Maybe It Can Be Real

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

ALL RIGHTS GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS. I OWN NOTHING.

ENDING OF LAST CHAPTER:

"It's alright," I whisper with a tear-strained voice. "You can't do anything about it." I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I'm going to go to bed," I tell him placidly as I go up the stairs.

"Okay," he replies simply, sadness laced into his voice. Or pity, I don't feel like deciphering it right now.

I crawl slowly into bed and pull the covers over my head. I curl into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut. That's when I finally let the tears fall.

****

The tears don't stop for a long, long time. It must've been earlier than I thought when I went to 'bed'. Every once in a while I will let out a sob that doesn't even sound human. My father's death is hitting me harder than normal this year. It's probably because I have nothing to do to distract me.

Eventually Peeta comes up to bed. I'm too tired emotionally to say anything, so I pretend to be asleep (not that it was difficult). The comforter is still pulled up over my head. My legs are pulled up to my chest so I'm in a ball. The other side of the bed dips as Peeta gets in, and I feel the comforter get pulled back. His lips press to the top of my head and he whispers almost inaudibly, "I love you. I'm sorry that your life has been really hard. You deserve so much more."

He pulls the comforter up so I'm completely covered again. What Peeta said sends a fresh round of warm tears cascading down my cheeks. They're silent tears, though, so Peeta doesn't know.

Once the mattress surrounding my head is soaked with my tears, I fall asleep again.

****

I wake up to the bed shaking slightly. Still being half-asleep, I roll over and pull the comforter off my head. I squint as the early morning sunlight hurts my eyes.

"Peeta?", I ask groggily.

He turns around with a sheepish grin on his face. "I'm sorry that I woke you up. You can go back to bed; I'm just going to go for a walk." I just grunt and roll back over. I fall back into a very light sleep.

****

I sigh as I look out the window. Thoughts of my father have consumed my mind all day. It will be 6 years in two days. That's insane to think about, to me at least. I can't believe it's been 6 years without him. 6 hard, life-changing years.

Occasionally, Peeta coming to bed late and leaving early this morning does cross my mind. What could he be doing? I ask myself. Nothing bad (I know that for a fact), I'm just curious as to what it is.

It's midday when Peeta gets back. I've been planted on the couch since I woke up for sure this morning.

"Hey," I greet Peeta with a smile when he walks in, a bag in each hand.

"Hi," he replies. "Sorry it took longer than planned."

"It's all good," I say with a shrug of my shoulders. "Where were you, though? I'm not worried, I'm just nosey," I explain with a laugh.

He laughs a little in return. "I didn't do all that much. I checked in on Haymitch, and I went to the sorry excuse we now have as a store," he says while he sits next to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder.

"That makes sense. We were running low on food in my sorry excuse for a kitchen," I say, using his choice of words and laughing a little at the end. He laughs at this.