Always

Broken

On the third morning, I make my way over to Prim's cabin and sit quietly with her. "How are you?" Prim asks finally, breaking the silence. "And don't say you're fine. We both know you're not."

I sigh heavily, hating the moisture that wells in my eyes. "I'm scared for him, Prim," I admit softly, before I acknowledge the fear that has been haunting me ever since I saw Peeta's blood splatter the floor of the Capitol's film room. "They might kill him for this."

My voice is a tremulous whisper as I force back my sobs. I've cried myself to sleep every night, the image of the red-stained white floor imprinted in my mind. "I saw him, Prim. I saw the look in his eyes. He thought it was a possibility. He thought that they might kill him for warning us . . . but he told us about the bombing anyway. And now . . ." I trail off as my tears begin to slip from my eyes, my sobs building in my throat. "And now they might have . . . he could be . . ." The sobs finally escape me, causing me to be unable to continue.

Prim immediately begins to console me, rubbing a soothing hand on my back and whispering reassurances. I try to believe her. I try to believe her when she says that Peeta isn't dead. I want to believe her desperately. I'm desperate, holding on to my last hope. My last unfailing hope that Peeta is surviving for me and the baby like Greasy Sae said. That he's living because he has something to live for.

Because Peeta dying is simply not possible.

He can't die.

Traitorously, my mind dredges up a memory. A steaming hot arena surrounded by dense greenery. Peeta's knife swinging down and hitting the force field, blasting him backward. His body landing lifelessly on the ground. Placing my fingers over his lips only to feel no breath. Placing my head on his chest only to feel no heartbeat.

Peeta has died before. For a brief few minutes, he left me alone to survive the arena, lead a rebellion, and raise our child alone.

But he came back. He came back because I'd asked him to.

Only because you said please.

"Katniss." Prim's voice cuts through the memory, distorting it. When I blink back my tears, I see her expression—worried, but confident. "Katniss, listen to me. Breathe, okay? Deep breaths." I hate that I'm so weepy, that I can almost cry on cue these days because of pregnancy hormones. Not to mention the stress that I'm under, but nonetheless I focus on Prim's face, breathing with her, until my tears have ceased to fall and I'm relatively calm.

Only then does Prim continue. "I don't think Snow will kill Peeta," she says surely. "If he does, he won't have anyone left you want. He won't have any way to hurt you."

The logic is cruel, but true.

"What will they do to him?" I ask and images of Peeta being beaten flood through my mind.

Prim looks at me and takes my hand before speaking. "Whatever it takes to break you, until you can hardly stand on your own." I choke down a sob and realize that prim is right. They're using him as bait to lure me in, because they know that Peeta is the only thing is this world I would risk my life for.

"You can't keep glueing yourself back together. You and I both know that the only person that holds you together isn't here right now."

"What are you saying, that I'm going to shatter into a million pieces?"

"I'm saying that you can only live with half of yourself for so long."