1,960Playlist: I'm Still Around by Five Eight
Mornings are the worst for me. Some nights I run through so many nightmares I wake completely exhausted. It's so hard to get up so I haven't been. I should want to hunt—but don't really have a family to provide for anymore.
Sae brings breakfast and my stomach overrides my anxious head. Peeta, in yesterday's clothes, eats his food more quietly than yesterday. "Why did I wake up at your house this morning?"
I shrug and concentrate on my plate. "I think you just fell while you were reading some of your mail."
"Oh." He's having trouble looking me in the eye.
"That's it."
He finishes his breakfast in silence. I stare out the window at nothing in particular.
"I was thinking about making cookies today. Do you want to help?" he asks me.
In truth, I've resolved to stare out the window all day, maybe take a nap—definitely not leave the house. But, I'm supposed to stay busy and I can't remember the last time I had a cookie, so I bite. "I guess," I say as unenthusiastically as possible.
Most of the ingredients are in his house, but he have to borrow butter from Sae. She obliges and asks if her granddaughter can have a few when we're done.
We mix the flour, butter, sugar and eggs together. I'm content eating the dough, but Peeta says that a real baker wouldn't stick their finger in the batter and lick it.
The cookies bake to golden perfection. Peeta makes a frosting bag with a tip for me and shows me how to squeeze and write with frosting.
He writes a K for Katniss on one of the cookies.
I try to frost an arrow. It looks like a blurry pine tree. Zig zags are easier so I make a lot of crazy looking cookies before I decide I'm utterly horrible at frosting and just watch Peeta. I marvel at his concentration and find myself staring at his eyelashes once again.
He decorates his cookies in everything from precise polka dots to waves to daisies. "Just seeing if I remember," he smiles.
When all the cookies are frosted, Peeta takes the prettiest ones to Sae's granddaughter. She lights up. And for a few minutes that small act makes me happy.
It's a short-lived feeling as our next stop is Haymitch's rancid house. "You should have frosted a flask cookie for him," I mutter to Peeta as we stand in the doorway plotting a course through the debris of the last few weeks.
Haymitch is in usual state, passed out in a drunken stupor.
Peeta pokes around in his fireplace until the fire restarts. I make coffee and wash the coffee cups.
Peeta forbids me from pouring ice water on him, despite my protests that it would be funny and well-deserved. While Peeta sorts his mail, I check his liquor supply and make sure I won't have to face Haymitch on withdrawal anytime soon.
I'm not sure if Haymitch really has a taste for frosted cookies, but I place the plate on his table.
"We brought you something," Peeta says coldly after Haymitch finally stirs.
"Oh, I have the pair of you today. So what are we today? Star crossed lovers? Enemies? Just two kids from 12?"
"Yes, you have the pair of us. Have you checked on Katniss once since she's been here?" There's a frightening repressed rage in Peeta voice.
"She's still here. Looks fine," he huffs.
"I just wanted to say thanks," Peeta says as he walks toward the door. He touches my arm for me to follow.
"Fine!" Haymitch stands loudly shaking the table. "At least I didn't get her drunk."
"Well that's a relief," Peeta says and slams the door behind him. I should follow but I'm frozen in place.
Haymitch looks at me. "Let's you and me take a walk, kid," he says in a low voice.
"You okay that he's home?" he inquires after a spell.
I nod tentatively. "I think it helps," I say quietly as to not readily admit it out loud.
"He came home for you," Haymitch says. "He could have stayed in the Capitol, gotten a job anywhere else, but he wanted to make things right with you."
"I know," I mouth, not sure the words actually escape my mouth.
"If he makes your worse, you tell me," he looks into my eyes. And I feel like, for the first time since we've been home he is looking out for me.
We walk the rest of the trip to the train station in silence. And I look the other way while Haymitch buys some liquor from the train attendant
Peeta is washing dishes when I come back to his house. I could have gone home, but instead I help him dry the dishes. When we're done, he looks at me questioningly. "Is this what we did before?"
All I can do is shake my head. "Not really. We only had a few days like this. We were always too busy trying to stay alive."
"This feels like what we did before," he sighs. "Only with more of our friends and family."
He's waiting for more. I settle on the floor by the fireplace and think through what I should say. It hurts so much to remember, though. Maybe he's better off not knowing how cruel I can be. He sees that I'm shaking.
Let's start at the beginning," he urges. "What happened when we got home from the games?"
I rub my neck nervously. "We ignored each other until the victory tour. I didn't speak to you until the day of the tour."
"I remember some of the tour," he says vacantly. He doesn't elaborate so I'm relieved.
"We were a little more normal for a few months when we came home." The shaking eases up some. "I was on bed rest after hurting my heel. We worked on my family's plant book. You drew, I wrote. You brought me cheese buns. Then they announced the quell and you insisted on training. So that's it."
A girl who has defied death so many times shouldn't have trouble telling a story, but I feel like I've survived an attack from the careers after saying these few vague words. The attack might even have been easier.
He asks me a few real or not real questions—really outrageous about things the Capitol told him I did. I tried shooting him with my bow when we got home for the games—not real. I took some poisonous herbs from my mother and put them in his tea just to see what would happen to him—not real.
One more thing is bugging him though. "So why didn't we speak for all those months?"
"I'd like to say shock," I said. "We were both still alive. But really you were mad at me."
"Why?"
I tell myself I owe it to him. I don't want to talk about it. Maybe he can ask Haymitch. My hands go to my temples. My eyes start to water. It's too much.
"Because you were madly in love with me and I was confused."
"And now we're both confused." I run out the door unable to answer any more of his questions.
"Katniss, stay," I hear Peeta call after me.
I lock the door to my house behind me because I don't want to wake up with him on my couch. I fall asleep in a closet where he can't find me.
The next day is a blur. At dinnertime I realize I haven't eaten and am starving. I try to get up, but just feel like crying or screaming.
There's a familiar knock on the door. "Katniss, are you in here?"
No answer.
"If you are, I brought you dinner."
This makes me want to sob even more. I fight back tears and I make just enough noise for him to hear me.
"Are you ok?"
Please go away, I think as loudly as I can. "I'm staying here until you take this food." The plate clanks as he sits it on the floor. Too much silence passes. "Katniss, you're not hurting yourself are you?" he's starting to sound frightened, so with a momentous effort I rise and unlock the door. I shrink down in the farthest corner hugging my knees to my chest.
He sits down and props his back against the doorframe. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head because I don't know what's wrong. I wouldn't know where to begin with all of the reasons why I'm upset but at this very moment no one thing comes to mind.
"What will make you feel better?"
Again, I don't know. I've had such few clear moments in recent months.
He makes me eat dinner. My dark mood lightens slightly.
"Have you taken your medicine today?"
"I forgot."
He shakes his head and goes downstairs to fetch my pills. I consider locking him out but don't have the energy to move. The pills are supposed to help with my moods, my nightmares, the stress. I don't trust them. He brings back a glass of water and more pills than normal. I obediently take them but I don't feel instantly better so I'm disappointed and am not in the mood for Peeta's admonitions.
"Hey," he says leaning in to me. "I know about your hiding spots, the not eating—all of it. Katniss, it's ok to be upset but we've got to get you better. Let me help you."
"Why! Why do you care?" I almost scream. "Why are you trying to help me?" I don't deserve it.
"It's what we do." His sincere answer shuts me up. It's true.
"I don't know what to do," I say weakly.
"Staying busy helps, Katniss. Write letters. Hunt. I'll teach you to bake. Heck, you could even offer to clean Haymitch's house for all I care, just do something."
"Ok." I agree to try—not to cleaning Haymitch's house, of course. "I think I'm going to bed now."
Peeta insists on clean pajamas and stays to tuck me in. He turns to leave, and from under the blankets I ask, "How do I know you won't hurt me?"
A heartbreakingly sad looks comes across his face. He sits down in a chair next to the bed. "I'm so sorry." He's almost in tears. "Katniss, that wasn't me."
I feel bad for even bringing it up. "I know it wasn't you, but still."
"That's part of the reason the doctors kept me so long." He touches my cheek. It's so intimate alarm bells go off in my head.
After so much isolation I don't know how to react. Yet, the touch is gentle, not angry. In it is a hint of the kind boy that risked so much for me.
His hand, soft and cool, lingers for a few seconds as I study him. "Goodnight." He turns to go.
I extend my arm when he's standing in the doorway. "St—," I stop myself, hoping he doesn't see the hurt and longing in my eyes. "Good night," I say into the blankets below my chin.
The front door creaks close. I'm alone again, alone with my nightmares.