ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

37

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 37

Primrose
•••••FLASHBACK•••••••

It takes one night for our family to be moved from the bunkers to private quarters following Katniss' release from the hospital. Apparently, not even the most patient among the 'C' Bunkers could handle a newborn on the premises.

Even in isolation, thick glass walls cannot block out the sounds of sharp cries from the next room over. Hyperaware of Mother sleeping soundly beside me, I detangle myself slowly from my blanket. Rising, I take in the sight of an empty bed and crib beside our bed.

Tip-toeing my way through the room to avoid waking Mother, I wander to the door and peek through the cracked keyhole. In the next room over, cramped and filled with baby gifts, I spy the silhouette of my sister. I watch her tremble helplessly in the darkness as she rocks her screeching child back and forth. Her hair has been pulled from its braid, sticking out in messy patches on top of her head. Her eyes glisten with tears.

Meanwhile, nestled in the crook of her mother's arms, Arden's cries permeate the night. She wails at the top of her little lungs, red in the face and angrily beating her tiny fist against Katniss' chest.

"I don't get it. I changed you. I fed you. I've been rocking you for hours...why won't you stop crying?" Katniss all but whines over the sounds of her daughter's shrieks.

She switches up her positions, hoisting the little girl over her shoulder to gently pat her small back, and winces almost immediately as the deafening screams go straight into her ear. Arden refuses to let up-not even a blip interrupting her forte yells-in order to give Katniss a stolen moment of peace. My sister merely growls in response to her child's unknown plea.

"Arden, please, I'm begging you...go to sleep. Just stop crying!"

Ripping a page out of her own mother's book, Arden remains stoic in her mission and begins to cry even louder. A grating, gurgling cry that even causes me to flinch at the sound of it. I peer over my shoulder at Mother, astounded that Arden has not woken her up. We both have an early shift tomorrow morning...

"Please, Arden. I don't know what's wrong. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong with you."

From my place behind the bedroom wall, I survey the situation and stare back up at my sister, who looks absolutely frustrated, or terrified, or some horrible combination of the two that is causing her to verbally lash out at the situation.

The new mother, exhausted and distressed, wearily wanders back toward the small sofa in our living quarters and slumps down against the sunken cushions. Her child persists, tearing at her hand-me-down onesie from Sae with anguished cries.

"I have no idea what to do with you," Katniss mutters helplessly to Arden, tears creeping up into her voice. "I have no idea what I'm doing in general."

The last bit is meant for the privacy of her own thoughts, but as she speaks it aloud into the night, I make no mistake of hearing it:

"Peeta would know what to do."

Guilt overcomes me. I could, and I should, go out there and help her. Yet I remain frozen, a room away, keeping a wall between my sister and I that never existed before.

But the truth is, I have no idea how to handle the situation, how to handle Katniss. I knew how to feel and react when she put her life on the line in the Games as a Tribute and Volunteer. It came like second nature to treat her like a Victor. Even when she became the Mockingjay, I knew how to behave in Katniss' presence in order to make my sister feel at her most comforted in each situation.