Thanks so so so so much BNago for the main idea for this chapter :) I have been neglecting Peeta quite a bit. Oh, and I don't mind the criticism – it's constructive and it helped me. :D I appreciate (and need more of) it.
Also, dear junbug24 (first reviewer and still so loyal and awesome; thanks :D), I really don't mind if you take Riegan. I imagine Tara might. Not that she knows that.
Later on, there are letters and emails to and from not just Riegan; there's also Ysabel, and Finn. Even Grandmother writes me, which I'm appreciating very much. She shares with me her funny experiences with her patients, tells me about her life in District Four – through the letters (Grandmother isn't one for typing), I've learned so much more about her than I have all my life. She's also a key into the world that my parents have kept locked up. It's not that I mind, but there are still things that I am curious about.
I glance at the letters scattered over the coffee table. I have them all collected; Mother's been trying to get me to clean them up, but there's just so many of them. I sift through them and find the one that I want to read.
Finnick Odair, Grandmother wrote, after I asked her about Finn's dad, was a good-looking man, and that's mostly what he was known for in Panem... but you already knew that. I honestly didn't know him very well, Tara, aside from his relationship with Katniss – and even then I don't know too much about it. The two of them were suffering through the same things. They were both warriors – here I gave a tiny little scoff to myself – and they were (are) both haunted with the same nightmares. During the time when your mother, Aunt Prim, and I were in District Thirteen, both Finnick and Katniss had loved ones in the Capitol. They both knew what the other was going through.
But you already know so much about Katniss' past, dear. You do know your father did go through some ordeals, too, don't you?
When I first read that, I skimmed it. Rereading it now, though, I have to consider why I did.
Father is the happier one. Not that Mother isn't happy, it's just that I have never seen Father upset. I know that he does, obviously, but he never shows it to me. Mother, on the other hand, has her moods. She can be sullen and snappish – and so, apologetic, after – but Father refuses to show that he's in a bad state. I have only seen him having a few of his (as my parents call it) "shiny" memories. Father's "fits" are quiet and hidden. I have woken to Mother's screams often enough through my life, so far.
As if on cue, I hear a thud from the room nearest to the living room – Father's office. I put down the letter and stand up slowly. Mother isn't home; she and Matz are at Haymitch's with the geese. I walk tentatively into the room, poking my head through the gap in the door. "Tara, don't come in," says Father tightly, gritting his teeth.
"Why?" I ask irritatingly.
Father leans his head back in frustration. "Don't."
"I don't see why," I say haughtily, "if you need to remember that Mother loves you, I'm pretty much your best proof."
This makes Father's face relax into a smile. He even laughs. "Good point." His grip on the back of the chair loosens, and he slouches down slightly, exhaling.
"Does it hurt?" I ask bluntly.
He shakes his head. "Not... physically."
"What do they look like?" I think I've abandoned all tact.
Father doesn't respond to me first. He holds up his arms. "Come here. It's better for me to believe you're real if I'm holding you." I move up and sit on his lap. Father likes to believe I'm still a little girl, and so do I.
I look up at him. "Well?"
"They're terrible enough to make me believe that Katniss is the reason all my old friends and my parents were killed," says Father. His eyes shut tightly. "Sometimes, when they're really bad, I forget everything she's done for me, and I want to hurt her."
"But the point is, you don't," I say.
Father has opened his eyes again. "I don't," he repeats, like he's trying to convince himself.
"When..." I pause, thinking about what I want to say. Less than half of the reason for these questions were because of curiosity. Mostly, I felt it was unfair that I never cared for Father's past as much as I had Mother's. "... when you were reaped, what were you thinking of?"
He looks thoughtful. "You know, after a while, it gets hard to separate what's real and what's not, but even that's a hard question to answer... because what could I think, Tara? How will I survive? What if Katniss gets killed?" Then he closes his mouth, and he looks as if he's about to say something, so I stay quiet. "But I think, once I was up there, standing beside her... what I wanted to do was not change."
"Not change?" I'm frowning. I don't get it.
"Yes. Not change. You couldn't understand, Tara, how I had watched the Games every year of my life, and I had seen people change. People went crazy and stopped loving all the things they used to love," he says darkly, "and their personality was lost because of the guilt of murder, or losing someone they had gotten close to, or starving or from dehydration... anything. The Capitol ruined every inch of life in Panem. Even if you were a victor. They never let you rest."
I can feel my eyes wide and my throat all dry. "What about for you?" I croak out, clearing my throat awkwardly.
He laughs humorlessly. "In the Games, it was so hard trying to keep your mother alive. Both of the Games. In between those times, I dealt with the puppy love heartbreak, and having to be kept out of things by Haymitch and Katniss, and then facing the Games again. After the second Games! Well, you know I never got any rest, then... that was the worst... well, no. I knew your mother was alive, so that was a plus side. Until I got hijacked, when it became a negative."
To think I considered for even a moment he was better off than Mother.
He catches my look and says gently, "Am I talking too much?"
I shake my head vigorously. "Definitely not."
"Am I scaring you?"
Again, I'm about to say no, but then I stop shaking my head and nod slowly. "Some parts of it are scary, but … I don't know. Maybe I'm getting used to it."
Father laughs. "That's not good," he teases gently, tickling me. I giggle slightly and wriggle, pushing his hand away.
"Tell me more," I say hopefully, "please?"
He considers this for a moment. "Did you know... I had to convince Katniss for us to have kids?"
"Oh, really?" I ask, genuinely surprised. I don't know why, though.
"Yes." Father nods. "When we were kids, having kids was just a burden. First of all, it meant more mouths to feed. Second -"
"The Hunger Games," I guess, crossing my arms.
"Yeah..." Father sighs and shrugs, "but anyway – I guess she never got over worrying about kids, about having to be responsible for a life." Mother comes in then, but Father doesn't notice. I smile a little, realizing that both Mother and I are the stealthy ones. Father and Matz don't have "tiptoeing" in their skill set. "She told me, when she felt you in her stomach, how scared she was..."
Mother moves in then, taking me in her arms, out of Father's. Then she says softly, "But only the joy of holding you could make up for that fear."
I grin and look at Father's somewhat surprised face. "What about Matz?" Mother puts me down, and Matz has peeked into the room. He took my place on Father's lap.
"Matz? Matz was just a little bit easier," said Mother, "but not by much."
"What are you guys talking about?" Matz asks loudly. I shoot a look at Mother, first, then Father. They exchange looks, now, and I see Mother nod slightly.
"Would you like to stay in the room for this, Tara?" she asks.
"You're telling him?" I say, incredulous. Matz is still 8. It was just earlier this year that my parents told me about the Hunger Games and their part in it!
Mother nods. "He won't like being left out of it if we wait, and he's much older than 8 now. He's trying. He deserves to know."
I'm about to protest, but then I nod. "I'll stay in here." Mother gives me another nod, and then motions for the "book" on the shelf. I move over and take it. Father has moved to the couch, Matz still sitting on his lap.
They go through the entire process again, with even more patience and sureness than they had with me. I guess it's better the second time around. Only, this time, Father is doing most of the talking, with Mother cutting in at certain times. At some points I feel like I should talk, but it's not my story. My eyes are mostly on Matz. His eyes widen, his cheeks flush, he fidgets, just like I did. But all through it he is quiet, which is very unusual.
When the stories finish, he leans against Father, frozen in shock. "Matzo?" asks Mother worriedly.
"A lot of things make sense now," he admits, "like the dandelions and Gale and Annie and Finn and Grandmother."
"You're okay, though," Mother says slowly.
He nods. "Of course I'm okay. It was just a lot of …" I don't know why I feel so shocked. How else did I expect Matz to react? I smile as he rifles through the book in wonder. "Aunt Prim," he says out loud quietly.
I look at Mother, and her face softens. "My sister."
"What was she like?" he asks, looking up at Father, then at Mother.
Father says, before Mother can say anything, "She was the sweetest little thing. There was something about her that made everyone care for her. She was compassionate, and she believed in preserving life, no matter whose or what's life it was... that was her element, when she was helping others live. And I barely knew her, Matzo; I know how good she was." He looks up at Mother and smiles. "Her blood came from your grandmother – the type that quickened during an epidemic instead of a hunt."
Mother laughs lightly. "You would have liked her."
"It's why we have primroses 'round the house, right?" asks Matz, "and why you all like them so much."
"It's a lot of the reason why I like them," I say. I lean over his shoulder. "They're pretty, just like she was, isn't it?" I'm talking more to Matz then, forgetting my parents are there.
Matz nods, and Mother says softly, "She inherited all the best qualities my family had to offer. My mother's healing hands, my father's level head... my fight."
"I wish I could have met her," Matz says bitterly. I feel his pain and nod, looking down at Aunt Prim's picture in the drawing.
Mother lets out a little choking noise and covers it up hastily: "I wish you could have met her, too, Matz."
Seeing that she was getting upset, I turn to Father. "What about you?"
"What about me?" he asks, turning the page with Matz.
"Your siblings." I raise a brow.
"I didn't have the dedication Katniss had to my siblings," he says slowly.
Mother sits beside him and rests her chin on his shoulder. "Tell them about them anyway."
He turns a few pages. On the left side, there is Eddy, and on the right page, there's Tom(pouce). "Eddy was older than me by three years. He was nineteen when I was reaped. I think he was mother's favorite... he was disciplined to her liking and strong and handsome and -"
Mother smiles a little. "You're very strong and handsome, too, Peeta..." Matz and I both smile.
Father laughs and squeezes the hand that she took. "Thanks, Katniss," he says affectionately, "but I think Mother thought that Eddy was, more... if he were in the arena, people would be afraid. He probably would have been the Thresh of the arena, I think. I mean, I liked him enough, but, like he wouldn't have volunteered for me, I wouldn't have volunteered for him. He taught me a lot. I looked up to him, kind of like how Matz looks up to Riegan, only Riegan is a happier person to be around."
"What about Tom... poos?" asks Matz.
He snickers. "Tom-puss, Matzo, but we just called him Tom. He was eighteen when I was reaped; so he was in his last year of the reaping. He told me that he remembered being relieved for a fraction of a second – then he realized it was me... he said that he would forever hate how he didn't volunteer for me..." He pauses and adds, "Tom was a great wrestler."
"You were better," Mother says quietly and confidently, "the only reason you were second in school was because he was older."
"Your mother," he tells us, feigning exasperation, "can be ridiculous."
Mother kisses his cheek. "I love you, too."
"Ew," Matz says, rolling his eyes and squirming away from them, which was a problem, since he was on Father's lap.
"Okay, I'm done." Mother grins at Matz, who takes her word for it. Mother then turns to Father again. "Tell them about your parents."
"My mother wasn't a very nice woman. You all have a much nicer one than I did. She had her moments... I like to think that she did love me, but not quite in the way I would have liked her to show it. She didn't show much pride in me, and I don't think she cared to... I think we were more of a burden to her than a joy. My father was a bit nicer, though. He was a quiet guy, and he understood my … crush, on your mother," says Father.
"Why?" Matz still doesn't know that part of the story.
"He pointed out Katniss on the first day of school, and said -" Father begins.
Mother interrupts, "- 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"
He grins and nods. "So I was confused, and I asked him, 'Why would she want to marry a coal miner if she could have you?'"
"'Because when he sang, even the birds stopped to listen'," I say, remembering the story.
"Like they do for Mother!" Matz exclaims.
Father nods. "Yeah. And then Katniss got up and sang in front of our class, and then I knew... just like Grandmother, I was a goner."
"That's good!" says Matz, his sentence punctuated by a lion's yawn.
Quick as a whip, Mother says, "Sleep."
"No!" Matz cries, "I don't want to! I'm not -"
"Do not tell me you're not sleepy." Mother smiles, and looks at me. "Same for you, Tara. Bedtime." Matz and I grumpily go upstairs to get ready for bed. After we have showered and everything, Mother goes to Matz' room to sing for him. Father goes to my room to read me a story, even though it's been ages since he's done that for me. His story is totally harmless, about a wizard boy who goes to a school for magic. I go to sleep thinking about it.
… but in what seems like a few minutes, the door opens, letting in light from the hallway. "Tara?" Matz' voice whispers.
I look up and say sleepily, "Yeah?" The clock on my bedside table informs me that it has actually not been a few minutes; it's been about five hours.
He is carrying a stuffed dragon and his green-and-brown blanket. He looks so like a little boy as he scuffles into my room. "I can't sleep."
"Huh?" I sit up. "Why?"
Matz shrugs. "I had a nightmare." He holds up the dragon. "Dragon grew and grew and grew and came to life and he ripped our house out of the ground. And then I came back and you weren't there, and Mother and Father weren't there... Riegan was a zombie..."
I smile and get out of bed, holding my pillow. I take his hand, but he doesn't complain. I pull him to Mother and Father's room. "I'll be at the foot," I whisper, "and you can go beside them." Matz nods and snuggles beneath the blankets beside my parents, and I put my pillow at Mother's feet, lying sideways on the bed.
I slept well that night, and so did Matz, I think. Our world is okay. Riegan isn't a zombie. Dragon won't grow and grow and grow and come to life and rip our house of the ground. Mother and Father and Matz are always there.
"Strudel", in Middle High German, is literally "eddy". You can Google "Tompouce".
Also, this is going up before 12:00AM my time. That's some skillz right there. :P
Reviewwww, please!