Chapter 8- Choking on flames

When I wake, Peeta is gone. The sheets beside me are crumpled and cold as I run my fingers through them, searching for him even though my foggy mind has already grasped that he is not beside me. I rub my eyes groggily and sit up.

It is still dark. Shadows as black as coal have settled into every inch of the bedroom, dirtying the euphoria left over from last night with their presence. I take a loud breath and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

I'm still half-asleep as I meander down the hallway, searching for Peeta. He could've just gone to use the bathroom, a more sensible part of me points out, but then I hear quiet sobs coming from down the hallway, and alertness flushes through my body. A sharp twist tugs in the pit of my stomach at the thought that he has had another episode.

But when I reach the source of the noises, it is Annie's door I am standing outside of, not his. Like a wild fox, I silently edge my head around the wall, so that I can see through the semi-open door.

There are shapes. One figure is hunched over, curled up in on itself in a posture I am all too familiar with, and the other half-sits beside it, a hand on their back. They are not embracing, but the larger figure murmurs in low, dulcet tones to the other one, whom I quickly identify as Annie.

She shakes a little, a sob occasionally escaping her, her hair hanging over her face like a privacy curtain. Peeta sits next to her, and then he leans over and wraps an arm around her shoulder, holding her tight.

I step back quickly, moving into the shadows as though I have just witnessed something I should not have. I can't explain the irrepressible anger that abruptly rises through me, making me clench my fists at the same time as wanting to run back to my room and cry. You're being a fool, I whisper to myself. She must've just had a nightmare.

Part of me tells me that I should go in, go and comfort her as well, but something roots me to the ground, my stomach grinding and clenching uncomfortably. I can feel the blood rushing to my face.

I silently make my way back to my room, and then I close the door tightly behind me.

I don't know what I'm feeling. I shouldn't be mad at Peeta- he was just doing the right thing, as always- but I am. The most selfish part of me starts hissing indignantly; he is supposed to be holding me!

I swallow away my self-disgust and shake my head to clear it. I walk over to the bed and climb in, telling myself I just need a good sleep, that my expectations were just ridiculously high because of last night. But as I turn and shift in an attempt to fall asleep, something deep, deep inside me keeps me up with the thought that- though I'll never admit it- I know that he is really better off with someone like Annie.

Shut up! I command the voices, but they don't. I'm drowning in their words; in their honesty. Because I know it's true. I am not an easy person to be around, let alone love. And Peeta deserves someone who tries, someone who is kind and sweet and gentle and intelligent. I am none of these things.

I am burnt, and I am raw and selfish and ugly and hostile. And I am a failure; not just in being worthy of his love, but in life. In the scar I wear so repentantly across my wrist, though I know he could never forgive me for it; the scar that has stained my purity forever, the scar that is constant proof of my weakness.

I close my eyes and squeeze them tight, refusing to let a single bitter tear fall.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the morning, I ignore the empty space beside me, the disappointment in my stomach, and the audience in my head. I get up and go to the bathroom to change, pulling my hair back from my face with a band whilst pretending the mirror isn't there. Then I take a deep breath and head downstairs.

Peeta and Annie are chatting quietly when I come into the kitchen.

"Hey," Annie says when she sees me, giving me a warm smile that makes it impossible for me to be upset with her. "Good morning Katniss."

Peeta turns around and smiles at me. "Hey," he says softly. But then his eyes latch onto mine, always reading me much too well, and I quickly break the contact as I step past him to help Annie with the toast.

"Hi." I murmur, plastering a smile across my face. I take a slice of toast and start buttering it.

"Are you ok?" Peeta asks.

"Yes." I say without looking at him. Then I swiftly turn and ask Annie if she would like jam on her slice.

I must be imagining the feel of his gaze on me for the whole time, but I don't look at him to confirm it. I've made a big enough fool of myself as it is- we are only friends…admittedly friends that used to be desperately in love with each other, but still, just friends.

I keep my head down and try to train my expression into something more casual.

This is our last morning at Annie's, so I attempt to make the most of it. We laugh and joke around over breakfast, and I find that it shocks me how good Annie is at keeping up the façade. From the way she laughs to the way she chats to us sunnily, you would never have guessed that she was the same woman that was crying her heart out under the secretive cloak of last night. It's just like being in the games, I think. Always keeping up whatever pretense the audience demands.

Annie sees us off at the door, giving each of us a tight hug in farewell. We embrace and I smile at her.

"Thank you." I say softly, trying to scramble for more words to express myself. She just gives me an understanding smile.

"Anytime." She says warmly. "Write to me, okay?"

I nod and smile at her. "Of course." I want to promise another visit, another trip, but with the way I am, it is hard for me to promise anything.

She nods and then gently moves to hug Peeta.

She leans against the door frame as we board the mini bus, a hand resting on her belly and, despite the prominent bags underneath her eyes, a warmth in her gaze. We wave until she vanishes from view.

I stare out of the window as the coast rolls past us, all streaks of grey and clouds today. If Peeta notices I'm strung tight, he doesn't say anything.

We sit in silence as the bus jerks from side to side as it passes over the bumps in the road. I close my eyes, trying to block out all other thoughts, simply focusing on the different sounds I can hear. The crash of the ocean. The rocks crumbling underneath the rough tires of the bus. Several birds singing plaintively in the trees. Peeta's heavy breathing. I catch myself subconsciously trying to match my breaths with his, and fail to smooth out the scowl that results on my forehead.

We jolt to a sudden stop, and my eyes shoot open. There is barely anyone on the bus save for Peeta and myself, but even so I can hear a few disgruntled murmurs.

"What was that?" I ask as Peeta looks down the aisle.

"The engine has broken down or something." He tells me, a muscle in his jaw clenching. "I'm not sure if they're trying to fix it or…"

I glance down the aisle too, ignoring how close I am to him in the movement, and then abruptly climb over and make my way down the short distance.

"Excuse me," I say, and the driver looks up from where he is fumbling around underneath his chair for something. His eyes widen in recognition as he takes me in.

It's strange, but I think of the Mockingjay as some sort of long lost legend, something that belonged to a different world, a different time. But then again, maybe it is not so strange; there is a significant line that is sliced between your life once you realise just how terrified you are of it.

My tone comes out sharp, and I can't really say I don't intend for it to. "What's going on?" I say, gesturing tightly to the dashboard. The driver blinks, and then sets his lips into a purse.

"I'll be getting it fixed as soon as possible, ma am."

I raise one eyebrow, and look up just when I feel Peeta's presence appear beside me. "How long will you be, Sir?" he asks.

The driver scrunches up his face. "Maybe 20 minutes."

"Call us when you're done…please." I turn and leave the bus, climbing hastily down the steps. We have stopped by a beach- just a small one, and it is completely deserted. There aren't any other cars on this road just yet.

The sky above is grey and dank, silvery clouds rolling over us. But I don't find them ugly- if anything, it is a relief to have the world in tune with my mood. At the edge of my view the sun peeks through a fabric of heavy mist, masking its light white and blinding, splayed out across the horizon. Today, the ocean is oddly calm, the waves uncharacteristically indolent in their dance.

I feel, rather than hear Peeta behind me. But I don't turn. I stand, facing the ocean, facing the clouds, and pretend I am part of them. That I am indifferent to the boy behind me. That my insides don't still feel heavy, as if all I have eaten for the past 5 days is rock. It bears me down, and I can't stand how vulnerable that makes me feel.

Peeta comes closer. "Katniss." He says, voice rough and low. When I don't react, he almost seems to silently sigh. I swallow hard.

Get over yourself, my brain commands me, and I am just about to give in and go and sit back on the bloody bus when he speaks.

"Can I hold you?"

Can I hold you?

It's a whisper, a gust of wind fluttering across the surface of the sea, and raising goose bumps down my skin, like the ghost of a touch.

I nod, and his arms carefully encircle me, my back to his chest, his hands over my stomach. He embraces me for a while, watching the unchanging scenery, until we hear the Driver's shout to return. His arms slowly retract from around me, and he starts to move back.

"Katniss?" he says, and I let my eyes slip closed briefly, before turning and following him back onto the bus.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I slowly peel my eyelids open and blink, dazed, glancing at the room around me. I'm so comfortable and warm, that I almost let myself drift back to sleep when I suddenly tense and my eyes shoot open.

I was on the bus. Just now I was watching the sea disappear behind me, sitting on the stained seat beside Peeta. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and turn around.

Peeta is sitting on the bed beside me, on top of the covers, a sketching pad in his hand. He looks up and sees me awake.

"Hey," he says, smiling. "You okay?"

I frown and pull the covers up around me. "Where are we?" I ask.

"The train…You fell asleep in the bus."

I look around and only now do I identify the room as being almost identical to the one I had when we traveled up. I sigh and let my head fall back onto the pillow.

"I'm sorry." I say, fighting the queer sensation that rises up through me as I realise he must've carried me here.

"Don't worry about it." He smiles easily at me and I listen as the sound of pencil scraping paper resumes.

"What are you drawing?" I ask after a minute of silence. He pauses for a moment, then leans over and hands me the sketchbook.

It's the sea. And not just the way you normally see it- closer. As if you've been swimming in it, out too far, and only now just straightened up and stopped to observe.

The layers of greys that flow through each wave are mesmerising. Despite there being no colour, it's almost as if I'm seeing more, as if the black and white of it allows me to dive deeper into the picture. The sun is setting- or rising- too, but for the most part the sky is left relatively empty, just a touch of shading here and there. Yet that's not what catches my eye most in the drawing.

Near the background of the landscape, there is a girl. She is facing away from the observer, upright in the water, her entire top half above the surface. Her back is bare, naked, the tresses of her hair dark and tangled across her shoulders and neck.

I study the drawing for a while longer, until I look up and see Peeta studying me.

"What do you think?" he says after a moment. My gaze runs across his eyes, the sort of blue that drowns ships out at sea and seems to want to pour out onto the page that is clasped tight between my fingers.

"Mermaids?" I ask after a beat, and he smiles.

"Not, um, really, no." He murmurs, and I glance up at him. The question behind my lips struggles to be freed, but after a few heartbeats of fighting, I force it back down.

I focus my gaze back on the picture, but my mind seems to want to wander, and instead considers the warmth of his body where it is aligned along mine. I shake my head and pass him back the sketchbook. "How long was I out for?"

Peeta grins and gestures towards the plastic clock on the ceiling. "You're just in time for dinner."

It's ridiculous, but ever since last night, I have been finding myself hyper-aware of him. Not in the way a huntress is aware of her prey, but in the way the prey is aware of her hunter. Every breath, movement, affects me. As we sit down I note the distance between our chairs. As he passes me the water jug my eyes linger on his exposed wrist. As we make our way back to our rooms, I can hear my heart pounding in my chest, and when his fingers accidentally brush mine, I feel as though my skin has erupted into flames.

He pauses by the doorway once we reach my bedroom, and his mouth opens and closes. Then he shakes his head and looks up at me again.

"Do you want me to join you?" he asks, gesturing towards the bedroom. For unknown reasons my cheeks are hot, palms sweaty. If he stays with me tonight, I will make a fool of myself.

"Um," I begin. "No, it's-uh-okay. Thanks."

Something intense and unfathomable passes over his eyes as he looks at me. "Okay," he says, moving around me. "…Sleep well, Katniss."

I look back and nod, my mouth going dry. Then I quickly step into my room and shut the door behind me.

I hug myself as I lean back against the painted wood, finally finding the air to breathe. My entire body feels like jelly, like china, as if one tiny movement will send me into shatters. I hold myself tighter, and press my palms to my tingling cheeks.

How am I supposed to survive this?

I close my eyes for a moment, and then precariously make my way to the bathroom.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing I notice when we get back are the geese. And it's not really the geese themselves that are so fascinating, but rather where they are situated.

Because there are a herd of squawking, flapping geese in Haymitch's front yard.

"What in the…"

The words have barely left my mouth before I start gingerly making my way through the squabble of honks and fluttering wings towards Haymitch's porch, Peeta close on my heel. I push open the door with my shoulder, and am immediately assaulted by a stench so vile this morning's breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

"Urgh…" I pinch my nose and gag, almost giggling at Peeta's similar reaction.

When we get into the lounge, Haymitch is sitting on an armchair facing the stain-glass window, a bottle in his hand and the wreckage of what looks like a hurricane spilled out across the carpet and furniture.

"Haymitch, why does it smell like Satan pissed in your house?" I ask and he turns and looks up at me, a crude grin spreading across his half-drunk features.

"Oh, so there's my favourite girl again," He says, drawling out the words. "I've missed you. Last time I see you, you flip out and smash half my dishes, and this time you greet me with the songs of affection I've so dearly craved."

I scowl at him, which only provokes another smirk. Peeta didn't need to know about last time.

"I see you've got yourself some company." Peeta begins, smiling easily as he clears some of the couch space before motioning for me to sit beside him. "No thanks," I mouth at him, trying not to think too hard about what could have possibly made stains of those colours.

Haymitch just nods, taking another long gulp from his bottle.

"Why the geese?" I say after a heartbeat.

Haymitch doesn't say anything for a few moments, his expression oddly solemn. Then he blinks and swings his bottle through the air carelessly.

"I guess we all need to feel needed, eh sweetheart?" He downs the last of his liquor, and throws the bottle onto the growing pile on the other armchair. Then he looks up at me and frowns. "Don't you dare think 'bout shooting one of them down for your supper, though."

We laugh and he grins, but behind the words it's strangely endearing to think of wasted, roughened Haymitch getting sentimental over a couple of geese. My heart clenches a little at the thought. We are not the only ones changed by the War.

"Do you want to join us for dinner tonight?" I blurt out, then immediately start fiddling with the frayed edges of my sweater. I know Peeta is looking at me.

"Oh, I'm touched." Haymitch says, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But no, it's fine, you two kids have fun." Then he frowns. "When are the next trains coming in?" He asks, looking at Peeta.

Peeta's eyes seem to darken with an understanding, but then he smiles warily and says "Long enough that you'll be sufficiently sober to smell what is killing every insect within a five-mile radius of your house."

Haymitch scowls as I bite my lip to stop the laughter escaping. "Ok, off with you two lovebirds." He declares, all but waving us from the room, and the smile instantly falls off my lips. I glare at him from across the room.

His chuckles follow me down the hallway as I storm out.

I'm more wound up than I should be by Haymitch's little comment, but I work to keep it off my face at dinnertime.

Greasy Sae comes round to check on us, a basket full of ingredients and utensils prepared to make dinner, but Peeta waves her off, saying he can take care of it.

"Is that okay?" he asks, when he sees my expression.

"Yes," I say, my head snapping up, a little flustered. "Yes, no that's fine."

A smile crawls across Greasy Sae's lips as she watches us. It doesn't falter even as she turns to leave a few minutes later, the basket hitched high on her hip as she disappears down the hallway.

Peeta stands at the stove, sautéing something in a saucepan. I get up to help him prepare the peppers at the side, and he shoots me a grateful smile.

"What are you thinking?" he says after a moment, eyes never leaving the saucepan. I look over at him, my eyes wide. I've become so accustomed to not talking about my feelings that it almost feels unnatural to do so.

But this is Peeta, and if I had to be honest with anyone, it would have to be him.

Slowly, I pick up the small knife and begin slicing the peppers into strips, trying to ignore the simile that keeps pressing at the forefront of my mind.

"Well," I begin, licking my lips. "I was just…I was thinking how it seems so…distant. The time before we left. It doesn't- it seems wrong to still have the same routine when I feel as though I've changed. I guess
the thought of Greasy Sae cooking us dinner made me notice it."

He looks up at me, eyes soft and thoughtful and penetrating.

"Yes." He says after a moment. "Yes. It feels like more time has passed that it has."

I nod, something in me snapping its head up at his words. I look over at him, ready to decipher what it is, but then I'm too lost, lost in his eyes, lost in the expression and gravity and depth that consumes my entire vision and steals any coherent thought from my lips. I never knew that a colour so blue could feel so much like fire.

This is a much better way to burn, a voice inside of me murmurs faintly.

He blinks, and clears his throat, face flushed although something tells me it isnt't because he is embarrassed. But I am, and I quickly turn back to the peppers and begin cutting them with more aggression that is necessary. I hate that he has this effect on me. I hate that it makes me feel weak.

The silence is awful, but I refuse to break it. He's the one that's supposed to be good at this sort of thing, at the whole romance side of our relationship and in making sure things don't get too awkward. All I was ever supposed to do was comply.

But for once, Peeta can't find the words either.

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Hey :) So sorry for the long wait for this upload. It wasn't an easy chapter to write, but as a sort of make-up gift I'm making sure to upload chap 9 v. soon. Stay tuned. Good stuff happens in 9.

Thanks again for all the fabulous reviews and favs/follows. And many thanks to my beta VTesero :)

Ok, thanks for reading y'all. Please review! x