Warning: character death.
And you are folded on the bed where I rest my head
There's nothing I can see, darkness becomes me
A thousand silhouettes dancing on my chest
No matter where I sleep, you are haunting me
But I'm already there, I'm already there
Wherever there is you, I will be there too.
'Silhouettes' by Of Monsters and Men
I sit in a large, cold white room on a hard wooden chair. Peeta sits beside me on a chair identical to mine. I stare into Beetee's large eyes blankly, unsure of what he is trying to tell me. It must be something bad, because the conversation started with 'you might want to sit down, Katniss.' Nothing good ever comes of the conversations that start like that. I try and prepare myself for whatever it could be- though now I know nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to hear, not even if I had all the time in the world.
I got the call earlier this morning from Beetee. Willow and Rye, Peeta and my children, had just gone off to school. He told me there was something urgent I needed to know, and it was something medical. I usually have trouble listening when he goes too into detail- but this souded important. Peeta came with me, insisting that he 'needed to come this time.' As if he already knew what was happening. I try and focus on Beetee now, my fingers running through the tip of my braid nervously. The room smells sharp with cleaner- and I feel a sick churning in my stomach because of it.
"Katniss...do you remember when Peeta was in the capitol's custody?" Beetee begins slowly, his brown eyes boring into mine. I gulp before nodding. Of course I remember. How could I forget? I see it in my nightmares every single night. But what does that have to do with our meeting today? I cast a glance at Peeta, hoping for a clue to what is going on- but he isn't meeting my eyes. He knows something I don't- and it just makes me more uncomfortable.
"Beetee, just get to the point." I snap, my anxiety translating into annoyance. Beetee pushes his glasses farther up his nose with his left index finger before sighing loudly.
"There...really isn't an easy way to put this. When...when Peeta was in the Capitol, sometime before he was rescued- he was injected." I feel my blood turn to ice. Injected? What was that supposed to mean? I register Peeta's hand- wrapping around mine and squeezing as Beetee continues.
"With a deadly poison. It's a slow operating poison- called M.L. and relitively new in discovery. It grows inside the host steadily over time- and it can take a number of years to go into effect. I didn't pick up on it until recently, when I pulled up a scan taken of Peeta from a few years back. I...regret to say that I found evidence of M.L in his DNA. I won't go into the logistics of it, but in short...the poison has been in him too long. There aren't any known cures. The end-stages of the poison have already begun. I'm...I'm so sorry."
I feel my heart slow, and I can't seem to breathe right. My eyes are glued to Beetee's, and I wonder if I have heard him right. I couldn't have.
"What?" I get out hoarsly, my hands starting to shake as raw fear pulses through me. Please, let me not have heard you right, I think.
"In short..." Beetee sighs again, looking downward and breaking eye contact with me. Why won't he say? Why? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I feel Peeta's hand tighten around mine to the point of pain.
"Katniss." he says, but I ignore him and keep staring ahead. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to hear what he has to say. His tone is too gentle. Too soft.
"Katniss, look at me." He whispers, and it is the strain in his voice that makes me finally turn. His blue eyes are serious and insistent- additionally lined with pain. It makes me hurt inside. I shake my head, willing him to stop. I don't want him to deal the blow. I don't know if I'll be strong enough to survive it.
"Katiss, I'm dying." he gets out, his usually confident voice cracking as he fights to hold eye contact.
Then his mouth moves- like he is trying to speak to me- but I can't hear him. I can't hear anything except the pounding of my heart against my chest. No. My world is spinning out of control. No. Peeta removes the hand that is holding mine and puts it to the side of my face, trying in vain to reach me. I snap my head away from his hand, breathing heavily now. NO. I stumble out of the chair, and both Beetee and Peeta rise to help me- but I brush them off.
"Hold on now- calm down, Ka-" Beetee starts, but I don't want to listen.
"No." I say softly at first. Four words are burning into my mind. Peeta. Poison. Dying. Incurable. They seem to be on a never-ending cycle, and my vision blurs- tinting red.
"Katniss-" Beetee begins, holding a hand out for me- but I take a step back, so that I am out of his reach.
"No!" I scream at him, my voice full of fear and anger as Peeta's words sink in. It's not true. I tell myself. It can't be. Peeta can't be dying now. We are supposed to be safe! It has been twenty years since the battle. Twenty years. We have survived and lived free from danger for twenty years. And now this?
The thought that he could actually leave me scares me to death- and the thought brings up strong emotions that rock me to my core. I need to get out of here, I think. I need...I need to... I move away from Peeta and Beetee. At first I walk slowly- and then I begin jogging. And then I'm running- full fledged, as fast as I can go- toward the only place I can truly call home.
Someone calls my name- I'm almost sure of it- but I don't stop. If anything, I'm running faster than beofre- so quickly that every time my foot meets the ground, pain jolts up into my calf. But I don't notice. I don't notice anything- except the burning in my eyes, the confusion in my mind and the fear in my heart.
I felt similarly when Prim's name was chosen, over twenty years ago at the reaping. When the quarter quell was announced. When Peeta's heart stopped in the quell arena. When Gale told me that district 12 was gone. Each time I was caught off guard. They all held their equal horrors- but this news in particular holds a whole new area of terror and pain that continually rakes over me.
I don't even know where I am- I just know I need to get out... I need to be alone. My right foot catches on an uplifted root, and my lack of balance sends me sprawling forward onto the hard, leaf-covered ground. Pain flares in my hands and knees, but I just get up and keep going- ignoring the stinging in my fingers and palms.
I should stop. I can't really see where I'm going anymore. Suddenly I'm caught by a tree's rough bark, and it tears through my flesh easily- causing blood to leak from the wound. I reach out to the tree to slow my momentum- only then allowing the tears to fall. And my reaction is out of my control. I begin to sob- really, sob. I feel light headed. I feel hazy with pain and fear and hurt and grief and anger and PAIN. I'm holding onto the tree for balance, but it isn't working so I slide down to my knees and thread my fingers into my hair.
Then I scream. I scream once through my tears. My head is throbbing, but I can't stop. I rest my forehead on the forest floor when I've finished, and I'm trying to endure the overpowering grief that is consuming me like a fire. It isn't supposed to be like this! I think angrily. He was supposed to be the one that lived. We were supposed to be together.
All I want is to spend the rest of my life with that boy- because I need him. Because I love him. We have been through so much...seen so much pain and suffering already in our few years of life, and I thought that we had gotten throught the worst of it. But now? Now he is dying from something I can't fight- something that I can't save him from. Something out of my control- and I hate it. I hate the cruelness of this life. I hate the capitol for doing this to him...for doing this to me. I hate everything.
We have the children, too. Willow- the girl, with her dark hair and crystal blue eyes- like her father's. Rye, the boy. With his blonde locks and his grey eyes. What will I tell them? Peeta can't be dying. If not for me, than he has to stay alive for them. I know what it is like to grow up without a father...and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And another thing- how am I going to raise them by myself? Another bout of sobbing takes me.
I am raw and sore from crying, and my swollen eyes are stinging. My nose is running and red. My heart is pounding with an uncomfortable force, and pain is still shooting up from my arm where the skin was torn away by the rough tree bark. I vaguely register my deep scarlet blood, dripping down along my skin. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Because Peeta, the father of the beautiful girl and strong young boy, the person I have grown to love more than I ever thought was possible, is leaving me.
The boy with the bread is dying.
And there is nothing I can do to stop it. I can't remember the last time I felt this level of helplessness.
Its a long time before I go home. The sun has already started to set- sending beautiful oranges and reds and yellows in it's wake- but it means nothing to me right now. I am numb everywhere. I am aching. My head is throbbing. I am a mess.
I travel along the road toward our house, the gravel crunching soundly beneath my worn hunting boots. I can be silent if I wish to be- but my mind is elsewhere. The children will be home by now, and Peeta will be with them. I imagine how Willow will be telling her daddy all about the new project she did in school. I think of how Rye will be clinging to Peeta's shirt- begging for his approaching bedtime to be revoked. I think of how Peeta will listen sweetly to their daughter's accounts- how he will in turn, beg me to let Rye stay up five minutes later than he should.
I think of the horrible truth that our children do not know.
I approach our front door, hesitating a little before opening it. I don't want to be seen like this. Peeta can see me- but I don't want to worry our children. I will play my part tonight. I'll make a comment on Willow's story, I'll shake my head disapprovingly when Peeta begs for Rye to stay up just a little longer- but of course, I'll give in eventually. I'll kiss them both goodnight and sing them a lullaby before they drift off. Anything- I just need to disguise my true feelings. A bittersweet grin is on my face, and I remember I have plenty of practice with doing that.
The door creaks as I swing it open, and heat radiates from inside. I enter, shutting the door behind me and securing the bolt on the side before slipping out of my father's leather jacket and my hunting boots. I hang the jacket on a coat hanger by the door and move my boots to the side- afterward taking a deep breath.
"Mommy!" I hear Rye call out, joy evident in his tone. My little boy runs from the kitchen and straight toward me- and I do my best to put on a wide smile.
"Hey." I laugh, wrapping my arms around his small form as he crashes into me. He pulls away almost instantly, his grey eyes wide and curious. I think of how those beautiful eyes will look after his daddy is taken from him. Willow wasn't far behind- though she comes in a little more slowly. She has always been more like me, I guess. Quiet, shy- though loving and open when given patience. She was a very wise in spite of her only eight years of life- extremely perceptive and bright.
"Daddy was worried you wouldn't come home." Willow states, and I find myself unsure in how to respond. Her blue eyes are smaller than the boy's- but they are extremely clear. Just like Peeta's. Finally, I find the words I need.
"Daddy has no reason to be worried. I'm always going to come home." I promise them sincerely, feeling a dull ache where my heart is.
Right on cue, Peeta appears. I see him out of the corner of my eye- but it's hard to look at him, knowing what I know. The full impact of it hasn't even hit me yet- and already I feel out of strength. I don't know how I'm going to survive when it happens. I'm not sure I will. At least, not completely.
Peeta's golden hair is tousled and messy, and his hands are faintly tinted white from using flour. He is wearing an apron that I've seen on him a hundred times before. He instantly looks relieved having seen me, and he hesitantly approaches. I reach out for him- and he wraps me firmly in his arms. I feel like breaking down again- but I know I can't. Willow and Rye are watching. The hug lasts shorter than I want- and when Rye pulls Peeta away, I'm already missing his touch- already missing the scent of flour on his skin, the strength in his embrace that never fails to make me feel safe.
He puts on a smile for Rye, but he looks back at me. We communicate with our eyes what we can't out loud. Peeta's seem to ask: "Are you alright?" And I'm not sure how to reply. When I pass him in the kitchen, I whisper: "Later."
When Willow and Rye are fast asleep, I quietly exit their bedroom and shut the door lightly. Before leaving to go up to my own bedroom, I rest my forehead on the middle of the door, sighing deeply and letting my facaude fall away. I couldn't have maintained it for another second, anyway. I'm bursting at the seams.
"So." Peeta's voice comes from behind me. "I think we have some things to talk about." he laughs a little, but I fail to see anything humorous about the situation.
I close my eyes and breathe another breath before turning to him. I wrap a hand around his, which he accepts, and I make my way to our bedroom. He follows behind me silently until we reach our door- which I open- and I pull him to the bed. I sit down first, and he sits beside me. At first, we're completely silent. But that doesn't last long. I start with the first of my many questions.
"How long have you known?" I ask bluntly without meeting his eyes. Instead I stare at a spot on the wall across from me- painted a light shade of green. It seems like years before he replies.
"About a month." I instantly feel a wave of anger.
"And you didn't think to tell me before!?" I snap with frustration, my voice rising and my eyes finally meeting his.
"Katniss. How could I?" He murmurs, and the hollowness of his tone stabs me so deeply, I let it go.
I remember his actions of the previous month. I remember thinking it strange, the way he acted during that time- sweeter than usual.
He kept going out of his way to do things for me. For instance, every morning I woke for an early hunt, I saw a flower on the table by the door waiting for me. One day it was a lily. One day it was a dandelion- and another time it was a primrose, cut and fresh and beautiful. He had also been extra affectionate with our children. He took Rye out with him to work one day at the bakery- showing him the different techniques and skills needed to be a baker. He made a crown of daises for Willow- who wore them proudly, as if they were a string of diamonds rather than a string of fragile white flowers. It all made sense now why he had done those things- it was because he knew, he knew he wouldn't be here much longer.
The revelation breaks me into a million pieces.
"Oh, Peeta." I whisper, and I try and fight back more tears. I bury my face in my hands, trying in vain to escape this living nightmare. Slowly, I feel his arms come around me- and I turn immediately into him. I rest my head on his chest, and his arms tighten around my waist.
"How long do you have?" I ask, my voice muffled through his shirt. I feel his chest move in and out rythmicly against my cheek as he breathes.
"Beetee says maybe a month or two at most." Peeta replies calmly, and I hold him even tighter. I can't help it- the tears come agian, falling from my eyes and soaking into his shirt- but he doesn't seem to mind.
"There really is no cure?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"Hey. Its going to be okay." Peeta whispers into my hair before kissing the top of my head gently. Of course it wasn't going to be okay. How can he say that!? But I don't question it- at least, not out loud. I'm enveloped in his warmth- and I don't want to say or do anything, lest he moves away and ends the feeling.
"I love you." he says, and I stifle a sob. I really don't have the physical strength to go through another bout of grief. I press further into him, as if that were possible.
"I love you too." I say back- my voice barely audible. Suddenly he pulls away. I am dismayed for only a few seconds before his lips are on mine- and then I forget. I kiss him back, and his arms wrap around me again. Eventually, we have to break apart to breathe.
"Stay with me." He whispers, and I don't even have to think before I reply-
"Always." Of course I will stay with him. I will treasure every last second I have with him.
I move in again until my mouth meets his once more.
It has been about a month since Peeta told me the news. I find it harder and harder to enjoy my time with him- thinking only of the moment when I know that he will be ripped away from me. I try and keep up a smile, though- because I know for some reason, he loves to see me smile. I don't understand why he is so cheerful. Why is he acting like nothing is wrong? How can he do that, when his heart is failing? Only later did I find that he kept it up for me.
By now, most of the people knew about his illness. He told Haymitch. He called Effie. He told others too, but I don't remember who else he told. I don't tell anyone. Doing that...I don't know...it felt too much like accepting defeat. Who would I tell, anyway? My mother, perhaps. But I haven't spoken to her in ages. I'm not sure why- but I guess that is the way of things.
My nightmares have increased in number and intensity. Peeta is there for every one. He holds me tight and comforts me. My nightmares aren't of the games, they aren't of the people I've killed. They aren't even about the war- they are all about losing him. Losing Peeta to death's grasp. Each episode of terror is fillied with more pain than the last, until I have no more desire to sleep for fear of them. I am completely terrified of the day when he will leave me.
Because he will leave me- even if he promised me once that he wouldn't. I doubt I will be strong enough to endure it. A horrible sad truth of it was, every day approaching the dreaded moment has been a day that I've fallen even deeper in love with Peeta- when I had dismissed it as impossible. I knew it would only make what was coming worse. I am tempted to draw back a couple times- to try and save myself from pain by being disconnected from him- but I know I can't do that. I need him too much- and it wouldn't be fair to him.
Today, Peeta is expecting a visitor. I guess thats...what you do, if a friend is dying- you go and you talk to them one last time. We've already had a couple visitors- Delly and another person that I did not recognize. The strange thing about today's visitor is that Peeta asked me if he could do it alone. He'd never asked for that before, and we rarely did anything without each other as of late- so it did strike me as odd.
After Willow and Rye leave for school, I dress for a hunt. I braid my hair down my back in my usual style and slip on my hunting boots before walking out the door. While I am away, Peeta will meet with the mystery 'visitor'. I make my way toward the forest- the familiar weight of my bow and arrows slung about my shoulder. I haven't been hunting in a while- because I've been spending the time I would have been hunting with Peeta. I guess I am grateful for the time. Doing something helps me distract myself- at least for a little while.
I return to the house a couple hours later with three squirrels tied securely to my belt. It isn't my best haul- but it isn't my worst, either. I make my way up to our door once again, already removing my bow when something I hear makes me freeze. It's a deep voice inside- along with Peeta's. The visitor must be here. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I push my ear to the door in attempt to listen in.
"I know things haven't been easy between us." That was Peeta. "Especially with Katniss...but, I need to ask you this. If she ever meant anything to you at all- take care of her. When I'm gone."
"She won't like it." Came the deep reply- the voice seems almost familiar, but I can't place it.
"No, she won't." Peeta agrees, giving a short laugh. "She hates to admit she needs people. Or anything. But you need to help her anyway, if she needs it. I don't care if she fights you every step of the way...I need to know that she will be alright." There is a pause before the deep-voiced man speaks again.
"Yeah, I will. Of course I will."
"You know, She's not beyond forgiving you. She told me." Peeta tells the other man, and suddenly, I think I know who he is talking to- though I'm not completely sure.
"Maybe." The other man says.
I am so surprised, I drop my bow on the ground and step back- but not before my suspicions are confirmed.
"Thanks, Gale."
I hastily bend to pick up my bow off the ground, proceeding to escape before I can be seen.
I do my best and try and forget what I have heard. And it isn't so much about Peeta inviting Gale back into my life- of course, he didn't ask permission- but I find it hard to be angry with him now. Besides...I think Peeta is right. I'm not beyond forgiving him- not after twenty years. It was actually Peeta himself who helped me move past my anger, the anger that I had tied so tightly to Gale for Prim's death. If Peeta hadn't done that, I don't think I would be at the place I am now.
I do my best to forget the conversation because I don't ever want to think about what I'll have to do without Peeta. I can't help feeling angry. Angry because he is going to be taken from me before his time- and it's wrong. It's wrong. I can't help feeling responsible somehow. While I was being the face of the rebellion, Peeta was paying for it in the capitol. I imagine how something I did or said spurred President Snow to execute him, and in such a cruel way as this. Slowly...over time. The thought almost kills me.
I know I need to talk to someone about this, or else I might explode. I can't talk to Peeta- for obvious reasons. The only person who loves Peeta too, and might understand a little of how I'm feeling is Haymitch. So I decide that I will go and talk to him while Peeta has his next visit. I hate the visits, anyway. I hate everything about the visits.
Because of the way the people treat me, and most importantly the way they treat Peeta. With sympathy and a condescending attitude- I can hardly bear being around it for more than five minutes. I'm not sure if Peeta enjoys them, either. But he grins and endures it. Honestly- I've always thought Peeta was strong, but the last few months have really shown me how strong he really is. I still don't know how he manages to put on a smile for me every day. I don't understand how he continues to surprise me- with little love notes I find lying around the house, and even out in my favorite places to hunt. I found one of them in the log where I keep my bow hidden.
New meaning comes to the words "You could live a hundred lifetimes, and not deserve that boy." I know that I'm steadily breaking inside. And I also know that I will never fully heal from this. Not ever. He has become such a big part of me. Peeta has rooted himself so deeply into my heart- that when he is ripped away, it will leave a void that I will never be able to fill again.
I suck in a breath of fresh air before I push my way into Haymitch's house. The thick stench of alcohol instantly makes me feel sick. There were many disregarded bottles of liquor on the floor- some broken, some whole. Other than that though, I am surprised to see his kitchen fairly in order. It was only the alcohol that made the mess- and I can tell that the many bottles strewn about were recent development. No doubt because of the news.
"Haymitch!" I call, hoping to find him remotely sober. When no answer comes, I call again.
"Haymitch, I need you." Maybe that would get his attention. It did. I hear a groaning somewhere deep inside the house, and I follow the noise to the living room floor. Haymitch lies there, his face buried in the floor and a bottle of hard liquor clutched loosely in his left hand. He makes an effort to get up- but he isn't getting anywhere, so I help him. I put some chicken broth I find in his cupboards on the stove to warm up, and I fill a basin of water for him to wash with. When I look at him, I know he can tell that I'm doing this to stave off the topic I came to discuss. I don't want to discuss it, really, but I know it will help me. Haymitch knows this, too.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He says, in all seriousness, and I turn away so he can't see the heat in my face. So he can't see that my eyes are growing glossy with tears.
"I was as...shocked...as you." Haymitch mutters, about to take another sip of his liquor when at the last moment, he decides against it- placing the bottle on the side of the dining room table. I don't say anything. I can't- not until I figure out how to talk without breaking down.
"You alright?" I hear Haymitch ask, and I have to turn away again to fight off the tears. I focus on lighting a fire beneath the pot of chicken broth on the stove.
"What do you think?" I retort, but tears fall as I utter the words. No matter how hard I try and fight them- they keep coming.
Haymitch senses this. So when he holds out his arms, I abandon the soup and walk into them.
"Sweetheart. Shh." Haymitch whispers to me, in an attempt to soothe me. He doesn't once tell me it's going to be alright, or give me some other false comfort- and I'm grateful for it.
"Snow. He has taken Peeta from me twice. And this time...I can't get him back, no matter what I do." I whisper angrily. Neither Haymitch nor I are really like this- prone to hugs and feelings and tears- but this is Peeta. Haymitch tightens his grip on me, but doesn't respond.
The days are moving by fast. Peeta is getting worse. A lot worse. During the first month and a little more than half of the second, the poison had no physical effects. But now it is well into the second month- and Peeta is struggling to hold on. His breathing is labored, and he is so much weaker than he used to be. Pretty soon, he needs to stay in bed because of the pain.
I stay with him, true to my promise. When he doesn't want to talk because it is too hard to do so, I lay beside him on the bed and stroke his hair. I whisper to him, telling him that I love him. It is the hardest thing I've ever had to watch. The artistic boy I know- crumbling into himself. Willow and Rye come to the bedside, wondering what is wrong with their daddy.
"Mommy, why can't daddy come and teach me how to bake more?" Rye asks. I move from where I sit, gesturing for my child to leave the room. I wish I could silence Rye- I wish I could stop his words, but I can't.
"I don't see him very much. He promised me! What-"
"Rye, darling, how about you come into the kitchen and I will show you what I know?" I ask, cutting him off.
"But daddy said that-"
"I know, Rye, I know." I say as I usher him out of the bedroom quickly. Before I close the door behind us, I turn to see Peeta. The moment I do, I wish I hadn't. Tears have fallen down his face, and his eyes are squeezed shut. It is the most pain I've ever seen him in- but not physical pain. I hadn't seen him cry yet until this moment- during all the time he has been sick. He didn't cry for himself. He didn't cry because his life was steadily seeping away. But he does cry now- because he can't be there for his child. The capitol has taken that away from him- and the capitol has taken that away from his child. I fight my own tears as Rye pulls me into the kitchen.
Peeta is so good. He doesn't deserve this. He deserves to live a full, happy life. He deserves to be with his children. He deserves to see them grow up- he deserves to see his daughter's wedding. He deserves to be loved and cherished. He deserves so much more than this. So much more. If anyone, it should be me with the poison burning in my blood. I find myself wishing it was me. Because I know that death would be easier.
One afternoon, Peeta looks at me and tells me that he knows. Knows that it will be today. I felt dread claw throughout every inch of my being.
"What do you want to do?" I ask him, trying to appear better than I feel- and not succeeding. Peeta smiles softly before replying.
"I want to have a picknick, and watch the sunset." he says gently, and I nod. Like right before the quarter quell. We thought that night was going to be one of the last we would have, but it wasn't. The difference between then and now is, this night will be his last. There is no way of escaping it.
"Okay." I reply. When I leave the room to go get the things we need, and I'm out of his sight, I break down. I lean against the wall for support- silently sobbing into my shaking fingers. I don't want him to hear me- but I can't take it anymore. I can't keep up this act. I'm not strong enough.
I scoop up some blankets that we have lying around and grab a couple loaves of bread before returning to Peeta, making no effort to disguise my tears. I set it up outside- not far, where I'm sure we'll have a good view of the sunset. Afterwards, I help Peeta walk there. With difficulty we find the blanket, and I lay him down as gently as I can. After, he pulls me into his arms and I allow him to just hold me as I cry for him.
"How are you alright with this?" I ask, almost accusingly. There was a pause before Peeta replied.
"I've made my peace with it, Katniss." He tells me. "A long time ago."
"But.." I break off. I take a breath and try again. "But I don't want to live without you." I finish, pushing away so that I can look into his clear blue eyes once more. I'm not one to say mushy things, really. But I honestly don't. Want to live without him, that is. Peeta is the better half of me, has always been. He has been the light to my darkness- the growth after my fire. The hope after my storms. I can't imagine that being taken from me.
"I'm not leaving you by choice." Peeta says, and I don't interrupt. Because this is the first time I've seen him leak anything about how he is truly feeling. Suddenly I see fear in his eyes as he talks, and sadness, and regret.
"I wanted to be there for you always. And for Willow...and Rye. I'm..." He says to me, but I stop him.
"Don't appologize." I whisper, my tears rolling off my cheeks and falling onto his face. I wipe them away with my fingers. Then I kiss him. He kisses back gently, though weakly. I pull away and lean into his chest.
The sun begins to set. And I swear- it is the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen in my life. Radient golds and flaming reds flow in the sky in masterful workmanship. But the most prominent color is a soft orange- a sweet, sunset orange that is the main color in the scheme.
"I wish I could just pause this moment- and live in it forever." I whisper without really thinking.
"Okay." Peeta whispers back to me. I lift my head from his chest to look at him, a bittersweet smile on my lips.
"You'll allow it?" I ask, playing along. He nods gently.
"I'll allow it." I kiss him once more.
"I'm afraid, Katniss." He whispers to me when I pull away. I look down into his fearful blue eyes- normally so confident and strong.
"I love you." I tell him, stroking his hair with one hand, holding his fingers with my other. His eyes, once focused on me, drift a little to the side- focusing on something behind me.
Then the light leaves them. I don't feel the rise and fall of his chest. I don't feel his heartbeat when I put my hand to where I should.
"Peeta!" I scream. Even though I knew it was coming- it is no less devastating. I cradle his head on my lap and cry into his blonde hair.
The boy with the bread is gone.
It is the day after Peeta left. It feels like all that my nightmares were and worse. I have a hole in my heart where his love once used to fill. I am missing half of myself- the better, truer half of myself. I guess it died with him.
Gale is true to his word, and he comes to check on me and see how I'm doing. I haven't talked to him in years- so it feels strange, seeing him in the living room of the house that Peeta and I had built a life together in. I think he will want to open up some sort of discussion- which I know I can't do- but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches his arms out and wraps me in them.
"I'm so sorry, catnip." He murmurs consolingly. I am thankful for Gale's friendship then. I'm thankful he doesn't ask me to forgive him. A couple tears stream numbly down my cheeks. I think I've cried more in these past two months than I have in my whole life.
I know I need to tell the children. I need to tell Willow, I need to tell Rye- that their father is gone, and he won't be coming back. They will be getting back from school any minute now, so I prepare a little before hand. I cut some slices of bread for the dinner we will have tonight. I set the table. I keep busy- trying to figure out what I will say. I move my leather bag from the dining room to relocate it somewhere else- when a note falls out. My eyes narrow at the brown envelope before I cautiously pick it up. It is addressed to me.
I drop everything else and I open the letter quickly- lifting out the letter inside. It must be one of Peeta's love notes he left for me. I wonder briefly why I never checked the bag before I unfold the paper and read to myself.
I smile then.
When Willow and Rye come home, I sit them down.
"Willow, Rye, I have a story to tell you." I say. "About a boy who loved a girl- when she didn't deserve it."
Then I go into our story, Peeta's and mine. I tell my children about our adventures. I leave out most of the games- but I tell in full the story of their father. How brave he was. How strong he was. How much he loved them, and how much he loved me. I'm crying halfway through, every detail relived as I tell my children the story.
They miss him. I miss him, too. I keep half-expecting Peeta to walk through the front door- but he never does. He is gone. And I know I need to accept it.
I read to them, and to myself, his last note. I read it on the bad days. The days that I feel like I can't continue- the days that I feel so overwhelmed with grief, I can't think properly.
The note reads:
Smile for me.
-Peeta
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