Cold. Bright. Too Cold. Too Bright.
Shivering, I instinctively reach to pull up the collar of my hunting jacket but when fingers brush soft fur instead of the worn leather, I startle. Looking down I find that I'm wearing offending fur off, but soon as the delicate skin of my palms touches the pelt I yank my hand away, it's like grasping hot coals! "Damn it!" I yelp, shaking the red a blistered hand in the air. With my uninjured hand, I fumble with a button at my neck that seems to be keeping this garment attached to my body and the intensity of burning starts to grow, not just at my wrists but around my neck as well. I'm getting frantic now, both hands are raking at the collar. I've just about worked the button loose when the air crakes with a strained and tortured scream. "KATNISS!" My clothing worries evaporate instantly and my head snaps up but I'm not prepared for the overwhelming brightness that floods my senses. Instinctively my face tries to shelter into my shoulder and a hand comes up to cover my eyes. It seems to take an eternity for my eyes to adjust but when they finally do I'm astounded and confused when I realize the illumination isn't light, but color. Surrounding me are vibrant and nearly shimmering, shades of pink, yellow, and orange. The gaudy and painfully bright shades cover nearly every vertical surface of the builds that surrounds me. A breath catches in my throat, I would know this garish collection of buildings anywhere, this is the Capital of Panem.
A whisper rattles down the garish streets and surrounds me, "More like a sunset." I'd know the voice anywhere. "Peeta!" I scream. As my panic build so does the burning sensation on my skin. It may have started small, a little at my neck and wrists, but it now snakes up my arms and down my chest. I groan in pain as I spinning in circles, looking for any glimpse of where the voice came from. There is nothing here, not a person, bird, loose trash, or even a sound. The pain flares and I double over the waist just as another voice blows in on the wind. "Katniss!" it pleads. "PRIM!" I shriek and sprint off in the direction of the cry. Running is hindered in the long cloak, it wraps around my legs constricting my movements and igniting new patches of skin, but panic is the winning at the moment so I push through the searing pain. A breeze offers up Peeta agonized called again, "Help me Katniss! Please!" he begs. "Where are you?" I beg, but I get only silence in return, so I just run, winding down one empty street after another searching. Coming around a corner my feet skid to a halt when I find that I've popped out on the edge of the city center. Across the cobblestone city square, the president's mansion looms large and intimidating. I know instinctively that I've reached my destination. I quickly duck down an alley. Slumping against a brick wall, I try to slow my heavy breathing. As my breathing normalizes a bit, I peek around the corner of the building. Behind a large ornate gate of the mansion is a perfectly manicured lawn of the presidential mansion. In the middle of the lawn is a small garden of white roses and nestled in it a large steel plate, I recognize it at once. It is exactly like the transport plates used to bring tributes into the arena.
Giving the vacant square a wary glance, I cautiously begin crossing the square towards the lawn. I've only taken a few steps when the pedestal grinds to life. My first instinct is to run back to my hiding spot, but with Peeta and Prim's voice still fresh in my mind I push forward. I'm halfway across the square when the "tribute" finally appears on the pedestal. It's Peeta and he is strapped to a hospital bed. I know immediately that the person on the plate is not the Peeta that was sent back to Thirteen to kill me, but my Peeta. The Peeta with the bread. The Peeta with the pearl. Peeta my friend. "PEETA!" his name comes out in a strangled cry. His eyes shoot to mine and they are afraid, frantic. My heart jumps into my throat and my cautiousness of moments ago is forgotten as I sprint out across the square towards him.
"Katniss...Katniss...please! I need help!" Prim's scream echoes from my right. My feet slip on the cobblestones as I come to a halt and my eyes swing in the direction of the scream. About 100 yards from me Prim kneels next to a little girl in a lemon yellow coat her hands pressing to a wound but her eyes aren't on her task, they are instead lifted skyward. I don't need to look up to see what she's staring at, I know what's coming. Fear and horror pulse through me just as deeply anguished cry tears from Peeta's throat. The utter despair in the scream pulls my eyes back in his direction. The vignette in the yard has changed, Peeta has been joined by the one and only President Snow. In Snow's hand, I spot a syringe full of neon green tracker jacket venom poised and ready to be plunged into Peeta's bicep. My breath catches and my heart is nearly bursting out of my chest as I look from Peeta to Prim. President Snow grins at me with his snake smile and shakes his head. "You can't save either of them," he hisses and in one smooth motion jabs the needle into Peeta's arm and depresses the tracker-jacker venom into his vein. I gasp and my stomach turns and threatens to spill its contents onto the cobblestones. "No!" I scream but it's too late. One look at Peeta's face and I can see he is already gone. His pleading eyes have been replaced with a murderous glare. A string of hateful words echoes around the square as he strains against the bed restraints, he's desperate to kill me.
Tears fill my eyes and my heart wrenches, but I shake my head against a sob. "Peeta's gone, save Prim," I whisper aloud to myself, but somewhere deep in my brain, I know my old Peeta has been gone for a long time and that I can't save Prim either because this isn't real. My head spins as reality and nightmares war against each other for purchase in my consciousness. Futility is damned. Blindly by tears, I stumble towards Prim, but as if a movie frame has been paused. Frozen in time is Prim, her long blonde braid over one shoulder and kneeling amongst the broken bloody bodies of Capitol children, her face still turned up to the sky. I know what comes next but I can't keep the strangled desperate cry that tears out of my throat. "Prim! RUN PRIM!" I run as fast as my feet can carry me but it doesn't matter, I never get any closer. The cloak bursts into flames as I fight to reach my sister. Flames lick and climb up my body towards my face toward my face but I don't stop. "Prim... Prim please... please run" I desperately plead, but even as the words leave my mouth, I see a little gray parachute land gently on the ground directly in front of her. Everything goes red, orange, and yellow and Prim's form is wrapped in fire. Hot, scorching, killing fire. I open my mouth to call out to her but fire fills it and steals my breath, my words, my soul. My whole body now fully ablaze, I can run no longer. I fall to my knees, agony my only sensation. Collapsing to the ground, I know death is certain and close. As my eyes drift closed towards the inevitable, I hear President Snow's laugh on the hot wind, "Ladies and gentleman... Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire..."
A crake and boom rattle my entire house, shaking me out of the nightmare. I shoot straight up in bed, eyes wide searching the darkness for fire. Tears roll hot and desperate down my face as I try to grasp to fragile reality. One of my hands frantically reaches out across the expanse of the bed for Peeta, but my fingertips only find cold, rumpled sheets. I'm alone. There are no arms for me to find refuge in; no steady heartbeat to ground me. Peeta's asleep three houses away, probably fighting his own nightmares of me as a mutt.
My room is chilled due to the rain and all of my blankets are tangled around my ankles. Shaking, I wrestle the quilt and sheets up over my legs before sinking back against the pillow. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready for fight or flight, so I close my eyes and I try to focus on the soothing sound of rain tapping against the bedroom window. It's no use, my brain will not let go of the image of my sister turning to ash. Tears roll down my face as familiar feelings of fear and desperation claim me. A flash and boom of thunder shake the whole house. The terror of my dream sends a surge of panic so intense I'm instantly driven from my bed. Before my brain can even register what I'm doing I'm out the door and sprinting barefooted down the stone path of Victor's Village. The rain is like ice, shocking my subconscious and bring me around. My feet stutter to a stop. It's cold tonight, my expelled air comes out in misty clouds, and my teeth chatter. I've nearly convinced myself to head home when a clap of thunder shakes the earth under my feet. Any control I had reigned in disappears in an instant. Feet sliding on the rain-slicked stones, I scramble as fast as I can down the path and up Peeta's walkway. As I clamor up the slick stone steps, I lose my footing and go down hard on my hands and knees. Pain shoots through my right knee and down my leg, but I'm not bleeding so I curse under my breath and limp, albeit cautiously, up to the landing. It's only when my hand touches the cool, wet metal of the doorknob that I stop. I stare down at my hand and will it to turn the knob so I can find peace, but I can't do it. Reluctantly I drop it to my side. Slumping down to the ground I sob softly, my forehead against the door. I desperately want to go inside. Not just want, but need to go inside. I need to slip into Peeta's bed and press myself into his comforting embrace as I have done so many carelessly times before. I need to be warmed by him, made to feel safe by him, but that isn't reality. What it is, is proof of my selfishness. It's proof that I'm willing to take what I need from Peeta, as I've always done, never considering his feeling, his needs, or his tenuous grasp on sanity.
Peeta should be my priority, his's needs must come first, I owe that to him. He saved my life when he chose to come home to Twelve. His approach was slow, coming back to me only as fast I could handle. He sat through Silent breakfasts the morphed into silent walks. It was the garden next, where we both cared primroses had he planted for Prim. Stilled words eventually evolved into comfortable conversation. By the winter we were spending most evenings together, many of them spent with our memory book. Time has knitted us back into new people, created a new relationship. We're informed by our losses, our games, our pain. Peeta's pain is violent and vulgar, but I don't run anymore. I realized quickly that he wasn't physically dangerous, the violence he experiences is internal. His triggers remain a bit of a mystery, with the exception of physical contact with me, so we touch very little. Outside of accidental brush of a hand or necessary contact, I've kept space between us. It's sad that one storm and a bad dream has me nearly throwing away all the work he's done this last year.
Bringing fingertips up, I rub slow circles in the raindrops that mingle with my tears on the door the separates. Between the rain and the dark, I have no idea long I sit at his door wallowing in self-pity, but when light from the hallway cascades through the sidelight of the door next to me, I freeze, my pathetic sobs trapped in my throat. Sitting up straight, my muscles tense and ready to flee. My hunter's senses aren't needed to identify Peeta's heavy approaching footfalls. I momentarily consider staying here, wait to see if he opens the door and finds me, but guilt wins out and I reluctantly choose Peeta's needs over my own. Shooting to my feet, I move on stiff legs down the front stairs and take cover in the bushes at the bottom of the stairs. I wait to see if he will make an appearance or if I overreacted. I don't have to wait long. The heavy front door soon opens, letting warm light out to cascade down the stairs. I press further into ornamental spruce and I watch him step out into the downpour and look around. I stop breathing altogether when his eyes sweep over my hiding place, but he quickly looks away. He gives the yard one last curious look, before turning and heading back inside. I stay crouched and shivering in the bush long after he's turned out the light in the hallway until I'm certain he isn't returning. It takes a bit of effort to detangle myself from the branches, but I eventually come tumbling out. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I make my way home. The rain stopped a few minutes before, and the sun has begun to push its way into the valleys around me. Pausing on my own stoop, I bask for a long moment in the oranges of the coming sunrise and thinking of nothing but Peeta.