The Hunger Games- What If's (Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

   I can picture Peeta, sitting there. Smiling that lopsided smile that he has. I can feel myself smile thinking about it.

   Even though I've attempted to think about it before, I never decided if I ever really loved Peeta or not. Do I love him? Am I just afraid to admit it to myself, since he's gone now? I bet that's it. I bet I'm just too afraid. Basically, I let him die. I watched it myself, really. How did his mother react? No, that's a stupid question, she didn't actually ever love him. When I meant to ask was, how did his father react?

   Peeta's father. So nice, so kind and caring. He always offered up some smile for Prim whenever he saw her walking outside the shop, no matter how much his wife was screaming at the time. Does he really love my mother the way that Peeta said he does? It wouldn't surprise me, really. I remember I was always told about what a beauty my mother used to be. That is, of course, until she moved to the Seam with some low-time miner.

   What about my mother? Has she fallen apart again? And Prim. My dear, sweet Prim. Is she stuck trying to pick up the pieces of the woman who's supposed to have it all together for her? Is Gale there with Prim? Is Gale still in one piece?

   Sometimes, I can't help but feel that I'm the reason Gale is so rigid and angered. I know I'm not though. I mean, I am sometimes, but I'm not the real reason. Sometimes, there is no reason for Gale's anger. It's just always there, like a demon he can never shake from his back. And it's all pinned up inside him, just waiting for that moment when it's going to explode and then Gale will really lose it. I don't like thinking about what will happen to him then. I know that day will come. And I know that Gale won't regret it, either, which is what scares me the most.

   Then again, I know I've hurt him. All those times I kissed Peeta just for those cameras, I could always see Gale's face. Hear him thinking, "Do you really love that kid, Katnip?"

   It's funny, because Gale was never with me then, but he was always with me. If that makes any sense to anyone, that is. He was always there, shadowing me like a ghost, begging me not to do this and not to do that, or quickly do this and that and then maybe this, too. It was almost as if he was haunting me, but I didn't always realize it. Not until after the fact, and by then, what does it really matter anyway? It's not like I can change anything now, anyway.

   Who am I kidding? I was never able to change anything. Not from the beginning. It's because I didn't have a grip. I'd lost it from the moment that I heard Effie Trinket announce the name, "Primrose Everdeen!"

   Thanks to that, I'm stuck here now, willing the whole world to change. The whole world, when I don't even know what that means! We're all sheltered, all of Panem is sheltered! And it's all because the government is so weak, just one bird could collapse it all! Just one Mockingjay!

   Does anyone else see that?

   Is anyone else even there?

   Hello?

   Are you there?

   Are you listening?

   Can you hear what I am telling you? Can you feel what I am feeling? Tell me. Please, answer me.

   What I'm saying matters. It's important.

   Now . . . now, I just need people to believe. I need to tell them all.

   But I won't.

   And I can't.

   Because despite what I want to think, or like to think, I'm weak. I'm just as weak as the government. I'm as weak as a bow made from rotted wood. I'm useless, and I can only be used. There is no way I can stand on my own two feet unless someone else props me up, or I put on some fake facade where I'm wearing a gorgeous gown in front of a ton of cameras, twirling and giggling and spinning.

   But when I take that dress off. When that glitter rubs away. When the cameras shut down. That's when I shut down, too. That's when I start to think and question.

   I can think and question all I want, sure, but I'll always have to listen to Haymitch. Somehow, I know it in my bones. I don't have to listen to him completely, but he'll always be right in a way. In the future, if I even have a future, I know he'll be the one telling me what to do.

   I close my eyes again, inhaling deeply. I hold my breath for a moment. Then another moment. I hold it until I can feel my lungs ripping, begging me for new oxygen. So then I exhale, until my lungs are completely without any kind of air at all. Then I breath in again. Repeat.

   What will happen if I die? Really, what would happen? I think Panem would be different. Maybe I'm just thinking that to give myself some odd form of comfort, I don't know. I've always been the kind of person who doesn't need comfort. I've always been forced to stand alone.

   Maybe that's why it was so odd when suddenly, I was forced to be standing up with someone as kind and warm as Peeta Mellark. Maybe that's how I've changed.

   But have I actually changed?

   No.

   Because I still believe that killing humans and killing animals are two different things.

   Because I don't have a constant, gnawing anger in me.

   Because I'm not kind to people; I'm not accepted.

   Because I'm still in the Hunger Games.

   And I still have this delusion that I can win.