Begin Again [Wattys 2013 Finalist]

Chapter 5

 It’s been about three days since the incident with Peeta and Haymitch.  I haven’t moved.  I haven’t eaten.  When I drift off to sleep, my head is flooded with nightmares.  I know Greasy Sae has been here, but I don’t care.  I think she’s finally given up on me.  I don’t plan on moving until I’m done thinking.  I need to think.  I need answers, and I know no one else can give them to me.  Do I hate Peeta?  Do I love Peeta?  Do I care about Peeta?  Should I see him?  Should I apologize?  No matter how I try to spin it, it always comes back to him.  Sometimes, I decide I want to run over to his house and feel his strong arms wrap around me again.  Sometimes, I hate myself for even thinking that that’s a possibility.  Either way, I never come up with a solution.  I used to think that it was simple.  He hated me and I hated him.  Now, ever since Haymitch’s little fit, I’m not sure.  I go back to my old ways and I make a list of everything I know for sure.

1.     My name is Katniss Everdeen.

2.     I am 18 years old.

3.     I am alive, barely.

4.     Peeta is alive.

5.     Prim is dead.

6.     Peeta is trying but he’s not getting better.

7.     He needs me to get better.

8.     I need him to get better.

See?  Always back to Peeta.  I hear the door crack open and loud footsteps, which tells me it’s not Greasy Sae.  I still don’t move.  I continue to stare at the fire.  The footsteps get closer until I see Haymitch’s face right in front of mine. 

“What?” I ask, not changing my expression.

“Oh I don’t know,” he trails off.  “Maybe Greasy Sae tells me that you haven’t eaten in two days, and you haven’t been taking the pills from Doctor Aurelius, and you clearly have not showered in a while, and you’re not trying… I could go on.  Should I?”

“No,” I reply.

“Then I’ll make this simple, cause I wanna get out of here and I have better things to do.”

“Like drink yourself into a coma?

“Yes, while you cry yourself into a bigger one.  So here’s the deal.  I can’t make you want to live.  No one can but yourself.  And were all about through trying with you.  But not the boy.”

He drops a letter in my lap and leaves my house.  I glance down and see “Katniss” written on the envelope.  It’s in Peeta’s handwriting.  I slowly pull the paper out of the envelope and begin to read. 

Dear Katniss,

I wanted to come talk to you, but Haymitch keeps telling me to wait.  I’m not sure if I can anymore.  I know you’re not doing well.  I live right next to you, remember?  I don’t want to hurt you, which I know is hard for you to believe.  But the only reason I have for writing this letter is to apologize.  I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry for what happened here two days ago, and that I couldn’t control it a little longer until I was out of your house.  I’m sorry that I let the capitol take me from you, and that I let them again and again almost everyday.  I’m sorry that I let you go.  But that’s why I came back to District 12.  There's really nothing left for me here.  I should have started over in a different district.  But I didn't becasue I can't give up on you.  I will never give up on you.  I will keep trying.  I will fight for us. Always.  And even though you don’t want to see me and Haymitch instructed me to “give you space”, I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you that.  I hope you’ll forgive me one day.

Love Always,

Peeta.

I thought I felt a tear roll down my cheek when I was reading, but now I notice that my face is soaked with them.  Peeta is still trying to love me when I don’t even love myself.  He’s trying to heal himself at the same time.  So why can’t I do these things for myself?  There’s no answer, because I can.  Not for Peeta, not for Prim, for myself.  I’m still not hungry, but I walk upstairs, undress, and shower.  It takes me at least an hour just to get the knots out of my hair.  I look in the mirror and I look a little better, but not much.  My skin is still pale and patchy, hair splitting at the ends, cheek bones too defined, eyes hollow.  When I turn away from the monster in the mirror, I look out the window and notice something else.  Snow.  White, crisp, fresh, beautiful, falling from the sky to the ground.  And the snow reminds me of something.  Something that’s given me hope.  Something about the same color.  I reach into my pocket and pull out Peeta’s pearl.  The one he gave me on the beach only a year ago.  The one that I always carry with me but despite its light weight, I never have the strength to pull out.  I don’t know how long I stand at the window, watching the snowflakes dance, but it takes the sound of screams to shake me out of my daze.  After my auditory senses come back, I become conscious of what I’m seeing and hearing.  The screams are unmistakably those of Peeta.  I stand and listen to them as I watch Peeta being taken from his house by what look like two doctors.  He kicks and screams until Haymitch calmly walks over and hits him over the head with a stool.  He goes still.  Until now, I had been a bystander in the situation, but I suddenly sprint down the stairs and out my door to Haymitch, just in time to see the doctors drag Peeta off in the direction of the train station.  Even though I already know, out of breath, I ask Haymitch what happened.

“He had another flashback.  It was bad, and they’ve been too consistent.  They’re bringing him back to the Capitol for treatment. It might be days, maybe weeks.”

Haymitch tries to show no emotion as he gives me the news, but I don’t have the power to do the same successfully in my response.  Because now some of the answers are clear to me.  I miss him.  I don’t hate him.  I’m sorry for shutting him out.  But it might be too late because now he’s gone.  I break away from Haymitch, whom I now realize is wiping the tears off my cheeks.  But this time I don’t run away.  I run directly into Peeta’s house and collapse in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth, still sobbing.