Deep in the Meadow - Peeta Mellark X Reader

15. Train

"If I was born as a blackthorn tree
I'd wanna be felled by you
Held by you
Fuel the pyre of your enemies"

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming and thrashing in my bed as if I could fight off the invisible force. The vision of what would have happened if I could not convince Thresh to ally with me replays over an over. The machete coming crashing towards my head, as it had to other tributes.

He had spared me three times, yet the thought still haunts me. Surely he knew he could've been fine without my aid in getting food. There was something else to his mercy, but what? What?

Peeta comes running into my room, concern visible on his face as he rushes to my side.

Peeta. That's right. He made it out. Why does it feel like he didn't? Why does it feel like not even I made it out?

"Hey, hey. Look at me. What happened? I heard screaming." His voice is soothing, but I can't bring myself to speak or move as I sit up, frozen in my position as my heart races.

Why does it feel like none of this is real? I won didn't I? I don't feel like a winner. Didn't I want this? I fought for it. I get to see Worm. Peeta is alive and he loves me. Love.

How can you love someone you had barely spoken to mere months ago?

Why don't I believe he loves me? He was ready to kill himself for me. I was ready to kill myself for him. I was ready to kill myself for Primrose. I don't know her.

Peeta says my name sternly, and I feel his hand on my chin, moving my head to meet his gaze. His eyes are full of concern and worry. His touch is as gentle as his eyes, and his tone matches both of these. "What happened?" he repeats.

"His face... He was about to kill me. Why didn't he? Why didn't Thresh kill me? He spared my life three times. Three times. I don't understand. He could have killed me but he didn't. He should have but he didn't. Now I'm going home and he isn't. How is that fair?" The words move faster than I could blink. He pulls me in for a hug without another word, and I melt into his warmth.

Here he is, comforting me once again when he, himself, is traumatized from the events, and I am questioning if his love is real or not. Does it matter?

I always seem to ask myself if it matters. Does it?

My eyes close as I rest my head in the crook of his neck, and he rubs my back, whispering soothing things into my ear. I don't know at what point I started crying, but it finally dawns on me as my body wracks with a violent sob.

Peeta eventually shifts as another voice rings in the room, and I sniffle, glancing up to see a concerned looking Haymitch.

"Nightmare?" He asks and Peeta responds for me.

"Thresh."

Haymitch nods, remaining silent for a moment. "Kids, not to get you in on bad habits, but do you want a drink?"

He's bad at comforting.

Peeta shakes his head, but I push up from the bed and his embrace with a nod. Peeta grabs my wrist and I turn to look at him as he says my name sternly.

"What are you doing? It's not going to help." Peeta says softly.

"It might.." I mutter.

"Haymitch, thanks, but no." Peeta states before pulling me back towards him, wrapping his arms around me.

Haymitch sighs, leaning against the doorway. "Fair enough. Kid, try not to think about it too much. There's really nothing you can do about it now, there's no point in questioning why people did certain things."

He's right, but it aches anyways.

With that, Haymitch disappears and I am left with Peeta again.

I stand between his legs as he sits on the bed, his arms around me, his chin resting on me as he stares into my eyes, his expression gentle.

"Drinking isn't going to make you feel better. You saw it never helped Haymitch. Don't go down that path."

I let out a shaky breath, resting my forehead to his as my eyes close. He's right too, but this also aches. I just want to numb my emotions. Pause my brain from these thoughts. It's over, so why doesn't it feel like it?

Cato's final words replay over and over in my head. That I would bring disrespect to the victor title, just as Haymitch had. It was no honor to come out on top for something like this. The rest of them were dead, most of which dying in brutal ways. I should be dead.

I think to the berries. Hadn't I swallowed at least one? Don't I remember doing that? I should have died. How did I not? I could have sworn I did.

My thoughts are troubling, and I suppose Peeta senses this, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.

"You're thinking too hard. Just focus on the present. The now. What's real and what is happening. Don't think about the what ifs, you'll only feel worse." His tone is kind, and he's being genuine. I feel bad that I cannot be there for him the way he's being there for me.

My eyes open and I nod slowly.

"Come on, you need rest. Try to get some decent sleep." He murmurs, nudging me onto the bed.

I don't fight him. I don't want to make his life harder than it is.

I stare at him as he gets up, moving to tuck me in. I grab his wrist as he turns to walk away.

"Peeta can you stay with me?" my voice is hardly above a whisper.

His face softens and he nods, "of course." he moves to get into the bed with me, taking a moment to take off his prosthetic leg before wrapping gentle, but comforting arms around me.

"How is your leg?" I ask after we shift a bit to a more comfortable position.

His face falters for a moment before he shrugs, looking down at me as he runs a hand through my hair, lightly running fingers across my scalp.

It seems as if his fingers were sucking away all of the bad thoughts as they run over my head, the painful thoughts suddenly evaporating under his touch.

"I'm still getting used to it being gone.. the prosthetic is uncomfortable... but I can't really complain. It could have been worse." He states and I nod at his words.

It could have been. He could be dead.

I trace patterns into his chest, unsure of what to say to bring him any comfort. He was the one who was good with words.

The rest of the night is silent, the only noise is the humming of the train, and Peeta's soft breathing as he falls asleep, his movements growing slow, until they stop completely. There is only the rise and fall of his chest as my head rests on it.

His heartbeat is rhythmic, urging me to sleep. Eventually, I do.