"I want to see him. Please, just let me see him."
"Katniss that isn't safe. When he sees you, it's just going to make him upset and angry all over again." Haymitch said. He was trying to reason with me. "He needs rest."
"Haymitch, I just want to try talking to him again. Please. If he starts getting upset, then I'll leave him to rest. But I can't… I can't just walk away from this without trying to talk to him." I stressed.
Haymitch exhaled, sitting down on a bench outside of the room Peeta was being held in. I looked at him, my eyes searching his face for some kind of reassurance that Peeta would be okay. He spoke slowly, looking down at his hands.
"Katniss… there is more to this than you realize. It's bigger than anything we've ever seen. This highjacking that the Capitol did to Peeta is something no doctor here has ever delt with before."
"But they will figure it out and–"
"They may not, sweetheart." He cut me off, shaking his head. He was looking at me now, with a different expression in his eyes. Pity.
I swallowed hard. My body felt off in that moment; unstable. The thought of Peeta acting this way towards me for the rest of our lives was not a thought I had considered.
"Sit down Katniss, you're pale." Haymitch murmured, gently reaching forward and taking my wrist to sit me down on the bench beside him. I sat down, clasping my hands together as I leaned forward to rest my arms on my thighs. I felt like I was holding myself together to keep from falling into pieces. I looked at the ground, wiping my eyes quietly.
"I already lost him once." I murmured, feeling Haymitch gently rubbing my back.
"They're going to do everything they can to bring him back to himself again. I'm sure that with time, he will come back to you. Being out of the Capitol's hands is bound to already be helping him." Haymitch said softly.
"Please let me talk to him. Please," I whispered. Haymitch sighed softly, and he stood up after a few moments. I watched him as he went into Peeta's room, closing the door quietly behind himself. I assumed he was speaking to the doctor in Peeta's room, but I couldn't see or hear anything. He returned after a few minutes, shaking his head at me.
"I'm sorry Katniss. I tried, but the doctor wouldn't allow it." He said. I nodded my head once and took a shaky breath, standing up and walking back to my room before I started crying again.
I didn't have dinner that night. I stayed in my room, only making small conversation with Prim before bed. She was snoring softly beside me now, and my mother slept peacefully in the bed next to us. I gently stroked my fingers through Prim's long blonde hair, looking up at the dark ceiling as my thoughts circled around Peeta. Prim's hand jerked, pulling me out of my reminiscing on memories from the first games. I'd been thinking about the gentle brush of Peeta's fingers across my scratched forehead when we were in the cave.
Could it really have been those gentle fingers that had been wrapped around my throat just a day ago?
"Katniss?" Prim murmured, her voice weighed with sleep and exhaustion.
"I'm here, Prim." I said in a whisper, placing my hand gently over hers. She turned to face me, moving closer as she curled up against me. I kissed the top of her head, closing my eyes for a moment as I felt the weight of my sister's head on my chest. Her snoring resumed after a few moments. I continued brushing my fingers through her hair, mulling over the idea that had been in the back of my mind for a while now.
I got up from the bed, moving slowly to not wake Prim with practiced motions from years of sharing a bed with her. My feet touched the cold floor, and I turned to better adjust the blankets over Prim before gently kissing her head. I pulled my rolled up long sleeves back down to my wrists, feeling colder now that I'd left the warmth of the bed. I slid my socks on, and my boots, before deciding to go ahead and pull a grey sweater over my head too. My hair had almost fallen out from my braid, so with a gentle tug of my hairband, I let it fall loosely around my shoulders and down by back in waves. I felt my way across the small room, pausing for a moment before I opened the door to make sure Prim and my mother were still sound asleep. With confirmation from their soft snoring, I opened the door and closed it with a soft click behind me. I began making my way down the hall, to the stairwell. I passed a few people on my way to Peeta's room, but none eyed me suspiciously. I had no idea if I would even be able to get into his room; I was only hoping that because it was the dead of night, maybe I would have a chance at seeing him on my own.
My left hand fell into my pant pocket and my fingers clasped around the smooth ball that was the pearl Peeta had given to me on the beach in the arena. I rolled it in between my thumb and index finger as I walked, a habit I'd recently developed. As I neared his hallway, I found almost all of the lights off. I saw no one around, much to my relief. I knew if anyone saw me here, they'd send me away and probably tell Haymitch. I could see his face on a screen, indicating which room he was in. His eyes were so empty–so vacant with emotion –I swallowed hard as I kept going down the hall to his room. I went to his closed door, peeking inside through the rectangular window.
His back was to the door. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, fixated on something in front of him. I narrowed my eyes some, trying to figure out what he was doing.
He was painting.
A small smile broke across my face then, seeing him painting on a canvas was such a familiar thing to see. His arm moved with ease across the canvas, and I watched his head turn to look down at the small blobs of paints he had sitting on what looked like a newspaper. He rolled his shoulders, looking up at the ceiling to stretch out his neck. He was tense, and I wondered how long he'd been painting. The canvas appeared quite large, but his body blocked most of what he was painting. I could see tints of browns and various shades of greens around the edges of the canvas, creating what I thought may be a forest.
Peeta's shoulders moved up and then down as he released a sigh. I watched his head shake slowly, and he set his brush aside before he gazed at his painting. But the brush rolled off the little table he was working on, and I saw it fall to the floor. Peeta leaned over to pick it up, and I could see his painting clearly.
He had painted me. My eyes were a misty shade of grey and looking right back at me. I recognized the place he'd painted me at immediately; the cave in the arena of the 74th games. In the painting, there was a cut across my forehead, my hair was falling from my braid, and dirt was on my face and neck.
Peeta had painted the moment before we'd shared our first kiss, when I'd been hovering over him, trying to care for his injured leg.
I knocked on his door.
A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated! They inspire me to keep going! (11/4- Reposted this chapter again because of some minor issues!)