The silence of night was the one sound that kept her on guard. Until the screams hit, and the chaos was unleashed, things would be fine. Temporarily fine.
Katniss's slender fingers tapped a soundless rhythm against a single window infront of her bed. It was more or less a habit that begun shortly back, as was waking up to death, fire, mutts and roses. All of which inevitably drove her to screaming, screaming, screaming, leaving her throat parched and sore. Though people heard her and were concerned, Katniss never showed a hint of distress. Which was okay, because people already assumed her to be distressed, so they would just leave her to her own devices.
Her own devices. What were those, a measly bow and arrow? A weapon designed for death? She used it to kill animals. She previously used it to kill people. Gale had once made a comparison to hunting for food to hunting for people. He should have known that there was a big difference. Of course, now he probably did know, after the death of Prim.
Prim.
Katniss's tapping ceased, and the tears begun. Prim, with her blond hair, singed from fire. Prim, with her pale body covered in burnt patches. Prim, whose heart was golden and kind. Whose heart hadn't beat in three years.
A wailing noise erupted from Katniss's throat, as did muffled sobs that stained her shirt as they grew bigger. The night was no longer silent. The night was swallowed in cries that couldn't be prevented, tears that couldn't stop leaking from gray eyes, wetness that melted into scarred cheeks, hollow scarred cheeks. The night was lonely. The night was unbearable.
Until strong arms wrapped around her, vaguely making note in her memory. Peeta always knew how to comfort Katniss, console Katniss. He'd gone through difficult experiences himself. He understood what she was going through every lone night, because he went through it too. Was it survivor's guilt or depression? Surely it was both, and both threatened to lead to self-caused death.
Hours passed, and the two were still awake, fighting off sleep that would bring harmful memories and distrustful illusions. By that time, they were silent. The only audible sound was the muffled stroke of Peeta's hands running through Katniss's thinning hair. And for that while, the night was not lonely. The night was bearable.
A/N:
Just to say, I'm not really sure where I was going with it. I just started it and finished it with no in-betweens.
If you made reading this this far, I would appreciate it if you entered my syot. And reviewed(;