I am SO sorry for the lack of updates. I've been so focused on the fun RPs I've been participating in that I almost forgot that I had actual stories to work on.

Also, I apologize for how short this chapter is. I pretty much just wrote it in one sitting a couple minutes ago. This one has a more somber tone to it because I've really wanted to write one, so this is what you get instead of a light chapter full of bridesmaid dresses and parties.

Enjoy!

The wedding is in a week. RSVPs are in, dresses are chosen, food is arranged.

And I can't get out of bed.

Finnick. Prim. Boggs. The woman in the Capitol, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their faces won't leave my mind. The nightmares are relentless, and Peeta has been doing all he can to keep them away, but it's only getting worse. No one can help me.

Peeta thinks that it's just the nightmares. I always make sure I'm downstairs by the time he gets back from the bakery. He doesn't need to deal with my issues; he has his own demons to slay.

But today is worse. Not that it has any significance; I've just lost all energy. The dead are crowding around me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. The guilt is weighing on me like a ton of bricks, crushing me under its rubble.

"Katniss?"

I glance at the clock and am surprised to see the time. It's time for Peeta to be home, and he hasn't disappointed.

I feel the bed indent at the spot between my legs and arms, where I'm curled into myself. His hand is on my side, over the bed cover. "You should have told me. I would have helped. I would have-"

"You can't help, Peeta." Tears are pricking my eyes and I bury myself deeper in the covers. I don't want his sympathy. I don't deserve it. Doesn't he see them all?

"Please. You can't do this now. Please, Katniss." I hate the desperation in his voice.

"I just need to be alone." I don't want to push him away, because he doesn't deserve it, but it feels like he's smothering me. Everything is smothering. Everyone.

He's silent. Eventually he goes away.

ooo

"Sweetheart, get your ass up." A violent push startles me awake.

I push the comforters off by instinct and feel a sudden chill. Haymitch is in front of me, a frown on his face. "You can't go away like this. He deserves better."

"You don't think I know that?" My voice is barely a whisper as I look down at my lap. Pain squeezes my heart and my stomach drops. He deserves so much better.

He sighs and sits down where Peeta was not all that long ago. Or maybe it was, I'm not completely sure. "Whatever you think, you make that boy happier than anything. And I'm sure we can both agree that if there's something to fight those demons forced inside of him, we'd better keep that around. So get down there and get yourself better; you're getting married in a week."

He then stands up and walks out the door.

We all have demons, but the worst thing for Peeta is that he believes he is the demon. The monster that killed Mitchell, the one that almost killed me. Guilt wrenches me when I realize that he might think he doesn't deserve me.

That won't do.

I take a deep breath and force myself out of bed and into the shower, my movements sluggish. I'm not better, but I have incentive to get there. He's my incentive, my reason to move forward, to fight the monsters that seem to keep on coming back, a never-ending game of cat and mouse.

I slide down the tiled wall and let the water cascade over my hunched body. He needs me better. I will get better. I chant this mantra in my head, but I'm not so sure my actions will reflect it. Easier said than done, I suppose.

A half hour later I leave the bathroom in a bathrobe and out of the bedroom, my light tread sure not to catch Peeta's ear, if he's here. I find him in the kitchen, head in his hands.

"Peeta." My voice cracks from lack of use.

He jumps slightly when he hears my voice and his head whips around, eyes wide in surprise. He's up once he has composed himself, his arms around me in an instant. "I made you food." He kisses the top of my food, leading me to the table. I smile when I see cheese buns and a bowl of lamb stew. He scratches the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face that confuses me. "I didn't have much time to let the stew set like its supposed to."

I blink. I think we're both surprised when I guffaw, and then a full-fledged laugh echoes through the room.

He smiles, his eyes as warm as ever. He moves his hand to rest over mine and grips slightly.

I will get better. This time I know it.

Hope you liked it! She won't be completely better at the ceremony, because realistically there's no way you get over a deep depression that easily, but there will be a significant difference.

Read and Review :)