(Point of View: Katniss)
There were many reasons I was glad I'd told Peeta not to undress me. Standing in front of the mirror wearing nothing was a stark reminder of several of them. It was true what Peeta said when he first got back to District 12. I had nearly starved myself to death.
What an inefficient means of killing oneself, I thought.
There were also the ugly scars from the burns. I'd started avoiding mirrors back in the Capitol, and I'd continued to avoid them in District 12. As I ran my fingers along my scarred skin, I wondered how anyone would ever find me attractive without clothing – even Peeta. Peeta had burn scars, but his looked better than mine. I might be able to gain some weight to look healthier, but I could not remove the burn scars. I knew I should be happy that most of my scars were not obvious when I was dressed, but somehow that was not enough. I held my white blouse up against my body and touched my shoulders, my ribs and my chest with the other hand to feel what he might have felt. What had he thought of touching my damaged body? Although his eyes were closed, Peeta's face had formed the same expression of concentration that he often had when he was painting. He was gentle, almost too gentle. It was as if he thought I would break if he pressed his hands against me too hard. He surprised me by moving his fingertips all over my blouse and not just over the obviously sensual places. After a while he opened his eyes and smiled at me. Then he put his arms around me and held me tightly. I pressed my chest lightly against his as there was no need to try to avoid that happening anymore. In his arms I finally felt myself relax. It was then that I felt the warmth that I so desperately needed. My eyes became teary, but I think I managed to hide that from Peeta. It wasn't Peeta's fault. I was just too self-conscious to enjoy him touching me up to that point. Somehow I felt less vulnerable in his arms.
(Point of View: Peeta)
I had my hands around her neck. She was moving her mouth but she was unable to speak. I recognized that it was my name that she was trying to say. It didn't matter. She could say anything she wanted. I wasn't listening. Why should I? She…Katniss…wasn't even a human being! Soon she wouldn't be able to say anything. This was a death she deserved! The handcuffs cut into the flesh of my wrists, and blood ran down my arms. I felt no pain. What I was doing was too important for me to feel any pain. Her color started to change. Her attempts to free herself from my grasp and call out grew weaker. It wouldn't be long now.
I awoke from the nightmare and immediately jumped about a foot away from her. I gasped for air. I could feel my heart racing. My head throbbed. I heard the steady breathing of her slumber.
She's the real Katniss. I told myself. Everything is alright. I didn't feel alright though.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I tried to figure out a safe place to go.
Home. I thought. I'll go home.
I grabbed my jacket and ran out of the front door. I passed my Victor's Village house and ran into town. The main street was silent and dark. I reached the bakery and fell into the ashes near the melted oven. Dropping to my knees, I put my forehead against the cool metal of the melted oven and ran my fingers through the ashes at my feet.
I didn't kill her. She's still alive. I whispered to myself over and over. I cried in sobs.
It was early, but there were a few people who passed by. I saw the stares of sympathy even through my swollen and tear-filled eyes. They seemed to recognize me as the baker's son. They saw me as a teenager who had lost his whole family and was consumed with grief. That was one thing that I was. They thought I was crying only for my family, of course. What they didn't know was that this time I was crying for me too. There was a monster inside of me. I couldn't escape it. No drug could quell it. No amount of calming techniques could pacify it. Delly was right. It wasn't a good idea to spend your life with someone you'd been brain-washed to kill.