A/N: I finally finished chapter 2! I found this chapter a bit more difficult to write, but I'm confident that things will be going in a great direction. I'm working on some of the next few chapters already, so hopefully I'll be able to get those up in a timely fashion. Enjoy!
Love, LilD
Song: I'm Scared by Duffy
Chapter 2 – Nightmares – K
I sit handcuffed to a table in an overly formal courtroom. A parade of the dead takes the stand, one after another, to relay the misery and loss they have experienced. When the haunting voice of a shrouded judge asks each specter-witness who they feel is responsible for their fate, each in turn points a recriminating finger at me. When it is Prim's turn, my heart splinters and I collapse into sobs.
I wake to find my eyes wet and tear tracks on my pillow. Closing my eyes, I try the new technique Dr. Aurelius taught me. I inhale, focusing on the air filling my lungs, then exhale slowly. One. Air in, air out. Two. Again. Three. Still breathing steadily, I have lost count and fallen into a semi-wakeful state when I hear my front door open. Voices tell me Peeta and Greasy Sae are right on time.
The wet, gray morning invites me to stay in bed, although the sounds and smells that begin to waft up the stairs tell me I'll be expected for breakfast soon. But my body is as leaden as the rain outside and I can't compel myself to move.
"Katniss?" Peeta says softly through the door when he knocks. "Are you awake?" I don't answer, knowing fully that he won't be deterred so easily. I hear the door open but remain facing the wall.
"I'm awake," I manage. Although my breathing game can take the edge of the terror, I'm left feeling numb.
"Breakfast?" he offers. "Eggs and bacon?"
"No." I wish he'd leave me alone already.
"At least take your medicine," he says. This request I comply with. I know, too, that I won't be able to get away with skipping breakfast, either. Much to his credit, Peeta resists imposing a rigid schedule on me, although I know he adheres to a fairly strict routine. Instead, he lets me take my daily activities at my own pace, provided I'm eating, bathing, and following the doctor's advice. I know Dr. Aurelius talks to Peeta on the phone as well, and that they talk about me. At least they're honest with me about it.
"You can go back to sleep, if you want," is the last thing I hear before I slip off once again into my dream world of ghosts.
I open my eyes to find that the rain has subsided some. Still facing the wall, I turn at the smell of something savory to find a cup of tea, still steaming, and a plate of cheese buns on a tray atop my bedside table. Finally hungry, I sit up and eat. Sounds and smells from downstairs tell me that Peeta is still here, watching the television while something bakes. I don't mind that he uses my kitchen sometimes, but he doesn't need to. I know he's trying to keep an eye on me; I find myself both relieved by his presence and bitter that he thinks I need babysitting.
I don't remember making a decision to stay in bed, but I don't exactly make plans to get up, either. When the phone rings, I don't answer it, but Peeta brings the handset to my room. "Dr. Aurelius for you," he says as he enters. When he hands me the telephone, our fingers brush and our eyes meet. For a fleeting instant, the brief connection makes me feel as if I've been drenched in ice water.
The sensation dissolves at the sound of the doctor's voice on the line, but today his words compete for my attention with the expression I saw in Peeta's eyes. It's a look I know I've seen before, but I can't place it.
"How does that sound, Katniss?" The sound of my name abruptly reminds me that I'm supposed to be paying attention.
"I…I don't know," I mumble. I don't even know what question I'm answering.
"Well, it would be nice if you could at least attempt to get out of bed every day, for now. If hunting or even being in the woods distresses you, perhaps there is some sort of activity you could pursue from home?"
"Okay," I offer. The idea of picking up a hobby recalls my frustrating attempts to find a suitable talent after winning my first games. I cringe at the thought.
After hanging up the phone, I resume my listless state until Peeta arrives with a dinner tray. I stomach a few bites of roasted ham and bread before collapsing into an uneven sleep punctuated by nightmares of being selected not for the Hunger Games, but a talent competition in which the losers will be executed.
Skirting around the far edge of the Meadow, I make my way toward my new entryway into the woods. Since the fence's only purpose now is to keep wild animals out of the town during its rebuilding, Thom has fashioned me a makeshift gate I can slip through that's both closer to my house in the village and doesn't require me to walk through the disheveled remains of the district.
When the sun had come streaming in through my window this morning, I felt the doldrums of the past few days wane. I dressed and went down for breakfast, where I told the others I'd be spending the morning in the woods. Peeta and Greasy Sae both seemed pleased at the idea.
"Unless you want gruel for dinner, you'd better catch something," Greasy Sae threatens, although I know it's in jest; now that the trains are running again, we're able to get enough food. Still, fresh meat is always nice, I have to admit, and I have a feeling I'm going to be hungry for dinner tonight, so I promise them I'll bring back something.
Mud squelches under my boots as I follow the swollen creek upstream. After several days of heavy rain, it has overrun its banks and is running more swiftly than I have seen in a long time. Stopping to rest on a damp rock, I close my eyes and listen to the roar of the rapids, finding the sound simultaneously soothing and energizing.
I open my eyes to find a squirrel scurrying across the sodden ground under a large oak tree. Silently, I string an arrow and loose it into the small animal. I can't say that squirrel is my favorite, but it's something for dinner, at least.
Not wanting to over-extend myself, I don't walk too far into the woods today, choosing to stay close to the river. After snagging a couple more squirrels, I'm thinking I should head back for lunch when a doe emerges from the trees on the opposite bank a couple dozen yards downstream from me. It's not until I've already raised my bow and nocked an arrow that I see him: a dappled fawn, still awkward on his gangly new limbs, hiding behind his mother's flank.
I lower my weapon, swallow the lump I hadn't realized was forming in my throat, and reassume the numbed state I've grown accustomed to as I head for home.
"How was hunting today?" Peeta asks me as I walk through his kitchen door. Soon after he had returned, Peeta had told me he would make lunch any time I wanted to come over. I have taken him up on the offer a few times, but I'm thinking I may start showing up more often. Dr. Aurelius wants me to establish routines that get me out of the house, and even though Peeta's house is a stone's throw from mine, it's something. I certainly don't want Peeta to think that he has to take care of me, but I appreciate his gesture all the same. I hear the doctor's voice in my head, reminding me that Peeta understands what I've been through more than most people, that he's dealing with his own struggles and might need my help, as well. If I can't do this for myself, maybe I could do it for him?
"It was okay, I guess," I say. Peeta pulls our lunch from the oven. As he slices into it, I see that he's made a long loaf of bread stuffed with roasted vegetables, bits of sausage, and cheese. It smells wonderful, and I'm reminded of how little I've eaten in the past couple days. "I hope squirrel stew sounds good for dinner."
Without warning, Peeta's body spasms and the lunch plates he had been carrying shatter against the tile floor. His eyes have hardened into ice, and he struggles to remain standing as his body tremors.
"Peeta?" I cry as I realize what's happening. Without thinking, I lunge for him and try to hold him steady. "Peeta, it's okay." What a stupid thing to say. While not as strong as he once was, his clenched muscles are steely to the touch. Suddenly, his eyelids snap open, and I know that this is definitely not okay.
The look in Peeta's eyes is hard, aggressive, and dangerously familiar. The last time I had seen that look, he had tried to strangle me. Knowing not what to do, terrified of what's happening, I bolt for the door and don't stop running until I'm behind my own locked door.
The next several days among the worst I've experienced since my return. I had found my medication and taken an extra dose of the little yellow pills that help quell my anxiety. The effect was that I fall into a shallow, restless sleep pervaded by the feeling of being in the middle of some vast, undefined space and having the eerie sensation that something horrific was out there, somewhere. This vague feeling is intermittently interrupted by terrorizing flashbacks of Peeta clenching his hands around my throat with murderous intent.
After one such flashback wrenches me out of a fitful sleep, I catch my breath and find my thoughts begin to clear slightly. The effects of the drugs must be wearing off. From where I'm lying, I can see out the window of the room I'm in. The clear, warm blue of the spring sky outside suddenly makes me think of the look I saw in Peeta's eyes the other day when he had brought me the phone, and I remember where I've seen it before. It's the same way he had always looked all those times in school when my glance met his. A look of quiet longing.
The next thing I'm aware of is my phone ringing. I ignore it, but when the ringing returns later in the day, something tells me to answer it. "Hello?" I hear the weakness in my voice.
"Hello, Katniss? This is Dr. Melanie Aceso, Peeta's doctor," says the warm voice on the other end of the line. Peeta's doctor? Why is she calling me? Then I remember the last time I saw him.
"Is he okay?" I ask. A feeling of guilt settles in. How could I not have thought to worry about him at all?
"Yes, Peeta is recovering from his episode and he'll be just fine. May I ask how you are?" There is something about the way she asks that compels me to reply honestly.
"I've been better," I say. Suddenly, I find myself defensive. "Do you work with Dr. Aurelius? Why are you calling me?"
"I am a colleague of Dr. Aurelius," she replies, maintaining her pleasant tone. "I'm calling for a few reasons. First, I wanted to let you know that Peeta is alright. Also, he would like to see you, but wanted to make sure you were okay first."
"Oh," is all I can say.
"Katniss, from everything I can determine, you should be safe with him. I don't think he would ever attack you again, the way he did when he first saw you in District 13. In fact, I think you might be safer with him than alone. And Katniss, he's safer…with you."
There's a pause in her voice. I ask her what she means by that.
"He told me that the pain of your running out hurt worse than his physical reactions to the flashback," she says quietly. Recalling the unnatural tenseness of his muscles, I consider this. She continues, "I think, if something like this ever happens again, it might help him if you were to stay with him."
There's a pause. "It's okay if he comes to see me. But can he wait until tomorrow? And…I'll try. To stay with him. Did he tell you what caused it?" I ask.
"He said it was a memory involving squirrel stew. You should hear it from him. It will be good for him to talk about it."
Dr. Aceso says goodbye to me before we hang up. I'd been mindlessly ambling down the hallway, and it's not until now that I fully realize where I am: Prim's room. Freezing, I slowly survey the space. Late afternoon sunshine streams through the white lace curtains, glowing golden against the mirrored vanity on the opposite wall, dust motes swirling in the shafts of light. Everything remains just so: items neatly arranged on the vanity, white quilt spread smoothly over the bed, clothes crisply hung in the closet. Even amidst the panic that must have accompanied the retreat from District 12, Prim had left everything as tidy as she always had.
A small photo frame on the vanity table catches my eye. It's a picture of her and our mother; I recognize it as the same one that was in the locket Peeta gave me on the beach that night in the arena. In the bottom corner of the same frame, Prim had placed a small portrait of me.
Suddenly, the room swirls around me. My breathing shallows as my heart races, and an intense sense of dread washes over me. Collapsing to my knees, I can only think that I have to get out of this room. I fight to regain my breath and manage to crawl as far as my bedroom. I'm lying there, collapsed on the floor, when she comes to me. Everywhere I look, I see Prim's smiling face. Closing my eyes brings no relief, for in my mind I see her rushing across the City Circle, the bombs going off, Prim on fire…
Her ghost comes and goes throughout the sleepless night. When Greasy Sae arrives just past dawn, I make an appearance at breakfast but only manage to push my food around and choke down some pills. They take the edge off a little, but Prim continues to follow me today. By late afternoon, I'm slumped on the living room sofa, ignoring a phone that sounds a million miles away. It's not until he's standing over me that I remember that I said Peeta could come over today.
All tenderness has returned to him as he looks over me. He places his hands on my shoulders. Looking up into his eyes, I'm glad the first face I've seen besides Prim's is Peeta's. I realize I never even looked at Greasy Sae this morning.
"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?" he asks me. I shake my head. "Did you eat today?" I shake my head again. "Hey, Katniss," Peeta says gently. "It's not going to be easy for you and me. But it will be easier if we help each other. We're not done fighting yet, and I'm still on your team."
Peeta helps me sit up, and I rest against him as I take in his words. Dr. Aurelius had said something like that to me once. At the time, I had thought there was nothing left worth fighting for, so I dismissed him. In doing so, I dismissed Peeta as well. But now here he is, wanting back in, and I don't have the energy to fight him off if I wanted to. And his doctor thinks I might help him somehow.
"I'm going to go put on some tea and get you something to eat. Stay right here." He gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze before heading for the kitchen. As I listen to him putting on the teakettle and rummaging through my cabinets, my mind is pulled back into a different time and place, where I am doing the same for my mother in the weeks after my father's death. I suddenly realize that Peeta is right. If I don't start fighting this, I know exactly what will happen: I'll become just like my mother, too numb to do anything but give up, and Peeta will resent me for it, just as I resented her for so long.
So when he brings me tea and soup on a tray, I force myself to eat some of it, even though I don't feel hungry. When Peeta suggests I get some sleep, I agree that nothing sounds better, and even find myself feeling genuinely sleepy. I change into my pajamas and am brushing out my hair when I hear a knock on my bedroom door.
"Come in," I say without turning around. I hear Peeta's footfalls across the rug, uneven due to his prosthetic leg, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror as he walks up behind me. Setting down my hairbrush, I turn to him. Peeta's eyes search mine as if he's trying to recall something through his poisoned memories.
"Those nights on the train, I slept next to you when you had nightmares. Real or not real?" I should have expected this. We haven't yet returned to playing this game, and I'm not sure I want to start again now. Still, the thought of Peeta's arms around me in the night brings about the closest thing I've had to a happy feeling in a long time.
"Real," I reply, and almost instantly I find myself being lifted into bed and tucked beneath the blankets as Peeta settles in beside me.
Just before I slip into the sleep that so desperately calls to me, I hear Peeta whisper, "We still have each other, Katniss." My night is mercifully dreamless.