True to his word Peeta has been coming over every evening, and after we have dinner together he helps me go through the huge pile of what he calls my 'fan mail'. He skims them, looking for anything that he thinks might upset me, then we read the letters out loud to each other. I let him read most of them to me; it's soothing, listening to his voice. And he was right; most of the letters are sweet, if strange, asking me how life is in District 12, asking about Peeta, thanking me for my part in the revolution. That surprises me, I figured after the business with Coin that people would hate me, or at least be anxious to forget the deranged Mockingjay, but apparently not. A surprising number are from children. A couple of the letters even contain marriage proposals, which makes Peeta huff, and I can't hold back my laughter both at the ridiculousness of some stranger wanting to marry me based on nothing but those television propos, and at Peeta's reaction.
I've been reading the other letters too, the letters from people I know personally, who know me too. These are harder; I can only manage one every few days. Cressida is brightly encouraging, Johanna brash and crude, and all of them are filled with love and good wishes. It hurts. I feel undeserving. I can't bring myself to open Annie's letter, knowing that Finnick's death is my fault, sweet, mad Annie, all alone in the world because of me. Her letter will have to wait.
It's rainy today, a cold drizzle that keeps me away from my woods and makes me grumpy. Peeta is in town with Thom, they've been speaking on and off since my birthday, about the old bakery site I think. I should probably ask Peeta about that, he's so good at asking me how I am and what I need, I never indicate that I'm even remotely interested in his life. I mean, I am, I guess, it just seldom occurs to me to ask. I should make a point to ask him how he is and what he's up to. He doesn't have many left in his life either.
It's been just over a week since my birthday, another Capitol train full of mail has come and gone, I've received another bundle of letters, and still there isn't one from my mother. She hasn't called either, I'm not sure I'd answer if she did but that's moot because the phone has been silent. And I realize that I'm angry about that. Really angry. She's my mother, and it was my 18th birthday. Before the war 18 was a kind of big deal, the last year that you were eligible for the Reaping, the year that your formal education ended and you would start to work. Now there's no Reaping and universities in other districts are beginning to open their doors to students everywhere, the new government has made training one of their priorities, but 18 still feels like it should be special. I'm an adult now, legally anyway. I've been an adult in practically every other sense for years. Greasy Sae and Peeta and Thom and even Haymitch wished me a happy birthday, but not my own mother. Not the woman who gave birth to me on that very day. It's true that I never really cared about my birthday in the past, except of course for the one that enabled me to sign up for tesserae, but with her so far away and with everything that's happened… no, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She doesn't care what happens to me, she's made that abundantly clear.
Suddenly I'm seized with a desire to confront her about that, to ask her why she hasn't had anything to do with me in so many months. Before I can think about whether it's a good idea I've found her number, still on the desk in the study, and dialed the phone. She answers on the first ring, the sound of her voice momentarily striking me dumb. "Hi Mom," I manage to croak out.
"Oh." She sounds surprised, maybe even displeased to hear my voice. "Hello Katniss." That's it, no how are you or I've missed you, nothing but hello. And I'm furious.
Dispensing with any pleasantries I bark "Do you know what last week was?" I wait, but I'm met with silence, which only fuels my fury. "It was my birthday." She makes a little sound, something like 'Hm', but it sounds more bored than contrite.
"You forgot didn't you," I accuse, unable to keep the rage out of my voice. She sniffs.
"I'm sorry; I've been really busy here with the hospital…" her voice trails off.
"Busy? You've been busy for months mom, you never call, you never write, I could be dead here and you'd never even know!" She gasps a little when I say 'dead' and I cringe, knowing that she's thinking of Prim, of the daughter who is dead, but I can't stop. "You don't care at all, do you?
"It's not like that," she snaps, but she doesn't deny it. "You don't understand, I've lost so much…"
"I don't understand? I don't understand?" I scream into the phone. "You think I don't understand loss, mother? You don't think I have nightmares every night about all of the people I loved who are dead? You're the only family I have left and you won't even acknowledge that I exist! You abandoned me, again! I live alone in an empty house surrounded by the burned out remains of everything I ever knew. Alone! And where are you? Off in District Four, building a life without me." My voice cracks a little, which only serves to make me angrier.
"You don't need me anyway, you made that clear, and you've barely endured me for years!"
"You left us to die!" I'm incredulous.
"What right do you have to lecture me?" Her voice is surprisingly strong, angry, edged with what sounds like hatred. "I lost my husband Katniss, you have no idea what that's like. And then I lost my child. She was my flesh and she's gone."
"I was more of a mother to Prim than you were," I spit, spitefully.
"You were a menace," she screams. "You with your propos and speeches, I bet you thought you were inspiring, that you were noble," she spits, derisively. She hardly sounds like my mother anymore. My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that I barely hear the front door of my house closing and footsteps coming through the hall. But my mother isn't finished yet. "Do you have any idea what you did to Prim? She was so bright, she had such a future ahead of her. She was going to be someone. Do you know why she was even in the Capitol Katniss?"
"Coin sent her. To help the rebellion," I answer. I know that Prim, while young, had chosen to be there, had the maturity and skills to make a difference. I know she had wanted to help because that's the kind of selfless person she was.
"She wasn't there because she wanted to help the rebellion. She was there because she wanted to be a hero, like her big sister." She sneers the word 'hero', contempt dripping from every syllable. "She was there because of you Katniss. It's your fault that she's dead!"
We gasp in tandem. Her words hang between us, almost visible, tangible. As if in slow motion a wall of blackness crushes the air from my lungs, I can't breathe. The phone drops from my hand, hitting the table with a loud clatter and the dark presses in. I'm only dimly aware of hands on my arms, shaking me. Peeta's voice from far down a tunnel, yelling at me to breathe, before the blackness claims me in blissful oblivion.
My first conscious impression is of a large hand stroking my hair, and for a brief moment I'm transported to the tiny house in the Seam, to Sunday mornings when my father would gently wake me in the quiet of pre-dawn to go hunting together in the woods. Perhaps today he'll take me to the lake and I can practice swimming, and we'll catch fish, or maybe a duck. I love all of my Sundays with my father, but the days we go to our lake are my favourite. When I open my eyes though it's not my father's calm grey eyes looking back at me, it's Peeta's sad blue ones, looking afraid and maybe a little angry. He's speaking to me, I can see his lips moving, but all I can hear is my mother's voice, over and over again, 'It's your fault Katniss, your fault, they're all dead because of you…'
I'm sucked back into the blackness again, time seems to stop. I'm dimly aware of voices, faces occasionally swim into my vision but I can't process who they are or guess what they want. When I drift into sleep I relive that day, that horrible day in the City Circle. I watch Prim burn over and over, only now she screams at me with my mother's voice, 'It's your fault Katniss, you killed me! It should have been you! You're worthless!' Each time I awaken to blackness and the feeling of rawness in my throat but I see nothing, hear nothing.
I'm not sure how many hours or maybe days have passed when I feel myself being scooped up and cradled in strong arms. The movement startles me into reality, however briefly, and I open my eyes. I'm looking up at Peeta, who is staring straight ahead, concentrating as he carries me up the stairs of my house. His expression is pained, but his arms are steady and comforting. I turn my head ever so slightly to nuzzle my face into his shoulder. His arms tighten almost imperceptibly around me, but he says nothing.
He lays me on my bed, so gently, then crouches down until his face is level with mine, and strokes my hair, murmuring soft words that I can't make out, but that are comforting anyway.
Through the fog and anguish I sense him standing to leave and reach out, grasping his hand tightly. "Peeta, stay. Please." He hesitates only a moment before nodding. I close my eyes and release his hand, and a few seconds later I feel the bed dip as he slides in behind me. He leaves a gap between us, but I don't want that, so I use what little energy I can muster to shuffle backwards, pressing my back against his chest. He wraps his arms tentatively around me and I grasp his hand again, entwining our fingers. He sighs quietly and I can feel his warmth and steadiness enveloping me, permeating the blackness. I feel the softest of kisses in my hair as he settles in, and faintly I hear his whispered response 'Always.' His breath tickles the back of my neck as it gradually slows and deepens, the weight of his arm subtly increasing, his fingers in mine going slack. When I'm sure he's asleep I whisper into the night, "The first time you held me like this, in the cave, it was the safest I'd felt since before my father died. In the middle of that hell you were my island of stability, my sanctuary. You've always been here for me. Always."