I feel the blood pulsing through my veins when the adrenaline begins rushing through me. I whip my head in all directions around me. I bend my knees until I'm just above the body. The smell overwhelms and frightens me simultaneously. It's the smell of death. I cough before bringing my arm up to block my nose.
The eyes are still open and discolored, blood oozing out from the right one where my arrow pierced it. Though his skin is pale and dull, his skin is dark. I don't imagine he lived in District 12 when he was alive. Something is...off, as though I'm trapped in the Games again. I look above searching the skies for any sign of a hovercraft with the Capitol seal on it, but none comes.
I decide to not retrieve my arrow in my haste to get as far away from the dead man as possible. Today is no longer a day for hunting. For once I want to be back inside the dingy fence of District 12, away from more death. Death seems to be like an ample cloud hovering around every day of my life, especially since the Games started. Whether in reality or in my head, it consumes my emotions, thoughts, and my entire being.
I decide I'll hunt fresh game tomorrow with Gale. He's been different and as sure as I won't ever be the same girl again, I'm not sure our friendship will ever be the same either. When I came home, first I saw the relief in his eyes but then followed the hurt. Though he has no claim over me, I still feel the guilt looming over me whenever I see him. If only he could understand that playing the star-crossed lover has ultimately saved mine and Peeta's life. His stubbornness has ensured he won't. So instead we both ignore it, leaving our little time together with mostly silence. Just another thing the Capitol took away from me.
The one day of the week he won't be submerged into the dark mine shafts, we hunt together. His snares will help compensate for my lack of kills today. I need to provide enough for him and his family in the weeks to come before I'm shipped to every district of Panem with Peeta for our Victory Tour. The star-crossed lovers from District 12 who haven't so much as made eye contact in over a week. I roll my eyes and sigh, picking up my pace. Maybe it will be best for Peeta and I to at least be on speaking terms to put on such a performance.
The hallow log is before me now and I stash my bow and arrows inside. When I'm through to the other side of the fence, I feel relief. I bring my kill to the Hob and trade with Greasy Sae who now smiles to me since my return.
"Not your usual," she comments in disappointment.
"No," I defend myself on habit. "I'll have more tomorrow for you."
She nods her head to me before I turn to leave. When I pass the bakery the smell of fresh bread wafts towards me. Before I can wonder if Peeta is inside, I see Mr. Mellark pulling a batch of bread from the oven. I notice newly frosted cakes displayed just behind the window. Upon them are beautiful arrangements of flowers in every color and I know it was Peeta's hands that had decorated these cakes. Mr. Mellark sees me and waves his hand. I give a small wave of my hand back and slap on a small smile as an afterthought, remembering his promise of not letting Prim starve. The old man wasn't so bad, but his wife is a whole different story.
I continue my way to my new house when I hear a voice bark through the quiet air.
"Hey sweetheart!"
I try to cover my initial surprise of seeing him conscious in the daylight rather than passed out drunk. He approaches me and squints his eyes to the sunlight. He looks scruffy and his hair is disheveled but at least his shirt isn't trashed with dried vomit. "Haymitch," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Is that a proper greeting for your mentor?" There's alcohol on his breath when he speaks. I scrunch up my nose in disgust.
"Just shocked to see you're not drenched in your own vomit by now. Or passed out in that shithole you call your home."
"As charming as ever, sweetheart. Does lover boy still kiss you with that potty mouth?" He smirks at me. A scowl forms on my face.
"What, lover's spat?" He taunts. "Why don't you two kiss and make up already?"
I begin stomping away from him with a rush of fury boiling inside of me. Did he really drag his ass out here just to annoy me? I hear the rapid steps approaching close behind me. He touches my shoulder and I whip around in rage. "What?" I yell. "Don't you have a bottle to finish?"
"First, keep it down. The yelling isn't good for my hangover. And I thought I'd remind you that in a few days your prep team will be here to take the star-crossed lovers on a Victory Tour. The rest of Panem will be expecting to see a couple with hearts in their eyes and all that sickeningly cute nonsense."
"I know," I sigh. "So?"
"So, I've talked to the boy when he brings 'round some bread for me." I swear I see a glare in his eyes, though it may just be the hangover.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing you don't already know," he scolds. "He was there too, ya know. It's not just you who's scarred."
He makes eye contact with me and somehow I don't think he's only talking about Peeta. Haymitch, the lone victor of District 12 before Peeta and I came along. The scars that only the winning tributes carry is something that tethers the three of us together. No wonder he's become a careless alcoholic by his age. I feel more guilt threatening to break to the surface.
"I don't think that's really the reason we're not talking," I confess, looking away.
"He cares about you, that boy. Can you say the same for him?"
"I don't know," I mutter. Peeta, the boy with the bread... the Games...the berries... "It all confuses me."
"Well, you better figure it out soon, sweetheart. You might never deserve him." Though his words are harsh, I can't muster any anger. They sting of truth. I look to my feet unable to find much strength to deny it. "Fix it," he finishes.
I frown at him and furrow my eyebrows together. He walks away and after a few moments I hear the slam of a door. I swing open the front door to my house and gently close it when I step inside. I rush upstairs to shower and clean away the horrible events of the morning. I shrug my father's hunting jacket off my shoulders and lay it on the bed. Then I lean forward and work my boots off before discarding the rest of my clothes and tossing them away from me. I walk into the bathroom, my bathroom, because one bathroom for a family of three apparently isn't enough.
I turn the knob for the shower head and relish in the warmth of the water that falls over me. I close my eyes and feel the tension leave my body. Maybe Peeta and I can pull off the Victory Tour and move on with our lives. Gale will be my best friend again. We can hunt and laugh like we used to and I can sleep okay knowing Prim is fed and as safe as you can be in District 12.
But the man today in the woods...What happened to him? How did he get there?
I try to clear all thoughts from my head. I quickly finish up and dry myself. After dressing, I go downstairs and a faint chatter of conversation drifts my way. I turn the corner to the kitchen and see a plate of breads and buns sitting on the counter. I notice a small array of cheese buns assorted in. At the table in the room beside the kitchen I see three blond heads sitting. Prim rests her hands on the table, lacing her fingers. I'm always amazed at how well the manners our mother taught us has come to Prim so naturally. My mother sits up tall, her hair tied up on her head. Finally, I see Peeta lounging in his seat. He turns his head and sees me. His blue eyes find mine and his smile slightly falters.
"Thanks again, Mrs. Everdeen. They already feel better," he says.
"Anytime, Peeta. Those burns should sustain in no time. Remember to re-apply some to your hands tomorrow morning." She smiles at him. I notice how much more alive she seems since I've been back. Her demeanor is no longer passive and blank. Peeta apparently can charm any girl he encounters.
"And Prim, how about tomorrow afternoon you stop by the bakery?"
Her smile could light this entire room. I instantly recognize the excitement in her tone. "And I can watch you frost the cookies?"
"Better! I'll
teach
you how. I think some Primroses will look very pretty."
"I can't wait! Thank you, Peeta."
He waves to them and picks up what must be a homemade remedy for the burns on his hands. He nods to me when he passes by. I take a breath of courage and follow behind him. He opens the door and notices me, but I follow him out and shut the front door behind me.
"Can- can we talk?" I stammer.
"You tell me, Katniss."
I clear my throat, which seems to have gone dry in about five seconds. The silence in the air is beginning to feel awkward. "Thank you," I say, looking in his general direction. "For the bread." It really wasn't what I wanted to say, but it was the first thing I could think of. I really should work on communicating with him.
"You're welcome," he replies. He has a look on his face that I can't quite decipher.
"Were you baking this morning? I saw your light on..."
"You're not the only one who can't sleep," he confesses.
I pause, remembering Haymitch's words. If there is someone I can talk to about the Games, it should be Peeta. He will understand the pain, the fear and the guilt. He was there, it's something we'll always share, even if I don't want us to. "I have nightmares. Every night," I whisper.
His face softens at my confession and he extends his arm to touch my face. I forgot how gentle his touches are. He nods his head a few times and moves his thumb across my cheek. His hand is surprisingly warm on my face.
"I miss you," I admit. My words linger in the air between us. "Can we please be friends?"
He brings his hand back to his side and I immediately miss the contact as the warmth leaves my cheek. I don't miss the sigh that escapes his mouth.
"I can try," he says.
Maybe it's the underlying edge of sadness in his voice or that look on his face, but in that moment I know that, for him, it wasn't just for the Games. It was real. I can't help thinking that Haymitch is wrong because I'm certain I can't ever deserve him. There's a reason he's different from the rest of us victors. No victor is ever so gentle in touch and as selfless as Peeta is.
"I still don't know what to feel," I say, beginning to feel awkward.
He nods at me. "Don't let them own you, Katniss. Let me know if you ever figure it out."
He then turns away and leaves. My eyes follow him until I can no longer see him. I only hope that I can soon figure it out for myself first.