1
Real.
I said real.
I inadvertently told him I loved him.
Yet, here I am, under the blankets, the sun's dying light bleeding through the shades confirming that I have spent the entire day in bed. I'm surprised no one's come to usher me out of my room and make me eat. Greasy Sae must be tired of putting up with me. Maybe she's telling me that if I want to be fed, I'll have to get up and feed myself.
My stomach rumbles, my hunger making me feel hollow and weak. My lips are so dry from dehydration that they stick together. I have a flashback to my first Games, when I was so desperate for water. I even smell the mud that clued my foggy, dying mind to where the pond was.
Stop. I can't have these thoughts. They'll just escalate into nightmares.
I'll have to get up sometime.
Sometime.
"Meoooooow," Buttercup insists at the foot of the bed.
"Go away." I croak. "Go murder a rat or two. It's your job."
He meows even more pitifully in response. The only feelings I had toward this cat was that it comforted Prim. I recall the evening that I yelled at him, telling him that Prim wasn't here anymore. And I cried and he whined with me all afternoon.
I guess we were at an impasse. Misery loves company, right?
I groan and flip back my covers. Time to feed both of us, I guess.
I go down the stairs. Even though the windows are open, there's an eerily silence throughout the house and the outside. Haymitch is, no doubt, passed out drunk. I don't even hear the honking of his geese. Peeta…
I flush at the thought of Peeta. Surely, he would have checked in on me. Maybe he was having an episode.
Suddenly, a door slams. I start, jumping a foot in the air. I accidentally trod on Buttercup's tail. He hisses at me and runs from the kitchen.
"Sorry!" I call after the cat, feeling stupid.
A frantic knocking ensues at my door. Through the door's window, I see tuffs of blonde hair. I'm hesitant, feeling embarrassingly nervous, like a schoolgirl. I go to open the door and there's Peeta in uncharacteristically disheveled clothes and dark circles under his eyes. The whites of his eyes are pink, like he's been crying.
"Peeta?" I say, my voice rising like a question.
"Hazel…died this morning." he responds.
My jaw falls open in surprise and I'm quickly choked by grief. I knew Gale's mother as much as the other Hawthornes.
"How?" I ask, my vision blurry from tears.
"Greasy Sae's thinking she had a stroke. We haven't been able to reach Gale. We were wondering if you…had contact with him recently." Peeta looks down at his feet, like it would disappoint him if I said yes.
"No, Peeta. I haven't heard from him since…you know."
The war. Prim's death. President Coin's assassination.
Peeta sighs. It sounds like a breath of relief. But then his face scrunches up, like he's ashamed.
"When's the funeral?" I ask.
"Well, there hasn't been a time set. Normally, the eldest son arranges the funeral. And, well…" Peeta trails off.
"I'll see if I can get in touch with him. He might be busy with work."
Several images flash through my mind. War. Children. Parachutes. Prim's golden braid. Gale and Beetee's bombs.
Peeta must know my thought train, because he says, "It's not his fault, Katniss. It's Coin's for even letting Prim be there. You know that."
I stare at him. We haven't had a conversation so emotional like this he stopped me from eating the nightlock pill.
"Want to…come in for a bit? I haven't eaten all day. I guess Greasy Sae was busy with…that."
He nods and steps over the threshold. He acknowledges Buttercup, who makes a reappearance suddenly, with a few scratches on his ugly little head.
"Have any game left? I could…fix a quick stew or something." he offers, straightening himself to look at me.
I blush. I haven't been hunting in forever, which is very out of character for me.
"Um…Effie sent me a package of food from the Capitol actually. But…I…can't. I just can't."
"It's okay, Katniss…I get it. One taste of Capitol food would probably have me…having an episode." he grimaced. "Everything's a fucking trigger for me."
I raise my eyebrows. Normally, Peeta doesn't swear unless he's really upset, like when he has hallucinations.
"I do have some cheese buns left." I say suddenly, going over to the fridge. Actually, I have tubs upon tubs of cheese buns because I haven't been able to eat them without crying recently. The taste of them just reminds how wonderful Peeta is and how much I don't deserve him. I take out a tub of them and put a few on a plate to heat up. I have enough distraction to eat them without falling apart today.
The smell of them makes my mouth water, reminding me how hungry I am. Buttercup meows at my feet.
"Why are you depending on me for food? Go hunt down a squirrel or a bird or something."
His eyes almost regard me like he's asking, "Because that's what you usually do."
I feel something akin to guilt. I open the fridge and take out the pitcher of milk. I grab two glasses for Peeta and I and then a small bowl. I fill the bowl with milk and set it on the floor. Buttercup sniffs it briefly and begins to lap it up.
"That's the friendliest I've seen you be with that cat…" Peeta comments.
"Well, I guess we're family."
I feel the ice shards in my heart crack. My chest physically hurts thinking of the family I've lost. I lost Mom to her depression. She came back briefly to help with Prim and me during the time before the Quarter Quell and during the Rebellion. But we've stopped our communication since the war ended. She couldn't handle coming back here. I feel anger towards her, for repressing her sadness and becoming a statue after Dad died. No telling what she's like now.
Peeta and I eat the cheese buns quickly. We keep a polite banter going so I don't get too involved in the cheese bun's taste. I know it sounds corny, but he imbibes his personality into his baking. His love. His kindness. I can't take it.
Because I don't deserve it.
My eyes betray me, becoming misty. Luckily, I think Peeta will equate it to Hazel's death.