Chapter 4

When we get home, the first thing I notice is Prim's absence.

"We dropped her off at Rue's house on our way to the hospital." My mother tells me. I nod, thinking it's better that she's not here right now.

I would hate for her to see what I've done to myself.

The three of us stand in the living room, none of us knowing what to say or do next. My mother starts first, "Honey, can I get you anything? Are you hungry, I can make you something to eat?"

I shake my head softly at her, noting the feeling of her grasping at straws. My father still hasn't said anything; I can only imagine how disappointed he is in me right now.

I can't say that I blame him.

"No, I think I'm just going to go lay down for a bit. I'm kinda tired." I tell her in a low, raspy voice. I wonder if my voice will ever go back to sounding like it used to.

She gives me a very small smile and comes over to give me a light hug.

"Okay," she says, "Let me know if you need anything. We can talk after you've rested, if you'd like." I give her a small nod, knowing full well the last fucking thing I want to do is talk about what happened.

I don't look at my father as I slowly shuffle down the hall to my room. I open the door, stand in the threshold and look around. I take in the olive-green walls, as well as the dark green accent wall on the other side of the room. It's been painted this way since I moved from the nursery into this room when I was three.

My dad is an avid adventurer and hunter, and living in a small town such as ours, Panem, on the outskirts of the forest has only gone on to fuel that fire in him. He's been taking me out to hike, hunt, fish, and camp practically since I could walk, so it was a no-brainer when the decision came on the color for my room.

He wanted to bring the woods to me so I would always feel at home. Now I wonder if I will ever see those woods again.

I take in the rest of the room: the Queen-size bed with a dark brown comforter; my full length mirror which hides my limited amount of clothing; my Green Day poster hanging on my wall (I don't care what anyone says, they will always be my favorite band); and my cream-colored dresser with pictures of my friends and I scattered on it.

I walk up to the dresser to take a closer look at one of the pictures of our group.

It was from junior prom last year.

My best girlfriends Johanna, Annie, Madge, Delly and I are standing in the front, with the guys behind us.

Gale has had a crush on Madge since we were in elementary school, so he was over the moon when I became friends with her in 8th grade, even though he was already in 9th grade. After teasing the hell out of him, he finally got up the nerve to ask her to prom last year, and she quickly accepted.

And then there was Finnick. Oh, Finn. The same age as Gale and built like a Greek God from being on a swim team since before he could walk, I don't think I've ever met a more outgoing, hilarious, completely self-obsessed person in my life. He has so many great qualities, but God help his promiscuity and lack of filter. I always though he and Johanna would go well together, due to her also lacking the ability to control what comes out of her mouth.

We all know his playboy, too-hot-to-trot personality is mostly a mask though, because he is head over heals in love with Annie. He could literally have any girl he wants, literally ANY one of them, and he chose sweet, shy Annie who is the nicest person on the planet, with her flawless porcelain skin and dark auburn hair. Finn transferred from California when he was in 9th grade, became friends with Gale, so by extension becoming friends with the rest of us. i wouldn't have had it any other way.

He took interest in Annie right away, but it wasn't until he was in 11th grade when his persistence in pursuing her finally paid off and they started dating, having been together ever since.

She grounds him and he makes her more confident in herself; they are the perfect couple.

Delly and Johanna are in the middle of the picture, with Delly's friend Thom behind her. He didn't go to school with us, so no one knew him really well, but we all found him to be a quite, sweet person and he fit right in with our group.

Johanna did not have a date that year, claiming she "didn't need a man in her life" and that it was "better if she didn't have a date anyways so she could steal Glimmer Davis' date by the end of the night." Little did we know she would actually succeed, making Glimmer hate her even more. If that were even possible.

I wore a green, floor length, sleeveless dress with jeweled "diamonds" around the top with matching silver shoes. Prim and my mother had fussed over my makeup for hours and curled my long hair, claiming that there's only one prom and I needed to have good pictures to show for it.

I look at how happy my face is.

It's such a rare expression for me nowadays, but in this picture I have a genuine smile on my face. All of us did; except for Finnick, who thought we were taking a funny picture, so his face looks ridiculous. Even Jo is smiling.

And then my eyes land on him.

Standing, no, towering, over me, looking straight into the camera with a smile on his face.

When I look at him in this picture, I try so desperately to see the boy I fell in love with. The boy who took me to see the Robin Hood when it played in our old throwback movie theatre as our first date because he knew I loved archery; the boy who sat with me watching bad reality TV for a week and a half when I came down with pneumonia last winter; the boy who treated my family and my friends so kindly; the boy I loved with my heart and my body for the first time ever.

All these memories are trying to come to the surface as I look at this picture, but I can't connect them anymore to the face looking back at me. Now all I can see when I look at him is the hate in his eyes when he slammed me into the wall, the piercing blue looking straight into my soul, trying to find a way to get to me. To hurt me.

I pick up the picture and rip it in half.

And in half again.

And again.

And again, until it's nothing but a pile of confetti on the floor.

I don't even notice I'm crying until I look up into my mirror. The reflection I see looking back at me stops my heart.

It isn't me.

I mean, I know it's me, but this person looks nothing like me.

I take in the deep purple bruise the size of a softball on my cheek. I take in the finger-shaped marks around my neck. I take in the dark circles under my eyes, making it look like I haven't slept in a month. I take in my tangled brown hair and beat red eyes.

This can't be me.

This broken piece of shit looking back at me can't possibly be me.

But it is. I tell myself.

This is you. This is how it's always been; it just took your act of stupidity and selfishness to bring it to light.

I turn and crawl into bed, leaving the torn picture on the ground. I get under the covers and lay my head gently down on the pillow. I start to feel the sensation of big arms around me. Comforting me. Lying with me. It almost feels like a phantom limb wrapped around my body.

And then I remember those arms that once held affection for me will never hold me again. I close my eyes and beg for sleep to come my way, praying to God that once it does I never wake up.

I am awakened by the sound of voices floating down the hallway. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but I don't feel rested at all.

I try to pay attention to what the voices are saying, and after a few moments I recognize them as my parents', getting louder and louder with each minute that passes.

"I'm going to fucking kill that piece of shit." I hear my dad say in a tone I've never heard him use. It chills me to the bone.

I hear my mother reply, "Honey, I know you're upset, I am too. But going after him like that isn't going to help the situat-"

"Upset? UPSET?" I hear my father roar.

"That son of a bitch raped our daughter. He fucking RAPED her, Lillian. We trusted him with our baby and he turned around and beat the shit out of her. I'm not just going to sit back and let him walk away from ruining our daughter's life. He's going to pay for what he did, and I will gladly be the one to slit his throat."

I can barely hear my mom's response, she's so quite compared to my dad.

"We're going to press charges. We're going to take her to the police and urge her to do the right thing, you know she will. We're going to do everything we can to get him put away. Away from our daughter and away from anyone else he might hurt. But getting angry and losing our heads is not the way to go about this, Scott. She's already scared, we don't want to make it worse."

"You bet your ass we're going to press charges. Come hell or high water, that bastard is going to rot in a jail cell until the day he dies if I have anything to say about it."

I can almost see my mother's downcast eyes as he says this. She hates seeing anyone be hurt, physically or emotionally. I know she wishes there was an easy fix to this, without anyone getting too caught up in their pain.

It's too late for me, though. Oh well.

I hear a big sigh, and then my dad say under his breath "I need to go for a drive. I'll be back."

On silent hunters' footsteps he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him so the foundation shakes.

I lie in bed, staring at the other side of the room for a while. Not crying. I don't think I have any tears left in me to shed.

I'm just drifting off to sleep again when I hear my door crack open. My eyes shoot up due to my newly heightened senses, always on alert, but relax when I see Prim standing in the doorway, dressed in a white nightgown and clutching the stuffed goat I gave her for her 5th birthday. She had insisted on naming it Lady, and I think no matter how old she gets, she will never be able to sleep without it.

She steps silently into the room, closing the door behind her with a click. She pads over to my bed peering at me, trying to see if I'm awake.

"Katniss?" she says softly, in a wispy, trembling voice.

"Hey, Little Duck." I say, trying to smile and wiping my nose with the back of my sweatshirt sleeve. She looks at me with an expression I can't read. It looks like empathy, but I'm not completely sure. She reaches out tentatively and brushes her fingers across the bruise on my cheek, all the while keeping eye contact with me.

Light as a feather, she brushes it again, and I try to hold back my wince. She sees the look of pain on my face from her light touch and slowly pulls her hand away to stand there, just looking at me.

I probably look like a monster to her I think to myself. Well, if that's what she thinks, she's right.

After a few more moments, she climbs into bed behind me and gets under the covers. I feel her shift and wrap one of her tiny arms around my waist, pulling herself as close to me as she can get.

On a normal day, I would think it was kind of funny. My little sister is basically spooning me, trying to be the big spoon even though she's only a little over half my size.

But right now, all I feel is the comfort I so desperately want, but know I don't deserve. I don't say anything though, and grab her hand that's around my waist, tucking it into my own, and lay my arm on top of hers, holding on for dear life.

She's silent for a while, and when she whispers into my ear I can hear the exhaustion and sadness mixed in her little voice,

"I love you, Katniss."

I was wrong about the tears. I definitely have more than enough to spill.

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it! Please review! You can also find me on tumblr at lovemesomehungergames1029