The Hunger Games: Continued

For The Sake Of Crying

Peeta's POV
The Next Day...

When Johanna's screams surround me like and oral kaleidoscope and Katniss' eyes engulf in flames, I'm glad the venom rushes through my veins now rather than later. The tears rack my body. My mind is a jungle of fiction and reality that I struggle to separate. I remember Dr Aurelius' advice, the conversation we had -
"The tracker jacker attack from your first games." She begins.
"Careers." I say.
"Okay. The beach in the Quarter Quell."
"Katniss."
"The bombs that killed Prim."
"Angry."
"Okay. Last one - Katniss Everdeen."
"Love." I answer.
The doctors words come flooding back, love, Katniss isn't a monster or a mutt or a demon. She's a girl, a women, who has more strength than anyone else I know. She isn't trying to kill me, she isn't trying to harm me. She isn't a product of Snow, because Snow is dead. Snow is dead. Katniss is alive. Snow was evil. Katniss is not.
When she runs out of the kitchen to aid my trauma, it's almost in slow-motion, her dark hair bouncing around, nightgown flapping. Her hands are on my face, in my hair, my neck, around my shoulders. Her alarmed eyes are on my face, on my clenched fists. I hear someone screaming in the distance, only to realise it's me. I feel my hands on my head, but I don't remember putting them there. Katniss' comfort is usually enough to tame the attacks, very rarely does she have to go as far as stopping me this way. Her lips press against mine firmly, my mind tries to kiss her back, but my lips refuse to part for her. She keeps them on me, waiting for me to give in.
Eventually my lips mould to her's, and suddenly I'm very aware of her tears on my cheeks, her hands in my hair, no one is screaming now, my fists are no longer clenched. I relax against her and let myself wrap her in my arms.
Katniss' hands are on my face. "You're going to be okay today." She says. The reunion. I know I'm going to be okay, it's Katniss who has been unsure. Perhaps her comforting me is in fact a comfort for herself. I kiss her hand. "I know. And you will be too." I wipe my burning tears away. As I walk to the kitchen to make breakfast, Katniss follows me. We don't talk about my attack, we never do. It's odd really, when our tears suddenly become meaningless the instant the moment passes. When my trauma stained cheeks go unnoticed. It's just another obstacle, one we can cross, one we have been winning.

After breakfast, I shower, ready myself for the day ahead and call Haymitch. He doesn't pick up. As Katniss showers, I run over to Haymitch's house to make sure he's ready for the reunion. I invite myself in, I'm only on the landing and already the strong whiskey fumes fill my nostrils. I've done everything I can to sway Haymitch off the stuff, but he just can't give it up. Therapy, rehab, nothing works. He needs it. If he hadn't found away to numb himself, he'd most likely be dead.

I find him sprawled out on the sofa face first, his hand lazily possessing a bottle. He's asleep and not in the slightest bit ready. With the jug of water in my hand, I almost feel guilty about drenching his sofa when I throw it over him, but the patchwork material is worn and stained anyway. With flailing arms, alarmed eyes, and his knife pressed outwards, Haymitch rises. He stills and lowers his knife. "Oh. Thought it was the girl. After all you're so much...nicer."
"Well, I don't really think Katniss cares if you show at the reunion, but someone has to take responsibility for you, seeing as you won't do it yourself." I snap.
"Wow, Peeta! Why so-" Haymitch waves his hands around. "Snappy?"
"Because it'll be me who has to explain to everyone that you didn't show because you're passed out and drunk. Now, get in the bath." I say.
"It's not like anyone cares if I show, anyway." Haymitch mumbles as he walks to the bathroom.
"I'm sure Effie does." I say and he gives me a reassured smile.

***

Katniss' POV

The warm water trickles down my back, in my hair. I love showering, I had never been in one until my first trip to The Capitol. After the war, showers were installed in all the houses of twelve. A luxury we can now afford. It's a good place to escape. To cry. If I need to cry I always go to the shower, like today. Perhaps it's silly, but I just really do not want to attend the reunion. I know it'll bring back bad memories. I'm glad Peeta's out because when I cry in front of him he panics.