Dandelions from the Ashes
The nightmares still come. If anything, they're much worse. Each and every night, I thrash around in my sleep until the sounds of my own screaming wake me. After these fits of unconsciousness, I'm unable to sleep any more as the images of everyone I love - loved - flash in front of my eyes, dying over and over in increasingly horrific ways. I long for those days on the train when Peeta's strong arms were there to comfort me, but have to remind myself that those days are over. That that Peeta - my Peeta - is long gone. The new Peeta couldn't even come back to twelve because his urges to kill me were so strong. I accepted this fact long ago, and yet my most disturbing nights, where I wake up on the floor from thrashing so hard, my nightmares are about him. Peeta dying alongside my family, or worse, new Peeta, eyes clouded with unmasked hatred, unrecognizable from my sweet boy with the bread. I try not to wonder about why these nightmares are particularly upsetting, because I can't afford to think like that. Feelings towards him are ridiculous, and cause me to feel even more broken down and fragile than I already am. Being resignedly alone is far better than being lonely.
The days are almost as hard as the nights. Everywhere I turn, there are reminders of those self-same people I see tortured and dying every time I close my eyes. Some days, I yearn to forget them all and forget they ever existed, but the idea of them not only being physically erased, but forgotten as well, sends me into dark spells of depression. When these hit, I don't leave my darkened bedroom, hiding behind the locked door and ignoring Haymitch and Greasy Sae's attempts at making me behave like a functioning human being. I'd be lying to myself if I thought that I had acted normal since those horrible bombs dropped, bombs so similar to those I saw Gale designing in 13. I never consciously thought that he was at fault for Prim's death, but thinking of him makes me murderously angry, which has to mean something.
I have no idea how long it's been since my return to twelve. I've established a sort of routine, and my days blur together, dull and colorless. I wake up, mope around the house, stare at the walls some, eat whatever Sae puts in front of me, and shower when she tells me to. I don't have the energy to battle with her anymore. Dr. Aurelius calls once a week to check on me, and aside from the occasional drunken visit from Haymitch and Sae dropping off food twice a day, that is my only human contact. I don't call my mother, and I certainly don't call Gale. They're as distant to me as any of the others that I spend my time mourning.
It's a lonely sort of half life that I've been living, but I don't feel that I deserve any more. Why should I be alive, when so many others have died for me, for the rebellion? But I'm stuck here, and much as I try to wallow and disintegrate in self-loathing, Sae would never allow it. And so my life goes on.
Until one day, not unlike any other in any specific way. I'm staring off into space in the living room, watching dust motes float in the air and feeling sorry for myself, when a knock at the door startles me from my reverie. Sae isn't due for a few hours, and Haymitch never bothers to knock, so my guard immediately goes up. My feet slip seamlessly back into their silent hunter's gait as I creep to the window to spy on my surprise visitor.
I have time to spot broad shoulders, strong arms, and familiar blond hair, grown longer than I'm used to seeing it, before the subject of my scrutiny turns in my direction. I quickly duck below the windowsill to avoid being spotted, breathing heavily from the shock.
Peeta is back.