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“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” I ask.
“No.” A long time passes before he adds, “She crept up on me.”
I think of Peeta and all the times I took him for granted, all those kisses and hugs as if they were something I deserved, like they belonged to me. They never did, and neither did he. Now, if he comes back, what will he think of me? Will he be repulsed by the idea of me, after everything I have put him through? No, this is Peeta we’re talking about. He could never hate me, could he?
What must they have been to doing to him?
And you . . . in Thirteen . . . dead by morning!
I remember the impact of the blow, inseparable from his cry of pain, blood as it splatters the tiles.
What else had they done to him? My heart feels like it’s being cut open as I imagine Peeta’s cries. I wonder if he unconsciously called out my name while I sat a million miles away, safe and unharmed.
I softly whisper his name, willing him to come back to me so I can hold him in my arms and tell him that I’m sorry, that it was all my fault. That I’m going to kill Snow for everything he did.
“I think Peeta crept up on me too,” I say with a smile.
“I’m sorry you had to sell your love like that.”
I simply shrug and go back to my rope.
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
---
It must be midnight, it must be tomorrow when Haymitch pushes open the door. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital.” My mouth opens with a flood of questions that he cuts off with, “That’s all I know.”
Finnick is acting strange, like a child, so I take his hand and we go down to the special defense wing and into the hospital. The hospital is a picture of chaos. The cries and orders around me begin to overwhelm me, but I steel myself, thinking only of Peeta.
I wonder if he’ll kiss me.
Haymitch guides me in. Peeta’s awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I’m disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke.
A halo of darkness seems to be cast around Peeta, the sight of his slumped back mapped out with streaks of yellow, red and blue makes me feel like someone is pumping poisonous fog through my heart. It stings and burns, my eyes begin to water before I even approach him.
My hand shakes and comes up to cover my mouth, I practically fly towards him.
“Pee..ta,” I choke out, helplessness spreads it’s spiny fingers across my back. I almost fall to my knees as I take in the sight of him.
He looks nothing like the healthy boy I knew in the arena. No. He has lost almost twice his weight, If I reach out I would be able trace every rib on his skinny waist. Oh and his face. My boy with the bread. What have they done to him.
His face is splayed with tiny cuts, I can tell they were roughly stitched up just minutes before. His shaved head seems to not have ecape this treatment either. Near his earlobe a sharp smell of pus and disinfectant erodes in waves off him. Red and purple and yellow and blue eye where. But the worst part is the cloudy, distant look in his eyes. Almost as if he can’t recognize me, or isn’t sure that I’m real. I’m afraid it’s both, I’m afraid I can see the torture just through looking into his eyes.
“Katniss?” Peeta croaks in disbelief, eyes wide.
“Yes, Peeta, it’s me. Your Katniss.” I wail loudly, making horrible choking sounds as I cry.
“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. Don’t lie to me,” he suddenly begins shouting.
“I’m real, Peeta. I swear I’m real.”
Peeta freezes, considering my words, trying to decipher whether this is one of Snow’s simulations.
“You’re always lying to me Katniss,” his voice drops to an octave, eyebrows scrunched as his eyes scan over me.
A scream bulges inside my throat, I feel utterly helpless. Desperate, I do the only thing I can think of and kiss him fully on the lips. At first, his lips are cold and stiff, but as I slowly wrap my arms around him, he melts into me. The sharp taste of disinfectant and bitter medicine initially overwhelms me, but beneath it all, I find that familiar taste that is simply Peeta. No matter where we were or how filthy we became, Peeta always lingered with that same taste. And even now, he doesn't disappoint.
I'm taken back to another time, another night, when I believed our kiss could make the stars crumble at our feet. Even the relentless ticking clock in the arena seemed like it might melt away in reverence. Against all odds, we had vowed to protect each other’s souls. Naïve fools that we were, we thought the universe would yield to our final wishes. But it must’ve been our fault, we hadn't wished on shooting stars or wishing fountains; we had staked our wishes on our souls. And the universe, unforgiving, does not grant mercy to those who break its rules.
I feel myself running out of air, but I don’t dare move my lips away from him. He is oxygen; I do not need to breathe as long as he is with me. Thankfully, Peeta pulls back, gasping and red-faced, burying his face into my neck. I wind my fingers around his bare head and gently lift his face, willing him to look into my eyes.
“Kiss me again,” he says through hot tears.
This time I cradle both hands around his head and fall into his lips with a little more force. PeetaPeetaPeetaPeeta. The feel of his lips is like morphling shooting up my veins.
“Stay with me,” I say.
“Always.”