XV

…

Bread. The smell of fresh baked bread should have been the light bulb in my head, telling me to turn around and run. It was one of my triggers, bread. That along with flour and other baked goods just caused something inside me to snap. They all reminded me of the Games and more specifically they all reminded me of Peeta.

Bread and the others were something I did my best to avoid. I didn't look, smell, nor even dare eat anything of or remotely close to sort. In my mind, allowing myself to snap, to back into the arena was the end.

But, like I said, the smell of fresh baked bread should have been the light bulb in my head, telling me to turn around and run for it. Sadly, it didn't though. No, I told myself otherwise. I told myself Cato had gone down to town while I was gone at Haymitch's and bought a loaf of bread like he had done several other times. I let my subconscious take over and my mind be pushed aside. And I just kept going through the door till it was too late to run.

It wasn't till the wooden door clicked shut behind me that I looked up from where I stood. And there, my eyes fell on Cato. He was seated on the left side of the mahogany table, the exact one from the train that Effie had request be put in my home as a reminder of my drive and power and whatever else. His solidify stature was filled with mix emotions as if he was caught between good and bad. His fists were clenched on the table and his eyes were soft. It was then I realized the mug that sat in front on him and that the hand wrapped around it did not belong to him. But as my eyes traveled further to the right, across the table I saw its true owner.

Mr. Mellark.

Tall frame, wrinkled forehead, graying hair, flour-dusted shirt, cracked hands, blue eyes, stubby fingernails, constant smile, kind soul Mr. Mellark sat right there in front on me, just feet away from where I stood, right there at the kitchen table.

My body freezes, joints lock, and bones chill. A thin layer of sweat breaks across my skin and I feel my pupils widen. My fists clench together and my feet seem to me planted in place. My mind began to work at the speed of light and chest seemed to uncontrollably pound. My breaths feel quick and sharp and everything just seems to be all too much for my body to deal. Anything and everything seemed to be going wrong within me.

It was past a week, eleven days to be exact and he was here, he was here six days late.

What the hell was going on?

I look to Cato for help, an answer at the very least. But the look on his face told it all. He could give me no help nor did my gut tell me he'd be compliantly willing to lend a hand if he could.

I had to do this.

I really had no choice.

I had to do this.

"Mr. Mellark," I stumble.

He nods, "Katniss."

I had to do this.

I really had no choice.

I had to do this.

And I suppose Cato knew this, that I had to do this, deal with what was in front of me, talk to Mr. Mellark. He gave me a look and I don't know what about my being that told him so, but he nodded his head before demising himself from the table, the room.

Then it was just the two of us, Mr. Mellark and I.

The atmosphere was still and the air stiff. He did not speak and word nor make any movement. And I was appreciative of that. I needed time. I needed a moment to adjust.

It took more than a moment, but in time it happened. I moved from my spot in front of the backdoor, slow stepping till I was just at arm's length with Mr. Mellark. I took off my coat, draping it over the back of one of nearest chair. Then slowly, but steadily I stepped around the table to where Cato had been seated moments ago. Finally, I sat down, right across from Mr. Mellark.

It wasn't me who spoke the first words. It was Mr. Mellark, always a Mellark making big, brass moves.

"I'm sorry I didn't come when I said I would have. I know this, me coming, is probably abrupt and uncalled for. I should have given you some warning of my coming."

I silently shake my head, before I find my voice. "No, it's okay."

He nods, continuing.

"I'm not my wife. I'm not here to yell or spit or harass you in anyway. None of those things or anything of the sort are any part of my intention coming here. I did not plan of doing anything of the sort when I told Rye I would be making an appearance and I still don't plan to do anything like so."

He pauses.

"I don't blame you for his death. I don't blame anyone for his death really, not even the boy from District 1. As little as he was qualified to enter the Games, he had an equal chance like everyone other one of you to make it out alive. That's all the Games are, a game of odds and chance and the odds just weren't in his favor."

I shake my head. "I wouldn't say that."

"Say what?" he asks.

"That is wasn't my fault," I say looking to him. "It was my fault, I am the reason your son is dead."

"No," he shakes his head. "Don't you dare say or even think that, Katniss."

I shake my head. "You weren't there."

"I saw though." He tells me, keeping eye contact.

"But you weren't there. If you were there, you'd see it otherwise."

There's a pause. And, this time it's me who pauses, taking in a deep breath before continuing.

"They eyed us the moment we stepped foot off the train. I drew attraction toward us, I volunteered and that sparked something in the others. They were all interested. District 12 tributes are never the ones to volunteer, that's always the role of District 1 and 2. We don't train our kids to kill, we train our kids to survive and volunteering to go fight to the death in the Hunger Games is a death sentence. And then there was me, and Peeta right beside me, right in the crossfire.

The week leading up to entering that arena, all eyes were on us. Everyone was watching. Peeta and I kept to ourselves for the most part and that was fine. All the other tributes still watched us from the corners of their eyes. Their glances and sneak peeks weren't threating, just… wonder.

Yet, that didn't last long. Odds weren't in our favor. I got an eleven out of stupidity and then Peeta announced his love for me on live television. And that, all that attracted a lot more eyes. The Careers especially were intrigued by then, not just wonder, but in fear.

Everything following that just went downhill. The Careers approached him that night before we returned to our rooms and I didn't stop them. I knew what they were asking of him and I knew what he would do for me. I didn't stop him. I just let it go and happen. I didn't think that much of it really, it was a game and we were their pieces. Everything was a game."

I swallow, taking another deep breath.

"Katniss," Mr. Mellark pleads in hopes of keeping me from pushing myself over the edge, but I shake my head and continue.

"Then I was up in that tree and he was right there in the middle of it all. I - I should have seen it coming, it was right there in front of me. The boy, the knife, Peeta, it was all right there. And - and worse of all, I could have stopped it, I could have prevented his death. I know I didn't love him, but I cared. And I had a knife in my boot and a clear view to be able to make the kill and yell at him to run. But then it happened and he was dead."

I pause, trying to catch my breath, but unable as if I had just run a million miles.

"It- it was my fault, Mr. Mellark. I am the one to blame."

Yet he doesn't nod his head in agreement as I would have hoped. Instead he gives me a smile, letting go of his mug and reaching across the table until he has his hands engulfed around mine.

"It wasn't you're fault," he tells me. "My son made the choices he wanted to make. He had no plan on winning those Games, he told me so. He loved you and you do crazy things for the people you love. He told me he was going to save you in any way he possibly could. He knew what he was getting himself into. He had a plan, a goal and he achieved it the moment you step out of that arena alive."

Feeling him give my hands a soft squeeze, I feel myself on the edge of crying.

"He should have never loved me. I was and will never be good enough for him."

Mr. Mellark smiled. "He was a good kid, but he was also persistent, there was no stopping him. He deserved to love whoever he pleased."

"He was genuine, truly too good for this world."

"Thank you," Mr. Mellark mumbles.

And then we fall silent.

We stay like that for a while. I, holding back tears the entire time and Mr. Mellark grasping my hands in his. But like those eleven days it took him to get here, too much time passed and he had to go. He gave me a hug and we said goodbye without a word. He shook Cato's hand and told him we were welcomed to come by the bakery anytime. He nodded his head and then was slipping out the door into the dark. The door shut behind him and he was gone and it was done.

Cato gave me a thin look before I excused myself without a word to the bathroom. There I showered for over an hour, silently crying. Cato has to bang on the door numerous times before he was able to snap me out of my trance and get me to come out on my own. I dress myself in leggings and a sweater I wasn't sure was even mine before crawling on top on my bed.

Cato peeks into my room some time later. He looks as he just showered, now wearing nothing more than a pair of sweatpants, but below the surface, his wet locks can't hide the tired look his faces so desperately tries to cover up.

It's as he's about to shut the door to my room that I speak up.

"No." I tell him. "Don't shut the door, please."

He gave me a nod, taking in my being before asking, "How was Haymitch's?"

And I don't know really what happened, but as if something had snapped, my eyes began to water and I was crying again.

My vision blurred and my body trembling, I don't even realize what's happening around me. I don't realize that Cato had disappeared from the doorway of my room until I felt the bed shift and felt him lay beside me. Tucking me into his chest, my head rested under his chin and his hands were wrapped around my back. He let me cry without a word, rubbing circles along my back till unconsciousness took me.