As I stand at Peeta's doorstep I count to ten and backwards before knocking on his door.
Nothing happens.
I knock again.
Nothing. Fingers as cold as ice slowly tighten around my heart, making it hard to breathe.
Fear boils up inside me. Where is Peeta? Why doesn't he answer the door when I can clearly see smoke coming out of his chimney?
Unwelcome sceneries take over my mind: Peeta dead. Peeta gone mad. Peeta hurting himself. Peeta murdered. Peeta abducted by the Capitol. Peeta… I shake my head furiously to clear my mind. Nothing is wrong with Peeta. Absolutely nothing. He's probably asleep, or in the shower, or baking.
The door swings open silently when I push it, and I rush in and close the door.
I clear my throat. 'Peeta?' my voice cracks. It hasn't been used in three weeks, maybe even a few days more. I cough multiple times, and try again. 'Peeta?' It feels strange to use my voice again, the sound of it even seeming a bit foreign.
But the most alarming thing is that he doesn't answer. I rush down the hallway and crash through the door, almost knocking it out of its hinges. Not my most brilliant move.
You don't knock someone's door in when the person's mind has been hijacked to hate you. When the person's mind is adapted to think that you are to blame for all the tragedy he's been through, all the loss he's had to suffer and all the horrible memories he will have to drag with him for the rest of his life. But I can't seem to think straight anymore, I'm overtaken by panic. I brace myself for the worst as I enter his living room.
His living room always seems to disorientate me, since it's pretty much identical to mine. When you look closely, however, there are some notable differences. Where my house is cold, Peeta's is warm and inviting. Peeta has mirrors, paintings, even flowers. It smells of fresh bread and a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon. Homesickness weighs down my stomach, a feeling I cannot explain.
But no matter how nice his living room may seem, it's empty. I pull at my braid until it hurts, trying to clear my mind from all the sick thoughts and images that flood my head like tracker jackers. Sometimes it seems like I'm the one who's been hijacked.
I stumble across the room and decided to give the kitchen a go. That's Peeta's favorite place after all, or at least it had been before the Capitol… I bite my lip harshly, unable to finish the thought as I feel the rage building and piling up inside me quickly.
'Peeta!' I yell. I seem to have forgotten that I was going to be as gentle as possible. I'm determined to find him now, determined to feel his arms wrapped around me again. The arms that used to keep the nightmares away.
I burst into his kitchen abruptly, and it takes a few seconds for me to take in what I see.
His silhouette, dark and unclear, hovered over the countertop. His hands pressed against it, his back arched. There's a broken plate on the ground, and fresh-baked cookies are spread all across the floor.
I guess he probably dropped it there. The only sound is his irregular breathing, and my soft panting.
For three seconds it's like the world has stopped spinning, like time stands still. But then he spins around without warning, his eyes locking on mine immediately, and his face hardens visibly.
My heart skips a beat. I feel my body stiffen, the hairs on my neck raising involuntary.
I want to brace myself for the flight, but I find myself unable to move, unable to do anything but stand there while his stare burns through me, for some reason making me feel horribly naked.
The lingering silence is too loud, I can feel the air pulsing. I don't know what to make of his expression. Hatred? Recognition? Fear? I fight the pressure silently, and finally manage to find my lips back. I mouth the word once more, fear dripping from each letter: 'Peeta?'
'Katniss…' he hisses, 'get out of here. Now.'
Pieces fall together quickly. He's having an episode. I know I should leave, because I could be in danger, but my body moves on its own now. I raise my hands, palms in his direction, holding them out to show him I don't have any twisted intentions.
My voice trembles, and the words sound a whole lot braver than how I actually feel when I whisper: 'I'm not going anywhere. Episode or not. I don't care about them. I needed to see you.'
I realize I sound a bit like my old self again, stubborn and stupid. I've used the wrong words again, saying them too carelessly and heedlessly, so I quickly add: 'I needed to be sure that you were okay!'
I beg him with my eyes, waiting for his expression to soften in recognition. Waiting for him to erase the distance between us and for him to wrap his arms around me, his body to relax. But he doesn't do any of those things. My reassuring smile fades and I try not to pay attention to my trembling body.
'How,' he says through gritted teeth, 'how on earth can I be okay when you're the one who did this to me? This!' he flings his arms around like crazy, pointing out the dark, empty house, and the silence only thickens his words.
'But… that's not my… that's not my fault.' my lower lip trembles, I desperately hold back the tears because I don't want to cry, this simply isn't the time to fall apart. I need to put him back together instead. This is, for once, not about me.
'Then who's is it?' he barks. This doesn't sound like Peeta Mellark at all. Peeta Mellark could never scare me, and he would never want to. But now he does, and I stumble backwards, every fiber in my body shaking with fear. This isn't Peeta, and if this isn't Peeta, he's out of my knowledge. This boy, I don't know what he's capable of. He can kill me within seconds, without blinking an eye, and I realize that all too well.
'The Capitol did this to you, Peeta. Don't you remember? Please, think.' As I'm saying this I slowly walk over to him, grabbing his hands when I'm close enough. I'm probably grasping his hands way too tightly, but I'm desperate in my attempt to find a way to bring my old Peeta back. The Peeta that I miss so dearly, my dandelion in the spring.
I had found myself tangled in blankets and covered in sweat every morning, streaks of hot tears on my cheeks. I can't fight the nightmares alone. I need him back. Together we stand a better chance.
Tears fill my eyes and make my sight blurry. I blink them away.
His body tenses immediately at my touch, and he growls. 'KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!'
I look him in the eyes, startled. The way he says it rips my heart apart once again. He really does despise me. One tear rolls down my cheek but he doesn't seem to care at all.
His hands, stronger than usual now that nothing is holding him back, pull viciously hard on my fingers, as if they are twigs, and I lose my grip when the sharp pain reaches my fuzzed brain.
It all happens so fast, I have no time to process all of it. But I do process that he now actually seems to be coming after me.
'Please, Peeta. I know you don't want to hurt me. You're not yourself.' As the words leave my lips I try to believe them myself, but the attempt is too feeble, too breakable. I'm too poisoned with fear. He's stronger than usual, stronger than me. And for all I know he wants to destroy me right now.
But since I know the real Peeta, my Peeta, is still in there, I realize there must be a way to reach him.
I force myself to think clearly for the millionth time that day, to dig into my misty brain to find a solution.
The idea shoots through my head so sudden, I know I have to do this. It's the only chance for me to pull him back, and the only ideaI have. So I lean on my toes and kiss his lips softly, lifting the corners of my lips briefly as I pull back. I can only hope I have soothed him. But as soon as I look in his eyes I know I have failed. I might have made it even worse, because his eyes are now also filled with disgust.
'What in the world do you think you're doing?' He wipes his mouth clean with his hands like a little kid, making my cheeks flush in embarrassment.
I start backing away from him, but as soon as I take one step backwards, he takes one step forwards and he slowly walks towards me. I feel my heart rate speed up, cold sweat gathering in my palms.
'Don't.' I whisper. One last attempt to calm him. But it seems like he enjoys the fear that is evident on my face.
Suddenly my foot makes contact with the plate on the ground, causing my feet to come out from under me and I crash face-first into the linoleum floor. I instinctively try to protect my face with my arms, squeezing my eyes shut. This is the end. After all I've been through, Peeta Mellark is the last person on earth I'd think would kill me.
I do not have the strength to fight him. Maybe it will be over quick. Maybe I can finally find some peace. But a deep growl coming from Peeta's throat breaks my stream of thought. That growl scares me more than any attack could. Peeta Mellark, my Peeta Mellark, would never make that sound. Not ever.
He really is going to kill me.
The only person that has ever loved me unconditionally, no matter how many times I have hurt him, is now coming after me. He's going to kill me with the same hands he used to protect me with. The same hands he used to touch me with. It hits me that I do not want him to kill me, because this episode won't last forever. And how can he live with himself when he wakes up and sees my body lifeless on the ground, aware of the fact that he's the one who's responsible for it? He can't.
So I scramble up and push myself onto my feet again.
I am faster than him, so I may have a chance to make my way out, then return when his episode is over. I run around the kitchen table, trying to get back to the door to the living room.
I experience one second of relief when I really do seem to be faster than him, before a hand locks around my wrist.