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One of the first things they do after the war is try and determine what to do with Peeta. He can take care of himself now, mostly, but he's still having episodes almost every day. Haymitch is pushing for them to send Peeta back to Twelve, but most of the doctors seem to think it'll only cause him more trauma.
No one asks me what I think.
Finally, they decide to make him Haymitch's problem, probably out of exasperation more than actual concern for his welfare. It's just one more in a long string of decisions about our lives other people are making. Even after the war, things haven't really changed all that much.
Well no, actually. Because Prim is dead and Peeta screams like mad and tears at his face every time any light shines directly into his eyes.
Things are much, much worse.
//
It's strange, seeing Peeta and Haymitch settle into life in Twelve. Haymitch is back in his old house, but Peeta and I have moved into new ones, ones untainted by any memories, good or bad.
Peeta and Haymitch live next to each other, and I live a few houses down the way. In my kitchen, over the sink, there's a big window with a good view of Peeta's yard. I can watch them through it like a television, my own private Hunger Games.
It looks like Peeta's talked Haymitch into starting a garden in the grassy space between their houses. Haymitch is unhappy about it, but he's there every day, clenching a bottle in one hand and wiping his sweaty brow with the other. He doesn't appear to be particularly useful; Peeta does most of the work.
It's going well, almost all the rows planted, when Peeta has a terrible flashback. I'm washing dishes, standing at the sink, when he snaps. It looks like he's arguing with himself, but I can't really tell. Haymitch gets up and tries to grab at Peeta's arm, and Peeta wretches away, hits him over the head with a trovel. The glass in my hand shatters.
Haymitch doesn't appear to be hurt very badly, just a thin trickle of blood smearing across his forehead. He manages to approach Peeta on the next attempt, calms him.
I spend the rest of the week watching Peeta dig in the garden with his bare hands, not a tool in sight.
//
Peeta's still having nightmares – or so Haymitch tells me, when we bump into each other at the Hob. It's awkward for both of us and I can see that he's eager to leave, so I don't press him for details.
I'm still thinking about this when I bump into Peeta later, physically bump into him. We're both walking on the same path to the Victor's Village. He's holding a white canvas sack, and when he looks up and realizes it's me, he holds it out in front of him like a shield.
I'm not sure what to do, but I can already see terrible, terrible things flashing behind Peeta's eyes.
“Hi Peeta,” I try cautiously, and I see instantly that I've done the wrong thing. He opens his mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out.
Then he turns and runs as if he expects me to turn into a mutt and start chasing after him. Which, I guess, he does.
That night, Peeta's screams wake me. They're tortured, terrible, as bad as they were in Thirteen when he'd just gotten back. Even three houses down, they're loud enough to hear. I race downstairs, press my nose against the icy-cold kitchen window, watching.
Finally, Haymitch's porch light comes on, and I see him pad across the lawn to Peeta's back door, where he lets himself in.
I go back to bed.
//
Gale comes back to Twelve. I don't see him much, only a few times in passing.
One day, he comes to my house. He doesn't knock, just walks in and wordlessly grabs me my the wrist. Neither Gale or I had ever been much for talking, but after Peeta, the lack of communication disarms me.
Nevertheless, I follow him. We walk to the edge of the district. The fence is knocked down, rusting on the grass, but it still feels strange to step over it so carelessly. I half expect a Peacekeeper to jump out and arrest us, or worse.
We walk through the woods for awhile. There's no reason to be quiet, but I still creep around like I'm hunting. I don't even have a bow anymore.
Maybe someday I'll make a new one.
After maybe twenty minutes of walking, we get to a clearing. In it, there's a wooden cabin, still smelling like freshly-cut wood.
“I thought maybe we could--” Gale trails off, but I'm nodding anyway, ready to agree to anything. He shows me around. The house is tiny, one room, with a big stone fireplace and only one window. It's cozy and rustic, and we have everything we could possibly need.
I try not to decide whether I'd be happier with Peeta in Victor's Village.
//
Slowly, we establish a routine. I've made myself a bow and arrows, and I spend most of my days hunting. Gale stays closer to the cabin, carving us furniture and dishes, though he occasionally goes fishing. He doesn't have much patience for trapping anymore.
Today's drizzly and cold, and the rain keeps the animals away. I come back with nothing, and crawl into bed without a word.
Gale moves about the cabin, preparing dinner for himself, eating it slowly. Eventually I hear him rinsing off his dishes, striking a match. I hear nothing for a moment, and then a chair sliding across the floor. He begins carving something; I don't know what. The rhythmic sound of his knife scraping against the wood lulls me to sleep.
I'm having a particularly strange dream. I'm hungry, hungrier than I've ever been. I'm digging through the mud, trying to find a loaf of bread. I know the bread is there, but I can't find it. All of a sudden, the mud starts burning my hands, like fire. The water from the stream won't wash it off, so desperately, I try to lick it away. It doesn't burn my mouth; it suffocates me, closing up my throat.
I fall to the ground and my vision begins to go black. Just before I lose my sight completely, Buttercup bounds up to me and starts swatting at my face.
I wake up in a cold sweat, reach out for Gale in the bed we share. He wakes too, looks at my with confusion in his eyes. Desperate, I close my lips onto his.
He lets me kiss him, and for a moment, I think he might be kissing back.
//
Every few weeks, Gale goes back to Two. He has a position there, something official. It's in the government, it's very important, but I don't know exactly what it is.
One day, I come back from hunting to find Gale packing up his things. He doesn't have a lot, and neither do I. Everything he owns fits into a small sack, the kind we buy flour in.
I place my bow down, cough to get his attention in a way I find both obnoxious and unnecessary.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and I'm ashamed by how weak my voice is.
“Catnip,” he says so softly that it stabs me like a knife. He finishes what he's doing, prying his father's medal off of where he nailed it above the fireplace, and turns to me.
He tells me that he's met a girl in Two, that he's been seeing her for months now. He's getting married. He needs to leave Twelve, to move on with his life. The whole thing sounds like an apology, and I don't know if it's warranted or not.
He doesn't tell me her name, just that she has bright green eyes and a crooked smile.
//
I move back to my house in Victor's Village. A thick layer of dust covers everything, exactly where I left it.
//
Annie and Finnick come to visit, bringing their baby, who is almost two years old and looks exactly like Finnick, already with a full head of copper hair. I creep out onto my front porch, watch them from a wicker chair and hope they don't notice me.
Peeta plays with him in his front yard, bouncing him up and down on his knee and crawling with him through the grass.
Finnick and Haymitch stand together, chatting. I see Finnick politely turn down Haymitch's offer of alcohol. Annie watches Peeta and her son, who's beaming and tugging on Peeta's bright yellow curls. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she's smiling.
I can't help but think of how badly Peeta wanted to be a father, and I hate myself for taking that away from him.
Johanna comes too, though her visits aren't happy. Peeta and Johanna scream at each other for hours, curse and yell and at one point, I see them throwing punches on his front lawn. Her visits aren't day visits, either, she stays for a week or so at a time.
I thought Haymitch would kick her out, would see how volatile they are, but he doesn't. One night, I see Peeta and Johanna talking on the front porch, their shoulders pressed together. They're both trying to wipe tears away while pretending not to cry, and their free hands are clenched together so tightly that their fingers turn white.
She knocks on my door early one morning. I almost think she's there for a visit, but then, neither of us are much for social calls. She doesn't come in when I offer, just looks me dead in the eye.
“If you ever go near him again, I'll slit your fucking throat.”
//
A bakery is built, and Peeta goes to work there. It's his bakery, really, even if he won't admit it. Even years later, his skills are just as sharp, or so I hear. I haven't visited it.
He offers treats to the children when the come in, doesn't even mind when their greasy fingers smudge his display windows. Within a few weeks, he's baking enough bread for the entire district, and we no longer have to ship in the coarse loaves from Nine. The whole district loves him.
Delly's working there too, manning the cash register. One weekend, she and Peeta paint the whole store bright blue; the next weekend, they repaint it a sunny yellow.
I know it's wrong, but I can't help but spy on him. Even if I don't dare talk to him, I need to know that he's doing alright. There's a tree down the road a ways, a nice sturdy one with lots of leaves. I climb up it and hide; I have an excellent view of the bakery.
I watch him walk home everyday.
//
It's not raining, but it was earlier, and the path is so muddy my feet get stuck. I'm carrying a sack of squirrel carcasses to the Hob, aiming to trade for an extra wool blanket. I push open the heavy wooden door, step into the warm, stuffy air of the Hob.
Peeta is inside, holding the hand of an obviously pregnant Delly.
This time, I'm the one who's speechless. I'm panicking, and apparently, so is Delly, judging by the way her eyes are darting back and forth. I raise my hand for a weak wave, then instantly lower it. Unsure what to do, I simply stare at my feet.
“Afternoon, Katniss,” he says, the first words he's addressed to me since the war. It's jarring, like the wind's been knocked out of me, and Peeta uses this confusion as an opportunity to lead Delly away.
I watch his retreating back. He doesn't look like he's about to have an episode, doesn't even look upset. I know it's selfish, but this hurts more than I ever thought was possible.
I no longer have any effect on him.