It's been more than 3 days since Katniss has left her bed for anything other than using the washroom and I'm terrified. She drifts in and out of sleep, screaming from nightmares she seems trapped in. Sometimes she seems to focus, just momentarily, and my heart jumps, but then her eyes glaze over again and she's gone. Only the nighttime gives me hope: the first night she had a moment of clarity long enough to ask me to stay with her, which, of course, I did. I slid into her bed and gathered her into my arms, and she responded, pressing back into me in our position of comfort from the trains. Each night since I've climbed in with her, and each time she's pressed back into me again, seeking that comfort. I can only hope it helps her. I know it helps me.
Greasy Sae sits with her in the morning and evening, trying to coax a bite of food, a sip of water past her lips but Katniss is mostly unresponsive. Tonight Sae pats my arm gently as she exits Katniss's room, an untouched bowl of soup in hand. "She's come out of it before, she'll come back again. We've just got to be patient." I think she's trying to make me feel better, but I can tell she doesn't fully believe what she's saying herself.
Haymitch came by, just once, to check up on her, but I'm not certain he could even see her little form curled up tight in the bed. He wouldn't come further than the door to her bedroom, and he mumbled under his breath nearly the entire time he was here, which wasn't very long.
I, on the other hand, have only left her side to bake things to try to tempt her back: cheese buns, brownies, cinnamon rolls, but nothing has gotten a response. I've done what little baking I have in Katniss's kitchen, which is less than ideal. Even though it's identical in layout to mine it's poorly set up and sparsely equipped. I bake things for Katniss that she won't eat, and breads for the crews who are helping to rebuild the district. Sae delivers them for me so that I don't have to leave Katniss's house.
When I'm not baking I sit beside her bed, watching her. Today I call Dr. Aurelius, Katniss would be livid that I've discussed her with the doctor, but I feel like I'm going out of my mind waiting for her to snap out of her stupor, my frustration with my inability to help is threatening my own mental stability. The doctor is kind, encouraging me to be patient. "Speak to her Peeta," he counsels, "Touch her, if you feel comfortable. Do things to help ground her in the present."
Which is how I find myself kneeling beside her bed, ignoring the pain in my leg that this position elicits from the seam between flesh and metal. In this position my face is level with hers, only inches apart. I stroke her hair, tucking the strands behind her ear. Her eyes are closed but I don't think she's asleep; her breathing is too shallow, too quick. In a low, calm voice I talk to her, tell her how Sae comes every day and worries about her, tell her that Haymitch visited, drunk as ever. I tell her about the things I've been baking in her kitchen, joking about how I'm going to set up her kitchen like mine so that I can teach her to bake too. I describe to her the world outside her room, the lilacs that are just starting to open outside her back door and how already the smell perfumes Victor's Village. I talk and talk and talk, until my mouth is dry and I'm sick of the sound of my voice, and still there is no reaction. And something inside me breaks. The fear and desolation that I've been trying to push back overwhelms me. I lay my head beside hers and start to cry. "Katniss," it comes out as a sob, "Please don't leave me. I need you." I close my eyes tightly and cry, releasing days of pent-up sadness and helplessness.
I've started to drift, exhausted from my emotional outburst and from days of constant vigilance, when I feel it; my hair being brushed back from my forehead. My eyes fly open and Katniss's silver eyes stare back at me, focussed and alert. "Peeta," she whispers, her voice a soft rasp from disuse. I raise my head to look at her, my mouth open in shock. I'm afraid to say or do anything, afraid that she'll disappear again. What she says next jolts me out of my stupor.
"Do you hate me, Peeta?"
"What? No. No! Why? Never…" I trail off, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"You did hate me. You should hate me. I deserve it. Everything you've lost, everything you've suffered. It's all because of me." Her tone is strangely detached, straightforward, no self-pity in her voice. I shake my head vehemently, trying to find words to contradict her, but she continues as if she doesn't see me. "You lost your leg, your home, your sanity, all my fault. Your family is dead because of me. They're dead and it's my fault." Rationally I know it isn't Katniss's fault, the Capitol was behind everything, but her words feed the demons in my mind, they're too much in line with the lies that the Capitol fed me. In my exhausted and overwhelmed state I'm struggling to distinguish the truth, to hold onto what I know is real.
"Katniss stop," I manage, eyes pressed tightly closed, fists clenched beside me. There is silence as I pull myself back from the abyss, back into the present. When I open my eyes again she's still staring at me, but her face is a mask of misery.
"She said it was my fault that…" she stops, and I can feel her slipping away again, back into her dark place. Impulsively I grab her shoulders.
"No, none of it was you Katniss!"
She makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "She said Prim is dead because of me. That it's my fault." I can feel her whole body shaking under my hands. I climb up to sit on her bed as quickly as my numb leg will allow and gather her into my arms. We hold each other tightly, guarding each other against the monsters, real and imagined, as she whispers in halting words about the phone conversation that lead to her meltdown. I'm utterly outraged, I've been angry with Katniss's mother for months, for abandoning her daughter yet again, but this cruelty is beyond what I imagined she was capable of. She had always, it seemed, been distant and neglectful, but this level of malice was something I assumed only my own mother had been capable of.
I rock Katniss in my arms as we cling together. "She's lashing out at you because she's in pain, but she's wrong Katniss, none of this was your fault, you've always protected everyone, always done what you felt was right. It's not your fault." I emphasize. Her body sags against mine, utterly exhausted. I help her to lie back down. She pulls back a corner of the blanket in silent invitation and I climb in beside her unhesitatingly. As before, she presses back into me, moulding her back to my chest. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in tighter.
I'm concerned that tomorrow I'll find her unresponsive again but I'm so tired that I simply can't fight sleep. Before I fall over the edge I hear her whisper, "Thank you for not giving up on me."
In the morning, before I even open my eyes, two things immediately register in my brain: the sun is fully up, and I'm alone. I haven't slept past the dawn in months, it's disorienting, and I haven't slept straight through the night like that in longer than I can remember. But the more pressing concern is Katniss's absence. I'm out of her bed and most of the way down the stairs before I catch the soft murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. I walk in to find Sae at the stove, ladling out hot grain and raisins and Katniss at the table drinking tea and smiling.
Smiling.
"Good morning Peeta," Sae greets me, pressing a bowl into my hands and kissing my cheek. She doesn't seem upset, or even the least bit surprised, to find me here, obviously having spent the night. Then again, she probably knows I've been here the past four nights anyway. If anything, she seems happy to see me.
Katniss looks up at me, her expressive silver eyes clear and bright. She motions for me to sit beside her and I do, gratefully. We eat quietly, like every other morning, but this morning after we finish she grabs my arm.
"Peeta, are you going home to bake?" I actually hadn't thought that far ahead but it would be good to get back into my routine. So I nod. "Can I…" she stops, her eyes wide and fearful. I think maybe she doesn't want to be alone but is too shy to ask if I'll stay with her. Selfishly, I don't want to be alone either.
"Would you like to come and help me?" I ask in a rush, "I haven't made much for the workers in the past few days and I could use some help to get back on track." The light that floods her silver eyes tells me that I've guessed correctly. She nods smartly, and after we clean up our breakfast dishes she follows me across the green to my house.
For a while she watches me quietly as I get lost in the measuring and mixing of preparing dough, but she rather quickly sees the patterns of my recipes and begins to anticipate what I'll need next, handing me ingredients and utensils, washing up bowls and spoons as we go. I don't notice, at first, how in sync we are. It's only when the dough is rising and the oven heating up that I realize all of the dishes have been washed and tucked away already. I recognize what an incredibly good team we make. Not that I should be surprised. We've always been a good team. I smile at her in gratitude and, frankly, adoration. She blushes, but her eyes don't flit away, not this time.
"Peeta, I… I was wondering if… maybe… I mean, I need to, uhm." I'm learning that she generally only stumbles like this when she's asking for help or otherwise making herself vulnerable, so I smile patiently and wait for her to gather her thoughts. She huffs out an exasperated breath before continuing, "I want to call Dr. Aurelius today." My eyebrows shoot up, she's been back in Twelve for four months and has ignored every one of his calls and letters, had completely ignored me the couple of times I'd suggested she speak with him. "Yeah, I know," she says as if reading my mind, "But after the past couple of days…" she trails off leaving her thoughts unsaid but I know what she means even without them.
"Okay," I start, hoping to encourage her but not frighten her out of the idea. "Do you need his number? I have it here…"
"It's not that, exactly. I just, well, I wonder if I could call him from here? If, uhm, if you might stay with me while I dial? So… so that… I don't…" I can imagine Katniss dialing, then losing her resolve and hanging up, she's always been far better at running from her issues than confronting them, and her asking for my help is both a huge step in the right direction and incredibly endearing.
"Of course, anything you need Katniss, I'll always be here for you."
She smiles, looking relieved. "Is now okay? Before I change my mind?"
Which is how I've come to be standing in my study, dialing the phone while Katniss chews her bottom lip and fluctuates between looking determined and terrified. I hand the receiver to her and stand in front of her, in silent encouragement. Once the doctor has picked up the phone and they've exchanged greetings she nods and I slip out of the study. For the first time in days I feel hopeful. We are going to be okay.