Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own the Hunger Games. The story and its characters belong to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins. However, I do like to dream about marrying a fellow as swell as Peeta or about being as courageous as Katniss.

I know author's notes suck, so I'll make it short. Thank you so much to the readers who have posted reviews. I'm really excited to have folks following this story, and the reviews are motivation to continue writing. I originally thought I'd write for myself—since Suzanne Collins never wrote a fourth book—but I'm thrilled that others bother to read. With that said… On to chapter seven!


In some ways, I believe writing about Prim helped begin the process of closure to her tragic and untimely death. It was something I hadn't really talked about with anyone, not even Dr. Aurelius. But in other ways, writing of her death stirred feelings I had suppressed in the months since the tragedy. My life, which I had slowly started putting back together, begins to spin out of control so rapidly that no one saw it coming.

I don't eat. Sae manages to coax a drink of water most days, but I refuse her food and tea, much to her dismay. I don't bathe, and I never change my clothes. My skin grafts become irritated and red, most likely infected from poor care. My hair became greasy, then a tangled rats nest. I don't go out to the woods. In fact, the furthest I travel is from my bed to the bathroom. I am plagued by endless nightmares, in which everyone I love dies, again and again. And just like the weeks following Prim's death, I don't speak. I am mute in my grief. I spend my time studying the ceiling, the wall, my fingernails, the bed sheets… staring for hours, but seeing nothing at all.

Sae checks on me several times per day, bringing me water and foods that sit on the nightstand uneaten. She offers small encouragements. "It's a beautiful day outside, girl. Ought to get out of here. Get some sun."

Peeta comes to check on me, but like Sae, I barely acknowledge his presence. I know he is worried, but I am too selfish to reassure him that things will be okay. I couldn't honestly tell him that, because I don't think they will. How can a world where Prim no longer exists be alright? I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze. This is a battle I must fight alone. Sometimes he reads aloud to be from books, like Journey to the Center of the Earth or Oliver Twist. Though I don't tell him so, I am glad for this; it helps me to put my mind somewhere else, if only temporarily. Sometimes, when I wake from my nightmares, he is there, sitting with his back against the headboard. He soothes me in a soft voice, stroking my hair and my back. But as the days wear on, Peeta comes less and less. His absence makes the void in my chest even greater.

My days begin to fade into one extraordinarily long day. Time has no meaning, and the world around me is never-changing. I quit noticing the hunger pangs in my stomach. I fade in and out of consciousness. My mouth is so dry I can barely open it. My lips crack, as does my skin. The nightmares get worse, but I no longer have tears to cry or screams to scream. I lie in bed and shake in terror. I have lost the will to live.

It is late afternoon, with the orange sun straining to shine through my tightly pulled curtains. I could have been here weeks, or even months. I don't know. I wake, overhearing a conversation outside my room. It takes me a moment to realize that Haymitch is speaking with Sae.

"The girl's not gonna make it if she doesn't start taking some provisions. She's near dead now, so far as I can tell."

"I don't see how my being here is going to help the kid," he grumbles in a gruff tone.

"The girl done fell apart, and the boy followed suit without her, he did. You're the closest thing either of 'em has to a father. If you can't talk some sense into her, it's time to call the doctor."

The boy? Peeta? He's doing poorly too? This new knowledge twists my stomach in unpleasant ways. There is a moment of silence before the door to my room is pushed open. I do not remove my eyes from the wall, where they are locked. I feel the bed dip slightly, and Haymitch speaks.

"You look like shit, Sweetheart. You can't do this to yourself."

I blink. I say nothing.

"You've been through too much for a girl. You saw almost everyone around you die. And I know you lost your sister." He pauses. "But she wouldn't want you living like this, Katniss. She loved you, and she'd never wish this living hell on anyone, especially you."

My heart feels like it's being ripped out of my chest. It is so rare that anyone even mentions Prim, lest speaks openly about her. The truth in his words catches me off guard. I look to him, and our eyes meet. He looks like hell, the bags under his eyes darker than I've seen since the rebellion. His eyes are filled with desperation and sadness. He is holding water in one hand and a liquor bottle in the other, but he smells remarkably sober. He sets the glass and bottle on the nightstand. He extends his arm and places his palm on my forehead.

"Damn, you're burning up, Katniss. What the hell is going on?"

I give him a perplexed look. Burning up? I've been freezing for days, buried to my ears in thick, warm covers. I shiver. With that, he purses his lips.

"Sit up for me and drink some of this water." I close my eyes and feign sleep. "Oh, no you don't. Sit up, Katniss. Now." I sense anger and urgency in his voice.

I make a weak attempt to sit, but sitting makes me dizzy. I end up propped on one elbow, Haymitch holding the glass to my lips as I take several sips. The water feels like its ripping out my parched throat. I look to him and realize he's incredibly uncomfortable in this caretaker role.

It takes quite some time, but eventually Haymitch gets all the water into me. My mouth and throat feel a little better, but my state of melancholy remains the same. I shrink back onto the bed and stare at Haymitch, unsure what comes next in this uncomfortable encounter. We stay this way for a long time, him saying nothing. Eventually, though, he does break the silence.

"Katniss. You have to go on living." He pauses, and his eyes find mine. "You have to live well… to make the lives of those lost count."

I let out a ragged breath. I don't want to hear this. I want to be left alone, left to leave this unbearable life. I reach my trembling hand to the edge of the blanket, and pull it over my head. I feel Haymitch shake me, but I refuse to acknowledge him.

"Get up. You've got to get up." I do nothing. "Get UP, Katniss." His voice is almost frantic.

I squeeze my eyes closed, only to find bombs exploding. I see her lose her life again, and I come undone. I wail into my pillow.

I feel Haymitch rub my back as I release my anguish into my pillow. It feels like hours later when I finally pull myself back together enough to steady my breathing. I have no tears left to cry, and my throat is so raw that no more screams can escape. I lay still.

A little while later, I hear someone else walk into the room. I do not move.

"Well?" It's Sae.

There is a long, silent pause. I wonder if they are gesturing to one another, but I don't let my curiosity get the best of me. I don't have the energy to even bother looking. Eventually, Haymitch speaks in a near whisper. He must think I'm asleep. "I guess it is time to go try to talk sense into the kid. Problem is, he's so attached to this one that if she goes, he'll want to go too."

Go? Where am I going? A sudden wave of panic strikes me as I realize the could mean the Capitol. No! my inner self screams. I'd rather die than return to that place. I'd rather die than live. Then I realize… "Go" could also refer to an impending death. Mine.

I feel the bed shudder, then I hear two pairs of footsteps leave my room. Relieved, I let myself fade into a nightmare filled sleep.