"Katniss, we're out of veggies again," Prim calls from the kitchen where she's been investigating the food situation for her dinner tonight. I poke my head out from my 'room' and catch her eye, remembering that I haven't had a chance to get to the grocer yet this week.
"Sorry, I can go tomorrow night," I apologize and continue to lace up my boots as I prepare to head out to work. Not accepting that for an answer, Prim comes to stand before me, her hand held out towards me.
"Come on, give me your card and I'll go get it." She looks at me expectantly, as though this isn't out of the norm for us. "Katniss, let me help. It's time."
Sighing, I lean over and dig through my bag until I find my wallet. I find it deep in the bottom, keeping company with the mints and other pathetic things I hide in the faux-leather sling sack that begs to be replaced. Everything about the bag, about the thinness of my wallet itself, reminds me of how tight money is. It nearly screams it.
I look at her hard before giving over the card, my mind arguing internally over the need and the illogical want. I need to give up some control, but I want to keep everything held together. We're just barely teetering on the edge with getting things back on track and I'm nervous again, hesitating with every purchase.
"Only the essentials, promise me?" I feel silly having to say it; I know Prim would never intentionally harm our precarious financial situation, but at least while I'm the only one doing the shopping I can control the money. Giving up that part of my responsibilities is a critical leap for me, I realize. This little bit of trust, this little moment of giving something away, makes the sweat appear in my palms. I know I can trust Prim, it's just… it's hard.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a breath through my teeth and silence my own fears about losing control over everything. This was so much easier when Prim was little and couldn't go shopping.
I can't do it all, I remind myself. I've been trying and it's not working.
"You know I won't spend more than I need to. Do you have a list of things you want?" She grabs the card from my hand and spins away, disappearing into her room as I talk myself down.
"No, I'm good. Just get groceries" Getting to my feet I head towards the door and try to leave before I take it back and offer to go shopping tonight before I come home.
I know realistically that I can't go on like this forever – I need help with keeping things running and Prim is the obvious person for that – but still, giving something up is a hard change for me. I've always been the one making it work, relying on only myself to make ends meet.
There's a part of me that's clung to control like a wet rag holding on with every last fiber of my being. It's what I've done every time the ground has shifted below my feet and changed the topography of my life. First with Mum, now with Prim. Seizing control has always been my method of coping and I'm only just now seeing the problems it can cause.
Down on the street and out of our building I pick up my pace on my way to work. Against my thigh I feel my phone vibrate, another text likely coming in from Peeta.
The last three months have been wonderful, if I'm going to admit it. Peeta helps, I won't deny that. Simply being around him is like letting air out of an over-blown balloon. We'd spent a few lunches together around my building at first, hiding out and stealing kisses when our meal was finished.
That was, at least, until Peeta got word that his new job came through. I couldn't have been happier for him when he called me late one night, his ringtone waking me up from the sleep I'd been trying to slip into. Though I'd wanted to talk about all of it, Peeta could seemingly sense the exhaustion in my voice and kept the call quick. The lunches stopped when he returned to work and our time together seemed to dwindle even more.
Unfortunately at about the same time as his news, my life grew busier than I'd realized it could be. The hours picked up in availability at work and I gladly grabbed at them to store away more money to keep us going longer. The collection calls have stopped, at least for now, thankfully giving me a sense of reprieve if not for the excessive work schedule. It is a small victory in the race that I'm now understanding is a marathon.
The crappy part is that this victory is a bittersweet one. With the increase in the hours that I'm working, and the limited time I get to myself, it's been difficult to really get more than a short meal together with Peeta. Despite having to bail out on him more than I'd like- two dinners and an activity at the centre to be exact- he hasn't seemed to bat an eye. Still though, it makes me feel like a shitty person when I have to give another excuse as to why I can't get together with him even though it's the only thing I can really ever think about doing lately.
I'm exhausted though, barely functional now that the two jobs are catching up with me and I'm trying to balance Prim and Peeta and everything else at the same time. I know I need a break – however small – just to keep my mental state intact.
Stepping into the diner I slip back to the staff room and drop my things, changing out my boots for shoes and swiping in on the clock. I check my phone quickly, reading the greeting from Peeta that gives me a thrill but also makes me annoyed that I don't have time to respond.
The extent of my shift is mindless, the patrons regulars and low tippers. I'm not surprised, nor annoyed, at their lack of generosity. The diner is in our sketchy part of town and its clientele are likely getting off shift at the factory and looking for a cheap hot meal before they head home. I don't blame them – I understand the struggle too well.
Returning home later that night I nearly stumble through the door, my feet barely moving me forward until my knees hit the bed. The darkness of the apartment coupled with the low din of the humming baseboard heaters seems to lull me to sleep before I even undress. I'm exhausted, far beyond any care in the world as I dip down into sleep.
It isn't a dreamless sleep though.
The nightmare starts quick, coming at me like a train that's late and trying to make up time.
I'm sitting in a waiting room, the walls threateningly white and the silence around me nearly suffocating. I can barely breathe, my chest feels so tight with anxiety. I think I'm crying; at least when my hand comes away from my cheek it's wet.
"Ms Everdeen?" A blurred nurse calls from beyond the glass doors to the care area. I feel myself gulp, my legs wobbly as I stand.
The room before me is dark, a curtain drawn and beeping the only sound to keep me company. No breaths, no movement. I'm alone here.
It's so familiar, I can taste the bleach from the harsh cleaners in my mouth and the sour bitterness of adrenaline burning through me.
"Mom?" My voice croaks.
Am I here for her? I don't know.
The room spins and the curtain shudders, a great vibration that seems to move like a gust of wind.
"You can go in now." A doctor emerges from behind the curtain; clipboard in hand and a solemn look on his face. He pities me in that look. "It looks worse than it is. At least they're comfortable now." He continues, patting my shoulder.
The pressure nearly forces me to collapse.
What's behind the curtain?
Who's behind the curtain?
"Prim?" I sob it now, my dream self aching with fear. Bile rises in my throat as I grab at the fabric. I can't watch her die.
I can't.
"Prim?!"
"It's okay Katniss," Prim answers me, her voice wavering slightly. I gasp at the sight of her across from me, her posture stiff as she sits in the plastic chair of the ward room. Her hair is mussed and her skin pale, but she's alive and she's not –
"No," I moan, looking down at the frail figure in the bed. My horrible fears have become realized as I stare down at Peeta, the sight making the air escape me. He's frail and thin, the colour drained from his face as purple lesions mar his neck and chin.
Grasping at his hand, I find him cold to the touch.
I can't be here.
"Katniss, don't leave now," Prim calls, her voice distant.
I don't want to watch this happen.
He can't die. Prim can't die. I can't watch everyone I love leave me.
"Katniss, we're okay."
I feel my body jerk, my mind fighting for air as I open my mouth gasping.
"We're okay!" Prim shouts again, her words like a cold slap across my face. I pull her to me in a fierce hug, my arms wrapping around her desperately before I'm even fully clear of the grasp of the nightmare. I can feel it still in my bones, my heart racing.
What I'd dreamed was a nightmare, thrust at me from the images and horrors that my mind has concocted for me. I'm stuck with only the worst case scenarios to keep me company in my sleep, the kind that have built from the years of loss circling and choking me.
"Prim," I whimper, my fingers knotting in her loose hair as I try to hold her closer to my chest. She means the world to me, she keeps me anchored, but despite all that the memory of the dream has me fearing another person's death.
My bones ache for a loss I can't imagine and one that I can't say out loud. Not right now.
"Hey, shh," Prim soothes calmly. Somehow she's kneeling beside me on my mattress, her arms wrapped around me and her warmth surrounding me. "You were crying. I couldn't get you to wake up. But it's okay now. It was just a dream."
I nod my head and take a shuddering breath. Prim is okay. Peeta must be okay too. It was just a dream.
We sit there together for what seems like hours, holding onto each other until we seem to find ourselves wrapped under the sheets like the playful children we used to be. Like the Lost Boys of Neverland, hiding out in imaginary places under sheets and in faux forts of whimsy.
At least that's how I comfort myself as the bitter taste lingers in my mouth.
"Prim, tell me it's going to be alright," I ask quietly after a while, staring at my baby sister in the dim light under my blanket. We're hiding here as though it will protect us.
"Everything will be how it will be," Prim replies honestly and I can hear the hesitation and the forced calmness in her voice. She's trying to grasp things. She's trying to be strong. For me.
"How do you do that? How do you tell me that knowing what you know and how the story will go for you?" I ask quietly, the words coarse and corrosive in my throat. Prim only smiles wearily at me, sisterly understanding evident.
She knows me so well. Knows I'm horrible with words and that I'm trying, so hard, to understand.
"Katniss, I don't know how the story will go for me. Nobody does, you know? I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Just because I've got this disease doesn't mean I have to be confined to that. It's hard, don't get me wrong I'm still not a beacon of hope, but you have to start living again somehow eventually or else it steals whatever time you have left." Her words comfort me, ghosting over me and sinking in. I grip her hand tightly in mine and let the moment settle.
"When did you grow up?" I ask weakly. Prim smiles at me and sighs as though she's heard this all before.
"You forget that I've been growing up for years, Katniss. Trust me, I'm reminded of how much it sucks every time I go to the doctor on a three month checkup. And I'm reminded of it when we're still really fucking poor at the end of every month and when you still argue with me about not letting me get a job so that you're not stressed out so much. I know it sucks, but with all that suck going around I need to focus on something that doesn't.
"So I have you, and we have the centre, and I have a chance at working with Finnick and Annie to help other people grow up too. All of those things make it easier and less sucky. Those things don't solve it, they can't, nothing could really except maybe a time machine, so I need to get right with it. And so do you."
I take in her words carefully, considering what she's said and all that she hasn't said. She sees it too, the tight hold I have on things as a way to keep it together for my own sake. I might think I'm adjusting to all of this alright but I guess I'm not. Not really.
"I think you should talk to someone, Katniss. Let them help you so that I can get out of this apartment without you looking at me like I'm going to disappear." She laughs at that, the joke tongue-in-cheek. "Talk with Annie. Please. She knows what she's talking about, loving someone who's infected. She can help you, I think."
The nod comes before I really even think it through, the agreement coming from within before my brain even has a chance to process it. I know I'd do anything for Prim, I know I'll do this for her.
Shifting under the blanket, the weight of the dream comes back to me like a brick sinking in water and I remember the stark imagery, the brightness of the harsh lights of the hospital and the fear that had coursed through me. I need to talk about my fears before they eat me from the inside.
She knows what she's talking about, loving someone who's infected.
The thought strikes me and it's not only Prim that I care about at the core of my fears.
"I dreamed that Peeta was really sick," I whisper. Admitting it makes it seem more real, makes it seem like the dream was a reality that I've tried to forget. "He looked like death and was covered in purple lesions…"
"Kaposi's Sarcoma," she breathes "You must have seen pictures when you were researching online…" The nightmare thrusts a flash of a pamphlet at me, forcing the memory to the surface as I cower inwardly. I remember the images, the lesions and the end of life appearance of its sufferers. "It's rare now though, you know? The therapy we have now is so much better and Kaposi's isn't really – Katniss?" I feel the anxiety again in my stomach and I'm up on my feet without warning, searching for my phone as Prim calls to me from her place on the bed. "Katniss – stop." She tries again, startled by my sudden change in demeanor. I ignore her, frantic for my purse because that must be where my phone is.
Her hand lands on my arm, stilling my movements as her fingers wrap around my wrist.
"Stop! You're freaking me out!" Prim shouts. I meet her eyes then and freeze, the fear in her gaze evident.
"I need my phone!" My voice is hollow, desperate. I don't know why but the feeling seems to overwhelm me, like the dream was real.
Why am I like this?
Prim seems to notice it too, questions swimming in her eyes. Still, she releases my wrist after a pause and quickly joins me to help find my phone.
When it turns up a moment later, tucked under my pull-out bed, I grab it from Prim's hand and press the numbers until Peeta's voice, soggy with sleep, echoes from the other end of the line.
I hang up immediately, my hands shaking with relief as more adrenaline and a swift wave of embarrassment come crashing down on me. I hold steady with a single thought, one that keeps me standing despite the emotions running through me.
He's okay.
My phone rings in my palm and I look down to see Peeta's familiar number.
"Answer it," Prim instructs, patting my shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. I look over my shoulder at her and press the green button hesitantly. I've made my bed, now I must lay in it at this ungodly hour.
"Katniss?" Peeta's voice gasps from the other end of the line, laced with panic and confusion.
"It's okay, sorry. I – " Prim nods her head towards me, her mouth moving as though saying tell him. "I had a bad dream."
The silence stretches for a moment and I hear a thud as something drops on Peeta's end.
"Oh," he sighs carefully, his breathing slowing noticeably as though he's forcing himself to focus on it.
"I didn't, um, - " I suck on my tongue as I try to find the words.
"What happened in the dream, Katniss?" He asks calmly. I hear the rustle of fabric as though he were taking off his jacket. Had he been rushing to the door? I feel my cheeks flame and I turn to see that Prim has disappeared to her room, leaving me to the semblance of privacy that I'm thankful for.
"You were really sick. Lesions and you were dying, I was sure of it. I just kind of... freaked out and called you. I'm sorry." My voice squeaks uncharacteristically at the admission. The other end of the line seems quiet for too long, as though the words have frozen time.
"I don't really know what to say to that," Peeta responds. I feel deflated at his words, as though every feeling in me has left me at once.
"Peeta – " I start, unsure of what to say but wanting – no, needing – to fix this. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I just. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep. I won't – "
"No, wait. Katniss you don't understand- I'm not mad. I've never really had um... I guess what I'm trying to say – fuck, how do I say this?"
"Just say it, please," I whisper, hanging off his every word.
"I never really had someone worry about me enough to call me in the middle of the night in a half-crazed panic. Or really care enough to worry about me being sick like that at all, not really. Rye cares, don't get me wrong, but I guess this… Um, thing, between us is different." Across the line I hear him sigh and I can almost picture him laying back in his bed, his body relaxing into the mattress. I don't have the words to fill the silence so instead I retreat to my own bed and sit heavily on its edge waiting for the words I need to hear. "I'm okay, Kat," he says after a while, his breathing settled and my heart beating a more normal speed.
"You promise?" The words hover between us.
"I am. Promise. Want me to stay on the line until you fall back asleep?" My throat goes tight at his kindness, the relief evident as I release a heavy breath.
"If you want to stay with me?"
"Always." The word blurs into my mind as I rest my head on my pillow and sink back into the depths of sleep to the sound of his steady breathing.
AN: I got a new job today.