Always

Broken

A.N. Guys look at how cute my new sunglasses are! Ahh so in love with them.

When the ceiling begins to crumble, I find comfort in Peeta's shirt and Rye's hand. His arm around me is comforting, but I can't deny the intense longing I feel for Peeta. I want it to be Peeta's arm around me. I want it to be Peeta's voice I hear whispering reassurances in my ear.

I just want Peeta.

Okay, I know I'm irresistible but you have to be able to be away from me for more than an hour.

Another bomb shakes the bunker, causing another round of fearful shrieks and ragged breaths. The whimper of a baby makes my heart clinch and wrap my arms tighter around my stomach. I even hear a gleeful laugh, the kind of laugh that comes from one who is insane.

The noises around me, coupled with the recurring bombs, have me shaking with the need to do something. In every single dangerous, life-threatening situation I've been in, I've always had the ability to do something about it. Fight back. Run away.

Down here, there's no one for me to fight, and there's nowhere for me to run.

"They're probably bunker missiles." Rye has hardly stopped talking since the bombing began. Whether it comforts him or he thinks it comforts me is unknown, but I haven't told him to shut up yet, so I guess he's taken that as his cue to keep talking. Honestly, I don't really mind. It reminds me of Peeta. "We learned about them during the orientation for new citizens," he continues. "They're designed to penetrate deep in the ground before they go off. Because there's no point in bombing 13 on the surface anymore." Rye pauses, and I know he has a poor excuse for a smile on his face as he adds, "Of course. You would know this too if you went to your classes, but you never do anything you're told."

And that's just one thing I love about you.

My lips almost turn up in a smile at the thought of Peeta telling me the same thing. We fall into silence until it's broken by President Coin, announcing over the audio system that Peeta was, in fact, correct. "Apparently, Peeta Mellark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missiles were not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified."

For the next three days, we're huddled in the bunker, which occasionally shakes with the force of the Capitol bombs. We're allowed to go to the bathroom and brush our teeth in groups and receive three meager rations a day. Just enough to keep you alive.

Rye spends nearly all of his time in my space with me. Silence pervades the space the majority of the time, but that doesn't bother us. Words are not necessarily what we want. Just silently supporting the other, merely by being present, is enough. There's not much to say anyway. Our thoughts are with Peeta, wondering if he's dead or alive.

Did his warning cost him his life?

The question taunts my mind mercilessly. I'm haunted by my nightmarish imaginings, all of the frightening scenes running on a constant loop before my mind's eye. I shut my eyes tightly, as if I could force the images away, but it doesn't work. Is Peeta still fighting? Or is my mother right? Has his strength run out? Can his body take no more? Has Snow decided that Peeta is no longer needed?

No. No, my mother is wrong. She has to be. She can't be right. Peeta can't die. He can't. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't leave me alone. He wouldn't deny himself the joy of watching his child grow up. Peeta wouldn't do that.