Chapter 28
Its around mid afternoon when I decide to come out. Although my heart still feels a bit heavy from this morning's forest confrontation, I can't say that I blame Haymitch or Gale. But at the same time, everything has hit me once again.
The only thing that muffled the force of it all was the fact that Peeta is not at District 13 this time. When he was at the Capitol, I had become so depressed and lost that it took the efforts of both Haymitch and Sae just to keep me alive.
But now that Peeta is here, I wonder what that means for him. I wasn't lying when I said he was my lifeline. But at the same time, I'm scared out of my mind to love him.
I make my way over to Peeta's house, hoping that he didn't hear from Haymitch about my mini-episode.
Peeta's door is unlocked, so I slip inside his house quietly. I can hear him upstairs, humming some tuneless song. He must have returned from town earlier.
I walk up the stairs to find him in his room, painting. His concentration is impressive. He barely notices me when I stand in the doorway and watch as his hands skim the paintbrush over the canvas, creating bright swirls of color that seem almost too lifelike to be real.
"Peeta."
He turns when I say his name, and his eyes light up. "Hi. I didn't hear you," he says before putting his paints down on the table next to him and standing to greet me. But I don't feel at ease at the moment, especially after this morning, and Peeta picks up on it. "What's wrong?"
"Should I forgive Gale?" I blurt out, unable to contain it. His eyes widen in surprise as he stops approaching me. Oh damn.
"Did something happen?"
"No," I say quickly. "But... I don't know..." The words die in my mouth. I'm too scared to say it.
Should I let go of Prim?
Peeta moves back to sit on his bed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Katniss, Gale doesn't remember."
"I know that," I insist. "But that doesn't bring her back." My voice cracks at the end and the grief I had tried so hard to quell before coming over here threatens to spill over.
Peeta stands and pulls me over to the bed, where he sits me down carefully. He crouches before me, holding both of my hands in his. "Look, I know how you feel about Prim. But nothing changes the fact that she can't be brought back. None of them can be brought back."
His words bring forth another bout of tears, but he simply reaches up with one hand and wipes them away gently with the sleeve of his shirt. I realize that I'm not the only one who lost someone dear to them. Peeta's family is gone. Annie lost Finnick. Countless others lost someone as well.
"But we have to carry on, Katniss. You don't know how long I've been wanting to help you feel alive again. That part of you may have died with Prim, but you have so much potential in you to love again. To enjoy life. To honor them."
Sobs wrack my shoulders as I bend over, covering my face in my hands. However, Peeta's hands pull mine away gently as he continues quietly, "Prim would have wanted you to be happy."
"I can't be happy without her," I snivel, but Peeta shakes his head.
"You can." He looks earnestly in my eyes. "Let me help you," he begs quietly before he pulls me down into his arms and holds onto me tightly as I let it all go.
I have to be crying for hours. Maybe more. But Peeta refuses to leave my side as he kisses the top of my head and rubs his hands along my back. His loyalty and devotion towards me puts me to shame. Why can't I be the one to help him in some way?
After the tears have long subsided and the hiccups have disappeared, Peeta helps me clean up and takes me downstairs. Moonlight streams in from the windows, casting shadows around the room as he moves around the living room to turn on the lights. How could it be evening? I couldn't have stayed here that long.
But I had indeed.
I sink down into a chair as Peeta goes into the kitchen, losing myself as I stare out the window. The depression is so like when Peeta was gone. Even though he's here. Mostly because it is Peeta who is asking me to let Prim go.
But can I really do it? Prim was my life. I was given the task to feed her. To guide her.
To protect her.
And I failed.
How can I move on from that? Failing my little sister. If I had known how high the price was to pay, I never would have let her become a field medic during the war. It was her dream, and she died with it. I close my eyes tightly. What had I done wrong? She loved healing and helping people. But she died doing just that.
And look at me- one of the most reserved people you could ever meet, a survivor, a killer, a murderer.
And I'm still alive.
I'm cursing myself when a warm hand places itself on my calf. I feel something warm being shoved into my hands. "Come on," Peeta says, helping me up from the couch. He's carrying a heavy blanket and another steaming bowl of something. I look down at my hands to see that it is some kind of broth.
I don't ask where. I'm too tired. But when Peeta takes me out into the cold on his porch and sits us down on the doorsteps, I realize that he intends for us to eat outside. He places the blanket around our shoulders and holds me close, making sure that we're warm enough to remain outside.
We eat quietly in the silence, staring out at the empty Victor's Village road and the night sky. Stars shine brightly tonight, for there are no clouds to mute their glow. It is beautiful. And peaceful.
When I finish the soup that Peeta had given me, he wordlessly hands me a cheese bun that he had brought out as well. We sit out there, gazing at the stars and losing ourselves in the calm of the night.
Suddenly, I'm grateful. Just grateful for Peeta being here beside me. For him being okay. For him helping me get through this. He is strong, but so very gentle as well. He is a fighter, but a lover as well. He is broken like me, yet a survivor at heart. We both are.
The idea that Peeta still wants to help me hits me then. And with it, brings a flood of gratitude and affection for him.
I reach out with my hand and wrap it around his arm, pulling myself into his shoulder. He turns to meet my gaze. His eyes hold such tenderness in them that I suddenly just want to hold him close to me. As close as possible and to never let go.
"We'll get through this," he says quietly, leaning down towards me to rest his forehead against mine. "We'll start new. All over again. A clean slate."
I nod, just as the snowflakes begin to fall. They cover the ground slowly as we remain like that, our heads bent together as we breathe each other in.
By the time we head inside to go to sleep, the ground is covered in snow.
Clean. White. Pure.
New.
