When Peeta has a particularly bad flashback, I take refuge in Haymitch's house. Two doors down, we can still hear his echoing screams of 'She's a mutt!' and 'Don't trust her!' I don't realise how hard I'm shaking until he pulls me into a hug, a very un-Haymitch-like gesture.
'What happened?', he asks, releasing me. He knows that Peeta hasn't had an episode for quite a while and that something must have set him off.
'I don't know', I whisper. I can't remember saying or doing anything but Dr Aurelius says that even the smallest things can trigger a flashback.
Haymitch furrows his brows, deep in thought. 'Has he been acting strange lately?.'
I shake my head. 'No. I don't think so.' I lean against the wall behind me, suddenly feeling weak, 'What did I do? I was trying so hard to-'
'Katniss', Haymitch interrupts. 'You didn't do anything. He went through a lot, give him time to recover.' He pauses and in the brief silence I notice that Peeta's shouts have stopped, which either means that the flashback has finished or he's too upset to continue shouting.
'I'm going to go check on him.', I tell Haymitch. He looks like he's about to stop me, but then thinks better of it. 'Alright. Just be careful, and don't bring up anything that could set him off again.'
I nod, opening the door and stepping outside into the cool night air. When I get to the house Peeta and I share, I hesitate at the door. As much as I want to help Peeta, I don't want to make matters worse. But he needs me. Pushing the negative thoughts aside, I turn the doorknob.
Peeta sits on our bed with his hands clamped on top of his head. He doesn't move when I enter, so I go and sit down on the bed next to him.
'Hey', I say softly. 'How are you?'
No answer.
I sigh inwardly. I don't know what to say. I want to comfort him, tell him I don't blame him in the slightest but am at a loss as to how. I have to be careful with my words so as not to upset him further but words aren't my forte, they're Peeta's.
I'm useless at talking about my feelings, anyway, so instead I tell a story.
'Once, when Prim was young, probably seven or eight, she got really sick'. I begin quietly, watching Peeta for any reaction. When nothing comes, I continue.
'We didn't know what was wrong with her, not even my mother. We didn't have any medicine to give her, and of course we couldn't take her to a proper
hospital so we just had to wait. Wait and watch.' A lump forms in my throat of the memory of Prim's limp form lying so still on the bed, but I force myself to continue.
'And the worst part..the worst part was that I couldn't do anything to help her. That I didn't know how to help her.' Peeta's hands loosen slightly. He doesn't say a word, but I think he's watching me.
'Two days later, something amazing happened. Her fever went down and she could speak. She was still weak, but much better than before.' I pause. 'You're going to get better, Peeta'
I wait for a response. Still nothing. I sigh, and get up slowly. I'm obviously not doing him any good, so I may as well give him some time to himself. I've reached the door when I hear Peeta's voice. 'Thank you', he whispers.