(Harsh topics are mentioned—such as self-harm, abuse, and sa)
*Katniss's POV*
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
But I can't tell him. I can't tell him about my mistake, my mistake of letting him inside. I wish I would've just trusted my instincts. I wish he could hold me, and tell me everything is okay. But if I tell him, there's no guarantee he'll hold me.
God, it hurts so bad.
I can't complain. I did this.
It's like a battle inside my head. Fighting the urge to give in, fighting the urge to let out all of my pain onto him.
_
He leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed, and he's shaking his head in disbelief. I look down ashamed and fight the feeling to hide under the covers.
"I don't know what to even say," he mumbles quietly. I look up to find his eyes lined with tears. "I know it's not your fault, but you should've told me. I shouldn't have to find out about it on the news. You hid it from me—and that hurts worse than anything. I could have helped you, comforted you, but you refuse to acknowledge my help."
He kissed me again, and I let it happen. I knew he was there, yet I opened the door anyways. I thought maybe he changed, maybe he wanted to talk this out like Peeta had said, I thought maybe my best friend had came back. But instead, the same thing happened.
I wish I never opened that door. I wish I never let him get that close.
"I—" I pause before speaking. "I'm sorry." I say with a tear streaming down my face. "I never should've opened the door, and this is all my fault," I ramble on. His face is casted downwards and I can tell he's frustrated.
"It was still as bad as last time, Peeta." I watch as he pauses and closes his eyes for a moment and reopening them.
"He touched you again?" He asks while recrossing his arms. I nod and his face softens. "Where does it hurt?" He asks readjusting on the doorframe. I look back down and answer his question.
"It'd be easier to ask where it doesn't," I remark quietly and I hear him sigh. He walks over and sits next to me.
"I'm so sorry." He says. I shrug my shoulders as I feel a warm hand on top of my thigh. The hand brings an odd comfort to me. I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder while he paces his thumb back and forth on my thigh.
"Peeta," I start but he hushes me. He takes his other hand and grabs my chin. His thumb brushes my bottom lip while he looks at me. I look to his lips then back at him.
"Don't apologize." He says still looking at me. I nod as I lean into his lips.
We remain that way for a while. He kisses me back tentatively, but pulls away eventually. I give him a confused look as he tucks a hair behind my ear.
"You should rest, darling." He says while caressing my cheek. I reluctantly nod and he tucks me in. He kisses my forehead and shuts the light off on the way out. I watch as he leaves and I hear him go downstairs.
I sit there, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about the last few moments.
It started with him being mad at me, then I coaxed him into feeling bad for me. I just manipulated him and I feel guilty. He shouldn't have to give up his frustration to comfort me. I know he was frustrated, yet he gave that up for me.
I twist and turn until I give up. I know it's late, but I can't sleep. The guilt is consuming me. I never meant for this to happen. I didn't mean to hurt him like this.
I quickly get out of bed and hurry down the stairs. I find all the lights off except for a lamp in the living room.
"Peeta?" I say entering the living room with tears filling my eyes. He looks up from his book and gives me a small glance. "I can't sleep, I just feel so bad."
"There's nothing to feel bad about." He says quietly while looking back down at his book. I sigh and walk over to him. I sit down next to him but he doesn't look up at me.
"I know I screwed up, but I didn't mean for this to happen. I just thought maybe he had came to apologize or something." I huff trying to hold in the tear that is daring to escape. "And, I was going to tell you, but I didn't want you to worry." He flips a page of his book, not acknowledging me, and I sulk back. I stare at my hands in embarrassment from rambling, when I hear a rustle. I look over to see his book thrown across the couch as I feel warm hands around me. He pulls me close and rubs my shoulder.
"This is my fault. I never should of given you the impression he would apologize. I knew you were scared but I tried to see the best in him." He says taking my hand. "I'm always going to worry about you. I just want you to be able to tell me things when they happen." I lean into his shoulder but this time he doesn't hush me when I speak.
"You can't always take the blame for me," I whisper. "I know I do stuff wrong all the time." He moves the hand that was on my shoulder down to my back. He circles my lower back to calm me down while keeping the other hand entwined with mine.
"Nobody's perfect." He kisses my forehead and I rest my eyes. If Peeta isn't perfect then what am I—a monster?
"You're mad at me, aren't you?" I say and he shrugs his shoulders.
"I'm not mad at you." He says. I give him a look but he laughs softly. "This wasn't your fault." I nod at his answer and look back down at my hands.
I move my shoulder to a more comfortable spot and my neck begins to throb in pain. I wince in pain and I feel Peeta remove his hands from my body.
"Peeta," I start through my teeth. I know I said I wouldn't complain, but I've never been in this immense amount of discomfort before. "It hurts, everywhere." I breathe out. I point to my neck and he turns his head enough to see the bruises in the dim light.
"Those are worse than last time, Katniss." He remarks with a worried expression. "Do you want me to get some medicine?" He asks while looking at me.
I nod my head and he gets up carefully, trying to create as little movement as possible.
He comes back quickly and I grab two pills from his hands, swallowing them down quickly. They don't work immediately, and I'll have to go through a little more pain until they begin to function, but at least I'm better at dealing with physical pain rather than mental.
I begin to carefully lay beside Peeta as he sits down. I rest my head on his chest lightly and close my eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It beats calmly, and it's relaxing to hear the consistency. I feel him begin to run his hand through my hair, playing with it, and it distracts me from the constant ache.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "Thank you for not being mad at me."
"Katniss," he says while continuing to run his hand through my hair. "I'm never going to be mad at you for something out of your control. Please, stop worrying about what I think. Everything else can be dealt with later. You're the only thing that matters right now."
I nod gently, acknowledging him, and close my eyes. I see vivid pictures in my mind of the encounter, like it's a movie I'm watching. I quickly open my eyes and stir a bit, before settling back down. He keeps near me, and his warmth radiates my body.
Slowly, my eyes begin to fall tired and I can barely manage to keep myself alert. I hear him start to whisper while caressing my shoulder.
"I don't know what I would've done if I had lost you, on that cliff." He says quietly. I stay still, listening to him pour his thoughts out, thinking nobody will hear them. I assume he thinks I asleep, which makes me want to listen even more. Maybe it's an invasion of privacy, but I can't help but to listen. "I need you. I need you so greatly, and all of these poor situations keep happening, and I'm so afraid that they'll eventually result in you disappearing."
I guess I never thought about how scary that was for him. To not know if you're going to be able to spend the rest of your life with the person you need—to not know if you'll walk home alone. I wouldn't be able to continue without Peeta, but I guess I never thought that maybe he wouldn't go on without me.
_
When I wake up, I'm alone on the couch. I look around but the house is quiet. Maybe Willow's already at school. I get up and quietly walk around the house. I expect a note in the kitchen telling me that Peeta's gone somewhere, but there isn't one. I jump once I hear something drop in the distance and I assume it's Peeta.
As I walk towards the art room, I remember last night. It pains me, thinking about how he doesn't want to lose me. But I can't keep living for someone besides me. Because in reality, it doesn't work—and you end up suffering, trying to please others.
I find Peeta painting a canvas. I gently open the door wider and he concentrates on his painting.
"Did I wake you?" He asks while staring at the painting. I shake my head and walk over to watch him. Each stroke he makes is mesmerizing, like each one tells a story. The once blank-canvas becomes an extravagant portrait of Willow and Rye. It looks like a photograph. The details of Willow's eyes and Rye's curly hair stand out.
"She's just as easy to paint as you," he mentions while watching me stare at the painting.
"How's that?" I ask, knowing of all of my portraits strung around the home.
"Because you're both gorgeous." He says and I smile softly. I marvel at the painting but his words cut me like a knife. My smile starts to fade into a frown.
"How can you be so nice to me?" I ask, and he gives me a look.
"Katniss," he starts but I cut him off.
"I'm serious, Peeta. All I do is hurt you and you never hurt me back. I just don't get it." He crosses his arms and I sigh.
"I've already hurt you enough in the past, there's no reason to hurt you now." He says and I lean against his desk, listening to him. "Last night was my fault. You can feel whatever way you want about this but I'm not going to be hostile, so get that out of your head."
I look into his eyes and let a tear fall down my face. He walks towards me but I turn around. I walk out of the room and hurry up the stairs, closing the door as I enter my room. I take a deep breath in and slide down the door. The tears fall more quickly from my eyes and I try to wipe them, but it's no use.
How can he do this? He can't continue to act like it's all fine when it's clearly not. I heard him last night. I know I scared him. But he doesn't allow himself to feel like that, he pushes it aside and makes room for me—just as I come back in and hurt him all over again. I don't know what else I can do. I love Peeta, I need him to survive. But how can he need and love me through all of this?
Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door and call for them to go away. I hear what I assume to be Peeta, rustle with the doorknob.
"Mama, it's me," I hear Rye say. I hesitantly stand up and open the door. "May I come in?" He asks and I nod. He walks in with his blanket and sits on the edge of my bed. He pats the bedding next to him, implying for me to sit, and waits patiently. I close the door and sit down next to him. "I don't want you to cry." He says softly. I give a soft smile and look away.
"I'm okay." I start but he interjects.
"You always say that, Mama." He mentions frustrated. He reaches up to my face to wipe the tear and sighs. "Can we go get Dad? I can't reach some of your tears." He slumps his shoulders and I laugh.
"I can manage it myself." I say, standing up to take a tissue from the box off my dresser. "You can go see him if you want." He gives me a look but I ignore it.
"You're sick, Mama. I know it." I hear him begin while I face him. "Your neck is blue, and green, and even purple." I quickly turn around and look into the mirror. Upon my neck, there are several bruises and finger marks imprinted on me. I shutter at the memory and look away. If anyone saw this, everything would change for Peeta. His entire reputation, destroyed.
"I'm okay, darling." I shrug while turning to him. "Go visit Dad, he's in the art room." He narrows his eyes at me but walks out of the room.
It's only been a few minutes, yet I hear a knock and assume it's Rye again. I open the door and find Peeta. He looks at me and I turn around and walk towards the dresser.
"Rye said you needed me," he says while leaning against the doorframe—the spot he usually stands in while we argue.
"I'm fine." I state while trying to act busy. He looks down and avoids my eyes. I sigh and look down to my hands. "I'm sorry." I say rolling my pearl in my fingers. "I didn't mean to make you upset, I was just trying to tell you how I felt."
"I'm not upset, it just stings to think that you expect me to hurt you because you made a mistake." He says and I look up at him. "Katniss, how does that make sense to you?"
I think for a second.
"It doesn't." I answer honestly. "It doesn't, and I'm sorry." I say, holding in a tear that wants to fall so badly.
"I don't want you to ever be hurting." He looks at me and I walk towards him. He embraces me and I don't want to let go. I bury my face in his chest and he rubs my back. I manage to keep him like that for awhile—before Rye calls for him downstairs.
"It's okay." I say letting go. He hesitates before leaving.
"Are you going to be okay alone?" He asks. I nod my head and he walks away, down the stairs. I sigh and realize I'm left alone again.
I walk over and sit on the edge of our bed, looking around the room. I peer into the mirror at my neck, and it's all blue and purple—and it hurts severely worse than the first time. It's like my neck and whole body is throbbing. I need to distract my mind. I can't function, I can't live like this, I can't be alive. I quickly stand up and reach for my bedside table. I rummage through the drawers until I find it.
I sit down on the side of the floor away from the door. I take my wrist and pull my knife up to it. I've done this before, it'll be fine. He won't know. I can hide it. I slowly drag it across the skin—wincing at the pain but continuing. I grit my teeth and stare at the blood tricking down my arm. My arm shakes as I switch the blade into my other hand and start to do the same thing to my other wrist. I slowly cut through the skin, and it doesn't hurt as much as the first one. Honestly, it hurts less than my bruises strung along my body. I set the blade down on the floor next to me and watch as my once tan arms become red. I didn't mean to create such a big cut. I feel a lot dizzier than usual.
Why
did
I
do
this?
I seem to be asking myself that question a lot lately. I always do things in the moment, never thinking of the outcome. I guess sometimes we do things because we can't handle anything else, and I couldn't handle anything else. I don't know if this is selfish. But I have to do things for me. I can't live for somebody else. I can't live for Peeta—I've tried.
Suddenly, the door opens and I hear Rye call for me. He walks over, and I watch as he screams. I hear Peeta rush up the stairs and into the room. I lay my head back on the bed and close my eyes. I feel someone brush my forehead carefully while crying.
"Wake up, Mama. Wake up for me."
"I'm sorry," is all I can manage to mutter, before I fade away.