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Chapter 7
The next evening, I slipped under the fence and back to the Hob. On the other side of the entrance, I could hear the voices of Peacekeepers bartering with the vendors. Instead of walking in, I hid around the corner of the building, pressed back deep in the shadows. My hand rested on my throwing knives, ready to defend myself if it became necessary.
Minutes passed by. Eventually they left, laughing and drinking, as they made their way back to their posts. I waited until they were out of sight and earshot, before sliding into the building. I went back to Dom's booth, traded for more dried goods, then ventured over to Jessral's for the rumored bread.
Her bread baskets were empty. "Peacekeepers," she shrugged. Glancing around, she snuck me a sly smile, revealed a loaf hidden under the blanket on her lap. "I thought you might come by, so I saved you one."
"How much?"
"A rabbit. Add two squirrels, and I'll toss in a crock of honey-butter."
I hesitated, thoroughly tempted despite the outrageous price. It's been so long since I've tasted butter. I did a mental count of how much game I had left. I could not spare any rabbit. I countered, "Three squirrels, two quails."
"Deal," she wrapped the bread in paper and filled a small jar with honey-butter. As we traded goods, she smiled, "come in fall, maybe there will be pumpkin cake."
The tailor saw me coming, sent her grandson to retrieve the coat I requested. I gave her the three rabbits, as promised. Her grandson came back and gave her a large leather backpack, then waited to see what would happen. With a casual wave of her arm, she dismissed him.
"As requested," she pulled out the deer hide parka for me to examine. Soft dark tan exterior, the inside completely lined with rabbit fur, hood trimmed with rare black fox fur. I fingered the buttons, an ornate pattern carved into the rich dark red wood.
"They're from Huldor."
I glanced over at the scruffy red-haired man; he watched us anxiously. I raised my hand to him, a gesture he mirrored, relief evident on his face. The tailor folded the coat up and put it in the backpack before handing the entire package over to me.
"How much for-"
"Take it. There is something extra inside as well." Looking me straight in the eye, she added, "I hope it fits."
I tried not to let my voice reveal how wary I had become. Smoothly, I replied, "I'm sure it will." I swung the strap over my shoulder and walked out. Once safely off the ground, I rummaged to the bottom of the backpack, to see what this 'something extra' was. I pulled out two sets of men's clothes: shirts, sweaters, pants, boxers, socks. My heart thudded in my chest. She knows. She knows Peeta is with me. Quickly I stuffed it back in, as if doing so would make it disappear. So I could pretend nothing happened, and maybe, I would fool myself into believing that the tailor knew nothing. It did not work.
That night, I barely slept. Unease filled every corner of my mind. I dozed lightly, one eye open, ears alert to the slightest sound. By the time the sky began to turn from black to hazy grey, I was up and packed. Before life in the District began I was already making my way back home.
Worn out and weighed down, the trip seemed a lot longer than before. I munched on what was left of the nuts and fruit I originally brought, and dreamed hungrily of toast with honey-butter. Closer to home, I checked the snares I had set before I left. One was set off and empty, the other had a strangled rabbit, partially eaten and rotting in the summer heat. A swarm of flies shot up as I untangled it and threw it away into the bush.
I was upset. Waste of food. Why didn't he check the traps? I told him that was what they were there for. Swallowing back indignation, I continued up and over the hill. As soon as I was halfway down, the front door swung wide open, Peeta limped out waving and shouting my name, "Welcome back Rayne!"
"Shut up Peeta!" I bolted down the hill and fairly tackled him back into the house. He fell down; I whirled and shut the door as fast as I could. "What do you think you're doing!"
"I was –"
"Half the forest now knows where we are. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"Were you being chased?"
" you don't know that." I sighed in frustration, dumped my bags on the ground. "What if it wasn't me coming down the hill? You'd be dead because you welcomed someone into my home with open arms!"
"Oh come on Rayne, not everyone is like that." He used his cane to push himself to his feet, brushed the dust from his pants.
"That's your problem Peeta: you put too much stock in the goodness of other people."
"And you don't put any." He retorted. "Have some faith in humanity."
"I can't. I was never born with any. And I stopped trusting people a long time ago." I turned, unlacing the straps to the backpack.
"You trust me."
Looking over my shoulder, I cast him an amused smile. "Oh really? And how can you be so sure?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"I think you confused my assistance to yourself for trust."I pulled out the coat and shoved it roughly into his chest. "The fact remains: I don't know if I can trust you or not. And you probably shouldn't trust me."
He blinked, then looked down at what I left in his hands. "What is this?"
"Winter parka," I growled, unpacking the rest of the supplies. "It gets cold in winter around here."
"Thanks." Then he smirked, "so you don't trust me, huh?"
I disregarded his comment, and changed the subject. "Hunger Games finished."
"What happened? Did you hear? Who won?" anxiously, he sat down.
"Your girlfriend." Behind me, I heard him breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness." He muttered under his breath, before adding, "I guess I won't need the coat then."
I shot him a curious glance. I leaned back against the counter, knowing where this conversation was headed.
"The Games are finished. I can go home. You can have this place to yourself again."
"You can't go back." I said bluntly.
"I'm sorry . . . what?"
"You can't go back home."
"Why not?"
"They announced you were dead. Remember: they fired the cannons. You're dead." I did not know how more simply I could put it.
"I could say they made a mistake. They never found me, they can't confirm anything."
"You can't lie your way out of this one Peeta."
"Sure I can." Panic set in. He grasped at straws, trying to think how he could play this out, "I was attacked, my arm wounded, the tracker fell out. I dragged myself to a cave, hid there while the games played out. I could have been knocked unconscious. I could –"
"If you go back they'll kill you." I snapped. "They will kill you. They won't even hesitate."
"And how can I trust you?" he shot back, using my words against me. "For all I know, you have your own agenda. Why are you keeping me here, really?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive!"
"For what? I was taught that Districtless were cruel to their captives, doing all kinds of unspeakable –"
"You don't know anything!" I growled.
"Then enlighten me. How do you know they'll kill me if I go back?"
"Because they've done it before!" I shouted. My throat tightened as buried memories rose to the surface. But I would not cry, I would not break down and let him see me cry. "They've done it before."
Peeta was not expecting this, I could tell. Try as I might, I was unable to keep the emotion out of my voice. He picked up on that. In return, his demeanor softened, voice became gentle. "What happened?"
Before I could stop myself, I told him, "There was a girl . . . seven years ago." I can't believe it's been that long already. "Seven years ago, I entered the Hunger Games arena and found a girl. Her name was Naomi. She wasn't hurt too bad, just slowly starving to death. I remember thinking she was smart: she buried herself under dirt and debris for days at a time, was able to steal from other tributes occasionally. She knew there was no way she would make it. But she was so kind. So soft-spoken. She couldn't hurt a mouse."
Her face painted itself in the air before me. The same one that would start off my nightmares every evening. Pale skinned, reddish-blonde curls, small snub nose. And those dark green eyes that followed me everywhere. When I continued, my voice sounded pained, even to my own ears. "I saved her. Like I saved you. I took her out of the arena with me and hid. I wasn't living here at the time. I was closer to District 9. Everything was fine. They assumed she died, eaten by Muttations. The cannon was sounded. I took care of her." I looked him in the eye, "I loved her like a sister. I did everything for her."
Here my voice cracked. Peeta waited patiently for me to continue. I tried to put my walls back up. I made myself speak bitterly. "I gave her everything I could. But it wasn't enough."
"Go on," he coaxed tenderly.
"Months after the games ended, she changed. She became sad, talked about her family more and more. I was losing her slowly. And then one day I woke up, and she was gone. I tracked her down, followed her through the forest . . ." I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat. It all came out in a rush, pitch escalating with each sentence, "She made it back to the Capitol. Peacekeepers stopped her at the edge of the city, she explained that she escaped the arena and had been hiding in the forest. All she wanted was to see her family! One of the Peacekeepers spoke into a communication device. He got his orders! He turned and shot her while she wasn't even looking!"
Peeta's face paled. I was fairly shrieking at this point. "They killed her Peeta! They killed her, and I watched, and I did nothing to stop it!"
"There was nothing you could do Rayne."
"Don't you dare try to sympathize with me this time Peeta! You're not the one who has to watch her die again and again, over and over, every night of your life!" I squeezed my eyes shut, sunk down on the floor, head in my hands. Relating the event out loud gave it new depth and meaning. It left the memory fresh, raw and stinging in my mind. "Every night I see her standing there, clutching the bullet wound in her chest. Looking for me in the forest to . . . to come save her." I raised my head, staring blankly ahead, tears stinging but not falling, "Every night I watch that Peacekeeper walk up to her and finish her off with a bullet to her head."
Peeta was silent, still as stone at the table. I took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself. I stood and went over to where he sat. "I couldn't even say goodbye. They took her away from me Peeta. And I promised myself I wouldn't let them take anyone else if I could help it."
"I . . . I didn't know Rayne . . ."
"Well now you do." I looked down, my next words filled with scorn, "So don't you tell me the Districtless are the cruel ones."
After a moment of silent contemplation, Peeta voiced the bottom line: "I can't leave."
"Oh you can leave. Anytime you want." He looked up at me in surprise, so I finished my thought, "You just can't step foot into any district or the Capitol. You don't have to stay here with me. But you can't go home."
Peeta was silent for the rest of the evening. His face did not register anything, it was impossible to know how he was feeling. We ate our bread and butter with little enjoyment. When we went to bed, he simply turned his back to me.
That night I woke in a cold sweat. I sat bolt upright, gasping for air. Rubbing my chest painfully, I winced and tried to calm myself. Moonlight streamed in through the window, giving life to the shadows hiding in the corners. I looked over at Peeta, who I thought was asleep.
His eyelids flickered open and held my gaze. "You okay?"
I nodded. Groggily, he sat up with me. "Bad dreams?" I did not answer him, so he asked, "Was it that girl? Naomi?"
"Not just her. There are so many others. . ."
This time he did not say anything. Just sat in silence, allowing me to settle down. Eventually, he touched my shoulder, "I never did thank you for the parka."
I pulled away from his touch, hugged my knees instead, and shrugged. "You'll need it."
"I know. Thank you. It's just . . ." he struggled for the right words, "it's going to take me a while to accept that I can't go home. To adjust to all this. It's a change for me."
"You'll get used to it."
"I know I will. But you just have to give me some time to get used to the idea." he paused, waited expectantly for me to say something. When I did not, he continued, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I replied flatly, knowing full well he meant talk about my nightmares.
"Do you want me to do anything for you? To help you sleep?"
I hesitated, thinking back to when my fingers brushed his shoulders all those nights ago. How solidly grounded I felt for that brief moment. "Just lay next to me." I looked at him, and added suddenly, "Please."
He tried to hide the smile on his face, "I think that's the first time I've heard you say that word."
I grunted in response as we lay down beside each other. We stared at the ceiling, each put at ease by the other's presence. After what seemed like hours, Peeta asked, in a sleepy voice, "What did you mean when you said, 'there were so many others'?"
"I will tell you tomorrow," I lied, hoping he would forget by morning. I felt his head nod, and he drifted off to sleep. As I watched him, I wondered what it would be like to go to bed every night and just sleep. To not be tormented by dark visions, or see the people you loved die again and again. To dream dreams with happy endings. I tried to focus my mind on something good and beautiful, hoping it would infiltrate and change my nightmares into something more positive.
Try as I might, I could not think of a single thing. Dwelling on pleasant memories pained me, because they still ended in tragedy. All I had was the here and now: that I was alive one more day, with enough food to eat and shelter over my head. But you have Peeta, a nagging voice suggested. Inside my head, I laughed cynically at myself. I had Peeta as company – for now. Until the next catastrophe took him from me. no, it was better if I did not consider him as something good that happened to me. I had learned from my past mistakes, and was not one to blindly repeat them. This time, I would keep my distance.
