Survivor's Remorse

(XIX)Damn Diplomacy!

Peeta sat at the table, lounging back in his chair, genuinely bored with the heads of 13 that filled out the rest of the large oval tables' chairs. He'd come in twenty minutes ago when Haymitch had been asked to invite him into the meetings from this point forward, he was expected to attend. Nothing they said mattered to him. If it wasn't about you then it was a waste of his time. He'd much rather be in his room painting, or drawing pictures of his memories of you. They would be the last he'd see of you, if these terrible strategy meetings were any indication. These people had their heads so far up their asses, Peeta wasn't sure if they could smell anything but their own bullshit.

After 30 minutes of more of his time wasted, Peeta let out a sigh so loud and deep, it shook the large table his cheek rested on.

"You brought me out of my room.... for this? Can I have my morphling and go back to my nightmares in peace now?"
"Peeta, is there something you'd like to add?", Plutarch asked chipperly.

Peeta turned his head so that his right cheek rested on the table and he was looking over the military and diplomatic officials of 13. All of which were looking at him with differing expressions., none of which he cared to decipher.

"No. Which is why I want to know why I'm here. I have no reason to be at another war mongering table, as it makes its plans, to do just what it was made to. So again....why am I here?"
"We would like to bring you in and involve you in the taking back of the Districts. Haymitch has informed us that you've agreed to become a part of the rebellion", Plutarch explains gesturing between Peeta's slumped form and Haymitch sitting directly across from him, trying not to appear as though he was sleeping for half the meeting.
"If Haymitch led you to believe I wanted any part in the planning of killing innocents, he lied", Peeta scoffed still refusing to lift his cheek from the table. "I've had my fill and unlike all of you, with your guns and bombs, it's a bit bloody and personal for my taste"
"War is never personal", the snow haired woman he'd come to know as Coin, spoke coolly.

Now Peeta was enraged and revolted, his head lifted quickly from the table, eyes locking with the cunning leader. He hated how both she and Snow had such bright white hair, though hers had streaks of deep grey that matched her name. Peeta did not like this woman or her callous attitude towards life in the slightest.

"Murder is always personal", Peeta rumbled so lowly, it was practically a growl as his eyes held hers, refusing to break contact with their soulless depths. They were such a light grey they were almost as light as her snow-white hair. Even her lifeless eyes irritated him. "Just because you have the luxury of commanding other people to do it for you, doesn't mean it isn't personal. People aren't just numbers. Every. Single. Life. It was someone with hopes, dreams, family and love to give. You clearly have been underground with your perfect little soldier fucking fantasy world where everyone falls in line, living the life you designed for them. Come topside and join us in the real world, where the children are forced to kill each other and watch the life leave their eyes as your hands are covered in their blood, clawing at you to get just one more breath. Not with guns. Not a bomb that you can drop from miles away, to reap the fruits of your deadly gifts with no guilt as you watch it melt the flesh from women and children! No! We are forced to murder each other with our bare hands, while all of you sit here in your cozy little fuckin pods ordering us to do it for you!", Peeta roared now on his feet, having thrown his chair at the wall opposite him, Haymitch having long since ducked seeing this outburst coming.

When it hit the wall, Peeta pushed away from the table and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance, one hand in his pocket and the other tugging at his hair.