Chapter 18

I crawl my way into bed when I finally decide to get off the couch. Haymitch's news is hitting me hard. I can feel only despise towards the Capitol.

I pity Paylor. I really do. The government is incredibly unstable now that the rebels have won the war. Half the Capitol citizens are still supporting the Games, free to express how they feel through speech. They don't fear punishment like the Districts do.

But I'm unstable too. And so is Peeta. There's no one strong enough here in 12 to help Paylor regain control over Panem. She wants us, a hijacked baker and the shell of a huntress, to hold together the country?

A monument cannot remain standing on broken pillars.

Tears fall down my cheeks. Nothing in my life has been fair. The Capitol took everything from me. And now, no matter that it is a 'new' Capitol government, they still ask more from me. In a fit of rage, I grab one of the pillows from my bed and hurl it across the room. It hits the wall before landing on the floor with a light thud.

I'm glaring at the empty wall across from me, but its hard to keep the strength up to stay mad. Instead, I feel my shoulders deflate. I'm just tired. So tired of fighting it.

I fall into a restless sleep. My dreams are haunted by Paylor, calling out Peeta's name at a Reaping for the revived Hunger Games. Peeta, who is the number one target in the Arena. Peeta, who is chased by 11 other Tributes after the Bloodbath.

Peeta, who is slowly tortured to death by Tracker Jackers by faceless Careers.

Blood. Its everywhere. And when I turn around, my surroundings woozy as if I'm in a Tracker Jacker hallucination, Cato towers over me. Laughing. Holding a convulsing Peeta in a tight headlock.

"Go on. Try and save him." He laughs, blood dripping from claws marks that run along the side of his face, giving him a ghastly demeanor. "He's dead though. He always was, right?"

I try to do something. Hit Cato. Something. But I can't even move. The trees around us start to shift shapes and they turn into others. Clove. Marvel. Glimmer. Gloss. Careers.

The last thing I hear is Peeta's scream of agony as Cato violently twists Peeta's head to the right while Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer converge on Peeta's writhing body. Clove- with cruel, curved daggers. Marvel- a glittering spear edged with blood. Glimmer- my silver bow and arrows.

"Katniss! Katniss!"

My name grows louder until I can't stand it. My eyes snap open and I find my arms pinned to my sides. A heavy weight is holding my legs down on the mattress.

Its the blue eyes that catch the moonlight that reassure me that I'm not getting murdered in my sleep.

My heart races, the beats irregularly quick as adrenaline pulses through my veins. I'm panicking, afraid. My hunter's instincts are haywire. Danger. Everywhere.

But when Peeta wraps his arms around me, all I can do is begin to cry. I don't know how he got in here, nor do I really care. He's muttering words of comfort but I can't hear them from the wretched moans and sobs that are breaking free from my throat.

Words spew from my mouth, words that make sentences that I don't even understand. All I know is that Peeta is listening in between comforting me, keeping my head buried next to his neck on his shoulder.

Minutes grow to hours as Peeta sits there, lightly rocking me back and forth as my eyes continue to sting from the salty tears. Eventually, I calm down enough to control the noises pouring out of my mouth. Its almost embarrassing enough when I start to hiccup.

Peeta strokes my hair gently, like my mother used to do when I was sick. He is humming something, tuneless notes. His chest rumbles gently as exhaustion washes over me.

"What happened?" I croak eventually. Moonlight filters through the window as Peeta pulls back, illuminating one side of his face.

"Nightmare. You were screaming." He says. Sheepishly, he adds, "I'm sorry I came in here. You were thrashing around and I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

The words hang in the air. They sink in like needles. Screaming. Thrashing. Those were the least of my problems. But hurting myself? Its true that before Peeta came back to 12, I had some near accidents. Was he really worried I was going to inflict pain on myself? I'm not suicidal, I think firmly, but instead, a sense of doubt crosses over me.

Peeta removes his arms from around me now that I'm quiet and calmer. "Go back to sleep, Katniss. We can talk in the morning if you'd like, but I'm-"

"No." Its not an order. Its a plea. "Stay."

He seems to be conflicted as he lays me back on my pillow. "I don't know-"

"Please." The desperation in my voice is so unlike me. I hate it. But I can't control it.

My chest tightens when he slides off the bed, his face masking any emotions, and I'm immediately filled with dread. He's leaving. I shouldn't be surprised, but its the sudden hurt that makes the tears threaten to return.

Peeta crosses the room and I try to compose myself, to hold back his name on the tip of my tongue. To stop from calling him back.

He reaches down and picks up the pillow I threw earlier from the floor, returning to where I have curled up on the bed and, after brushing it off, places it down next to mine.

"Always."