What's that really formal apologies you see in animes all the time? Dogeza? I'm doing it now. I'm sorry it's been such a long time. I bet many of you thought I gave up. I'm still here. RL issues are very big right now but I write when I can. Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story.
Peeta's smile was bright. "Sleep well?"
I yawned widely; jaw cracking, not quite comprehending that he had spoken. The bruise on his face had darkened to a deep blue-purple color. The sight of it ignited my fury once more.
Peeta recoiled when I stood, determinedly stuffing my feet into my boots.
"Wait, Katniss. Where are you going? Don't run away because you had a nightmare." His voice followed after me. Uncaring of his pleas to stay and talk, I stomped across the lane to my house. My mother kept her healing herbs in a designated cabinet in the kitchen.
I rustled through the shelves, thankful that the glass jars were labeled. Prim spent hours pouring over the plant book our father had made, enough that she could recognize each one on sight if I ever brought her out to the woods. I was less familiar with them, knowing only where patches of them already grew. But I had suffered enough bruising and welts when first learning to hunt from the bowstring slapping the inside of my arm to know which plants worked best.
Unfortunately, that plant is best harvest towards the end of June, right before the Reaping, when it is riskier to sneak under the fence. In the interest of not upsetting Peacekeepers that want to be seen doing their jobs during the most important time of the year, Gale and I limited our hunting time to two hours. However much my mother had, it wouldn't be enough for Peeta's contusion.
Parsley was the best alternative, and I knew there would be plenty to spare. Hell, Peeta probably had more than I did, being a baker. I located the jar of parsley, scooping up a mortar and pestle for crushing them from the drawer underneath the cabinet, and rushed back to Peeta's house.
The third son of the baker had locked his door again, and a quick check of the window proved it to be shut and locked as well. In hindsight, storming out of his house without a word wasn't the best choice.
"Peeta! Open the door, Peeta!"
I waited several moments, listening intently for the sound of his unequal footsteps. They didn't come. "I'll break a window if you don't let me in!" I shouted. To prove it, I plucked a pebble from the walkway, tossing it lightly so that it pinged against his living room window.
Peeta's tread was thunderously loud. He wrenched open the door far enough that I could have entered, had he not blocked it with his body. "Don't," he said shortly. "Someone in the district would get blamed for destroying Capitol property."
I glowered at him, caught off guard by his brusque attitude. "What's your problem?"
"Nothing. I just figured you wouldn't be coming back. Besides, I'd rather be alone right now."
I wanted to smash the jar of parsley, which I was clutching with a white-knuckled grip. Peeta's hot and cold behavior was pissing me off. He says he's okay if it takes time for me to figure out how I feel but avoids me for a week afterwards. He asks for a second chance only to turn around and brush me off and deny me entrance.
"You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want. Take these," I said, thrusting the jar and mortar and pestle into his chest. "Crush the parsley into a fine powder and add enough water to make it paste-like. A week should be long enough to get rid of that bruise."
I turned on my heel, not bothering to look back as I finished speaking. "Don't worry about returning them."
Stalking up the stairs, quietly so as to not wake Prim or my mother, I threw myself upon my bed. My chest felt tight and I struggled to breathe normally. Clearly, Peeta and I would never work out. We could hardly go three days without one of us trying to retreat from this relationship.
I rolled over, curling a fist into the blanket. Peeta would rather be alone, would he? That was fine. It was careless of me to forget that we barely knew each other. What little trust we had was built on our temporary partnering in the arena so we could both get out alive. I paid him back for the bread. Now there were no debts between us.
There was a plate of cheese buns in the kitchen when I rose for the second time. I stared at them, disbelieving. I didn't need handouts from him. Did Peeta think he could give me food and I would run back to him? He blew the second chance he asked for. I wouldn't give him a third because he made me cheese buns.
I tossed the baked goods in the trash, and the plate too, then took a page out of his book and promptly locked the door and all the first floor windows.
"Katniss? Are you locking the windows?" Prim stands on the bottom step, frowning in confusion.
I don't have an explanation, not one that she would accept. If I told her Peeta and I were done she would be upset. In the short time we've been back, Prim has come to look at him like an older brother. Peeta doesn't mind talking to her. He indulges her. I allowed it, because she smiled around him, like she used to before she was reaped.
I had never been an emotional person. I didn't have time for feelings. I had to feed my family and Gale's family. But, now that I had gone to the Capitol where I pretended to be thrilled to volunteer and participate in the Games, I could tell when Prim was acting.
Around me, her smiles were a little less real. She smiled just as wide, but they were dimmed somehow.
So I lied to her. "Yeah. I saw—I thought I saw a . . ."
"Katniss?" She comes to stand before me, picking up my hands in hers. Unwillingly, I jerk them away. Now her blue eyes are swimming with concern. "Are you alright? What did you see?" Prim aborts a move to touch me, to give me comfort, and hate bubbles in me. I hate that I've scared her, made her feel that I can't stand even her familiar touch.
"A dog," I choked out, suddenly remembering the nightmare I had on the train where Mutts of Gale and Cato killed Peeta. I flinched violently when I then thought of Cato's screams as the Mutts fed on him where his suit didn't offer protection. "I thought I saw a wild dog."
My sister's sweet features immediately morph into understanding. She's only aware of the Mutts in the finale, but that's more than enough for her to believe my pathetic lie.
This time I pull her towards me. Prim leans into my hug. "I'm okay, little duck," I whisper, running my hair down the back of her head and gently tugging on the braid she has tucked behind her left ear.
"No you're not," she says just as softly. "And you don't have to pretend either. Not with me."
"I'm fine. The Games are over."
"But they aren't. Not really. You still have the Victory Tour. And next year . . ."
Prim doesn't finish, but my mind automatically fills in the rest. Next year I'll be a mentor. It's going to be horrible. There's no way I'll be able to keep some scared kid alive. Peeta, Haymitch, and I are rare. Most people in District Twelve don't have the skills nor the drive to survive. And because of our stunt, Snow is sure to guarantee that next year's tributes will die quickly and painfully. Of course, it will also be dramatic, because next year is the 75th Games and the third Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years the Capitol celebrates the end of the districts rebelling by holding a specially themed Hunger Games. They involve twists that make the Games more disastrous and difficult and deadly.
For the first Quell, the districts had to choose, voting on which children to send into the arena. And in the last one, twice as many children were reaped. Caesar Flickerman is partial to that Game and references it often, complete with accompany video. The bloodbath that year was brutal. Next year, Snow might demand only thirteen year olds can be reaped. Volunteering in Prim's place may not be enough to keep her safe. The whole of Panem knows how much she means to me. To Snow, my sister is a pawn he can use to keep me in line, because I will do anything to protect her.
"You let me worry about that, little duck. The Tour's not for several months. You won't even have time to miss me."
Suddenly, Haymitch's outrageous consumption of alcohol made sense. Anything that numbed the mind would be a welcome distraction. I had nothing to fight against the reminders of the game.
Except for the woods. The woods were my sanctuary. And better yet, there wouldn't be any cameras beyond the fence. Out there I could be just Katniss, a girl with a bow. Not the Girl on Fire.
I immediately breathed easier once I was on the other side of the fence. The familiar scents of the forest, along with the ever present smell of coal, was a balm to my nerves.
Just a few feet inside the tree line was a partially hollowed pine. Hidden within were my bow and quiver and a couple of bags to carry game. I retrieved the bow, trailing fingers down every curve and grain. The Capitol's longbow was extremely efficient, producing more power from a reduced draw weight. It was a weapon designed for killing, opposed to my hunting bow.
I hefted my bow and quickly gauged the bowstring. It had been several days since I snuck beyond the district's borders. Finding no evidence of having been chewed by the forest's denizens, I set off deeper into the trees.
I moved quickly but quietly. Any bears, thankfully, would be further in than I planned to venture today, but there was a pack of wild dogs that patrolled the woods. Not trusting my ability to not panic if faced with them, I was careful to watch for dog tracks and didn't travel in the same direction.
Over the course of two hours I shot and killed a wild turkey and two squirrels. Feeling pleased, and much less stress than I had been after the events of this morning, I headed back to the fence. The turkey would go to the Hawthorne's. Normally, the squirrels would go to Mr. Mellark, but after the last two days, I wanted nothing to do with the baker's family. His wife should consider herself lucky that I can't bring my bow inside the district, elsewise she'd be the one with an arrow through the eye.
Greasy Sae could always use fresh meat. Her stews were the best tasting dish that could be found in District Twelve. She could make squirrel taste like something extravagant, even to me and I knew I what I was eating.
I weaved through the tightly packed Hob, setting the game bag down on Sae's counter. "Two squirrels," I announced. "They aren't particularly fat."
"But they'll do," Greasy Sae said once I removed them from the bag. She eyed the still present bulge appreciatively. "What else you got hidden in that bag?"
"For Gale," I said in lieu of an answer. The older woman nodded, understanding. Everyone in the Seam knew that he now worked in the mines. They also knew what that meant for his family. Being a miner paid the absolute minimum it took to keep the shafts open and teeming with workers. Thing was, most people working the coal mines were so poor they accepted the pittance they received gratefully.
But that was nowhere near enough to feed a family of five. Gale continued to grumble about how it was his job to see that his family had food, but I was stubborn. So he grudgingly relented, though I knew he was secretly gratefull.
"Then you best get going," Sae advised, gripping the squirrels by the tail and fishing a handful of coins out of her apron. I pocketed them and stood, shouldering the still full game bag. "Now, don't be a stranger just because you're one of them Victors, ya hear?"
I left without replying. It was disconcerting, being viewed as a Victor even by the people of District Twelve. We never cared for the games. We watched because viewing was mandatory. Afterwards, we forgot about the Games. Put them out of mind until the temperature warmed and the Reaping rolled around again.
I hadn't even planned to win, yet here I stood nonetheless. I just wanted to protect my sister. Sweet, innocent Prim didn't belong in the ruthless and fake Capitol. Though she would have charmed everyone, the arena would have destroyed her. Prim was meant to heal, not fight.
Part of me wishes that I had died in that arena. Prim would have been devastated, but she would have been safe. Instead, my stunt with the berries painted an invisible target on her back. I have no doubts that Snow wouldn't hesitate to threaten her.
They may have said I won, placed a crown upon my head to raucous cheering while I was dubbed a Victor, but the Games were far from over.
