Hey guys, I really hope you like this chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters. And I have been forgetting to put in disclaimers. Again.
*Katniss' POV*
I set my head on the table, trying to block out the memories, but of course failing. It seems like the only thing I cannot overcome: My own mind, the world of reliving. I have somehow, seemingly impossibly surmounted the death of my sister, my mother leaving me, and losing the one thing I could always lean on. The world never has taken pity on me.
The memories pelt me like the rain pounding on the ground outside. Today is the day that we would normally have our annual Harvest Festival, but there is nothing to harvest and more importantly, nothing to celebrate.
I haven't left the house in weeks. Haymitch, who is in charge of taking care of Peeta and me now that my mother's left, has been stocking the refrigerator once a month, but that's all the company I have besides that wretched cat of my sister's. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter used to come over everyday, but I have recently told them to stop. Three is a crowd.
It has been an unusually cool autumn, almost as cold as winter here. It must be because of the empty, plant-free plains that stretch over what used to be District 12. The bombings have left this place as bare as the day I returned here, save Victor's Village, which miraculously survived all of this. The only plant for miles is the grass that managed to live, a few trees, and the flowers that Peeta planted in front of our houses a few months ago. We don't do that anymore. I could care less about what Peeta is up to these days, and I'm sure he feels the same about me.
I drag myself up to bed, not bothering to take a shower. I haven't in weeks. My hair is a mangled knot, and I haven't looked in the mirror for months. As if it matters what I look like. No one is ever going to see me again, except perhaps Haymitch. I decided that a long time ago.
The nights here are terrifying. You can hear the mines creaking, imploding, even from here. And then the nightmares begin.
They are particularly horrible without him here, and I frequently find myself wishing that I will die in my sleep. There just doesn't seem to be anything worth living for anymore.
When Haymitch comes over the next morning, I've lost all will to live. He tries to haul me out of bed. He is weak, but I am thin and sickly, and haven't seen sunlight in ages. He only succeeds in getting me to the floor, and I stay there. For days I stay on the floor. I will die here, like the world condemned me to so long ago. I have averted death far too long, and it has finally come to take me.
I am unbearably hot, I think I have a fever. Buttercup comes and sits on me, which doesn't help me much. I'll die quicker, I think.
After what seems like days, I roll over. Like an acrobat, Buttercup shift to my back, not one paw leaving my rail thin body for a second. I remember the last time this happened, I lost all resolve. I was even angry when I realized they were going to let me live. Now, I do not care what happens to me. Until about a week ago, Dr. Aurelius had me going through the meaningless motions of my other life, the life old Katniss had lived, but it was so meaningless I couldn't bare it. Will he be disappointed I've gone? Or did he already know it was inevitable.
The back door whooshes open, and my door bangs open. Haymitch looks utterly exasperated. And drunk.
"Still on the floor," he notes, stumbling into the room. I am surprised he is coherent.
I don't say anything, the smell of liquor making my stomach churn.
"You know I left you there last week." He shrugs. "Can't survive much longer, I suppose."
He doesn't care if I die. No one cares. My suspicions are confirmed. If I am already dead to the world, why really be dead? Nobody will miss me. Nobody will miss me. I think it over and over again, the life slowly, painfully ebbing from me.
But this is a pain I don't mind. I welcome this pain, the pain of death. The pain I've been waiting weeks for. Yes.
Haymitch kicks me in the side. "Come on, get up, Girly!" He roars. My fragile ribs are in agony.
Finally, Haymitch gives up. "If you're so determined to die," he says so indifferently it makes me want to cry, "so be it."
As soon as the door closes, I scream. Scream that no one wants me, scream that I am so alone in the world, scream because I am going to die. Then I dissolve into tears. "I'm so alone," I sob, "I am so alone!"
"No, you're not." My sobbing has escalated to such a high volume I fail to hear Peeta entering the room.
"G-go away!" I tell him. "You th-think I w-want you here? Well y-you were wr-wrong!"
He shakes his head, getting down on the floor beside me. He looks so repulsively… well. Healthy. Like Peeta.
He shoos Buttercup off of me and puts the back of his hand on my forehead. I resist the urge to swat it away. "You hungry?"
I don't respond. He sighs. "Well, you must be hot. You have an extremely high grade fever."
I snort. He's no doctor. I am about to die.
He goes over to the window and pulls it open. Then he set me on the window seat and goes downstairs. I contemplate throwing myself to the ground, but the cool breeze from the winter air feels good.
Had it really been a year since I had come back?
Peeta, seemingly reading my mind, comes back into the room holding a glass of water says, "You know it's a year to the day since you killed President Coin."
I ignore him, and down the glass of water. "More," I demand.
He gives me a strange look and head back down stairs. He returns a few minutes later, this time carrying a tray laden with bread, soup, and a pitcher of water. He nearly trips over Buttercup, which makes me smile for the first time in a year.
He pours me glass after glass of water, having to refill the pitcher several times.
"Eat the soup," he says gently.
The soup is not nearly as good as my mother's. I spoon it into my mouth numbly. Peeta is no cook, either.
"Sorry if it doesn't taste too good," he says, seeming to read my mind again. "I bake."
He bakes. Peeta does a lot of that at my house over the next few weeks. I feel better, and meaning slowly creeps back into my actions, though my brain tries to deny it. I eat because I am hungry, not to stay alive. I enjoy Peeta's company because… well, because I love him.
But he doesn't really feel the same. It seems like he thinks it's an obligation to keep me alive.
By some miracle, Haymitch remembers to come over and check on me. It's the first time he's been out of his house in months.
"Off the floor, I see," he grins stupidly. I roll my eyes.
"You knew she was on the floor?" Peeta asks. He couldn't be concerned. I am just a liability to him. He really does it to me to keep me living.
"Well, yeah," Haymitch snorts.
Peeta shakes his head in a disgusted manner.
We all keep busy. I hunt and trap; Peeta bakes and paints; Haymitch drinks and… drinks. I also stay away from Peeta as much as I can manage. If he doesn't love me, I don't have to love him.
Let the games begin.
:D I really hope you guys liked this one, I had tons of fun writing it.
I really appriciate it when you guys review, even if you have before, with suggestions, tweaks I could make, opinions, errors, stuff you liked, all that stuff.
If you like flashbacks, let me know! And if you don't like them, let me know, too! Thanks a bunch :)