No, I thought deperately as I pushed my way through the sickeningly white hallway. Prim is not dead. My sister Primrose Everdeen, is still alive. She's with my mother, healing patients, and doing what she does best - giving hope to the hopeless. The bomb did not harm her in any way, shape, or form. Said bomb was not sent under orders of my best friend, Gale. And I, Katniss Everdeen, was not a tribute in the 75th annual Hunger Games, nor the Quarter Quell. I was not the Mockingjay, the symbol of rebellion. By the time I reach the dreadfully colorless door, I am sure my face is especially pale. Paler than usual, that is. Regardless of the burn marks, and scars. As I push open the door, I Katniss Everdeen, learned that lying to yourself helps nothing at all.
"Prim," I whimper softly. My mother's eyes search for mine, and that is when I know she's gone. Again. The death of my father had been enough for her to distance herself from me and Prim. I had always been so judgemental, I had never stopped to consider the pain she went through. I now, understood, for I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never return.
"She's gone," my mother replies, as her eyes search frantically around the room. Looking for a distraction, I assumed. Part of me wanted to run out of the room right then. But a more dominate part knew I couldn't just leave my mother like this. She continued to rush from patient to patient, checking absolutely everything. Now I was positive she was looking for a distraction. Exactly what she did when my father died. All her focus had been put into work, and I was left to take care of Prim.
"Are you okay?" My eyes followed her as she raced around the room.
Her eyes met mine, and she sighed, "Katniss, I have work to do, please leave."
I didn't hesitate. If she wanted to go back down that same path again, I'd let her. She was the mother, after all. Why should I be the one taking care of her? I all but ran out of the room, with a grimace on my face. I wanted to reprimand myself for thinking what I had. But I just couldn't. I had been through far more than her. I was the one that took care of Prim, when she couldn't. I sacrificed myself to certain death, by taking Prim's place in the Hunger Games. I had been the Mockingjay and started the rebellion. During which, Prim died. I wanted to slap myself right then. Primrose, my innocent little sister, had died. Because of me! It was my fault, that's why my mother is distancing herself. She knows its my fault. Everyone does.
"Hello, Katniss. Feeling alright?" Came the sarcastic voice of Haymitch. I inwardly sighed. The last person I wanted to see.
"I'm doing fine." I said through gritted teeth, not bothering to turn around. Instead, I kept walking. I heard him chuckle slightly as he struggled to catch up. Must be drunk, I thought.
"You weren't supposed to leave your compartment," I could picture the smirk on his face, and frowned. I wanted to stop walking, to yell at him, to scream. But my legs insisted that I keep walking. So I did.
"Had to see my mother," I answered curtly, secretly wishing the investigation was over. But I knew it wasn't. This was Haymitch we were talking about.
"Oh," his voice softened a considerable amount. I knew he was rather fond of Prim. Afterall, who wasn't? Everyone who had met her, loved her. Whereas when someone meets me, their initial reaction is to kill me. "Well, Peeta wants to see you. He's out of recovery, in his compartment." I gave a grateful nod in his direction and headed towards Peeta's compartment.
"Hello," I said in a quiet voice, not wanting to frighten him. I seemed to do that a lot lately.
He turned, and smiled slightly, "Hey."
"Haymitch said you wanted to see me. How are you feeling?" I didn't notice how my voice cracked a bit, and I also didn't notice the tears that were threatening to pour out.
"Better," he admitted, "At least I don't want to strangle you anymore." He smiled a lop sided smile, that I returned half-heartedly.
"That's good." My smile faltered and I had to fight back the tears, that wanted so badly to come out.
He noticed my perplexed expression, "What about you?" His eyes were open with concern, and I can't help that my heart fluttered a bit. It was nice to know, that he still felt something. Especially after I found out that Snow had been hijacking him. Or rather programming him to want to kill me, I thought grimly.
"I'm okay." Lies.
He frowned. I should've known he wouldn't buy it. Even hijacked Peeta knew me too well, as to believe it. Damn you, Snow!
"Are you sure?" Peeta asked. I didn't want to tell him the truth, he might not understand. I then realize I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. So I decided to just go on and tell him. I'd always been selfish when it came to Peeta. Why stop now?
"It's Prim," I sighed, letting the tears fall freely from my watery eyes, "She's gone. Forever. And it's all my fault." No! How long had I spent trying to convince him that I wasn't the reason for this war? Why do I always screw things up?
"President Coin, and everyone else pressured you into being the Mockingjay, real or not real?" He had a thoughtful expression on his pained face.
I considered this. Yes, they had convinced me into being the Mockingjay. But it was still my choice. They hadn't forced anything on me. I struggled desperately to find something real about that statement. I didn't want him to begin hating me again. I frowned and lifted m eyes up to meet his, "Not real. It was my choice, they didn't force me to do anything."
"Katniss," he sighed, "You love Primrose more than anything else, real or not real?" I didn't know how to answer this. Of course I loved Prim. And if you had asked me this question before, The Hunger Games, the answer would've been automatic. I did love her, I do love her. Still. But more than anything? More than Peeta?
"Both." I managed a weak smile at his obvious confusion. "I mean, I love her more than my own life. That's why I took her place during the reaping. But-" I stopped. Did I really want to admit this? He had just gotten better, and I wasn't sure if I could handle rejection.
"But...?" He asked.
"Not more than anything." I looked down at my feet, "Not more than you."