Chapter 7

I got him to eat the bread and berries. He even seemed to enjoy it. But, I saw him emptying his stomach contents into his bucket from my kitchen window later that evening. I hope he had digested some of the nutrition.

I needed to stop watching my deteriorating neighbor. It was making me step outside my mind. It made me care about someone other than myself. I had thought "that" Katniss had died out, and I was terrified and irritated that she choose now to rear her altruistic head.

I wondered if I had any curtain-like material lying around the house that might work to block my view. I would search the nooks and crannies in the morning. Now, it was time to watch the flames burn to embers and wait for my nightmares to find me. I curled myself into a tight womb-like posture on the couch and waited. The fire danced more and more quietly, its colors becoming deeper, its body returning to the wood that nourished it, it's lover that no longer had the power to feed it. I watched it die.

My night was filled with dying things. People, ideals, places, memories. They all died. I cried out to them silently. I cried out for them aloud. I woke again to the pre-dawn with a wet pillow and a pounding heart. That muscle inside me refused to quite. It just kept going and going, pounding, ticking, beating.

I cast off the blankets that had trapped me and fed myself. I began my hunt for curtains after I scolded myself for peering inquiringly into Peeta's house.

I wondered through the supply room, certain my mother or sister would stow material in this room. I flipped open the lids of boxes. I moved around medicine and other healing paraphernalia. I displaced an old T.V. that hadn't worked in years. I wiggled though newspapers, journals, and books on plant life my father had collected. I lost track of my original goal. I found myself touching odds and ins, remembering fondly a family member in the color of a hat, or the wear on an old pair of shoes, too small for any adult.

I then stumbled upon a find I had not anticipated: my bow and a quiver of arrows. I looked at them for a long time, unsure of what I should do with them. Ignore them, naturally, I thought to myself. But I couldn't leave the room without feeling the weight of them, touching them, feeling their smoothness, the sharp, deathly point of the arrow, the give of the bow. I walked without freewill in their direction. I felt them slide through my fingers. I found myself stroking them longingly.

Taking them from their hiding spot, I ambled outside, my feet pointing me towards the forest, my heart unable to redirect me. And so, I found myself here again, at the forest's edge, and I breathed deeply the smells so familiar and welcoming.

(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)

The feel of the bow in my arms, the pull and give of the string, made me feel more alive than I had since my sister had died. It came back like anything you were born to do does. I missed my first shot, hit a squirrel sloppily, and then nailed a porcupine through the eye.

I took my game and walked proudly back to the Victor's Village. I was Katniss the Hunter again, and I felt like a living creature. I smiled inwardly.

The smile faded as I walked past my neighbor's homes. I watched as Haymitch stepped quickly out of Peeta's house and made for his own. He spied me and casually lifted his arm with a non-committal wave.

I raised mine as an automatic response. My arm was heavy with game, but I lifted it smoothly, determined not to waiver.

He didn't speak to me, but his eyes said volumes: he was cheerless and defeated looking. He knew what he was doing was wrong, knew he shouldn't fan the fire. But, it appeared he would do it regardless.

I continued on my path to home.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

I cleaned and gutted my kills. I made a stew with the squirrel, and a roast with the porcupine. It was too much food for me. I could have saved it. But, I knew Peeta was not eating without encouragement.

So I gathered the dinner and made my way across the lawn.

I had begun to find knocking redundant. I was just letting myself in anyways. And so, I let myself in. He had suggested that I should "help myself" at one point, I suppose that was what I was doing.

"Hello" I called out. The room was dark. "Peeta" I tried.

Nothing.

I set down dinner and flipped on a few lights, making my way from room to room, expecting an unconscious half-dead sprawl around each corner.

The downstairs was empty of human life. I examined the stairs. I hesitated. There was something inherently invasive about going up-stairs. But, my body refused to turn around.

I reached for the rail. The silkiness of the wood, well polished, greeted me. I gripped it tightly and ascended one step and then the next. I was breathless by the top.

The new stash of alcohol was piled neatly against the wall. I fumed at it. In a moment of anger, I didn't know I possessed, I hurried to the closest window and on opening it made several dumping trips. The crash of the glass as it split into tiny sharp pieces made me giddy and excited. My heart was beating fast and my breathing was ragged. I leaned against the windowpane until I had composed myself enough to move on.

I knew which bedroom would be his: the large one at the end, facing my own bedroom. I had seen the light flicker on and off before we were whisked off to the second round of hunger terrors.

The door was closed but unlocked. I gave easily under my weight and opened into a space that was entirely Peeta. The walls were white, but were covered with large art pieces. They were his, I could see immediately. All of them were his. Each canvas housed a memory, each was beautiful, and each was of me.

My jaw hung open, gapping and ready to catch small birds.

I stared at myself on each wall, painted over and over again. Pictures of me. Katniss in a wedding gown. Katniss hunting. Katniss standing next to her sister at the Reaping. Katniss bundled into herself on the floor of her house. Katniss kissing Gale. Katniss looking hard and unbreakable. Katniss looking away and forlorn. All of them of me.

His bedding was white. The lamp was white. The only life, the only color in the room was me.

Looking at the bed I saw the object of my hunt. Peeta lay face down in the sheets. He was naked and sleeping quietly.

I crawled up along side him and stared openly at him. I had never seen Peeta naked. There were bruises staining his skin pink and blue, green and grey. There were scratches, and the stitches I had placed. There were bones, more visible than I had imagined. He looked so brittle.

The peace of sleep seemed to be eluding him. His eyes moved restlessly behind their thin prison of skin. His muscles twitched and spasmed at random. His brow was furrowed and the skin on his forehead wrinkled unhappily.

But, he was still beautiful. He was still Peeta.

I leaned close. I ran my fingertips over the deep lines on his face. Traced them down his arm, along the steep curves of his open back. My eyes watered and my vision blurred. I forced my breathing to stay even.

He was breaking. He was dying. He was giving up and leaving me all alone, he would leave me only images of myself. I found the thought sickening.

"Please, Peeta. Stay for me. What will I do if you leave me?" I murmured.

His eyes fluttered and opened. He took a moment finding his bearings.

"You're in my room." The words a question as much as a statement.

"I brought you dinner."

"You shouldn't be here." His words were angry and vengeful.

"I'm sorry. I…" I struggled to find words. The beauty of his face had contorted into something much less welcoming. I stepped back from the bed, feeling far too close to him.

"Get out!" He yelled.

I continued my retreat all the way back to my house, leaving the game downstairs, leaving the broken bottles where they lay.

END CHAPTER