Since Peeta's arrival, I try to make myself more presentable... well, I try to make my life seem more presentable in case he reports back to our mutual doctor. I occasionally open the windows to my house to allow some fresh air to get in. Greasy Sae's visits are still frequent, but the amount of time she spends here is no longer sad as I try to actually eat the food. I visit Haymitch more and feed is geese, and I have even started sleeping in my own bed again.

This change started when I realized my bedroom window looking into Peeta's bedroom window. Despite our houses being identical, Peeta sleeps in the master bedroom, while I sleep in my old bedroom from when there were more occupants. I can tell this is Peeta's window because the light turns on late in the night. If he's like me, his nights are still haunted by nightmares. I watch his side of the house from my own window. I sit there in the dark, waiting and hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

As much as I miss the nights I spent in his arms in a dreamless slumber, I can't allow myself to go there. I can't be with him like that again. My heart and mind cannot take it, and any sort of rejection from Peeta might land me in a psych ward in the Capitol. It would be my downfall. The all powerful Mockingjay would be taken out with a broken heart.

I am so scared to lose him again, that I refuse to allow myself to have him at all. Every single thing and person I have loved in this world has been taken from me. Peeta has been taken from me numerous times, and I won't let it happen again. He is the better of us two, and he deserves the world. I do not.

There is also a part of me that wonders if three months of therapy has really helped him. Is he cured? Or is he going to kill me once I let my guard down? He says he doesn't want to, but there are no promises to be made. But if Dr. Aurelius let him come back knowing I was here, maybe he was doing better than expected.

Seeing me could set it all off again. Maybe he only made progress because he was away from me. He could sort things out without me being there to confuse him or give him more things to think about. The thought of moving briefly crosses my mind, but I have no where else to go. I would be equally, if not more, miserable in four than twelve. That's one thing Peeta and I can agree on. This is the only place that feels somewhat like a home.

The next six months pass by uneventfully as I try my hardest to avoid Peeta. He wakes up early to bake- Baker's hours, and he has been heading into town to help with the restoration of the town square. I still watch for glimpses of him at night, but his curtains only reveal shadows. There have been a few times we see each other in passing. This usually happens when we both decide to visit Haymitch at the same time or we meet outside our houses while coming and going. These awkward encounters are usually filled with "Hi, Katniss" and "Hi, Peeta." Then, we scurry away from each other.

I can't tell if he is avoiding me too, or if it is my own imagination. Maybe my presence makes him feel so uncomfortable that he has to run away. I'm not sure, but I do know that I can't spend too much time near him. I'll be sucked back in and finally have something to lose, something worth dying for again.

It's one of those days where I watch him leave his house before leaving my own. I want to visit Haymitch and possibly steal one of his liquor bottles. I need something, anything to be able to pass time, to make myself feel numb.

Haymitch and I are bantering in the kitchen when I hear the front door open. "Oh, no," Haymitch teases. "Time for you to go, Sweetheart."

I glare at him as the third member of our village enters the kitchen we are sitting in. He doesn't see me and sets a basket of fresh bread on the counter. Then, he turns to us and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, I'm glad you both are here. There's something I wanted to talk to you guys about." His eyes are full of hope, and his smile is bright.

Haymitch groans. "I told you if you keep your doors shut, the geese can't get in."

My eyebrows knit in confusion, and I want to laugh. Had the geese broken into his house before? I want to ask, but I don't feel like it is my place anymore. So, I stare at Peeta expectantly.

"It's not about your geese. The town square has finally been finished, and we're hosting an opening there on Friday. The new bakery will be opening too, and I was wondering if you guys wanted to come."

I can feel the anxiety building in my throat. I have avoided people for so long that a crowd could make the walls I have built come crumbling down. I can hardly carry on a conversation with Greasy Sae, how could I possibly present myself to the people of District 12?

I look at Haymitch for help. He can usually tell what I am thinking by looking at me, and we both know I could never tell Peeta no. His scowl is replaced by a grin, and he says, "Looks like I have two days to sober up. What about you, Sweetheart?"

I want to kick him under the table, but I know Peeta will see. I know that Haymitch did that on purpose. He was just teasing me about our secret love a few minutes ago. This is all one big game to him.

I look back to Peeta and see him staring at me. His eyes are practically pleading. "I have nothing to wear..." I trail off as if fashion is a good excuse to avoid a social event. If Effie were here, she would be on my side.

"Oh," Haymitch slurs loudly. "I forgot to tell you. There's a chest in your mother's room with never before seen outfits Cinna sent for you. I guess he assumed you would win the games, and he wouldn't be here to style you.

My heart cracks at the mention of my old friend and his demise. The first person I trusted in the Capitol, and the man who died while making me an icon and symbol of the rebellion. I swallow my tears and look at Haymitch's dirty kitchen table as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. Silence fills the room, and I feel like I am running out of air. When I can't take it any longer, I stand and say, "I'll think about it." Then, I make my escape.

Once I am out of Haymitch's house, I run for mine. It is only a few feet, but I feel I might explode if I am not there within the next few seconds. It is my safe place, possibly safer than the woods. Once I am inside, I lean against the door. The fire is out, so I would have to build a new one, but I don't have the energy right now. My bed offers no serenity. Finally, a solution creeps into my mind.

Before I can fully process what I am doing, I'm standing in my mother's room. Her closet was the biggest as you could walk right in and still have plenty of room. The closet alone is as big, if not bigger, than our family's compartment in thirteen. Only when I am sitting in front of a large black chest do I realize what I am about to see without the company of Annie or my prep team. It's for my eyes only. With a shaky breath, I unlatch it.

Inside, I find the black book of Cinna's designs. I recognize it by the cover. It was his idea to make into a Mockingjay, and I will forever have his sketches to remind me of that. The clothes are packed tightly, and there most be dozens of outfits inside that I don't recognize from the Victory Tour. There's everything from pajamas to jeans to shirts to day dresses to whole ballgowns. I examine each one of them with a sharp eye and see no mistakes. Cinna was perfection.

When one final piece remains, I'm shocked to have already seen it. It is the black Mockingjay outfit he made for me to lead the rebellion in. A sob escapes my throat and once it starts, it does not stop. Tears freely fall on the garment, and a cry I do not recognize come from my own throat. I feel like a wrecking ball has crashed right into my emotional wall.

Greasy Sae finds me in the closet the next morning. It was another sleepless night, and I can only imagine how I must look with my bloodshot and swollen eyes. She whispers something under her breath before bending down to help me up. She guides me to my room and pushes me into the bathroom, giving me no choice on the matter. This is the first time she has ever insinuated that I take a shower or clean myself up.

I decide to take a shower. I need the smell of Cinna's costumes washed off of me. I turn away from the mirror like I always do to keep myself from seeing my reflection. If I see it, then I spend hours tracing my scars and uneven skin. It horrendous, and I feel like I have half of someone else's body sewn onto me.

Once I am done, I comb my hair and don't even bother to style it. I throw on a fresh pair of clothes and find Greasy Sae working on the dishes. A bowl of lamb and plum soup sits before one of the chairs. My stomach growls, and I can't remember the last time I ate. When I'm about midway through, Greasy Sae sits in a chair next to me.

This is so unusual for her that I give her a confused look. "You weren't home for dinner last night," she tells me like a disappointed mother. "I assumed you were out hunting, but I found the food untouched this morning. I discovered a very drunk Haymitch when I took him his food, and he told me I might be able to find you in your mother's closet. Is everything okay?"

My face burns with embarrassment. I didn't mean to stay there for so long, but time has a way of escaping me now. "I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting to find a chest full of clothes from an old friend."

Greasy Sae nods. "We were waiting for the right moment to tell you. I take it Peeta invited you to the town's opening?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. "How did you know that?"

She smiles. "He asked me if he should ask you. Since you were looking for something to wear, are you considering coming?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I really hadn't thought about it since Peeta had asked. I was too caught up in the person Cinna believed I was to make a decision. "I don't know."

"Perhaps you should call Dr. Aurelius and discuss it with him. I know it's a big step, but we would love to have you there." She chuckles at the strange look I give her. "I'm opening a restaurant. Don't worry though. I will still have time to feed you and Haymitch."

I smile at the older woman. She's too nice to me, and I don't deserve it. "I'll think about it."