Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games or Divergent.
I stare at the receding vehicle, listening to their idle chatter as they fade away. At one point, one of them - Tobias? - mentions Peeta's bakery, and they all laugh. I pause for a moment before turning away. I don't know what they find so funny, or how they manage to laugh so often, when they have just left a war-torn city.
I walk back to the house. My eyes follow the path of their footsteps in the dirt, where they carelessly trampled parts of the undergrowth. My sanctuary, the woods, disturbed once again by strangers. Anger flares up inside me, but I try to let it go. It's been months since I had a long conversation with anyone other than Haymitch or Peeta. Not even my mother has stuck around. Once, before Peeta and I married, she came bearing a wedding gift, but soon after, she retreated back into her busy little world, somewhere inside the clinic in Four.
I suppose I shouldn't expect any more from her. She did lose a dear friend to the Games, the love of her life to a mine accident, and the most innocent of her children to a bomb explosion. And who's left? Me, an empty shell in place of the old Katniss, a lonely wanderer with not much left to live for. Without my goal to push me forward, my unshakable desire to destroy Snow, nothing much remains.
No, wait - there's the warmth of the house with him in it, the aroma that drifts from the kitchen every time he's there. Peeta. The one I need the most.
And then there's the girl from that distant city, Chicago. The girl who calls herself Tris. I can't help but like her, the way I liked Cinna despite his Capitol pedigree. Then again, she told me big things would happen soon, that the people from their city would soon join us. The same people who just started a war in their territory. The thought makes the ache in my head worsen. I hurry to find the path leading back home.
I cross through the fence at my usual spot, and head home just in time to see Peeta arrive. He greets me with a smile, and I try to smile back. As he makes dinner for the two of us, I sink into the couch cushions and try to make sense of what Tris told me.
"You can be forgiven for all you've done to get here. I believe it." A warm feeling begins to make its way into my heart. Why did I feel safe with this girl? Why did I trust her with some of my deepest, darkest secrets? I don't know. But I do know that I like her best, out of all the refugees from Chicago. I didn't have the heart to tell Tris, but her partner, Tobias, puts me on edge. And though Zeke and Uriah are funny, they remind me too much of the people in the Capitol.
Peeta finishes cooking. We sit down to eat. And then, between bites, the whole story comes out of me. How I met a group of refugees in the woods. How one of them, Tobias, pointed his gun at me. How I eventually came to learn that there's another isolated settlement out there, a place called Chicago. I don't mention the feeling of safety I had with Tris, though. Something tells me I should keep that between her and me.
"What should we do? Are they coming back tomorrow?" Peeta's genuinely curious, but there's nothing more I can tell him. The refugees left unexpectedly, possibly to inform their leader that there is indeed civilization on the outside.
I can only imagine what their leader will say when they stumble upon the ruins of the arenas.
After dinner, I immediately go to bed. There isn't much else to say, and we can only wait to receive more news. I fall asleep in my bed, exhausted from hours of hunting. Only one dream comes to me. I'm spending a peaceful afternoon with Prim in the woods. We meet at my father's lake house, in the same spot where I met Tris and the other refugees. As a mockingjay whistles Rue's song, Prim and I get ready to have a picnic. I'm carrying the basket, which has been filled with goodies. Sweets from the candy store in town, a warm loaf of bread from Peeta's bakery. And cake. As I pull out a slice, it occurs to me that the frosting was not done by Peeta. Someone else's hand put the final decorations on the treat.
I look up, and Prim is smiling. She happily takes a bite of cake. A strange thought registers in my mind. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as Tris'.
Then I'm pulled out of the dream. The light from the morning sun washes over me. I'm momentarily disoriented, then I remember I have a job to do. I get out of bed and look for my bow and sheath of arrows.
Something pulls me up short. What else do I have to look forward to? I creep downstairs, and look around for Peeta. He isn't there. I got up earlier than usual this morning.
I'm sorting through the mail when I find it. A letter from Gale. He usually writes once a month, and I wish he'd stop sending so many pictures of his wife. I remember her face clearly now. Piercing green eyes, a smattering of freckles over her nose, full red lips. And her hair, a wild, untamable orange mane. I wonder if her personality matches her looks. If so, I wish Gale good luck in the marriage.
I write Gale back, mostly rambling nonsense about Peeta and me, and our hopes for the future. Then I seal the letter in the envelope and attach the stamp.
The next letter is from Johanna. Her handwriting is usually messy, but this time there's a sense of urgency to the inky scrawls. Apparently, she was walking in the woods near her house when she saw her parents, even though she'd previously seen them die. She writes that she is considering joining them.
I put the paper down, and think about giving Johanna a call.
An image of Prim flashes through my mind. Suddenly, it hits me. Prim. The dream. Her blue eyes, the same color as Tris'. I'll be seeing Tris again soon.
When Peeta finally emerges from his bedroom, he has no idea why I'm smiling. He doesn't press me for details, though. We chat idly about the same old topics. The bakery. Haymitch's geese. Hunting. Gathering. Learning to cook with Greasy Sae.
Peeta kisses me goodbye, and then I'm heading outside. I stop to put fresh flowers on Buttercup's grave. Prim wouldn't want me to forget.
My morning routine is simple. I pay Haymitch a brief visit. Feed the geese in his front yard. Then I head into town, stopping to buy a bottle of liquor. I stash it away in my bag, as I don't intend to drink its contents until later. I have a job to do. I enter the woods at my usual place.
The afternoon goes by uneventfully. I manage to catch two squirrels and a rabbit. Tris doesn't show up, and it crosses my mind that I may have imagined the encounter.
Perhaps Dr. Aurelius was right. I have been drinking too much.
Evening comes. I return home. Peeta's already there, as usual. He asks a few questions about Tris, but I don't say much. If I imagined it all, maybe it's best to forget right now.
I sag into the couch cushions. I take the bottle of liquor out of my bag and uncork it. Then I toss it back and down its contents in one gulp.
I understand now, why it didn't take long for Haymitch to become addicted.
The cycle repeats. Wake up. Go downstairs. Talk to Peeta about our plans for the day. Go into town and buy a bottle of liquor. Hide it away in my bag. Spend the entire afternoon hunting. Then, to chase away the unwelcome memories of Tris and Prim and the others, drink. And in the morning, when the hangover has passed, forget. Forget and start anew.
"Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life."
Once or twice, I dial Johanna's number on the phone. It rings and rings and rings, and then I give up. A week later, I get a message from Haymitch. Johanna was found hanging from a tree in her district's largest forest. They buried her next to Blight, in the poorly maintained Victors' Cemetery.
The next day, when I visit Buttercup's tomb, I put down twice as many flowers.
The cycle repeats. Wake up. Go downstairs. Talk to Peeta. Buy a bottle of liquor. Hide it away. Go hunting. Come back, and drink. Go to sleep, and in the morning, forget. Over and over. Sometimes that pattern is disrupted. Either because Dr. Aurelius has called, or someone wants to visit and I can't make them go away. On the anniversary of the day they dropped the firebombs, Peeta and I set aside time to visit the memorial.
Wake up. Go downstairs. Talk to Peeta. Buy liquor. Hide it away. Go hunting. Come back and drink. Go to sleep. In the morning, forget. The cycle is comforting. And then, on a windy September morning, it happens.
I'm in the living room, making a game of counting the specks of dust in the air. The phone rings. I pick it up to be greeted by Haymitch.
"Katniss! Got news for you."
"Yeah?" I wonder if he knows I'm drunk.
"Group of people came in from an unknown area. Said it's called Chicago. One of 'em's looking for you. Short, blonde, looks kind of like Prim." He stops short. "I didn't mean that, I swear."
"It's okay," I mumble into the phone. Who is this girl he's referring to? I dig through my memories, and come up with nothing.
"Girl said her name's Tris." I nearly drop the phone in surprise.
So I didn't imagine it, then. The group from Chicago has come back, and soon, many more will follow. Tris among them. My heartbeat speeds up a little. Am I relieved, or terrified?
I guess I should be nervous, now that Tris will discover I'm an alcoholic.
But because I don't want to hear Haymitch's voice any longer, I hang up. Then I return to counting, safe in the knowledge that the group doesn't know where I live.
Over the next few days, I hear vague bits of news. One of Paylor's representatives paid a visit to Chicago. The inhabitants are now free to venture beyond the fence. If they so choose, they will be integrated into the general population of Panem. Paylor plans to work with both the factionless and faction loyalists. If armed conflict breaks out between the two, Panem will intervene to try and restore peace.
I tune out most of the news. These days, the reports from the Capitol mean little to me. Besides, I spend the majority of my time with the bottle. Peeta's a source of comfort, but I feel like every passing day pulls us further and further apart.
Of course, the best thing to do is surrender. I feel myself traveling back in time, to the plain room in the Capitol where I waited out my trial. Where I resolved to commit suicide by morphling. Only this time, I'm sedating myself with liquid poison. Each day, I drink. I drink enough to be able to compete with Haymitch, not that I'd be proud of it. I wander aimlessly through the woods like a zombie. I forget to visit Buttercup's grave.
Peeta tries to rouse me from my deadened state. I don't think he'll succeed. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I see my mother. I wish I could tell her sorry, and ask for her forgiveness. Before, I never understood what it was like, to be so completely weighed down by grief that you can't move. I understand now, why it was near impossible for my mother to get out of bed each morning, why she would pause in the middle of simple tasks to rest. I understand it all, and I regret ever yelling at her.
Days pass, then weeks. I continue to tune out information about the Chicagoans, especially Tris. With her special brain powers, she must be busy, anyway. What I do is drink. Talk to Peeta. Buy liquor. Answer the occasional letter from Gale. Go through the motions.
I'm so lost in the cycle, I can no longer keep track of time. "What day is it today?" I find myself asking Peeta from time to time. Sometimes I lose my way in the woods, and have to backtrack in order to get home. The days blend together with the nights. I stop sleeping in the same bed as Peeta. More often than not, I drift off on the couch, an empty bottle on my lap.
It's on one particular morning that I feel an urge to leave the house. I stumble out the door and down the street. I don't even stop to look for Peeta. Is he already at the bakery? I don't know.
I've almost reached town when I remember. I didn't leave because I wanted to purchase another bottle. Last night, I had the dream again. Prim appeared to me as I wandered through the woods. She knows it's been a month since I last went to see Buttercup. Now I need to replace the flowers that have surely wilted.
I turn, and smack right into a man from the Seam.
"Watch where you're going, girl." He shoves my shoulder. There's only one way I'll react to that kind of touch.
I pull my arm back, empty bottle in hand, and swing with all my might at the man's face. Of course, due to last night's drinking session, I'm horribly off-balance. I miss my target. The bottle flies out of my hand and shatters into pieces on the ground.
The next thing I know, the man's callused hand is wrapped tightly around my arm. He yanks me forward and flings me to the ground. Unable to resist, I fall flat on my face.
I look up just in time to see the man bending over me, wielding a sinister weapon - a shard of glass from the broken bottle. Then it happens.
Bang. What? What was that? I'm too stunned to do anything at first. Then my eyes register the crumpled body of the Seam man, lying in the road. Blood soaks his clothing. I glance to the side.
A girl stands there, her fingers wrapped around the handle of a gun. Her blond hair is pulled back, and there's a steely look in her blue eyes. She's smaller in stature, but she carries herself with power.
It's Tris. Tris saved me.
"You all right?" she asks me. I nod. She holds out a hand and helps me up.
I'm about to thank her, when someone behind her speaks up. "Look here, blondie," the voice growls. "You ain't got no right to shoot somebody. Especially when you ain't from these parts."
Immediately, I know who it is. Angela. One of the officers who regularly patrol the area. If she wants Tris arrested for murder, there won't be much Tris can do about it.
Tris looks shocked. In her eyes, I see her admission of guilt. She opens her mouth to confess, but I beat her to it. "Actually, she was defending me. That man tried to kill me. If she hadn't stepped in, I'd probably be dead right now."
"You're sure? Thought I saw her whip out that gun on an innocent man," Angela retorts.
Tris blanches. I remember what she said, how she confessed to killing her own best friend.
"I'm sure," I tell Angela. She takes a threatening step forward, but then a man in uniform chimes in. "Simmer down, why don't cha," he says to Angela. "What're you gonna do? Pick a fight with the Mockingjay?" His laugh is deep, gravelly.
Angela's eyes narrow. "All right, blondie," she mutters, pointing a finger at Tris. "We're letting you off just this once. Try to stay out of trouble from now on." She and her partner walk off.
Tris sighs with relief. However, I'm too exhausted to speak, so when Peeta comes to take me back home, I don't argue. I let him half-drag, half-carry me back to the house. I think about continuing my little game, where I counted the little specks of dust in the air, but I don't have the energy to do even that.
I try to reach for a bottle, and find that there are none left.
The morning wears on. Afternoon sets in. At some point, Tris shows up to visit. I'm not even aware it's her until I hear her footsteps nearby.
She lowers herself onto the couch, right next to where I'm sitting. "Hello," she ventures. "You… okay? I don't know if you knew that guy, but -"
"I didn't know him. Just one of the drunks from the Seam. Thanks again, by the way," I remind her.
Tris grins. "No problem. In Dauntless, we train so we can be prepared for this kind of thing. Preparation eradicates cowardice, as Tobias would say." She touches my arm. "So how's it going? I know it's been a while since we met. But I remembered you, and I wanted to pay you a visit."
I shrug. "I'm hanging on. Just barely."
I'm not being sarcastic. Can she see that?
"That's fine," she tells me. "It's not like we're doing any better. Zeke and Uriah say they can't get used to the food here. And Caleb, my brother? He got assigned to work in a factory. District Eight. When he originally applied to work in District Three."
I laugh. "Should be fun, seeing how they hold up."
"And what about you?" Tris suddenly looks worried. That's when I realize what I must look like. Hair unwashed and unkempt, eyes bloodshot, skin sallow. I probably resemble Haymitch on his worst day.
"It's been a difficult few weeks," I say evasively.
I don't want to tell her the truth, that I avoided her because I thought I was going mad, because she reminded me of the Prim from my dreams, and because I was on the verge of a breakdown.
Tris sighs. "Back in Chicago, things were hard for me, too." She cracks a smile. "You know what helped? Just being around my friends from Dauntless. Listening to them argue over the stupidest things. Flinging pieces of cake at each other." She hands me a small box. "Speaking of which, I almost forgot. For you."
I accept the gift. Slowly, I take the lid off the box.
"Dauntless cake, specially made." There's a grin on Tris' face. "That better or worse than what you're used to?"
I don't answer. I blink a few times, trying to make sense of it. That slice of cake looks awfully familiar - I just can't place it.
Finally, I return Tris' smile. "Thanks a lot," I say. Suddenly, a strange impulse comes over me. "Tris," I ask her, "can you give me your phone number?"
"Why?" But she doesn't look insulted.
"Just so we can talk. Maybe invite each other over?" I try to stop myself, and fail. "Maybe… maybe you and I, and your friends from Dauntless, maybe we can all get together sometime."
"You know what? That's an excellent idea." Tris gives me her number, and then suggests a picnic in the woods with Tobias, Zeke, and Uriah. I find myself nodding along, agreeing with her. When she gets up to leave, I realize I want her to stay.
That night, I sleep in the bed next to Peeta. It occurs to me then that I never went out to purchase another bottle. When was the last time I forgot to have a drink? A grin works its way onto my face. Seconds later, it becomes a hysterical laugh.
All right, so I'm not completely healed. And maybe I'll never be. But I have a feeling that no matter how bad things get, hope will always be alive.
AN: Oof, this got dark pretty quick. Not entirely my fault, lmao. I was listening to Silent Hill music while writing, and once you get into it, you can't help but let it influence your writing. I had to do a quick turnaround in the last part of the story, so Katniss wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning. But seriously, killing off Johanna AND Buttercup? Wtf? Sometimes I don't know about myself, lol. Hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review!
