Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games nor any characters.
Peeta had closed his fist tightly linked in Katniss's. He loved her, he had given her everything, and still, it had only been a game to her. It had never meant a thing. The moment he had been dreading, the moment where he was forced to let go came all too quickly. He had turned and smiled at her, she had smiled at him. That was is. The smile didn't even reach their eyes.
"I… I guess that's it." He stuttered.
"Yeah… I guess." She replied.
"See you around." He said, prolonging the moment before he had to let go.
"See you." Katniss answered looking down.
Peeta leaned down and kissed her, once more, on the cheek. He reluctantly let his fingers loosen from hers. "Goodbye Katniss." He said. She looked like she had something more to say, but Prim ran up, excited by something in Katniss's house.
Peeta left while she was distracted. He didn't want to increase the pain he was going to go through. He slipped through the door of his mansion. He looked at the big, beautiful, ornate, paradise around him and hated it. Here, he could have anything he wanted but the one thing he wanted most. The one person he needed most.
He stomped angrily into the next room. Around him were the gifts from his admirers, more than he had thought possible. There were mugs, glasses, silverware, rugs, jams; even a microwave. There were candies and cakes, and cookies, and popcorn; things he had always dreamed of, but never got the chance to taste unless they were burnt or had goon bad. Stuff he had smelled since before he could walk, but never truly tasted.
He reached forward and grabbed a candy, unwrapping it slowly. He popped it in his mouth and spat it back out almost instantaneously. It was too sweet for the bitter mood he was in. He looked around the room again to find something, no, anything that would distract him from her. His eyes fell on a large set of paints. Even in the capital, these would have cost a fortune. He glowered at them before throwing them across the room.
Remarkably, or maybe the fates were sending a message, the paint hit a canvas. The peach jar cracked and splattered across the canvas. Peeta hobbled quickly over to the room, saving the peach flesh tone from spilling everywhere and putting it into an empty jar. He could already see the beginnings of Katniss on the canvas. He used the peach to shape her face, then began to make the crown she had worn when they won the Games. He knew instantly something was off. IT didn't look right. As he looked closer, he realized the crown resembled more of a leaf, and then his design clicked into place. A slow smile spread across his face. He would paint Katniss, but he would paint her as she was, not as who she pretended to be.
As he worked, he remembered. He remembered when they were on the train before the games began. He remembered the capital, and the beginning of the Games. He remembered the look of surprise on her face as he tricked her with his camouflage. He remembered her attempt to nurse him back to health, and the guilty look on her face as she drugged him. He remembered the determination on her face when she gave him the berries and the relief that followed when they knew they didn't have to die.
He rejoiced in those moments when they were together, after the Hunger Games where complete. He remembered her curled up against him as they were forced to watch their worst memories relived. He remembered that every touch, every kiss, every glance, every action was a coldly calculated lie. I was all a lie.
Peeta glanced up and looked at the piece of art before him. It was by no means a masterpiece, but it was Katniss.
She stood firmly on a slope, leaves in her hair, clothes soiled with mud and blood. Her eyes sparkled with her fiery determination. Her bow hung loosely at her side, the quiver of arrows at the ready on her back. She was focused past Peeta on something in the distance. He hoped that whatever it was, she would catch it. He smiled to himself. Or course she would catch it.
Peeta looked at his painting and knew what he had to do. He lit a fire in the fireplace and watched it grow. Then he took his meaningful painting and set it in the flames. He remembered the chariot ride and the fire glowing off of Katniss, not just the fire, but she herself had been glowing. He closed the Katniss box of his heart as he released his Katniss to the flames. She would always be the girl on fire, but no longer was she truly his girl on fire.
As he watched the painting burn, he was aware of two things. The first was that he was by no means healed, but it was a start. The second was that although his heart was broken, he had painted it into the best imitation money could buy.
As the last scraps of canvas finished burning, he reached for his paints and started another one, this time, a landscape.
He was done saying goodbye to the girl on fire.
A/N: Sorry Peeta, but it had to be done.
Peeta: Better this way than others.
Gryphon31: True that.
Peeta: shut up and leave me alone, I want to finish my landscape.
A/N(again): sorry about that. easily distracted and needed something light hearted. ~dodges paintbrush thrown by Peeta~ Read and Reveiw please! ~throws paintbrush back~