Chapter Text
Time slows down now that no one is waiting on me anymore. I find the thought comforting.
As I walk through the Victor’s Village, about half of the houses have some kind of light on. Mine is dark. Like they left it alone in case I made it back. I walk through the front door. Aside from dust, everything is the same as when I left. Down to the firewood I kept stacked near the fireplace, even though I knew I wouldn’t need it anymore. I stoke the fire with the wood, grateful now for the misplaced sense of foresight past me had. Even though the days are warmer, the nights are still cold.
I was able to take some food with me from the Capitol to get me through the first day. I eat in silence. Allow the fire to warm me up but being careful to stay away from the hottest flames. The television shows only news coverage of building work that is already starting, and I can’t bear to see more of it. Not for now, at least. But I leave it on because I need to feel like there’s some life in this house.
The coloring supplies that Dr. Selene kept for me come in handy that first night. I draw the woods now, no longer angry at the mockingjays that flutter across the page. I shade trees until my wrist aches and the friction causes my skin to itch. Time escapes me until I feel the weight of my eyelids and fall asleep on the couch, clutching a pencil. I wake up with a start, dropping the pencil on the floor with a clatter. The clock reads 4:30 am. Might as well start the day now.
While the early hours of the day don’t set me up for the most active morning, inaction eventually gets replaced by restlessness. The lack of consistent sleep hasn’t diminished my conviction to make something of the day.
I get dressed in front of the fire, eat a small breakfast. When I open the front door, the silence around me is broken by birdsong.
My boots catch on roots and brambles. I swat at my neck to keep away the bugs, sweat pouring down my back and temples. The woods were never my home, but that’s no matter. I find what I’m looking for; gently scoop away soil and other plant life. I use a canvas bag that I swap for a wheelbarrow that I salvage from the wreckage in town to transport five small bushes.
By the time I reach the Victor’s Village, I’m exhausted. Not in a bad way, though. My burning lungs remind me that I’ve done something. I put the crate down on the ground, then go fetch a shovel. The sun is still hesitant in showing itself fully, but I know it won’t be long until it shines. It’ll be a bright day today. The shovel scrapes against the soil. I’ve picked a spot around the side of her house, so it’s not in plain view of everyone that passes. This is only for her. I’m about ready to start planting the first one when I hear the door open, frantic footsteps beating down the path around the house. I start, instincts telling me to run, but then I remind myself that no one is after me.
I look up from the ground when I hear the footsteps halt. It’s sooner than later that we meet here again. I try not to react when I see what state she’s in. Pale and thin. Her eyes are hollow. Darkness surrounds them, as if she’s not sleeping a wink. But seeing Katniss alive in front of me has made the long trek this morning worth it.
“You’re back,” she says, eyeing me up and down. I don’t know what she makes of me. Maybe I should just stop trying to figure her out. Let her decide when she wants to confide in me. That is, if she ever wants to.
“Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” I reply. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” Katniss continues to size me up. I frown slightly when I look closer at her. Her hair is in mats around her head. She seems to notice me staring and makes an attempt at hiding it behind her ears.
“What are you doing?” she asks suddenly.
“I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” I explain. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I still hold one of the primrose bushes in my hands, ready to put them back into the soil. Katniss frowns at them. The set of her eyebrows makes me ache. Emotions cross her face, but she settles on a curt nod. I’m about to ask her about placement when she turns on her heels and runs back into the house. I hear the smashing of glass and have a mind to check on her, but all goes quiet almost immediately. And besides, I have a task to complete.
It takes me longer than necessary to plant them all. I take my time getting the lines straight, the holes dug just right. I bring in pails of water from my own house because I don’t want to disturb Katniss in hers. It’s almost noon when I stand up, panting and lightheaded. I walk back to my house and take a shower, hissing at the too-hot water hitting my skin. The sweat and grime has aggravated some of it. But I have nowhere to be and no one to see, so I use the salve from the doctors and then wait to dress until most of it has absorbed. In the mirror, I assess myself. My cheeks have yet to fill out more. The pinkness of my skin in places is startling. I shouldn’t be out in the sun so much, but find myself craving the feeling of warmth. The look in my eyes is different. I can bear to look at myself again, I realize. The sight of my face doesn’t make me cry anymore.
I make myself food. Have copious amounts of water to go with it. Brace myself for the moment Dr. Selene specifically told me to be careful with. As I tighten my boots, I allow the sunlight to shine on my face. I resolve to be gentle with myself, allow any emotions to come as they present themselves.
I let the door fall behind me once again and head toward the merchant quarter. The rubble in the streets has been cleared in certain areas, and there are multiple clusters of people who are carrying wheelbarrows and other tools to help the effort. I see horse-drawn carts, people in protective gear. The thaw has revealed things here, no doubt. These people are not only clearing rubble.
I see a group of them near the mayor’s house, walk past them on the way to my parents’ bakery. The carts become more dense as I near the center.
Some of the rubble in front of what used to be the window has been cleared. I can trace my steps to this building blindfolded, so I know I’m where I need to be.
I enter through what I remember to be the front door of the shop. Walk further in through the staff door. The oven still sits in its spot, a stronghold in the carnage. Standing in what was once my home, I don’t have to close my eyes to see the memories. They’re overlayed in the places that I identify just by knowing where they once stood: the table where I used to ice the cakes. I remember now that on the morning of my first Games, I’d laid out the supplies, thinking I’d be back to work the next morning. The sink where my brothers and I would wash up the baking utensils, making a game of who could do it the fastest. None of us ever admitted it was to avoid mother’s displeasure. The place where the stairs used to be. How often did I run up and down them on school mornings, on the days I would have wrestling competitions?
I sink down on one knee and feel the sharpness of the rubble underneath it. The pain is immediate. I try not to focus on it this time.
My mother. My father. My brothers. Would they have been together when it happened? Would they have sat in front of the television to watch as the arena blew up? Would they have looked at each other when the explosions started, realizing it was the end?
I wail. The pain sits like a shard of glass in my chest. I weep until its edges have dulled somewhat, allowing me to open my eyes and come back to myself.
I’ll remember them. For all of their faults, for all of their virtues. For the lives they could have led if things had been different.
“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m from District Twelve. I’m a baker, a painter, a son and a brother. I will always be those things.”
Back on the street, I find some people in protective gear. We exchange some words. We agree on a time. Soon, when things have slowed down, we’ll find a way to salvage the oven.
They tell me about a mass grave in the meadow. They don’t have to tell me why I should know this. I decide to walk over there against my better judgment, feeling the strain of the emotions and physical exertion already. But the trek is worth it, because it gives me a place to visit them.
I sit at the edge of the meadow, stare out into the distance. And I remember. The people that were taken from me, the memories that now serve as the only proof they existed. Once I retreat back into the silent, still air of my house, I feel their presence with me.
Once the sun starts to set, I’m startled by a knock on the door. The sound echoes through the silent hallway. I walk from the living room, unsure of who I might find on the other side of the door. When I open it, I find an older woman with a child trailing behind her. She introduces herself as Sae, and that name rings a bell. I attempt to recall a specific memory, and dredge up some facts. Greasy Sae, Katniss said.
“Hello,” I say slowly, realizing what a dazed figure I must cut, staring at her from my doorway. I learn quickly that Sae is neither deterred nor offended. She gets right to what it is she needs.
“Katniss needs you,” she says simply. The tone of her voice doesn’t sound alarmed, but I still ask: “Is she okay?” Sae scoffs. It is a stupid question.
“She’d be a little more okay if you’d be there tomorrow morning. Make something to eat if you can,” she says, depositing some baking supplies from a basket onto my front step.
“Of course,” I say. The child behind Sae catches my eye and I smile at her, making her skitter off. Sae releases a breath, clearly weary, but she also manages a smile before she says: “I’ll come by here first thing tomorrow, we’ll go see her together.”
I don’t get a chance to agree because she’s already turned on her heel to leave.
The next morning, I’m waiting in the hallway, a still-warm loaf of bread in my hands. There wasn’t any cheese, so I hope regular bread will do. Another nightmare acted as my alarm and I’ve been making bread since about 5 am. Sae shows up with the girl, who she tells me is her granddaughter. We arrive at Katniss’ house, where Sae lets us in with a key of her own. I don’t question why she has this, but I have a sense that Aurelius has something to do with it.
Katniss comes up to us as we walk through the hall into the kitchen. The difference in her is noticeable; her eyes have a spark to them again, even though the red rim around them tells me that the night’s been difficult. Her hair is clean and loose, her skin slightly red. She must have been in the sun as well. Sidling up beside her is Buttercup the cat. He meows indignantly at us, as if assessing us as visitors. The sight of them next to each other is startling. But I know immediately why they’ve found each other now.
After my shared meal with the others, the walk back to my house has me thinking back on Katniss and the way she seems to have found something to wake up for everyday.
Katniss is returning to life. A life of her own. I find myself trying to do the same.
I run upstairs and find all of my paints, brushes, and canvases. More than I remember having, but I try to be gentle when a voice in my head tries to tell me that it’s foolish to trust my mind. I get to painting. Really try to lose myself in it, allowing the colors and the shapes to be all I can think of. Instead, it’s like the act of something so familiar makes it easier for my brain to process the things I can’t articulate otherwise.
It’s easy for me to lose myself in the lives of others. Knowing that others need me to make some bread, or that helping someone with their yard work makes the day go by faster. The idea that I could be useful trumps anything else.
But that’s not living, is it?
During the nights where sleep eludes me, I pace around the house and try to work myself out. Dr. Selene said it’s not selfish to want things for myself. But it’s difficult to know what I want when it’s never been something I had room to think about.
I lived for my parents; they needed me to work. I lived for my friends; people at school counted on me for wrestling, or to help them with schoolwork. Then, when it became clear that the odds were not in my favor, it was natural to want to live for Katniss. With my mind returning to me, I remember the sheer force of will I had to ensure Katniss’ survival over my own two times over. Because it made sense to me. And I don’t regret any of it. But my parents are gone and so are almost all of my friends, and I’m learning that Katniss doesn’t need me to survive.
A lifetime ago, I tried to explain an idea. That they don’t own me. That they won’t make me into something I’m not. But if I ever want to do right by myself, then I have to come to terms with the fact that they succeeded. I was a tribute, a prisoner, a pawn used to further a political agenda. They changed me in subtle and unmistakable ways. I get to live with that reality for the rest of my life.
“My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m in District Twelve. I…” I mutter to myself. Sigh.
The next train from the Capitol not only brings food and provisions, it also brings back people.
I happen to be in the area of the train station when I hear the laugh that brings me back to a different place.
Swivelling, I face Delly Cartwright.
Her eyes go wide at the sight of me and she takes no time running up. Then she stops short, seeming to remember herself. But I no longer hesitate to wrap her in a tight hug.
“Delly, it’s good to see you,” I say to her hair. Her shoulders are shaking. When I pull back, a teary smile is on her face.
“I could say the same about you,” she says, wiping her eyes. The bag around her shoulder drops onto the ground.
“After what happened in the Capitol, I wasn’t sure what would happen to you. Then I heard that you came back home and, well, it made sense to do the same. Because this is home, right? Even if all of it’s changed,” she rambles, reaching down to grab her bag again.
“I know,” I say.
We catch up on the way to her house. She was allotted a small house in the middle of the district when she requested she wanted to come home. None of her family made it back. I tell her she’s welcome any time if she wants to talk.
That first month, I try to find balance. My calls with Dr. Selene are necessary just to confirm I’m not going insane without being aware of it. We go over my thoughts and she makes me feel less broken on dark days. Delly actually comes around to visit me, which is a relief. I apologize for how I acted towards her in 13. She doesn’t try to wave me off, which tells me how much I needed to say it. Katniss comes around sometimes, too. I make sure there is always some food she can take back.
Every night, I sleep with the windows open. I take sugar in my tea, I double knot my shoelaces. I bake and I paint and I tell myself over and over that I’m going to be okay. Even when the nights seem endless and I can’t wake up from a nightmare. Even when I see Katniss and that glint is back and I have to physically shake myself off and run back to my house in case I hurt her. She comes by when it’s been a particularly bad time and we play ‘real or not real’ until I see her for who she really is.
The sparkle in her eye is all hers.
So, I live. Day by day, night by night. Remind myself of all I’ve learned, all I’ve lost. All I've gained, even though there is very little in that regard. I tally up the things that are going well. Acceptance comes in many forms, even when it feels like I’m making no progress.
I’m sitting at the edge of the meadow. The breeze picks up a bit, another hazy summer day coming to its end. Stray locks of hair flop over my forehead, covering some scars there. My legs are splayed out in front me and I lean back on my hands, staring at the sunset that is slowly starting to make itself known.
My fingers reach out into the grass, fingernails digging into the soft soil. Katniss and I are meeting each other at my house for dinner. She insisted on cooking for me tonight. Something about plum stew. A smile lingers on my face at the memory.
As I pack my things and take a last look at the meadow for that day, the burn in my leg reminds me that I have a long way to go before I reach my house. But no matter. I’ve survived worse than that.