one.
It was the first time in a long time when I realized how breathless I was.
Early in the morning, I wake up, dried tears crusted around my eyes. I rub them away, groaning at the uncomfortable sensation.
Then I remember- I have four months to live. It all falls apart in my mind, like it did last night. Screaming too loud to comprehend if I'm really screaming or not. No one comes rushing into my room. I'm just gaping, cries halted by half-broken sighs. I throw the heavy layer of blankets off of my quivering body. It's like soaking in an ice bath. It's cold, I whisper to myself in a dry voice. It's a stupid thing to say but the air is too shocking for me to comprehend anything beyond the simplest of phrases. I slept alone last night. That's all I can remember right now, and I can't imagine there's much more to remember.
I wonder how Peeta's taking the news about the Quarter Quell announcement. He must be crying for me, taking pity over my inevitable death sentence. He's not caring about his own almost-inevitable sentence at all. He'd never care about himself at a time like this.
I place a foot on the wooden floor. It's almost unbearably cold. When I reach the beige rug in front of the door I almost sigh in relief. Upon exiting my room I check on Prim. She's not in her bed and the covers are still perfectly made.
I peer into Mother's room. Prim is curled up next to Mother, a hand on her stomach. I smile at their snoring figures.
In the foyer I dig my worn-in hunting jacket from the bottom of the coat rack and slip it on. Mm, it's warm. In the dark I fumble to find my favorite leather boots and pull them over my frozen feet.
Smoothly I unlock both the deadlocks on that perfect little white wooden door. I leave it unlocked for the night- or the two hours that remain until dawn, at least. I slip across the street to Peeta's house. The light in his dining room is on, glowing through the room and leaving shimmers on the grey-stained spring snow.
Breathing is still a thing I have to think about by the time I'm pounding on his door. Four seconds later he throws it open. He throws his arms around me, embracing me. I cry between broken struggles for breath, loudly into his shoulder. His arms are still pressing me against him. He doesn't let me go. I'm glad. It's like my worries can float away, if only for a moment, when he holds me. When his arms move back to his side the tears start pouring out, falling like waterfalls over my cheeks. I wasn't trying to cry. Why would I be?
"I don't want you to go," Peeta says quietly. "We're going to get you out of that arena alive. You know we will."
"I want to escape. I want to run away into the woods and-"
He puts a finger to my lips, quieting me. "I told you, we'll get you out of there alive."
and that was the last anyone saw of him-
two.
The second day that Peeta Mellark was nowhere to be seen I was sobbing into my pillow, shouting, "Where is he? Where did you take Peeta Mellark?" at the top of my lungs, as if someone was listening.
I remember the steady thud of Peacekeeper Boots outside my house, a stampede of wildebeest that never made it to their drinking hole. I remember screaming and sobbing. I wasn't thinking that day, just crying uncontrollably. I didn't eat that day.
The third day I was up at four with my jacket and boots. I ran outside looking for him, wildly searching a night that I knew didn't hold him. I beat down Haymitch's door, as if he could hear me through his shattered empty bottle.
For five minutes I waited on his doorstep to be let in. He never appeared at the door to talk and give me a glass of wine.
I walked down the street and sat on the steps of the Mayor's house, head hanging in my house.
"Hey, you, get back in your house! It's past midnight!" shouts a man in white armor. His voice is gruff, like a man whose life was spent in the mines. "Hey, miss, you lookin' for someone? Get back home!" He approaches me and snatches my wrist. He has no weapon in his holster.
"Where the hell is Peeta Mellark!" I shout at the top of my lungs. It's not even a question. I'm just shouting at him. His grip tightens around my wrist and he pulls me off of the steps. "Where is he? Don't tell me you have nothing to do with this!" I yell, screaming right to his face. Under his heavy-duty mask he has the face of a young man. Obviously he's a low-level Peacekeeper, no status other than his white armored suit. I shove him away and jerk my wrist away. He doesn't fall.
I ran halfway across District Twelve, scrambled up the hills by the fence. Then I looked back. The whole world around me was sleeping now. The only sound I heard was the steady croak of spring frogs. Somehow it was calming.
For a moment I watched the town sleep from the hill. Breathing was like sears of coal in my lungs that day. I couldn't accept that he was gone. He wasn't, he couldn't be. I reach for the stars, hand limp on my wrist. "Peeta," I whisper quietly. My hand falls to my side again. I take one more look at the District and blow a weak kiss towards the row of big white houses. In the second one in the row a light flicks on. It's Haymitch, probably. Up for a drink at five in the morning. He drinks his pain and fears away.
For some reason I think running away will help with relief.
three.
He's lost, except he's not lost. The Capitol knows where he is, they just have to. It's been a week. It isn't fair. I've checked his house every other day. It's Sunday. The day Gale gets out of the mines.
I pull on my leather boots and the same old familiar jacket. At seven I'm off, waiting for Gale at the cabin with the lake. At nine he appears out of the south. I throw my arms around him. "You know Peeta's gone missing, don't you?" He nods solemnly.
"Catnip, it's going to be all right, okay? They'll find him."
"Last night I had a dream he came back, he was all right. They'd made him give up all our secrets but we were safe and together and I just couldn't breathe. I was too happy. But. . .Gale, he's gone."
He nods, understanding me. "That's gonna happen, okay? He'll come out of the blue and he'll kiss you and it'll be all right." A moment of silence falls over us. "I brought you fancy bread. Fresh from the Kohrs' bakery this morning. Rory and Jemison are great friends." With his arm around my shoulder we go to sit on a hill and eat.
For a moment it's perfect. Breathing is easy and Gale's making me laugh and it's like everything falls into place.
It's when we're walking home I see it.
It's his corpse. The only thing Peeta left behind. It's bruised and mangled, limbs twisted grotesquely here and there. I take a sharp breath in and let it out in crying breaths. Tears cascade down my cheeks like a waterfall of regret and anger. It isn't fair. I don't dare take a step closer to it- him. "No," I whisper. "This can't be- no, no, no, no, no. No!" For a moment I breath quickly, wiping tears from my cheeks. I'm not angry. I'm not sad. I'm not scared.
There's nothing in my head. There's only the tears. For a moment I consider whether or not it's him. But behind the blood and the bruises it's his blonde hair and his blue eye.
I consider the possibilities. He could have been ravaged by wolves, or died of thirst and then clawed and mangled by birds and then- but no, this is all the Capitol's doing. It's almost impossible to bear. I'm not crazy.
There's a white rose clasped in his hand and there's only one person who could have put it there.
It was the first time in a long time when I realized how breathless I was.