Summary: At the end of the final chapter, Katniss tells Peeta that it's not real. Is there still hope for them? Things get even more complicated when a certain someone returns to District 12 to set up a military base. Does the military have some secret goal?
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
Not real
By Majestic Waters
Chapter 1: Loneliness
So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?"
I tell him, "Not real."
I'm so used to lying by now, I don't even flinch. A blush of shame and anger spreads up towards his face, and although I can tell I've hurt him again I know it's for the best. I can't give him the life that he wants. I'm too broken. He deserves so much more.
"Then I'll leave you to your nightmares." Peeta rolls off of the bed, and the loss of his heat and the iciness of his tone make me shiver.
"Peeta! It's just—"
"No need to explain. The Capitol didn't put the image of you rejecting me over and over again into my head. I thought I was imagining how cruel you could be. But I was wrong." He exits the room before I can say anything more, and I hear the door slam downstairs. I think I've finally done it. He's never coming back.
The next week is lonely. I manage to get out of bed, take a shower, and braid my hair back each day, but I can't bring myself to do much more. Haymitch comes by on Wednesday evening to sit by the fire, drink, and ease his own loneliness. All too soon, he realizes I'm not much company and leaves.
I don't even have the energy to hunt. Mostly, I sit by the window facing the garden and watch Peeta tend to the flowers, sometimes sitting with his little sketch pad and paints to capture the beauty of a particularly vivid blossom. I miss him.
On Monday evening, I hear a knock at the front door. I get a shock when I look through the peep hole, and for a second I hesitate. He doesn't have to know I'm home; eventually, he'll go away. But I am soon overcome by guilt, so I open the door, and step aside so that he can enter into the kitchen. I'm very uneasy sitting across from my visitor, sipping tea across from me in the warm kitchen, and looking very dangerous in his black, shiny uniform. I see his eyes settle disdainfully on the kitchen blender, the toaster, and the shiny tiled floors. I can tell what he's thinking because I often heard him say it while we were in the forest, away from prying ears. A capitol life for capitol killers.
"So…" I begin, to break the pervasive silence that has settled over us. "I never thought I would see you again. Why are you here? How is everything in District 2?"
Gale shrugs. "Everything's going as well as can be expected. They wanted to try and set up a military base in District 12. So they sent me." I must have looked a little disappointed because he added, "… and this is my home. I decided to come back."
"Permanently?" He shrugs again.
"I haven't decided yet." His piercing grey eyes settle on me then, and I can no longer tell what he's thinking. Does he look at me as disdainfully as he did the blender? Does he feel anything for me at all anymore? I see a flash of what I think is guilt cross his features, and I can tell he is thinking of Prim, which makes me think of Prim.
I still have nightmares. I still see my beautiful little sister burst into flames before my very eyes, her surprised and tortured expression replaying itself over and over in my mind. The sister I had tried so hard to protect, by volunteering in her place for the Games. How could it all have been for nothing? How was my pure, innocent, baby sister still taken away from me by war—by Gale? I would never know if he had really designed the fire-bomb that took my sister. But what did it matter? If Gale's bomb hadn't taken my sister, it surely would have taken someone else's.
I can't look at him, and the silence and heat become oppressive.
"Right," says Gale, standing abruptly from his chair. "I wanted to see if you had—if you could forgive me. But I can see that you can't. I understand." He turns to leave, but I surprise myself by practically leaping over the table and grabbing at his jacket.
"Please! Don't… don't go." I still can't look at him, but he puts his knuckles under my chin and forces me to stare into his eyes. "I've missed you," I whimper. I know I sound pathetic. But I really have missed him. His solid presence has always kept me grounded. His bold confidence on a hunt; his steady hand with a knife even in the face of a rampaging wild animal always set my mind at ease. I cannot force myself to loosen my grip on his uniform. The fact is, I'm vulnerable right now, and I need someone to tell me everything was going to be okay, like Peeta did when I would wake up in the middle of the night after a particularly bad nightmare.
He leans down for a kiss, but I turn my head at the last moment. "I'm not ready for that." What kind of person would I be to reject Peeta and then jump straight into Gale's arms? I love Peeta. I know that now, but I also know he's too good for me, that we can never be together. What of Gale? Gale is just as damaged as I am. We deserve each other. But could I bring myself to love him after what happened to Prim? "First, let's try being friends again, at least," I say when I see the hurt expression on his face start to morph into one of indifference. He hesitates.
"Fine," he breathes, at last. I finally let go of him, and we both move to sit back down at the table. "Catnip," he begins haltingly, "While I'm here, I'm going to need a place to stay. There's nothing left of my home after the fire."
I bite my lip. Friendship…. How long will it last with Gale under the same roof? How long will it take Peeta to notice that Gale has moved in with me? Not long, on either account, I surmise, grimly.
"Of course you can stay. I'll set you up in the spare bedroom." He follows me up the stairs, and I lead him into the room that Prim used to share with my mother. I look sadly at the little knick-knacks that my sister used to decorate: the cheerful blue wallpaper, a large picture of a primrose that she made Peeta paint for her, a memory box tied with a gold ribbon that she had filled with the few things she had managed to salvage from home…. I can tell from the haunted look on Gale's face that he knows that this is Prim's old room. But I choose not to think about it. I drop an extra blanket on the bed, give a small wave goodnight, and excuse myself from the misery of any conversation that might have followed.