Deep in the Meadow - Peeta Mellark X Reader

14. Recovery

This can of soup.. real or not real? I won the games real or not real? This is all a trick and when I get on that stage they will make Peeta and I fight out the final battle, real or not real?

Or... this is a trick and Peeta didn't make it out of the arena. He died on the hovercraft after we were separated and I'm about to find out the truth on live television for the whole country to see my reaction. REAL OR NOT REAL?

My thoughts are torn from me at the loud anthem plays and Caesar Flickerman's voice booms out. A swarm of warm welcomes and introductions fall on deaf ears. I am not paying attention. How could I? My thoughts are on Peeta, no longer on this stupid interview or my stupid dress.

I thought I liked this dress, but I realize now this is all stupid. Just send me home already. Send me home and let me live in peace.

Haymitch's drinking seems much more realistic to me. Perhaps when we get home we can have a nice proper bonding of sharing a bottle.

I am ushered onto the stage.

I'm on stage?

The world seems so fuzzy to me, everything seams so fake. This is so surreal. I glance to the audience, who seem to be screaming and cheering, and then I glance forwards, spotting a face I had convinced myself was long gone despite having no evidence to support it.

I can't help but stand there and stare. He stares back. Both of us in a state of shock, unable to move. He's much more cleaned up than when I last saw him. He was dying, his hair in a desperate need for fixing, his eyes sunken in a dull, saddened state even when he smiled. His clothes were muddied, even after being rinsed, and covered blood, torn bits and pieces of fabric from where knives and swords had cut through them.

That was not the baker's boy, but neither was this. Who was this standing in front of me?

He seemed just as puzzled, but the realization we are being watched kicks in. I throw myself across the stage, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate display of trying to hold onto him as if he would be torn from my arms.

He might.

His arms wrap around me tightly, as if he were afraid I would disappear. As if I were not really here. Am I?

Am I real? I'm not dead? Didn't I eat those berries? I'm not dead.

I'm drawn back from my thoughts once more as his lips press to mine. I can't help but go back for more, and more.

"Okay you two, we haven't got all night." Caesar laughs, but his words ring stern.

The crowd is losing their minds right now, and Peeta leads me to the couch where I sit next to him, curling my legs underneath me. I long to tuck my knees to my chest, curl into a ball where I feel safe and sound. But my dress would not allow for me to do this, so tucking my legs under me will suffice.

I can't seem to focus on Caesar's words, it sounds like a baby babbling.

I watch as recap highlights appear on screen. The reaping, the parade, training scores, interviews, the arena.

The arena.

I watch in sorrow as the most painful memories are brought about, starting with Peeta's. His alliance with the careers, the betrayal, him dying within the mud of the earth. Then there's me, treating my injury, negotiating with Thresh, finding Rue, exploding the cornucopia, losing Rue. My singing, pained and cracking, the mockingjays singing her song.

Losing Rue.

Rue. Thresh. Marvel. Glimmer. Clove. Cato. The boy with crutches. The boy from 10. The girl from 5.

Then there's us in the cave, all of our shared kisses. Me forcing him to sleep as I risk my life. Clove's death, Thresh sparing me once more. He let me live three times, and all I had done was feed him.

He should have killed me.

How did he die?

Why am I here?

Why am I here with Peeta?

How is this possible?

The recap continues, but I watched with glazed over eyes. How could I want to relive any of this? It's framed to show a love story, to show us at our most vulnerable. That's what the people want to see. They don't want to see the more drawn out side of the games. The long days and nights alone. The untrustworthy alliances, wondering if the person you chose to trust is about to kill you.

Our defiance is clear, but is shown in a way out of love. That's what it was. He loves me? He really does? Was that real? Do I really love him? Does it matter? We're bonded now, and in the eyes of the Capitol, we will spend the rest of our days in love.

Even if it's not real, we'll have to learn to make it real. I believe I really do love him. I care deeply for him. But do I actually know enough about him to love him? We only spoke about bread. How did we get here?

Interviews. Coronation. Parties. More interviews. It's a seamless flow of events that never seem to end. Going back to the penthouse is a nightmare, sending shivers down my spine at the thought that there were no longer any of the other tributes here. It was just us. I can't imagine having to do this alone.

My heart aches for Haymitch.

My heart aches for the first victor to have gone through this, no mentor at their side. Was it always a spectacle? Was there a time without the glitz and glamor? How did those tributes fair after the games?

Had they just simply been sent back home with no extra money or fame?

My days move slow, but my mind moves at an all time high. I had never been so lost in thought before. I feel emotionally checked out, my thoughts only consumed by the history of the games, and the faces that will always haunt me.

The names repeat over in my head. Rue. Thresh. Cato. Clove. Marvel. Glimmer. Peeta.

Peeta wasn't dead, I know that. I know it as he sits next to me, speaking with Caesar. I know it as his lips press against mine, as his hand holds mine under the tables, as he holds me while I cry. I know he's not dead, but why do I feel like he is?

Part of him was lost in that arena, and almost all of me had died in there too. My victory was nothing to celebrate, so why have I been attending countless events decked out in finery?

I killed two people, and watched many others die. Peeta killed a girl while she slept and took a sword to the thigh that cost him his leg. I couldn't save Rue, and Thresh had the chance to kill me so many times. I can't make sense of the events.

Who would we have been if not for the games? Where would we all be?

The thoughts from the hovercraft on the way to the arena return to me countless times throughout the events. I do my best to put on a smile, giggle when I'm spoken to, kiss Peeta in front of cameras or crowds when it feels necessary, but mentally I have checked out. My reality isn't a reality anymore.

Peeta does his best to keep me grounded, and sometimes he does a good job. I'm just ready to be home, somewhere familiar. Away from the cameras and away from the constant reminders of what happened. I try not to think about Sage or my parents, and I try really hard not to think about the tributes or their families. That was a problem for the victory tour. For now, I just want a break to heal. I want to see my cat and return to my peace.

What's different about it now, is that Peeta will be there with me. He will be there to be part of my peace. He is part of my life now, and I won't fight it. I'm glad he is here for me, and I just hope that I will be grounded enough to be there for him in return. I know that I can be. I just need to get this over with so I can go home.