Before I continue, I would just like to say how great it is to get feedback. Blah, blah, blah everyone is out pandering for reviews, but I got to say, it sucks putting yourself out there to hear nothing but crickets in return. I mean really. Don't any of you have something to say? Anything? Shoot, I might even take a few bad reviews, if it means someone cares enough to write. Pathetic, I know. Take pity. Let me know what you think. -K

Chapter 4

I woke up naked, arms and legs folded in on themselves hugging my bones together.

I sat up and stared at my reflection.

The light of the morning sifted though the dusty room and chased out the darkness. I still looked thin, frail, even hallow. But I tried to look less broken. I lifted my chin and stared hard at my reflection, daring it to stare back.

I dressed myself slowly, the only way I did anything these days. Using the bed in the center of the room I worked my way to standing and stretched myself this way and that, trying to rid myself of the aches of sleeping on a wood floor overnight. I walked carefully to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh air. It was nice.

Opening the window let in more then fresh air, though. It also let in the sound of singing. Poor singing at that.

Down below me, lying on his back, eyes closed, bottle in fist, Peeta was singing some song. The tune was familiar, but so poorly done I was unable to recognize it.

Peeta was in his clothes from 2 days prior and looked worse for wear. Although, I now realized I wasn't one to talk.

I furrowed my brow and tried to figure out my neighbor. Had he really given up? What had he given up on? Living? Trying? Being my friend?

I tried to decide if any of these things bothered me. I decided that they bothered me. But, not enough to do anything about them.

It was weird not being on my carpet space, or lying on the couch. I felt like I ought to be doing something. Like I ought to be planning my day. But, I had nothing to do.

I should eat, I thought, scowling at my appearance in the mirror.

The trip downstairs was less traumatic than the trip up had been. I was never more grateful, however, for the railing.

I had very little food, it would seem, save the stale bread Peeta had left a week or so prior. I worked at the bread and scavenged through the refrigerator for anything else edible. There was nothing.

I knew well enough that I would not be able to make a trip to town in my atrophied condition, nor did I want to be seen. Perhaps I could borrow some food from Peeta in the meanwhile.

Walking was easier once you were up on two feet. I took one step and then another. His house was just a few more yards.

But, my neighbor was not in his house. He was still in the yard. Sleeping.

I walked in his direction and kicked his side weakly.

He roused slightly, only to turn on his side away from me.

I walked around and tried from the other side, "Peeta" my voice sounded grainy and hoarse from disuse.

His eyes opened at the sound of his name and stared up at me with a blank, uncomprehending stare.

"Could I borrow some food?" I asked, getting right to the point.

Peeta seemed to shake himself and focused for a moment before replying.

"Help yourself."

It was an interesting choice of words. Did that mean that he was done helping me? That I should be the one to help me? Or simply that I was welcome to his rations?

It felt wrong, to walk to his house and leave him here in the grass.

"Are you okay?" I offered quietly.

"Dandy. Never better." He sent me a winning smile and brought the liquor to his lips, drinking greedily from the bottle.

I felt my eyebrow raise in question, but I said nothing, sending my feet in the direction of Peeta's front door.

It was unlocked and upon opening the door I realized that I had never been inside Peeta's house. It was in ruin. Things were broken, furniture lay upturned, and bottles littered the floor. How long had Peeta been drinking like this? How had I not noticed until now?

I continued walking to the kitchen. The kitchen was also a disaster, but it looked like it was well stocked none-the-less. I found cheese and some kind of meat and made myself a small sandwich. Each bite needed to be chewed so many times.

I stood there, sandwich in hand, staring at the wreckage.

I heard Peeta enter the house. If he had been noisy walking sober, which he most certainly was, he was louder than a herd of elephants drunk. He stamped and slumped his way into the kitchen.

He leaned heavily against the wall.

"Welcome to my humble abode" He smirked.

I stared at him wide-eyed. This Peeta was so different.

"Thank you" I muttered.

"I'm well stocked. You're welcome whenever you like. I've not been particularly hungry anyways" He then turned and flopped himself onto a sofa that was relatively clean.

I stayed where I was: chewing.

Peeta was asleep again before my sandwich was finished.

I found myself wondering over to the sleeping boy, taking the bottle from his fist, where is seemed to live the past few days, and placing it in the kitchen. I took a clean looking blanket from the couch and draped it as best I could over him.

Steeling a few staple items that Peeta seemed to have in vast supply, I made my way back to my own abode. Forced myself to eat again, and found my place on the couch.

This day had been different from all the others. This day had a beginning middle and an end. I wasn't sure it was something I wanted a day to have, but I couldn't send myself back to my mind, it was just too lonely in there.

I wondered idly, before sleep found me, if Peeta was all right.

END CHAPTER.