I sit silently, while gazing out of my living room window, watching as the sun makes its first appearance on the horizon. It glows a brilliant orange, its arms reaching out to caress the great expanse. The hue of the sky goes through subtle changes until it settles on a pristine blue.
Some might say it's beautiful. I deem it the better of two evils.
The night, and what it brings, is gone, and for that I am glad. I hadn't been able to fall asleep last night. I wish I could blame the stifling summer heat that has arisen, but I know the truth. The nightmares have grown in severity, leaving me restless and on edge, afraid to close my eyes for fear of being lost forever amongst the horrors.
Drifting off into unconsciousness is when I am least safe. It is then when I am most fragile and too weak to ward off the evil that is always surrounding me.
I shift my gaze to the immediate scenery, the primrose bushes. They are now in full bloom. My heart seizes within my chest and I am once again reminded that the day also brings to light certain memories. It seems as though I cannot fully escape the recollections of everything that has taken place.
Buttercup appears in this moment and leaps onto the armrest of the chair I am currently seated in. He rubs his mangy nose on my shoulder and purrs softly. I pick him up gently and place him on my lap, nuzzling my face against his coarse fur.
I am too tired to really cry, but a few determined tears manage to break loose and sneak their way down my face. Buttercup lets out a pitiful meow and licks up some of the salty drops from my cheeks. I give him an extra caress or two before straying out of time and place, chasing figments of my imagination on an endless journey of pain.
Greasy Sae finds us like this. She calls out a hello but I make no effort to answer. I'm still deep in my somber thoughts.
At first, Buttercup is content to sit but soon he bolts from within my grasp and I can hear him hiss as he quickly makes his way upstairs. Coming out of my dismal musings, I turn my head and see Audra, the simple-minded grandchild of Greasy Sae, standing in the doorway with a slight frown. Words begin to formulate and I speak.
"Don't mind him, he's just temperamental," I tell her, in an attempt to explain his indifference. "He never really liked me either, but he came around" I add, hoping to satisfy her and wipe the grimace from her face.
She doesn't respond right away but when she does she sounds adamant towards her cause.
"I want a cat," she states, glancing longingly at the staircase Buttercup ascended moments before.
"I'm sure you could find a stray one wandering around the district," I say, trying to placate her.
"I want that cat," she points to upstairs and I am surprised.
If she had asked for Buttercup a year ago I would have gladly given him and his putrid coloured eyes away without a second thought. But, recently he's become special to me and I know I wouldn't be able to let him and his tattered ear go.
"Now, now, Audra," Greasy Sae intercedes, "Katniss isn't going to give you her cat."
"But Nana, why not?!" Audra whines.
Her complaints end promptly and she knows that she won't be getting her way when she notices her grandmother's convincingly stern look.
"Come and help me in the kitchen, Audra." Greasy Sae softly tugs at her hand and she ruefully complies.
I am left alone, once more, with nothing to occupy myself. I contemplate going to help Greasy Sae and Audra, but I can't find the energy. So I sit and continue to stare out the window at the steadily brightening scenery. My thoughts wander and soon I can barely register the sounds emanating from the kitchen.
Eventually I find that my eyelids are drooping and my head is beginning to nod incessantly. I haven't had a proper sleep since the week before, the night that Peeta found me on the floor of the study.
I rearrange myself on the chair, so that my head is resting on my arm. I blink a few times before my eyes slip shut of their own accord. I tell myself that I am only resting my eyes briefly and that I am not going to fall asleep.
I'm on the brink of unconsciousness when I hear my name.
"Katniss? Katniss?" It's Audra.
"Hmm?" I respond groggily, slowly opening my eyes. I'm almost completely thankful, but not quite, that I've been saved from sleep and what it inevitably brings.
"Whatever has happened to your hair?" This comment leaves me momentarily confused and I find myself reaching up to run my hands through the uneven strands.
When I first returned to District 12, I had patches of hair missing and those hairs that were left barely extended to my ears. I have made no attempt to fix it, but it has grown in and begun to lengthen.
"It was burned, along with the rest of me," I finally say.
I feel hands running lightly over my scalp and through the tangled mess atop my head. It feels good. I hadn't consciously comprehended just how much I'd been missing and craving human contact.
"Oh, so those spots on your face and arms…they're burns? I thought you painted yourself," Audra giggles and I try not to show the sting of pain these comments evoke in me.
I've avoided mirrors at all cost since my return. Even a quick glimpse of my reflection in the window can sometimes send me into hysterics. Those are the terrible days. The days where I realize that I finally resemble the monster I really am. They are the days where I am quick to shut out the world by hiding myself in the empty pantry or the upstairs closet.
It's at those specific times when I believe my outward appearance reflects my inner demons and I feel horribly ugly.
"You're beautiful," she adds as she continues to softly stroke the contours of my face.
I am beautiful? My mind scoffs at this preposterous idea. I am not beautiful.
I try as hard as I can to suppress the self-deprecating thoughts, but to no avail. I feel the anger begin to flare as I can't help but find fault with myself. A compilation of sleepless nights, hopeless mornings and absolute self-loathing causes my self-control to snap.
I roughly grab Audra's hands and pull them away from my face. "Leave me alone, now!" I scream, getting up from my chair and turning to face her.
Her statements regarding my self-image make me almost as mad as Greasy Sae's sympathy has. What do they know?
Audra does nothing but stare, her big, wide eyes looking sadly up at me. I hear Greasy Sae yelling something from the garden in the backyard but I ignore it. "I said leave!" I shout again and this time it is emphasized with a push to her shoulders.
Audra stumbles backwards and lands hard on the floor. It only takes a second for her to start crying and that's when I fully realize what I've done. I've hurt poor, innocent Audra. I hear Greasy Sae's firm footsteps hastily approaching.
So I do what I'm best at. I run. I guess I am my mother's daughter after all, I think cynically.
I quickly make my way down the main hall and stumble across the door which leads to the cellar. I swing it open and the darkness looms, ready to engulf me. I momentarily pause, weighing the options of either hiding in this forsaken area of the house or facing the truth.
I plunge into the blackness and decide that I'm tired of facing the truth. I was foolish to think I ever could.
I quietly shut the door, and rush down the stairs. I curl up into myself and huddle at the very back of the cellar. I have a brief sense of déjà vu. I faintly recall breaking into one of the empty Victor houses on the night they announced the Quarter Quell and hiding in a similar enclosure.
My eyes close as I try and perceive any movements or sounds of pursuit. It takes everything in me to remind myself that I am not in an arena awaiting my death. When I don't hear anything, I realize that Greasy Sae is probably only interested in comforting Audra at this time.
I wait in the dampness for what seems like forever when surely it's only been about ten minutes. By the end of that time frame, upstairs has become eerily quiet and all I can hear is my heart beating and my lungs expelling breath.
I'm beginning to think I've become lost in one of my nightmares when I hear two sets of footfalls near the front entrance, and then the slam of the front door. I breathe in a sigh of relief. They're gone. I unfurl myself on the floor and wipe the sweat from my grimy palms.
My relief is short-lived.
Not even two minutes later I hear the front door swing open with a bang. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest and it's as if there are drums pounding within my ears. My palms become clammy once more and my breathing accelerates until it's ragged and fast. It seems like an exaggerated response, but my body is so used to fearing for my life that it is easily sent into survival mode.
I try pursing my lips and breathing as if I'm sucking on a straw. This allows for a more controlled flow of oxygen into my lungs and helps me to calm down enough to listen somewhat attentively to the ongoing confrontation upstairs. There appears to be two people shouting things at each other.
"She can't go around shoving people and losing her temper, especially when it comes to my granddaughter," someone says haughtily. I determine this to be Greasy Sae.
"She's been through a lot," His deep, grumbling voice gives him away. I am convinced that Haymitch's voice can carry through anything.
"I thought she was going to get help, where is this Dr. A-something-or-other? I can't keep dealing with her outbursts. She scares me sometimes. I hate to say it, but I think her silence and unwillingness to do anything was better than this. She's started to feel again, but it's all of the wrong emotions…"
Greasy Sae keeps speaking but I tune out. Who decides what emotions I can or cannot feel? Only I can, and I can't find it in me to feel anything good. What is good about this world?
I pull myself up off the floor and blindly find the bottom landing of the stairs. I still hear voices but I'm not paying enough attention to comprehend what they are saying. I quickly maneuver myself up the flight of stairs and crack the door open. I glance through the small slit and the light momentarily stings my unprepared eyes. When I've adjusted, I notice that Haymitch and Greasy Sae are still in a heated argument at the end of the hallway.
"She's like a ticking time bomb! I'm just waiting for the day she goes ballistic and doesn't come back to reality!" At this point in the conversation, I deem it time to interrupt.
"Why don't you find somewhere, that's not my house, to scream and yell at each other," I begin dully as I swing the creaky cellar door completely open.
As I walk towards where the pair are currently standing at the end of the hallway, I open my mouth to speak again but am quickly cut off by Greasy Sae.
"What the hell were you thinking earlier, young lady?" She demands my answer.
I wait, avoiding eye contact and choosing not to respond.
"Don't you dare play mute again! Given what I've done for you, you owe me at least an explanation as to why you would want to hurt Audra." She crosses her bony arms over her chest and stares me down beseechingly.
"Don't speak to me as if I were a child" is all I mumble, aggravated by her interrogation.
"Well, you certainly acted like one prior to this conversation." Greasy Sae replies stiffly.
Haymitch just stares. I bet he's wishing he were somewhere else entirely. I am too.
"You're not my mother so just -" I'm interrupted once more.
"I might as well be."
The room grows distinctly quieter and the noise of multiple house clocks chiming in harmony becomes somewhat amplified. My fists clench, my jaw tightens and I lock eyes with Greasy Sae.
I then unleash some of my suppressed frustrations, fears and thoughts that have been nagging on me and circulating in my brain for a while now.
"No, you might as well not be! You'll never be my mother. I don't even know why you're here! I never asked you to come and take care of me, so, if you don't like me, get out!"
I continue, too flustered to stop.
"What, did she pay you or something? Did my mother pay you to watch over me? If she did, just forget about it!" I scream.
"Or was it the government? You know, I'm not really used to following government laws so you don't have to come here anymore! I'll break a few more rules and perhaps this time I'll finally get the death penalty!"
There is now absolute silence. The ticking of the clocks becomes radically louder until it's almost too much to bear.
"She's just looking out for you, Sweetheart." His voice cuts through the quiet like a knife and I'm surprised at how even it is.
I turn towards him, ready to give him what for.
"And what about you, Haymitch?" I question, "What are you doing? Are you looking out for me?" I ask imploringly before I continue releasing all of my constrained and bottle-upped emotions.
When he doesn't respond, I don't hold back.
" I've seen you twice in the last few months! You were my mentor! You're supposed to help me and you're supposed to care! I thought you cared."
There's a momentary gap between sentences as my voice catches on the word cared. I don't want to be thought of as weak, though, so I keep going.
"But, apparently I'm not as important as the next shipment of booze. Let's face it, most of the time you're just a revolting, fowl-smelling drunkard with no time for anything but the bottle."
My last words are harsh, but they slip out of my mouth before I can catch them.
As I finish, I realize that my finger nails have been digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. I also can't stop the shaking in my arms and legs. The last thing I want right now is company. Embarrassed by my blatant expressions of honesty I just want Greasy Sae and Haymitch to leave so that I can compose myself.
"Get out!" I exclaim, but both of them stay exactly where they are, their expressions deadpan.
And so I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing I'm good at doing. I escape; I evade; I run from the situation. I grab my coat, bag and boots before opening my front door. If they won't leave, I will.
As I open the door, I take a deep breath in and smell a pungent, flowery aroma. I feel a light breeze tickle my face and the sun's rays caress my skin. Everything in the outside world is alive. I look around and see the lush green grass emerging from the earth, the tiny droplets of water gathered on the plant leaves and the birds hopping around the yard searching for worms.
Everything inside of me is dead. I search deep within and can't seem to figure out how I can live another minute in this world. I feel angry, empty, hopeless and alone. I glance back at Greasy Sae and Haymitch one more time and then step out onto the porch before my resolve to leave is crushed.
I slam the door and stride down the front steps, unsure of what to do next. I step out onto the middle of the road that runs along the green and just stand for a few moments gazing at the horizon, my mind completely blank. And then I turn, picking a random direction and start walking, boots in hand.
Halfway down the street, I begin to feel dizzy. The anger has abated and I'm once again feeling awkwardly fragile. Each step becomes harder, and it's as if someone has laden me with a very heavy burden. The world begins to spin, and I attempt to take slow, deep breaths as I walk.
I make it all the way down to the end of the Victor's Village, where the empty Victor houses stand, before I faint. My head strikes the pavement hard and I feel a wet, sticky substance begin to ooze from my forehead. Then I'm sucked into unconsciousness.
Specks of light are rapidly turning into streaks, creating cracks in the darkness and the world begins to shine through. As my eyelids flutter, shapes begin to converge. There's a large shadow in the left half of my blurred vision. I squint hard to try and bring the object into focus.
I slowly ease my way into consciousness and gradually gain my vision back, only to find I'm lying on a hardwood floor and Peeta is hovering over top of me. His tongue is sticking out of the right corner of his mouth, his hands are fumbling around my head and he appears to be extremely concentrated.
It takes a full minute to realize he's attempting to tie a bandage around my head. I can't help but giggle as I see the intense focus in his eyes. When he notices I'm coming to, he immediately stops and sits up, awkwardly shuffling back.
"Where are you goin' ?" I drawl out. Now I sound like a drunkard.
"Are you feeling alright?" He asks, and in the back of my mind I realize why he is so hesitant. But, currently, I don't seem to feel the same way. I must have a concussion.
"I'm perfectly fine," I state and then I attempt to sit up. Dizziness ensues and Peeta is just fast enough to catch me. He cradles my head in his hands and then slowly lays my head onto his lap. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again.
"Have you eaten anything today?"
"No," As I'm saying this, he's already reaching over to grab something off of a side table.
I try to sit up again, and this time I am more successful. Peeta supports my arm and helps me over to a couch. He hands me two cheese buns, which I greedily accept, and holds out a steaming cup of hot chocolate. After a generous sip, I sigh contentedly.
Peeta takes a seat on the cushion furthest from me. It's at this point that I start to wonder where I am. But as I take in my surroundings, it's obvious. The artwork that adorns the walls is astounding. There are so many different colours and shapes and textures. It's exquisite. It's breathtaking. It's Peeta.
I look over at him, and see that he is cautiously staring at me. I smile. The smallest of smiles graces his features and then disappears. I bite into my cheese bun, taking another large sip of my hot beverage and lean back into the couch, closing my eyes.
"Mmm, so good" I mumble appreciatively before adding, "You can still bake well."
"I just warmed it up," is all he says.
"So it's not fresh?!" I joke, pretending to look shocked. But he doesn't laugh.
"It's from the Capitol," he eventually says.
"Oh," I say, at a loss for words. "Have you baked at all since you've been back in 12?"
"Have you hunted at all since you've been back in 12?" he retorts.
Heavy silence hangs in the air. But then he starts again, this time gentler. "I've tried, a few times, but it took so much…so much." I think he's going to continue, but then he stops speaking.
I think back to last week when Greasy Sae put out a fresh loaf on my table that was so clearly Peeta's bread. It took so much effort, emotion and love on his part to create and craft this something beautiful and full of meaning. And I threw it at a window.
I've hurt Peeta without him even knowing it. Or maybe he does know it and he's just being his typical self by forgiving me anyways. When will I stop owing this boy? The resounding answer is never. How can I help him when I don't even deserve to be near him?
Maybe I have a moment of bravery, but more likely it's the potential concussion, that gives me the courage to try the task of helping him a whirl.
"Does it make you think of them? Baking that is?" I inwardly chastise myself for asking this kind of a question to start, but it seems I can't control my tongue. I definitely have a concussion.
Too bad I can't blame the concussion for my previous conversations this morning I think, before turning my full attention to Peeta. I wait but don't expect an answer. Of course he surprises me.
"I never got to say goodbye."
"Maybe it's easier that way."
"I don't know."
"Me neither."
"At least you've got your mom, right?"
"Sometimes I think it would have been easier if my mom had died too. Prim left me because she had no choice. If my mother had died, she wouldn't have had a choice either. But she lived, and she chose to live without me. And that hurts, almost as much as losing my sister."
I'm picking at my second cheese bun, unsure of what I'm doing. I can't look at him. Not after what I've just said. I was supposed to be helping him, but, as always, it's already come full circle and I'm the one talking about my problems. I close my eyes, willing the tears to stay away, but still I feel them coming on.
Damn concussion.
Strong, gentle hands clasp mine, removing the crumbling remains of food, before soothingly stroking the backs of my hands. I feel Peeta move closer until his body is brushing lightly against mine. I turn towards him, still avoiding eye contact. One of his hands moves until he has two fingers placed under my chin. He gently tilts it upwards, and I have no choice but to look into his cerulean eyes.
"It's not your fault, you know. None of this is your fault, Katniss" he whispers, as he drops his hand to my shoulder where he continues his comforting strokes. I'm not sure what exactly isn't my fault but his words are assuaging nonetheless.
His forehead tentatively comes down to lean against mine and I hear his shaky intakes of breath. I'm sure mine are just as shaky. My eyes are welling with unshod tears but I'm hesitant to give in.
"It's ok to let go," he states in a small voice, as if reading my mind, and any attempts to hide my feelings vanish.
I swallow thickly as the tears start to make their way down my cheeks. I pull away briefly and my hands find their way to Peeta's face. I barely manage to choke out a message of my own in between my ever-loudening sobs.
"It's not your fault either, Peeta." As I say it, his glassy eyes meet mine and I see the grief mirrored there.
"Let go," I murmur.
His eyes are now overflowing with tears, his sobs match mine and so I do the only thing I can think of.
I hold him. And he holds me. I can't make it better, but I can understand. Wrapped in each other's embrace we let ourselves cry.