A/N: Hey, guys! This is going to seem really rushed, but I need to get to class! *checks clock* Yep, I've got two minutes and counting.
Yes, I know. I'm slacking.
So, long babble short, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! GLORIOUS REVIEWS!
By the way, song title really refers to Peeta this chapter. The song is "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. Imagine Dragons are awesome. Listen and be amazed.
Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.
Me: Guys, I really don't have time for this today.
Rye: That hurts my feelings.
Peeta: I'm insulted.
Katniss: Me too.
Haymitch: I really don't care.
Me: Thanks, guys. I feel the love.
Chapter 17: Demons
When you feel my heat, look into my eyes
It's where my demons hide, It's where my demons hide
Don't get too close, it's dark inside
It's where my demons hide, It's where my demons hide
Your eyes, they shine so bright
I want to save their light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how
"Alright Peeta, I want you to make this motion with your arms for as long as you can, okay?" Dr. Riley instructs as she makes small circles with her arms. "If it gets too much, stop. Pushing yourself too soon will only delay your recovery."
Peeta doesn't seem to hear her. If anything, her steadying words seem to have the opposite effect, and his motions become faster. Dr. Riley purses her lips in annoyance, but doesn't do anything to stop him. Instead, she begins to watch the clock on the wall, so as to note the time Peeta was able to do the exercise.
It's been three weeks since mine and Peeta's argument, and in those three weeks, I've gotten even fatter, Peeta has lost his casts, and neither of us has mentioned our disagreement on his character. I still can't understand why he thinks so little of himself now. Frankly, it's what perturbs me the most. Peeta was always confident in his abilities, and now he seems constantly at a loss, though he doesn't dare show it. I see it, though. It's like how he's currently pushing himself in his very first physical therapy session. It's as though he's trying to prove something, not only to me and everyone else, but also himself.
As Dr. Riley leads Peeta through more exercises, I look on quietly, though my mind is hardly present. I'm far too occupied by my thoughts. The past three weeks have not been a cakewalk. After the procedure that took care of his ribs, Peeta began to fight his doctors even more. Not physically, though sometimes I was sure he was about to snap the neck of at least one of his attending physicians. Once he could move with little to no pain, he began to protest vehemently about being kept in the hospital. Two of these loud arguments resulted in a flashback, which were extremely counterproductive to his efforts of freeing himself from the doctor's medicinal tyranny.
Despite the flashbacks, Peeta's new, tweaked personality continues to show itself. As I watch Peeta lift some minor weights, I contemplate his new character. The cheerfulness and optimism that initially drew me to him are gone, replaced with a calm contentment and realism. All of Peeta's more poetic notions have been shattered, and it's impossible for him to regain all of his once overflowing amiability. When it comes to others, Peeta is now much more cautious and not nearly as accepting. That's not to say that his heart is no longer kind and gracious, because it is, but now he simply refuses to trust people implicitly. Of course, I can't blame him for that.
Peeta is, at times, incredibly blunt, having abandoned some of his more flowery words. It's not as though he's lost his ability with words. No, if anything it's been strengthened; strengthened with his ability to now hide veiled threats . . . and more importantly the promise of carrying them out. Peeta is no longer hampered by some of his previous morals. No, he lost that innocence in the Capitol's cell.
Simply put, this new Peeta is truly dangerous. Where there was once a kind twinkle in his eye, there is now a glint of something ominous, something that should not be provoked. You would think that this dangerous light would worry me. It would make sense. However, I find that it makes me feel safer.
I feel safer because behind that dangerous glint in his eye, I see a warning. A warning to everyone that he will protect those he loves, consequences be damned. Knowing of the days that will come, the impending threat of not only Snow, but the shadowy intent of Coin as well . . . I feel safer with this Peeta by my side. Because where I may hesitate, I know that he will not.
The lighter side of Peeta's new personality is shy. He doesn't regularly let his guard down, and so it's hard to draw out a laugh or a smile. I've yet to see his playful side reemerge, but I know it's there. I simply need to be patient. His once frequent teasing remarks are so rare they're nearly extinct, but I have faith that they will return.
This is not the Peeta that I fell in love with, but I love him all the same, more than he could possibly know. No, he is no longer the cheerful, affable, teasing, warm man that I remember. But he is still every bit as brave, loyal, compassionate, and kind. Eventually, I know that his lighter side will reveal itself, though I realize that now he will only allow himself to be that vulnerable with a select few.
It doesn't matter that he is no longer the same person. Like I'd told him before, all that mattered was that he was with me, and I will always love him.
Smiling internally at my musings, I absently glance at the clock. At the sight of the time, I feel my stomach drop. Five more minutes. Five more minutes until Peeta is finished with his session. Five more minutes until Peeta will be able to go home.
With me.
Dr. Riley finally signed off on Peeta's mental health, but it was not without reservation. After officially releasing him from her care, she had taken me aside. "Katniss, I know that Peeta has made some wonderful progress," she began. "And I know that he's ready to get out of here, and you are too, but—"
"But he's nowhere near fully recovered," I interrupted knowingly and Dr. Riley noded.
"In the past six weeks, he's made fantastic progress physically, but I think we all expected that. And mentally, he has made some progress, but he's far from recovered. If I wanted to keep him until he was healed mentally, he'd be stuck in this room for months, maybe years. I can't do that to him. Now, I wouldn't release him unless I was sure that he could handle the stress, but I'm just telling you to be careful."
I knew what she was referring to. Flashbacks. Peeta still had them, though it's been two weeks since his last one. However, Dr. Riley is also wary of Peeta's release because he has yet to have a breakdown. She seems to think that this is crucial to his recovery. Because, according to her, Peeta can never build himself back up if he doesn't reach his lowest low.
Part of me believes her. Another part wishes that Peeta could just continue to get better. I don't know if I can stand seeing him break, not after all the progress he's made.
I'm torn from my thoughts when I hear Dr. Riley say, "Alright, Peeta that's enough for the day."
Despite the fact that he's covered in sweat, Peeta argues, "I can keep going."
"And I'm a goldfish," Dr. Riley deadpans. "You did great today. Let's not push it."
Biting back a surly retort, Peeta nods curtly and picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. Meanwhile, Dr. Riley turns to me and says quietly, "Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
"If he has a flashback, just stay calm and talk him through it. But if it gets too much—"
"I love it when people talk about me like I'm not present," Peeta interrupts as he approaches us. "Gives me a fuzzy feeling."
"Peeta—"
"No, I got it, Doc," Peeta says seriously before he turns to me. "Katniss has a wicked right cross. I trust her."
"So if worse comes to worse, your plan is for Katniss to knock you out?" Dr. Riley says dubiously.
"Pretty much."
"Why don't I feel reassured?"
"We'll be fine," I tell her confidently, before adding, "And don't underestimate my punching abilities."
Dr. Riley sighs, "In all seriousness, be careful. Avoid stress. Play nice."
Peeta leans down and whispers to me loudly, "Why do I think she's just talking to me?"
Both Dr. Riley and I ignore him.
"We will," I assure her.
She takes a few seconds to give us both a stern glare, before she sighs and looks at Peeta. "Next appointment is this Thursday. Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Dr. Riley nods, before turning to me. "And you and I have a date tomorrow. Don't stand me up. My poor heart couldn't take the rejection."
I laugh. "Eleven on the dot," I reply with a smile. "I'll be there."
"Fantastic. I should go. Believe it or not, I actually have other patients to attend to."
"Better not keep them waiting."
"See you kids, later."
Peeta and I are quiet as Dr. Riley exits the room. After a moment, Peeta says, "If she hadn't kept me prisoner in that damn hospital, I might actually like her."
I raise my eyebrows slightly. "Since when do you hold grudges?"
"Since I was tortured by a guy with an ax to grind," he retorts without skipping a beat. It's the ease with which he speaks of his torture, the veiled rage and resentment in his words, and even more so the knowledge that I can't do anything to help, that causes my eyes to fill with tears. At my reaction, Peeta blanches. "Sorry.
"It's alright," I say with a self-deprecating smile. "These days, I cry about anything. I cried over a chair once."
Even now, weeks later, the memory still embarrasses me.
Peeta's lips quirk into an amused smile as we begin to walk through the hall toward the elevator. "A chair?" he repeats dubiously.
"No one would sit in it," I try to explain my thought process. "It wasn't fulfilling its life purpose."
"So you felt pity for a chair."
"Yes."
"And everyone thinks I'm the crazy one."
"Shut it, Mellark."
I push the button for the elevator and Peeta and I wait in silence. Although I'm trying to quell my anxiety, it's quickly becoming impossible. Peeta will be with me all day, every day, from now on. I shouldn't be scared. I shouldn't be nervous. I mean, it's Peeta.
And yet, it's not.
How will our new, muddled dynamic effect our lives? I'll no longer have my room—our room—to retreat to when Peeta's new quirks overwhelm me. The space is no longer entirely my own. For the first time in two months, I will not be sleeping alone . . . and the thought is equally terrifying and thrilling.
The elevator doors open and I'm relieved to see that its depths are empty. Although Peeta has been allowed out of the hospital for the last three weeks, it was under the condition of a soldier escort in case he, well, attacked someone. However, the need for a guard actually didn't cause any problems, because Rye stepped into the role flawlessly. Fulfilling his role of big brother, Rye showed Peeta around District 13, though he was careful to avoid the more crowded places when he could. Peeta didn't like big crowds. There were too many people for him to analyze as a threat, too many unknown variables.
Peeta also didn't like confined spaces, and he certainly didn't like sharing said spaces with people he didn't know—hence my relief at the sight of the empty elevator.
Together, we step into the elevator. Wordlessly, I punch the button for our floor and step back to lean against the elevator walls. I close my eyes and shift my weight a little, but it doesn't relieve the pain in my ankles. Peeta's senses, sharper than ever, notices and questions me. "What?"
I sigh. "Your child keeps getting bigger. My ankles swell. My feet hurt. My back hurts." Suddenly, I feel a sharp kick, and wince slightly. "And he kicks like he's possessed."
I can't quite read the look on Peeta's face at my admission. It's a mixture of sadness, guilt, interest, and anxiety. But, more than anything, he looks worried. In an attempt to soothe him, I give him a genuine smile. "It's fine. Nothing I can't handle. It reassures me, if anything. It means that things are going just as they're supposed to."
My answer doesn't seem to mollify Peeta completely, but whatever emotion that remains he forces out of his mind like he so often does nowadays. I want to call him out on it. I want to tell him that he can't simply shove his captivity, his torture, to the back of his mind and try to move on with his life like it didn't happen. He has to face it and accept how much it changed him.
But I know when to push him . . . and now isn't the time.
Suddenly, the elevator pauses to allow another passenger to step on. Initially, I'm not too worried as the doors begin to open . . . but the moment the passenger is revealed to be Gale, my heartbeat immediately quickens and I feel my entire body tense as I remember our last encounter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta's eyes narrow at my reaction and he instantly appraises Gale, his face hard, but relatively expressionless. However, his eyes tell a different story. A threat swirls within his blue irises, a dangerous glint. I've spent enough time with Peeta to know what this look means. In his mind, he's now labeled Gale as a possible threat, for no other reason than my slight discomfort at his presence.
I wonder if Gale realizes he's already treading on thin ice.
In a silent effort to reassure him, I take Peeta's hand and lace my fingers with his. He tenses slightly at the unexpected contact, but relaxes within in the next second. If Gale is shocked by Peeta's presence he doesn't show it, stepping into the elevator calmly and wordlessly pressing the button for his floor.
No one speaks as the elevator doors close and the car begins to descend. Peeta is still tense and alert, while Gale is the perfect picture of calm—such an odd twist of roles. However, just because Gale seems calm doesn't mean that I can't see through his faux air of indifference. It's obvious by the brief flicker of his eyes in my direction and the immediate thinning of his lips that he has not forgotten our argument three weeks ago. It's not as though his reaction shocks me. We haven't spoken since.
I should have known Gale would choose this time to break our silence.
"Katniss."
"Gale."
"Peeta."
I stare at Peeta in confusion, and he just shrugs. "I didn't want to be left out of the conversation."
I roll my eyes. Way to break the tension, Peeta.
"So you're out of the hospital?" Gale asks conversationally. His tone is casual enough, but I sense that something's off. Apparently, Peeta does too, because he immediately becomes even more guarded.
"Yeah," he replies vaguely. "Can't say I'll miss the place."
"Makes sense," Gale nods. "Must have felt like just another cell."
My jaw clenches at Gale's remark, and my grip on Peeta's hand tightens. I know what Gale is doing. He's seeing how well Peeta has recovered. He's testing him. And I know exactly who he will feed his observations to—Coin. She wants to use Peeta, she's made no secret of it. Sending in spies. Trying to coerce information from Haymitch and Dr. Riley. She wants another pawn, and Peeta has been sacrificed enough already. I'll be damned if I let her use him to further her own agenda.
"Compared to the last one it was much more comfortable, I'll give them that," Peeta retorts calmly, though his tone doesn't do anything to reassure me. "Even hospital beds are better than a cold, stone floor soaked with your own blood."
I flinch slightly at the visual that appears in my head, and Gale tries not to show his shock at Peeta's newly developed blunt demeanor. Despite his brief hesitation, Gale quickly collects himself and replies, "I bet. So you're going to be playing house with Katniss, now? Are you cleared for that?"
The implication of Gale's statement causes my eyes to narrow. Does he honestly think that Peeta would hurt me?
Peeta smiles humorlessly. "Yeah. Great, isn't it? I'm considered halfway sane and I still get to sleep with Katniss. That must really sting."
Gale's face hardens at Peeta's statement and suddenly the air in the elevator becomes so thick I would need a hacksaw to cut through it. "I'd be careful if I were you," Gale warns coldly.
Peeta seems to take Gale's veiled threat with a token of glee. "What are you going to do, Hawthorne?" he chides with amusement. "Hit me?"
"I'm thinking about it."
Peeta's eyes darken slightly, and the danger that radiates off him makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "You could always try, but it won't end well for you."
Gale steps forward threateningly and before Peeta can lunge at him, I step in between the two of them, placing a hand on each of their chests to restrain them. "Stop it!" I order them both. I know that it's taking all of Peeta's restraint not to yank me out of the way, and Gale's muscles are taut beneath my fingertips. I need to diffuse this quick before they hurt each other. "You two have all the time in the world to have a pissing contest, but now is not the time!" I turn to glare at who I thought was my best friend. I never would have thought I might one day question the title. "Gale, back off." I turn to Peeta, and plead in a softer voice, "Calm down. Please."
For the longest time, neither Gale nor Peeta move. They simply glare at each other, neither of them doing anything to hide their extreme dislike of the other. I always knew that they put up with each other for my sake, but I never thought that they hated each other this much. But, then again, both of them have changed since they last met.
Finally, Gale takes a step back, and I let my hand fall to my side. Peeta takes my hand from his chest, lacing his fingers with mine. Gently, he pulls me back to his side. No one speaks until the elevator finally dings, signaling Gale's departure. Stiffly, he leaves the elevator, but before the doors close he looks at me and then Peeta.
"President Coin will be glad to hear of your continuing recovery."
Peeta merely raises his eyebrows slightly, in a gesture that's both condescending and nonplussed.
The doors close and Gale disappears, though some of the tension remains. I glance up at him and ask quietly, "Are you okay?"
"I'm not about to kill him, if that's what you're asking," he says before he face brightens. "But now that I mention it, I'm quickly warming up to the idea."
"Peeta," I chastise.
"What? I forgot how much I hated him."
Before I can reply, the elevator doors open once again, revealing the grey hallway that leads to our compartment. Wordlessly, we step off the elevator and Peeta follows me to our new compartment, 2202. "Haymitch is two doors down," I tell him as I open the door. "Just so you know."
Peeta doesn't comment. Instead, he steps inside the meager room and immediately surveys his new surroundings. I hang back by the door, silently watching him as he analyzes the entire room. "No windows," he finally says.
"Well, we are underground."
"I hate it."
"Join the club."
I lean against the door, silently watching him stand in the middle of the room, his eyes still taking in the four walls surrounding him. The quiet stretches on for so long, that I finally can't stand it anymore and ask a question that's been building itself in my mind since we stepped off the elevator.
"Do you really hate Gale?"
Peeta seems to debate his answer for a moment before saying, "I don't know if I hate him, but I do know that he irritates the hell out of me."
"Why?"
"Because he's still deluding himself into thinking that you'll actually choose him," he says with a shrug, before adding, "And he wants to get into your pants."
"Is that really what it all boils down to?" I ask incredulously. "Sex?"
"Men are very simple creatures . . . and always seem to want what they can't have. Then again, maybe that's just part of being human. Hell, if I know." Peeta's eyes suddenly grow distant as he says, almost to himself, "I used to think I knew people pretty well. Why they did what they did. I was wrong. Sometimes, there's no reason."
Suddenly, he shakes his head and snaps out of whatever memory momentarily consumed him. He gives me a poor excuse for a smile. "I'm great company, aren't I?"
"Rye has nicknamed you Mr. Doom and Gloom," I reply with a quirk of my lips. "But personally, my favorite is still Mr. Blonde, Buff, and Beautiful."
I meant for my words to lighten the mood, but they seem to have the opposite effect, because Peeta laughs bitterly and says, "Yeah, because I'm in such great shape now."
"I never thought you were one for self-pity," I retort with a little spite in my voice. Time to give him a push.
My words certainly do the trick. Peeta's eyes narrow and his expression becomes stony. "I don't feel sorry for myself."
"I think you do."
"What do you know about what I think?" Peeta challenges angrily. "Do you really want to get into my head? Because I guarantee you it's not a pretty place to be."
"Well, if you don't feel sorry for yourself, what do you feel?" I reply quickly, daring him to answer me.
As I expected, Peeta rises to the challenge. "What do I feel? I'm angry. I'm furious. I want to hunt down every single one of those bastards and watch them die. Slowly. I want them know that they're human. I want them to feel every pain I've felt. I want them to know that they didn't break me." Peeta advances on me, placing a hand on either side of my head, trapping me against the door with his body. "And how does that make you feel? Knowing that you're married to someone who would wish that kind of pain on someone else? Are you sure that's the kind of person you want as a father to your child?"
I'm very proud of myself when my voice doesn't waver. "Yes," I answer firmly, looking right into his eyes. Our faces are mere inches apart, and I'm suddenly reminded of the fact that the only romantic touch we've shared since his return was our one kiss that very first day. Peeta must see something in my eyes, because his eyes darken and immediately there's the most delicious tension between us that I've sorely missed.
Peeta's eyes briefly flicker down to my lips, and I'm nearly trembling with the need for his mouth to be firmly pressed to mine. But then I see something in his eyes dim, and with a trembling breath, he steps away from me, lowering his hands back to his sides. I let out a shaky breath, which causes my entire body to shudder. Peeta looks at me with a mixture of frustration, guilt, and regret. "I'm sorry," he says eventually. "It just . . ." He shakes his head, sad and confused. "It just didn't feel right."
I try to swallow my hurt, but I must not be completely successful because the guilt in Peeta's eyes intensifies and he looks away from me. "It's okay," I tell him softly.
"No it's not," Peeta argues in a whisper, looking pained. "Being with you used to be as easy as breathing."
Used to be.
"We just need time."
Peeta runs a hand through his hair before sitting on the bed and putting his head in his hands. Silently, I take a seat beside him and place a gentle hand on his back. Despite my best efforts, the unexpected touch still startles him slightly, and I hear him utter a muffled curse at his reaction.
"I'm trying to be who you want me to be," he finally says in a pained whisper. "I'm trying so damn hard, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough."
"I don't want you to be who I want you to be." With a cautious hand, I gently take his wrist and pull his hand away from his face. Peeta still refuses so look at me, and so I trail my fingers along his jaw before tilting his face toward mine. "Peeta, I want you to be who you are. Nothing more, nothing less."
"But who am I?" Peeta questions vulnerably. "Who am I?"
"That's for you to decide."
And there we go! Lots and lots happened this chapter. I know most of you probably wanted a punch thrown or two between Peeta and Gale, but you'll just have to use your imagination for that one. I didn't have a real fight because even in his more violent state, I don't think Peeta would have started a fight unless he absolutely had too since the elevator is such a confined space and Katniss could easily get caught in the middle and injured. Besides, if Peeta had started a fight, Gale would be dead . . . so . . . yeah
Summary time!
I don't have time for this, regrettably. Entertain me with your own version of the summary! :)
Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Coin!
"Mr. Mellark, I'm glad to see that you're doing well."
Lots of love,
AC
