A/N: Hey guys! I'm gonna have to keep this short. Spring Break has finally arrived and in my haste to flee to vacation, I didn't bring my laptop. Currently typing this on the phone. Could I probably go downstairs and use a computer? Yeah, but this was more of a challenge. What can I say? I can't resist a challenge.
So! The time has come at last! Oh, the wonderful (tearful) breakdown! I AM SO EXCITED! And I guess I'll just let you read!
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.
Peeta: Wow...did all that really just happen?
Katniss: This is intense, AC.
Rye: Like, seriously. Why must you make my brother cry?
Peeta: Dude, I'm sobbing hysterically by the end of this...not cool...
Haymitch: What we have here is a failure to communicate...
Me: Alright, alright! I get it! I'm mean. But need I remind you that in order for Studly (that's you Peeta, darling) to achieve epic badassness for the finale of this story, this is necessary.
Peeta: Epic badassness, huh?
Katniss: That's hot.
Me: Oh honey, you have no idea.
Chapter 19: Come Rain or Come Shine
I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you, come rain or come shine
High as a mountain and deep as a river, come rain or come shine
I guess when you met me, it was just one of those things
But, don't ever bet me, 'cause I'm gonna be true if you let me
I wake up alone.
It's nothing new.
In fact, it has become such a staple in my life over the past month or so that I don't even question it anymore. I no longer tense in worry when I note the lack of extra warmth in the bed. I no longer force my eyes open to go looking for him. But the brief sense of panic the moment I wake and realize he's gone—again—I have yet to become accustomed to.
The extra room at the foot of the bed tells me that Maya is gone as well. I'm not surprised. She always goes with him. They're inseparable. Truthfully, it seems as though Maya realizes how much he needs her, even if he doesn't realize it himself. She'll always take her place beside him, sitting or lying down at his feet. Sometimes, as if she senses his discomfort, she'll lick his hand or lay her head in his lap, forcing him to pet her.
Irrationally, this always angers me. A wolf can help Peeta, but me—Katniss Mellark, his wife—cannot.
I try. Every single day I try to help him, but I simply don't know how. Every day I've watched him retreat further and further within himself. I've stood by, unable to do anything, and watched as Peeta built a wall around his heart—brick by brick. I can't seem to reach him anymore. The brief glimpses of his true self that existed a month ago are extinct now. When I look into his eyes, I see layers and layers of blue that have hardened with a potent cocktail of regret, vengeance, pain, and rage. His eyes no longer shine. His touches hold all the gentleness in the world, and yet the emotion behind them has been extinguished.
I try to help him. I try to help him remember good times, but every time I recall a memory, the happiness attached to it seems to both pain and anger him. At one point, when I tried to remind him of our perfect moment—our toasting—he began to shake so badly I thought he would slip into a flashback. And suddenly, Maya was there at his side, nuzzling his leg, forcing his attention onto her. Amazingly, after a few minutes, Peeta seemed to come back to himself.
We never spoke of it again. In fact, after that incident, I stopped trying to remind him of the good times. It just wasn't worth it if he slipped into a flashback.
And so for the past month, I've been forced to watch Peeta slip further and further away from me knowing that I could do nothing to stop it. I'd gone to Dr. Riley, begging her for some magic answer, for some shred of advice of how to help him. I was disappointed. Apparently, according to Dr. Riley, there was nothing I could do. Peeta was at a crossroads.
"He'll either choose to brave the pain of his capture, accept it and acknowledge it, or he'll continue to slip away and become a shell of a man you once knew." The words seemed as though they cost her dearly to say. I knew it to be true. Dr. Riley had come to care for us both, as if we were just another couple of grandkids. She hated that we were suffering, and more so she hated that there was nothing she could do about it.
"I wish I could make it all better, sweetie," she told me. "I wish I knew all the answers, but I don't. No one does. But maybe . . . maybe this question holds an answer only Peeta can unlock. Maybe he's reached the point where no one else can help him. Perhaps it's time for him to help himself."
Haymitch hadn't a better answer when I'd gone to him. "Sweetheart, there's nothing we can do," he said. "Wish there was. All you can do is be there for him, even if he resents you for it. You stick by his side. Because if you leave him, we'll never get him back."
The thought hadn't crossed my mind. I had made my decision the day of his first flashback. Hell, I had made my decision that night long ago in the rain. I'm not whole without Peeta. Could I function without him? Of course, I could. A part of me will forever be Katniss Everdeen—self reliant, huntress. But that identity no longer defines me wholly. I've grown. I've learned that that persona is not all that I can be. I can be Katniss Mellark.
But that title hardly means anything if Peeta is not with me. Yes, I could go on after Peeta, but my existence would mean nothing to me. And frankly, simply living to live . . . it almost seems like a fate worse than death. To be trapped in a sort of limbo of nothingness, with no desire for anything other than your most basic needs. It's a half-life.
It's a life I refuse to lead.
Somehow, someway, I have got to reach Peeta. I have to save him from himself. I have to knock down every stone around his heart, just as he did for me during our first Games. I have to bring him back to the world. I have to bring him back to me.
I have to bring him home.
Slowly, I ease myself into a sitting position, absently rubbing my gigantic stomach. Eight months along and I feel like a whale. A really big, fat whale. I'm actually waddling now. My walk is a waddle. A waddle.
If I even cared enough at this point, I would be embarrassed. But quite honestly, I don't give a damn. I'm pregnant. A universal excuse to use whenever and however I want.
The shower feels heavenly. I stand in the warm water, letting it wash over me and gently pound out the tenseness of my muscles. I once joked that Peeta would send me into premature labor, but as the days continue to pass, I wouldn't be surprised at all. The mounting stress of his depressive, despondent state is driving me on the verge of insanity. It's just so frustrating. To be unable to reach, unable to help the one person you love most in the world. It's a degrading, oppressive feeling of uselessness that causes tears to slip from my eyes.
I have to find a way to reach him. Before it's too late.
A knock on the door prompts me to tense. "Yes?" I ask hesitantly as I shut the water off and grab a towel.
"Katniss?"
Months ago, Peeta wouldn't have bothered to knock. Months ago, he would have walked right in, poked his head in the shower just to see me naked and waggle his eyebrows playfully—only to get water splashed in his face. Which, of course, prompted the only logical conclusion: he had to join me.
"What, you got me wet," he would say with smirk. "Might as well go for it."
But now, it's different. Now, he knocks.
I hate it.
"Yeah?" I call as I hurriedly pull a shirt over my head. "What do you need?"
"Um . . ." he hesitates. "I was just thinking that . . ."
Oh, I would love to know what he was thinking. Anything to give a clue as to how to help him.
I finally open the door and nearly walk smack into his chest. The sudden closeness startles him slightly, and he automatically takes a step backward, though he tries to pass it off as simply giving me room to walk by him. I play along and walk into the bedroom, gently easing myself onto the bed. I sit patiently, watching as he tries to school his features to hide whatever emotion he's feeling. I used to be able to read him like an open book. Even when he first came here, I could still read him. But now, in the past month, he's a riddle to me.
Maya trots over to me, laying her head in my lap. I absently pet her, scratching behind her ears occasionally, as I wait for Peeta to finish whatever thought he had. But after another few seconds I grow impatient and decide that if it's giving him this much trouble, maybe I should offer him a way out of it. So, I try to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Where did you go?"
The guarded look in Peeta's eyes intensifies. "Here and there," he answers vaguely. "The soldiers I pass aren't my biggest fans. I make them nervous."
I knew that he always got up and wandered the winding labyrinth of District 13. I could also understand how his late night wanderings would make the soldiers anxious. A tortured Capitol prisoner, recovering from a well-known (and violent) bout of PTSD, aimlessly walking about in the middle of the night—yes, I could understand their anxiety. Personally, I didn't quite know what to make of his walks. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe he just needed to be alone. I don't know.
"Then I went by to see Haymitch," he says with a shrug. "Came back here."
Haymitch. That's another thing. Peeta will talk for hours in private with Haymitch. I don't know what these conversations are about firsthand, but I can guess: Coin. They are planning, preparing. And they are leaving me out of it. If I wasn't pregnant, I would be pissed. As it is, I still am a little. But, in all honesty, all that matters to me is the baby. He or she deserves my entire focus.
A light always enters Peeta's eyes before he goes to see Haymitch, and it's still present for a while when he returns. It's the only sign that the Peeta who stood up to Coin is still present. He's still fighting. But he's focusing on someone other than himself. I could understand why. It's much easier to fight someone else rather than yourself.
"Okay," I reply to his meager explanation of his whereabouts. "I was just wondering where you were."
For a moment, I see a flash of guilt, but Peeta blinks and then the blip of emotion is gone.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, though his voice is hollow. "I just don't want to wake you up."
Nightmares. They were still very prevalent, although not to the degree as they were earlier in his recovery. They hardly ever consume him so entirely that he will thrash or scream in his sleep. I don't tell him that I always wake up when he has a nightmare. Even if he no longer thrashes or screams, he still talks. Always, I soothe him with a song and he's able to find some solace.
However, the next time I wake up—just like this morning—he will be gone.
"Why do you leave?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Why?"
Peeta's face remains stoic. "I don't want to wake you up," he repeats.
"No. It's more," I retort, pushing him for a real answer. "Tell me."
But he doesn't. Instead, he says, "I may leave . . . but I'll always come back."
My heart nearly skips a beat at his words. "Why?" I implore. I have to know his reason. I have to hear him say it.
"Because I promised," he replies, and immediately my heart falls.
A memory stirs. The arena burning around us. The trees swaying violently in the wind. I can't promise to never leave you, but I can promise that I'll always find a way back to you.
I'll come back to you, I promise.
Peeta came back, but not entirely. There's a part of him that I can't reach—the part of him that made me that promise in the first place. And so his repetition of that promise now is practically meaningless. The words slipped from his lips like an obligation. Not a promise.
I also can't deny that these weren't even the words I wanted to hear in the first place. I wanted him to say three words. Three little words that meant everything to me, that used to fall from his lips so easily and freely. Three little words that would be spoken softly with great sincerity: I love you.
The last time I heard him say those precious words, we were in the arena. Ever since his return, he's yet to even mention the word "love," let alone associate me with it. I know he loves me. In my heart, I know that he does—completely and truly. But the words have not been spoken. I tell him, of course—every day, just as I'd promised him the first night he lay in the hospital in 13.
I can't describe the pain of saying those words, meaning them so wholeheartedly, and being met with silence.
"Katniss?"
His voice snaps me back to the present.
"Sorry," I apologize. "Lost in thought . . . a memory."
Peeta doesn't inquire as to which one. He doesn't ask many questions anymore.
With a small sigh, I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I had an appointment with Dr. Riley at ten o'clock and it was nine-thirty. It was always a good idea to get there a little early, and since she only had two other pregnant patients, she could usually see me before the scheduled time. I look up at Peeta, biting my lip. He didn't go to my last appointment due to a flashback.
He had to go. He couldn't not go. This was his child. He'd want to go, wouldn't he? It's Peeta for god's sake . . .
But that's just it. I don't know this Peeta. Could he . . . would he actually say, "no?"
"Peeta," I begin hesitantly. "Um, I have an appointment with Dr. Riley in a few minutes." I pause when Peeta goes very still, and a tremble begins to build in his hands that he tries to quell by clinching them into fists. "Will you go with me?" I ask in a small voice that I hardly recognize.
There's a very tense moment when I'm nearly positive he's going to say no. But then, he takes a deep breath and gives me a poor excuse for a smile. "Of course."
I can't help the smile that automatically brightens my face, full of relief and tentative excitement. "Come on," I say, grabbing his hand. He doesn't startle so much anymore at my touch. Only when I catch him off guard. "If we get there early, there's a chance we won't have to wait as long."
"Why do we want to get there early?" Peeta asks as we step into the elevator. "You hate hospitals almost as much as I do."
"Because we won't have to wait as long," I repeat. "Dr. Riley doesn't get a lot of pregnant patients, so she usually has some extra time available. Besides, I hate waiting."
When we arrive at the hospital, I lead Peeta in the opposite direction that he takes for his physical therapy. Which, might I add, is going splendidly. He's gained back at least ten pounds of what he lost, although it's not the rock-hard muscle that I remember. Still, at this point, I'm not going to be picky. What matters is that he isn't so skinny anymore.
Dr. Riley's office is actually a small suite. The waiting room is full of comfy chairs and sofas (comfortable for 13 at least), and there are some old magazines that you can read if you really get desperate. I sign in at the registration desk, despite the fact that the two nurses who man the station know me by name.
"Hey Katniss," Alice chirps happily. She's an exceptionally chipper girl about my age, with short, spiky black hair and bright green eyes. She's even smaller than I am (when I wasn't pregnant). I'm a good four inches taller than she is. Dr. Riley calls her a prodigy, which I take as to mean "a really smart person." That doesn't really matter to me, and it doesn't seem to make a difference to Alice either. "How are you today?"
"Fine," I reply with a small smile.
"Do you feel like a whale yet?"
"You have no idea."
"Oh!" Alice claps happily when she finally takes notice of Peeta. "You're here!" Excitedly, she turns to her cohort, Rosalie. "Rose, look! Peeta's here!"
Rose is tall, blonde, and gorgeous. There's simply no other way to put it. Her blonde hair falls to her waist in perfect curls that she insists is natural. Her ice blue eyes are captivating and alluring, just as she wants them to be. Of course, Rosalie's beauty is coveted by all men, but she turns them all down with an almost indulgent grin. Rosalie is happily married and currently holds the record in 13 for giving birth to the most kids since the measles outbreak—her brood totals five at the moment.
Rosalie gives Peeta a small, but genuine smile. "Hello Peeta," she says. "Glad you can be here."
"Me too," Peeta replies.
"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" Alice continues to gush. "I knew you'd come back!" she tells Peeta. "You can't fight true love. Nope. No, you can't."
Rosalie rolls her eyes. "Don't mind, Alice. She's a little more excitable than usual today."
"Why?" I ask curiously and Alice promptly throws her left hand in my face.
"See?!" she squeals as she shows off the sparkly ring adorning her finger. "Jasper proposed!"
"Finally," Rosalie mutters under her breath, but Alice doesn't hear her.
Jasper is a rogue soldier who actually managed to find 13 on his own. I've only met him once, but I automatically liked him. He is definitely a soldier, you can tell, but it isn't all that he is. He is gentle and kind, with an incredibly dry sense of humor. He exudes a calm, easy air that relaxes everyone around him. Simply put, I approve of Alice's choice in men.
Though I must point out that Peeta is superior to Jasper in every way. Yes, I know. I'm biased.
"That's wonderful, Alice," I congratulate her with a smile. "Really."
Rosalie gives a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "You might want to head back to Dr. Riley's office," she says. "She's ready for you, and besides . . . if you don't leave now, Alice will drag you into wedding plans."
"Oh! Speaking of which—"
"You heard her Alice," I interrupt quickly. "Got to go."
Alice frowns, pouting. "You're no fun, Katniss."
The moment we're out of earshot, Peeta whispers, "She scares me."
"Why? Because she's happy?" I retort without thinking, causing Peeta to pause mid-step.
He stares at me for a moment before shrugging slightly. "Maybe."
And so because I put my foot in my mouth, we enter the small hospital room in an awkward silence that Dr. Riley immediately senses. Thankfully, she pretends otherwise. "Katniss, you know the drill," she says and I roll my eyes and nod.
As I'm getting situated, Dr. Riley looks at Peeta. "Well, you don't look terrible," she says. "I think it might be helpful to put a little sparkle in those blue eyes. According to Rye, you used to be able to make a woman swoon with just one look."
Peeta raises his eyebrows. "I think you're talking about Finnick."
"Odair?" Dr. Riley shakes his head. "Oh no. That boy doesn't have time to make other girls swoon. I don't think he's left Annie's side for a minute since she's been back."
I smile to myself, knowing the story behind them. "Our days of a catatonic Finnick are gone."
"Thank goodness," Dr. Riley sighs. "A man that handsome should not look so miserable."
Regrettably, I haven't been able to see Finnick much since Peeta's return. Part of the reason was that both of us were caring for our significant others. After Peeta's release from the hospital, we saw more of each other, and I finally got the chance to meet Annie. Annie was the sweetest person I had ever met. There was such a child-like innocence about her most of the time that her excitement was nearly contagious. However, there were times when a light would enter her eye and she would begin to mumble—those were the times when she looked thousands of years old, haunted by too much too young.
Finnick had transformed to the man I met in the arena, but with the added happiness that being near Annie brought him. Peeta and I made sure to eat with them at least once a week. Well, I made sure to eat with them once a week. Peeta simply came with me.
Once we move away from the question and answer portion of the appointment, Dr. Riley preps the sonogram. Tentatively, I lift up my shirt to expose my distended stomach in all it's glory. I hope no one can see the blush on my cheeks. I know it might seem stupid . . . but this is the very first time Peeta has seen my bare stomach since the night before the Quell.
It's safe to say a lot has changed since.
Out of the corner of my eye, I try to read Peeta's reaction, but I can't see through his mask.
I tense when Dr. Riley slathers my stomach with the cold, clear goo. "Why must that be so cold?" I complain.
"Because I'm a sadist and I like to make you squirm," Dr. Riley retorts without missing a beat, and I roll my eyes.
Without further fanfare, she places the "magic" wand over my stomach and in the next second, the sound of a little heartbeat fills the room. I can't help but smile at the comforting sound. I glance at Peeta, and for the first time in a month, I see his emotionless mask crack. I watch, slowly, as the tiniest of smiles curves his lips.
Wordlessly, I take his hand and hold it tight.
"Just as strong as ever," Dr. Riley comments. "But let's have a lookie-loo."
My eyes leave Peeta's to focus on the monitor. As the months have gone by, I've watched as my child grew to resemble more and more like a tiny human. I remember the days when I could hardly distinguish any definitive characteristic. Now, I see tiny feet and hands. Little arms and legs. A button nose.
There's a miniature person inside me. Still, after eight months, the fact continues to amaze me.
When I'm able to tear my eyes away from the image, I look at Peeta. What I see nearly causes me to cry. Pain. And guilt. So much guilt. So much needless guilt. It's not his fault that he missed so much. I don't blame him. I could never blame him. But, it's obvious that Peeta feels he deserves the blame.
Before I can reassure him that he has nothing to be guilty for, Peeta mutters something indistinguishable under his breath that still sounds suspiciously like "sorry" and bolts from the room before I can stop him. I lay there in shock for a moment, staring at the open door where he disappeared.
"Don't be angry with him, sweetie," Dr. Riley says quietly. "He has a lot to process."
"But he's known—"
"Honey, knowing what he's missed out on is one thing. But seeing, for the first time, exactly all that you've had to go through alone, all that he's missed . . ." Dr. Riley sighs. "It's a hard pill to swallow."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. What do I do? Do I go to him? Or should I leave him be? Is this a time when I push or when I take a step back? Throughout all my confusion, anger begins to flicker to life within me. An anger that I know I have no right to feel, but slowly begins to consume me. Why couldn't he just accept it? Why? Why couldn't he move on? Why couldn't he be who I remembered? Why couldn't he be the man who always greeted me with a smile? Why couldn't he be the man who kissed me any chance he got? Why couldn't he be the man who always knew what I was thinking? Why couldn't he be the man that I never had to worry about? The man that I could always count on?
Damn it! Why couldn't he just be who he used to be?
Almost as if sensing that I'm about to explode, Dr. Riley quickly cleans off all the goo and the moment I'm free, I'm striding toward the door as quickly as I can. I don't even bother saying goodbye to Alice or Rosalie as I walk right past their desk, ignoring Alice's bubbly babble.
Everyone in the hall that I pass practically leap out of the way as I plow through him. I punch the button for the elevator with such force that a thin crack runs from top to bottom. I'm too mad to even think about what ridiculous punishment my destruction of property might invoke. District 13 is the last thing on my mind. My mind is focused entirely on Peeta and how I'm angry that he's running from me.
The moment the doors open onto our floor, I'm marching down the hall to our door. Haymitch passes me and merely raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Good. I can't stand to hear one sarcastic comment out of his mouth. Not now. I might just slap him.
With raging pregnancy hormones, you never know.
I nearly yank the doorknob off in my haste to throw open the door. My feet carry me into the room as the door slams loudly into the wall, before bouncing back and softly closing with a click behind me. I open my mouth, ready to yell at Peeta and unleash my irrational anger, but the look on Peeta's face extinguishes the fire within me.
He looks broken. For once, I see true emotion on his face. I just wish it could have been a positive emotion. Instead, I'm staring into the miserable, guilt-ridden face of my husband. His haunted, angry blue eyes are filled to the brim with tears, just waiting to spill over and down his cheeks. His hands are clinched in fists at his sides, his shoulders are hunched with a weight that seems to force him to his knees. Helplessly, he looks up at me, eyes wide in a silent plea.
Only I have no idea how to help him.
Slowly, I approach him until I'm a foot from him. On his knees, his face is perfectly level with my stomach. Tentatively, he places a hand on my stomach. Almost as if he sensed his father's touch, the baby kicks at the spot where Peeta's hand rests. At the sensation, a single tear slips from Peeta's eye. Finally, he whispers, "I've missed too much." He glances up at me, the sadness in his eyes intensifying to a depth I didn't know possible. "You've gone through too much alone, because of me."
"Peeta," I chide softly, running a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you."
"Since when was doing the right thing so damn hard?" Peeta asks me as he glances at my stomach again. "I know that I did the right thing, but now—looking at all the pain I've caused you—it seems so wrong. I promised I'd be there for you and I wasn't. I promised that I'd come back to you, but I haven't."
"Peeta—"
"No!" Peeta suddenly jumps to his feet, running a hand through his hair as he begins to pace in front of me. "Katniss, you know it's true! Don't you see? Don't you get it? You're in love with a broken man!"
"And I love every broken piece of that man," I tell him gently, sincerely. "I love you."
"Why?" Peeta begs for an explanation, a reason. "How? How can you still love me? What can I possibly give you?" Tears begin to spill from his eyes in a steady stream. "You once told me that love was give and take. Katniss, I have nothing left to give! I can't love you like I want!" He quickly closes the distance between us, taking my face in his hands. Delicately, he caresses my face as he continues, "I know that I love you with all my heart." He chokes on a sob as he rests his forehead against mine. "I know that I do, but I just can't feel it! It—it just—hurts—too much."
"God, I've tried to feel," he whispers. "I've tried so hard, but it's like I can't reach it. I'm not capable anymore. I can't feel."
"Yes you can," I argue persuasively. "You're feeling now. You're angry. You're sad. You're guilty. That's still feeling."
"But it doesn't matter," Peeta argues. "Those feelings aren't what matter. I can't feel love. I can't feel happiness. I can't feel excitement. I can't feel any of those things that makes loving you such a joy. You deserve better than that."
Now, my anger returns. Is he really missing the obvious love in his words? In his gestures? Does he not realize that by doing the incredibly stupid thing of implying that I should leave him that he's being selfless? Again. Out of his love for me? Again.
"Love isn't about deserving!" I snap, forcing him to look at me. "Who deserves love, in all honesty? Who deserves to be treasured so completely by one person? Who deserves to learn that they're only half of a whole? Who deserves any of that? Love is a gift, Peeta. You are a gift, my gift." I swallow a sob as I cradle his tear-streaked face in my hands. "I made you a promise a year ago. I promised to love you forever. I promised to always be there for you, for better or worse. I love you, Peeta," I whisper as my tears finally escape me. "No, you may not be entirely the same man I made that promise to, but that doesn't matter. I fell in love with this," I tell him, resting my hand over his heart. "I fell in love with someone whose heart was full of all the love and compassion this cruel world seemed to lack. I fell in love with someone whose heart was good and kind and brave. And that heart." My fingers curl into his shirt. "That heart still beats. Don't you see, Peeta?" I plead. "I will always love you because at heart you're still the same man I fell in love with."
"You shouldn't," Peeta whispers in a tear-filled voice. "I'm not who you think."
"Then who do you think you are?" I demand angrily as I wipe away my tears furiously. "Tell me! What makes you think that you're not worthy of anything good?"
"Because I'm not good!" Peeta shouts, shoving himself away from me to pace once more. A slightly manic light has entered his eye, and I notice Maya's ears twitch in response. "I'm not that person anymore! I've done things. Horrible things. And I don't feel a shred of guilt. I don't care that they died! I don't care that I killed them!"
Who is he talking about? Tributes? "Who did you kill, Peeta?" I ask confused.
Peeta suddenly laughs, sounding slightly hysterical. "I don't know! I don't know their names! Personally, I called them Thing 1 and Thing 2!" I swallow thickly as I realize who he may be talking about. "What they did to me," Peeta growls. "Human beings don't do that, but I proved to be no better than them." He shakes his head. "No. I'm no better."
"Peeta," I say hesitantly. "What did you do?"
"Aren't you listening?" Peeta cries. "I killed them! I snapped both their necks! And you know, it was too easy! It was too easy a way for them to go! They thought they knew pain. But they didn't."
"Why did you kill them, Peeta?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. I recognize the sweat on his brow, the tremble slowly overcoming his body. Maya's eyes have yet to leave Peeta this entire time. She knows it's coming too.
Flashback.
My question, however, seems to calm Peeta somewhat. He looks at me, like I should realize exactly why he chose to end two of his tormentor's lives. "A guy can only listen for so long as two men explain to him—day after day, in intricate detail—how they're going to rape his wife."
His response brings me up short. "W-what?"
But Peeta has already moved on. "Those weren't the only two I killed!" He proclaims. "I killed another Peacekeeper who was beating on Johanna. They had us in the same cell once. I'd been knocked out. Woke up and he was just wailing on her. He didn't even hear me coming."
"I killed them Katniss," he spits. "I killed them and I don't care that they died."
Finally, I summon up my courage. "If that were true, you wouldn't have been yelling about them for the past ten minutes," I tell him firmly. "You regret the loss of life."
"Just not the fact that it was theirs."
Peeta and I stare at each other for a long time, before he says, "The reason I ran out today is because I couldn't stand to see what I had missed. What the Capitol took from me. They took away my ability to feel. I won't be able to love my child like I should. Because it would hurt too much. I can't be a father. Not anymore." Anger flashes in his eyes, lighting his blue eyes brightly. Maya begins to whine. I take a cautious step toward Peeta. "It's all I wanted," he seethes.
"Peeta—"
"I just wanted to be with you—"
"—Peeta, calm down—"
"It was all I wanted! I just wanted you!"
"—Peeta, please—"
"NO!"
And before I realize what's happened, Peeta's hand has wrapped around my throat.
"Peeta!" I yell in a strangled voice as he backs me into the wall. "Peeta, snap out of it!"
As soon as the words leave my mouth, his hand vanishes. Peeta stares at me, eyes wide in horror and disbelief. He glances down at Maya, and then the bloody bite mark on his arm—the arm that belonged to the hand that had grabbed me. Both of us realize at the same time that he didn't snap out of the flashback because of my words. It was Maya and the pain of her bite.
The reality of what could have happened hits Peeta with the force of a sledgehammer, and he crumbles to the floor, immediately overcome with sobs. I'm crying too. I know that he would have come to his senses. I know it. Peeta would never hurt me . . . right?
Nonetheless, I feel my heart swell with love for the broken man at my feet. You can't define love. You can't put boundaries on love. No amount of pain will keep me from him. No amount of turmoil. I love him. And he loves me.
It's why this hurts so much.
I ease down to the floor beside him and wrap my arms around him. Peeta buries his face in my chest, sobbing freely and loudly, as he clings to me as though I'm the only thing keeping him on the earth. "I'm sorry," he whispers over and over. "I'm so sorry." After a few seconds, he changes his plea. "Leave me," he whispers. "Please. Just leave me."
But I stay right where I am, because he's not asking me to physically leave, to let him cry in peace. He's literally asking me to leave him. To abandon him. To toss him aside like he's hopeless. Well, that's just not going to happen. I made a promise.
"Please, Katniss," he begs. "I can't hurt you. You're not safe. I can't keep you safe. Leave me. Please."
"Never," I whisper as I kiss his hair. "You're stuck with me."
Peeta's sobs eventually escalate to a level that prevents speech entirely. He's no longer crying for what happened minutes ago. He's crying for what happened two months ago. In a cold, dark cell where he was all alone. Where he sentenced himself to die. To protect me.
A song comes to mind as I hold him and try to soothe him. It's one that my father used to sing for my mother. The very first song he ever sung to her, and one that he made sure to repeat. To remind her that he loved her no matter what. It's just what Peeta needs to hear.
He needs to understand that I won't leave him.
And so I sing to him, as sweetly and truthfully as I possibly can.
I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you, come rain or come shine
High as a mountain and deep as river, come rain or come shine
I guess when you met me, it was just one of those things
But, don't ever bet me, 'cause I'm gonna be true if you let me
If anything, at the sound of my song, Peeta's sobs increase in intensity, but I don't stop singing. He has to know. He has to understand.
You're gonna love me like nobody's loved me, come rain or come shine
Happy together, unhappy together, and won't it be fine?
Days may be cloudy or sunny
We're in or we're out of the money
I hold Peeta even closer to me as I finish the song, the words ringing soft, but true.
But I'm with you always
I'm with you rain or shine
YES! FINALLY!
You guys have no idea how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. This chapter was what started this entire series. All through the first and second books, I was thinking of this scene and what I had to put PK through in order to get them to this point. All through this book, as I was writing, I was working up to this moment. This is truly the foundation of this entire story for me, which is exactly why I chose this song as both the title for this chapter and the story in general. "Come Rain or Come Shine" is all about loving someone no matter what, whether you're happy or unhappy, whether the days are cloudy or sunny. The point is that with Peeta and Katniss, they're with each other through the bad and the good, rain or shine.
All of this being said, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this chapter. And, feel free to sigh in relief. The major angsty drama has passed. The sun is coming out. :)
I know that I would normally do a funny summary, but for this chapter it just doesn't seem right. All you need is the lyrics of this song.
Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!
"Do you still want to die?"
Lots of love,
AC
