Spoilers: Major Spoilers for the events of the Hunger Games.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. I'm just borrowing the characters.
A/N: I've always been interested in Peeta's character, and I've wanted to write about Peeta's experience in the Games for quite a while. This largely follows book canon, but it does still work with the movies as well.
As always, I also thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.
Veritas
Peeta Mellark had always been a good liar.
Growing up, he'd had to be. More often than not, it was the only thing standing between him and his mother:
"Mom, I just got home. How would I know why the lamp is broken?"
"I ordered brown sugar because Dad asked me to. He said something about a new recipe he wanted to try."
"I know they're expensive, but those drawing pencils will help me sketch the cake designs before I frost them. That way I can plan the designs before I use any icing, which will save us money in the long run."
Lying wasn't exactly a skill he was proud of, but it was useful, at least. A lie wasn't always enough, of course – he'd had the bruises to prove that – but it was still his best defense, and he'd only gotten better at it over the years.
He tried not to lie to anyone else besides his mother, but he couldn't deny that he did sometimes, especially if people got curious about those bruises. He'd learned fast that a little laughter went a long way.
People didn't ask questions when you made them smile.
He was good at that too...making people smile, and that was a skill he actually was proud of. He liked people (most of the time), and he tried to help them however he could, even if it was just giving them something to laugh about for a minute or two.
That was why, after his name echoed over the square during the Reaping, it wasn't just the thought of Katniss being his district partner that left him cold.
He'd seen enough Games to know how they worked...to know what they did to the tributes inside the arena. It seemed like the second the countdown ended, all of the tributes turned into different people...people who were willing to fight, to maim, to kill. Desperation was the reason for a lot of that, he was sure. Fear, too. Not that he could blame them. Just the thought of that countdown – the one he was going to experience for himself – was enough to make his palms sweat.
He'd let himself cry while they were still in the district, let himself mourn his life and say his goodbyes, because he knew he couldn't afford to do that in the Capitol or in the arena. And it was mourning, even if he was technically still breathing. Peeta didn't have any illusions about that.
He wasn't stupid...he knew his chances (so did his mother, apparently), and he knew that even if Katniss hadn't been in there with him, he still probably wouldn't be coming back.
But he knew something else, too. He knew that if he was going to die, he wanted to die as himself. He didn't want the Games to change him.
That was one victory he could deny the Capitol, if nothing else.
Katniss made that both harder and easier.
If he wanted to protect her in the arena, to really help her, he would have to be willing to do whatever it took. That meant that he might have to act like the monster he didn't want to become.
But he thought that he could do it if it was for Katniss. After all, even if he'd barely spoken to her before they were both reaped, his feelings for her had been a part of him for so long that he couldn't imagine himself without them.
So, no matter what he had to do to keep her safe, he would still be himself. He would still be Peeta Mellark from District Twelve, a boy who had a hopeless crush on a girl that he'd never worked up the nerve to talk to.
He clung to that idea when they reached the Capitol.
The remake center was first, and his prep team had buzzed around him, scrubbing him raw and trimming and clipping and primping. Peeta had never been been shy, but even for him, having a team of complete strangers working on him from head to toe was every bit as uncomfortable as Haymitch had said it would be.
He pushed that feeling down and did his best to win them over, asking their names and thanking them for their help. That seemed to do the trick, and by the time they were almost done, Diana, Marcellus, and Felix were chatting easily with him.
"You sure are a charmer," Diana gushed, running her hands through his hair after he'd told her that he liked the design on her nails. "You remind me of Dameon."
"Oh, he does, doesn't he?" Felix agreed, bouncing a little on his toes. "He's just like him!"
Peeta frowned. "Who's Dameon?"
Marcellus looked up from whatever he was doing by Peeta's feet, his expression incredulous before he seemed to think better of it. "Oh, that's right – they don't air that in the Districts, do they? You poor thing!"
Dameon, it turned out, was a main character on a television drama that was all the rage in the Capitol. Peeta mostly just pretended to be interested as they described a whirlwind romance between a Capitol fashion designer, Livia, and her photographer, Dameon, interrupting each other over and over in their excitement to give him all the juicy details.
"That seems like a great show," Peeta told them when they were done.
"It is, darling, it is! And who doesn't love a romance?" Diana exclaimed. "No matter what challenges they face, you can't help rooting for them to make it work!"
Peeta blinked.
Who doesn't love a romance?
His mind raced with the possibilities, and this time, when he smiled and thanked them all again, he didn't even have to lie.
Winning over his prep team, though, turned out to be easier than winning over Katniss. Even with Haymitch insisting that they stick together in training, she'd been distant, only really willing to talk when they were around other people.
He tried not to be disappointed about that. She had no reason to trust him, and as far as she knew, he was nothing more than another tribute who had to die before she could go home. But it still stung, especially given the plan slowly forming in his mind.
In some ways, it was easier with the other tributes. If they gave him the cold shoulder when he tried to be friendly, he could just shrug and move on. He saw at least a few of them smiling reluctantly at his jokes, though, so he kept them up when he could. After all, it would be harder for them to take him out if they liked him. Even if it only made them hesitate to attack him for a split second, it would still give him an advantage, which meant he had a better chance of helping Katniss.
(And maybe, just maybe, it would help him live a little longer too.)
Peeta was pretty sure that Haymitch knew what he was doing because later in the week, as the interviews approached, Haymitch sat down in front of him and asked simply, "So, kid, what's your play?"
"I want to help Katniss."
Clearly, his mentor hadn't expected that.
"Why?" he demanded.
And Peeta told him.
When he was finished, Haymitch leaned back in his chair, studying him, his Seam-gray eyes sharp, for once not dulled by drink.
"I figure maybe I can use it in my interview somehow," Peeta added.
Haymitch just stared at him a little longer, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"That could work," he'd agreed. "Caesar likes to bring that sort of thing up anyway."
They hammered out the details together, talking about a few different ways he could direct the conversation if Caesar didn't bring up a "love interest" on his own, and he'd practiced a few funny stories he could offer the audience.
His interview was last, which Haymitch assured him could be an asset if he used it right.
"Leave an impression," he said. "Get them talking."
Peeta did his best.
It felt more than a little surreal telling all of Panem what he hadn't ever been able to tell Katniss herself, but it was his idea, and Haymitch was right – he needed something memorable, something the Capitol could root for, and he knew that no lie he could come up with would be better than the truth.
He just hadn't expected Katniss's reaction to it, though maybe he should have. The cuts on his hands hadn't hurt as badly as the memory of her furious expression when she'd slammed her hands into his chest.
But her opinion of him would only get worse if the plan he and Haymitch had come up with worked, and he joined the Career pack in the area.
The thought left a bad taste in his mouth – he knew what he would think of a tribute who did that. But that didn't matter, not really...not if it helped keep Katniss safe...not if it helped keep him alive long enough to do her some good.
It wouldn't be easy, though. Haymitch had made that clear:
"Your training score will help, but they'll need more than that. You'll have to prove that you're like them."
Prove that you're like them.
His mentor's words were still echoing in his mind at the end of the week as he stood on his platform, the sixty second countdown ringing in his ears. When it ended, he ran, but not far, only to the outskirts where he could make sure Katniss got away and then watch for an opening.
Haymitch wouldn't be happy – he'd told him not to risk the bloodbath. But Peeta knew there was only one way to really prove himself to the Careers, and that wasn't by running for the woods. So, he watched, and he waited until the only tributes still fighting were the ones who seemed like they could hold their own.
His eyes fell on an unclaimed backpack, maybe a dozen feet from the brush he was hiding in, the handle of a knife sticking out of one of the pockets. He crawled forward to grab it, his hand wrapping around the hilt of the blade, his heart in his throat.
Then, he stood up straight and started walking.
It didn't taken long for someone to spot him – a boy with an ax. District Seven, Peeta remembered.
The boy snarled and ran at him, blood-stained ax held high, and Peeta took a deep breath.
He thought about the sneer on his mother's face when he'd burned his arm on the oven door when he was nine. He thought about the way she'd torn up a pile of his drawings one day and called them trash. He thought about the day after he'd given Katniss the bread, when his father had seen the purple swelling of his cheek and never said a word.
His hand tightened around the knife, and when the other boy swung at him, he swung back.
After it was was over, Peeta was bruised and bloody, and a weirdly detached part of his mind couldn't help thinking that it wasn't really all that different from some of his days back home, even if his mother's choice of weapon had been a rolling pin instead of an ax.
His knife was dripping red.
The Careers...the Careers were grudgingly impressed. The District Seven boy had been the one to kill the boy from Four, and they seemed surprised that Peeta had been able to beat him.
The lies Peeta told them helped too – lies that spilled from his lips so easily, lies about wanting revenge on Katniss for rejecting him after his confession during the interviews. He spun a story about how, after Katniss's initial shock had worn off, they'd gotten into an argument back in their district suite, and Katniss had lost her temper. She'd calmed down later, though, and apologized. He'd told her it was okay, that he understood if she didn't feel the same way, but that nothing could change how he felt about her, and she wouldn't have to worry about him in the arena.
But he insisted that he'd been lying when he said that. He hadn't actually forgiven her (the still-healing lines on his palms from that broken vase had only made that more convincing). He would help them hunt Katniss down, and he assured them that he knew enough about her to be useful.
They agreed to let him live.
For now went unspoken, but he heard it anyway.
Questions followed. What he knew about Katniss's strategy. Her strengths, her skills, her weaknesses. He answered them all, though it wasn't easy. Everything he said had to be close enough to the truth to be believable, but if he got too close to the truth, he might just wind up actually helping them, which was the last thing he wanted to do.
He told them that Katniss had picked up a lot in training, that she could gather edible plants and maybe even trap some game if she had something to make a snare. He told them that their mentor had warned her to stay away from the bloodbath because she didn't know much about hand-to-hand, and she would probably hide as deep in the forest as she could. He said nothing about a bow or her aim, but told them that he'd seen which direction Katniss ran after Clove had thrown her knife into her backpack. Clove hadn't appreciated the reminder, but she grudgingly admitted that she'd lost sight of Katniss right after that, so Peeta's information was the best lead they had.
That seemed to be enough to satisfy the Careers, at least for the time being.
When the questions stopped, the boy from District Three emerged from his own hiding spot. He must have made a deal with the Careers during training because the Careers just told him to get to work. He gave them all nervous looks, but he did as he was told and knelt down by one of the nearby platforms, starting to carefully dig up the dirt around it.
The landmines, Peeta realized. He had a plan to use the mines.
It wasn't hard to figure out what those mines would be used for as soon as Cato ordered them all to start setting up camp around the Cornucopia. They divvied up the supplies and piled up what they weren't going to need right away.
Peeta took the opportunity to put some antiseptic on his wounds, and he wrapped a white bandage around his right bicep where a bad cut from the District Seven boy's ax was still seeping. He frowned at how quickly his blood soaked into the fresh bandage, but it would have to do for now. A quick flex of his arm proved that he could still use it, at least.
When that was finished, he forced himself to choke down a ration pack because he had no way of knowing when he'd be able to eat next, and then he cleaned his knife like they'd showed him in training.
He couldn't help staring at the blade as he worked – at the red now staining his hands.
He hated what he'd done.
But as he gazed down at the knife he held, he wondered if he didn't hate it enough.
Mostly, he was just relieved that the Careers had bought his act.
Maybe that was a good thing. He couldn't afford to look weak or be distracted by guilt, not if he was going to help Katniss. He could feel the full weight of it later – the guilt and the horror – if he lived long enough.
He wasn't really a cold-blooded killer. He just…played one on TV.
For Katniss, he thought again, his fingers tightening on the hilt of the blade. For Katniss.
They got ready to leave their camp as the sun began to set, planning to start hunting down the other tributes, Katniss at the top of the list. The District Three boy was to stay behind, working on placing the last of the mines, but the Careers insisted that Peeta would come with them. He shrugged and agreed because there was nothing else he could do.
"Alright, Lover Boy. Which way?" Cato demanded.
Peeta pointed to the stand of trees in the distance, the one just left of the small valley he'd actually seen Katniss run through, and they started walking. (He hoped the audience realized what he was doing. He could imagine the announcers speculating about his motives already.)
About half an hour had passed when the girl from One – Glimmer, he remembered – slowed down so that she could walk beside him at the back of the pack.
"So, Twelve," she said, her blonde hair glinting in the fading light.
Peeta could almost pretend she was one of the girls from Town.
"Fire girl rejected you, huh?"
He nodded stiffly – it was supposed to be a sore topic, after all.
"Well, her loss." She turned to look at him, giving him an appreciative once over, biting her lower lip. "I bet I could make you forget all about her if you'd give me a chance."
Peeta didn't scoff out loud, but it was a close thing. Maybe Glimmer thought that it didn't matter how obvious she was...that she was just so tempting someone was bound to give in eventually and let their guard down long enough for her to strike.
He smiled at her anyway. "Thanks, but I don't think I could stand to have my heart broken again so soon, especially not by such a beautiful woman."
Clove must have been listening up ahead because he saw her roll her eyes, and he was pretty sure he heard Marin, the District Four girl, scoff, but Glimmer looked flattered enough by the compliment to let the rejection pass, and that was all that really mattered. She went back to focusing her attention on Cato, which Clove didn't seem to like much either, judging by the tense line of her shoulders. (Was there something between the District Two tributes? Peeta thought he could use that if he had to.)
A few minutes later, they came across some damp ground, marked by a set of footprints. They were small, even with the heavy-tread shoes they'd all been given before entering the arena, so they were probably either from one of the younger boys or one of the girls. Those footprints worked well as proof that they were headed in the right direction, though Peeta was pretty sure Katniss wouldn't have been that careless. The Careers hurried ahead in case Katniss was close by, and Peeta was careful to exaggerate a look of relief for the cameras before he caught up to them again.
Darkness fell, and they kept walking, but most of the remaining tributes must have been playing it smart because the forest stayed quiet. Then, finally, they saw it – the glow of a fire in the distance. The Careers grinned around him, teeth bared like the wild dogs that lived out in the forest around District Twelve...the ones the electric fence was supposed to keep them "safe" from.
It didn't take them long to reach the other tribute...a girl, Peeta saw...maybe the girl whose footprints they'd found earlier. Cato was in the lead, and Peeta stayed at the back.
That was how Peeta saw it: movement in the trees. It could have been his imagination, or maybe it was someone else hiding up in the branches, but he wasn't going to take any chances by drawing the Careers' attention.
Thankfully, they were all focused on the girl. He watched as she begged and pleaded and then she screamed as they stabbed her, and his jaw clenched. The Careers laughed and searched through her small camp, walking away when they found nothing they wanted.
But no cannon sounded.
The others started to argue about whether or not she was actually dead, and impatient to get some distance between them and that tree, Peeta told them they were wasting time, and that he would finish the girl.
When he reached the girl's side, she was almost dead already, her breaths coming in gurgling rasps. He recognized her. She'd smiled at some of his jokes in the training center. He held her hand, and he told her he was sorry, and he sat with her until those gurgling rasps stopped barely a minute later.
It had been a risk, but it was easy enough to make it seem like her death was his doing. He was glad that it hadn't been, though, since he hadn't wanted to hurt her. Plus, the audience would know the truth about what he'd done, and that would help him seem more sympathetic, which could only work in his favor. He gave the tree one last look as they left, just in case Katniss was there. Maybe the audience would even think that he and Katniss had created some elaborate plan together. He hoped that possibility kept everyone in the Capitol glued to their screens.
The sun rose not long after that, and Cato ordered them back to the Cornucopia to get some rest. The Careers clearly knew how to track because they had no problems following their own trail back to their camp, something that Peeta couldn't help but be grateful for. If he'd been alone, he was certain he would have been lost by now.
They slept for a few hours, taking turns keeping watch in between. (Peeta was never left to keep watch by himself, and the Careers eyed him suspiciously if he came within ten feet of the District Three boy, probably worried about him and the other outlier tribute trying to form an alliance of their own. Peeta didn't protest. He knew better than to press his luck.)
In the late afternoon, they set out again, picking up from where they'd left off, not far from where they'd killed the District Eight girl.
It didn't take them long to find a snare. This time, Peeta was pretty sure that it did belong to Katniss – it looked an awful lot like the ones he'd seen her impress the trainer with at the knot tying station. He stomach clenched in worry. He had no idea where she'd gone after she'd tied that snare, and that meant he wasn't sure which direction he should lead the Careers. He gave it his best guess and pretended to be perfectly confident as he led them through the undergrowth, his mind racing as he tried to think of a plan if he was accidentally leading them to Katniss...or an excuse, if he was right, and he was leading them away from her.
He turned out not to need either after fire erupted around them.
They ran, dodging falling trees and balls of flame, and Peeta grit his teeth as he felt heat skim across the back of his shoulders.
It stung, but it wasn't bad.
Besides, Peeta was used to burns.
By the time it was over, he and the others were out of breath and coughing harshly from the smoke, but they were mostly unhurt. That might have been a relief except that Peeta bet he knew who the Gamemakers had really been targeting with that blaze.
He was right.
The Careers gave chase the instant that Katniss appeared in the distance, and Peeta followed, his eyes darting between the Careers ahead of him and Katniss herself. It looked like she was limping, but she didn't stop, and as they drew closer, she managed to make it up a tall tree, climbing with an ease he couldn't help but admire.
It was impressive how high she'd gotten, and there was no way that any members of the pack were going to be able to climb up after her, though Cato and Glimmer tried.
"Oh, let her stay up there," Peeta snapped at last. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."
It was true – Katniss would have to come down at some point.
He just hoped that she could find a way to use the time he'd bought her.
They set up camp around the base of the tree, and he pretended to sleep until the others drifted off, including Glimmer who was supposed to be on watch. He couldn't blame the District One girl. Exhaustion kept trying to pull him under too, and he was fairly sure it did, at least a couple times, but he always fought it because he had to be ready if Katniss needed him.
It meant that when the nest dropped in the morning, he was ready.
The others weren't.
Marin and Glimmer were much closer to the tree, and he heard their agonized shrieking behind him as he ran to the lake, Cato and the others not far behind. Peeta hadn't been fast enough to get away completely – he could feel a sting on his right thigh and another on his left wrist, both already throbbing, but he ignored the pain and dove into the water.
He waited just a few, short minutes – he wasn't sure if it was safe, but he'd heard the cannon fire twice, and he had to make sure Katniss was alright. He climbed out of the lake, stumbling up the bank before he took off running. He'd lost his knife somewhere in all the commotion, but Marvel had dropped his spear along the way, so Peeta scooped it up. He could hear Cato, Clove, and Marvel behind him, and he pushed himself to run faster, ignoring the way the world was starting to blur around the edges.
He was still dripping water when he spotted the tree where the nest had been.
Marin's body was a short distance away, and it seemed like Glimmer, the beautiful girl who had flirted with him a few hours before, hadn't even gotten that far.
Glimmer. She had the bow. And the arrows.
Katniss must have thought the same thing because when Peeta burst through the brush, his spear raised, poised to throw, he found Katniss sitting beside Glimmer's bloated body, her eyes wide and staring, the bow next to her on the ground, her arms wrapped around the sheath of arrows, hugging it to her chest.
He could hear that the others were getting closer, and he knew they would kill her if they found her. He hissed at Katniss to leave, then yelled at her to run when she didn't move, pushing her deeper into the forest.
Cato burst through the brush just a few seconds later, sword in hand, his features twisting in rage when he realized what Peeta had done.
Peeta knew that if he could take Cato out it would give Katniss even more of an edge, but his vision was really starting to swim, and when he turned to face the Career, he found himself blinking hard as he tried to focus. The only solace he really had was that Cato didn't look much better. His eyes were glazed, and he was shaking his head every few seconds, like he was trying to clear it.
Peeta hoped that might give him an advantage, but he wasn't really any better off, and Cato had sheer muscle memory on his side when it came to fighting with lethal weapons. Peeta's wrestling practice just wasn't the same – they didn't usually fight to the death on the mats in the old school gym, though for a minute, Peeta saw Coach Grant yelling about technique from somewhere behind those trees...
He couldn't really remember most of the fight after that, but he was pretty sure that Cato had actually been trying to gut him when he sliced his left thigh instead. The pain was hot and blinding, and he fell to the forest floor clutching his leg.
The part of him that was still thinking clearly waited for the next blow – the one that would probably kill him – but it didn't come. Cato had turned away from him already, clutching his head and muttering something as he stumbled through the trees. Peeta wondered vaguely where Clove and Marvel were, since he thought that they had been following Cato earlier, but maybe they were feeling the effects of those stings too.
As long as they left him alone, it didn't matter. He had to get up. Get away.
He bit back the scream that wanted to tear from his throat as he pulled himself to his feet, using the trunk of a nearby tree for support.
Peeta blinked as Coach Grant materialized in front of him, blowing the whistle he wore around his neck. "Alright, three more laps to go, boys! You're not finished yet! Move it!"
Peeta stared at him for a moment, then nodded shakily and stumbled away, the closest thing he could manage to a jog.
He wasn't sure where he was when his legs finally gave out because he mind gave out about the same time, the visions he saw making less and less sense.
The last thing he remembered for a while was his mother standing over him, yelling about what a worthless boy he was and how she knew he'd never make it home.
It was the pain in his leg that woke him later.
It was bad.
He knew that without even looking at his thigh, though when he did work up the courage to check it, he saw that it was red and angry and still seeping blood. The thought made him swallow hard, but there was nothing he could do about it, not really. He'd been forced to leave behind all the supplies he'd gotten from the Cornucopia when that nest dropped, and he was too weak to think about going back for them...if he could even find his way back there to begin with.
He didn't blame Katniss. She'd done what she'd had to do.
Katniss. He smiled through the pain. She had a bow now. She'd be unstoppable, no doubt.
He'd done it. He'd helped her like he wanted to.
That knowledge made it easier for Peeta to slowly drag himself over to the nearby river bank and disguise himself in the mud, planning to wait for the end.
Except...the end didn't come.
Katniss did.
He hadn't expected it. Not really. Not even after the announcement about the rule change, the one he'd heard as he'd drifted in an out of consciousness, his body burning with the heat of a fever despite the cold earth he was laying in.
Why would Katniss want to team up with him? Hurt, and as sick as he was, he would only slow her down.
But she'd refused to leave him.
That meant they'd have to put on a good show. It was one of reasons he'd told her that she could kiss him any time, even if he'd said it as a joke to make her smile. The audience had probably loved that, too. After all, who doesn't love a romance? Besides, with the Capitol invested in their love story, at least he could still be of some use to her.
Then she'd gone and risked her life to get that medicine for him, and he'd...he'd let himself start to think the she might really feel the same way.
It just...it hadn't occurred to him that Katniss would go so far to keep up the act. Maybe it had been the fever or the lingering effect of those stings that had kept him from seeing the truth, or maybe he'd just been desperate to believe that the girl of his dreams actually wanted him for whatever time he had left.
Only, he turned out to have more time than he'd thought he would. Much more.
Enough time for a girl to die from his ignorance.
It really didn't seem fair to her – he'd made the choice to do whatever he had to do in the Games, but he hadn't wanted to stumble his way into killing someone. He hadn't wanted to kill anyone if he could help it, but in the bloodbath, he'd walked into that fight with his eyes open. It still hadn't been right, but it had been...it had been different somehow.
Then again, he supposed if that girl was just as clever as Katniss said, maybe she'd realized what those berries were and eaten them on purpose.
He would never know for sure. In any case, like Katniss had told him – it just meant they were one step closer to home, and awful as it was, he couldn't really bring himself to regret that. But he would later, he'd told himself. He would. He was just too focused on surviving while he was in the arena, and that was all.
Surviving got harder when those mutts appeared and so did Cato.
The Career had gotten him in a headlock, and with the fresh wound on his leg, he didn't have enough leverage to try to break the other boy's hold. But he had drawn that bloody "X" on the back of Cato's hand, and Katniss had hit the target perfectly, just like he'd known she would, and then he'd shoved Cato off the top of the Cornucopia and into the jaws of the waiting mutts.
But of course it hadn't ended there. The Capitol had to drag it out for as long as possible. More drama that way.
Drama. The one thing he hadn't really thought about when he'd first decided to give the audience a romance. What could be more dramatic than two "lovers" pitted against each other in the final showdown?
He hadn't expected to get far enough for that to even be a possibility.
He'd been ready to give up then, to give the victory to Katniss – it was what he'd planned for all along, wasn't it?
But she still had those berries, and she'd given the Capitol an ultimatum instead:
Two Victors or no Victor at all.
And it had worked.
Now...now, Peeta was back home, in the district he never thought he'd see again. It was late, and exhaustion seemed to weigh him down like lead, but he couldn't sleep. He stared up at the dark ceiling of his new bedroom, a phantom ache where the bottom half of his left leg used to be, and another, different kind of ache in chest.
Earlier that evening, his father had been the one to tell him that he and the rest of the Mellarks wouldn't be moving to his house in the Victors' Village. No, they would be staying in their apartment above the bakery. Peeta wondered if it was his mother's idea, her petty revenge for him actually making it back alive, or if none of them wanted to be around him now...not that they had ever really wanted that before, either.
He wasn't completely alone, of course. He had neighbors. There was Haymitch. And Katniss and her mother and sister were just down the street.
Peeta scoffed, the sound bitter in the silence.
Katniss was closer than she'd even been, but she'd never felt farther away. Even after everything he'd done, everything he'd been willing to give up, she still didn't–
He cut that thought off.
Katniss didn't have to do anything. If his plan for the Games had worked the way he'd expected it to, he wouldn't even have been alive to know what she'd thought of it.
That didn't make it any easier, though, and the knowledge that she'd been acting still left him feeling hollow. It hurt, too, and the part of him that wanted to lash out knew that it would have been easy to blame Katniss for all of it...for the numbness taking hold of him, for way he felt so twisted up inside, for every sleepless night he'd had since the Games.
And for a second, he was tempted to do just that...to blame her.
But even if he might lie to others, he wouldn't lie to himself.
What he felt about the Games...Katniss was tied up in it, but it wasn't just her. It was what he'd done.
He'd never wanted to hurt anyone, but he knew what he was capable of now, when he had to be. And he also knew that he would do it again, all of it – he would do more – if it meant Katniss was okay.
Some might call that noble, since he hadn't been – and wouldn't be – fighting for himself.
But that didn't change anything, not really, because it still felt like it had been a little too easy to play the monster in the arena. To lie. To kill. To think about killing. To let those around him die without so much as lifting a hand to help them.
The cold glint he'd seen in his mother's eyes all his life didn't seem quite so foreign anymore.
And that was just it.
He'd been naive to think that the Games wouldn't change him.
They had changed him.
But the Games hadn't just changed him – they'd shown him what was already there.
And maybe…maybe that was worse.
Fin
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
Take care and God bless!
Ani-maniac494 :)