For three years the peace had been settled on the once destructed lanes of the region known as Panem. People were having a tough time recovering from the devastation the rebellion had left; causing even more discussions, which lead to arguments, this to conflicts which eventually would turn out into violence. Was the situation better? The majority of the people doubt it. For the habitants of the former wealthy districts, and of course, for the Capitol, it had gone downhill. Not all at once, though. The minor impacts were the ones that were defeating them, making them fall like a leave from a tree in mid autumn: slowly yet swiftly, falling, sometimes roaming through the air before it finally touched ground. That's how the cycle of life worked in Panem, nowadays, ever since the uprising. It started slow, unnoted and not given the enough attention needed, the habitant's ego set too high to even bother on thinking on anything except them. Now, here they were, entering the depression that once had reigned, and still did, on the other Districts, take District 12 for example.
They deserved it. They had enough time to prepare for this, and wasted it. The deserved it. Or at least that was how Katniss Everdeen believed.
After three years of all the painful losses she had suffered, Katniss, like the whole country, wasn't repaired yet. The nightmares were frequent visitors in the depths of the nights, the fear and paranoia was constant, the panic. There was one image, specifically, that had damaged Katniss beyond repair. The same that will always replay on her mind whenever she closed her eyelids, in an attempt to block those same images, the one that haunted her nights, the most common one, the most painful one, and the one that triggered the other ones. It always started the same. Screams. Piercing screams of ultimate pain, the screams that instead of relieving the pain, only made it worst, making your throat raw. Those yells of pain, that, the more you screamed, the more it hurt, but you can't stop. There is simply no way to do it. All you can do is scream because that's the only thing your body can seem to react to. Katniss knew perfectly well this feeling, for she had felt the same when the silver parachutes, the same tiny silver shining capsules that once gave her a spark of hope at the arena, had exploded, claiming her younger sister's, Primrose, life. The image of the parachutes exploding, of Prim being consumed in their feverish flames mixed with the nonstop screams flooded her mind every night, like a constant reminder of that day, when she lost more than a sister. She lost her reason to be.
Soon, Finnick Odair's screams as he was devoured alive by the mutations created by the Capitol would join Primrose's. Sometimes, in between those nightmares, Rue would appear, along with her pleading sad eyes as the life drained out of her petite body. And that's when she would wake up, always to the same face; the face of the kind, gentle, blue eyed, golden haired, baker. She would stare at him through her blurred by the tears eyes. They would skim through his strong, set jaw moving up to his lips that had once looked raw and pale, and felt cold and lifeless right when Peeta was on the verge of death; but now, now they were full of life, and always there to reassure her he was there. And within second, they would already be pressed to her forehead, murmuring reassuring thoughts,to help her separate the layers of what was false and what wasn't, as she did when he needed it. Peeta's voice was always soothing, reminding her it was all over now, that she was safe. Lies.
Whenever Peeta was around, Katniss couldn't be completely safe.
Just as the uprising had left an unhealed wound on Katniss, the Capitol had left a legacy for the young baker too. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, the Tracker Jacker venom running through Peeta Mellark's blood would trigger violent episodes of his Hijacking. He could control them, though. Unable to explain exactly why or how, he could stop most of them before they even started. The memories of what the attacks brought to Peeta's mind where too painful for him to go through them, even if he wanted to, afterwards.
Lately, Peeta's attacks had turned stronger; he was no longer able to contain them. His ability, his strength to battle them was fading. He perfectly knew he shouldn't be anywhere near Katniss if she really loved her. But that was it. Not being with Katniss, even if safer, was even more hurting than being around her and live with the fear. The baker thought about this as a selfish decision by his side, but he didn't care. Not really. Katniss, oblivious to the fact that the episodes were becoming stronger and consuming Peeta, had found relief on him. She leaned onto him on her darkest days, darkest times, when she couldn't wake up from the nightmares, or when they were so vivid they wouldn't really go away even if she was awake, and Peeta was always there, like a firm pillar supporting all her grieve. They had learned to need each other, to live with each other, even if the presence of the other resulted as a painful reminder of everything. One couldn't be alright without the other. And even if it sounded masochist, even if people didn't quite understand why they were still together if it hurt them with the sight of the other, even then, they decided to spend most of the day, if not all, side by side. They also knew, Peeta and Katniss, what effect they had on each other. Katniss knew that through the baker's almost indigo eyes, she would always be the enemy. The mutt. A killer who had taken the life of others for her own purpose. And as much as she tried to push the thought away, to deny it, for Katniss' eyes, Peeta was always a potential threat.
But this was the fight for District 12's star-crossed lovers. It was no longer the Arena, the careers from whom they were protecting each other. Now they were protecting each other of what the Capitol had left for them, of themselves. And despite the strain, the terror, the fear, despite everything their fight was worth it. All that hey had gone through, and everything that awaited them. It all mattered, it all counted, it was all significant, because it was there tragic love.
A day in the usual house situated in Victor's Village, the very last one if the village, consisted of the following: Peeta would always be awake earlier than her, preparing for his duties on his family's bakery, the one he had recently reopened. He would probably leave before Katniss woke up, after another tiring night with the already expected dreams. So when Katniss was up, what a surprise was to see that Peeta hadn't left yet. "Peeta?" she called from the kitchen, once she had noticed his jacket still clinging to the old rack. "Peeta?" she asked once more, this time louder than before as she moved from room to room, looking for him. She couldn't help but anxiety to start bubbling in her chest, caused by her usual paranoia. Catching a glimpse of blonde hair from inside a room to which the door was opened just a crack. That was a room that remained mostly closed, so the huntress was surprised to see him inside. Even more surprised was her when she noticed the look on Peeta's eyes as his head abruptly whipped towards her direction, his once gentle, caring eyes now blood-shot, the blue indigo-like hue that once predominate in his eyes suddenly gone, replaced but a darker tone of blue, deeper, so much that the edges of Peeta's irises were almost turned black. He immediately looked away from her, Katniss couldn't tell if it was because of shame, anger, or any other emotion. She stayed there. The more she stared, the faster it hit her what was going on. Peeta was going through one of his attacks. A wave of confusion went through Katniss as she tried to process what was going on, how to react to it, or why was it happening. She thought that the episodes were gone, she was almost sure about it. But the longer she stood there, watching him, half hidden in the shadows not daring to make a sound, the more she realized she had never been so wrong in her life.
Peeta's nails dug into the wood table that lay inside the room, the former smooth wood was now marked and scratched, made by Peeta's own hands. The same gentle and delicate hands that decorated all those magnificent and beautiful cakes, now looked rough and harmful. They were also shaking, she noticed. Without any warnings, Peeta slammed his hand, which was formed into a fist, hard into the table, a gasp escaping Katniss' lips as the fist impacted the table. Once again, Peeta's eyes met hers, and suddenly they softened. At first, the huntress believed her mind was playing her a trick, but it was lasting too long for it to be something not real. Peeta used to call these moments his Epiphanies. Right when a ray of hope, of sanity, crept under the layers of hatred and poison. These were moments he wished he could hold longer during his attacks, sadly, they barely last minutes. Considered a blessing and a curse, the first, because he could try to fight it off, the venom, and sometimes it worked as I reminder and a motivation to don't give up, he just couldn't; then, of course, they were a curse, because as soon as he fell back into the loop the episodes where, he realized how weak and how easily the Capitol, and President Snow, despite being dead and gone, had taken away his freedom, his sanity. Snow's death presented nothing to Peeta, since he could still control him, even if it was from the grave. Through greeted teeth, the young blonde one managed to say some words, just two actually.
"Get out." He wasn't asking much, just for Katniss to turn away and leave him there, before he would explode and launch towards her. Yet, Katniss, always stubborn, refused to listen to him, and took even a step closer. Katniss Everdeen enjoyed playing with fire, but being The Girl On Fire wouldn't save her from burning.
When Peeta repeated his words, Katniss couldn't help but think on a certain phone conversation she had had, just the day before, while Peeta took a shower. For the first time in three years, Gale Hawthorne, her still best friend, had called. Ignoring the furry and the anger hovering in her insides, Katniss managed to talk to him. "Why call now? After all this time?" Were the only words that Katniss could manage to whisper battling the waves of shock, dissapointment and confusion that kept on hitting her. These waves, the waves of the past which made it come back to life, brought all the pain, the regret, the mistakes, everything Katniss had so hard tried to forget. Was forget the thing she wanted though? Did she wanted to forget the reason her sister, Finnick, Boggs, everyone, had died for? Did she wished for their deaths to be in vane? Something that, in a couple of years, would just be washed away? Not really. Not in a thousand years. "Yes, I'm still with him," she shook her head frowning at the words coming out of the phone, "He's working on it," a frustration huff escaped her lips as she clutched the phone tighter, "if that's the only reason you called, Gale, seriously I-" being cut by his persistent voice, she finally remained quiet. And listened. It was painful hearing this voice again, for it was a voice she had grown up accostumed to, the one voice that gave her strength and hope. Without her conceint, her free hand, the one that wasn't holding the phone, turned into a fist in a vain attempt to bottle in all the different emotions Katniss Everdeen was experiencing. It took all of her will not to interrupt him mid sentence, just because she was eager to listened his side of the story, even if listening to him was just getting her more irritated. Once Gale touched a sensible subject for her, she lost it. She raised her voice, almost yelling. "Don't you dare go into that, Gale Hawthorne." As if it hadn't been enough for Gale to start babbling non-stop over how Peeta represented a threat to her and to everyone surrounding him, he needed not to add, or remark, how Peeta was slowly turning into a.. A monster he had said, tagging him as if he were any other muttation made by the Capitol. "No, I don't care what you say," she had lied before continuing, allowing all her rage come out, "I... Just.. Stop." Her voice was different, it came broken, vulnerable, something the huntress didn't recognized as her own. In the middle of their argument, Hawthorne had forgotten the reason, the real reason he had called for. "Something's happening. Something big. And they're looking for you" he said. Her eyes had widen by the time his words sinked in. They were coming for her. Who?! She had begged for him to tell her more, but he had ignored her.
She insisted.
He ignored.
She insisted even more.
He became annoyed.
She was stubborn.
He had already ended the call.
Frustrated, she tried not to mind the conversation, even if it kept replaying on her mind, like a song, nothing like the Valley Song, though. It was a plain, tragic symphony, just as The Hanging Tree. "That's not love, Katniss. That is tragedy."
Her mind bounced back into the present, where her subconscious had obliged her to take some steps back, she knew the Epiphany was gone. The door to the room remained barely open, if someone passed by, it would seem as if it was an ordinary room, with nothing (or no one) odd, less an ominous Peeta Mellark hiding. With tears forming on her eyes, making the gray Seam tone look lighter than usual, Katniss stepped back. She wouldn't force herself to face Peeta when he wasn't being himself, and wouldn't force him to resist not only the episode, but the urge of harming her as well. Trying to blink away the tears, walking towards what now had become Peeta's room as well as hers, Katniss struggled to shut the voice in her mind that called her a coward, a failure. Just remember you weren't there for Prim or Rue either. You left them when they needed you. And now they are dead.