A Waking Nightmare (TNHID Book 2)

Chapter 6

Katniss

"Or better yet, you should have let me die." The moment these words come out, I want to take them back. Peeta's face flashes with pain.

"Don't say that, Katniss." His eyes are full of so much sadness, causing more tears to spring to my eyes. "Please. You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. And if you think I would have been able to survive in a world without you, especially knowing that I could have saved you, then you are wrong." His voice shakes and I can hear his anguish at my suffering as clearly as I can see it.

"When I kept you from swallowing that nightlock pill, I wasn't even thinking. Even in my hijacked and unstable state of mind, I still couldn't let you die. I didn't feel the pain when you bit into my hand. All I felt was relief. It was like this wave of calm washed over me, because I was just so happy that you would live another day. That you might get the chance to feel happiness again.

"I want you to be happy, Katniss. And sometimes that means letting go. I know that you are furious at Gale. And you have every right to be angry. I mean he went from being your closest friend to practically a stranger, and then one of your worst enemies. Just acknowledge the fact that you couldn't kill him, and that's not your fault. But you will get the chance soon, and I know this time you won't hesitate."

I can feel the tears that are still streaming down my face. I wish I weren't such an emotional wreck but I have been broken too many times. And even though I have put myself back together over and over again, a broken object will never be exactly the same as it used to be.

I lean into Peeta, my body fitting perfectly into his. As if we were always meant to be together. Like I was meant to be held by this boy from the moment we were both born.

But he deserves better. He deserves someone who could return his reassuring words, not someone who can hardly get through the day. Someone who feels like their existence is a good thing, not something that only brings suffering and hardship.

Someone who doesn't hurt him so much.

But I can never voice these thoughts. If Peeta knew just how loose my grip on my sanity has become, then he would be terrified. And he is concerned enough as it is.

"I'm just worried that it's not enough. That Willow is going to die because of my mistakes." I hate how weak my voice sounds. I miss the person I used to be. The one who was fierce, who brought a country to rebellion with her actions. The girl who was able to stomach her way through the labyrinth of horrors she was forced into. The girl who never cried, even though she was sliced open and left to bleed for the sake of putting on a show. The girl who was able to put on an indifferent expression to hide that hurt.

This girl is still somewhere inside of me, but she has been buried down so deep, that I can barely summon the courage to get through each day.

Peeta pulls away and grabs my face in his hands. "It will be enough Katniss. She has more of a chance than any of the others. And have you seen her improvement? If she had a weapon, she would have been able to disarm me during hand-to-hand combat. It will be enough." He pauses, "It has to be enough." He almost whispers the last part, but I can hear that he is just as desperate as I am. He is just better at hiding it. But there is no hiding the panic in his eyes. If Willow dies, neither of us will recover.

I don't try to hold back the tears. Part of me knows that I have stepped over the edge. That I am slowly becoming insane. But for once, I don't push down the insanity. I let it overcome me as I cry myself into oblivion.

The hysteria overwhelms me so that I am barely aware of anything. All I know is the bed underneath me, my tears, and Peeta's weight supporting my own. I calm down slightly, but the tears don't stop.

And all I see is Willow's cold body. Lying in the dirt, losing blood, mangled, never to move again.

Peeta's warm arms surround me, and I slowly lose consciousness, falling into the world of nightmares that I so often try to avoid.

But they seem like dreams compared to the reality I am living.

➳➳➳

I am seeing the view of an arena as if I were watching it on TV. The camera pans to a large forest. It is cruel because the woods are my sanctuary, the one place where I felt like I could get away from everything, all of the stress my life contains. But they have been permanently scarred from my time in the arena. There is a closeup of Willow and then they zoom out to let me see the rest of the tributes. But when they begin to focus on the other faces, I gasp in recognition.

I am looking into the faces of my family and friends. Both dead and alive. I see Prim, Finnick, Rue, my mom, Haymitch, Johanna, Mags, and countless others. But most frighteningly, I see Peeta. And I know immediately that he could never win.

He would never let any of these people die for his sake. I am partially conscious of the fact that this isn't real, that it never could be real. So many of these people are already gone. But it still hurts.

The cannon goes off, and I watch as some people fight over weapons, while others run away through the trees, searching for temporary refuge. The ground is splattered with the blood of my mom, Prim, and Rue. I want to look away, but I can see the arena no matter where I turn my head. I look around expecting to see Peeta's body, but he must have run away, hoping to avoid direct confrontation.

I will myself to wake up before I need to watch everyone I have ever cared about die, but I remain unconscious.

I am unable to stop watching as I see everyone fall. Mags and Finnick get into a cruel fight, but Finnick wins, only to be devoured by some strange flying mutt. Haymitch collapses from dehydration and doesn't move again. Johanna jumps down from a tree only to receive an arrow in her neck. And the figure that stands over her dead body is Willow.

Part of me wants her to survive. But I am frightened by the look on her face. One that I could only describe as hunger, bloodlust, a sick sense of satisfaction. And Peeta stands behind her. They formed an alliance but these things are always temporary.

Everyone else drops leaving just Willow and Peeta. And I already know what will happen. Even though Willow lacks self-preservation, Peeta has always won in that category. He grabs the knife he has been carrying and lodges it between his rib cage where it punctures his heart.

I scream as blood gushes out of the wound. Blood dribbles down his chin and his knees buckle. He falls forward on his face, which lodges the knife in deeper. A puddle of blood forms in the grass, staining it a burgundy color. All of the life in him slowly fades, leaving him white as a ghost. And dead, so dead.

Gone, he's gone.

But the scariest part is Willow standing passively, watching him shudder before he stops breathing. She shows no feeling when his cannon goes off, or when the hovercrafts come and take his body away. Her face remains indifferent and unemotional. She has become a monster. All for the sake of surviving.

I wake up shrieking. Not because of the deaths of everyone I've allowed myself to care for. Not even because of Peeta's suicide. But because of the stone-cold murderer that my daughter had become.