Peeta
The smoke is rapidly piling in through the open window and the cracks underneath the front door. From where I'm standing—no, hiding—I can see the orange glow of the fires raging outside. My head pounds and my heart races but the adrenaline coursing through me isn't enough to make me move from where I'm hidden next to the oven. If anything it's crippling me.
"Boys!" my father shouts, barreling down the stairs and hastily shoving his arms through the sleeves in his jacket. He glances at me, where I've been unable to move since the bombs started.
I am a coward.
"Where are your brothers?" my father asks, voice calm and low despite the terror that waits for us outside the door. We can't stay here, that much is obvious. But we can't go outside either, can we?
I hear a high-pitched hiss and then the ground rumbles beneath my feet. The walls tremble around us and a picture falls to the floor. I move my mouth to speak but I can't make any noise. I'm paralyzed.
"Where are you brothers?" my father asks again, panic beginning to infect the calm his voice once carried.
As he moves towards me I realize too late that I have no idea where my brothers are. I've been hiding next to the oven the whole time.
"Peeta?" my father whispers. The smoke continues to fill the kitchen, burning my eyes and throat. Just as I think I've found my voice I feel a sharp, stinging pain meet my cheek.
"Worthless."
I'm not sure if my eyes burn from the smoke or the slap to my face. Mother moves in front of me, her shadow blocking the glowing lights of the fires outside. I twist and turn, trying to make myself smaller.
"Worthless. All you'll ever be is worthless," she spits at me as she lifts her hand again. I cower against the oven door, waiting for another blow. I deserve it after all.
I am worthless.
Instead, my mother grips me by the neck, throws open the oven door and hurls me inside.
"If we're burning, you'll burn right along with us."
My scream is locked away the in the oven with me. No one will hear me now.
"Peeta!" I hear my father shout from somewhere behind my mother, though the sound is muffled. When I try to call back to him I just end up choking on smoke.
I watch in horror through the slates of the oven door as my mother lights a match and drops it into the burner.
"Peeta!" my father calls again as the flames engulf me, licking up my leg and across my shoulder.
"Peeta."
I claw at the oven door, unable to breathe through the smoke—my throat is on fire. My muscles are locked tight and my arms and legs move in jerked spasms against the burning sides of the oven.
But I can still save them if I can just get out.
My shoulder stinks and my leg aches but I push against the iron walls of the oven anyway. Everything hurts but I'll get to them.
I have to.
"Peeta."
A faint pressure on my forehead jolts me awake and I gasp for air, trying to steady my swimming vision in the process.
"Peeta, shhh."
It's dark and I begin to panic again until I focus in on the pair of grey eyes glinting in the dark in front of me. The acrid smell of smoke that had been choking me before begins to fade away and I gulp in the clean air greedily. Katniss leans over me—hovering, really—looking the most concerned I've seen her in weeks. When she sees that I've begun to wake fully, she edges nearer, bringing her face closer to mine. She doesn't stop until her eyes are the only things I can see clearly.
Katniss brings her hands to my face and starts to smooth her fingers over my cheeks and under my eyes.
I swallow thickly to try and dissolve the massive lump in my throat as my heart rate slows.
"Well," I say, voice trembling, "I'm not in the oven, then."
And then the dam breaks. My voice catches on the last word and tumbles into a sob. I try to cover my face with my arm as my body slumps into the mattress. These nightmares have been coming for weeks—ever since I found out my family died—but I've never cried after one. I guess I didn't realize that they were chipping away at my composure slowly and steadily until they left me too raw to hold myself up anymore.
Katniss runs her arms up around my neck and presses her face against my cheek.
"Oh, Peeta."
Her voice is the sound you would expect a dying animal to make and my sobs turn violent. I can't get the image of the smoke-filled bakery out of my head. I can't get my mother's voice to stop ringing in my ears. I moan pathetically and I lift my heavy arms, draping them uselessly around Katniss' back. I don't even have the strength to hug her even though it's all I want to do.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm so sorry."
I don't even know who I'm saying it to at this point. The list could go on for miles and I know that the majority of the people on it aren't alive to hear even my apology.
Katniss tightens her arms around my neck and presses her face into the side of my neck, whispering my name like the lyrics to a very sad song. I listen to her without really hearing.
My parents and my oldest brother are gone and I cannot bring them back. The guilt has eaten away at me, leaving me exhausted and vulnerable. Even though I know I didn't have the best relationship with parents, or my older brother for that matter, they're still my family and they're no longer here. It's in the dead of night when I find time to mourn them, only I wake up Katniss and Rye in the process.
The first time I had a nightmare about my family, Rye had to leave the room because he was so shaken. I was too humiliated to talk to him about it. He left the room the second and third time as well. The fourth time he told Katniss that he needed to go for a walk and he didn't come back until just before breakfast. This is what he does every time now. It's just something else I'll add to the list of things that make me furious and sad and embarrassed and guilty.
Katniss stays, though. She can be fast asleep when I start these dreams but her body will eventually sense that I'm in the middle of a fit and she'll wake up. I know because mine does the same with her although I've been the one having the nightmares as of late.
My crying makes me overwhelmingly embarrassed but I can't help it. I don't want Katniss to see me like this because I'm the one that's supposed to be strong. But being strong when you feel so weak is tiring and tonight was the last straw. I couldn't hold it in anymore.
In an attempt to center myself, I take a deep breath and focus on the smell of Katniss' hair. Somehow it still smells like fresh rain even though we've been cooped underground for months.
When my crying dies down to a steady stream of silent tears I shift to pull Katniss so she's lying flat on top of me. She doesn't question a thing, only presses a light kiss to my cheek before resting her head against my shoulder and playing with the hair on the nape of my neck. She knows that I need to hold onto something after my nightmares. She knows that I like her weight on top of me, holding me down and preventing me from flying away.
"I woke you up again," I tell her when I'm confident I can speak without my voice cracking. Katniss pushes up off me and slides down my bare chest. I don't sleep with shirts on anymore. I kind of got the hint that Katniss liked it better that way when I would wake up with her hands so far underneath the fabric they were almost to my neck.
She's the one who wears my shirts to bed now.
"I was already awake," she says quietly, fiddling with the hair that's fallen out of her braid.
"No you weren't," I sigh. "I'm really sorr—"
"Don't say that," she snaps suddenly, her eyes flitting up to mine. She must see the hurt on my features because her next words are impossibly soft. "Please, Peeta. You have nothing to be sorry for." Her throat contracts as she swallows. "You know the only reason I don't like your nightmares is because I hate seeing you so upset."
I sigh again and close my eyes but just end up opening them again. I still see the bakery when I close them.
I want to apologize again but I know there's a high probability she'll slap me if I do so I take a deep breath and change the subject.
"Where's Rye?"
Katniss looks down at her fingers when she answers me.
"Went for a walk."
I nod and rub my eyes, exhausted. Of course he did. He went for a walk by himself because he has no one now. All of his friends are gone. Less than 100 people made it back from District 12 and the majority of them were not from Town.
When I feel Katniss move to get off the bed my hand shoots out from next to me to grab onto her. The reflex is pathetic, really, but I can't help it.
"I'm just getting a washcloth. You're too hot and you're sweaty," she explains, leaning over to kiss me softly on the lips. I catch her face between my hands and hold her in place, molding my mouth to hers. I don't want her to go anywhere.
Just let me kiss you. Let me kiss you and forget everything else.
"Let me do this for you, Peeta," she whispers sadly after pulling away. "It's one of the only things I can do to help," I hear her mumble as she leaves the room to get a washcloth. I don't really understand her words until she's walking back to the bed, eyes downcast and swimming with unshed tears. Katniss bites on the inside of her cheek as she runs the damp cloth over my forehead.
"Katniss," I whisper but she still won't look at me. The cloth moves down to my neck and over my shoulders but my eyes don't leave her face. It's pinched and her bottom lip trembles.
"Katniss," I try again. "You do help."
How can she think she's not helping? It's the most ridiculous statement ever said since she's the only one who can help me. Can't she see that? How else would I have made it through these past few weeks? She's the only one that can turn my mood around after these nightmares.
I take her chin in between my fingers and force her to look at me. This time she can't hide the fat tear that slides down her cheek, no matter how fast she tries to look away.
"What's wrong?" I sigh, sitting up and stilling her hand on my chest. Katniss falters before she speaks, probably realizing that there's no use in lying to me.
"You don't deserve this," she explains angrily, gesturing wildly with her hands. I'm not fooled, though. I can detect the watery edge to her voice. "Of all people," she continues quietly with a breaking voice, "you don't deserve all the horrible things that have been thrown at you."
When I reach for her, her limbs are unyielding. Taking her hand in mine, I shake my head searching for something to say. Yes, I don't deserve this. But I don't think "of all people" I don't deserve it. She doesn't deserve it either. She doesn't deserve the guilt I know festers beneath her exterior. She thinks this is all her fault.
Finnick doesn't deserve it. Or Jo. Or Haymitch. Or Gale. Or Madge, who's parents didn't come back either.
"C'mere," I murmur, tugging lightly on her arm until she finally collapses in a heap next to me. I grab her around the middle and pull her closer to me, until our limbs are tangled together and her hair tickles my nose and ears. I rub circles on her back and press kisses to her temple until I feel that her ragged breathing has slowed.
"You're not a horrible thing and you've more or less been thrown at me," I whisper into the dark after a while. My tone isn't really light but I know she can detect the humor in my voice regardless, especially after I feel the quiet laughter escape her throat.
It's not surprising to me at all how that sound contributes millions to elevating my spirits.
"I can be a horrible thing," she replies, pinching the skin of my back lightly. The act only makes me hold her tighter and I think I'll finally be able to close my eyes.
"But you're my horrible thing," I whisper back. Katniss tries to hide her grin unsuccessfully. I can't see it but I'll always know what her smiles feel like against my chest. They're unmistakable.
I hate the propos.
I hate everything about the propos. I hate the stupid outfits they make us wear and the heated speeches they make us memorize. I hate that they shove a camera in our faces when they make us kiss. I hate that a film crew follows us around at all hours of the day, hoping to catch us talking about the rebellion or hugging or sharing any sort of intimate moment that they can exploit and take advantage of.
I hate Coin's smug grin when she comes in to check on us. I hate that she refers to us—Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, me and other 'chief personnel'—as the Star Squad, like we're a bunch of damn superheroes. But no matter how much I hate these things, I know that doing this is for the greater good and the faster we do these segments the quicker this will all be over.
At least that's what I hope.
Katniss and I have been able to avoid being sent out of 13 and into the warzones, at least. I guess I have my "mental state" to thank for that. The District 13 doctors have been hesitant to give me a clean bill of health because of my panic episodes but fortunately (or unfortunately) they've given me the go ahead now that I haven't had any reoccurrences of my "irregular anxiety condition" in months. I'm currently on my way to deliver this clean bill of health—the hard copy, that is—to President Coin herself.
I haven't felt the telltale sign of building panic for weeks, which is something that I'm grateful for. I didn't even have an episode when I found out my parents and Barley didn't return, although ever since then I've been filled with a numb sadness I can't fully escape. My personal doctor in 13, Aurelius is his name, thinks of that as improvement but I don't know what to think of it. Am I that much of a monster that I didn't deteriorate at my parents death?
As I walk down the hallway to President Coin's office I think back on what Dr. Aurelius said earlier today.
"You've been through too much, Peeta. I think you let your parents and your brothers go before you entered the Quell. It's a coping mechanism and it explains why you've been able to handle yourself since their deaths."
It makes me sick anyway. When I told him about the nightmares he explained that it was my 'guilt manifesting itself'. All of his technical talk doesn't really help me the way he thinks it will.
I'm about to turn the corner and knock on Coin's door but stop mid-stride when I hear a raised voice.
"—they're minors. You can't send them out into a war-zone, they're only seventeen for God's sake. Do you have any idea how horrible that will look in the Districts' eyes?"
It's Haymitch. I haven't seen him in weeks, except for the occasional spotting in the cafeteria. I know that he's been working closely with the President but that's the extent of my knowledge about his involvement in the rebellion. Not to mention Katniss still beelines in the opposite direction whenever she spots him.
"Mr. Abernathy. It's time that the Mockingjays are seen with the troops. It's been at least two months since Ms. Everdeen arrived and I was just informed that Mr. Mellark has been given a clean bill of health," Coin explains in her sharp, pricking voice.
"Mental health. Just because his post-traumatic stress symptoms have died down doesn't mean he's ready to be shoved into the heat of the fire. He has one kidney. He has one leg. Do you have any idea what that could do to him? Or her?" Haymitch argues back. I shift and press against the wall, trying to quiet my breathing.
"I understand that you care about the Mockingjays but you have to realize that this is a war. Adjustments need to be—"
"You're not sending them out," Haymitch cuts her off. "Not when they're still underage. It's your own goddamned policy, why the hell won't you abide by it?" he snarls.
I strain to hear what Coin says in response but it seems as though she isn't saying anything. I thought that we were allowed to go into a war-zone as long as we didn't fight. At least that's what I was told. Haymitch's assertion has my mind barreling ahead of me. I would do anything to see the look on Coin's face—to see the emotions boiling under the surface—but it would be idiotic to do anything that might alert the two of them to my position.
"You can win this war without their help," Haymitch continues. "Play your little soap opera segments throughout the District and the Capitol. Do whatever you want. But remember this: isn't the reason we're fighting this war to end the tyranny that condones the sending of children straight to their deaths?"
I swallow thickly. Is President Coin fighting this war for any other reason? My blood turns cold at the prospect.
"You don't seem to realize how important seeing the Mockingjays in action would be, Mr. Abernathy," Coin says sternly. I can only imagine her jaw setting as she says the words.
"I don't care if you think you're sending them out 'just to film'. You can send them into the battle zones when they're eighteen. But it's definitely not happening now so you can think of something else to do with them here until then. You've sent Odair into the thick of it. You're sending Mason soon enough—why don't you film them? It will give you the Victor coverage you want while playing by your rules," Haymitch responds.
My brain works to process everything. This is the reason we've been kept in 13 for so long. Coin has been pushing for our discharge but Haymitch has been protecting us by beating her at her own game. He's been looking after his Tributes this whole time.
I have the strange desire to cut in and stand up for Finnick and Johanna—to keep them here with us—but I know it would be senseless.
As a Mentor, you need to bring your own Tributes back. You can't save everyone.
"The Mockingjays are Victors which means that if they are so inclined to fight, we are not one to stop them," Coin says coldly. I know this argument. It's been explained to Katniss and me multiple times that because we are special—we've survived the Hunger Games—if we want to fight in this war no one can stop us. We've earned that.
Except we don't want to fight and we've turned down their "offer". Katniss won't go into battle because she knows it would destroy me and I won't go because I know it would do the same to her. But we can't escape it forever. Once we reach 18 we'll be forced to. It's unavoidable—Finnick is proof of that. Even Rye, who hates killing mosquitoes, has been forced to train until he's capable of conducting himself in battle.
"Fight?" Haymitch sneers. "I thought you wanted them filming not fighting. You need to get your facts straight Alma."
There is a rustling of paper and a door slam. I stumble on my false leg and run as quietly as I can around the corner but it's not quick enough. Haymitch lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and swings me around to face him.
I'm too shocked by all this information to do much more than stare at him. In the back of my mind I note his unruly hair and bloodshot eyes. I can't tell if it's from drinking, stress or lack of sleep. Probably all three.
"You didn't hear that, boy. Got it?" Haymitch asks with a stone-cold glare. I force myself to nod before looking down helplessly at the medical receipt in my hand.
"And you come back and deliver this in half an hour," he says before marching away from me.
"Katty, Katty! Sit next to me Katty!"
Once Finnick found out about Posy's nickname for her, he's refused to call Katniss anything else. To the surprise of everyone, Katniss tolerates it. It doesn't really surprise me, though. Katniss and Finnick have grown incredibly close ever since she arrived in District 13. While Johanna and I have therapy, Finnick and Katniss have training and she's been completely unable to resist his charms. It's kind of hilarious to watch their dynamic, actually.
"Chill out, Finnick," Katniss grins, rolling her eyes and taking her seat next to me.
"Boo. Why is Peeta the only one who gets to hold your hand under the table?" Finnick pouts. I try to stop my smile when I see Katniss shoot Finnick one of her infamous death glare. It might have worked on him the first 3 days she was here but now it only makes him laugh, which frustrates her to no end. Katniss takes my hand under the table anyway. It's one of the few times we get to touch each other in public anymore without anyone seeing or gaping or filming.
Right about this time I would make a stupid joke about my hands being softer than his or something of the like, but overhearing Haymitch's conversation with Coin has me distracted.
Madge takes the seat next to Finnick and smiles at us before digging into her food. When the survivors from District 12 came back, Katniss forgave Madge immediately. I don't think she was overly angry with her to begin with—not like she still is with Gale or Haymitch—so I wasn't surprised to see Katniss talking to her once again. I think the only reason she avoided the whole confrontation had to do with her pride. I'm still in the dark about most things 'Katniss' in the time between the Quell and the rescue but I haven't had much time to think it over.
My mind has been busy with a lot more.
"Hey Madge," I greet her. We weren't particularly close friends before this whole mess but we've developed a sort of camaraderie since the survivors returned. I've introduced her to my one surviving friend from District 12, Delly Cartwright, "the friendliest girl in District 12". Delly confuses Katniss, probably because they have completely different personalities. Not to mention Katniss wasn't particularly pleased to find out that Delly is a touchy-feely person; she'd always get very surly whenever Delly hugged me for too long or spoke too close. Poor Delly couldn't figure out why the hell Katniss was acting so strange until Johanna told her Katniss was just jealous. Embarrassed, Delly has backed off since then.
Katniss still doesn't like Johanna too much, which makes me a bit sad considering Johanna is one of my best friends. I tell myself it will get better in time but time just makes me feel anxious.
Madge murmurs a greeting in response to my 'hello'. She doesn't talk much. None of us do, even Delly who normally couldn't keep her mouth shut. It's times like these that I'm thankful for people like Finnick and Rye, who manage to keep the conversation going despite their own issues. They're doing it now, actually. By the way Rye is chatting Johanna's ear off—not that you could tell she's actually listening—you wouldn't guess that he spends most his nights wandering the halls of District 13.
And by the way Finnick is making Delly giggle uncontrollably by playfully pulling her blonde curls, you wouldn't guess he's the most deeply abused out of all of us.
War is difficult, to say the least.
After dinner is over, I begin to follow Prim back to the Everdeen compartment but Katniss surprises me by saying 'goodnight' to her sister in the hall outside before leading me back to my compartment at a very fast pace. This early dismissal tactic is something I do when I can't stop thinking about doing less than innocent things with Katniss on particular days. So when she closes my compartment door behind us I've already adopted a one-track mind—my hand is already halfway up her shirt and my mouth is already latched onto her neck.
This is exactly what I needed so I'm surprised and disappointed when she pushes away from me.
"What did you learn today?" she asks, ignoring Rye, who had apparently been lounging on the couch the entire time. My ears burn red but Katniss seems to have developed a hard exterior when it comes to Rye and his witness to our affection. He's walked in on us making out more times than I can count. I think what bothers Katniss most about this is that he doesn't seem thrown off guard at all and he enjoys seeing us squirm. I believe Katniss has taken it upon herself to show him that it doesn't bother her, which I know it does.
I try and clear my head from my lust-induced fog and focus on her question. It's harder than it seems, especially when she's standing so close.
"I saw Haymitch outside of Coin's office," I finally explain. I had no idea I was being that obviously distant at dinner. Or maybe it's just that Katniss now has the innate ability to tune into my emotions. It's not very easy to hide things from her anymore. Not that I would even try to, of course.
Whatever the cause of her interest, I delve deeper into the story. Katniss listens to me explain and behind me I can tell that Rye is listening intently as well. I'm not too worried; despite his playful exterior, Rye is smart and knows when not to repeat things.
When I'm done talking, Katniss takes a moment to think before saying anything. In that time, Rye sighs behind us and I glance at him.
"Maybe it's time you forgive that guy, Katniss," he says. "Apparently he's doing a hell of a lot protect you and Peeta, still."
It's no secret that Katniss has been harboring ill feelings towards Haymitch and Gale in regards to keeping information from her. Personally, I think she should just forgive them both. Life's too short to be bitter about this kind of thing. But every time I bring it up, Katniss gets moody and doesn't talk for hours.
"You don't know anything about that, Rye," Katniss says, less angrily than I expected. Maybe she, like me, feels bad he never gets any sleep. Or that he's forced to train hard and long so he can be cleared for combat. Maybe she's finally realizing that whatever beef there was between her, Gale and Haymitch is better forgotten. Not one to be flustered, Rye shrugs before announcing he's taking a shower.
We're both stewing in our thoughts for a while after Rye leaves the room. My mind has already drifted towards tonight. I'm dreading falling asleep, knowing that another crippling nightmare is surely in my future and I certainly don't want to cry in front of Katniss again. I'm so caught up in my own fears of waking up bawling that Katniss' voice catches me off guard.
"I don't trust Coin," she says.
She's staring at me steadily, appraising my reaction to her words with her silver eyes.
I don't think I trust Coin either.
We're both in a bad place by the time we've finished filming the latest propo. Ever since I overheard Coin's conversation with Haymitch it seems that propo filming has been kicked into high gear. I don't even understand what more they could possibly film but it seems the creative teams behind the whole endeavor just figure out different ways for us to phrase things or different ways for us to be seen together.
Either way, it's better than filming in the war-zones, which I won't let myself comprehend fully because it scares me so much.
Katniss and I are moving our way through the studio that 13 has set up when we see Finnick and Johanna in the corner in front of a camera. We both stop short and share a furtive glance. Seeing them shocks us both because as of yet, neither has been asked to film anything. We quietly make our way to the side of the room where they're situated and upon closer examination, I can see that the camera is focused on Finnick's face alone.
I realize rather quickly what he's speaking about.
It took two months for me to learn the extent of Finnick's experience with the Capitol—of the forced use of drugs and near rape. He's explaining it in excruciating detail to the camera right now and if it weren't for the way he was gripping Johanna's hands—his knuckles turned bone-white—you wouldn't be able to tell how sharing this is affecting him.
Johanna's mouth is set into a firm line and she's staring at the opposite wall with unseeing eyes. Katniss stiffens besides me and I know she's listening to the terrible things that Finn's been forced to do. I've heard all of this already but I still feel the bile rise in my throat. It's disgusting. Truly appalling that anyone could take advantage of someone the way they've taken advantage of Finnick.
He won the Games when he was 14 and was introduced to this 'lifestyle' almost immediately after winning. The things he was forced to do are so hideous that I've tried to put up an emotional barrier to cope with simply hearing about it. I can't understand how Finnick is able to hold it together the way he does.
I don't know how long I remain rooted to the spot, staring at Finnick's emotionless face, but the next time I look beside me I'm surprised to see that Katniss is no where to be seen.
I whirl around, scanning the room, but I don't spot her anywhere. Forcing my legs to move, I leave the studio just in time to see a dark braid whip around the corner. I want to call out to her but by some miracle no one has noticed that we've disappeared and I don't want to draw attention to our absence.
Instead, I run after her.
When I turn at the corner of the hallway, she's disappeared again. I'm about to start moving again when I hear a retching sound to my left.
There's only one door—a utility closet—in this empty hallway so I walk forward and yank it open only to be met by darkness.
"Katniss?" I call out quietly.
Her answer is another horrible retching sound. When my eyes adjust to the darkness I see her kneeling in front of a bucket, gripping the rim tightly with both hands.
"Oh my god," I whisper, before moving forward and crouching next to her, hesitantly placing my palm on her back. She vomits again and then wipes her mouth with the back of her shaking hand.
When Katniss looks up at me her eyes are as wide as dinner plates and her face is very pale. She grips a shelf and moves to pick herself off the ground, wobbling on her legs like a newborn deer. I move my arms up to steady her only to realize she is shaking like a leaf.
Ignoring the pain in my knee and hip, I move to a standing position. I'm not fully upright when Katniss grips my shoulders so I almost fall back down.
"Hey," I soothe, placing my hands on her trembling arms. "Hey."
She's breathing too rapidly and she won't meet my eyes so I take her face between my hands and force to her look up at me.
"Breathe, Katniss."
Her face crumples but she doesn't shed a single tear.
"I can't…" she croaks, clutching at my shoulders. "I didn't know…"
I gulp and nod, closing my eyes briefly. When I open them again Katniss' breathing is verging on frantic so instead of trying to talk sense into her like I normally would I just crush her to me.
"Oh my god," she cries into my shoulder, voice high and strained. Her fingers dig into the skin of my back, like she's trying to reassure herself that I'm here. "It could have been you. It could have been you, Peeta," she rasps, her voice raising another octave.
My muscles tense up at her words. Not once in the months since the Quell have I thought about that—with everything else that's happened I'd completely forgotten about Snow's empty threat to pass me around the Capitol. Suddenly I feel like I may need the bucket.
"Oh…no," she continues between gulps of air, "they could have taken you and done that to you, too." I can feel her heart drumming away from where my hands are placed on her back—it has me more worried than if she were weeping puddles.
"Breathe, Katniss," I whisper, easing us slowly onto the floor of the closet. "Just please calm down."
"You could've—"
"But I didn't," I tell her as calmly as possible. Can she feel how fast my heart is racing, too? I swallow. "Nothing happened. I'm right here."
"Everything happened, Peeta! You almost died. Again. I can't…" she trails off, shivering in my arms.
With nothing to say, I hug her close. I don't think I have it in me anymore to try and rationalize The Hunger Games, or the Quarter Quell, or Finnick's abuse in the Capitol. I'm done trying to make sense of it and for once in the past few weeks I am thankful for Alma Coin.
"I know," I tell her softly. "I know."
We sit on the floor until Katniss' breathing returns to normal. There's a broom or a mop—some cleaning instrument—that's pressing uncomfortably into my back but I don't move until Katniss shifts out of my arms and sits next to me.
"He did it for that Annie girl didn't he?"
I nod into the dark. Finnick's never actually told anyone exactly why he followed through with the horrors the Capitol subjected him to. Actually, no one has ever asked because they all seem to know that following through with something like that means something incredibly important to you has been threatened. Johanna refused a similar fate and she lost everyone—though she doesn't go into detail about it. Finnick's Annie is the most important thing in the world to him. It's the only reason anyone can think of him putting up with the horrible things that he's been subjected to.
"I would kill anyone who touched you," she murmurs darkly. Through the dark I see her eyes flicker. She's taken that blue sea glass out of her pocket and is rolling it around her palm. She has it with her, always.
Her unyielding, steely gaze tells me that she is not exaggerating. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. The thought of anyone besides me touching Katniss already has me seeing red so I force myself not to think of her being placed in Finnick's shoes before I have rage-induced aneurism. To try and calm myself down I take Katniss' hand in my own and bring it to my lips.
"You know I would do the same," I whisper into her palm. I kiss her sea glass before letting go. Katniss places her hands in her laps and peers down at them sadly.
"I ripped up the rosebush," she says. "After the Quell," she swallows. "That's why I have these scars."
I tilt my head in her direction again. She might look healthier—she's gained some weight back and the bags under her eyes have diminished some—but in this moment she looks impossibly broken.
I flip her hand over in mine and trace the thin, white scars that cover her palm like a discombobulated map. My mind flits back to the image Coin displayed in the sample propo of the wrecked rosebush. It's thorny branches were twisted at awkward angles and some of the roots had been torn out. Katniss did that with her hands and they've paid the price.
I kiss her palms, each of them, grateful that she didn't punch through each of the windows of her house like I would have. Grateful that she didn't set fire to the Victor's Village like I would have. My legs ache so I stretch them out in front of me before reaching for her. Katniss complies easily and melts against my chest.
"They killed Portia in the launch room before the Quell," I explain tonelessly as I look across the closet at a shelf of cleaning supplies. "They made me watch."
I know Katniss' admission about the rosebush was hard for her. Why else would she have refused to tell me until now? It's only fair for me to tell her something similar in nature. To her credit, Katniss doesn't make a sound at this information. She does, however, shift on my lap so she can wrap her arms tightly around my neck.
I can't cry for Portia anymore. I did it a lot in the weeks after the Quell and my nightmares then revolved primarily around seeing the peacekeepers beat her senseless.
I don't think there's anything left in me for her. I'm numb.
Katniss runs her fingers through my hair and rests her head on my shoulder. Maybe she's thinking about Cinna. Or Effie. If she were to ask me where I think they are I wouldn't be able to tell her. Silence fills the closet as I trace patterns on the skin of her back.
"Thanks for finding me," she murmurs after a while. I dip my head to meet her eyes. Her braid is a mess and her propo makeup is smeared. Her breath smells disgusting.
She's still the most beautiful girl I've ever known.
"I'll always find you," I respond. "I would kiss you now, too, but you were throwing up. I need to draw the line somewhere, right?"
I smile into the dark when I feel Katniss poke my side. She climbs off me and then helps me to my feet. We leave the closet hand-in-hand, neither of us ready to let go quite yet.
If the cameras catch us, so be it.
Three days after Finnick's fated propo, I'm sitting with Madge in the cafeteria waiting for everyone else to arrive for dinner. We're watching Rory and Vick Hawthorne argue a few tables over.
"What has Gale been doing all this time?" I ask Madge, abruptly. I've seen neither hide nor hair of him for a very long time and it didn't occur to me until now to ask Madge about it. We've all been wrapped up in our own little worlds—especially since the survivor's of District 12 came back—so I wasn't overly concerned with Gale's lack of appearance around District 13.
When Madge doesn't answer me, I look away from Rory and Vick to see that she's stiffened, her fork hanging frozen about her food. It takes her a moment to collect herself.
"I don't know," she mumbles. "He hasn't really spoken to me in a while," she states stiffly before continuing her meal.
I study her face closely as she looks down at her food. She looks quite sad, but I've grown used to seeing that expression out of her after her parents didn't come back. This is a different sadness; one I think I recognize but isn't my place to address. You'd be an idiot not to notice the strange tension between Gale and Madge when they first got here.
She loves him.
I was an expert on this kind of heartbreak for a while—I think I could sniff it out of anywhere at this point.
"But he was working with Beetee last I saw of him," she finishes. "Military stuff."
The rest of our table is just piling into the cafeteria when my wrist tracking device starts to buzz. All of us are forced to wear these so in emergencies we know where we're needed. Mine is currently flashing 'conference room.' I glance across the room and see that Finnick, Johanna and Katniss are in line to get food and that their devices are buzzing as well. I whisper a goodbye in Madge's direction before shooting off the table and towards the exit.
Everyone looks just as confused and anxious as I feel. The last time my device went off, the Capitol was sending bombs to District 12. None of us say anything as we hurry through the corridors to the conference room. Katniss inches closer to me and brushes her fingers against mine. We usually do this sort of thing when we're out in the halls and people are watching. Normally that's where we leave it but I'm so worked up I grab hold of them and don't let go until we've reached the hallway leading to the conference room.
Together we shuffle inside and I notice that Coin is already present—a complete oddity. She's seated next to Boggs and—coincidentally—Gale, who is sporting a much shorter haircut and much sterner expression than he was when he arrived. It's the first I've seen of him in months. The same can be said for Katniss who tenses when her eyes land on him. Gale shows us no recognition as we take our seats along the table. Haymitch is seated at the far end, his face a mask of indifference. When I try to make eye contact with him he looks the other way.
I grab Katniss' hand under the table and try to control my face but I'm far too nervous to really succeed at it. Quickly, I glance at her. She's clenching her jaw and the little line between her eyebrows is present: she's worried.
I tap my fingers on her knee, hoping it calms her some.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Coin says once the last person has taken their seat. "It appears that District 4 will be falling any day now and we need to gather a team together to rescue those of high importance. You all have been alerted because we are going to film it. We need the positive publicity and a member of the Star Squad will act as a mouthpiece for the mission."
My mouth hangs open. Coin certainly didn't dance around the issue this time. The Districts have been slowly falling. After 12 fell, 8 followed shortly after. Then 9, 11 and 10. We still don't have control of transportation, power or technology—those are what 13 is after most aggressively so District 4 comes as a surprise. This would normally be a good thing—it means that District 13 has control. The infiltration of a career district is key. But all of us know what is in District 4 right now.
I look across the table to Finnick, whose face has drained of color.
"I'm going," he nearly shouts before controlling his voice again. "President Coin, I'm going on the rescue mission. I've been training and I'm completely prepared to handle the risks involved."
Even though Finnick is physically prepared for this, I know before he stops speaking that this won't work. I begged to go on the District 12 rescue mission. Finnick is in the same predicament that I was.
"That's not true, Mr. Odair," Coin says simply. "You know we have a policy that does not allow those emotionally compromised to go on missions. You would jeopardize the entire assignment."
Finnick's face falls and I know what I have to do. The moment Finnick volunteered to go on the District 12 assignment I was indebted to him. I vowed that, if given the chance, I would do the same for him. I have to, he's like my brother, and he brought Katniss back to me.
I need to do the same for him.
"I need to. What if something happens and…and I can't…" Finnick sputters. His eyebrows raise up, almost meeting above his nose, and his hands start to shake on the table.
"I'll go," I interrupt. "I'll go on the mission to District 4. I know the—"
"No!" Katniss shouts almost immediately, surprising everyone at the table. "No, Peeta," she adds more quietly. I turn and balk at her. Of all people she should understand why I need to do this. She knows how important Finnick is to me. To her. Hell, we were just talking about Annie!
Finnick needs her here with him.
"Katniss—" I try to explain quietly.
"You promised me," she interjects lowly, not letting me get more than a word in. She narrows her eyes and locks me in place. "You promised, Peeta."
It's all I can do to stare at her, speechless and suddenly forgetting how to breath.
"You can't ever do that to me. Promise me. You can't do that to me again, I won't survive it next time."
She can't do this right now. She can't use that against me.
"Never again. I promise you."
I plead with her silently, uncaring of the eyes that are surely glued to us. I'm going to have to break my promise to her. I'm going to have to break her heart. My chest cramps uncomfortably at the realization. She'll have to understand.
A small part of me dies on the inside when I turn towards Coin once more. But I open my mouth anyway and—
"I will go on the mission, President Coin."
My insides turn to lead and I swivel to face Katniss again.
"Peeta hasn't been training like I have; he's not ready. I've been doing it for weeks now and I'm already experienced with a bow so if I need to protect myself I'm able," she explains quickly. "I volunteer for the assignment."
Nonononononono
Anything else in the world but this. Anyone but her. Anyone.
The panic hits me with the force of a freight train and the familiar sticky feeling of my harbored anxiety trickles through my veins so fast it nearly floors me. From the episodes I've had in the past, nothing compares to what I feel now and it's barely even started. I blink at Katniss once. Twice. Three times.
It's like I'm back in District 12 at the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games.
"I volunteer," Katniss screams. "I volunteer as Tribute."
The muscles in my arms and legs stiffen painfully in place, locking me in this nightmare. They feel brittle. Like if someone nudged me every single one of them would splinter into a thousand pieces. I can't tear my eyes from her. I can't move at all. I watch helplessly as she swallows, not meeting my eyes.
"She's not of age," I hear Haymitch snap from his end of the table. "She can't go into the battle until she's eighteen."
It's all I can do to breathe at this point. So that's what I do. I breathe—raggedly taking in mouthfuls of air—as I listen Haymitch and Coin, wondering if they know that I'm being torn in two. Wondering if anyone can tell.
"That's true Mr. Abernathy but like we agreed months ago: the Victors of the Hunger Games have the right to fight if they so please. We cannot stop them if it's their wish to enter battle," Coin explains lightly and I don't trust her. I don't trust her. I don't trust her.
"Besides, the allotted Star Squad member wouldn't actually be fighting, per se. They would act as a mouthpiece—to film—and maybe to ensure the safe rescue of those deemed of high importance. Ms. Everdeen has made a solid—"
"This is a war-zone—the girl can't go. What if something happens?" Haymitch argues back.
Like oily tentacles, the fear and panic I've been trying to keep at bay sneak up and around my body, squeezing every rational thought I've ever had from my mind and robbing the breath right out of me. The voices in the room tunnel out and it's as though I've been shoved under ice-cold water, choking and sputtering and crying out for help.
But I'm frozen solid and silent. I feel Johanna digging her nails into the skin of my forearm but I can't really feel it—it's just a faint pressure that's slowly ebbing away. The conference room is tilting this way and that, making me feel even sicker.
"I'm going, Haymitch," I hear Gale say, though his words are distorted, slow and slurred. "Katniss and I are used to working in tandem. We'll ensure a safe rescue."
An icy pain shoots across my temple and my vision flickers for a moment before everything goes blank. When it's restored I see Katniss nodding, speaking to someone across the table. A dull ringing floods my ears and it's all I can hear. My vision blanks again and when it comes back nearly everyone has left the room.
I have no idea how much time has passed but the shock and fear I feel is still scratching away at me.
Katniss reaches for me but try as I might I cannot move any part of me. I'm paralyzed, like it's one of my nightmares, and the dull throbbing in my head turns into a white-hot, scorching sting. Her mouth moves like it's in slow motion, producing nothing but empty sound. Through my foggy, panic-stricken brain, I barely even notice the way her brows pinch together and her face slackens.
She's scared.
And I'm terrified.
I manage to blink a few times but it doesn't dissolve the black spots in my vision. Or the nauseating feeling in my stomach. Or the fact that I feel as though my hearts going to break through my ribs and flop around on the table.
I can't breathe anymore.
Katniss' frightened face is the last thing I see before everything goes black.