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"Yes I know you can't keep making up our meetings." I say bluntly down the phone to Dr Aurelius. He continues to lecture me on how I am meant to be ringing him at least twice a week, to check in, if nothing else.

"Did you get the parcel I sent you?" He sounds optimistic but I just stare at pile of unopened parcels and letters. The fact is I haven't really moved from the front room. All my meals are cooked for me by Greasy Sae. I haven't even been outside to hunt. I haven't seen Haymitch since I have arrived back in District 12.

I could lie, however if he asks about the contents I won't be able to answer. "I may have but I haven't opened it."

"Well you should. It's a blank paged book. I thought you could use it as a diary, record each day as it comes."

"Why?" There is no emotion in my voice and by this point; I would like the conversation to end. I want to get back to the fire and do nothing else.

"You currently have tendencies to zone in and out. Writing will keep you on track and make you pay more attention to your day."

I can hear the phone's plastic crunching in my hand.

"I hope to hear from you again next week Miss Everdeen"

I put the receiver down without saying goodbye. I walk over to the pile of unopened post. I'm sure a few of the letters are wishing me well but I still don't want to face them. A couple of letters are from District 4. One I can tell is my mother's hand writing and the other I don't recognise. I push some of the envelopes around until I find the parcel I'm sure is from Dr Aurelius. I drag myself back to my chair in front of the fire and start to pull at the sides. Buttercup lets out a mew. Seems he cares more about the contents than I. As Dr Aurelius described, it's a plain book with blank paper. Not quite a diary. I guess you would call it a scrap book. I run the pages through my fingers a few times and set it down on the tea table next to me. There is a knock at the door but I don't turn to face who it is. I know it must be Sae. She lets herself and granddaughter in. No one locks the doors around here. If I did, it would mean more effort anyway.

"Good morning!" Her little granddaughter cries over to me. I look over and give a nod. Sae starts laying out the table and puts down the squirrel stew. Nothing like you would get in the capitol but it does taste of home. I notice there is no bread with the food like normal and stare at the empty plate. I don't know if my face is showing concern or confusion but Sae answers my expression anyway.

"I told him I wasn't going to take your bread anymore and if he wishes to give it to you, he should come over here himself."

I look up at her surprised and a little on edge. Peeta's hijacking was known to a select few but I'm sure she is aware.

"How is he doing? I have only seen him once since he has got back." I look out the window seeing the pale yellow primrose flowers.

"Better, I believe."

My stomach tenses a little bit.

"Every morning he makes the bread, I collect it for the people around town and myself. Sometimes he puts himself back to bed so I simply leave his food out for him. Other times I can hear him in his room; screaming."

No doubt something to do with me. I push my squirrel stew around the bowl. How can she think it's a good idea him coming here?

"However this last week he has been up and dressed and making all sorts of breads and pastries."

Well that's... promising? I give her a nod and she goes to leave. I can see in her shoulder bag bread being carried. I wonder if that means I'm going to get bread today or nothing for a while. I really don't want him here. I only let Sae in because she brings the food and then she spends a long time coaxing me to eat it. I look down at my bowl and realise I haven't actually touched anything yet. Before I know it, I tuck myself under the table and hold my knees to my chin.

There is a knock at the door and I close my eyes. It's not going to be Haymitch after all these months and I'm sure I could smell him from here. As the door opens, the smell of fresh bread wafts in but with the hint of something else. Cheese?

"Katniss?"

It's still his voice; it's still the boy with the bread. I just have no urge to move from my hiding spot. I can hear him walking towards the kitchen. He's still no quieter on his feet. Maybe I should be happy about that. He can't sneak up on me.

"Katniss?"

I hold my breath hoping I won't be discovered. I stare as he walks over. He still has a very slight limp. I hear the bread get placed on the plate. He sighs as he walks towards the door. Sigh? Sigh, in relief I'm not there or sigh because he wanted to see me? I can't face it. Not today. I wait until I hear the door firmly shut before I emerge.

I look down at the bread. It's still warm as I pick it up and it has cheese on the top. My favourite. I start to question if this means he remembers or if he was just doing cheese bread today. All the other days the bread has been plain. I break myself off a slice, savouring the smell before dipping it in the stew. This is the first time I have felt hungry for a while rather than just eating because I have to. Sae normally comes back later in the day to clear up after me but I feel like I have a new found energy and decide to clear up after myself. I saved a scrap of squirrel for Buttercup and let him eat it out of my hand. We seem to get on better now. Our mutual loss done that I guess.

I go upstairs and realised I haven't bathed in a while. I seem to avoid the mirror after everything. My hair still damaged in a few places. I almost have it long enough for a plat now. Without removing any clothing I can see the scars which seem to almost flicker on my neck and hands. I can't help but let out a small laugh. The girl who was on fire, literally. I strip off and skin seems to peel off with it. It makes me feel sick. I still don't have the stomach for this, even when it comes to me. Once in the bath I start to attack my hair. It's clumped in places and feels knotty beyond repair. Half an hour later I seem to have untangled most of it. The water still tingles on my new pink skin. I wash very gently to insure no tears or bleeding but it seems to of healed nice and strong. I get out of the bath and see myself in the mirror. Patch work. I wrap the towel around quickly and go to my room to get some fresh clothes.

I sit, and then lay on my bed looking out of the window. Maybe I have overreacted. Peeta must be safe to be around or he wouldn't have been sent home. Tomorrow I tell myself. If he comes over tomorrow I will try and say hi, or at least not hide under the table. I stare out of the window for rest of the day. My thoughts still scattered. I wonder about going out to the woods but dismiss the thought quickly. Jabbajays still haunt me. I also know my thoughts will trail off to Gale. I know he didn't send her there but I do know it was his bomb plan. I know how I sleep. I have no doubt that Peeta sleeps no better. I wonder how he sleeps though. He always thought that all is fair in love and war. He played it at the capitol's level; often stating what they did to Peeta was awful so why should we show restraint. Children though? I try not to think too much about it. The anger swells and makes my attempts at doing anything that day slimmer. Before long the sun sets and the moon gives the only light to my room. I roll over; not bothering to undress and go into what must have been a fitful sleep. When I wake up the blanket is on the floor and sheets have been pulled from under the bed.

Not long have I aroused when I hear a knock at the door. I stretch and make my way down stairs. The door is pushed open before I get to it. I stop moving immediately when I see him. He looks older. Bags under his glazed eyes, he clearly isn't sleeping much. I can't help but notice those scars again, where the flames licked the side of his face. He still stands up straight though. Peeta looks as hesitant of me as I am of him. This only makes me more nervous. I notice he is clutching a small basket with bread poking out of it. His knuckles are bruised.

"Morning." Its half-hearted but accompanied with a half-smile.

"How are you feeling today?" After seeing him I don't know why I asked. Clearly he still isn't right.

He shrugs. "Better I guess. I have been keeping busy baking again." He seems to scowl at the bread he is carrying. "Cheese bread is your favourite."

Amazing, he is starting to rememb-

"Real or not real?"

Somewhat.

"Real." I say with a small smile on my face. He seems to return this with a much more genuine smile. The basket is quiet big for just a loaf of bread. I wonder if there is more in there than just that. "Have you had breakfast?" He shakes his head. It doesn't look like he has eaten much for a while. "Would you like to join me for some?" I really don't know why I'm asking. The whole conversation seems so... wooden. We walk into the kitchen and he puts the basket down. He pulls out the bread and a jar of something. Jam! "Where did you get that?" It was half used but I haven't seen anything sweet since I can remember. 13 certainly didn't have anything of the sort other than... the wedding. I push away the thought.

"Greasy Sae brought it to me the other day. As a treat I guess. She said that they have found a patch of strawberries out in the woods, not too far away and managed to make a few jars of jam"

"I know the patch; I used to pick them for the mayor. He had a quiet thing for them. I guess not being picked for a while means there must be a lot."

Peeta seems to have frozen and thinking hard on what I last said. "With Gale? You use to pick them with him?"

Really? That's what he takes from that. "Sometimes." Somehow, I seem to be getting annoyed quickly with the conversation and my excitement for the jam has gone down. Peeta simply nods, looking like he is still processing it. I want the conversation to move on. I walk up next to him to help with the bread. He jumps at the sudden realisation that I'm besides him. I quickly take a step back with my hands in fists as he grabs the table almost to steady himself. He's eyes are shut tight and he breaths deeply. He is still terrified of me. I get some courage out of nowhere as I step towards him. I take hold of his closest hand gently and I can feel him shaking. It's just like it was in the capitol. "Peeta" His grip tightens on the table. Other than the shaking I'm not convinced he can move. I'm sure if he could he would run. "You're safe. You're in District 12."

He hisses. "Which got bombed because of you!"

"Not real Peeta!" Now isn't the time to get angry with him but that hit a nerve. I remind myself what Haymitch said. If it was you he would be doing everything to bring you back.

"The ins-and-outs of why 12 got bombed are long but it's not my fault personally. I didn't rain fire down myself."

The shaking stops but he stands still like a statue. His breathing still heavy and eyes clamped shut. I don't release my hand from him. I was told he gets like this by Haymitch. That he can take a long time to process things. After five minutes still nothing. I haven't dared to move. I can imagine one exchange in the wrong direction and this could end up with him attacking. Attacking me.

"Stay with me Peeta." I say in a hushed voice, not looking at him.

This seems to trigger something. He releases the table and drops to his elbows, resting, whilst he rubs his temples. His eyes are now open, staring down at the jam. I take a breath and finally feel like I can move. My legs have seized up from the tension of standing perfectly still. I grab a glass off of the shelf, fill it with water then put it in front of him. I grab a chair and put it behind him, nudging it into the back of his legs. He finally sits and sips at the water. He lets out a half-hearted laugh which concerns me. "I was doing better."

"I guess I just bring out the worst in you." Can't help but find my eyes wandering to the Primrose.

"That's not true. I only thought about doing something different with the plain bread when I thought I remembered you like cheese on it. I told Greasy Sae. She smiled and said she wouldn't deliver your bread anymore and if I wanted you to have it I had to come over. It's just, not easy." Peeta stopped rubbing his temples and stared down at his bruised hands. They shake and almost seem to twitch. They are not the steady hands which used to hold me anymore. I wonder if he can still paint.

I move over back over to his side and pick up the bread, slicing a bit off. I have only just noticed its plain today, clearly because of the jam. He watches me carefully, too carefully. I start to feel uneasy again but I'm sure he is feeling the same, seeing me with a knife. This is not going to get easier. I put the bread down on a couple of plates and let him spread his own jam. I finally get to take a bite and I let a smile take over. It's so sweet and delicious. I look over and see Peeta staring at me back with his own small grin.

"I haven't seen you smile in a long time." He says this staring back down at his bread.

"I could say the same to you."

We go back to our awkward silence but there is a lot less tension in the air. I notice his gaze go off to the coffee table by my chair. "That book, Dr Aurelius gave it to you?" I nod in response.

"He sent me one too. He wanted me to draw down any non-shiny memories. He thought if I did that, it would reinforce which memories were mine."

"And how's that going?"

"Awful." His hands move back to his temples again. "If I draw and the image gets warped I can have anything from a panic attack to rage fit. Other times my hands will just shake and make it impossible to draw anyway, which frustrates me."

I understand where those bruises come from now. I wonder what condition his house is in, if he is getting that angry.

"What about you, what do you need to do with yours?"

My jaw tenses. "I'm meant to use it as a dairy. Apparently I have tendencies to zone out. He thinks it would be good for me to time and date everything so I don't forget what I did and where." I'm feeling so annoyed by it all. I'm well enough to go home and I just want to be left alone. I should have the right to do what I want. I think I have earned that.

"Clearly you don't like that idea. Why don't you use it instead as a scrap book? You have known a lot of people to… not be around anymore. Why don't you documenting it, like your dad's book. The things you don't want to forget about those people with time?"

Like my dad's book? I hadn't thought about it using it like that. I stand up and walk to my room. I open up the wardrobe and pull out my dad's old hunting bag. I take it with me and sit down with Peeta again, opening up the bag. He turns in his seat looking down interestedly. Someone, probably Gale, rescued this bag again for me from district 13. It's pretty lucky really. Survived the bombing and came back to me, twice. I empty the contents of the bag carefully onto the table. The old tattered book falls out with a thump. I flick through the pages and as I get to the end, Peeta puts his hand out. He stops on a few drawings. His drawings.

"We spent a whole week working on this because someone 'slipped' on some ice." I frown. At least he is trying to make a joke.

"Actually I had to jump out of a tree over the electrified fence, but I never got around to telling you that." I shrug and push the book over so Peeta can have a proper look at it. I decide to look through the rest of my things. I find the silver parachute and instantly know what's contained inside it. Peeta looks up and scowls. "That's from the games, why on earth have you kept it?" Looking down at it, I remember all those times he was in the hospital and I clutched the pearl which in still inside. My little piece of Peeta. Untouched, still mine.

"Because it keeps something safe."

Peeta still looks very unamused but it seems to have his curiously. I take a deep breath as I start to unravel it. I finally open it and my face drops. I bite my bottom lip and stare at the empty container. Of course. I carried it with me on the day I went to the capitol. When I caught fire, so did my clothes; my clothes which contained the pearl. It's not fair. I even lost that.

"What did you have?" Such a soft tone of voice. Peeta clearly can see the pain on my face. I can see that he is trying his best to comfort me whilst keeping an arms distance.

"Something you gave me, something which I held onto most days. It was the pearl from the beach."

I can see the strain across his face. He is either trying to remember it or fight off some bad thoughts. I didn't think. I shouldn't have brought up the games. The awkward silence falls on the room again as I sit and fumble with the parachute.

"I found it, in a clam."

Generally where pearls come from but being sarcastic won't help right now. I nod as my bottom lip seems to tremble. This time Peeta gets up and walks over to the coffee table, picking up the book. He walks back over putting it down on the table. "We should work on it together. You can remember the people and I can attempt to draw them if my hands allow it. We can get Haymitch to help with the people we didn't know so well."

Both of us working on it together? Just like that? I don't know. Surely bringing up the wrong person or subject could become a catalyst for him. On the other hand I don't want to do it by myself. Even though it's a good idea, I think it would be very hard to write by myself. Maybe I can face it with someone else around. With Peeta around.

"We could give it ago."

"Who do you want to start with?"

Can't believe he is so ready to talk about all of this.

"You choose." This is a safer option. If he picks someone then there is less chance of him having an episode.

"Rue."

He looks me straight in the eyes. I don't know if this is challenging me or asking for approval. I'm sure it's the latter.

"I think I might be able to find a pen somewhere. But I don't have any pencils or paints for you to use." I look around but I can't think of anywhere I might have some. There was no artist in my family.

Peeta finishes his bread and stands up. He pulls out a strawberry tart out of the basket with a cheese loaf. The strawberry tart looks amazing. He clearly notices me staring at it. "Grab yourself a slice, I made it for you anyway. I'm going to go back home and pick up some paints. I will be right back." With that he walks off, taking the basket with him. How did it get to this? This morning we hardly seemed to want to be in the same room and now he wants to spend the rest of the day with me? I guess I want to spend the rest of the day with him. It's been too long since we have just been us and away from the cameras, propaganda, war or games. Maybe we have a shot at being friends now. I start to think what I can write about Rue. I grab the paper but remember I have no pen. I repeat what I know in my head instead.

Rue was 12 years old and came from district 11, the harvest district. She taught me the four note tune which meant the day's work is over. The more I think about her the more everything beautiful brings her to mind. I still see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I still see her in the mockingjays which I can hear from my house. She was an amazing tree climber, able to jump from one to another. She saved my life in the arena and trusted me partly because of the mockingjay pin. The pin which turned into the symbol for the rebellion. I turned into the mockingjay and then nothing but death followed. Most of which were my fault.

I find myself in the foetus position again. I wish Peeta would hurry back. At least with company I won't find myself drifting off to these thoughts. On the other hand if I told him about it, he would probably just agree and say it is my fault.

I wonder where he is. He has been a while for something he knows where they are. I wait a bit longer, occupying myself by doing the small bit of washing up from our breakfast. I put the jam away and cut a couple of slices of tart ready. I sit back down.

Still not here.

Watching the fire, I stroke Buttercup. It still seems strange he lets me do this. Stranger still, he purrs. A few hours pass and I look over at Peeta's house through the window. I can't see any movement. I guess I can't from here anyway.

I haven't been outside since returning to 12. I open the door to look. A few yards feel like miles as I start to walk out. I hold myself cross armed as I make my way over. It's not cold, I just feel vulnerable outside. I finally make it to his front door and knock. No answer. Knock. Still nothing. Pushing the door open I peak my head around. The house is pretty trashed. It looks like knives have been used on the walls. The banister is broken. There is a chair smashed in a corner and glass all over in the back room. Suddenly I feel very on edge again. I don't know where he is.

"Peeta?"

No reply. I venture in deeper careful of my step. I don't know if I should make noise so I don't startle him or stay quiet. I stick with my hunting skills and carefully walk up the stairs, minding the mess.

"Peeta?"

A whimper? I definitely heard a small sound coming from one of the rooms on the left. As I walk up to it I can see the door has been taken off its hinges. I take a peek. It's clearly his art room and some of the pictures are more disturbing than I remember him painting. The one which stands out the most is a dog crossed with a female human. It has jagged teeth and long snake like fingers with talons on the end. I can see in one of its hands, it holds a bow. I guess that's how he sees me. If he truly believed I could change into something like that, no wonder he attacked me back in the hospital. Before I know what was happening I was up against the wall with Peeta pinning my shoulders to it. His eyes look completely different from this morning. His pupils change size rapidly.