It's easy to swallow yourself whole. Allowing your mind to roam free is dangerous, suicide even. It's not impossible to drown in the simplest of thoughts.
Ragged breathing and defeated sobs are all that bounce off the empty walls of this house. The fireplace has been left untouched since I arrived over a year ago, and the kitchen has no more use than the bed upstairs. This small chair is all I allow myself, faced towards the window all hours of the day. The only time I allow myself to move is for the most basic of needs.
These tall windows are all I have of the outside world. I can see the line of houses and the expanse of woods in the background. It's not a pretty view. It seems as though everything I look at brings back pained memories. All those houses, Haymitch and Peeta, who have done nothing but try to coax me back to reality. I wish I could tell them it's no use, that I'm too far gone, but no words come.
Sometimes I imagine Gale emerging from the woods just beyond the fence in the backyard, rabbits and squirrels slung over his shoulder and belt. He gives me a small smile and a wave before vanishing. It occurs more than once on a bad day, but the reoccurrence gets lost on me. Although the whole in my chest grows deeper every time.
I shouldn't miss him. He killed them. He killed them all. Prim and those innocent children, who's screams echo in every crevice of my mind. I like to believe that Gale is my scapegoat nowadays. Even though I like to blame him for everything that's happened, I still know it's my fault. But that doesn't stop me from resenting him. He's a frequent reoccurrence in my dreams at night. Some are of the old days of us hunting together, but most are of him setting Prim alight while I sit there and watch, unable to move. It's easier to put a name to this darkness, and Gale is that for me.
The nightmares are still ever present in my life. How pathetic. The girl on fire can't even climb a staircase to her bed at night. I don't believe that I'll ever be strong enough to climb the stairs to my bed. In the physical sense it's possible, but mentally I'll never be prepared. Nightmares are the least of my concern actually. They would happen no matter where I slept.
It's the memories of being bought and sold to different beds that haunt me, still ever fresh in my mind. Little things such as my innocence should mean nothing to me now, such sentimental things are worthless. Snow obviously wanted to shred me of the last piece of innocence I had left. Those nights that I was used, sold to the highest bidder, never fail to make an appearance in my nightmares. Screams and pleads were never listened to and punishment was not rare. The only person who knows this feeling is dead now, also because of me. Well, isn't everyone dead because of me?
I wish Finnick was here now. We would be tying knots, escaping our cruel reality.
Knots, knots, knots. We're tying knots. Nothing else matters, no thoughts, just tying knots. These repetitive thoughts got me through the rebellion, through endless nights, endless thoughts. Knots and more knots. Sore and callused hands, tying knots. No more thoughts, no guilt, no nightmares.
If only it were that simple now.
I hear the front door slam against the front wall but I don't turn around. Footsteps come closer but fade away just as quickly. Peeta reappears with a glass of water in his hand. He approaches with caution and kneels down in front of my chair. The moonlight illuminates him in the darkness. His blonde hair shimmers in the white light.
Scars snake up his arm and forehead, and discolored patches of skin cover his face. He still has that kind look about him, but it's mostly masked by his new indifference. His pupils are fat today. The blue is barely evident with the vast expanse of black covering them. There's no more comfort in those once blue eyes. No, he's definitely not the boy I used to know. Not the boy I got into this mess with. Not a lover, not a friend. An ally would be an appropriate word. Isn't that what we agreed on? Allies?
"Please." He whispers softly, placing the glass of water in my hand. He comes every day and pleads for me to drink or eat something, but never anything more. And Haymitch, of all people, comes every day and brings me stew, placing it on the counter where I'll be able to see it when I go to the bathroom.
"Katniss, come on." Peeta is still kneeling in front of me. I take the half empty glass and rise it to my lips with shaking hands. I stare at him intently as I take large sips, but he avoids my icy gaze.
"Thank you," he says in a flat voice, void of emotion. He takes the glass out of my hand after I'm finished and makes his way down the hall, surely into the kitchen.
He comes back into the room a couple minutes later with blankets in his arms. He lays them over me gently and makes eye contact with me as he bends down to cover my shoulders. His eyes speak every emotion he can't show. I wonder if he can read mine, so many unspoken words linger there. Peeta stops moving and just looks at me, just inches from my face.
He swallows hard and averts his gaze for a second. When he looks back, there's unshed tears forming at the corner of his eyes. It feels likes hours as we sit like this, him leaning over me as I look up at him. From anyone else's point of view this would seem like a romantic moment. More of something you would see in a photograph in a magazine, of which I've seen many in the Capitol. But that could never be us. We're not allowed to be normal teenagers, no. We are broken, tortured souls. I can't even speak without crying for days.
I know that I can't be like this anymore. This isn't what Prim died for, or Finnick or Cinna. Surely they would be ashamed of me at this moment, having everyone else take care of my every need. Even Peeta still goes through the motions. He has been through so much more than me. How could he possibly have sympathy for me at all? He should leave me here to die, because that's as much use I am.
But he won't. He would never abandon me. He loves me, at least that's what he says whenever he leaves for the day. His love for me seems endless; it survived the Hunger Games, a rebellion, and a hijacking. It seems it will never extinguish.
So right now, I'll start climbing out of this dark hole. Even if I slip and fall, I know I have to keep going for Prim. And that starts with Peeta.
"Peeta." I breath. No sound comes out, but my lips form the word. And that's when I extend my arms to him. The tears that clouded his eyes moments ago run down his cheeks as we embrace in the shadow of the moon.
We're 18 years old. We're the end results of war. We're broken. Unfixable. Mental cases that nobody even attempts to diagnose. This is what we fought for: happiness. We did this together. We successfully led a rebellion. So why can't we pull ourselves out of this darkness? Why can't we enjoy the life we ruined our previous ones to receive?
Separated we're just frightened children. We need each other, to protect each other like so many times before.
"I'm sorry…" I say softly, speaking my first words in almost a year's time. He takes an intake of breath and pulls away from our embrace. He looks down at me in wonder as I slip from the chair and onto the floor. I cry as he pulls me to him on the floor. I haven't been this close to anyone in months. Just this thought alone threatens to pull me away from him, lock me away with my thoughts once more.
Peeta lays his head on my shoulder while snaking his arms fully around my small form. He breathes shakily and I feel his hot breath on my neck, foreign on my snow white skin. Shivers run down my spine from the sensation. It's strangely comforting, to have him here with me. I hesitantly pull him closer to me by wrapping my arms around his torso. Warmth is all I feel.
It feels eerily calm in the dead of the night, the two of us holding each other together. I was sure this would unnerve me, being so close to the person whom I've done the most damage to. I didn't kill him, he's no ghost. Peeta's very much alive and with me, but I've killed him in the emotional sense more times than anyone should suffer.
We cry together silently, no sound coming from either of us. Silent tears are the worst of them all. Silence speaks more volumes than chocked sobs and comforting words.
"You're back." He muffles into my shoulder after a while. He lifts his head to reveal his tear stained face, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "Please don't go back there, Katniss" His voice cracks as if he's going to start crying again. He puts his left hand to my cheek softly and rubs his thumb over my numb cheek. I turn into his touch, my tears pooling into his palm. "Promise me."
"I promise." I whisper. He's looking at me with hope, something I wish I would never see again. Because when he has hope, there's no putting it out. He's going to make sure I don't retreat back to my solitude now.
We sit there for a long time, surrounded by our utter despair. Eventually we both drift off in the early hours of the morning
I awake at the sound of someone yawning. I sit up quickly and look to my side, where Peeta lays sprawled out on the floor.
My heart races as I think of all those moments on the train, how similar our position was in this moment.
His eyes are open and stare intently at me. Those piercing blue eyes are filled with humor as he takes note of my expression. I can't help but notice how the darkness seems to have been lifted from him, the brilliant blue eyes have finally returned.
"It's okay, Katniss." He sits up and stretches, standing while I pull my knees to my chest. "At least Effie isn't here to nag us about it." He gives me his hand to pull me up and I take it gratefully.
I shake my head at him, although there's a lurking smile on the corner of my lips.
After I'm standing Peeta pulls me to his chest. "What did I do to get you back?" He whispers into my hair, "It's like you weren't even there, even though I was standing right in front of you." He releases me and tilts my chin up to lock eyes with him. All hints of a smile gone.
"I have to be strong" I shake myself from his stare and look down, willing the pressure behind my eyes to stop. "For her". My eyes flick up to meet his and he nods, grasping my hand, as the tears win and roll down my cheeks. "For all of them."
"I know, Katniss." He speaks softly, rubbing his thumb over my calloused hand. "I know." He holds me close while I cry, saying nothing, because comforting words would be no use.
"I want to live the life they fought for," I say.
"Together then, we will." He finishes
(A/N) I've had this story saved in my documents for a very long time, and I was originally going to make it an extremely long one-shot but decided against it. I hope that you guys will like this, I'm going to try and make it different then all the other post-mockingjay stories out there I promise. So review and tell me what you think! I'm also looking for a beta, if you guys have any suggestions :) i named/ was inspired by an instrumental song called daydream by tycho, if you want to listen to it.