Mockingjay Part 3. Rekindled Flame

Sting

That night, Peeta goes back to his own house and I stay in my bed. I felt too awkward asking him to stay and I was scared my nightmares might trigger one of his flashbacks. The entire day we talked and the longer I was with him, the more I could see just how much better he really was. 

His laugh was easy, his eyes were clear, and there was little sign that anything had happened to him. However, there was something off about him. He seemed more mature, more reserved, about everything. After that hug in the kitchen, we didn't touch again. We made a point not to talk about what happened. Whether it was because he didn't want to bring up Prim or if it was because I didn't want to trigger him, I don't know. I longed to ask him what his therapy was like. A small part of me wanted to know what Snow did to him and what he told him to say. But I don't think I will ever be able to hear it. It will break me more than I already am. 

When I wake up at 4 AM dreaming of the explosion that turned my little sister to ash, my first thought is to call for Peeta. With tears streaming down my face, I decide to settle with stroking Buttercup's fur in order to calm me. He seemed okay with it, but I soon realize that in the dark of the night and the silence of the empty house, the feel of his silky fur reminds me of the basement that I had hid out in with Peeta, Gale, Cressida, and the rest of the team. We had made our beds out of the odd faux fur coats in Tigris' basement to sleep on while we awaited an opportunity to strike the center of the Capitol: Snow's mansion. Of course then I began thinking about what had happened outside of the mansion, and suddenly I was reliving my dream once more. 

I push away from the cat, earning myself a hiss before he jumps off the bed and scurries beneath it. I pace up and down the room, wrapping my arms around myself in order to calm myself down. The cool night air flowing through the windowsill cools my clammy skin, but leaves me feeling sticky. My heart rate doesn't seem like it will ever go down and my body vibrates with residual adrenaline from my dream. I can't take it anymore. 

Without consciously deciding, I find myself pulling on my hunting boots and grabbing one the the homemade bows. The one place that used to be my safe haven has become somewhat foreign to me. Not in the way that makes me unfamiliar with it; I have spent too much of my time in these woods for it to become a stranger. However I feel that I am a stranger to it. The girl who used to come here in order to survive is long gone. She went up in flames months ago with her sister. Now I come here to cease the constant screaming and painful cries that slice through my thoughts. 

I no longer need anything in these woods. I could buy anything I needed and then some. I no longer have a family to provide for. They're gone. I have no purpose here. I have nothing left. 

Still, the fresh air and the sound of chirping birds gives me something to focus on, and soon I am deep in the woods with my eyes on some wild turkeys. I am highly aware of the absence of my hunting partner. There is no one looking out for me. The spot that Gale and I used to meet up at has become something of a poison to avoid at all costs. I'm so afraid that if I even step in the vicinity that the terrible thoughts will just come pouring back into my head. Prim is everywhere. 

I don't start walking back towards the Victor's Village until the sun is high in the sky and my belt is weighed down with three turkeys. I figure I can keep one and give the other two to Haymitch and Peeta; after I clean them of course. I don't think Haymitch will be sober enough to clean the bird, and I don't know if Peeta knows how. 

As I listen to the crunch of my boots on the leaves beneath me, I become more and more aware of a buzzing sound. It starts off as a low hum, and for a second I panic as I think about the electric fence that guards the woods, but I quickly put that out of my mind because there's no longer a reason for anyone to be kept out. I swallow that thought and keep moving forward, trying to think about what I want to do with my bird once I've prepared it. I could go to town and buy some rice from someone who has come back to 12. Maybe Haymitch, Peeta, and I can have a dinner together one night this week.