Author's Note: I am afraid this is the last chapter I have until I can find a beta, but here it is just the same I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 4

Living Pietà

I come up from the kiss and place my palm on his cheek and run my thumb over the jutting contour of his cheekbone. I can feel his throat clench with a gulp as he looks into my eyes. Does either one of us deserve this?

Two hands push me aside like I am interfering with something. As if I am just an accessory to the marriage like the bread or the cup. If that is the case, I wish they would have forgotten me like the rings.

The golden man's whispers fill the room. "There, there my son." He says as he stands over the bed. "You have a wife now, just like your brothers."

Peeta's eyes look like they are made of glass as he looks up to his father. He lifts up a frail hand towards his father's face. The golden man grasps it like it is a wild bird that might soon fly away. He is weeping again. Tears streaming from his eyes until his face is wet enough to soak his golden beard.

"You are married now." He says. "Do you remember when I promised you may have all that your brother's did. I have come through for you. I have kept my promise." He speaks no more as he is overcome by his own sobbing.

Why did he not send us from the room? The conversation seems so personal. Too personal for my ears or anyone else's.

The crying stops and the man places his son's hand back down on the bed like a child who has picked up a toy only to realize that it is not his.

"Well that's enough of that." He says as he flicks away tears from his face. A pained smile passes his face and he looks down at his son, "Besides, we are not done here. I still have my marital blessing to give."

Marital blessing? The words catch in my mind as I try to discern the meaning. Then it occurs to me. They can't be serious. Why are they all watching me. I want to gag. They want me to get into the same bed as him. Under the same sheets. I do not even know him. I do not even know what is wrong with him. Then they want me to– They can't he is in no condition!

The golden man makes a sound, but to my surprise it is not him who acts this time. It is the stringy haired servant who emerges from a dark corner of the room and marches up to me. He takes my upper arm in a vice-like grip and drags me around the bed to the other side. The whole room can see my struggle.

Unceremoniously he turns down the sheets of the bed and tosses me on top of them. I climb in like one of the scared little creatures I kill on a daily basis. Every joint in my body is rigid and my breathing is quick and uncontrollable. I scan the room for any kind of escape. There is none.

I know I look like I want to run as sit bolt upright on the edge of the pillows. Why even bother to conceal it. Everyone must know, but they continue as if a dying boy and a terrified girl in a bed are a normal situation that they deal with every day.

The men move to the foot of the bed. The golden man is closest, the others are behind him. The servant has his eyes locked onto the floor. Snow, however, is staring strait at me. His eyes never blinking. His same giant grin plastered on his face. His teeth are white, but then I see red. Dear God! His gums are bleeding. Every crevasse between his teeth is dripping crimson blood.

The golden man raises his hands, his palms facing us. He then closes his eyes as if he is above it all. How can anyone even give an impression of serenity in this house of many horrors.

His blessing begins, "Now may you both partake in the great commission given by God to our common father and mother, Adam and Eve. May you be fruitful and increase in number and may your progeny live to inherit the earth. I now give you my full blessing on this, your very first, wedded night."

He pauses as if to give his words some kind of added meaning. There is no tricking me with his tranquility. They cannot be serious, even a blind man could tell this boy is on the edge of death.

The golden man's trance is broken and he leaves for the door, drifting across the room like an aimless cloud. I will not partake in this insanity.

Don't leave! I want to scream as they all file out of the room one by one. I hate them. I hate them all, but I don't want to be left alone in the room with him. The servant snaps the door shut and it is finished.

Wails start to escape me. Tears fill my eyes. My chest heaves again and again. I don't want this. I don't want to be here. Why would they do this to me?

I look to Peeta. I wonder what he wants with me. I wonder what he expects of me. To my surprise he is looking at me. Reclined on his side blue eyes trained on me. There is an emotion in his gaze I cannot read. Confusion, maybe? Or is it. . .? No it couldn't be. I realize that it is pity.

For a moment we both observe each other, drinking in each other's figure in. He has blond hair I realize for the first time. It looks soft as bird's down and I can't help but admit that it would not be unpleasant to touch it.

He blinks and the spell is broken. His eyes give one last morose glance and then he rolls over away from me. He clutches his arms to his chest almost in a ball. That's it, he doesn't want me either.

I was crying too hard to stop all at once. I work at calming myself down and eventually bring my cries to nothing more than a faint sniffling. Now what is there to do?

Sleep I suppose, but how? No one bothered to extinguish the fire in the room. The light has left the white sheets glowing orange and red, and caused the shadows to be darker than a moonless night. This is the kind of setting where any child would start to see monsters.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with my father when I was very small. We were returning from Mass and I was complaining about getting up every Sunday morning to listen to a man speak in words that I could not understand.

"I don't understand it." I said to my father. "I don't understand religion. It is too complicated."

My father looked down and smiled at me, "Oh my little girl, it is not complicated at all. All religion is about is the great battle between the light and the darkness, and making sure the light wins."

I believe him now as I sit in this room. There is a battle between light in darkness. I can feel it stirring in these walls. My only question is, can the light win?

My eyes start to feel heavy and I can feel my heart slowing in my chest. Maybe sleeping would not be the worst idea. I have had a long day and if there are monsters here they are not sharing a bed with me. They are lurking outside the walls.

I draw the covers off my feet. I'll sleep on top of them I don't want to get tangled in them if I have to run. I lean back like I am being draw down by a line. My torso stiff as a rail. These down stuffed pillows are too thick, especially for me, I have never even had a pillow before. "You can sleep comfortably enough." I tell myself. I am in a soft bed. Things could be worse.

Close your eyes, Katniss. Let sleep come.

Maybe it would have come if it hadn't started. Almost as soon as my mind had given into the darkness of slumber the noises began. It was soft at first and I scrunched my brow, but refused to open my eyes. "Maybe it will pass." I told myself.

It did not pass. It only intensified. The more I focused the more familiar it sounded. I know that noise. It is almost like…Dear God it can't be!

My eyes shoot open and I turn to him. I know why I recognize it now. I heard it only this morning, but that seems like a lifetime ago. It is the cry of the rabbit. The rabbit I shot, but did not kill. The same coughing, gurgling, crying sound. Only this time it is coming from Peeta. He is weeping I think.

I sit up and clutch the top cover with my hands and lean away from him. "Oh Peeta, do you not know that I don't fix these sorts of problems. I finish them."

I wish Prim was here instead of me. It is a wicked thought I know, but he needs a healer. She would have been better at this. Better than I could ever be. How many times have I seen her sit with my mother and nurse the sick while I flee the room? She would know exactly what to do in this moment.

There is an old woman in my village who I only know by the name Sae. A week after my father died I went to her to try and make a trade. She was talking about me before I even arrived and the words I overheard would stay with me for the rest of my life. "Don't you worry about our Katniss," she said, "she has the heart of a water weasel. They eat their young you know. When the winter gets could enough."

Tears flood my eyes and I clasp a hand over my mouth. I don't want to make any noise. It is true. It is all true. If I were a water weasel I would eat my own young. That is who I am. I am Katniss the girl who shoots the deer and stalks the birds. The girl who isn't afraid to slit a rabbit's throat when she misses a shot. I do not heal. I only kill. It is in my nature.

What terrible thoughts to have of another person. I must be fundamentally wicked, but every time I hear his cries they mingle in my mind with those of the rabbit. If he were a rabbit and I was in the woods my first thought would be 'better put this creature out of its misery'.

My whole frame clenches down as my body heaves with silent sobs. What am I to do? It is in my very nature not to even help him. This is my fault I have never allowed myself to love anything in my life. I have made myself heartless.

"That's not true." A voice in my head whispers, "You have loved Prim."

I wipe my eyes. Yes, Prim I do love her. But didn't I have to? She is my sister. What good can that do me now as this boy cries in the night. He could be dying for all I know. He is so thin I can see his spine and ribs as he coughs. He sounds like he is choking. Just like the rabbit sounded as it choked on its blood.

"What would you do for Prim?" The little voice prompts me again. What would I do for Prim? I already know, I would stroke her hair.

But I couldn't. . . Could I? I look down at my own hand as if surmising if it is capable of such a task.

Timidly I stretch out my arm and then draw it back. What if this is a mistake?

"What could it hurt?" The little voice says.

This time I am bolder and my fingers brush down on the top of his silky curls. They are softer than I expected. I stroke his hair again this time I use my whole hand. For a moment he goes quiet and I think it might be working or maybe he is just surprised.

"What else can I do for him?" I ask myself as I stroke his hair. Then I realize I should be asking myself 'what would I do for Prim'?

I move closer to him and place my head on the same pillow he's using. If he were Prim I would have done this a thousand times. We only had one pillow in our family and I always insisted it was hers. I keep one hand on his head and move the other around his waist.

"Pretend he is Prim." I command myself.

I wrap my arm around him tight and hold him close. He feels as thin as Christ crucified. His waist is caved in and clearly defined. His chest is a wide and bony basket. He is going to die like Christ. I turn my head so that my face is buried in the pillow to stifle my weeping. For if he is Christ than I am the Holy Virgin and we are taking part in a living pietà.

Author's Note: This is the chapter that started it all. The thought of a scared little Katniss forced to comfort Peeta, all while she is thinking what an awful person she is. I nearly named the story Pietà, but I thought people would only think I was misspelling Peeta's name.

Please Review they mean so much to me.