Catching Fire (reimagined: 18+)

Chapter 1 - The Victory Tour

***** THIS CONTINUES ON FROM THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR OF THE ACTUAL NOVEL AND WILL MOSTLY FILL IN GAPS FROM THE ORIGINAL STORY BUT ANY EVENTS WILL BE REFERRED TO IN ORDER TO MAKE IT POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO PLACE THE EVENTS WITHIN THE TIMELINE OF THE ORIGINAL STORY ****

After the events in District 11 I feel broken beyond repair. I fret every waking hour with my nightmare filled dreams not supplying any relief. Cinna begins making alterations to my clothes since they now hang so loosely from my skeletal frame they're beginning to look untidy - something Effie simply won't stand for. If she's been given the task of trailing her victors around the districts for a show, she's going to put on a show. Even the pills Effie gives me to help me sleep, to try and fix her broken victor, can't work their magic. But Peeta can. 

The first night he heard my terrorised screams from his room he came running. He sat with me cradled in his arms, stroking my hair and rocking me until I came back to reality. My mother and Prim had tried this after the Games but it never seemed to work - I would always continue to thrash, scratch and sometimes even bite them. No matter how hard they tried, how much of their love they poured into me, they couldn't pull me from my nightmares. They couldn't stop the screaming. And when I did come to my senses, having them sat there in front of me only added to my confusion because my nightmares told me they'd been captured by the Capitol and killed. Or eaten by the tribute mutts. Or had their throats slit by one of Clove's knives. Or sometimes, on the really bad nights, Snow himself would make his way into my nightmares - his snake-like eyes and puffy lips would creep out of the darkness and his laughter would bellow in my ears as he pulled out a knife and plunged into into the hearts of everyone I loved before pointing the blade to me to finally put me out of my misery. 

Seeing Prim's face all scrunched up with concern for me, my mothers wobbly smile trying to conceal the glistening in her eyes as she tentatively placed a hand on my shoulder - reaching out so hesitantly as if she were actually afraid of me. It almost always made me wish I had never woken from my nightmare. Almost. 

But when I woke up to Peeta my body filled with nothing but relief. He felt like home. I don't know if it was those nights in the cave, clutching to each other for dear life, thats made me feel such an intense safety when I'm with him. It's probably not, more likely, its his constant selfless need to protect me even when it hurts him. I know he can hardly bare to see me wake from my nightmares but, unlike my mother, his watery eyes and tired smile don't reek of pity and loss. Instead, they remind me that I'm not alone. Which is selfish in all kinds of ways only I seem to be capable of but I can't help but feel glad that I have Peeta to understand me. To hold me until I feel safe again. And it's not like I don't do it for him, don't get me wrong, I certainly don't hold him until he fights off his nightmares but thats only because, much like everything about him, all of his turmoil is so internal. Its like its in the very core of his being not to ever bother another soul. I can always tell when he's had a nightmare though and I do my best to comfort him by simply letting him love me. It seems to be all he really wants. I'll wake up to his body so intensely pressed into mine I think he might be trying to fuse us together, or sometimes his face will be buried in the locks of my hair that are strewn across the pillow. Or, and this is my favourite way to wake up, he'll have delicately interlocked his fingers into mine as if anchoring himself to me even as we dream. I say that this helps him with his nightmares, but honestly it helps me with mine too. They seem to be held at bay more often when Peeta is near, as if they can sense that I have the cure nearby and they'd be wasting their time coming to torment me tonight. So I let him stay in my bed every night. In fact, I beg him to stay. 

Effie confronts me about this one morning at breakfast.

"You know Katniss, yours and Peeta's..." she trails off thinking of the most coy way of phrasing it "...nighttime...antics are becoming somewhat of a subject of conversation among the Capitol attendees on this train."