Chapter 15

The day we reach the 73rd Hunger Games, after going through many years of Haymitch's mentored tributes, the three of us feel strangely closer together. It might be the way Haymitch stares at me only to fixate on Peeta the next second, seemingly wondering if the two of us could have been next in the list of dead children. I think about what his life might have been before he was reaped and after he won the games. I noticed him around the Hob, but never bothered to find anything about him. I was too busy growing up and, later, making sure my family didn't starve to death. Now, I regret not knowing more. It's not like I can ask Haymitch, anyway. He only volunteers information about himself sporadically; and even then, they way he tries to talk a lot without saying much is apparent. I think Peeta has better luck than me, though I've decided not to pressure him to tell me. I don't want to get him in trouble. Especially now that liquor is back and Haymitch is prone to have cranky days. I don't complain. A drunk Haymitch can be annoying, but it's what I grew accustomed to in the past years. Better that then an even grumpier, sober Haymitch, like the one from District 13.

Haymitch describes the last tributes he mentored before us, and Peeta paints them. I remember them vaguely, whether I intended to or not, I did pay attention to part of the games that year. Gale boycotted it. He wanted me to do the same, but I didn't see the point. Like it or not, we were attached to it. The lives of some of our own were on the line. Only after going through the arena twice, I understand what he was doing. The feeling of constantly being watched, of having to hide my thoughts and emotions only to show the Capitol what they wanted to see... It was at times excruciating. Even more knowing everybody in the district could see it. If I had the choice today, I think I would have boycotted them too.

The damp and hot day carries an odd feeling with it. As soon as I step outside, my bow in hand, a sheath of arrows on my shoulder, I know why. The silence is the same, though I don't see children lining up when I get to the main square. No peacekeepers around. No mixture of fear and sadness in the eyes of every single habitant of District 12. For the first time in seventy-six years, there is no reaping day. I keep my eyes open, afraid that if I close them, everything will revert to the way it was. I'm eighteen years old, it'd be my last year wondering whether or not I'd be reaped had I not competed before. I remember worrying the year before that Snow would make sure to reap Prim again, just to punish me. If that looked suspicious, he'd go for Madge, maybe one of Gale's siblings. But I was wrong to think that way when he was crafting what he thought would be the best method to get rid of me. Who would have thought I'd stand here today in front of the Justice Building, the square empty and the children in school, while he rots in a grave somewhere?

I wonder whether Coin has a grave too and it fills me up with anger. Prim was denied such a privilege. Her body torn into a million pieces, ashes that still lie on the ground of the City Circle. Her life, no more. My life, never the same.

I walk to our meadow in the Seam, still so empty, so grey. One day I hope to find the strength to make her a small memorial here. This is will be my chosen resting place for the one I love the most. She would like it, I think. I mentioned this to Peeta the last time we walked under these trees and he suggested we bring some of the primroses he'd planted. Not yet, though. The Seam looks pale as it continues to mourn the lives lost along the way.

When I arrive at the woods, it's as quiet as the town to the untrained ear. For me, it's as lively as any other day, as every animal scrambles to find the tree with the best shade. In less than an hour, I come back with three squirrels and big fat wild turkey. I give them all to Greasy Sae, partly as a thank you for her help in the past months, partly because I fear it's too hot to try to cook them myself. She promises to bring me enough food for a week. "Haymitch, too," she says, and I'm glad there's one more person keeping an eye on him. He hates the idea of being watched, or "chaperoned" as he says. A reference to Effie, I think, wondering if they're getting along again. I try not to dwell on it too much. I can barely understand my own feelings, how am I expected to understand anything that goes on in Haymitch's head?

In fact, the only person whose feelings I'm interested in deciphering is Peeta's. It seems impossible, though. I can't put a finger on Peeta's transformation yet. Will I ever know how much from his pre-hijacking life and mind will return to him? I can't tell if the feelings that grew inside a five-year-old boy will grow again; if the venom that remains in his veins will ever allow them. Sometimes I think they have, but Peeta hides them to protect me, though it feels as if he's playing with me, trying to sense what he's up against now. The truth is that I don't know what he's up against either. Most days I feel like I'm facing a double-edged sword, suspicious that I'll get hurt no matter which way I go. Worse, I could hurt him with my uncertainty, my fear of being undeserving of his love, assuming it's still buried inside of him. If his hijacking showed me anything, is that I'm more afraid of hurting Peeta than hurting myself.

I walk though my front door as the phone rings. At first, I can't figure out what's making the obnoxious noise. Nobody ever calls aside from Dr. Aurelius on Tuesday, and I believe that isn't today. I pick it up to find my mother on the other side of the line. Her voice is low, though rushed.

"Hi, Katniss. I thought you weren't home," she says.

"I just got here," I tell her and we're silent for a few seconds. It happens every time we talk on the phone, both of us aware of how wrong it is. We've lost it all, we should be together, not apart. Yet, it's the absence of Prim's voice around us that remind us it will be easier to heal this way.

"Did you get the photos I sent earlier?" she asks me and I nod before realizing she can't see me. I tell her we did and thank her, knowing this isn't why she called. She proceeds to tell me Annie's due date is fast approaching and I stop listening after she tells me it's a boy. All I can think of is Finnick and how proud he'd be of having a son he could take out to sea and show him how to fish. I snap out of it when my mother mentions Peeta's name.

"What about Peeta?" I ask.

"The baby shower, Katniss. Annie asked me if he could bake a cake for it, since she loved the one he baked for her wedding," she says and I think it's a nice thought, even though I'm suddenly upset at the idea of Peeta taking a train to District 4 to bake Annie a cake. For some reason, it makes District 12 feel like a vast prison cell; one I don't know if they'll ever let me out of.

"So when is he travelling to District 4?" I ask her, saddened that he's leaving, even if only temporarily.

"No, Katniss. He isn't coming. He said he's very busy with something else and can't come. He wants to ship it over here, and I was supposed to call him when Annie had set a date for the shower to give him the address. I tried calling him twice today, but nothing. Could you write it down and give it to him?" I find paper and a pencil as soon as I can, pleased that I don't have to say goodbye to him at the train station. It registers as selfish of me, though I justify it in my head by arguing that I wouldn't be able to take care of him if he's out of the district. My mother gives me the address of one of her doctor friends who agreed to host the shower and I put the paper in my pocket after saying goodbye.

I walk over to his house, only to remember he might not be there at all, given my mother's unsuccessful attempts to call him.

I keep walking anyway and find him working on the herb garden in his backyard. He's humming something, and I'm so surprised to witness it that it takes me a while to realize I know the song. It's The Hanging Tree and it sounds bittersweet as it penetrates my ears.

"Katniss!" he shouts and I walk closer to him. He stands up to meet me, a crooked beam on his lips.

"My mother called, she wanted to give you the address for Annie's shower. Something about you baking a cake," I say, trying not to sound resentful for being the last to know about it.

"Oh, good," he takes the piece of paper, without offering a comment about this news.

"She said you're shipping it because you're busy with something," I probe.

"Yes. I wouldn't be able to go," he tells me while collecting some chives. I sit waiting for the reason why, and when he doesn't volunteer it, I ask him. "Isn't it obvious? It's because of you," he teases.

"But, I never asked you to stay here. I'm the one sentenced to stay in the district, not you. You're free to leave and come back. You're also free to leave and never come back," I tell him, though I don't dare look in his eyes.

He brings his hand to my chin, forcing me to look at him. The sunlight bounces off his blue irises, making them look as deep as the sky.

"You don't have to ask me to stay here. It was my choice to return months ago, and it's my choice to stay now. I don't need a trip to District 4, I'm fine where I am," he assures me. "Besides, we've got the book to finish, so I'm very, very, busy with that."

Given our proximity in the most recent weeks, the way Peeta and I have spent more time together, I half-expected him to kiss my forehead at this point. It seemed to me that was what he did now, his way of transferring his own certainty onto me. However, Peeta doesn't move, his hand still on my chin. I hold on to it for a few seconds, only to let go and give him a peck on his cheek. Perhaps my own way of letting him know I like that he chose to stay, and that I'd hope that he chooses never to leave.

A/N: I'm foreseeing about 7 more chapters until the end of this fanfiction. Then I shall return next month with a different everlark multi-chapter piece, if you'd like. Thanks for reviewing and a special thanks to those who always review, I love your feedback!