And if you gaze into the abyss for too long, the abyss will also gaze into you.
A gentle push on my shoulder is what brings me out of the quiet, heavy darkness accompanied by a deep sleep, and it takes a moment for me to remember where I am, my eyes blinking a few times. I find that one of my cheeks is biting and stinging at me, my eye still almost swollen shut but I can open it a little without too much pain. My neck is sore and stiff as I rub it which initially confuses me. But it doesn't take me long to realize why when I sense my hand locked around another familiar one that is still dead to the world, and everything comes rushing back with crystal clarity.
The whip crusted with new blood, ruby red droplets and puddles on the ground soaking the knees of the person bound to the post who slumps unconscious as the new Head who I don't recognize glares at me as I step in the way to stop this madness. Darius, a peacekeeper who has only been a friend unconscious on the ground nearby with a nice little lump on his head, apparently had tried and failed to end this monstrous Thread's cruelty. Haymitch and Peeta helping me end it as lookers on watched us make a stand and win for justice.
The almost strangest part for me is that I felt as if I was in a haze after that, a bad dream that would go away in the morning. A nightmare that I could wake up from just like all the others. Despite the fact that I can't stand the sight of blood and run from it every chance I get, I couldn't move from Gale's side. In fact, I was almost morbidly fascinated how each and every lash that mutilated his back resonated onto me. My face was stinging and harmed and yet was nothing when I multiplied my own pain by twenty, thirty, forty times over. I only had a single lash, and yet I could feel each and every one in the room as if they were my own wounds. Except I was conscious-Gale wasn't. I had only hoped he stayed that way.
The morphine helped though, and once again last night I had found myself at his side, the wounds and blood that I could sense not bothering me. I only wanted to be alone with him, and I was granted my wish if only because my mother realized that trying to force me away again wouldn't work too well this time. And so there I was, holding his hand, thinking for the first time just how much he means to me. Kissing him though I doubt he remembers and falling asleep on the table as his whisper of love just hours before ran through my head again, and suddenly I didn't know what to think of anything anymore.
Let me tell you, it makes it a whole lot more difficult to not feel guilty thinking that with Peeta in the room, a reminder of what I shouldn't feel and what I need to feel for the sake of my life and others. The scent of fresh bread hits me and paired with the look in Peeta's eyes when I finally meet them that gives me the feeling he's been watching us for a while certainly doesn't help my guilt.
"Go up to bed Katniss." He orders me with sadness in his expression though he attempts to hide it behind tiredness. Though maybe he's not trying to feign restlessness-the dark shadows around his slightly drooping eyelids would attest to that. "I'll look after him now."
I am exhausted and a bed sounds like heaven right now after spending a night sleeping in a chair with my head on a hard table, but my hand still entwined with Gale's reminds me of my resolution to stay here and fight for what is right and not run away and die like quarry in the woods. "Peeta, about what I said yesterday about running-"
"I know. There's nothing to explain." He cuts me off before I can even explain that I've changed my mind, as if he always knew I would. As if he didn't believe I would run in the first place. Maybe he does know me better than I give him credit for.
That only makes me feel worse, because he has clearly not slept, has brought over fresh bread, and the look in his eyes tells me that he has resolved to accepting something though I don't know what it is. No…I do know what it is, but it doesn't make me feel any better. Why is this so hard? Why couldn't I have just never have gotten into this mess in the first place?
He at least should have an explanation or an apology though I know it will come out wrong. But still, I try anyway, my tone giving away my guilt. "Peeta-"
It's enough for him, or maybe he doesn't want to hear it as much as I don't want to say it because he tells me to just go to bed and this time I listen, knowing no words that attempt to tumble out of my mouth are going to help anyway.
Though I'm exhausted I'm restless in bed, and after about an hour of trying to sleep I just lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking of my resolution last night. How I realized that running away isn't going to solve any problems. Not that it probably would have worked anyway. Oh sure, if it was just Gale and I we probably could have made it alone in the woods, but certainly not with the kids, our mothers, and Haymitch. Definitely not with how loud Peeta is in the woods or his family if they walk anything like him. If they would have even come anyway.
And what of the district and the rest of Panem? Even if we had somehow successfully made it out there with all of us, it wouldn't solve any of the problems other than my own. It was a selfish thought really, especially since I'm far more in the spotlight than I ever wanted to be thanks to one little slip of paper with my sister's name on it. Not to mention that Snow clearly has it out for me though part of that is my own fault. He might even try to take it out on the district if I ran away.
So the only thing left is a rebellion. If District 8 can have an uprising, then so can District 12. Granted we have less people, but since people aren't going to be happy with Thread and what may come with his new leadership we might be able to get them to rebel. Taking away freedoms that we've had for so long might anger people enough. Oh sure no one particularly liked Cray because of his disgusting activities that take advantage of poor Seam women and girls and the fact that he could give Haymitch a run for his title as the Drunk of the District, but his one merit was his laxness on the laws. And now he's gone.
The more I think about it, the more I believe that an uprising can happen and succeed. Maybe not right away, but with some planning and timing it could work. I try to figure out a way to do this on my own but keep rounding back to the same conclusion-I'm going to need Haymitch's help. As much as I don't want to, I don't see another option.
And so with that resolution, I get up and put on my boots and that awful wool coat I hate that my mother has deemed appropriate for a Victor to wear to fight against the blizzard howling out my window and sneak down the stairs without anyone seeing me, quietly closing the front door behind me as I make my way to Haymitch's house in the blinding whiteness, a bitter wind biting at my whip mark on my cheek. But I push through, and while I'm grateful to be out of the wind Haymitch's house is in all honesty not much warmer than outside. He must have forgotten to light a fire before he crashed from either exhaustion or drink last night.
Deciding to light a fire first in the predictably not roaring fireplace, I get that going in a few minutes and defrost my hands before going into the kitchen to find Haymitch. When I get there, I'm surprised to find him up.
"Didn't you hear me come in?" I ask, and he just glances at me and shrugs before taking a swig of an almost empty bottle.
"I think I did."
"Then why didn't you get up?" I question him, crossing my arms over my chest.
To that he just shrugs again before relaxing back into his chair, and I roll my eyes at him. Naturally he would just be too lazy to get up and find out who essentially broke into his house. What if I had been a peacekeeper coming to arrest him for what he did to help me yesterday? Though I suppose he had a point when I thought that last night-they'd be coming for me or Gale if they were coming at all, and since I wouldn't have let them take Gale it would have been me either way. They'd probably just write Haymitch off as drunk as usual.
"How's the kid?" he eventually breaks the silence as I've been staring off into space thinking about last night again. I'm honestly surprised he asks because I didn't think he'd really care too much, but maybe he just senses I can practically think of nothing else right now.
Since I don't really know since I'm not a medical person like my mother or Prim, I just shrug and look down towards my arms, not wanting to talk about it for fear I might cry or something which I would never hear the end of. I need to focus only on the uprising that needs to happen. Justice. Vindication for the Capitol's cruelty and crimes.
"He'll make it. I've never seen someone strong enough to come to consciousness that quickly before with that many lashes. Besides, that kid is almost more stubborn than you are-he'll want to be up and back to normal in no time." Haymitch predicts without me saying a word, and I wonder why he asked me at all if he's predicting that even if normal means back to the mines again which I still hate. But what surprises me more is that he seems to care if Gale gets better or not. Maybe he's just saying for my sake, though I doubt it. Haymitch has never particularly cared about my feelings before other than when they contradict what the Capitol wants to see if only for all of our safety.
But I don't want to talk about this. I can't. So instead of giving Haymitch an answer I decide get on with what I want to say, but for that we can't be in here. Surely this place is bugged with plenty of Capitol people just eagerly waiting for us to say something stupid that would validate Snow moving against us just like he wants to. And I'm not going to give him that pleasure even though it's exactly what I'm going to say.
"Come with me to get some food. We're going to need it before this blizzard gets any worse." I more demand than ask him. Normally he would protest or give me some smartass comment, but he must realize by the look in my eyes under the worry and pain because all he does is finish off his bottle of potent alcohol and get up, gesturing with his hand towards the door.
"Lead the way, sweetheart."
With that we're out the door leaving the fire going for however long we may be gone, and I don't speak for fear of the bugs hearing us until we're at least a good hundred yards from the Victor's Village houses even though I know I'm being overly cautious. Though I suppose when you're planning what is for all intents and purposes treason to the Capitol's ears you can't be too careful.
"Running away isn't going to help anything." I admit, and Haymitch snorts at my conclusion as we walk along the crisp white snow that is still coming down hard, leaving a new layer to cover our footprints almost as soon as we take our foot off of that spot.
"Finally figured out the flaws in that plan, did ya?" he comments, and though normally I would roll my eyes I don't give him the satisfaction.
"I want to start an uprising." I blurt out eventually, and at that Haymich stops in his tracks and takes my arm roughly in his hand, effectively stopping me and forcing me to turn and look at him.
"What makes ya think that's a better idea?" he asks me. I would have thought that he'd make a joke out of it or something, but I can't find any laughter in Haymitch's expression. No sarcasm either. He's as serious as he can be.
"If District 8 can do it, so can we." I inform him, thinking that he'll be surprised just like Gale was that there was an uprising there. But there's no indication of surprise from Haymitch about the news, telling what I think I suspected all along. Haymitch Abernathy plays up the drunkness so no one suspects that he knows far more than anyone thinks he does.
"How do you know about that?" he questions me.
"How do you?" I decide to demand instead of giving him an answer. Let him be impressed for once that I know something I shouldn't no matter how little it might be. Instead of informing me, we just stare at each other for a while until the moment has passed and we realize we're both too stubborn to deem the other with an answer. I wonder if he found out the same place I did-the Mayor's house.
"We can't do it. We're too small and things are only going to get worse around here with Thread in charge." He predicts, letting go of my arm and walking again as I fall into step with him.
"Won't people get angry if things get worse? It can fuel the fire!" I reply, to which Haymitch shakes his head.
"Not everyone is like you. They'll be scared shitless, not angry." He retorts.
"Then let's make them angry! Let's make them see the only way to change things is to do something about it!" I half yell, glad for the howling wind that will block my voice from anyone stupid enough to be out in this weather and hearing what I'm saying. Then I lower my voice to a normal level, sighing. "There must be a way."
"Are you saying this because you don't want to get married or because you really want to end Snow's reign?" he asks me, and I look at him with a glare.
"Snow." I declare, and while it's true with everything in me a small part of me realizes it's the only way to not marry Peeta since I've realized running away is not going to help, and we both know it. I can tell by the way he stares at me that he knows.
"Even if it stops the marriage you can't be with him." He tells me almost quietly, voicing a truthful fear I didn't even want to admit to myself. Because we both know the him Haymitch referring to is not Peeta and I blush at the comment. The wind is actually helping me in that by giving me the excuse that my cheeks are only red because of the cold. Because he's right, and something in me hates him for it even though I can't think of that when I have a rebellion to insight.
Even if we don't die in the process, the entirety of Panem would still believe Gale is my cousin. And while I don't particularly care what people think of me, it may harm my family and his if people think that. They may think I'm only trying to start an uprising for that purpose, not for Snow's tyranny to end. Not for justice. For…love.
Why did everything have to get so complicated? I didn't even want any of that love stuff and that's my problem now.
Maybe dying for the cause would solve my problems even if that's not the point.
"I know." I tell Haymitch, looking him right in the eyes so he knows I'm telling the truth. "Please help me start an uprising. I know you know how."
He sighs with acceptance or agreement, I don't really know, but I can feel a small satisfaction growing in me as I realize I might have won this fight. "It might not work."
"It will." I forecast, though I really don't know if I believe that or not myself. The one thing I have going for me is that I'm willing to do just about anything to make sure it works. Determination can get you far, I've learned that over the years. It can help me here too.
"Alright, I'll help you." He finally agrees, but holds up a finger to stop me from thanking him before I can say a word. "I just need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go for this to work?"
"As far as I need to." I inform him, and when he studies me and sees no indication of lying in my voice or eyes he accepts my answer.
"It's not going to be a pretty road, I'll tell you that. Once you start, just make sure you don't lose yourself in the process. We'll need you to be the Girl on Fire everyone loves." He warns me, and I nod.
If it stops Snow…if it stops people from being whipped like Gale was yesterday, I'll do it. I'll do anything at all. And how hard can it be to not lose myself in the process? I didn't during the Hunger Games, I surely won't during an uprising in my own district. And even if a small sense is telling me not to think that way, a larger part is telling me that I can accomplish my goal with a rebellion here in District 12 and hopefully later on, Panem.
"I won't."