The Hunger Games - Love
A short story of The Hunger Games. Set in District 12, near the end of the Mockingjay book.
I wake in a sudden panic. Another night of being chased by mutts with the eyes of my fellow tributes has stolen me. It was Glimmer, again, confronting me for the third night this week. Her eyes, wild and fierce. I try to scream but, my throat is so dry that all I can manage is a feeble croak.
His arms have already embraced me, swallowing me into his chest. I can feel the heat of his breath disturb the hair on my head, the touch of his fingers brushing against my wet cheek. And then, I realise I have been crying.
Peeta holds me until the sobbing has stopped, this routine is far from new to us. It takes about fifteen minutes for me to calm down enough to look at the man who is soothing me.
"Katniss, Are you all right?" he asks me, for the umpteenth time since I woke from the nightmare, his voice as patient as ever.
I look up at him, my face centimetres from his in the darkness that envelopes us. I can taste his sweet breath in the back of my throat as my brain searches for the answer that he wants. I smile my most convincing smile as I sit up and untangle myself from the bed sheets.
It doesn't work.
Peeta follows me out of the bed, ready to catch me at the threat of the next crippling breakdown. If it wasn't for Peeta being here with me, I would have wrapped myself in my father's hunting jacket and grouped up with my bow and arrows. There was no longer a need for me to hunt to keep us from starving. Every household received a constant supply of food and money to buy more. But, it was my usual escape from reality.
I walk to the window, looking out at the quiet night. I see the occasional scavenger from the woods or stray from the Rebellion cross the paths. Their family has been taken, much like my own.
Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind and I fall weak in his arms. He knows that I am thinking about my little duck, Prim, and her ugly little runt of a cat, Buttercup. Buttercup, like me, was an orphan of the Rebellion, like the strays outside. That damned ugly cat. And, as if I had voiced my thoughts, I am answered with a venomous, unwelcoming moan from by the door. I still occasionally think that I should have drowned him whilst I had the chance but, I do owe him for helping me before Peeta could.
His arms tighten around my waist, as if reminding me of his presence, and his chin fits perfectly in the hollow of my shoulder. I can feel him breathing, his breath hot and sweet, against the sensitive skin of my exposed neck. In this moment, I want to cry, again. Not for the tribute mutations that haunt my unconscious hours but, for the gratefulness that he has returned to me and is here, holding me. He is alive and mine to hold. And, his mind knows that it is real. We are madly in love, and now, it is not for the games. In this new moment, Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread, is all that matters.
I turn in his embrace and catch him off guard when I press my lips against his. No silver parachutes float down. This is not for the cameras. This is not for the entertainment of the nation.
I do cry but, Peeta cries with me now. He knows, as do I, how precious these moments are. Although shattering us as individual people, the seventy-fourth and seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games have, most definitely, brought us together as a couple. We both know how meaningless the next day, and the days that follow it, would be if one of us wasn't here.
We kiss. I find his hands, interlocking our fingers one by one. I feel the cold metal that wraps itself around his finger. Then, I feel for my own ring, grinning sheepishly as I remember the promises our wedding bands hold.
In our moment of lust, Rue cries from her cot at the foot of our bed. I smile at Peeta, my expression close to saying 'not this time' as I untangle our limbs and walk the five steps to the cot. I lift our daughter into my arms, cradling her against my chest.
I settle on the bed with Rue whining. Peeta's arms find me, again, warming and reassuring me as I do the midnight feed. I sing a feeding Rue back to sleep, tears falling as the whole scenario reminds me of the time I sung another Rue into death. Peeta kisses my bare shoulder, his words calming me. His hand clasps our baby's as she falls into a slumber. I smile as I think of this family portrait.
I am scared. Real. I want to freeze this moment and live it with them forever. Real. I am in love.
Real, two times over.