Begin Again [Wattys 2013 Finalist]

Chapter 4

Katinss' POV

When I wake, I feel numb. I’m cold and shivering even though I’m under my covers. My arm throbs, reminding me of the knife wound there. All at once, I'm reminded of my fight with Haymitch, of running, of the cabin, of Peeta. I jolt up, suddenly remembering where I’m supposed to be. In the cabin in the woods. I'm in my bed at home. Why am I not dead in the cabin? That was the plan, I think. Who could have possibly found me? It’s so far away, so small, so secluded. Then, I remember blacking out. I remember bleeding and collapsing on the floor and hitting my head, but I was so full of adrenaline that I didn't feel any of it as I sprinted through the torrential downpour. I also remember something else, but the memory is hazy. I remember strong arms carrying me home. Unmistakably strong. Familiarly strong. Could it be that Peeta may have saved me again? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Even in the haze of being out cold, I remember his arms around me. No, I’m sure of it this time. Not like in the first arena with the tracker jackers. Peeta Mellark just saved my life. But why? How did he know I ran? Why would he come save me? He should have let me die there. I sit up a little too fast and my head spins. I cry out in pain. When the pounding subsides to a dull tap, I stand and get in the shower. I notice something else. The bandage on my arm wrapped neater than Haymitch did it, the medical kit on my dresser empty. This bandage is the delicate work of a skilled artist’s hands. Peeta. I step out of the shower and get dressed. I don’t bother to brush my hair. Why should I? But for the first time in a long time, I feel hungry. As I walk downstairs, gripping the railing, still weak from last night, I hope to find something freshly made by Greasy Sae. Not Peeta. But he did save my life, again. I start to think that maybe, just maybe, I do need him. But I hate him. Right? As I come to the landing, I stop in my tracks at the sight of Peeta, passed out on the floor of my living room, knuckles white from gripping the armrest of my chair.

I have no idea how to react. Why? Why is Peeta passed out in my house? I don’t understand. But I do know that this confirms what I obviously knew. Peeta brought me back here and saved my life. I mean, I surely would have bled or frozen to death out there. But I don’t feel thankful. I’m furious, and I don't know why. I’m furious that he’s lying here in my house. Furious that I don’t know why. Furious that I know I’m going to have to go get Haymitch to clean up this mess. Furious that I don’t know why I’m furious. As I look one last time at Peeta before leaving, I actually feel sorry. I feel sorry that I’m so angry with him. I’m mad that he’s in my house but he’s not even conscious! So before I go get Haymitch, I unclench Peeta’s fists and lightly kiss his forehead. I recoil quickly, momentarily afraid that he'll wake up and try to kill me, or something like that. I take deep breaths, eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand what impulse it was that made me kiss Peeta. Why did I kiss him? I did not want to kiss him. No, that's obviously a lie, some part of me wanted to kiss him. I walk out the door quickly and my lips tingle. I brush my finger on them, smiling momentarily, but then spitting on the ground as if to get the kiss out of my mouth. As I cross the street to Haymitch’s house, I wonder why I did that. I wonder what makes me so mad whenever I’m around Peeta. I wonder if I’m mad at him or at myself. Is it possible that I've been taking out my self loathing on Peeta, just becasue he's the easiest target? Maybe I'm still mad at him for finally abandoning his unconditional love for me. No, he didn't abandon it, it was taken. I wonder what’s wrong with me, why I can’t understand why I do and feel these things. Why I immediately assume everything is Peeta’s fault, and that I hate him. I hate him? I miss him? I’m still thinking as I walk in the door. Thank God Haymitch isn’t sleeping because I wouldn’t have been so lucky with the knife. He’s not asleep, but I can smell the liquor on his breath as soon as I walk in. He’s drunk as ever. His eyes widen when he sees me, but he recovers quickly and laughs as he says,

“So, the boy actually found you. Go figure. I thought you’d both be dead.”

More laughter.

“That’s sweet Haymitch, real sweet, but that’s kind of what I’m here for.”

“What, Peeta’s dead?” He says so slurred that it’s barely audible.

“I need you to come over. Peeta’s out cold at the foot of my stairs. Get him out. I want him gone."

I didn't mean to sound so hostile. I know he saved me, but somehow I couldn't manage to talk about him to Haymitch without sounding like there's bile in my mouth. My tone conveys the fact that I despise him now, but my lips still feel electric.

Haymitch gives me a cold look as we walk out the door of his house.

“And you just ran right over here, didn’t you sweetheart. Didn’t give it a second thought, did you?”

I scream at him immediately. “I didn’t know what to do! And no. I’m not dealing with him. He’s your problem now. All yours. Not mine.”

I feel bad for yelling, but I can’t control it. Whatever. Haymitch doesn’t get mad. His tone is actually softer when he says, “Sweetheart, he’s been my problem since day one. Since Effie stuck her stupid hand in that bowl for the second to last time. Since two years ago when you two walked up on the stage. You’ve been my problem too. And now the two of you are even more impossible to deal with than ever.”

Was that actually nice?

He breaks the tension of this rare moment of affection by saying, “And you’ve been the biggest pains in my ass ever since.”

When we get home, I step over Peeta and head upstairs to my room. I’m not hungry anymore. I stop and spin around when Haymitch demands my help. I refuse.

“Katniss, you’re gonna get over here and help me carry him back or he’s gonna stay in your house until he wakes up. I’m guessing it’ll be soon.”

I know that I have no choice, so I bend down to help, subconsciously rolling my eyes. Suddenly, Haymitch swings Peeta over his shoulder without my help.

“What was that for?”

“You don’t even care, do you Katniss!?”

“About what, Haymitch!? Is this about last night? Because I thought we went over this. You know the answer. I don’t care about my life. I’d rather be dead!”

This time, its Haymitch who yells.

“Not about you! About him! Do you ever think there are people who are worse off than you? How about Peeta, who struggles with himself everyday to retain sanity? How about Annie Cresta, who lost the one person who was able to keep her sane. Her husband, no matter! God! Everyone I know is crazy!”

“As if you're any less crazy, you drunk idiot.” I say with the most terrible tone that I can manage, but he ignores it completely.

“No, you don’t. You’re too busy moping around and planning your own suicide mission! You think you have it bad? Look at him! He needs you more than you need him! He has questions about his own life that only you can answer! The kid lost his whole family! He lost you and you’re living ten feet away from him! And worst of all, you don’t even bother to ask why he might be passed out in your house! He’s trying to get better, but he isn’t. And you causing trauma for him isn’t helping. That’s why he’s here. He does this to himself, almost everyday. But he tries to get better. And that’s where your conditions differ. He’s trying. You’re not.”

And with that, he stomps out, Peeta slung over his back, leaving me more confused and bewildered about my emotions than ever.