Chapter 1: Missing and moving on
Peeta Pov
Pacing from door to door, I can't slow my breath down. My hearts beating a million miles an hour. He can't leave me, he won't. I'll have no-one.
Hearing the creak of the door open slightly I stop and spin on my heel. I stare at the doctor "I'm sorry", he whispers and steps aside.
I've lost all hope, when I walk through the door and see my father lying lifeless on a bed, the man who could make me smile just being in the same room as me, not moving, not breathing there's no happiness not now, not ever. "Dad", I whisper, trying to fight back tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I failed you", I whisper as I feel a tear role down my cheek. I sink to my knees and rest my forehead on his hand. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry". I repeat those words for hours knowing I can never take back what I did. I hear the door creak and see the doctor, he stares at me, silently asking me to finish up. I turn back to my dad "I love you", I slowly stand up and kiss his forehead. "I'm sorry I left you". I then turn and walk out of the room, the halls, the hospital. I walk back home and have a mental breakdown as I look at the stairs my father fell down because of my stupid surprise. He was the only one who cared and I caused him to die. I collapse onto the floor and begin weeping as tears stream down my face and right now, I don't think I'll stop.
2 weeks later
I sigh as I stare in at my reflection. I don't see that happy go lucky boy from when I was a child all I see now is a man living alone, with no family. I've made a mess of life but this time theirs no-one to patch it up. I stare into the eyes of the man in the mirror, light blue, showing his cold heart. I take a deep breath, I'm wearing a black suit- my father's- for all the wrong reasons. It scares me how I have worn this so many times and grown attached to it. This will be my 4th funeral in the close family. I then turn around and walk down the stairs, it's a quiet atmosphere, it's terrifying.
The house once filled with childhood memories of me, my mother, father and three brothers. Cooking, laughing, I remember all the Christmas mornings my dad would wake us up because Santa came. All the hugs when kids would pick on me for my mother. Every morning standing behind the counter waving and smiling at customers while I would wear a cooks hat - for no actual reason - and my hair would fall in my eyes while I was icing cakes. The endless nights when he would sit on the side of my bed and we would talk, laugh and imagine our future. How I would fall in love, get married, have four kids. The perfect fairy-tale. He wanted one more child, a girl, like one he once knew.
I shake the thoughts from my mind before I start to cry. Then open the door and walk to the grave where he now lays in the pouring rain. It's a private funeral because I didn't want anyone who didn't know him personally, and I have to blink back the tears when I see that my mother didn't come. I stand there in the rain as the priest begins the funeral and I faintly hear someone singing "Heaven's now my home". There are only two other people here, a girl who is singing for the funeral - standing under an umbrella hiding her face with a curtain of her hair - and her father, who I assume is Mr Everdeen, one of my father's close friends.
After the priest says a few prayers he offers me condolences and leaves. Just before I walk closer to the grave the man wearing black and his daughter walks over to me and says he's sorry for what has happened and that if I ever needed someone I should call him. That's meaningless to me, nothing can take away the pain I'm feeling.
I nod as he goes and the girl lifts her head up so I can see piercing grey eyes full of sorrow and heartbreak as though she could see right through me. Like she knows me. She then turns to look at where my father lays and so do I. I sigh, it's just the two of us and for some reason just her standing next to me, even without saying anything is the most comforted I've ever felt. Turning to me, she gives me a hopeful smile and leaves. Suddenly I feel cold and alone again and walk over to his grave.
"John Mellark
Loving father
Best friend
An inspiration
A gift
Never forgotten
Born 1969
Died 2013 aged 44."
I stand for what seems like eternity and silently pray before leaving.
As I enter my house I throw my blazer on the back of the couch and shut the door before breaking down in tears I have struggled to keep back for weeks. I lean against the door and slid down until I'm on the floor and cry silently because I know no-one will ever hear me. I whimper as I turn my head side to side wishing, this was just a nightmare, that my father was still alive.
But his not.
That's when I know I can't pretend anymore, I'm broken and I don't think I'll ever be fixed.
2 years later (peeta at 18)
Twisting in my sleep, I shoot up when I hear someone banging on the door. I turn and look at the clock 8:30. I groan and fall back on my bed when the banging continues. Sighing I force myself out of bed and get changed into a black shirt and white trousers. I decide I won't bother with breakfast, so I just grab a bottle of water and my backpack. Before jogging down the stairs and pulling open the door to find Finnick smiling like a mad man.
Finnick is one of my closet friends but not bff or anything stupid like that. He was the first friend I had in high school that didn't ignore me. I remember walking down a hallway to find him leaning against the locker next to mine and I saw him smirk and say "hey pretty boy", after that we had some harmless banter. I hated him but after every fight we would start laughing. Soon after that we talked in class and would always joke and fight each other. As much as a pain he is, he is a great friend who you can talk to whenever you need to. As long as it doesn't get to sappy.
"Hey", I say running past him to his car.
"Oh now you're in a hurry", he mocks before unlocking the car and climbing in. We then pull away and head to school. I lean my head on the headrest and sigh. "What's the matter Peet, too much fun", he jokes. I turn and shoot him a glare and we pull up to the school at 8:46. Were late, school just started and it doesn't help with my pounding headache. Finnick took me to the pub last night and I drank 2 beers and a countless number of shots, yep, totally his fault. I climb out of the car and walk into the building, it still creeps me out how the school is so quiet just like my house. I walk to class and sneak in to science with Finnick when Mr Abernathy looking at the board.
We both sit down and get on with the work until Finnick throws a scrunched up piece of paper at my head. I glare and then throw one back. In seconds it turns into a war. Mr Abernathy is writing down our grades from last year for our report card because he can't be bothered to update them and it always goes unnoticed and the rest of the class are having private conversations. I throw another ball at Finnick and they have went from the size of a crumb to the size of oranges. I laugh when I see Finnick shoot me a scowl before doing a spit ball at me. I duck and do one back at him. In minutes were both laughing trying to beat each other until Finnick says, "Now I'm mad" and goes over the top by ripping a page out of his book, stuffing it in his mouth and tries to spit it at me and my book. I groan when it lands inches from my arm and on my book and we both laugh uncontrollably. As the bell goes I grab my slightly wet book, toss it in my bag and as we walk out the door I turn and moan before chuckling and tapping Finnick on the shoulder. He turns and his face instantly shows an amused expression. The whiteboard is covered with Finnick's spit balls.
Afterwards we go to our other four classes which I happen to have without Finnick, maths, music and art, all except art I sit there and stare at the wall. Today we finish early so we don't have lunch and I've already got two detentions for not completing my homework, but I don't care. It always is boring in school without Finnick but I smirk at the thought of my last lesson. I then stand up and go to my finally class, English with Mr Crane. I head to my seat throw my bag on the table and unzip it. Then I pull my book out and lean my bag against one of the legs of my chair. Before sitting there as Mrs Trinket my drama teacher comes in. I guess Mr Crane, is sick. She starts to talk about the book were reading "Inspector Calls" while I look at the rubber on my pencil and doodle what happened last night. I smile to myself and sigh looking at the clock, only 58 minutes left.
I hope this lesson goes fast but I change my mind as soon as the door opens...