I apologize for the incredibly long wait between chapters. Thank you for waiting, and to any new readers, I hope you all enjoy.
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For the first time in, well, I don't even know how long, I awoke to a sense of calm this morning. There was no dried sweat sticking to the back of my neck, my muscles weren't aching from the tedious clenching and releasing while I dreamt horrid things. I finally felt more rested than restless. Peaceful.
Electricity buzzed within my veins—not the kind that shocks the nerves and makes you tense; it's the everyday energy I didn't know I was missing. The kind I haven't had since before… everything. Before the Hunger Games were a threat, even before my shoulders were burdened with the weight of supporting my family.
It was the kind of feeling that, while it surrounded you, you wondered how you ever felt any different. You assumed it would always keep you wrapped in its warmth, and you would thrive within it, using the energy it gave you.
I felt feather light. Not invincible, but just short. Strong, though. If anyone wanted to dispel this energy from my body, they wouldn't be able to challenge me. I was stronger. I was not blind and broken anymore.
My eyes were closed in euphoria and I was floating when I became aware of the light pressure on the tender spot in the crook of my arm. I sighed, remembering the dream I had last night. Remembering that I was not alone in my bed.
His breath brushed my forehead in a steady rhythm that can only be found in sleep. Without opening my eyes, I felt his fingers on my arm, his feet intertwined with mine, his chin resting inches away from the tip of my nose.
The electricity jolted my veins, and my heart rate spiked as I took in the exact closeness between us. Even as the energy shot through my veins with alarming speed, I felt good. I felt alive. The energy swelled and gathered in the tips of my fingers, my kneecaps, and ankles. I believed the parts of me were reconnecting, making a whole being again.
Slowly, I felt the electricity fade from my bones, replaced with a sense of dread. The energy was not coming from an inner source. I was not rising from the ashes, fully restored and lethal.
Rather, the energy culminated in the warm spots where Peeta's skin touched mine. Heat swelled in my fingertips because my hand rested against his collarbone. My knees and ankles burned because our limbs were so entangled.
And I hated myself for it. I hated the way he made me feel in those wonderfully beautiful moments this morning. I hated how he made me better than I could be on my own. I hated how he was stronger than I was. I hated how much I depended on him. So I ripped myself away from him. Disconnected myself from the buzzing electricity I so badly wanted. Needed.
I felt a flicker of remorse when Peeta startled awake, hands falling to the bare mattress where I was moments ago. After a brief moment of confusion, his expression calmed when he took in my position next to the bed.
A silence settled between us. I realized my arms were wrapped around my body protectively, trying to hold in the remainder of the heat. I dropped them immediately and looked away, out my window.
Peeta cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "No nightmares?"
I shook my head, still avoiding his gaze.
No, I didn't, and it's all your fault. You and your stupid, comforting arms.
Without a word, I slipped out the door, leaving Peeta still wrapped up in my bed sheets. It was cold, I know. And I owed him for last night. Ego aside, he had done me a huge favor by wrapping me up in his arms last night.
I shook off the thought and made my way to the kitchen, where I found two bowls of oatmeal covered with paper plates to keep in the warmth. It took me a moment to realize Greasy Sae had already made me breakfast and left. How late had I slept?
I removed the paper plate and dug into the oatmeal, savoring the cinnamon and berries placed on top. The identical bowl a few feet away called to me. Had Greasy Sae known Peeta slept over last night? Of course she did, why else would there be a second serving of oatmeal here? I wanted to believe she had simply made too much of the grain, but the logical part of my brain didn't even consider this option. So I actively ignored the blue bowl with the plate still covering the top.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn't recognize Peeta's presence until I felt his warm fingers on the back of my neck. I jumped in surprise; Peeta wasn't exactly known for being light on his feet. My eyes flickered to the bowl of oatmeal, and his followed immediately. He hesitated, unconsciously leaning forward toward the bowl, but quickly looked away.
"I have to get home," he stated.
I simply nodded. My heart wanted him to stay, but there was no way my head would allow those words to slip out. The deep crease in his brow told me there was more he wanted to tell me, but though his mouth hung open, Peeta did not say another word. Instead, he spun on his heels and, I assume, headed home.
With a sigh, I threw my empty bowl into the sink. I left the other on the table. It didn't feel right to throw it away. It wasn't mine in the first place.
Stop. Stop stop stop thinking about him. I rubbed my temples, attempting to put my words to action. It was pointless. So I ran upstairs, throwing on a simple pair of pants and a shirt. I needed to be in the woods. The soothing sounds of water rushing down a stream and the feel of a bow in my hands were the only chance I had at eradicating the pounding in my temples. A little voice in my head reminded me I was running away from my problems for the second day in a row.
This actually never came true, though, because a knock at my front door interrupted my plans for a rendezvous with my meadow.
I was surprised to see Fulvia Cardew, Plutarch Heavensbee's assistant, rather than the plump man himself at my doorstep. After we exchanged pleasantries, she politely explained that he'd been held up in an emergency meeting regarding his not-to-be-mentioned failure of a karaoke show. I internally rolled my eyes. I could have predicted the failure of that one. No one I know would be piling in front of the television to see contestants belting out their favorite songs on the same station that was home to the Hunger Games only months ago.
"How is the new secretary of communications, anyway?" I asked, focusing on pouring boiling water into teacups containing a few leaves of chamomile. Unsurprisingly, the chamomile did nothing to suppress the growing number of butterflies in my stomach.
"He's well," Fulvia replied. I hadn't noticed before, but her eyes seemed more tired than they had during the war. The silver flowers inlaid in her cheeks were still her most prominent feature, but the purple bags under her eyes were a close second. "He loves his new position."
"You seem tired," I stated.
She nodded, not taken aback in the least. "I am. It was one thing being an assistant for one of the many minds behind the rebellion. Now Plutarch is in control of all programming on the major stations. Oh, and in his spare time, he had that stupid singing show. I have to set up every meeting, take care of all the appointments, make sure he eats his lunch. I'm beginning to wonder if it is worth it anymore."
I looked away, guilt making my stomach heavy. All I've done since I returned to the Victor's Village is mope.
Fulvia clears her throat. "I'm sorry. I'm not here to burden you with my problems."
I simply shook my head. She and I both knew the worst had yet to leave her lips. Naturally, this lead to an awkward pause between us. We both had an idea of what she was going to tell me, and we both had an idea of my reaction.
"I understand that Haymitch spoke to you yesterday?" she asked, eyes on the teacup in front of her.
"Yes." I offered no more information.
"And he told you Plutarch's plans?"
"Not exactly."
Fulvia cleared her throat a second time. "All right. I will start from the beginning, then."
She went on to explain that since the failure of Plutarch's last television venture, he had experienced pressure from the Board of Communications. If he could not produce a successful show on his own, how could he be expected to judge what is aired? Rumors have been swirling that someone new, someone younger, would replace him. And after all his hard work, Plutarch is not willing to simply give away his position.
So he and his crew have been brainstorming the next big thing. After ten intense days of brainstorming, Plutarch himself came up with the idea of catching up with Panem's favorite star-crossed lovers. He, like many of us, assumed Panem had either figured out my relationship with Peeta was different that we made it out to be, or stopped caring. But a recent poll proved otherwise.
"I'm here, I suppose, to ask you—beg you, if I must—to help us. I'm afraid you're somewhat of a last resort for us."
My first thought was, are you out of your mind? I've been on television unwillingly for almost two years, and look where it's gotten me. All of my loved ones are either dead or broken to some degree. I'm somewhere in between.
The only thing that kept me from laughing in her face was the look in her eyes. There was a hint of desperation; I could tell that she meant it when she said I was her last hope. But even that anxiety wasn't enough for me to voluntarily appear on the televisions of Panem again.
"Look, Fulvia, as much as I'd love to help you, I just can't do it. I need to focus on getting my life back together. I can't do that in front of the entire nation. You of all people know how terrible my acting skills are. I can't act like Peeta and I are reunited and happy, when in reality we can barely form a complete conversation. I would probably only further damage Plutarch's reputation."
She let out an agitated breath and nodded, getting up from the table. "That's fair enough. You've lost more than anyone your age should have to. It's unfair for me to ask more of you."
The guilt washed over me again. I don't have any real reason to turn her down, other than I just don't feel like it. But like the coward I am, I didn't stop Fulvia once she turned to silently exit my home.
She paused and turned to face me again. I got up the courage to look her in the eye, and saw that she was deliberating whether or not to try and sell me on the idea one more time.
"I'm here in Twelve alone, actually. I lied before," she whispered. "Plutarch isn't really in a meeting. He's… he's not here because he knew better than to bother you. He knew it was more important to let you heal. I thought that if I could somehow get you to help us… well, maybe he'd finally give me a promotion. Maybe I wouldn't have to be the one getting him coffee anymore, you know? But it's not fair of me to ask you to do this. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, Katniss. You've done more than enough for us."
And I hated myself even more. Because I knew that if she'd have gone to Peeta, he'd have said yes. Even this post-hijacking Peeta, who still isn't one hundred percent sure what is real, would have helped her out. It made my body flush with heat to think of his kindness. The self-loathing expanded.
I could not force myself to glance at her again, nevertheless turn her down for a second time. Whether her features spelled out her acceptance or continued hope didn't matter; my self-loathing could not have increased any more. Fulvia Cardew quietly slipped out the front door without another word.
I didn't move from my seat at the kitchen table. With ice in my veins, I could only replay her speech in my mind. When I couldn't take it anymore, I dragged myself up the stairs and slipped in my bed again to rest. Of course, I wouldn't actually allow myself to sleep; I didn't have any protection from the nightmares.
It was twilight when I heard another knock at my door. Immediately, Fulvia's face flashed behind my eyes. I was thrown into a frenzy because I didn't know how to feel if she showed up again. Relieved because I'd been given a second shot at helping her, which I would take? Or more self-loathing because I couldn't bring myself to fake a functioning relationship with Peeta in order to help out a friend? Luckily, I didn't have to answer that question.
Peeta's big blue eyes met mine when I finally reached the front door with a fresh batch of anxiety pumping throughout my body.
"You don't have to knock," I murmured, and moved out of the way to let him inside the house.
His eyes dropped to his hands, where he was rubbing the scars around his wrist in the places the manacles ripped his skin open. "I didn't want to interrupt anything."
At that, I snorted. "No, there's always room at this pity-party."
Peeta gave a half-smile, but his eyes stayed trained on his wrists, leading me to believe he'd had his own pity-party without me. "Listen, I wanted to say… I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for coming over last night." He squeezed his eyes shut.
I was too stunned to say anything. Was this because I'd been so sore toward him this morning? He didn't believe he'd been unwelcome last night, did he?
"I'm still trying to figure out the boundaries, and I didn't mean to overstep them last night."
I let out a mix between a laugh and a snort. "Peeta, we don't have boundaries. We never have. There's never been a spoken explanation between us. You've even… held me like that before."
"I remember." Of course he does. He just doesn't remember why. "It doesn't justify my actions last night."
I shook my head at him. "You don't have anything to justify. You were trying to help me, Peeta." And you succeeded…
He didn't immediately respond. I wasn't quite sure what more I could say to him that would ease his frustration without giving away how much his company satisfied my craving for his touch.
"We protect each other," I reminded him. Somewhere deep inside, something was deeply pleased by the fact that he dropped what he was doing last night to soothe me. Just like the old Peeta would have. I allowed myself to hope for that one infinitesimal moment. Maybe the hijacking didn't take him away from me completely. Maybe he could come back to me. Slowly. But I immediately shut down any further hope. Hope only breeds disappointment.
Peeta dropped his wrists. "I could have killed you Katniss! I broke into your house and climbed into bed with you. Your neck was inches from my hands. What if I had awoken last night, disoriented and murderous? I could have killed you before I knew what I was doing!"
He was shaking, and clutching his fists again. Before he could squeeze his eyes shut, I saw his pupils dilate to an abnormal size. I reached toward him, but let my hands fall awkwardly to my sides when he opened his eyes, pupils back to their normal size. I wrapped my arms around my torso. "You didn't though. That's all that really matters. I'm still here, completely unharmed."
"No thanks to me."
I crossed my arms. It was obvious that whatever I said would not change his mind on the subject. So I accepted his unnecessary apology in hopes that it would eradicate some of his anxiety. And it worked to a slight degree; the crease between his eyebrows lessened minutely. But his fingers pressed harder into his wrists, causing his finger tips to turn white under the pressure. This alone was not indicative enough to warn me of the bomb he was about to drop on me.
"I can't stay here anymore."
My heart dropped, my jaw echoing the action. "What?"
"We protect each other, right? See, I'm able to figure out what's real and what isn't now with a fair amount of accuracy. And I know that's true. I know that I tried to protect you every chance I got in the arena, and you did the same for me. I know that… I loved you. More than anyone should love another person."
He paused, allowing my heart to clench at his use of the past tense of "love."
"I know that you're still trying to protect me. Even when I was an intolerable monster, you wouldn't let anyone kill me. Though it was probably best… It's my turn to return the favor, Katniss. I'm going to protect you from me."
"Peeta—"
"Don't, Katniss. I'm still not stable. We both know that, after what happened last night at dinner." He looks away, embarrassed. "I'm not who I used to be."
"We don't know that," I whisper. "You could be."
He shook his head. "I will never be that person again. As much as I want to be, I can't go back to being the boy you knew. I'm not sure I want to be, either. If I ever regained all those memories… It would hurt more than it does now."
I looked down at my feet, ashamed that I had all but forgotten Peeta had lost so much because of the war. He lost some memories, yes, but he lost his entire family and home as well. Peeta lost more of himself than I knew humanly possible.
"I'm thinking about going to the Capitol to start my own bakery. Ever since I completed Finnick and Annie's wedding cake, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I could open my own cake shop. It wouldn't be so bad. I'd be surrounded by happily engaged couples all the time. I could do what I love."
Immediately I pictured Peeta in his own little bakery, similar to the one his parents owned, but in a pastel-colored building near the center of the Capitol. Though the rebellion stripped the old Capitol of its power over the districts, many citizens retained their love of bizarre fashion and luxurious things. Peeta's cakes would fit right in. He would be successful there. Happy.
Back here in District Twelve, I would be alone. Okay, not completely deserted—I would have Haymitch and Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. Soon enough though, Sae would be gone, her granddaughter old enough to make a life somewhere else. Haymitch would be stuck in a drunken stupor like always. Leaving me alone.
I could make it just fine. Between the food that comes in on the train and what I found hunting, food wouldn't be an object. I could get by. But I would just be surviving. Not really living. My mind went back to the electricity that flowed through him to my veins. In that moment, I realized Peeta was more vital to my survival than I previously assumed.
But when I glanced back up at Peeta, his eyes sparkled with hope. He was excited to try something new. Excited to get out of this district, which probably brought back memories he didn't want to remember. This was the closest I've seen to the old Peeta. I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want to throw a wet blanket on his excitement.
So I just nodded. "You'll be so successful in the Capitol." And it was true. He would be.
Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to get out of the room. I needed to think about what just happened. I needed to prepare for the coming months without the source of my energy.
Peeta seemed to read my mind, and turned to exit my home. Before I could stop myself, I whispered his name. He paused, his back to me, and I gently grabbed his right elbow in my hand. Just like I assumed, heat flooded my hand, running down my arm, where it reached my torso and ran down my spine.
I let go of the boy with the bread, potentially cutting off the electricity forever.
Thank you for reading this far. Reviews are greatly appreciated!
