I was running.
Running from Peeta.
When I'd gone into the room to see him, he was not the same Peeta I'd said goodbye to in the arena. He had been sitting down on the end of the white bed, in white dressings, with his back to me. I didn't see his face, but just seeing the back of his head was enough to tell me he had been in much greater pain than I had ever imagined. His shoulders were slumped, and I could see through the white shirt he wore well enough to recognize the bumps in the middle of his back were his spine. Malnourished.
And then, he'd turned his head just a tad as I'd spoken his name softly. The side of his hollow cheekbone revealed a bruise, mixed with a smudge of what looked like grime, likely from when the others had broken him out of the Capitol's hands.
But when Peeta had looked at me, fully looked at me, I saw his entire face. And while the dark circles under his eyes haunted me, his eyes bore deep holes right into my nightmares. They were so empty, so vacant with any type of emotion. At least, for a moment. Then all I could see was hatred. It made me sick– the way he had looked at me as if I had been the one to kill his family; as if it were me who burned our beloved district to the ground.
And then he'd lunged at me. He was trying to kill me. And all I'd wanted to do was touch his face and tell him I missed him and that I was so sorry for leaving him at midnight in that arena. After his hands locked around my throat, I managed to find the strength to knock him in the ribs with my elbow. I know that had he been his normal, healthy weight, my weak hit to his ribs wouldn't have done anything. But he was so thin, and I am sure that was the only reason why he let go of my throat long enough for me to stumble backwards, out of his arm's reach. I could hardly even see straight, and he'd only had his hands around my throat for a moment; I am sure had he been able to hold on longer, I would be dead. I staggered forward and threw the door open, ignoring the pain in my head when Peeta managed to catch a handful of my hair as I got away from him.
And so, I was running, away from Peeta, down the halls. I had no idea where I was going; this part of the underground maze of district 13 was not a part I was familiar with. My greatest fear right now, other than Peeta catching up to me, was running into a dead end. My footsteps were hitting the ground hard as I ran as fast as I could go. I turned another corner, risking a glance behind me over my shoulder. He wasn't far behind me; I estimated I may have three or four seconds on him. I screamed for help, but by the time anyone poked their heads out from a room to see what the commotion was, we were already running past them. My side was hurting, and my chest too– though I am not sure if that was because I was running out of endurance or because Peeta was trying to kill me.
His footsteps were louder than mine on the concrete, but I could hear his angered growls and cursing more than anything else.
"Katniss!" He shouted, "Mutt!" He roared.
"Stop! Peeta!" I screamed. I wanted to wake up now. I wanted this to be another nightmare. But the pain in my side was too real; there was no waking up from this.