper lip as his bottom lip trembles at the sight of my appearance deteriorating and my lack of boldness, which had long ago vanished.

While he scrutinizes my face, I realise I'm shivering. Am I really that cold? I can't be, I'm sat by a fire for gods sake. And I realise I'm shaking. I'm shaking because I have missed Peeta so much. My lip's begin to tremble with unspoken agony and my eyes water, my tear-stained cheeks illuminated by the glow of the embers. I must look like a ghost, with my pale skin and vacant expression. As he takes a step forward, I launch into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in the crook of his neck. His muscular arms lock round me in a cage of safety and I realise he is sniffing my hair. I scramble as I huddle close to him and he pulls me against him, refusing to let go of me. Tears escape me now, "you came back?" I croak, as I finally pull my face away from his tear-sodden shirt. He looks down at me and I realise how much he's grown. His eyes search me, "Of course I came back, and I came back for you." In this moment I don't want to ever leave him again and I suddenly push my lips into his with such force I must have took him surprise. It only takes a second for him to respond as he grasps my hair and passionately kisses me back. He pulls away and takes in my feeble stance. "You're exhausted" he says, his voice full of authority. He hesitates for a moment, and then gently picks me up and carries me upstairs in the cradle of his soft arms. The fatigue which had momentarily vanished at mine and Peeta's reunion suddenly hits me like a crashing wave, and I feel as if I'm back in the Quarter Quell arena, drowning in draining tiredness. Peeta walk's up the stairs slowly and pushes the door open slowly. I hold my breath; I haven't set foot in any other room apart from the kitchen and dining area in months.

It looks as if Greasy Sae's been around with her duster. The place is spotlessly clean. The dresser holds a mirror and a picture frame which gleam in the moonlight pouring in from the window, and the bed look soft and comfortable with the plush white pillows and heavy duvets. Peeta carries me to the bed and nudge's one of the many sheets back. I was worried the grime which had collected on

my skin after months of sitting by the fire would blemish the pure white sheets, but Peeta doesn't seem to give this a thought, and swaddled me in the thick duvet and wrapping me like a baby. He kissed my forehead as my eyes began to droop and he turned his back and made way to the door, "NO!" I said, suddenly alert, my chest breathing heavily. He turned and explored my expression with acquiring eyes, "please stay," I whisper, "don't leave me." A smile played on his lips as he shed his coat and shoes, and crawled into bed next to me, only pulling a sheet to cover him. I struggle to unwrap myself from the tangle of sheets and try to offer him half the duvet. He laughs, "thanks' sweetheart, but as much as I love you, you stink pretty nasty." I blush heavily as I laugh with him. The sounds familiar to me, but I haven't made that noise in a while. It feels nice. I snuggle down into my den of sheets and sleep comfortably the best I have in months. That is, until the nightmares start again.