You are surrounding all my surroundings
Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes

"You don't have much competition anywhere." And then she leaned in to kiss me, and I believed her. The Games were momentarily forgotten and it was just me and the girl I had always wanted, who happened to want me too.

But now as I roughly knead and pound the dough for a loaf of white bread I can't believe how gullible I was. Of course she'd never really wanted me. In fact, she's probably with Gale right now, probably kissing him. Like she kissed me, but not like she kissed me, because those kisses weren't real, they didn't mean anything to her. They meant something to me I remind myself, and then slam my fist into the dough as hard as I can.

I finish overworking the dough and then toss it to the trash because I've ruined it during my anger ridden kneading. My sour mood can be accredited to several things, all of which have to do with a certain grey eyed girl.

This morning on my way to the bakery I saw Katniss and Gale walking together, laughing together, feeding my suspicions that her and Gale were now a couple. The whole time I was in the bakery I thought about her and him, them, and imagined Gale's face as I beat the dough. My distracted mind does little for any successful baking and my mother not so politely tells me to leave after I burn a second tray of cookies.

I spend the rest of the day walking around town, sometimes running into old friends who call me over, and then stand awkwardly with nothing to say, because what do you say to a guy whose death you accepted months ago?

I end up at home early and set to sketching, an activity I used to enjoy before the Games. Now most of my drawings are of images from the Hunger Games or of Katniss, sometimes both. I'm adding Marvel's spear to the Cornucopia when I hear muffled voices outside. There are only a few people it could be but I look anyway. I see Katniss' younger sister Prim skipping up the road and Katniss following behind. There's a look of amusement on her face. It pisses me off. I've seen her twice today looking happy, maybe even a little care free while I've had to face my fucked up life where people can hardly be around me anymore.

Feeling done with today, and most things in general, I go to my medicine cabinet and grab the orange bottle of sleeping pills. Sometimes I think it would be nice to take the whole bottle and just end everything but I tell myself that I'm stronger than that, that somehow, someway, things will turn around for the better eventually. I take enough pills to hopefully put me out until the morning and climb into my too-large bed.

I wake up sweating and shivering at the same time. My shirt is soaked through and my blankets are twisted around my prosthetic leg. A glance at the clock tells me its only 2 in the morning. I shake my head. Of course the pills didn't work. .

My nightmare was another one about the Hunger Games. In this one Cato was fighting and wrestling Katniss and not me. He got her in a chokehold near the edge of the Cornucopia and was practically dangling her over the mutts. I had her bow and arrow poised to shoot. My hands were shaking but I took a deep breath and released the arrow and it missed. Cato laughed at my mishap and threw Katniss to the hungry savages waiting below. He made his way to fight me, but I couldn't move as I watched in agony as they tore apart Katniss' body.

Nightmares like this are nothing new. In fact, all of my nightmares involve losing Katniss in someway.

I unravel myself from my bed and change my sweaty clothes. I don't want to go back to bed where more nightmares surely await me. Instead, I put on a pair of shoes to go for a walk.

It's nearly pitch black out so I keep my walk in Victor's Village. I try and clear my mind, only focusing on the cooling temperatures as I place one foot in front of the other. I'm almost to my house after walking through the Village for the second time when I hear screaming. My whole body freezes in horror when I make out whose voice it is I hear. Katniss. I have to help her. I snap myself alert and follow her pained voice.

I'm led to her house and when it occurs to me that she is inside. All the lights are off. I walk the perimeter of the house, checking doors and windows to see if anything is open or askew. Nada.

She screams again and I realize that she must be sleeping. My heart shatters. The thought that her nightmares- ones that it never really occurred to me she had- are what is causing the anguished cries I can hear from all the way out here is too much for me to handle.

I feel helpless as I slide down the side of her house and sit in a patch of cool grass. I wish I could break down her door and go comfort her.

I stay seated in her yard until long after her cries have subsided. My ass is numb when I stand, but I don't care. My earlier rage is gone. The ache in my chest is all I feel. No one should have to sit helplessly while the woman they love is in so much pain. I don't sleep much when I get home. I hear Katniss' screams every time I close my eyes.

The next day my mind is in a fog, but not from jealousy this time. After spending another unproductive day at the bakery, the pill bottle is practically calling my name. They work this time. I don't wake until morning. Its an off day and I don't have anything in particular that needs done. I do have a new pack of paints that came in on the last train that have yet to be opened. Sounds like as good as a way to spend the day as any.

I force myself to not use any of my new supplies painting anything that involves the Games. My first one is of the District 12 Justice Building, grey and deteriorating. Its dull and I hate it, and I want something with color. The only color in District 12 actually comes from the bordering woods. The leaves are vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges this time of year. I've never been beyond the fence, and only have seen the outer lying trees, but I paint the beauty I imagine is there.

I'm lost in the strokes of the brush, not even really conscious of the images emerging on the canvas. It isn't until I'm finished that I see the dark braid and olive skin with a bow in her hand and quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. The perpetual scowl is gone from her face. She looks breathtaking, free and in her element. A side of her I'll never get to see. I throw a sheet over the painting. I don't want to look at it anymore.

Its late, but surprisingly I'm not tired. I decide to go for a walk like I did several nights ago. Its progressively gotten colder, with winter quickly approaching. I grab a warm jacket before leaving. Its not as dark it was last time so I walk a ways past Victors Village before heading back.

I'm halfway through the threshold of my home when I hear the cries from several doors down. I listen for a moment. I think I hear "Rue" screamed before slamming the door behind me. I have my own demons to battle when I go to sleep, I don't need to worry about hers. But I'm up again beating myself up because I do worry about her. And then I think about how I could maybe help her if she would give me the chance. Maybe we could help each other. I realize, for seemingly the first time, that we've both been through the Games, and we're both obviously not really okay now. Maybe her way of coping is distancing herself from me to forget about what we went through together.

I tell myself this each time I see her walk past my house without so much as a second glance. I repeat it when she comes to the bakery to trade with my father without acknowledging that I am also there. It helps me to get through the weeks leading up to the Victory Tour, when we'll be face to face for the first time in months.

My team of stylists arrive at my house. They are happy, ecstatic even, to see me. Blissfully unaware of the distance between Katniss and I, they ask questions about how we've been, what we've done. I school my features to a exultant smile and make up lie after lie about the things we've done and how happy and in love we are. I use them as practice for the "act" we'll have to put on during the tour.

Despite my returned, albeit masked bitterness, I can't stop the flutter in my chest when I finally make eye contact with Katniss. She runs and slams her body into mine, catching me off guard and sending us both tumbling to the snow covered ground. My heart stops, but not from the force of her tackle. I forget all about the distance that's been between us since the Games. I don't see the cameras surrounding us, documenting our reunion. And I certainly don't question the reason behind her sudden affection. All I can focus on is the closeness of her body to mine, the feeling of holding her in my arms again, not wanting to ever let go.