I've never liked the train. I mean yeah, sure, for the first sixteen years of my life I'd never been on one more than to grab bags of flour off of it for the bakery. But my first experience on one had pretty much solidified my distaste for the mode of transportation.
This time wasn't going to be any better.
I remember back when I first boarded being absolutely in awe of my surroundings. It had all seemed so over the top and unnecessary and overwhelming. The feeling hadn't passed and I'd partially contributed it – at least – to the fact that I was going to die in a few days.
But then I didn't die. And my heart was broken on the ride home. And with every stop on the Victory Tour the experiences on the train had only intensified my anxiety and anger.
The train was nothing but bad to me. I don't think it would ever change for me.
Which is probably why I'm still standing on the platform, my toes tucking into the dust, as the conductor makes another 'last call' for passengers taking the express train to the outlying districts. He eyes me as though looking at me to board.
It's the third one I've missed. I just can't stand the idea of getting on the train – not now, not ever again.
The train in front of me begins to pull out of the station and I sigh, settling down onto a bench against the wall and watching it leave. I'm not worried, another one is heading out in a few hours and maybe I'll pull it together enough to get on that one.
I'm just thankful that the tickets are flexible. Ever since the war ended, transportation throughout Panem has apparently been relatively unreliable. Only recently, I was told by an older woman waiting for the one-o'clock, did they even start imposing fees for tickets. Since the war, the people displaced have only wanted to go home and the people with memories too deep only wanted to get out. Nobody had the money but everyone needed to get somewhere.
And so it had just happened. People would show up to work the trains and people would be reunited or moved or anything. It was, I expect, the most unified that Panem has been since it was created. At least, that's the idea I got from the tone in the woman's voice. She'd been as old as Mags, if not older, and I was enthralled with her stories.
I'd used her as an excuse to miss my noon train.
Now, sitting on this bench, I take out my sketch pad and continue working on the images that tuck at the corners of my mind. Carefully tracing across the page before me an image of District 4 blooms. I remember it from the Tour and my heart stutters with all the memories.
It's only later, when the final train for the evening pulls in, that I muster up the courage to finally board. It's what they now call the "All Around" because it gets you 'all around' Panem. Part of me thinks that this was the train I was meant to take because I was procrastinating on getting home. I'd be on this train for two days, at least. But sitting in my cabin (a luxury that I had sprung for with a little extra money I received from Aurelius to tide me over until my Victor money returned) I told myself that none of that mattered. Reasons didn't matter.
The good thing was that I was going home. I hope.
"Um, excuse me?" I turn, hearing a knock at the door to see a young boy, standing in the doorway, clinging to the frame as though barely able to stand. I'm on my feet in a second, helping him to sit down as I take in the sight of his darkened eye and bloodied lip.
"Are you alright?" I ask. I'll admit, I'm slightly weary. But I know what it's like to wear colour on your face from something you couldn't control – like a banner or a flag. I shove my resistance down and kneel before the kid – because he is just a kid – and offer him some jerky from my pack.
"Yeah – sorry – I shouldn't be in here. But the ticket master found me in the cargos and I..." He pauses, his lips about to form around the jerky, when he seems to think twice about what he's saying and he looks at me with a cocked eyebrow. I dismiss the budding recognition in his eyes as nothing more than something hanging over from the Games. I don't push his story when he stops talking altogether – I don't want to pry. Instead I sit back on the bed and pick my sketchbook back up.
It's a little awkward at first, I'm not sure if I should talk or try to diffuse whatever is going through this kid's head. I'm startled then when he shouts an apology at me, breaking the silence with his words.
"Don't worry about it. You can hide out here for a bit." I reply calmly and catch his nod out of the corner of my eye. I have to stifle a smile.
We sit in silence for a while, me working on my sketch and him finishing off the jerky as though he hasn't eaten in a week. When the food cart comes around again, I purchase whatever I can with my meager remaining amounts of money and split it between us. The kid nearly cries over the food and I have to avert my eyes.
It's only later, in the evening, when he speaks up again. "Sir, would you mind if..." He pauses, eyeing the door carefully as I look up from my sketch pad. "Could I sleep on the floor? I'll be getting off the train tomorrow and I'll be out of your hair I promise."
"How about we trade?" I question quietly and turn to face him head on. He scowls but sits, waiting for my response. "Tell me what you're looking for and you can ride out the rest of your trip in here." His face pales and I see him look at his hands. I can tell there's something he's not telling me and though I don't feel nervous about it, I am curious. Besides, I wouldn't be able to kick him out even if he didn't answer me.
"I'm going home to find my girl," He whispers, his eyes averted to the window. My face cracks into a wide smile.
"Me too, kid, me too." Nodding, I lie back on the thin mattress and think about what I'm actually going home for. I can only hope that Katniss is there and hasn't disappeared somewhere else in the country. I mean, if she's not there, I won't even know where to start to look. My home won't be in District 12 without her.
The silence seems to carry on comfortably between us as the sun sets out the window. The boy, lanky and thin, sprawls out on the floor and stuffs his shirt under his head for a pillow. Just when I think he's asleep, he surprises me. "She's the most beautiful girl I've ever known." His voice sounds reverent and tired. In the quiet, I wonder how long he's been on the road.
"Why were you in the Capitol?" I'm curious still, but I don't move, hoping he'll keep talking. For a moment, I miss my brothers and the way we used to talk before bed when we shared a room.
"Oh, I wasn't. I got on in District 2. Was shipped off to do some training there and it wasn't for me." He mumbles and he breaks off the conversation hastily.
He's sitting at the window seat when I wake up, his head leaning against the plate of glass that separates us from the outside. In this light, he looks familiar but I can't seem to place it. It nags at me until he turns, catching me staring, and scowls. "Sorry for waking you up."
"You didn't, don't worry about it." I head to the bathroom to avoid staring at him any longer.
When the train starts up again and we're leaving District 11, I'm finally able to align where I know him from. It's obvious that he's a native of 12, and I've likely seem him somewhere around town before. The knowledge that he's going home to someone he knows, someone he loves, from my District, only encourages my hopes for Katniss being there when I get back. I mean, if this kid is willing to find his way back, then how many others have already?
I'm flying high by the time the train begins to pull into the District 12 station. All my anxiety about the train seems to dissipate as I join the small crowd of people disembarking onto the old fragile platform.
Steadying myself on my feet, I nod a goodbye to the kid, and look at the District before me. It's different. You can see it in the groaning building rooftops, in the black ash that lines the streets that didn't come from the mine. Half of the District has been levelled to my left and a small portion of teetering houses remains standing to my right.
Beyond the station house are more houses – well, what can be said for houses. They're in the middle of being built.
I don't know what the emotion is that fills me when I turn from ashes to desolation to rebirth. I feel like I've been through a wringer and all excitement from coming home is confused with this feeling. It bubbles up from inside and I have to take a seat on the bench near the station house, if only to catch my breath.
Somehow, this home coming is more terrifying than any other.
After a while, I pull myself together and walk towards what used to be the Merchant area. I know my first instinct should be to go home – to go to where Katniss is – but I can't just yet. The feeling from the station still hasn't left me and I need to face this first.
I need to see the bakery. Where my family died.
I must pass it twice before I realize that the ash and tin roof are the remnants of my old home. In the end, it's the grate to the old ovens that catches my eye and lets me in on the secret. It burns, but not as badly as I thought it would. I stand there for what seems like hours as my mind digests the image before me.
I catalogue it into the part of my brain that houses my nightmares. I know it'll come back. It's inevitable.
Behind me, in the distance, I hear a shriek and my body is turning around to the sight, my heart in my throat, before I realize. I watch as a blond girl bolts forward, her hair trailing behind her until she collides with the boy that can only be the kid who hid out in my cabin. Though they weren't far apart to begin with, the impact makes them tumble to the ground and I laugh. Somewhere inside of me the dam of emotion breaks and I'm laughing and crying like some fool as I watch them reunite from afar, sitting on the abandoned step of the bakery.
When I'm able to, I return to my feet and head onwards through the District toward Delly's old house. It's no longer standing, another victim of the bombs that fell. I think about Delly in that moment – I don't know where she is and I never asked in 13, too consumed with myself. I'd bet that she's still alive, somewhere. That girl is a fighter.
Beyond the house I look to see the swing set, the metal still standing tall. The sight of it reminds me of everything that comes crashing back. It's like a wave that tumbles over me, drenching me in the past and reminding me of the future and all the dreams I'd built sitting on those swings.
I'm heading towards the most important dream I ever had when I turn away, finally heading for home.
The Victor's Village still stands tall. Though the grass is overgrown and some of the houses are finally showing wear, their shadows still cast long shadows in the afternoon sun. They look abandoned.
I try not to let my heart fall in my chest as I walk towards the house that belongs to Katniss and her family. Though I know they lived in harsh times before, I can't imagine why Mrs Everdeen wouldn't have kept it lively now after the war. The thought makes me nervous as I stand at the foot of the lawn, staring at the windows with their curtains drawn.
For a moment, I simply can't move. The place doesn't look lived in, not to mention the whole Village looks deserted. I feel the pressure rising in my chest as my head starts to fill with all of the possibilities that could have happened. The most obvious and striking one – that Katniss hasn't come back – seems to override everything and my stomach turns.
Slowly, trying to breathe through the anxiety, I step forwards and up the porch, my hands grasping the railing as though for dear life. I'm just about to knock when another voice, casted in surprise, shouts out from behind. "She's not there."
I don't turn around. Instead I sink to a crouch and rest my head between my knees, my mind light headed and overwhelmed. My body doesn't register the hand on my shoulder until it squeezes, seemingly bringing my senses back together. I'm surrounded by the sickeningly sweet smell of liquor.
"Haymitch," I mumble. I'm not going to stand, not just yet.
"It's okay kid. Just breathe, alright?"
Together we stay idle until my legs (leg) begins to hurt and I have to sit down. I still don't think I can stand. Not with this weight pushing me down so far I'm nearly under. Haymitch joins me on the porch, leaning back against the door and watching me out of the corner of my eye.
"We thought you were dead." He states. I can hear the frailty behind his monotone words. My chest clenches and I feel the burn at the back of my eyes. She thought I was dead. No wonder she'd left. Holding my head in my hands my fingers press into my scalp, drawing me out of my sinking thoughts.
"It was the program – it made me go. And when..." I gasp at the end, trying desperately to keep it together. I hear Haymitch shift before his hand is on my good foot, holding it tightly.
"Hey – hey, Peeta," He jerks his hand and I hear the bottle slam down between us as his body creaks on the floorboard. Before I know it, the old drunk is pulling me up into his arms and holding me tightly. It's only then that I realize that I'm crying. It's only then that I realize that I miss her so much it hurts. "Peeta, kid. Pull it together. She'll be back, she always comes back." His words catch me and I choke, desperate to hear him again.
"What?" I huff, breaking away. I hold the man at arm's length, taking in his almost polished appearance and the fine cut of his hair. Though I know he's drinking, there's something more that's keeping him together. He doesn't smell like vomit and rot. Inside of me, a flame is lit. "She's coming back? From where? Tell me everything."
Haymitch laughs, the frown and concern dissolving from his face as the large guffaws take over him. "Jesus Peeta – that's just... Wow. Don't worry – she'll be back. She left her sister here with me and promised I wouldn't have to babysit forever."
"Tell me, please."
"She's off in District 4. Gale's mom decided to relocate and Katniss' mom joined her – they've been moving them down there for the past week," Haymitch continues, lighting over the mention of Gale. I guess it shows on my face, the hesitation at his name. "Look kid, she hasn't been the same since. She's barely kept herself away from the Everdeen trait. She almost lost it when she heard the President was dead – figured you went with him or something. Locked herself in her room for a week."
As he speaks, I don't dare look away. I watch for a sign of a lie, for a manipulation. But nothing. The man fiddles with the top of his liquor bottle, continuing on without pausing. "It's been hard, kid. It's been hard on everyone."
When he finally pauses, I look out towards the entrance to the Village and breathe. I could see it, while he spoke, the way his face had tightened ever so slightly.
"You thought I was dead too, didn't you?" I ask carefully. He nods, pulling a swig from his bottle.
"I figured you'd run off to sacrifice yourself or something stupid. You have that pattern already. When Snow died, I thought it was you and I had hope, but then you didn't send word or come back – I figured you were dead already."
"I did kill him." My whisper makes him pause, the bottle dropping to the floor. He's frozen in motion while I turn back to him. "I strangled him to death. I couldn't come back – I was still wrong. They've changed me for the worse. I murdered someone. I killed him-" My voice rises with each word, the bile rising in my stomach as an edge of anger and frustration returns.
"It wasn't in cold blood – he was bound for death already. Don't confuse the guilt." Haymitch interrupts.
"But I did it! On purpose!" Haymitch only laughs.
"You think we didn't all want the opportunity? He would have been dead within the day, had you not have done it. Don't let this eat at you – what you did was just. But, what I don't understand is what the hell you've been up to. Where the fuck have you been?" His face betrays his voice, reminding me of all the anger that must be coursing through him.
"I took Portia home." I mumble.
"Portia's alive?" All I can do is shake my head as the memory pushes to the forefront.
"Oh." It seems to catch him off guard and I have to take a shuddering breath before I continue.
"They made her an Avox because she was the feeder for Borealis' information. She rigged my device somehow. She was in the holding cells when I was brought to the President's mansion. Dr Aurelius – he's Borealis, by the way – said something about her 'aglossal' status and that it was a complication. I don't know – I stayed with her because I couldn't come home. And then she died and I found Aurelius and just... Now I'm here."
Haymitch's hand is on my foot again, squeezing tightly. At one point, I have to pry his fingers loose while he stares off into the distance.
"She always was a good one," He mumbles quietly to himself.
We sit there together for a while, staring out at the darkening sky before us. When two bodies seem to crest the hill into the Village, I see Haymitch shift and get to his feet, his face contorting in confusion.
"Who the fuck is she bringing home?" His voice is strained as he squints. I join him standing and try to make out the shapes approaching. The closer they come, the more sure I am that these two are the kids from the Square.
"He squatted in my cabin car on the train," I whisper roughly to Haymitch, recognizing the boy. It's only then that I see that the boy is with Prim who looks far more grown up than I remember. I can't believe my eyes as I barely recognize her. "Prim?" My voice carries in the wind and she must hear it because she stops short, staring at me as the boy by her side moves his arm around her waist. I notice how Haymitch's body tenses slightly at the sight.
"Her sister is going to kill me."
I don't have a chance to laugh at his words before I'm stepping off the porch and catching Prim as she barrels into my chest. Pulling her up into a hug, her arms wrap around my neck and squeeze until I almost can't breathe.
"You're not dead! Everyone said – everyone-" Her words are muffled by my neck, interrupted by her sobs as she cries bitterly against me. My arms only seem to tighten as I realize just how much I missed my sister. Prim is my sister – she always will be.
"Shh, I'm alive. I'm home." I try to soothe but she doesn't stop. Looking up, I see the boy from the train approach me and my brows furrow.
"Rory Hawthorne, Mr Mellark. I think you know my brother." Realization must dawn over my face because he steps back hesitantly and smiles sadly. Still gripping Prim with my one arm, I reach out and offer him my hand, a gesture of understanding. He takes it in return, smiling brightly.
"Your brother is a good man," I force the words out, trying to keep them even. Despite my jealousy, Gale is doing exactly what I asked of him. There's no way I can be mad at that.
"Alright, okay. We've all said our hellos. Prim, what the hell is this? I said no pets!" Haymitch shouts from the porch. Prim laughs into my chest, her sobs dwindling as she sniffs away her tears. Slowly, she releases me and steps back until Rory's arm is resting around her waist again.
"He came back for me Haymitch, just like Peeta came back for Katniss," She replies through her tear-weakened voice. Through the redness in her eyes, I can see the way she's watching me to make sure. Make sure that I came back right. Something must make her pause because her next words catch me off guard: "You did come back for her, right?"
It almost breaks me, the way she says it. The way she doubts it. Have I really been gone that long that I would make her doubt?
"Yes, Prim. I came back for her. I needed time to get right first though." Her returning scowl is not what I expect.
"You had time! Mags came back right after you all left! Not a week later! Where the hell were you?" All of a sudden she's gone from crying to this anger that seems to consume her.
"Prim, you don't understand. I-"
"No!" She shouts, stepping forward and pressing her finger into my chest. "You don't understand. We thought you were dead! You didn't even send word! You left us here to mourn – do you have any idea the effect you've caused?"
"No." It's a whispered confession. Her words have hit me where I'm still wounded. I hurt them by staying away, by trying to keep them safe from me.
"Peeta, she... She almost left us."
Katniss.
The name echoes in my head and the guilt strikes me down.
"Prim – she didn't though. Let's not do this-" Haymitch tries but Prim rounds on him in an instant.
"Don't you dare! You were just as bad as her. Don't try to deny it. You wallowed for weeks and then we brought you back here and you wouldn't leave your house. Mom had to feed you and Katniss was disappearing into the woods for days until Gale brought her back. It's been hell and now here you are, standing there like everything's all right!" Her shouting seems to echo off the building walls and she starts to cry once more, her anger bringing her to tears.
"I couldn't come back," I answer quietly, shifting on my feet. I know that I deserve this berating – I'd stayed away for so long. "I couldn't Prim – I promise you. I never meant for this." I feel my voice shake as Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder. It kills me inside to know that he suffered too. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be mad, Prim," Rory's voice is barely audible as he whispers against her cheek. "It was a war – nobody wanted to be where they were."
The silence seems to stretch all around us as the sun sets below the horizon. The bite of a mosquito brings me back and I take in my surroundings. I'm home. Almost.
AN: One left.