Chapter One
Okay. I can't keep away.
Your support for Gale's Amaranth was incredible. I miss writing. And this story also needs to be told.
Let me know if it's something you want me to continue!
~ Katniss ~
"How are you feeling?" I ask softly from the doorway. Peeta looks up at me in surprise, but his eyes are clear, as the nurse said they would be. I'm glad to see my husband sitting upright in bed, even free from his restraints. His sketch pad is laid out before him on the mattress with a couple of spare pencils.
"Katniss," he says simply, smiling sadly. "You came."
"Of course I came," I assure him, trying to inject some warmth into my voice. Dr. Aurelius says that minding my tone with Peeta after his episodes can help him remember that I'm not a threat. I cross the room but pause before touching him, holding up my palms to ask for his trust.
"You can, Katniss," he affirms, moving aside so that I can sit beside him on the bed. I hold out my hand for him to take instead-another suggestion from Dr. Aurelius, to help Peeta feel that he is in control of his own safety. Peeta takes a deep breath and then grips my fingers in his own. He squeezes gently to show me that he is comfortable with my presence, and I take that as my cue to wrap my other arm around him and rest my head on his shoulder.
"Who is that pretty girl?" I ask when I see Peeta's sketch. The girl is supposed to be me-it usually is after his episodes. But the page is smudged with erasures, and I know that Peeta has been struggling to draw me as the girl he loves, rather than the Capitol's mutt. Still, I want him to know that I recognize his efforts.
"She's a beautiful girl," Peeta corrects me, setting his pencil down. "Katniss, I'm so sorry," he whispers.
"No need to be sorry, hon," I tell him, holding him closer. "I'm just glad that you're safe."
Peeta bends down to nuzzle into my hair and plant a gentle kiss on my forehead. He wriggles out of my embrace and wraps his arms around me instead, then guides me down beside him on the bed. When Peeta and I were younger, these moments would make me anxious-I wondered whether the nurse would be horrified to find us this way, locked in each other's arms. But five years after the rebellion, I understand that even from a medical perspective, it is good that Peeta feels secure enough to lie beside me. I pull his blanket over us, tucking it around Peeta's shoulders.
"Have you been sketching all morning?" I ask, intertwining my fingers with his.
"Just for the past hour or so," Peeta explains. "I woke up feeling mostly myself again, had some therapy with Dr. Archer here this morning, and then called Dr. Aurelius to tell him what happened. He helped a lot."
"Are you ready to tell me?" I rub Peeta's back to show him that I'm asking because I love him. Talking about these things usually helps him, and although I don't really want to know the horrible details of what landed my husband in the hospital, I know that talking about these things usually helps him. Sure enough, Peeta takes a deep breath and begins to explain.
"I was in the bakery," he starts slowly. "I had a flashback to the footage they showed me in the Capitol of the bombing, watching it burn with my family trapped inside. I blamed you, Katniss," he confesses, tears forming in his eyes.
"Peeta, it's okay…"
"I wanted to kill you. I was going to kill you, Katniss," he admits, pulling away from me. I try to hold him back in my embrace, but he pushes the blanket back and sits upright. I take a deep breath to steady myself before crawling over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.
"But you didn't kill me," I reassure him quietly. "I'm safe. And you're safe. I won't hurt you, and you won't hurt me."
Peeta shakes his head and wipes his tears away with the back of his hand. Then he pushes the blanket to the end of the bed, exposing his intact right leg and his left stump. His prosthetic is missing, which doesn't surprise me-he usually removes it to bathe and sleep. But I gasp when I see the dark bruises on his thigh.
"Oh, Peeta…" I push the hem of his boxer shorts up his leg, gingerly exposing bruises up to his hip. "Did you do this to yourself?"
He pushes my hand away and covers himself with the blanket again, hanging his head.
"Peeta," I begin more firmly. "How did this happen?"
"I didn't want to kill you," he whispers. "I'm fine. The important thing is that you're safe."
I wrap my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I can, resting my head between his shoulder blades.
"How?" I ask simply, fighting back my own tears.
"Rolling pin. I was aiming for my prosthetic."
"So that you couldn't come and find me."
"Yes."
"Peeta…" I don't know what to say to make this right, and so I just hold him close, trying not to imagine the scene in the bakery. Five years after the rebellion, all is supposed to be right with the world. But my husband maims himself so that he can't come home and attack me.
There's a soft knock at the door, and Dr. Archer enters with a long metal object in his arms. Peeta and I both straighten.
"Mrs. Mellark," Dr. Archer greets me, and I make an effort to smile, because he really is a nice man. Calling Dr. Aurelius in the Capitol works well enough for me, but Peeta needs physical assistance from time to time, and Dr. Archer has been a godsend for him.
Eyeing the object in Dr. Archer's arms, Peeta eases himself to the edge of the bed. My heart sinks when I realize that the metal thing is a crude prosthetic leg.
"Mr. Mellark, I was hoping to check the fit…" Dr. Archer trails off when he sees the state of Peeta's stump.
"Okay," Peeta says brightly, pulling back the hem of his shorts.
"Perhaps we should wait," Dr. Archer suggests, glancing at me, and I nod in agreement.
"No, now is good," Peeta insists. "It looks bad but I'm fine." He reaches for the prosthetic, and Dr. Archer reluctantly kneels to help him strap it into place. It's a much simpler model than the one the Capitol gave him five years ago, a thick rod extending from his thigh to a metal platform sized roughly like Peeta's other foot. As soon as the new leg is on, Peeta hops off the bed and tests his balance.
"Mr. Mellark, I really don't think you should be-"
"I can do this," Peeta assures him. "I've learned to walk three times already." I stand to help him, but Peeta shakes his head. "It's okay, Kat."
I look nervously at Dr. Archer, who doesn't seem to know how to respond. Peeta tries to take a small step, but loses his footing and yelps as he crashes to the ground. Dr. Archer and I rush to help him, but he pulls his good leg to his chest, buries his head against his knee and begins to cry.
~ Peeta ~
She will let me out of the closet eventually. I've only ever missed dinner once, and Dad was furious when he found out.
"Erin, you can't do these things to him. He's only eight years old."
"He dropped the Masons' wedding cake, Tom! It was humiliating for the business."
"And we had another one in the back that we frosted for them instead. Accidents happen, and Peeta didn't mean anything by it."
"He's irresponsible, Tom. Just wants to sit on the back steps and draw, day in and day out."
"He's talented, Erin. Frankly, I'd like to let him try his hand at frosting."
"Well, I don't want him in the kitchen if he's just going to be underfoot."
But in the dark, the seconds pass like hours. I curl up in the corner, but when I rest my hand against the wall, my fingers trace the long body of a cockroach, and I squeal, shivering away in fright.
"Peeta?"
"Roland!" I call, fumbling for the locked doorknob. I jiggle it as roughly as I can.
"Peeta, are you in there?" I hear the lock click, and suddenly I am blinking in the harsh light. My oldest brother reaches down to help me to my feet. He is sixteen, well-built from years of handling the most difficult lifting around the bakery. As soon as I am standing, Roland pulls me into a tight hug.
"Mom?" he asks quietly.
"Mom," I confirm.
"Peeta, listen to me," Roland says firmly, releasing me from his embrace and kneeling so that he can address me eye-to-eye. "You don't deserve to be treated this way. You are a great kid, a sweet kid, a hardworking kid. It's okay to make mistakes. Everyone does. But please, Peeta, whatever she says or does to you, I need you to remember that you are special and loved. Can you do that for me?"
I nod timidly, although I'm not so sure.
And that's when we hear her voice coming straight toward us. "Roland?"
He tenses. "Go, Peeta."
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