The Photograph
Katniss tells Peeta her life story. Many things unfold.
P.S. Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games Trilogy.
Trigger Warning: Recollection of minor character death.
Some lines were borrowed from the original book (bold font). I thought that they fit well in this letter.
8 July
Dear Peeta,
It's been fourteen days since the accident, and though a look of peace laces your face, I worry about what is happening inside you. Time is so slow whenever I'm with you here, and the waiting is emptying. Will you ever wake up, Peeta? I need you to wake up.
Julian no longer visits as much because his grandparents from out of town are here, so I'm often alone waiting for you. This room grows colder the longer I'm left to my own thoughts and worries. I don't know how long I can hang on before I break. I have to give up soon, right? To save me from further pain.
Last night, Prim and I talked about you and my family. You should meet my sister, Peeta. She's really smart and sensible, so much better than I was at her age. She said I should tell you about my life story. Our family's story from the beginning - the one I've withheld from you for so long. I don't know if it will matter now, but I guess I'll humor her. You're my captive audience anyways.
I didn't tell you much about my past before because I was scared it would drive you away. It's easy to admit here while you lay there unconscious that you were special to me, and I didn't want to take my chances at changing your view of me when you told me you loved me. I've never experienced a love like yours - it was familiar and easy. Full and safe. For once, it was like everything strangely fit in my life. You were like a found puzzle piece, and I didn't dare shuffle things again and possibly lose you. But now, in this empty hospital room where you are still in a coma, I don't want to be afraid anymore. I have to be honest with you. I have to be honest with myself.
Peeta, my father died because of a drunk driver eleven years ago. It's cruel that the same almost killed you now. It's like I am being taunted, being frightened once again so that I lose my sanity. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being held by a thin thread and that any minute now, I will snap and let go of my world.
The accident happened on a cold January morning. It was a massive car collision, the driver taking seven lives with him. I was just fourteen then, and my family and I were devastated by the sudden loss of our family pillar. On the day my father died, a series of ambulance sirens went off during school lunch. No one waited for dismissal. I ran to Prim's class. She was waiting for me to collect her as I'd promised during an emergency. We wove through the stream of people pouring on the streets and found our mother clenching the rope that had been hastily strung to keep the crowd back.
My father was our stronghold. The unfailing foundation of our family. A source of joy, comfort, and stability all throughout. Then in a matter of hours after leaving for work, we find out that he was gone. Dead. And his body lay on the highway along with others, covered in nothing but a white piece of cloth on that bitter January morning. We couldn't comprehend it. He was just with us that morning, carefully sipping his coffee while we all ate breakfast at the table together. Then at one past, he was no more. It was so surreal. The tears that flooded my eyes felt like a kiss from death. Returning home and thinking that my father would never walk through our front door ever again made me grow a thick second skin.
My mother went into depression shortly after my father's dead body was shown to us. Trapped in some dark world of sadness, my mother left us the day after my father died. My mother didn't do anything but sat propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her.
Even Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Amelia tried to help. But my mother was too far gone. I couldn't comprehend it in my young mind. Her leaving us like that when we also just lost our father was unfair. I resented her then, as well as in the years that followed. But I also missed her. I miss my parents. I lost my pillars and was caught in the turmoil of just trying to survive and grow up so things would have an end. Life has been cruel to my sister and me.
Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Amelia took us under their guardianship after six months. They didn't have any children, so it worked out easily with the foster care system. My mother was taken to a healthcare facility in another town for treatment and therapy. Every weekend, we would visit her, sometimes more because of Prim. She was a lot younger then and wanted my mother more than me. I couldn't provide her any comfort, not like what she was looking for, at least. I did my best to provide and be there for her, though. As if things weren't heartbreaking enough, after a year, our mother refused to see us and was transferred to another state. Years later, she eventually recovered enough to work part-time again, but only Prim went to see her. One day, Prim heard her singing. She was thrilled to have her back, but I kept waiting for her to disappear on us again. I didn't trust her. It helped that I was hard at work all the time or in another country for a project. In all honesty, I wasn't ready to visit her. I was afraid to feel her wounds again or to witness her moving on without Prim and me. I had to put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again.
Haymitch said my mother blamed herself for everything that happened to our family. Karma, she said. When I was younger, I didn't understand anything. Now, after finding out about the affair, the dots are easy to connect. Mother blamed herself for everything and couldn't face her children. I could understand her better now, but still, I think my mother was weak. And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her neglect, for the years she had put us through. Her daughters should have been enough reason for her to live on and come back. This is why I didn't want to talk about my past with you, Peeta. It was too painful, and I still have so much anger in my heart - even after her death.
I don't know what to do now, Peeta. I feel so torn between staying mad at you and forgiving you. I hate you and my mother for what you did. You let your weakness get the better of you and indirectly affected mine and Prim's future. I don't know if my mother would have dove into depression if she didn't have an affair. There's really no saying. What I know is that her guilt and grief consumed her, and she abandoned us.
Despite everything, I still hope that you live, Peeta. I wish that you would come out of this coma now. I don't know what I will do with myself if you die. I couldn't even begin to think about it, despite it always tainting the air I breathe.
I'm so fearful, Peeta. I don't want to be like my mother because as much as I want to deny it, I still feel deeply about you. Will I fall into depression if you die? Will I mourn you as my mother did my father? Will I let go of my own life, wishing to follow you instead?
I don't want to carry the burden of the affair anymore. I want to free myself of anger and hate - to release myself from this spiral and not go down with it when things become worse. I want to forgive and start anew. To not let the past haunt me further than it should have and to allow my life to metamorphose into something filled with hope and kindness.
I wish to free you, too, Peeta. I think you have suffered enough.
Katniss
I'm so sorry for this late update. Life just took over, and I'm tired on most days to stay in front of the computer. Just a few more letters to go then this story will end. Thank you for staying with The Photograph and giving this fic a chance.
