come back into the good life
lose these hazy love lines
i've been chasing my mind
lonely in the cold nights
'cos i'm kicking up stones without you
can't pick up the phone without you
i'm a little bit lost without you
without you
she doesn't realise her hands are shaking until she drops the soap.
it lands on the tiled shower floor with a loud thud that jerks her out of the thoughts she didn't realise she'd slipped into. she's slammed back down to reality without mercy and it hurts, but outwardly all she does is blink a few times - a ghost of a girl with hair drenched into rat-tails, staring into nothing but space. she looks around her, rolling the stiffness from her neck from where she had been gazing down at the floor, and peers out of the window. she's startled to find the sky an inky black, because when she first stepped into the shower candy pinks were just beginning to taint the light blue canvas.
the next thing she notices is how icy cold the water is; it numbs the skin that it trails down, droplets tracing over goose bumps and scars and freckles. she takes a deep, stuttering, breath and shuts the shower off. the sudden silence that envelopes her house is startling and foreign but she chastises herself for being weak and cowardly and marches out into the hallway, towel draped loosely around her torso.
her bedroom feels too large, too empty, but she forces herself to step into it and climb into her too-large and too-empty bed. she misses him, misses his warmth and his concerned eyes and his soft hair; she misses his smirk and lazy insults and strength. she misses him next to her in her old bed, her old house, arm slung over her stomach and chin hooked over her shoulder.
she misses him so much she feels like she's missing a part of herself.
she can't do menial tasks - cooking feels too tiring without him swaying around the kitchen, critiquing her skills with a shine in his eye. training brings her no joy anymore, because he's not around to challenge her, to compete against her with a determined smile. cleaning is now a chore, without him using a broom as a microphone or with a lacy white apron around his waist, bringing tears of laughter to her eyes. she feels like she can't do anything because they did everything together, and it just doesn't feel the same.
she killed the everdeen girl in a fit of rage and revenge, piercing her olive skin with her silver knife over, and over, and over again. looking back now, as she lies in a king-sized bed and stares up at the ceiling, she doesn't think it was worth it. killing her did nothing to bring back the boy everdeen had killed, her cursed arrow finding home in his tanned neck. she thinks maybe, she should have let the other girl win. that way it would be her crying into her breakfast and it would be her who walks around like she has chains on her feet and weights in her mind.
the grey days drag on, eventually blurring into each other. and nothing changes.