I don not own The Hunger Games, characters, etc. I do not own "All Too Well" by Taylor Swift; I was just inspired by her song.
Peeta's POV
Katniss' POV
I climbed the stairs, fully aware of what I was doing. I was going to my drawer, and pull out her scarf. And I was going to smell it, smell her. I opened the drawer, dug to the bottom, and pulled out her scarf. It was folded, and I pulled it to my face, and breathed in her scent.
I fell to my knees.
Yes, I miss Katniss.
How did I get here? Desperately craving her, but knowing I could never have her. I let her in, always. Even when it killed me.
I pulled the scarf up to my face, fondly remembering that day. I dared to let a smile crawl on my is soon gone.
I miss Peeta.
With every fiber of my being, I missed him. Almost more than my father, Prim.
I remember when I first let him back into my life. Three months after he came back, it was official- he and I were together. It was getting chilly out, so I had a scarf around my neck. My white scarf that Prim had knitted for me one winter. I blew into his house, our house. He stared at me, like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. We sang together that day, lost in the other's company. The autumn leaves were falling, the pieces of our lives falling into place. That day was magical. That day is long gone, along with the magic.
My mind flashes to the next day. We were walking around town. Peeta tripped over a rock in the road because he'd been too busy staring at me. The wind did as it pleased to my hair, my face. He told me I was glowing. I smiled at him.
A few months later, and I still hurt. Sometimes I forget about him just long enough to forget why I needed to.
Katniss was in such a good mood that night. We were both hungry around two in the morning, so we crawled downstairs. We danced in the moonlight until it was time for breakfast. I remember seeing the grey light of dawn reflect in her grey eyes.
At breakfast, Haymitch showed up with something. A photo album of Peeta. She scrambled over to it, and they giggled at it. It had somehow been saved from the wreckage of the bombing. There's a picture of me and Rye wrestling. A picture of me with icing all over my face, from a birthday. A blush crept over my face. Katniss and Haymitch cooed over my baby self. She looked back at me, and whispered something to Haymitch. He laughed, and said, "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."
When he left, I asked her what she said.
"I told him that I hope our kids look like you," she beamed.
Kids? Katniss has the world children in her vocabulary?
My stomach still hurts from it sometimes. I remember the day I woke up with blood covering me. I screamed, which woke Peeta up. I pulled back the covers, and we both started crying. We called mother. She said we needed a doctor. Fortunately, after the war, hospitals became common. No matter how many towels I had, blood soaked them.
We ran to the hospital. Well, Peeta ran, while I was in his arms.
I passed out in the hospital. I woke to find Peeta crying, holding my hand.
"Oh, Katniss!" he cried.
Panic filled me, and I ripped the blanket off of me. My belly was no longer swollen. I looked up at him, wanting this to be just a dream.
He nodded his head yes, and I screamed again. I started cussing, moving, hitting anything in my way. The nurses had to sedate me.
Tears flood down my face as I think of this.
My mind drifts to the day of the miscarriage. No, not even the Capitol could have imagined hurting me like this. Nobody had any idea the pain Katniss and I had. Katniss, more so than myself. It had been an accident, conceiving. We got hung up in the moment, forgot protection. She cried for a month after she found out she was pregnant. Nothing could console her.
After the-we lost the baby, it took her a few weeks to be able to walk. As soon as she could, she tore through the house, straight to my paintings. She ripped up the one of us in the cave. Then, the one of her and I in the train. One of her and Prim. One of her father and her hunting. Finally, the one of me kissing her belly. She knocked over my easels, flung my paints around the room. I just watched her.
I wasn't upset that she was tearing up paintings. I hurt because she hurt, because there was nothing I could do.
Maybe she and I got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much. Maybe, just maybe, this thing was a masterpiece and I tore it all up.
It's been a year since the miscarriage. I don't talk to Peeta. It hurts to be reminded of the baby. One day, he calls me. I know it's him. He's the only one who calls. Haymitch stumbles in, knowing my pain. He gives me liquor. He makes sure I shower and eat.
Today, I decide to answer.
"Hi," I barely whisper.
"Katniss," his voice is pleading. "Katniss, honey, come home."
"No!" I scream.
"You know what, Katniss? You need to stop being so selfish! You aren't the only one who's hurt, you know!"
My heart drops. Peeta has never been this jarsh.
"No, Katniss. I didn't mean it," he pleads again.
My response is to hang up the phone, and I crumple on the floor like a piece of discarded paper. Like the papers I crumple when I can't get the right words on them.
I remember this all too well.
This year has been slow, so slow. It's like I'm paralyzed by time.
I almost give up on Katniss. I leave her things on her porch one day, when I know she's out hunting.I remember when she wore my shirts, and the nights I made her my own. I see her walk home alone, and I want to be there. But I keep her old scarf, from that very first week. It reminds me of me of innocence, and it smells just like her. I can't get rid of it, because I remember it all too well.
I sigh, stand up, and tuck the scarf back into place.
I go downstairs, and sit at the kitchen table.
I can't cry.
Two years after we lose the baby, my will cracks. I hadn't been sleeping at night anymore. I baked. The whole town had free bread almost twice a day.
It was three in the morning, and I couldn't help myself anymore. I hear Katniss scream in her nightmares. This is the last straw. I put on a shirt, and go to her house. Her door isn't locked. I march upstairs, into her bedroom. I must have woken her up, because she stares at me, alarmed.
"Peeta!" she whispers.
"I can't handle this, Katniss! I spent eleven fucking years to make you mine. I lost myself for you. I did everything I could to make you happy! Now I can't even do that." I had started out angry, but my resolve had crumbled under her knowing stare.
When she didn't say anything, I flipped.
I picked her up out of her bed, marched down the stairs, out of her house, into mine, and into my bedroom. She protested, but I was stronger. I could tell she hadn't been eating much.
I put her on my bed, and pinned her down. Fear had been replaced with anger.
"Let me go!" she hissed.
"I can't do that, Katniss."
I kissed her. I kissed her until she stopped resisting, until she kissed me back. I pulled back, but she pulled me back in.
"Katniss," I mumble between kisses. She doesn't stop. I push her down, gently this time. "Katniss, we can't heal without the other. We've proved that already. Why do you push me away?"
She shakes her head, then looks up. "I'm so sorry, Peeta. I've missed you so badly. But I was afraid you'd never forgive me." Tears threatened to poor, but I kissed her.
We made love that night, all night. We made love for three days, before Haymitch checked in on us.
I wasn't going to let her go again.
The memory of her being gone is one I remember all too well.