Chapter Forty-One: A Look Inside the Past

"For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands." —Christina Rossetti

"It's sort of weird being here on our own, isn't it?" Prim asks quietly, handing me a couple vitamins from the bottle that Madge had brought yesterday. "Feels like we broke into some rich person's house or something. Everything's so clean and new and… different. In a good way. I never want to leave." I nod as I drop the vitamins into a blender jar of milk, leftover biscuits, green beans, and sausage. "It's nice to be able to take a bath anytime I want and flush a toilet and eat all kinds of yummy food. And the couch is a lot more comfortable than a cot. Oh, and I love watching the TV! It's my new favorite thing. Be careful if you flip through channels late at night, though."

"Why?" I glance sideways at her.

Her cheeks flush and she avoids my eyes.

"Um… well, there are channels for adults," she replies with a quick shrug of a shoulder. My mouth drops open once I realize what she means, but before I can say anything she gives a muffled snort and a mischievous smile curves her lips. "Then again, Peeta might like it if you watch them."

"Prim!" She stifles a giggle as I narrow my eyes at her. "I can't believe you just said that! No more TV at night for you. And I'll be talking to Peeta about blocking channels."

"What? I swear I didn't watch any of it. I was just saying…."

"Yeah, well, believe me, you've said way too much. Stick to the cartoons. No channel browsing. And what Peeta and I do is none of your business."

"So you guys have—" I place my hand over her mouth and shake my head.

"What did I just say?" I roll my eyes and drop my hand. "And no, not that it's any of your business, but we haven't. And while we're on the subject—no more bringing things up like me and Peeta having babies, especially in front of people we just met. Do you know how awkward that was yesterday?"

"Okay. But you saw how good Peeta was with Jay. He'd be a great dad, and I know for a fact that you'd be a good mom. And your babies would be adorable," she replies in a tone of finality.

"Look, right now I'm scared to death of any of us walking out the front door. As long as I feel any sort of threat, there's zero chance I'll ever bring a kid into this world. No matter how cute it would be. So don't get your hopes up. More importantly, don't get Peeta's hopes up. I can't even think about stuff like that right now. I have enough to take care of and worry about as it is."

"I know. It'd just be nice to have a normal family someday. Like people have on TV," Prim mumbles dejectedly. Without another word, she opens a canister on the counter, retrieves a cookie, and takes a bite.

"We might not be normal or perfect, Prim, but we're still a real family. Families on TV aren't normal or real," I state before pressing the highest, loudest setting on the blender. It does nothing to silence my mind, though. Despite Prim's obvious attempts at trying to divert my thoughts from Peeta leaving this morning, all the horrific threats that Snow had made over the years echo in my mind and settle in my stomach like shards of glass.

Taking a deep breath, I try to focus my attention on something else by gazing through the rain-spattered window over the sink. All I see is a manicured courtyard, a high iron fence, and a bunch of trees shielding us from seeing anything beyond. Gold and crimson leaves sail and skitter across the lawn and trees bend and sway as if playing tug-of-war with the wind. It's a fitting day for the first of October.

I try to imagine normal, cheerful things such as people decorating their shops and houses and children getting excited for Halloween. However, it only fills me with nostalgia, sorrow, and dread; nostalgia for the beautiful childhood I once had, sorrow for the childhood Prim never got, and dread due to the fact that real monsters don't wear masks; they walk among us every day and are exceptionally well at blending in.

"I think it's done now!" Prim hollers over the noise, tapping me on the shoulder and snapping me out of my thoughts.

I immediately turn the blender off, remove the top, and proceed to open a few cabinet doors before I finally find a cup to pour the purée into. I feel as lost and out of place here as a fish in the desert. It's different being here with Peeta; he has a way of making everything seem normal, better, as if I belong. Without him, I'm only reminded how screwed up this whole situation is and how foreign I am to this sort of life.

My heart suddenly catches in my throat and I have to stop what I'm doing and squeeze my eyes shut in order to retain my composure. Prim evidently notices my distress because for the second time this morning, she takes it upon herself to console me. Wrapping her arms around me in a side-hug, she nuzzles her cheek against my arm. As sweet as the gesture is, it only makes me feel worse. I should be comforting her, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry I'm being such a crybaby—" I begin, but Prim shushes me before I can finish. She gently takes hold of my forearms, turns me towards her, and looks up at me with eyebrows raised, her big blue eyes serious and full of sincerity.

"Katniss, you're the toughest person I know. It's okay to cry sometimes; it doesn't mean you're a crybaby. It just means you care a lot and you're worried. You don't have to say sorry for that," she reassures. "If you wanna talk about it, it's not like we have a whole lot else to do. It might make you feel better?"

I shake my head, shifting back towards the counter as I swiftly wipe a tear from my cheek. "Thanks, but I don't think talking about it will help any. The only thing that could make things better right now is if Snow stopped existing," I mutter, pouring the contents of the blender into a plastic cup. "And Coin and all his stupid, corrupt buddies too. The world would be a much better place without them."

"No arguments here. I'd be happy enough if they just got arrested, though," Prim replies with a shrug, grabbing another cookie. "At least it'd be a break from worrying about them."

I nod in agreement, although it really isn't true. Even if they did get arrested, they have connections on the outside. As long as we stick around where they can find us, they'll find a way to get even. And eventually they'll be released. No matter what, we'll always have to look over our shoulders. We'll never have complete closure here, only temporary relief.

With a heavy sigh I place the blender jar in the sink and turn the tap on to rinse it out.

"I should've aimed for his head and rolled him over the cliff. We wouldn't be in this mess if I had, or at least not as big of one. I doubt anyone would've found him down there. We could've just said he never came back home."

"It's no use beating yourself up over what you could've done. You can't go back and change it. Besides, you could never kill anyone intentionally, Katniss. Killing animals for food isn't the same. Maybe things happened exactly as they should've and we're right where we're supposed to be," Prim muses. "With all we've been through, we're still alive and we're still together. That has to mean something, right?"

"I'm afraid to answer that. I don't want to jinx anything. This could be the calm before the storm."

"Or it could be the rainbow after," she counters. "I know you're worried about Peeta right now, but he knows what he's doing. He's strong and smart and he can take care of himself—"

"No offense, Prim, but being able to lift sacks of flour isn't going to help him much if he has a gun pointed at his back – a bullet doesn't care how strong he is. And even if he is smart, he also tends to let his heart rule his judgment, which makes him do stupid things. Like dating me. That's probably the dumbest thing he could've ever done," I reply, feeling helpless and frustrated – especially due to the fact that I'm dumping my worries onto an 11-year-old's shoulders. I move past her and sit down at the table, where I proceed to bury my face into my hands to keep from breaking down again.

"Well, I totally disagree with you on that and I know Peeta would too if he were here." I groan and rub the heels of my hands against my eyes as Prim pulls a chair out and takes a seat beside me. I glance over at her through a space between my fingers and she gives me a small, sympathetic smile as she reaches over and lowers my hands from my face.

"I just wish I could be more useful than this, sitting around here all day. I hate waiting and not knowing what's going on in town or with Peeta and his dad. And I don't even want to think of how all this has affected Gale and his family. If anything bad happens to anyone.…" I swallow and hide my face in my hands again.

"It wouldn't be your fault," Prim states. "Katniss, do you seriously think Peeta would've left this morning if there wasn't a good reason for it? You should know by now that he'd do anything for you, especially if you asked. The only reason he ever wouldn't is if there's a good reason for it."

"He's supposed to give our notebooks to Haymitch this morning, but going into town wasn't really necessary for that," I reason. "Haymitch could've come here. Or Mr. Mellark could've done it. And going to school isn't really worth the danger. It's not like he'd even be able to concentrate on anything—"

"I don't mean any of that," Prim cuts me off with an adamant shake of her head, giving me a very pointed look. "I mean… something else."

"Like what?" I narrow my eyes at her, but she merely shrugs, seemingly conflicted as she averts her gaze to the table and begins tracing the flower outline on a placemat.

I continue to stare at her, waiting for her to explain more about what she means—but she doesn't. Frustrated with how cryptic she's being, I place my hand under her chin and turn her face towards me.

"Prim, what do you know that you're not telling me?" I ask slowly, my eyes fixed onto hers. She fidgets and tries to look away, but I keep my hand tightly in place so she has no other option but to look at me.

"I don't want you to worry anymore than you already—"

"Prim, seriously. Tell me now," I demand, feeling what little patience I have slip away. I swallow my growing agitation, take a deep breath, and continue in a quieter, calmer tone, "Please? If you don't, I'm just going to think of all the worst case scenarios and it'll make me worry even more."

Prim glances back at me with a frown, her eyes hesitant before shrugging and heaving a sigh. She then leans forward and answers quickly and quietly, as if someone might walk in and catch her telling, "Peeta and his dad were talking about something really serious last night after you fell asleep on the couch. They went into Peeta's room and closed the door and I could hear their voices rise every so often. Things sounded really tense between them. I really wanted to listen in, but I didn't want to get caught. I think it had something to do with what's going on in town, though."

"Why do you think they were talking about something in town?"

She chews on her bottom lip and shrugs again. "Because I heard the word 'town' come up a few times. I thought I heard Gale's name mentioned, but I don't know for sure; I don't think Mr. Mellark even knows Gale, right? I probably heard wrong. I don't know why they'd be talking about him anyway. I didn't really hear anything else, though. I only heard what they said when they raised their voices."

My mind is reeling with all the possibilities of what their conversation could've been about and what it might mean. Prim is right; Peeta wouldn't have left without a good reason. That fact doesn't ease my worries at all, though; it only makes them worse.

Prim falls silent for a moment before adding, "There's um… there's also another thing. But I don't want you to get mad…."

"I won't," I immediately reassure, though I don't make any promises. "Now what is it?"

"Peeta told you he was going to school this morning?"

"Yeah…."

"Well, the news said last night that school would be closed until things settled down. Parents didn't feel safe sending their kids, you know," Prim informs, her voice trembling. She looks over at me with a slight cringe – probably because I'm doing an extremely poor job of hiding my indignation at being lied to.

"So… he really didn't say anything to you about it?"

"No. Nothing at all." I stand up and move to the kitchen counter to retrieve my cell phone. I see there are no new messages – at least none besides the two he'd sent over an hour ago; one to say the road was clear and they were okay, and another to inform that they got to town safely. "But I'm going to find out why."

"Please don't say I told you," pleads Prim, her eyes wide and panicked. "I don't want to get in trouble for saying anything. I don't want Peeta to hate me."

"You're not in trouble," I dismiss as I sit back down beside her. "And Peeta could never ever hate you. Especially for telling me something he should have."

"Just… please don't be mean or break up with him again?" I look up from the text screen to give her a small reassuring smile, even though every muscle in my face fights against the act. I'm livid and stressed, but I don't want Prim thinking it's in any way her fault for telling me.

"I'm not. I just want to know what he's doing."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I debate what I want to say and do about this new information. Whatever Peeta's doing, I know him well enough to know he believes he's doing it for a good cause. I don't want to put him in any more danger by anyone possibly hearing my voice so I decide to text him instead of calling. After all, I don't know where he really is and who he may be around. Better safe than sorry.

I quickly type and send, 'No school? So why did u leave? Whats going on?'

I hold my breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I wait for his reply. It doesn't take long; only about 30 seconds pass before he texts back: 'There's a lot to explain. Everything will be fine though. I'll be home as soon as I can and I'll explain all then, ok? Love you.'

With tears stinging my eyes and a million fears instantly swirling in my head, I text back with a panicked, 'WILL b fine? What do u have 2 explain? Call me NOW!'

'I can't. Too many people around. We're safe though and so are you. No need to worry.'

Who are all these people he's around? Who is 'we'? Everything he's saying only creates a new question. I don't even know where to begin.

'The fact u feel the need 2 say that MAKES me worry! Please call ASAP! Or at least tell me what the hell youre up 2. REALLY PEETA!'

'It's ok. Really. I'll call as soon as I can, I promise. Might be a few hours though. Hopefully I'll be home before then. I'd rather explain in person. It'll all make sense when I tell you. You should unpack your stuff for now. Make yourself at home.'

I shake my head in disbelief at how dismissive he's being. How can I concentrate on unpacking and doing mundane things when I have no idea what's going on? I feel like I'm being held in a very clean prison, and there's nothing that I can do besides worry and wait.

'Whatever! U should have told me about everythin left! Please PLEASE dont do anything stupid!'

I have a strong urge to throw the cell phone against the wall. I hear Prim ask me a question, but I'm so wrapped up in texting back and forth with Peeta that all I hear is background noise.

'I won't. You'll understand later. Things look good. Gotta go now, k? Talk in a bit. Love you.'

'I hope! Please b safe & call soon! Love u 2 but Im mad at u 4 keeping secrets!'

I wait for a reply; some sort of comeback or rebuttal… but nothing comes. That's the end of our text conversation, and it leaves me with a lot more questions than answers.

"So did he tell you what's going on?" Prim asks quickly, concern etched in her features. "Did you tell him I told you?"

"No, Prim, I didn't say a thing about you," I answer, rubbing my eyes. "And no, I didn't find out what he's doing or where he's at. He was perfectly vague about everything. He should know by now how much I worry about people, especially when it comes to them possibly getting hurt because of me. Of all times for him to do something like this…."

"Maybe no other time would call for what he's doing? I really don't think he'll get hurt, but even if he did, it wouldn't be because of you, it'd be for you. People worry about you too, Katniss, just as much as you worry about them. I know as many times as you stood between Snow hurting me that you'd probably die for me. But that works both ways, you know. I'd also die for you, too. I think Peeta feels the same way. He'd do whatever it takes to protect you," Prim states.

"Yeah well, I'm going to worry about him regardless. I don't care where he went or what his noble intentions are, I don't want him getting hurt. I don't want anyone getting hurt. For me, because of me, or for any other reason. Period."

"Did he at least seem okay?"

I shrug. "As far as I can tell. Who knows, though. Hopefully he'll call soon."

"Hopefully," Prim agrees, reaching out and resting her hand atop of mine."In the meantime, we should probably feed Mom. It'll take you mind off of things for a bit."

With a heavy sigh, I nod and stand up. Prim does the same, grabbing the plastic cup of purée from the kitchen counter and a spoon. Nauseated and lost in my worries, I follow her as she leads the way to Mom's room. When we enter, I'm relieved to find that everything is still clean. I was dreading walking into a scene like yesterday. Surprisingly, Mom is awake and sitting up in bed. She smiles as we sit on each side of her, but doesn't say anything.

"Can I feed her this time?" Prim asks as if it's some sort of privilege.

"Please, be my guest." I nod and gesture for her to do so. "Not too much too fast, though. Don't want to upset her stomach."

"Right," Prim acknowledges confidently.

I watch as she ladles small spoonfuls of purée and brings it to Mom's lips, feeding her patiently and effortlessly. Which is saying a lot, honestly. I remember certain times when I'd try to feed Mom in the past, how she'd refuse to eat or spit out what I'd feed her. Then again, what I was feeding her wasn't nearly as tasty as what she's eating now and I doubt I was even half as patient back then as Prim is now.

"You'll be a great nurse someday," I remark, breaking the silence that has settled in the room. She smiles back at me, looking honored and a little taken aback by my random compliment.

"Thank you. I sure hope so."

"Who knows, with all the money we're supposedly getting and if you keep your grades good, maybe you can even become a doctor eventually."

"Maybe." She narrows her eyes and nods, as if considering this possibility. "You know, you can be whatever you want, too, Katniss… anything at all. What do you want to be?"

I chew on my bottom lip as I think of how to best answer her question. The truth is, I don't know. I never thought that far ahead. I thought I'd be dead by the time I got out of high school, and that if I wasn't I'd still be living a life of hell under Snow's thumb. So I never considered a future; I never dreamt of some dazzling career that I'd sneak off to after graduation. I didn't plan on a happily ever after. If I didn't get my hopes up, they couldn't come crashing down.

So I answer as honestly as I can for now, "I just want to be safe and happy."

After Mom is fed, Prim insists on following Madge's instructions to a T. I try to reason that she doesn't necessarily need to start using an actual bathroom today, but Prim argues that today is as good a day as any, and that even if she doesn't use the toilet today, it's still one day closer to when she does.

So we slowly walk Mom to the bathroom across the hall, remove her disposable diaper—which is also surprisingly clean; she usually always relieves herself overnight—and sit her down on the toilet.

And we wait.

After about 30 minutes pass, I stand up from the bathroom floor and inform Prim that I'll be right back.

In all the excitement and sleep deprivation of the weekend, of all the things that had kept us busy, I'd completely forgotten about the things I'd found in the wall when we packed. In all honesty, that whole night stills seems like a bad dream, like it was just some vivid, elaborate, horrible fantasy my mind had concocted. But now that I remember the mysterious box and journal I'd quickly placed in my bag in the dark, I'm intrigued to find out whom they belonged to and what they hold inside.

I find my bag of clothes in the corner of the living room and rip it open in a rush of impatient curiosity. At least this will give me a slight distraction, even if it turns out that the journal and box hold nothing of value. I don't have to look for long, finding them nestled near the top.

I try to open the wooden box first, but soon realize it's locked and not budging a millimeter. Slightly frustrated, but not deterred in finding a way to eventually see what's inside, I place it on the floor beside me and move onto the journal.

It's bound in plain red leather, and the pages are yellowed and slightly weathered. I'm relieved that at least this finding doesn't have an obstacle to remove.

Curious, I flip open to the first page. And… I can't believe it.

Immediately, tears spring up in my eyes. With my heart pounding and my breath seemingly caught in my throat, I read:

Entry #1: I'm starting this journal due to the advice of Dr. Easton. He believes it'll help if I write down my emotions, fears, hopes, and life in general following Vance's death. I'm not sure I agree that it'll help any, but I'm willing to do what it takes to become whole again. Not for me, but for our girls. Even as I write 'our' my heart aches and all I can do is cry. They are 'ours', they always will be, but the other part of 'ours' is gone forever. Just gone. And there's nothing I can do about it. I try to forget him, but everything reminds me of him. And even if I happen to forget him for a second, it overwhelms me with guilt.

Katniss has become quiet and withdrawn. I found her Wizard of Oz VHS in the bottom of the trash yesterday with all the tape strewn out in tangles. Prim doesn't understand where her daddy went. I tell her Heaven. She just keeps asking when he'll come home. I don't know how to answer that. I can't say 'never' – it just seems so cruel. I'm not sure how to move past this.

I'm not sure it's even possible.

But I'm trying.

Entry #2: It's nearly 3 AM. I can't sleep. I just keep listening to the silence and all the sounds within – the wind and the crickets. There's a whip-poor-will singing in the distance, beautiful and wistful. Funny how you never hear more than one. Maybe it's not singing after all. Maybe it's crying out of loneliness.

I close the journal, take a deep breath to calm myself, and wipe the tears from my cheeks. I remember my mom writing in a journal after my dad's death, even sometimes when Snow wasn't around. She never said what she was doing, and I never questioned her. I never thought much of it, so I guess it was easily forgotten over the years. I feel compelled to read more, but I'm afraid of it. It's unbelievably sad to read words of a woman right before she lost her mind. There's a good chance it'll bring up a lot of things I'd rather keep forgotten, too, such as the event with the Wizard of Oz VHS.

What I read was enough for today, I know that much. There's only so much crying and helplessness I can deal with in one day.

As I approach the bathroom, I hear Prim and Mom singing what sounds like the alphabet song. The sound of it is so familiar yet distant, so simple and sweet and sad, that I have to stop outside the door and listen a little longer. It strikes me as ironic; hearing them singing this song of all songs, under these circumstances.

I remember when Prim was going through potty training, how Mom and Dad would stay with her as she sat on her toddler toilet, singing songs together until she was done. More often than not, they'd sing the alphabet song because, as Mom put it back then, 'it's both fun and educational'. Prim was potty trained in no time at all, in fact it was nearly effortless because she loved the activity of singing with our parents, as well as receiving a reward afterwards - be it an animal cracker, an orange or apple slice, or a tootsie-roll. It made me happy too, as I'd also get a treat for her accomplishment. The only problem they had with her when it came to potty training was getting her to stay out of the bathroom when she didn't need to use it.

And now, here we are, with the roles reversed. And the circumstances are nothing short of harrowing.

When Mom and Prim reach the end of the song, I take a deep breath, wipe whatever wetness still remains on my face, and finally enter the bathroom.

"You remember singing that when you were potty training?" I ask casually as I sit down on the tile floor beside Prim.

Prim glances over at me and shakes her head. "No," she answers. "I just started singing it because I figured it's a song that everyone knows. And judging by the fact that she started singing with me, I guess I was right." When she looks back at Mom, her smile is as bright as the sun peeking out through storm clouds. She twines their fingers together as she continues hopefully, "I think that's a good sign, isn't it? That she can recognize the song I'm singing and sing along with me? It's kind of like when you guys were singing together on the cliff. It's not nothing… it's definitely something. At least I think so."

"It's something," I agree, looking down at the journal and wooden box in my hands. "I just don't know what."

"Well... baby steps, I guess. She either gets better or she doesn't, but the least we can do is try and know we did all we could to help her. I think she wants to get better, she just doesn't know how. She's lost and needs us to help her find her way again," Prim states thoughtfully.

I nod, searching her face as she gazes up at Mom.

Maybe it's the haircut, maybe it's the fact that I'm seeing her in a whole new setting, but it's almost as if I'm seeing her grow up right before my eyes. I don't know how I feel about it, and I suppose it doesn't matter how I feel - it's going to happen one way or another, and it's not up to me when it happens. The most I can hope for is that she'll use her sorry excuse for a childhood as something to grow from, to rise above, and not use as a crutch to make bad choices down the road.

"What's that?" she asks, pointing to my hands.

"I don't know yet," I reply, focusing my attention back on the box and the journal. I place the journal beside me on the floor, knowing that it's something I'll have to go through when I have time, when I have the right frame of mind to take it all in without letting it kill me emotionally - because somehow I know it will. Just the beginning excerpt was enough to make my stomach tie itself in knots. "I found them in the wall when we were packing to leave."

"Who do you think left them there? The people who lived in the trailer before us maybe? What's inside?" Prim asks excitedly, as if I'd just found a treasure map.

"I think it belonged to Mom, actually. I found this journal that was written by her—" I lift the journal and Prim makes a quick grab for it. I shake my head and place it down on the floor again, out of her reach. "I read the first couple of entries. It's a journal she kept after Dad died. I'm not sure we should really read it, but if we do I don't think it should be done on a bathroom floor. It's pretty depressing from what little I read. I think we should save it for another day."

Prim frowns and knits her brows together but reluctantly nods her agreement. Just as she does so, Mom takes us both by surprise and runs her hand through Prim's hair.

"Pretty," she comments with a smile as she combs her slim fingers through Prim's tresses.

"I... uh... I cut it myself?" Prim states, her voice awe-filled and croaky. She gazes up at Mom with a mixture of disbelief, curiosity, and hope before looking over at me with her eyebrows raised in question. I shrug in reply. I have no idea what Mom's gesture means, if it means anything at all. Best not to read too much into it, but for Prim's sake I'm not going to dismiss it as a sign of improvement either.

"Pretty girl," Mom whispers and begins to hum as she slowly slides her fingers from Prim's hair down to her chin, keeping them there for a few moments before dropping her hand completely to her own lap. She closes her eyes and continues to hum, and Prim—who has been wide-eyed through the whole ordeal—turns back to me, seemingly speechless and somewhat shaken.

"Well, I have to agree with her," I state with a shrug, reaching out and playfully tousling Prim's hair. She immediately yells 'hey!' and tries to comb it back into place with her fingers. "You are very pretty. Though I don't know if I'll ever get used to the haircut."

"Whatever," she huffs and points to the box in my lap. "So anyways… what's inside of it?"

I attempt to pry the lid open with my bare hands again, but it doesn't come close to budging. "I have no idea. It's locked, and I obviously don't have a key."

"So find a way to open it," Prim insists, looking at me as if I'm an idiot. "Use a kitchen knife to pry it open or something. Who cares about ruining the box, I just want to know what's inside."

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Or instead of ruining one of Peeta's kitchen knives or injuring ourselves in the process, I could just use a screwdriver," I say, pointing at the tiny screws holding the hinges in place.

"Okay, but where do you suppose Peeta keeps his screwdrivers?"

"I have no idea," I answer as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. "I'll ask him, though."

Prim nods quickly, her eyes wide and excited. I rub my own eyes, feeling kind of absurd for sending a text to Peeta about screwdrivers. Oh well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just as curious as Prim to see what's inside the box, and besides, I've been anxiously waiting for Peeta to send me a message or call, so his answer is an easy, quick way of finding out he's still okay.

I type 'Hey how r u? Where do u keep ur screwdrivers?' and press send.

A couple minutes pass before he sends a text back of: 'I'm good. Just busy at the moment. Screwdrivers are packed still. Best bet would be the boxes in my bedroom closet. You can look if you want. Why do you need a screwdriver?'

'OK u sure about me looking through ur stuff? & I'll explain y I need a screwdriver when u CALL me! Why r u busy?'

'I'm sure. I guess we'll have a lot to talk about when we see each other next. Good luck on the screwdriver hunt! Gotta go now. Love you!'

I sigh loudly as I pocket the phone, feeling frustrated all over again at Peeta's vagueness. I don't have time to really ruminate over his messages and their meaning, however, as Prim prompts me with a quick and excited, "Well...?"

"Packed away in a box somewhere," I mutter and gesture towards Mom. "I guess we'll look when she finally does her business."

"I'm sure I can handle all this while you look," Prim offers, waving her hand dismissively towards Mom. "We'll just sing songs or whatever. If I need you I'll holler."

I tilt my head, considering her offer, before finally nodding. "Okay. I'll try not to take very long."

Without wasting any time, I take the box and journal with me to Peeta's room.

I open his closet and find three boxes inside, none of which are marked. Even though Peeta gave me permission to look through his things, it still seems highly intrusive. I mean, despite the fact that I have literally nothing to hide, I'd still feel self-conscious if someone looked through my belongings.

I suppose it's because every item that someone owns exposes a part of them, whether it be an advantage or a vulnerability. From the clothes and shoes someone wears down to the toothbrush they use, it reveals something. How you came to possess an item reveals as much about you as owning it. Everything tells a story.

I quickly scoot a box out of the closet to the end of the bed, where I sit. I open the cardboard flaps, look down, and shake my head. Unsurprisingly, it's packed neatly and precise; I'd expect nothing less of Peeta.

On the very top are folders filled with tons of old artwork - I know this because I open one to see a beautiful sketch of a deer in the woods, and in the pouch on the other side is a drawing of some random car. I'm curious to look at more of his artwork, especially considering there are 7 full folders of it, but... I'm on a mission. And it doesn't feel right to snoop. I'll ask him if I can see them later.

Right now I need to find a screwdriver.

I dig a little deeper, finding multiple shoe boxes of art supplies - paints, colored pencils, markers, and the like. There are a few small, blank canvases. I find random books, sketchbooks, and a couple magazines - baking magazines. Of all things to find in my boyfriend's storage. I make a mental note to tease him about his food porn later. That is, if the opportunity arises. My stomach twists as I remember he's in town, in danger, and I have no idea what's going on with him. And also that he lied to me about where he was going and what he's doing, and he still hasn't called to let me know. I definitely foresee an unpleasant discussion being had about all that.

I sigh heavily and move onto the next box. On top, I find a shoebox of medications, most of which are still full— prescriptions for insomnia, anxiety, pain, and depression. I narrow my eyes in confusion.

Peeta definitely doesn't strike me as a typically sad or depressed person. Then again, maybe he's become really good at hiding it, at concealing his sadness and fears behind a mask of bravery and sweetness. I've seen him when the mask has slipped, though, like when he has his night terrors. Despite my annoyance with him at the moment, I also find myself wishing he was here so I could hug him.

I tell myself not to overanalyze things as I place the shoebox of medicine to the side and keep looking. Luckily, I don't have to look much farther before I find a tool box that holds the screwdriver I need. I quickly put everything back into the boxes before pushing them into the closet again.

I look at the screwdriver in my hand and the wooden box on the bed with curious excitement. Time to finally find out what's inside.

I sit down on the bed and quickly remove the screws holding the back hinges in place. As soon as I'm done with the last one and place it into my pocket so I don't lose it, I lose my grip on the box and it falls to the floor upside down. I don't get a good look at a lot of it, but I notice some jewelry, pictures, a guitar pick, some ticket stubs, a playbill, and other mementos that Mom must have kept over the years. I decide not to look closely at any of it as I quickly put it all back into the box, instead keeping myself as mystified by it all so I'll be as surprised as Prim when I open the box in front of her.

However, one thing catches my eye and I find myself having a closer look at it, only because it seemed to be hidden. Behind the velvet inlay of the lid, there appears to be a piece of paper sticking out.

What I find leaves me both surprised and confused, and a little disturbed.

It's my brother's birth certificate and his death certificate, stapled together. I read my mom's name, but there is no father listed. And when I see my brother's full name, it sends all sorts of alarm bells off in my head.

Rye Avory Everdeen.

Why would she give my little brother my father's last name? There's no question that my dad was dead when she got pregnant. More confusing is his middle name. Why would my mom name her only son, a son that she knew was about to die, after her best friend… and then never tell him about it? According to Mr. Mellark, he didn't know she was pregnant at all.

And then his first name – that's what really hits me in the gut. I recall Peeta joking around in the car during lunch one day, telling me how his dad intentionally named all his children after forms of bread – an ironic sense of baker humor. Well… Rye is definitely and obviously a form of bread. I just can't see my mom picking that name without having a meaning behind it.

As much as I try to convince myself that I'm reading too much into things, every bone in my body tells me I'm not. The signs are all there and they have been all along. Snow's statement on the cliff that the baby wasn't his, Mom's mention of the baby's father being a football player in high school, Mr. Mellark's seemingly distraught reaction at finding out about Mom's past pregnancy, his curiosity of wanting to know the timeline of when it happened.

And Peeta did tell me how our parents had been in love with each other when they were teenagers. I don't know how I hadn't seen it before; maybe it's because I didn't want to. My mom and Peeta's dad must have had an affair after my dad died—or at least I hope that's when it started—and she got pregnant. However it ended must have hit them both pretty hard for them to stay away from each other for so long.

I have so many questions, but I'm not sure I want answers to any of them. I don't know what to think anymore. How am I going to face Mr. Mellark after this? Knowing what I know… and don't want to know. Should I tell Peeta and Prim? Does Peeta already know? Should I ask Mr. Mellark about it? Or should I leave the past in the past and focus on the present? After all, the present has enough problems to deal with as it is.

I look at the journal lying a few feet away on the bed. If I'm going to find any answers, it'd likely be in there. But do I really want to find out? Do I really want to have these suspicions confirmed? I don't know. The one thing I do know is that I really don't want to deal with this today, so I take the stapled certificates and hide them between the mattresses of Peeta's bed.

Only a few seconds later, I hear Prim holler my name from the bathroom. I grab the box, leave the journal behind, and rush to the bathroom expecting the worst. However, when I enter I'm nearly knocked down by an ecstatic Prim. She hugs me around the waist as she literally bounces with excitement.

"She did it! She did it, she did it, she did it!" Prim cheers as she releases me. Her eyes are as wide as an owl's. I can't remember the last time I'd seen her so overjoyed.

"What did she do?" I ask, giving a small laugh at her unbridled enthusiasm. Before she can answer, I hold up a hand and shake my head. "Nevermind. I understand. Whatever it is, do you want the special privilege of being the wiper?"

She nods, grinning ear to ear, then skips over to Mom and gives her a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"You're gonna get better! I know it, I know it! You did such an awesome job. Katniss and I are so proud of you for going potty on the toilet!" Prim looks over at me like a child opening presents on Christmas morning, "She actually peed! I just can't believe it! Now, aren't you glad I insisted on taking her to the bathroom this morning?" She juts her chin out and gives me a humorous I-told-you-so look. I snort and roll my eyes as I give a small nod.

As excited as Prim is, I won't bring her down by telling her that it's pretty logical that Mom would use the bathroom after being stuck on the toilet for so long, especially when she hadn't gone since last night. After a certain amount of time, she's going to have to go. I don't know if it's a sign that she's getting better, but I won't say anything contrary to it. Seeing Prim this happy is infectious; despite all the horrible things going on right now, all the worries I have, Prim's laughter and smile bring a lightness to the atmosphere that is very greatly needed.

"It's great, Prim," I reply, watching as she excitedly hugs and kisses Mom again and continues to spout encouragements. "Once we're done here, just to let you know, I got the box open."

I hold it up and rattle it a bit to entice her curiosity.

"Yes!" Prim exclaims. "Did you see what's inside? Anything good?"

I nod, raising my eyebrows in consideration. "Yeah, I think you might find it all pretty interesting."

"Well, what are you waiting for then? Help me lift her up!" Prim demands, adding with a meek smile, "pretty, pretty please with icing on top?"

Once we have Mom cleaned and clothed, we walk her back to the bedroom. Nearly as soon as she rests her head upon the pillow, her eyes are closed. I'm not surprised. Just the walk to and from the bathroom and sitting on the toilet for over an hour was probably more exercise than she's had in years.

Prim curls up beside her, gently stroking her hair until she's certain she's asleep. Then with one last kiss to Mom's forehead, she sits up with a burst of energy and we make our way into the living room to explore our little treasure chest.

The first thing Prim notices when I open the box is the jewelry.

She picks up a long, silver chain that has two rings on it. I immediately recognize them as Mom and Dad's wedding bands. Overcome and speechless, all I can do is stare at them and turn them over in my palm. I thought for sure they'd been lost or pawned, gone forever.

"These are Mom and Dad's," I inform breathlessly. "I never thought I'd see them again."

"I think they should be yours," Prim states, closing my fingers over them and laying her hand upon mine. "The first of us to marry should have them. And, I mean, if you don't ever marry Peeta you'd be an idiot."

"Hey," I reprimand with a lighthearted scowl.

"Well, it's true," she shrugs and raises her eyebrows pointedly, "don't be an idiot. You better marry before I do. And it better be Peeta."

"We'll see."

With a roll of my eyes, I pick up a gold broach of a bird with an arrow in its beak. The whole surface is encrusted with brown and blue crystals. It's absolutely beautiful; I know Prim agrees, judging by her quick intake of breath when she sees it. I remember Mom wearing this pin on holidays and when we'd go somewhere special. It was one of her most cherished pieces of jewelry.

"Mom told me she got that from Dad on their first anniversary," I recall, tracing the edges with my index finger. "She always called him her mockingbird, because he could sing anything perfectly after only hearing it once. He called her his blue jay because of the color of her eyes and how beautiful she used to be, like a petite little bird." I shake my head. "I

thought all this stuff was gone. Mom must have hid these well, even from us, so we wouldn't let it slip to Snow where they were."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you found them when you did," Prim says. "Better lost in a wall than in his hands, I suppose. But it's still sad to think we could've left these behind and never even knew they existed."

I nod and take the broach from Prim's hand. She seems affronted at first until I lift her shirt from her chest and pin it over her heart.

"Really?" she whispers, wide-eyed.

"It looks perfect on you. It's meant to be yours. Matches your eyes," I answer, smiling as she stares down at it in awe. "As long as you wear it, me, Mom, and Dad will always be with you, close to your heart. It can be your good luck charm. As long as you wear it, nothing bad will happen to you."

"A safety pin," she jokes with a tearful laugh. "I love it, it's so pretty Katniss."

Just as I'm about to look through the rest of the box, which is turning out to be the equivalent of an emotional rollercoaster already, my cell phone starts going off in my pocket.

I immediately answer. It's Peeta, much to my relief, calling to say he's made it home and that he'll be up in a few minutes. Relief rushes over me like a waterfall at the knowledge that he'll soon be in my arms, safe and sound and unaffected by the millions of fears in my head. On the other hand, I'm nervous to know what he's been doing. And despite how grateful I am to have him home unscathed, I'm still a bit miffed about being lied to and being kept in the dark all day.

Prim and I decide to look through the rest of the box later when we have time; that it'll be something we do only together. It'll be our reprieve from the chaos.

I quickly unlock everything on my side of the door and wait with bated breath until I hear footsteps approaching. Prim and I exchange small, anxious smiles as she grabs my hand and gives it a slight squeeze as if to say everything's okay.

Everything isn't okay, of course, but temporary comfort is better than none at all, and I'll take what I can get. At least I can relish in knowing we're all okay for now.

As soon as the door opens and I see Peeta, I don't even think twice. I rush forward full force and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face into his chest as he kisses the top of my head, enveloping me in his warm embrace. I then look up and plant at least six quick kisses to his chin before he dips his head a little lower so I can reach his mouth.

It's only when I hear Prim's loud gasp from behind me that I look over Peeta's shoulder and past Mr. Mellark to see they're not alone.