Chapter 31

It takes a while, but soon, Cinna regains his usual, calm demeanor. "So, how have you been, Katniss? I've heard a lot of different stories, but I only want to hear it from you."

I shy away, looking down at the cold concrete floor beneath my feet. Shame rushes through me as I consider what to tell Cinna. "I... It was really hard," I say vaguely, my words fading as I trail off.

Cinna's expression doesn't reveal anything as he stares at me, willing me to continue on. His eyes are piercing into me. I can't lie to him. Not when I'd practically trusted him with my life during the Games.

"When she... Prim..." Its hard to say because when I talk about her, all I can think about it Peeta asking me to move on. I don't want to forget her. Not that I ever could. The guilt is sharper than any blade in the Games, especially when I think about how I'm still alive. When I look at Buttercup, who abhors me, and realize that she's the one he really wants to see.

Cinna hasn't moved his gaze from my face. I push on.

"I can't forget," I say finally, stammering slightly. Its my turn to tell him my story. To sit through the pain while he comforts me. "I miss her every day. And now, I don't know what I can do without her."

I hear his clothes rustle as he shifts next to me. "What about everything else?"

"I haven't been eating well until a month ago," I admit. "Sae and Haymitch had to keep me alive. But when Peeta came back-" I stop. I'm not quite sure what had come over me when Peeta came back. Or why my will to live was reincarnated.

As I'm puzzling over this for a few moments, Cinna adds quietly, "What about Peeta?"

"He- we had a fight," I say. I remember how I left Peeta this morning, storming out without giving him a chance to explain or talk me out of my anger.

Suddenly, I'm worried. I left him. It sinks in like a dagger, cutting deep into me.

I left him.

Cinna must realize that there's panic budding within me because he tells me, "Katniss, I know you're struggling right now. That's why I'm here in 12." He pauses to watch me as I struggle to control my emotions. "I'm sorry for what I've put you through, Katniss. I know you thought lost everything when she died. But you need to see what's truly in front of you."

This startles me beyond belief. It is almost the exact same words that I had snarled out to Peeta only moments before I walked out.

There's only one thought that crosses my mind as I stare at him in astonishment.

What have I done?

I've basically just insinuated to Peeta that I'm in love with him. Before then insinuating again that I didn't want to see him again until he realized that.

"So, what are you doing running to the Justice Building of all places? I thought you wanted nothing to do with the government?"

This reminds me of my plan. "I was going to inquire about the empty plot of land where Peeta's family's bakery used to be," I say.

Cinna looks surprised. "He's recovered?"

I nod, feeling a bit of relief. "For the most part. He went to the Capitol for treatment after the war was over. They neutralized most of the venom, so he shouldn't be having episodes."
"That's good." Cinna stands then, straightening up before adding, "then let's get those permits then."

It takes about an hour, but Cinna stays by my side as we wait for the Capitol attendant to look up and search for the files regarding the bakery property. He even convinces the attendant to give us the permits, even though Peeta is technically supposed to be present for such a transaction.

"She's the Mockingjay," he argues reasonably, "What do you think she'll really do with it? Blow up the property? She tried to save the nation, not destroy it."

The attendant hands over the papers without complaint after that.

After we take possession of the papers regarding the bakery, Cinna walks with me, talking amiably about his plans. "Paylor opened up a house in Victor's Village for me to stay in. Its near the entrance of town, so I can easily access it. She's having construction done on it as soon as possible so I can use it easily due to my situation."

I glance at him, tempering my sympathy. "How hard is it? To live like this?"

He shrugs. "Harder than most people think it is. I can't even feed myself. Paylor has assigned me some care assistants to help me." He looks down momentarily before adding with a grimace, "Its degrading. I can't eat. I can't dress. I can't even wash myself. I can't take part in the simple things of life, such as drawing, or playing music, or crafting clothing. I miss it."

I nod, but I can't even begin to imagine how hard it is for him. To live without your sister is hard enough.

But to live without your arms.

It must be terrifying.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," I mumble, even though its only a small consolation to the pain he had to endure.

Cinna shrugs. "I volunteered myself. To suffer. I knew what I was doing, Katniss. You were the only pure innocent we dragged into this."

We walk on, and he tells me about how he moved his belongings from the Capitol so he could stay here for a long period of time. I secretly hope he never leaves, but it isn't my decision. Besides, I also don't want to drag him down with me either.

Its only when we reach Victor's Village that we see Haymitch standing near a few Capitol workers, who are hurriedly trying to hustle around while he motions frantically, holding his flask in the other hand.

"Messing with the Capitol folk now, Haymitch?" I ask.

"Very funny, sweetheart. You look great for passing out cold on concrete," he sneers back, but his eyes are bright. Wild.

"Dammit, Haymitch. You haven't had too much to drink, have you?"

"Seriously, sweetheart? I live off of alcohol. No, I've decided to keep up with you and bread boy. I'm going to start keeping geese here."

I wrinkle my nose. "Suits you. Dirty animals for the more disgusting house in Panem."

"Har-har." Haymitch waves us away. "Why don't you go do something useful? I'm sure that boy missed you on your little excursion."

Immediately, I am reminded of my fight with Peeta. "Yeah, yeah. I'm on it," I grumble, not very convincingly.

Cinna nudges me with his shoulder. "Why don't we go give him the permits? Perhaps we can explain to him what the attendant told us about the land and the regulations."

I nod before we bid Haymitch goodbye, who only waves us off. He's too busy snapping at the workers as they construct the pen.

I lead Cinna to Peeta's house, trying to figure out what I'm going to say to him. Should I apologize? Should I explain my words somehow?

No, I can't do that. I hardly know what I'm feeling myself. Is it love? Or was I only angry at his lack of faith in our friendship? Our bond?

Cinna looks surprised when I don't knock on the door. I turn the doorknob quickly and motion him inside, explaining, "Peeta doesn't leave his door open. Its not like anyone in the District is keen on attacking a Victor of a previous Hunger Games. Not after they've seen what they can do on live television."

I don't add that Peeta and I have also gotten past that step quite a while ago. Letting each other into our lives. It just seemed to right. So natural.

But as soon as I shut the door behind us, I know that the lower floor is empty. There's no comforting sounds of Peeta working in the kitchen. There's no delicious scent of fresh bread welcoming us inside.

In fact, the house is eerily quiet.

Cinna glances at me cautiously as I creep further into the room, alert. "Peeta?" I call out to him quietly, half-expecting him to be walking down the stairs at that exact moment.

I'm met with silence.

Cinna follows me up the stairs as I investigate. Its strange that Peeta isn't responding. Perhaps he went out, eager to cool off after such a stinging comment on my behalf. Or maybe he went out to purchase more ingredients for baking.

But when Cinna and I reach the top of the stairs, I see a door slightly closed. His art studio. Of course, he must be painting.

I motion for Cinna to stay where he's at as I move to the door. I press my fingers against the heavy wood as the door swings open gently.

Peeta is sitting in the middle of the room at an easel.

Paint is splattered everywhere.

Red. Black. Green. Gray.

In his hand is a paintbrush, snapped in half. Gripped tightly as his fingers crush into the wood.

Peeta is having an episode.

A terrible one.