Sunshine beams through the windows, how did I get here? I don't remember making my way to bed; Peeta must have carried me here from the couch. The last memory I have is working on the leather book with him. I lie in bed and pull the covers over my head. I dread getting up. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They are particularly heavy today. He stands in the doorway.
"Come on Katniss." Ugh. Why does he have to be so cheery in the morning? Buttercup is now making himself comfortable on the other side of the bed. I reach over in a friendly gesture to pet him, and I lose my pillow. Peeta snatches it, and my comforter soon follows. I lay there. "We help each other. No more doing nothing, I bake, you hunt. At least I think that's how the routine once went. Real or not real?"
I mutter "Real." He smiles brightly. "Today you'll go out. I'll bake. Then we will work on the book." I give him my best sarcastic grin. He waits for me to get dressed, and leave the house. The walk to the woods is quiet, but peaceful. I reach the woods. First instinct is to cry, I hold back though. I am strong. Since the war the woods has surprisingly recovered. New life has sprung up where the dead lost theirs. I lean against a tree, and eventually climb up it. From the branch I shoot three squirrels. Once I retrieve them it becomes clear my shooting is rusty. The first is in the belly, the second in the head, however the third is in the eye. Without a hunting partner the woods are somber. It soon becomes dusk. I gather my kills, stopping at the Hob on the way home. Everyone is surprised to see me I guess. I drop the squirrels off to Greasy Sae. She smiles, I nod in response. An unspoken system we've had for years.
I make it home to find it smells of delicious bread. It's not until then that I realize I had absolutely nothing to eat today, despite the few berries I picked. My stomach aches it is so hungry. There he is, cleaning up his mess. I sit down in a chair at the table. I hope he doesn't have too much to do, because I am really hungry. I look up, only to see him gripping the edge of the sink. His eyes are locked outside the window, and sweat is pouring off his forehead. An episode, a flashback, whatever they call it. "Peeta, Peeta. It's not real. It's not real." His grip looses and eyes lock on mine. I'm standing only a foot away. I am scared. Who knows what he is seeing, but if it's anything like my nightmares- it has to be terrifying. "Peeta." I say softly not knowing how to approach him. He finally mutters "There are pills on the counter. A green, a blue, a white. Could you bring them to me?" His hands are still tightly wrapped around the edge of the sink. I give them to him, and he takes them. His face softens. It's over. He looks so tired; I help him to the couch, and place a washcloth on his forehead. I've seen my mother do it so many times over the years. It's the only comforting thing I can think to do. I sit down on the couch beside him, rubbing his arm gently. He looks up at me.
"You tried killing me with the berries. Real or not real?"
"Not real. The berries were for both of us. The night before our first games, you and I sat up. And you kept thinking of a way to show them you weren't just a piece in their games. I pulled the berries out to show them that." He looks slightly confused but seems to understand. We sit there for a while, and I finally get up to bring food to him, and for myself. Greasy Sae made us chicken stew, and he made cheese buns. I start off by feeding him, but he manages to finish by feeding himself. After the late dinner and after six cheese buns later he grabs the book. He starts drawing a picture of a train car; there are two figures in it. One female, one male. I know for sure that it's us. I study him drawing. I'm so concentrated on the pencil strokes; I barely notice he's looking at me. I make a face, he smiles and looks away.
"You remember details?" I am puzzled as to how he can remember the arrangement of the train's bed car, but not his own family. "I remember things that the capitol couldn't take away from me. I remember being together on the train, never what happened. They did tell me that you and I, umm." I know what he is getting at. The baby, what else? I begin to explain "Not real, it never happened." I bite my bottom lip and shrug. His tongue wets his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the rug. "Do you have nightmares?" He asks. I nod slowly. "Yes." I don't want to tell him how frequently, or how terrifying they are because I'll look weak. He whispers "Me too." I can't imagine the intensity of his nightmares. His are probably worse than mine. I didn't have the capitol tinker with my mind. He did though. I start to feel how heavy my eyelids are, and lay down on the couch. He's still drawing though, staring so intensely. The movements of his hand are art.