Panem's Darling—Epilogue
A/N: This story has been a whirlwind! I loved writing it! I know I said there'd be a few more chapters, but I couldn't figure out what to do with them. It's gotten sad, huh? I know. It's alright, guys, this one will be better. Still sad, but maybe a little bit better, okay?
Enjoy the epilogue!
Epilogue—Last Glance
Prim's POV
The train arrives at 7:00 sharp to pick him up.
It's 5:30 I can't go back to sleep. I've been throwing up constantly from crying and hyperventilating so much. My head is spinning and my dreams are haunted by his eyes.
"Ian…" I moan, starting to sob again. "Ian! IAN!"
Katniss comes into my room for the umpteenth time tonight. "Hey, Prim. Do you want some more medicine? More ice?"
I shake my head. "He has to stay."
"I know, I know. It'll all be okay. You can talk on the phone together, remember?"
"I DON'T WANT TO TALK ON THE PHONE!" I scream, pounding my pillow and just wanting to wreck everything. "I—JUST—WANT—IAN—TO—STAY!"
"Oh, Prim…I'm so, so sorry."
"I DON'T WANT PITY, EITHER! I HATE THE DAMNED CAPITOL!" Tears are running down my cheeks again as I start cursing everything in existence, everything I've ever known. "THE DAMN CAPTIOL KEEPS RUINING EVERYTHING!"
Peeta's here, too. He takes my hand and rubs my back. "Hey, Prim? Can I tell you a bit of a story, or are you too sick to listen?"
"I'm too lovesick, Peeta, that's the problem," I explain weakly. "I'm too drunk with the alcohol I call love."
He nearly laughs. "I am, too. But I have to tell you something, Prim, and it might give you the idea that this will pass."
"Why does everyone say that? It won't pass, Peeta!" I'm not as hysterical anymore. His demeanor is calming, and his voice is almost like a drug that keeps you sane. "It's love. Love is the disease that can't heal. Love is the one thing you never, ever forget. You can forget pain, loss, suffering. You can forget those! Not love, Peeta! You of all people should know that!"
Peeta's eyes kind of hug me as he begins his story.
"I was a young soul, a little boy with an insane mother and a quiet father. We lived on stale bread. We never ate the good stuff that came from our little bakery.
"I went to school, as all of us did. Of course, as you know, our school was quite dirty, small, and overcrowded. But at least we were educated and taught the 'history' of our country.
"There was this girl. This girl, with two long braids and piercing gray eyes. Beautiful and quiet. Not at all what she is today. Her mother and father were happily married, her mother pregnant with another little girl. That girl was Katniss, and the baby was you.
"I watched Katniss walk home everyday. My father told me he wanted to marry your mother, but of course she married your father. My father always told me that when your father sang, even the birds stopped their tunes to listen. And when I heard that girl sing the valley song, I was hooked. Drunk with the alcohol you call love, Prim.
"One day I saw her against a tree in the rain, baby clothes at her feet. She was trying to trade. I saw that from our bakery window. Bread was baking in our oven, and I was in charge of making sure it didn't burn. Mother left for awhile to buy some flour, and I had an idea. I burnt the bread only slightly, knowing Mother would have a fit, so I could give it to Katniss.
"I was beat because I burnt that bread, Prim. But it was worth it. I broke it in two and tossed it to Katniss, once my mother was gone. She told me to feed it to the pigs, but I disobeyed. Katniss was starving and so were you. I knew about your mother's depression. So I threw that bread.
"Should I have gone out in the rain? Yeah. It was horrible not to. But I didn't. I was stupid and afraid of my mother. I could've helped you more. I could've stopped the famine overcoming your family. But all I did was toss Katniss two measly loaves of bread, and then I left.
"Of course, in every love story there is always someone else you're afraid will take away your lover. That person was Gale. Gale Hawthorne, Katniss's best friend and hunting partner. I was jealous of him before I even officially met Katniss. And everyday I would pray, pray that he would not get Katniss head-over-heels in love with him.
"And he didn't. But for a long, long, long time, I was so jealous, so petrified that Katniss would never be mine."
I am silent. He really does know what this is like.
Katniss is near tears. "Oh, my God, Peeta. That bread saved us, do you know that? That bread got me hunting. Don't beat yourself up for not going out in the rain. Your mother probably would've tied you to a stake and whipped you, Peeta, do you hear me? You saved our lives." And she kisses him.
I remember when Ian and I first kissed.
I start to cry. I cry for Ian. He's going to be alone forever, sitting alone with his thoughts. I cry for Peeta. He was the little boy beaten by his mother for burning bread, and he was hopelessly drunk with the alcohol I call love. I cry for Katniss. She tried so hard for our family. I cry for Mother. She lost her true love, like me. I cry for myself, selfishly, because I know he's the glue holding me together. And I just sit there, sobbing, as Peeta and Katniss break away, their faces full of guilt.
"Oh, Prim, I'm sorry—I didn't mean—oh, God…" Peeta looks disgusted with himself. Katniss shares this expression.
"No—please—I just remembered when—when—augh, I JUST WANT HIM TO STAY!" I scream, my voice cracking, breaking.
"So do we, Prim…"
"I JUST WANT TO BE ALONE!"
They nod sadly and leave, no doubt whispering about me.
One hour later, at the train station
There he is.
Ian.
Dressed in a simple t-shirt, jacket, jeans, and sneakers.
His hair tousled and messy.
His eyes misty and broken.
I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck. I must look like a wreck: hair in knots, eyes red, tear streaks adorning my cheeks. I don't care; I just need him to see that I love him.
I kiss him; I kiss his nose and his forehead and his cheeks and his neck and his hands and his lips. His eyelashes flutter against my skin. "Primrose," he begins.
"Oh, Ian, I'm so, so, sorry." My voice is weak. I've been vomiting, screaming, and crying all night and day.
"No, I'm the one who's sorry. Please don't tear yourself up over this. It's not your fault."
"But it's not yours, either, and that's the horrible thing," Peeta says, his voice also flat. "It's my fault. And now you're paying for it. I tried to tell the Capitol it was me, all me, but they didn't believe me. 'Stop covering for the boy,' they told me." He's obviously miserable and I hate myself, I hate myself.
"If you become depressed, Primrose, so help me I will become depressed too. Do you want that?" He's strict with me, furiously trying to make me understand. "Do you want that?"
"N-no."
"Are you going to get depressed?"
"No. I won't. I swear."
"Good. Good. Good. Now, kiss me again."
I smile slightly and kiss him passionately, more tears and grief and love poured into this kiss then ever before. I love him, I love him, he can't go.
The Capitol officials are standing beside us awkwardly. I want to kill them, tear them apart, scream and shake them, do anything to make them feel even a sliver of the pain I do.
"Promise me we'll talk every day?"
"I do. Promise me you'll never forget me?"
"I do. Promise me you'll always think of me when you watch the Games?"
"I do."
And with that, the officials sweep him onto the train. I raise my hand and blow him a kiss.
He catches it and puts it against his lips.
The train starts to move, and I hear him call out one last thing into the air:
"I'm drunk with the alcohol you call love."
In reply, I sprint with the train, yelling back, "And I'm addicted to the drug you call Ian."
The last glance I get of him is his eyes, so wonderfully green and vibrant.
I love you
Two years later, in District 10
Ian's POV
District 10 isn't so bad. It really does have some of the best brandy around. And the flowers are gorgeous, Primrose was right.
But I miss her so much it's like constantly being stabbed in the stomach, the heart.
At first, I could barely feel anything. I was numb, shocked by the dullness that was hanging around me without her. But gradually it got better. We talk on the phone. She managed to send me a picture of her and me, a picture they took after the Games. She and I, we look so happy. I miss her I miss her.
I walk down a cobblestone street. District 10 is the smallest district in Panem. But it's peaceful. I kind of like it. It's also poor, thought, poorer than 12. Thanks to me, they do have some extra money, though.
A flower stand has been set up by a small pond. A girl, younger than I, is selling some different types. I've got plenty of money now, so I decide to buy some.
"Hi there," I say, trying to keep my voice cheerful. "What kind of flowers do you have?"
She smiles up at me; her hazel eyes the color of caramel. "What kind of flowers do you want?"
"Well, first can I ask you why you're selling them?"
Her grin fades. "Mama broke her back and Daddy's out of work. We need money."
I feel awful for this girl. I take out my whole money bag—at least a few hundred, maybe a thousand dollars—and thrust it at her. "Here. I've got plenty more at home."
Her hazel eyes widen at the sight of the contents. "N-no, you can't—"
"I am. What's your name?"
"Diana. Diana Till." Her voice is full of gratitude. "Thank you so much, you have no idea—"
"I do. I'm from 12. I got relocated here after I won the Games. I'm separated from the love of my life. I'm Ian. Ian Reseda."
"The love of your life? Oh gosh that doesn't sound good."
"It's not. Her name is Primrose Everdeen."
Her eyes light up. "Katniss Everdeen's sister?"
"Yep. That's her."
"Well—here." She holds a white box out to me. "I live at 223 Water Dr. if you want to visit me sometime."
"Okay. Bye, Diana." I shake her hand. She's probably seven, eight.
"Bye, Ian." She runs back in the direction of her house, crying "Daddy! Daddy! Look!"
I smile at the sight of her joy as I walk back to my house in Victor's Village.
Inside of my room I open up the box.
A single tear falls onto the delicate petal of the primroses that lay on the white surface.
I love you
