Peeta Mellark was the person I loved most in the entire world, no doubt about it. My love for my late sister, Prim and late best-friend, Rue, were nothing compared with how I loved the young man with whom I had survived two Hunger Games.
I loved his warm, caring nature and that gloriously open soul he had- you could read him like a book, and thankfully, he always seemed to do the right things, in the right places, at the right times; there was no way he could have made the crowd believe he loves me during The Games if he hadn't actually loved me, for example. And thank goodness, for more than one reason, he did love me: much more than I loved him, and that was saying something.
He was handsome too; sandy-blond hair, blue eyes that never quit watching you. The emotions that lit up those two cloudless spheres; the way they twinkled when he was excited about something; they way they glossed over when he was deep in thought- it's hard to describe, but Peeta Mellark is the cause of the expression "windows are the eyes to the soul"- or he should be, anyway.
Today I was with the love of my life, but it wasn't for a happy reason. I was dressed in dark indigo jeggings, triple-layered sweaters, hat, boots- the works, except for my thin white hands, which were not adorned in the heavy hunting gloves I almost never wore these days, and had thus left forgotten in our home by the old Capitol building. I shivered and tucked them into my armpits, watching Peeta climb onto a ridge. Why did we have to be here? I'd rather be anywhere but this place, this terrible place I remembered so well, that haunted my nightmares, that I tried to forget: the first arena, over the woods where…something happened that I would never forget.
I followed Peeta over the ridge and watched him stare off into the horizon below.
"Peeta, stop it. This isn't going to help anything!" I protested.
"Sorry Katniss." he mumbled, not even glancing over his shoulder at me. "I have to do what I have to do. What would you do in my position?"
I'd been hoping he wouldn't ask me that. I coughed, cleared my throat, tried to stave off answering. When I finally glanced his way again, he was boring those magical blue eyes of his into mine. I felt, as always, as though he could see my soul.
"I…I…would go after Prim." I admitted. "I would see things through to completion. I would…try to rescue her even if…" My throat closed, threatening to choke me. "Even if," I repeated "It meant endangering myself."
Peeta grasped one of my chilled hands between his gloved ones. "Good lord Katniss, wear mine. I'm sorry I didn't notice how cold you were."
I accepted the gloves, but he had no idea how cold my soul was at the moment. It made my hands seem as hot as the sun in comparison. He wasn't looking at me anymore, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking 'what if he doesn't make it back'. I felt like I was back in the arena, caring only for him, not my own well-being, as I realized; he wasn't the only one going after Tammy. I was going with him. Even if he tried to stop me; I couldn't let him and his cousin down. She was all he had left to tie himself to the real world, to life before the horrible Hunger Games had screwed everything up forever. My teeth chattered but I wasn't cold inside of Peeta's shared-warmth jacket. I was terrified. It wasn't just about him and me and Tammy getting out of here alive; it was about the risk of our losing, what it would mean to me.
If I lost either of them, it'd be like that day when Rue died all over again. I couldn't do that. I couldn't bare that alone.
The water below was as blue as the Caribbean, and for one split second, I contemplated throwing myself over into it, trying to escape. But no, I was not abandoning Peeta. Besides, that water was cold enough to kill me in an instant. I felt like I was losing my mind, and maybe I was.
Peeta met my gaze and sighed. "It's…her, isn't it?" he asked, cradling me even closer still. "This is where she died, isn't it?"
"Rue…" My tongue went dry; apparently, all the water in my system was busy pouring towards my eyes. I sniffled and he nodded sympathetically, urging me with his posture and expression to just relax, let it all out; remember what I wished to, but not feel necessary to speak of it. I was grateful; Peeta and I understood each other, knew almost everything about each other (or so we thought) and were able to read each others' expressions at a mere glance. What need did we have to relive details of such a horrendous event on this day, when we had gone through them so many other times, in gut-wrenching conversations in days past?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized; this quest wasn't a superbly dangerous undertaking in anything but matters of the heart. Physically, we were almost perfectly safe. Except for an old mine here or there, there was nothing that made this stretch of woods unlike any others, but for the memories.
Memories, terrible, haunting, memories. Most people have one or two they carry with them throughout their lives; a childhood trauma, an unforeseeable circumstance that went awry. But me, I have thousands upon thousands of them: hearing about my father's death, watching my mother let my little sister starve, that same little sister blowing up in front of the Capitol Building, my deer Peeta losing his leg to blood loss- and so many I could fill an entire book with them and still feel so empty inside. Memories go against nature in the fact that they empty you out, not fill you up, the more of them there are. Oh terrible, terrible memories; may you never face them as I have. I would wish that terrible fate upon no one, not even my worst enemy.
Tammy was alright that day, but I wasn't.