The Angel of Death || Peeta Mellark x Reader

The Lucky One

hi everyone! thanks for making it this far. i've already got a new book planned, likely going to be titled "in our stars", and to be published soon. as always i appreciate every single one of you for supporting my writing! i never imagined that something i wrote would get over 800 views, it's insane. thanks!

After I was taken off stage, still hysterical, I found myself buried between Peeta's arms. Haymitch screaming about our image and Effie disciplining me on decorum and my posture made me feel even worse. 

Cinna and Portia even came out of the audience to be by my side. I was surrounded by reassurances, but I couldn't get the image of Rue taking her final breath out of my mind. 

I needed to get out of here. The Capitol's never-ending cheering made me physically ill, remembering how meaningless death was here. I wondered if they react the same way when their loved ones pass away. Do they bet on those deaths, do they cheer while their hearts stopped? Do they sing like I did?

While Haymitch and Effie lead Peeta and I away from the madness and into the elevator, I gazed out of the window panes. Mine and Peeta's faces were plastered on skyscrapers, the photos of us during the interview, before my complete meltdown, stared at me from every angle. I couldn't escape who they've made me become. 

A killer.

Once we reached our destination, I nearly sprinted out of the suffocating area to my bedroom. I never thought I'd see it again, the velvet curtains and silk bedsheets were welcoming in a sort, a reminder of who I used to be. 

I sank into the bed, my outfit from earlier still draped on my abused body. No matter how much the Capitol surgeons and cosmetology workers tried, my arm still showed signs of its past wounds. Small sections of skin were still burned, but only noticeable if you stared for quite a while. I ran my fingers down the artificial surface, cringing at the foreign feeling.

Then I noticed the figure in the doorframe. He watched me as I blankly stared at him for a moment, then rushed to my side as I broke down in tears. 

"Do you want to sing?", he whispered.

I debated the question for a moment, taking time between my sobs to think. I knew a song that perfectly encapsulated my emotions, but it was pointless, the people I wanted to hear it were dead. I could never tell them how I feel.

I shook my head.

"What does it matter? They're dead, they can't listen to me".

And then music echoed through the room, my music, but it wasn't me who was singing it. It was the blond boy beside me, playing with my hair.

"And if I didn't know better

I'd think you were talking to me now

If I didn't know better

I'd think you were still around", he sang quietly.

"What died didn't stay dead

What died didn't stay dead

You're alive, you're alive in my head", I continued, my breath raggedy but still beautiful

"What died didn't stay dead

What died didn't stay dead

You're alive, so alive 

And if I didn't know better

I'd think you were listening to me now

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were still around