It's midnight on the train. The surrounding woods are almost invisible in the dark, but the dim lights of the train light the hallway to my bedroom. I run my left hand down the wall to keep me steady as the train rocks slightly. I sigh as I reach my door, pushing it open and practically collapsing inside. We're on our way to District 5, not a particularly defiant district, but I'll have to keep up the act despite that.
I walk over to the dresser, pulling out the first clothes I see and putting them on before falling onto the bed. I lay on my back, eyes blank, glued to the ceiling. I toss the day over in my head, certainly not the most eventful speech, but nor was it the most convincing. At least Peeta knows everything now. Despite everything that happened in 11, at least I know we're on the same page now.
I roll over. Outside the train the trees continue to whiz by in a dark green blur. We're past the halfway point now, a mildly comforting thought. Only five more districts, the Capitol, and then I'll be home. I look at the small clock by the side of my bed. 12:20. I sigh again, but close my eyes, wary of the restless sleep that will greet me.
I'm back in the arena, sitting in the fork of one of the trees I vaguely remember the look of. The sleeping bag is tied around me and my arms hold my small backpack to my body. I feel my head grow heavy, and I place it back against the trunk of the tree. That's when I hear it. The Mutts. They're at the bottom of the tree, clawing at the bark, screeching up towards me. I panic and try to think through a plan. The trees. They're safest. I need to get away. Where can I go? The other trees? Yes.
Suddenly they all disappear. I'm sitting in a tree where the Cornucopia ought to be, surrounded by nothing except for the Mutts clawing at the tree. I daren't look down for fear of seeing their eyes. Their eyes. The other tributes. Immortalized in the eyes of a Capitol creature. My mind is in a frenzy and all of a sudden my fingers are pulling at the ropes that bind me to the tree. Only the more I try to untie it, the worse the knot becomes. I scramble to pull my knife from my backpack, hoping it'll be more successful at freeing me, only to see that the Mutts have started climbing.
Their claws pull at the bark, shredding it on impact. Their teeth are shiny, covered in saliva that drips with every snarl. Their eyes are piercing. All I can see is Marvel and Rue and Thresh and Foxface, all in the eyes. I shake my head.
They're not real, I tell myself. But they are. They're real and they're waiting to rip my apart. They're also getting closer.
I finally locate my knife and pull it out of my bag. I place it against the rope and start cutting. I'm halfway through the rope before I notice the blood. It's smeared along the handle, certainly not fresh. It's all over my hands and I hear the sound of a branch breaking as I look down to see the Mutts a few feet below me.
That's when I notice the eyes. The Mutt closest to me, it's got a gentle, kind look to its face. Almost a smile. But the eyes. They're blue. Clear blue, and so familiar, though I'm certain I've never seen them in the Mutts before. Then I realize. Peeta. And then I see the face of the Mutt change, rage sets in. It's jaw opens, teeth inches from my face. And it's all I can do to struggle against the ropes before Peeta's Mutt kills me.
When I wake up I see Peeta's face only inches from mine, bringing more screams as I see his eyes again.
"Katniss, it's okay, it's me. It's Peeta, it's okay. You're okay. I'm here. I promise you're okay, you're safe." He has his hands wrapped around my wrists and I become aware of my screaming and the tears that cover my face.
"Katniss, you're safe," he repeats, a little stronger this time. I look up at him; he's kneeling by the side of my bed dressed only in his pyjamas. I reach my hands out to his face, his still connected to my wrists.
"It's me. Just me. Just Peeta."
I breathe out in relief. I had to check, feel him, feel that he is real. I move my hands to his shoulders and pull him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," I whisper into his ear, "I'm so sorry. I probably woke you."
I look over at the clock. 3:41. I definitely woke him.
"It's okay, I couldn't sleep. Then I heard you screaming, and, uh, I couldn't. I couldn't bear it. I had to come."
He leans back, looking straight into my eyes.
"Did you want to talk about it?"
"No. It's okay," I think I'm trying to convince myself more than him, and he still looks unconvinced.
"Do you want me to stay?" His eyes are searching, looking for the slightest hint of refusal that would fuel his doubt.
I nod my head, pulling him next to me on top of the covers.
He lets out a breath and we shuffle into some resemblance of comfort on the bed that's been completely devastated by my thrashing. I feel his arm against me and I reach for his hand. I need something to hold onto, something to keep me grounded and away from my dream-Mutts. A reminder that I've got the real Peeta; with his real eyes and his real hand.
This isn't the first time he's come into my bedroom on the train after hearing my screams, but a part of me still expected him not to come.
We lay there for a while, listening to each other's breathing, watching the second light on the clock flash as the time passed.
"Do you, uh, do you have nightmares often?" I breathe out, barely audible.
He waits for a moment before turning his head slightly to look at me.
"Most nights."
"Of the games?"
"Always."
"Okay."
We resume silence, him still looking at me, hands still entwined. Again, he waits before speaking again.
"Are yours always the games?"
"No," I stop myself, trying to think how to continue, "sometimes it's losing Prim. Or Gale. Sometimes you. Not always in the games, just losing you all together, sometimes you don't even die. I wake up and I forget that it's not real. I dream about the day my father died too."
The honesty in my words hits me as soon as I've said them. It feels like too much. Most night, Peeta and I briefly discuss the dream and then let it go, but tonight's different.
"Can I ask you a question?" He's still looking at me so I turn my head to look into his eyes.
"Yeah."
I brace myself for an intense, probing question about my nightmares or Gale, but instead I hear "What was the first thing you ever shot?"
I breathe out, almost a chuckle. Almost.
"A squirrel. It was a rubbish shot, a miracle that I even hit the thing. I was aiming for a tree as my father taught me to shoot, but somehow I managed to hit the squirrel."
"Huh." It's quiet, but I hear it.
"What about you? The first thing you baked?"
A small smile graces Peeta's face as he remembers.
"Vanilla cupcakes with chocolate icing. They were delicious. Probably the best I've ever baked. I remember the whole kitchen was covered in flour after I attempted to sift it, even with my mother watching me."
He stops but his smile remains.
"Tell me more about hunting."
I oblige, and we end up talking about our memories growing up. I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up with my hand wrapped in his and our faces mere inches away from each other.
A knock on the door causes his eyes to flutter open. I reluctantly roll over to look at the door as it swings open to reveal an Avox to alert us about breakfast. I nod silently and the door closes again.
"I suppose we should get up."
"No," he replies, tightening his grip on my hand, "it's warm here."
"I doubt they'll let us go cold out there Peeta," I reply, shuffling away from him slightly. He pauses for a moment, looking like he wants to say something.
"Why were you so terrified to see me last night?" He immediately back-pedals, "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that."
I don't expect the change in topics, but taking a breath I reply:
"I dreamed they turned you into a Mutt. It had your eyes."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Again, he looks like something is bothering him, but he rolls off the bed.
"I'll see you at breakfast Katniss."