Thanks to everyone who favorited this story! I wrote it on a whim, to get this out of me. Have no fear, I have a plan now! I wrote the outline last night. Also, I cried while writing this chapter. It could be that time of the month, or I'm just that good ;p just kidding. It's definatley that time of the month. Happy reading lovelies :)

Chapter Two.

Sometime later Peeta and I are watching some news coverage about the rebuilding of Panem. Thankfully the media has moved on from fictional love stories and glorified murder. As it turns out, the citizens of the Capitol are a lot less willing to buy into it all once it was their own family that was killed. There are new people in charge of the networks, which I'm sure counts for something. Cressinda is working closely with them, so I trust the reporting to be accurate (as much as I can trust anything ever again).

Every day is almost the same; a Capital newscaster, without the heavy makeup and dyed skin, stands in front of the construction efforts across the districts. They show the reconstruction of the marina in District 4, clearing away the debris and bodies from District 2, and the building of new justice buildings in each. They're called "city centers" now, and are used for less horrific things. Permits and offices mostly. Ours in 12 is just now being lined with brick and wooden framing. I'm told I'll need a permit to hunt again.

The Hob is back in order. Although, I suppose it's legal now. We no longer have peacekeepers, but a few representatives from surrounding districts and the Capitol to oversee things. They don't seem to care about the Hob. The weather is getting nicer, and I'm told by Haymitch and Peeta that they gather under a wooden frame with canvas for roofing. The actual building should be finished by the fall. This reminds me of the time of year, and my stomach falls down to my feet.

It's easy to ignore the leaves coming back and the chirping of birds when you're inside all the time. I look at the corner of the TV screen, next to a portly man reporting from District 7.

It says May 7th.

I immediately regret the second cheese bun I had for lunch and stand up as fast as I can, making my way to the small bathroom in the downstairs hallway. I fling the door open and lean against the tiled wall facing the toilet, willing myself to not throw up all the food I've ever eaten. I'm pretty sure I feel my lungs and heart coming up, too.

"Katniss?"

I hear Peeta at the door. I whisper, "It's almost May 14," and he understands.

"Do you want some water or anything?"

I shook my head, already starting to feel angry at him. His acts of kindness and the way he looks at me when I'm upset (and when I'm not, come to think of it) just makes me more confused about what I'm supposed to feel about him. I can't be bothered to worry about my feelings for Peeta- I'm too full of hurt and shame for anything else. Sometimes I'm touched by the gestures, like when he slept on my floor a few weeks ago.

But now I'm mad. I want to suffer alone and not have to deal with Peeta. Because, the fact is, I blame myself for him too.

I don't need water. I need a different kind of drink. I've never been so thankful that Haymitch is my neighbor.

I push past Peeta and walk over to Haymitch's house. I open the door and the stench of liquor and sweat almost knocks me over with the strength of it. Haymitch is asleep on the floor; it seems as if he rolled off the couch in his drunken stupor. He snores loudly and is still clutching a bottle of white liquor in his hand.

Without hesitation I make my way over to him and kick him swiftly in the ribs. He grunts opens his eyes to look at me. I ignore the profanities he mutters under his breath and say, "I need a drink."

I hear him mutter, "Get it yourself Mockingjay" and point at one of the kitchen cabinets. I grab the first bottle I see and quickly turn to leave so I don't pass out myself from the smell.

I meet Peeta half way between houses; his brow is furrowed so I can tell he is both angry and concerned.

"Katniss, what are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like?"

I take swig from the bottle as I move to step past him, but he blocks my way. I feel it burn my throat as I take another. Peeta looks at me disapprovingly.

"That's the last thing you need right now, Katniss."

I take another huge swig and glare at him. He should know why I'm doing this. Of all people, Peeta shouldn't criticize me for wanting to forget. I just wish him and his stupid blue eyes that remind me of Prim would walk away.

Prim.

Now I'm done. I can feel myself unraveling at the seams and falling apart, piece by piece. Tears immediately well up in my eyes and I gulp down some more liquor.

"Damn it Peeta! Just leave me alone."

The last part is almost a desperate plea.

I push past him and walk into my house, my voice cracking from the effect of the liquor as well as the sobs threatening to escape my mouth.

But, he follows me through the door, living room, and the kitchen.

"Katniss, come on…"

"She would have been 14!"

I yell, with more ferocity than I intended as I spun around to face him. He just stands there, his arms at his sides and the softest look I have ever seen plastered on his face. Then he takes a step forward, and I know he's reaching for the bottle.

"No!"

"Katniss, please!"

"Just let me do this!"

I lunged away from him but he follows. I was desperate. I'm sobbing with the knowledge that I need this. I can't deal with the memory any more. Prim is gone; in her place I was clutching a bottle of liquor until my knuckles turned white and begging for Peeta to let me get drunk.

For the first time in my life I understand Haymitch, and wish I hadn't kicked him.

"Stop Peeta! Stop! You don't…. you don't know!"

I lurched away from him, sobbing but still managed to take another swing. I turned to look at him slowly when I realized he stopped grabbing for the bottle. His blue eyes were dark and his brow was still furrowed. He said my name again, quietly but strained.

"You really think I don't know what this feels like?"

"Peeta…"

"Stop this Katniss! I lost my whole family, I know how you feel! Damn it Katniss, I'm not going to sit here and let you drink away your sister and turn into Haymitch!"

I opened my mouth to say something, but he kept shouting.

"I don't understand you! You ignore the medicine from Dr. Aurelius, but then you do this! You can't keep going on like this!"

He stopped, his large chest heaving.

I knew he was right. Dr. Aurelius had sent me some blue gel pills a few months ago to take when I started feeling like this. I just let them gather dust in my bathroom cupboard and try to ignore my feelings until I just can't.

Like now.

Peeta looks at me again, and reaches once more for the bottle. I try to run away, but end up hip checking the table and knocking a few dishes on the floor. They shattered, and Peeta stopped mid motion. He just stood there, frozen with his eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched at his sides. I knew something was wrong. Really, really wrong. I stepped towards him cautiously and whispered,

"Peeta?"

He looked up at me, his eyes completely void of color and his face angry. He backed up against the wall and slid down towards the floor with his head in his hands. He started to shake, and I knelt down next to him.

He was having an episode. It was the first one I've seen in a long time, but of course I knew he retreated to his own house when he felt one coming on.

"Peeta, please look at me. Not real, Peeta! Not real!"

His head shot up and he was glaring at me.

"You! You hurt me!"

"Peeta, no…"

"You did! You played me in the Games, you pretended to care about me…"

His eyes blinked rapidly and he twitched away from me.

"Not real Peeta!"

"You played me so you could get to me! You told them…you told them… you told…."

He started breathing heavier and heavier.

"You told them, they bombed 12 and killed everyone! You killed everyone! My dad and brothers…"

"Not real Peeta! That was the Capitol! I didn't hurt you! Peeta, please! Not real!"

I've never been so panicked, and I've never heard one this bad in so long. I was overpowered with guilt and wonder for a second if he would be better off without me. Of course he would. But I still yelled, "Not real!"

I began the routine I would do when he got like this.

"Your name is Peeta Mellark, you're a painter, you're a baker, and you like to sleep with the windows open! You never take sugar in your tea, and you always double-knot your shoelaces, your favorite color is orange like the sunset!"

The shaking started to subside, and his breathing got quieter. I continued, "Your favorite thing to bake is cheese buns, because they're for me. This isn't real, Peeta, I promise."

He swallowed, and I could see his adam's apple bob up and down. His voice cracked when he spoke, "How do I know?"

"Because this isn't shiny, Peeta. The Capitol injected you with trackerjacker venom to confuse you. This is real; when the Capitol gave you memories it was always shiny. This is real; I never killed your family. Peeta…"

I took his face in my hands and felt the sweat. His shaking stopped, but his eyes were still closed. After a moment he opened them; they were back to blue.

"Katniss, I'm sorry."

All I could do was hug him, the bottle of white liquor at my side and forgotten. He hugged me back, hesitant at first. I was almost crying, but I didn't want him to know he upset me so much. That broken plate triggered something, and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't have had this attack. It was my fault.

"It wasn't your fault, Katniss."

How could he still read my mind like that? How could the boy with the bread, after everything he's been through, still read my mind?

I turned to sit next to him, but he didn't move his arm from me. He still clutched me to him like I was going to disappear. I took note that this was the closest we've been sense we both returned to 12.

Neither one of us said anything else until our breathing turned to normal. When it did, I reached for the bottle, taking care to not move away from him. I sheepishly held it out to him as a peace offering.

He looked at it, then at me, and a smile crept across his face. He even managed a small chuckle, which I returned when he took it from me and took a small sip that made his face crinkle. He took another, less adverse to it this time and held it out to me. I took a sip and passed it back.

We continued this for while. I remember laughing with Peeta, and crying with him. At one point he said something so funny I fell over, clutching my ribs. I don't remember what it was. Something about this wasn't what he pictured when he thought of us getting drunk together.