The Hunger Games: Continued

Living With Sorrow

2 Months Later...
Katniss' POV
I roll over in my bed - mid afternoon - I don't sleep, sleep will only pull me under to a wretched nightmare that will worsen my current mood. Today is another bad day. I can't get them out of my mind, all of them. Prim, Rue, Finnick, everyone else who died with their blood on my hands. Of course, Peeta knows this. He knows that on days like this I prefer not to talk, or do much of anything, really. He made me breakfast this morning, told me to rest in bed. He's downstairs in the study, painting. He won't go home, he won't leave me in the house myself, not when I'm feeling like this.

Every so often, Peeta comes upstairs to check on me. Asks me if I'm okay, not replying is an answer in itself. It's hard to say how long it is before I hear him padding upstairs again on his prosthetic leg, but when he does he has a massive smile on his face. It's all an act, though. He's trying to make things seem alright, when they're not. He's a very good actor, but when it comes to smiling it isn't working. His eyes aren't smiling with him. He carries a tray of hot soup and a glass of water. He sits it on my bedside table, before sitting on the edge of my bed. His smile fades. "You should eat something," he says. "starving yourself won't do no good." Then a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, a genuine one, I think. Then he leaves the room again.

My legs and my back start to ache from laying down for so long. I wander around the room, trying to relieve the cramp. I stare in the mirror by the corner of the room. My hair has grown longer, it's down past my shoulders now. My burn scars have faded slightly since the war, but they will forever mark my body. I've gained weight since Peeta has been around, you can no longer see my ribs, my cheekbones aren't as prominent, my face not as sunken. I walk away from the mirror and for some reason I'm drawn towards my bedside drawer. I pull it open - the family plant book sits inside, I almost forgot about that.

With lost ones faces playing in my mind, the plant book now in my hand - an idea comes to me. What if we created a similar book, only instead of plants, we could remember the lost ones. Their traits, their skills, and a drawing of them, if Peeta would oblige. They will not be forgotten, not to me, never to me. Suddenly I want to run downstairs and tell Peeta my idea, ask him to help me, when I see it. Sitting behind the plant book, is the pearl, the one that Peeta gave me in the Quarter Quell.

I carefully pick it up as though it will crumble beneath my fingers, I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because it seems so precious. I run it over my palm and then over my lips, cool and smooth, like a gentle kiss. It's only then that I become aware of him standing behind me. "You alright?" Peeta asks. I stuff the pearl back in the drawer and close it firmly behind me, I hope he didn't see me. I turn around to face him. "Yeah, I'm alright," I mutter.
"So you're talking now?" He smiles sheepishly.
"I guess." Is all I say. He begins to walk towards me, closer, closer. What is he doing? Closer. Is he going to kiss me? His chest is barely touching mine when he reaches behind me and picks up the bowl of soup. I let out a raggedy breath at the realisation of his true actions. "You haven't eaten?" He frowns, "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yeah I'm sure." I say, "Can I talk to you?"I sit down on the bed and pat the space beside me. He looks concerned but he obeys unquestioningly.

I take the plant book out of the drawer again, trying carefully to avoid the pearl and Peeta's locket, which also hides in there. "Remember this?" I ask. He nods, puzzled. "Well, I've been thinking, we could make another book. Only instead of plants we could dedicate it to the lost ones. Everyone who died, in The Hunger Games, or in the war." He considers this for a moment and then he starts to nod his head.
"Yeah," He starts. "Yeah, that's a great idea, Haymitch might know a few people to put in it."
"I'll need to have some paper shipped in from the Capitol, but we can start on it soon." I say.
"Sounds good." He runs his fingers through his mop of blonde hair, his eyes flicker down to the ground. I stare at him for longer than I should. His eyes climb up to meet mine. Usually when I'm caught staring, I blush or drop my gaze. But when he stares back, I just smile. And he smiles too. We stare, and we stare, and it's so comfortable. Nothing is ever awkward with Peeta, not now. His eyes dart to my lips and I'm so tired of being in this situation and not having the guts to kiss him. So tired, but I don't do anything about it. As I stare at his mouth I think of all the possible scenarios, before I stop thinking all together.