I've always thought of myself as invincible. Strong for my size, tough, intimidating - those are all words I have used to describe myself. And we live in Panem, sleepy little Panem where everybody knows everybody. The absolute picture of safety.
So when Peeta protested the idea of me walking home from work alone at night along the river pathway I didn't take him seriously. I knew nothing was ever going to happen.
Until it did.
I work in an environmental sciences lab, and I love my job. About a year after I started working there, Peeta and I found the perfect little house just 10 blocks away and snapped it up, beyond thrilled that I could walk to and from work.
But there are times when I need to stay late in the lab, times when I can't get away until 9 or 10 at night. They don't happen too often, but they're unavoidable. And all Peeta asks is that I call him, let him come pick me up.
But I'm stubborn. I'm so, so stubborn.
I don't even notice him following me, at first. My mind is occupied with the cultures I have incubating, with the amount of work that still needs to be done on my grant proposal. I'm not sure what catches my attention, but suddenly I can feel him, less than ten feet behind me. I speed up my pace a little, and he follows suit.
My heart races, and immediately I chide myself for it. This is Panem, nothing ever happens here. He's just a student, heading home late from one of the labs.
When he grabs my arm, I force myself to stay calm. He's lost, maybe. Needs directions.
A grey hoodie mostly obscures his face; his voice low and ominous when he demands my laptop case.
I try to pull away. He's tall, but I'm quick, and I know I can easily outrun him. But I never get the chance. I register his hand squeezing hard enough to make me cry out, then a blinding light, followed by blackness.
I want to open my eyes, but they're so heavy. In between each slow blink are pictures, snippets of sound, a choppy film. There are flashes of light; red and blue and white. Voices asking me questions I can't understand. Excruciating pain. A sickening swaying. And blackness.
There is no way to tell how much time has passed when finally I can pry my eyes open and keep them that way. The world around me isn't the dimly lit pathway, but instead a room in brilliant white. A hospital room.
My whole body aches and there are tubes coming from my arm. What the hell happened?
Glancing down, I can see a mop of blond curls against the crisp white coverlet. The haggard, pale face of my husband, eyes closed in what I can tell is not restful sleep. I reach out to brush the waves back from his forehead, and his eyes snap open. He sits up quickly, confusion and fear morph rapidly into relief when he sees me. "Katniss," he gasps, his voice hoarse and broken.
I'm woozy and dizzy, but I lift an unsteady hand towards him and Peeta moves immediately to gather me into his arms. He cradles me so gently, as if I'm something fragile, or damaged. Silent sobs shake his whole body as he presses wet kisses to my bandaged head. "What happened," I ask, surprised to find my voice barely a whisper. His arms tighten.
"You were mugged." He presses the words into my hair, shards of emotion ripped and raw. It rushes back: the dark pathway, the man. The white-hot pain.
The anger.
There's a goose egg the size of, well, a goose egg, on my temple, bumps and bruises everywhere else. But honestly, I'm far more upset that my laptop is gone, along with months worth of research.
The police are no help. They take my statement while I sit in my hospital bed, twisting an orange medical bracelet around my wrist. I didn't see the man who attacked me, can't describe him beyond 'tall', can't remember what he hit me with or what happened after.
The doctors keep me in the hospital for two days, two days where Peeta doesn't leave my side. Two nights where he sleeps in a creaky vinyl chair beside my bed. Two nights where he cries when he thinks I'm asleep.
The anger builds and builds until it feels like I'm going to explode.
"It's been two weeks, Peeta. You know I can't stay away from the lab any longer." I probably could; I know my assistant is keeping an eye on my meters, logging all of my samples as they come in. But I don't want to. Two weeks of being watched like a hawk, two weeks of Peeta insisting on accompanying me everywhere; to the police station to look through a stack of unfamiliar pictures, to the mall for a new laptop and cellphone, to the DMV to replace my drivers license.
Two weeks of him treating me as if I'm broken.
He's so solicitous, so damned nice. I keep expecting him to say I told you so, to finally show me how pissed off he is that I wouldn't listen to him. But he doesn't. I've been snappy and sharp-tongued all week; he just smiles.
I need to get away before I lose my mind.
"I've been in touch with Beetee," he says, referring to my boss. "There's absolutely no rush, you can take all of the time you need." His voice remains calm and soothing as he butters his toast, our kitchen glowing in the morning light.
"I don't need any more time, Peeta," I frown. And still he's gentle, turning slowly to face me, an unconvincing half smile on his lips.
"It's okay-"
"Stop," I yell, and his eyes widen. "Just stop! Stop all of it! Stop coddling me, stop being nice to me. Stop pretending you're not angry!"
"I'm not angry-"
"You should be!" Finally, finally, I see the twitch in his jaw that suggests he's reaching the breaking point. His nostrils flare as he takes deep breaths; I know he's trying to calm himself down. Trying to prevent himself from losing his temper.
He's never been afraid to argue with me before. I can't stand this. Can't stand another second of him looking at me with pity, like I'm weak. I stomp forward, until I'm right in his face. "Stop protecting me!" It's those words that push him over the edge.
"I can't!" he yells, grabbing me firmly by the arms. "I - I couldn't. Fuck," he gasps, and the flint of anger in his eyes flickers out, replaced by agony so acute it makes my stomach turn. "I couldn't protect you."
"Peeta, no-" I try, but it's too late, I can read in his face everything he's thinking.
"I'm so fucking angry, Katniss, so fucking mad at myself. You… you could have died!" As the child of an abusive household, he has a deep seated need to protect those he loves, and I know losing me is his greatest nightmare.
The sickly stench of shame envelopes me. I'm so selfish, never once during this ordeal have I considered that Peeta has had his peace of mind stolen too. "I'm sorry, Peeta," I tell him, and we both know I'm apologizing for much more than goading him into this argument. He wraps his arms around me and we rock together in our quiet home.
I've spent the past week trying to work around it, coming into the lab earlier and earlier, working through lunch, getting every available grad student to help out, but it's no use. I'm going to have to stay late. Tonight. I can't put it off any longer.
Peeta is shaving, wrapped in a towel when I tell him. He goes very still, but doesn't protest, doesn't try to talk me out of it. "So you'll drive in today?" The words are calm and measured, but I can hear the underlying tension. I've been walking to work and home again since I returned four weeks ago, but always in the daylight.
"No, I'm going to walk," I tell him.
"Okay," he nods, setting aside the razor, half of his face shrouded in foam. "Just call me when you're done and I'll come-" but I cut him off.
"No, I'll walk to work, and I'll walk home."
"It'll be dark…" he trails off, his eyebrows furrowed, concern painted all over his face. And it just serves to piss me off.
"It's only ten blocks, Peeta. It's the reason we bought this house in the first place!"
"Katniss."
"Don't 'Katniss' me!" I snap. "Stop treating me like a child! I'm not some helpless little flower that you need to hover over!" He recoils; the pain that flashes across his face is like a slap, and I feel like shit for upsetting him again. But it just makes me more angry. More determined. I will have my life back. I will not let that bastard win. "I have to go," I grunt, turning and storming away without even saying good bye.
When I get to the lab there's a text on my phone, from Peeta. All it reads is 'I believe in you.'
My grad students left hours ago. Everything is triple checked, wiped down, put away. Everything is exactly as it should be.
Everything but me.
I've been staring out the large lab windows for twenty minutes now. Staring at the darkness beyond them. Paralysed.
Behind me, the lab door opens with a soft snick. I can see him reflected in the window, the harsh overhead lights illuminating his blond curls. The night guard must have let him in. I continue staring out over the edge of the campus as he approaches, but when he stops just behind me I find my voice. "I could have done it." There's no petulance, no anger. Just defeat.
"I know," Peeta says softly. He makes no move to touch me, simply waiting, looking out over the same dark landscape.
"I just want to feel normal again," I admit quietly, my shoulders slumping. Peeta closes the last step between us, wrapping his arms around me from behind and I lean into his warmth. Into his comfort.
It's not the stupid laptop, I realize. That man whose face I never even saw, he took my security. He stole my confidence. I bite my lip, closing my eyes tightly against the tears that threaten.
I feel Peeta shaking his head. He holds me tighter and I know he understands my anger. My fear. "I've never met anyone as brave as you are," he murmurs in my ear. "You're brave and strong and independent. And you can do this." He twists me in his arms, I don't resist. And when his hand gently tips my tear-streaked face I open my eyes to meet his. "You can do this, Katniss. But you don't have to do it alone."
He takes my face in his hands with aching gentleness, wiping away the wetness, then kisses me, just lightly. "Come on, sweetheart," he breathes, reaching for my hands. "Let's walk home."
"Together?"
"Together."