Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of death, suicide, & suicidal thoughts.
Chapter Two: Speak Wisely
Katniss
Looking intensely into the mirror of my bathroom, I try to find what people see in me. I stare at my olive face; the light makeup, dull gray eyes, and finally, ridiculous gray lips. Nothing.
I'm a stupid, disgusting, useless girl. A girl who has no one left in this world that gives a damn about her, and who has no one left that she loves. Everything was taken from me slowly. Painfully, but surely.
First, it was my father when I was eleven-years-old. Then my mother when I was fourteen-years-old. And finally my sweet little sister just months ago. . .
Smiling bitterly, I turn away. It was almost as if they'd planned it. Every three years, something precious was taken away from me. Not anymore, I declared. Because I will never give anyone else the power to hurt me again.
Entering my room, I go straight to the full-length mirror and examine my outfit. My eyes take in the unusually girly clothing. This is for you, Primrose, I think, recalling a section in the note she'd left me. "Be a little more girly for me, Katniss. You're so much like a boy, the only reason I don't confuse you for one is because of your pretty looks!" Read her words.
Suddenly, I'm overcome with another wave of grief and I force myself to sit down in place as the now all too familiar darkness threatens to overtake me. You can do this, Katniss. Do it for Prim.
"Katniss!" I hear my grandmother yell, "If you're walking to school, you better do it now. I have your drink ready. Hurry honey!"
The truth was, my grandmother wanted nothing to do with me until after Primrose died, when she needed a piece of her only child to hold on to. She had disowned my mother when she decided to marry someone whom my grandparents didn't approve of. And then when my mother died, and Primrose and I came to live here, they so obviously favored Primrose because of her looks and bubbly personality.
I was more of a burden, as I was more difficult for them. When Primrose died, they became very obsessive over me. Monitoring me much more than before, so much so that I feel trapped in my own skin.
As I enter the kitchen with my plain black tote bag in tow, my grandmother hands me my cup of drugs. She tried to hide it at first, claiming she just wanted to give me a 'healthy drink' every morning, but I'm not an idiot. I caught on quickly to the fact that she'd crushed up my medications that I refused to take and put their powdered form into smoothies for me to 'unknowingly' drink every morning.
Of course, my grandmother could never have been so smart as to think that up, my psychiatrist suggested it. And it worked. I enjoyed them, convincing myself that she did it because she cared, even if she didn't genuinely show it. Of course, I gave up on the idea, but I'd already been so used to the drinks, I decided to keep them.
After grabbing my cup, I exit the house the prison—house without a second glance. I can feel her stare track me until I'm well out of sight, and it isn't until I reach the edge of the street that I release my breath.
The breeze feels delicious against my skin, but it was slightly stronger than normal. Thank goodness I decided to put my hair in my regular braid today.
I choose to walk to school every day because I want to feel the world around me. It was the simple and everyday things in life that I appreciated the most. Things such as birds singing, cars driving by, and people interacting. Those things were precious. Birds for me signify peace. Cars tell me that there were still intelligent people in this world. Real interactions told me that not everyone was as screwed up as I am. Those things keep me going.
Sipping my drink, I decide to try and guess today's ingredients, but only one thing stands out prominently; orange. My grandmother can be clever at times, and putting in my favorite fruit in the drink showed that. In her youth, she was a doctor, which is how my mother became a nurse. And that's why Primrose wanted—
I stop abruptly in my tracks and squeeze my eyes shut. Primrose okay, I tell myself. She's in a better place. . . with mom and dad. She's okay. I try to squeeze my eyes even tighter, but that doesn't stop the tears from escaping.
At the sound of tires screeching to a halt beside me, my eyes shoot open and I begin to walk again, willing my tears to come to a halt. Turning to look at the car, I see that it's a truck. Wiping my tears away fiercely, I begin walking again, faster.
"Katniss!" the familiar voice calls.
Once again stopping in my tracks, I turn around and see the one and only golden boy, Peeta Mellark. I can't stop the scowl that forms on my lips. His car slowly moves up along the road until it's right beside me. "Get in, you'll be late. Not to mention its kind of illegal for me to stop in the middle of the road like this."
There's a joking tone in his voice, but I just blink, trying to comprehend why this boy has been trying so hard to garner my attention this year. He's never acknowledged me before.
As I see a car begin to turn onto this road, I mercifully decide to get in. After the phone predicament yesterday, I don't doubt for a second that he would refuse to leave without me.
Once I'm safely sitting in the passenger seat, he starts moving as soon as I put on my seatbelt. "You okay?"
I turn to face him and see him alternating between looking at me and the road. I just stare at him for a moment, trying to understand why he's so adamant about inserting himself into my life.
When we get to school, I unbuckle my seatbelt and hop out of the car immediately, trying to escape being seen. But of course, the odds have never been in my favor.
At the sound of their ridiculous catcalling, I give them my usual hand gesture before speeding into the building. Disgusting assholes. At the feel of a hand on my shoulder, I jerk it off and whip around, only to be met with a pair of captivating blue eyes.
"You just let them do that?" he asks stupidly. My mouth falls open at his words and I shake my head vigorously before pushing my way to my locker, dodging the occasional prying hands and ignoring the racy comments.
Upon reaching my locker, I put my cup down between my feet as I open it. How could anyone think I just let those idiots say those things to me? If it weren't for my record, they'd all have been in the hospital a long time ago—
"I'm sorry," his voice rises above the sea of many others. I ignore him and open my locker, pulling out the things I won't need until later from my bag and placing them inside. He tries to speak to me again, but I just block him out. I'd mastered it over the years.
After putting my bag in my locker and locking it, I hold on tighter to my belongings and pick up my cup. Why did I sign up for cooking, damn it? But I know my answer immediately: Because I've done almost all that needs to be done in high school and mostly had a large assortment of electives to choose from.
When I arrive, I ponder over whether or not I should take my seat from yesterday. One look around all of the strangers is enough for me to begin to hyperventilate, so I guess that answers it. I drag myself over to my seat and pull out my phone immediately. I'm surprised to see a text.
Peeta: I didn't mean to upset you, Katniss. I really am sorry. It just… angers me to see them talk to you like that. (7:32AM)
Taking in a deep breath, I decide whether or not to respond. I only ever text one person, and that's because he's impossibly far away. Besides that, we strictly interact in person. I decide not to.
When I first moved back to Panem, I had already been 'mute' for three years, and nothing was going to change that. I met Gale when on a trip to the woods. He'd thought I was being difficult at first, but I was able to explain to him with my marker and dry erase board, as I'm instructed to bring them everywhere I go.
It had turned out that Gale's father had died in the same exact construction accident that took my own father's life. Not only that, but we found that we had many things in common, and it wasn't too long after that when we begun sneaking off to the woods every day after school to hang out with each other. He was really smart, so he was able to help me out with a lot of things, and I was very thankful.
I purse my lips as I remember what he did the summer before he went off to college. My breathing begins to grow erratic, and I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to try and take deep breaths. He was just being rash, it meant nothing, it still means nothing. . . it will always mean nothing.
"Hey. . ." a soothing voice breaks in as I hear someone, presumably him, sit down next to me. "Just breathe, you're okay. You're safe."
Listening to his instruction, I will myself to take deep breaths. I'm breathing, I'm okay, I'm. . . mostly safe. I repeat my own variation of his words in my head.
Once I'm calm, I slowly open my eyes and immediately begin to focus my attention on my cup before grabbing it and beginning to take generous sips.
"Want to talk about it?" he asks softly. I turn to him in surprise and my brow furrows before I shake my head. "Well, I'm here. And you're stuck with me for four class periods a day, so if I were you, I'd try to get used to me."
I shake my head before pulling out my dry erase board and marker, "Yeah, right. I'll just have to find ways to avoid you."
He chuckles at my words and I shoot him an innocent smile. "Oh, Everdeen. I hope you know that Mellark's are hard to shake off." Rolling my eyes at his banter, my mind runs his words over and over in my head. Mellark's are hard to shake off. Why did I even let him in? I only ever interact with Madge, and even that's limited. . . why him? And then the memory resurfaces. . . but no, that was years ago. Before I left. It shouldn't be relevant now. We. . . we were kids.
About ten minutes after the announcements are over, Ms. Lavinia is already done explaining our first cooking project of the year. We have to cook something that is dear to our hearts. Today, though, we're only brainstorming and telling her the ingredients we'll be needing.
My forehead crinkles in thought. What could I make? My own grandmother doesn't trust me in the kitchen alone. I take my dry erase board and reluctantly write down a question for Peeta, "What are you making?"
He smiles when he reads this, "Cheese buns. They're one of my favorites down at the bakery."
I audibly gulp as I remember the kind gifts that were given to me after my sisters passing, and oddly, yesterday too. My face begins to burn at the memory of the delicious treats from the kind anonymous stranger who I would never be able to repay. "What about you, Katniss?"
My heart jumps at the sound of my name from his lips, but I internally scold myself. I shrug in response to his question before feeling myself pout. Of all the electives I just had to choose this one. Even though I'm well aware that I risk burning down my kitchen every time I step foot in it. "Hey, you'll think of something."
The rest of the class turns out to be unsuccessful in trying to 'think of something', and I leave very angered in myself. Unsurprisingly, the golden boy notices. "You still have tonight and tomorrow."
I shoot him a glare before scampering off to my next class.
As I sit on the floor of an unoccupied storage closet, I try to level my breathing, to no avail. Instead, I try to recite the little mantra my therapist, Dr. Aurelius, had inspired me to create. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is Panem. I'm currently in school. I'm so close to graduating. I, doing it all by myself. . . I'm all alone in this world. My family left me. It'd probably be best if I left too. . .
"Sweetheart?"
At the sound of the nickname given to my by my school therapist, I feel myself take my first breath in quite a while. I gasp as I try to control my breathing once again.
The door opens and Haymitch comes over to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Breathe, sweetheart. In. . . Out. Just like I taught you. Let's go."
With the help of Haymitch, I stand and focus on regulating my breathing.
Ever since I returned to Panem, Haymitch Abernathy has been my mentor of sorts through everything that has happened. He helped me get adjusted to Panem High, and somewhat recover from my sister's death.
No one knew what to do with me when I came back. I was just a shell of a person that harbored no emotion. They tried to be understanding, but ultimately winded up getting fed up with me. It wasn't until I met Mr. Abernathy that I began to feel the tiniest bit of security. He was open and honest from the moment we sat down together, and was wiser than anyone I'd ever met.
And he's been the only one I've been willing to talk to about how I feel about it. He knows she was the only person I was certain I loved, he was very fond of her as well. Now he's the only person who could possibly care about me too.
Back when they first assigned him to me as a last resort because I was much more difficult than Primrose, he had taken me by surprise with his attitude and demeanor. Insisted I called him Haymitch because we were equal, and because he called me by my first name. And then eventually my nickname. It still took me a while to get completely comfortable with him.
He's the only person I've got now.
"That's right, sweetheart, nice and slow," he told me calmly. "You'll be okay."
I regain my focus on the real world, registering the hallways as well as curious passerby. Great. Only the second day of school and I've gone down both days.
As we enter the office, I began to relax slightly, we were almost at his personal office. The only place I could completely tear down my protective wall and accept my reality. My cruel, harsh reality.
When he opened the door I could feel my shoulders immediately begin to slump. It wasn't until the door shut with a click that I let my silent tears fall.
Haymitch sat in his chair, quiet until the last of my tears were long gone. "You want to go home?" I look up at him. Gray on gray, his eyes read mine without issue. "Your teacher sent me an email. Said you didn't show up."
I take a deep breath.
"You're not a burden, Katniss." He says. I break our gaze then. "You're not. Far from it. This school's lucky to have you, kid."
Staring at the floor, I wait for him to say more.
"Look at me," I do. "I know what you're thinking. And I don't appreciate it."
Tearing my gaze away, I look anywhere but at him. He can read me so well, I sometimes think he can literally hear my thoughts.
"We're a team, Katniss. I'll always be here for you." This I know. "I know you know that, and you're ditching me this summer, but you can believe I'll still keep contact."
Scoffing, I stand up. He's like a father to me, but right now I'm itching to get fresh air and not a lecture.
"I'm not here to lie to you."
My eyes burn and he knows he's got me.
Liar. It was the first thing I ever wrote to him when he said he wasn't there to badger me into confiding my feelings. "I'm not here to lie to you, sweetheart." Was his response.
That was when I began to trust him.
He knows this.
Sitting down once again, I look at him, eyes shining. "Ms. Trinket showed me your notebook."
Nodding slowly, I let my tears fall again. But then. . . what about my notebook?
"I also heard from more than one teacher that you have a new friend?"
My brows furrow in confusion at this, I don't. . . Peeta. Shaking my head, I feel a light blush flood to my cheeks.
"He's a good boy, high honors," Haymitch picks up a file I hadn't noticed sitting on his desk. "Has his own story."
I give him a questioning look, his own story?
"I talk to him every once in a while."
Haymitch only counsels as a last resort. . .
And that's how I learn that there's more to Peeta Mellark than meets the eye.
I can't stop staring at him.
Haymitch isn't allowed to talk about student's private affairs, so now I can't help but wonder.
He's always seemed so. . . grounded. After what happened I've kept track of him over the years. Know more than I realized when it comes down to it. He's the cleanest, most purest a person could possibly be. So happy. Well-liked. Smart. Outgoing. Kind—the list could go on forever. It irks me that there's something hidden deep within him that I can't see.
I'm an open book.
"Katniss?"
My braid slaps my back as I whip around and find my choral teacher's worried gaze on mine. My heart aches. She's right behind Haymitch when it comes to people who could potentially care about me. I give her a soft smile in response, and note the slight change in her mood. I've become very good at reading people. Well, everyone except for Peeta Mellark.
I focus my attention on the sheet in my hand holding our schedule for the year. Symphonic choir is always the busiest of the three groups. Primrose was so excited to see my acceptance letter before freshman year. I was the first freshman in the school's history to be accepted. She always loved to hear me sing. It broke her heart when I refused to do it for a while. One of the reasons I caved on continuing singing was because of her admiration for my voice.
The bell rings. Mrs. Barton bids us all goodbye, and I send her a smile.
I tread the halls quietly, keeping my eyes on Peeta, who is walking with Cato. They laugh heartily. My jaw clenches. Haymitch had to have been lying. I've seen the other people who Haymitch counsels, and they're all varying degrees of broken. Me being among the most damaged. Peeta. . . he just can't belong.
When we reach our lockers, my moves are robotic as I get lost in my thoughts. It happens more often nowadays.
"Katniss?"
I jump, looking at the owner of the voice in great disapproval.
"Sorry," Peeta says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted to know if you needed a ride home."
I shake my head before making my way to the doors.
Peeta Mellark. . . captain of the wrestling and baseball teams, soon-to-be owner of the Mellark Bakery, award-winning artist, contender for valedictorian, most popular and sought after boy at Panem High School. . . he's the poster boy for perfect.
"Oof," escapes past my lips as I run into the back of a tall, lanky guy.
When he turns, I'm met with the cold eyes of Marvel. "Everdeen."
I try to move around him, but he inevitably blocks me.
"I think you owe me an apology."
Looking into his eyes, though his face serious, I see amusement. My blood begins to boil.
"Come on, neither of us is gonna leave 'till I get one." He says tiredly. A giggle from a busty blonde behind him angers me even more.
Crossing my arms, I stand straighter in front of him, shrugging. Guess we're staying for the weekend.
"Get out of her way, Marvel."
We both turn to see Peeta giving him an annoyed look. I turn back around to see Marvel's annoyed stare. The blonde says something about him always ruining the fun and sending him a wink before they make their way out of the building.
Irritated, I pull my bag closer to me before making my own way out. I could've handled him on my own. I always have.
A warm hand lays on my shoulder. I shake it off. Not caring who it is. "Katniss?" But I can't seem to deny the owner of this voice.
Slowing, I look up at Peeta as he places himself next to me.
"I'm taking you home."
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes as I walk faster. I don't need his help. I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own the past six—
A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at the feel of Peeta's hand wrapped around mine. He's pulls me back, and I try tugging it back.
"I'm taking you home." He says, reluctantly letting go of my hand. I catch myself when my fingers try to find their way back to his own full of warmth and comfort.
I just nod my head. Feeling the pleasure from his satisfied smile course through me like morphling. What is it about Peeta Mellark that I just can't resist? I let go what happened when we were kids years ago.
When we reach my house, I rush to unbuckle my seatbelt. If my grandmother sees me associating with other people, she's going to want to meet and obsess over them.
Quickly, I take out my whiteboard and scribble thank you before exiting the car.
"You're always welcome." I hear, and look up to see him contemplating something. I try my best to hold the scowl that threatens to arise, but it does so anyway. And he sees it. I purse my lips before making my way into my house.
"Katniss!" My grandmother's voice echoes. "Who was that?"
I try to hurry up and go to my room—because it's an unspoken rule that no one can ever enter my room no matter what—but she beats me before I can reach my door.
"Not right now, missy. This is good! I can't wait to tell Dr. Aurelius about this! Why don't I just phone him right now—"
I go around her and speed off to my room, slamming the door shut firmly behind me and applying the lock. Everything, everything I do is documented by my grandmother. She never tried before but now it's as if she actually cares, and I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of complying. There's nothing wrong with me. Why can't she just accept that?
Dr. Aurelius has told her just about every time I've been forced to go see him—it's the only thing I've even remotely agreed with.
She'll speak when she's ready.
A/N ~ From the moment this idea came to mind, I've been so excited to release it. I'm very happy with what's out so far, and am excited for you all to read more. My plan for this is to not exceed twenty chapters, but still leave you all very satisfied with the story, and especially the ending. It's going to start slow, of course, but just hang in there. I uploaded this much later in the day than intended but I couldn't stop reading it over and over in case I had to make any revisions, haha! (:
Be sure to check out my other work in the meantime!
With love, Daisy
Posted: July 30th, 2016