Better Games

23. what if

I sat in the meadow watching Annie and Peeta try to get Finn to walk. The child staggered as he tried to right his footing. Peeta held Finn's hands above his head supporting his weight and guiding him to walk towards his mother who was standing a few feet away from him, cheering him on. Joanna laid still on a blanket a few feet away from me, I could hear her faint snore. I was content to sit here on my own and watch the three in the distance, alone with my thoughts.

Joanna had been speaking to me before she dozed off. She talked about District 4 mostly, memories of taking Annie to the hospital when Finn was born, chasing the crawling child across their living room. I let her fill my head with the pleasant scenes of the domestic life of raising a child. When she was done I told her about what had gone on in Twelve since we got back. I say we because I skipped over the depressing part, the part where I sat idle in my house, alone, unmoving, close to starving. I started my spiel with the day Peeta got back, and ended with the summary of how our lives got back to normal. I told her Peeta still had flashbacks, I still had days of quiet solitude, but for the most part, we were approaching what any survivor of the games, the war, could call happy. If I was being honest with myself I didn't know if I would call my new life in general happy, it was more accurate to say Peeta's presence in my life made me happy.

Joanna was never one to prattle on about unimportant topics to fill silence, so once we were done catching up she laid still and soon fell asleep. I on the other hand sat still, with my knees tucked under my chin, watching the group in front of me. I looked around me to the trees, watching the coming autumn breeze attempt to pull the unwilling summer leaves off their branches. As a hunter I couldn't help but notice these subtle changes in the forest behind us. The long grass of the meadow was still a vibrant green but some reeds betrayed their brothers, giving off yellow hues. I might not have been a painter like Peeta, but when it came to the wilderness, I was attentive to details like these. I had to anticipate the seasons, the sounds of the forest, I had to be one step ahead of my prey at all times. My hunter's instincts weirdly calmed the storms that sometimes raged in my mind, my thoughts got so convoluted in the guilt and blame I felt regarding the past. I sometimes locked myself in day-nightmares if I let my thoughts spiral out of control for more than a few minutes. In the days before Peeta I would sit still like this on my couch, but unlike the contentment I felt now, I would wallow in pain until I felt numb.  I replayed horror scenes of my life, feeling like a helpless audience member strapped to a seat being forced to watch a screen and then being told,

YOU DID THIS, THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

And the times when I finally pulled myself out of my reverie I blamed myself even more.

How dare you grieve, how dare you live, while so many others lie in the ground because of you.

I couldn't trust my mind sometimes. And for this reason I sometimes told myself this life was a dream, that I'd wake up in the arena again to take my shift for the night watch, or I'd wake up in the sewers of the Capitol across from a handcuffed Peeta, who was thrashing in his sleep. My nightmares seemed more real than my days sometimes. It wasn't until Peeta came back to Twelve did my reality seem to solidify. His sweetness, his sureness, his eyes, his scent, his presence brought me back.

Him and hunting.

Everything seemed to shut off, my thoughts became streamlined, simple, mechanical when I was in the forest, when I hunted. And with Peeta my thoughts became softer, more forgiving, simple and focused on him. I gravitated towards the two like I needed them to survive, they gave me peace. And if I couldn't trust the voice in my own head, I could always trust his.

"Go! Go! Go Finn go! Go! Woo!!!" I heard him shout, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Come on Bubby, yes! Come to Mama," Annie exclaimed.