Thanks for all the nice reviews! More to come very soon!
My hand comes to a rest at my side. What have I done? I need to avoid making Peeta's life harder. It will only cause him pain. I need to go.
But before I leave, I hear the sound of a blow, something tearing. A frustrated yell comes from the center of the house. An object crashes to the floor.
Another yell. Another crash.
The sound pulls me toward the door. I hesitantly twist the knob and pull. It's unlocked. I step inside.
The entryway is dark, except for the small light coming from at the end of the hallway. I step across in my bare feet, blind. I reach the light and stand in the doorway. There are canvases everywhere. They're colored with paint, but most of the paintings seem unfinished. The vivid pictures are of Disitrict 12, the Capitol, tracker jackers, fires. There are people, too. Darius and Lavinia, being tortured in the Capitol. His family, burning to death in the bakery. A young Delly Cartwright, fashioning a disproportionate man out of dough. Then, of course, there's me.
I can tell he's still not sure of anything. Shiny images are mixed in with real ones. To my left, there's one of me, standing at the Cornucopia in a blue jumpsuit, raising a bow to my shoulder. Right beside it, I'm hovering above him in a white cell, holding a syringe filled with green liquid, a demonic grin on my face.
A shuffling sound makes me turn swiftly to the right. Peeta is sitting on a stool, facing away from me, head hunched over. Lying on the floor beside him is an easel, a painting resting on it. It's of me, on the Capitol train during the Victory Tour. The canvas has been pierced by a paintbrush.
I slowly step out of the room, but my foot catches on an easel, making me crash to the floor. Peeta's head jerks up, and he stands up instantly, making the stool fall. He turns to me, but I have crawled into the hallway, melting into the shadows. The pain in his eyes makes me wince.
"Hello?" Peeta calls.
Of course, there's no answer.
He runs his hand though his hair, then walks to the kitchen. I softly stand up and tiptoe out the door, shutting it silently. Rushing across the green, my feet get soaked in the water left from the rain we had yesterday. When I get to my house, I sit at the kitchen table. There's no danger of sleep now. I sit, motionless, until the sun comes up. I think the same thought over and over again, until it fills my head with a hopeless drone, on and on.
He's worse. Much worse. How can I help him?
So, yeah. Sorry it's so short. Keep on reviewin' and more to come in a few days