The Hunger Games: Continued

Sleepy Whispers

Katniss' POV

I rock back and forth on the carpeted floor beneath me, biting my lip. I taste blood, but at least it's my own. I sit by his bed, staring at his sprawled-out body as he trembles in sleep. It's the middle of the night. I've been here for at least two hours, and I still haven't told Peeta what I came here to say. At this rate, it might be after dawn before I do.

So this is what he looks like when he's sleeping, I think. He trembles slightly—not the violent way he sometimes seizes, but shivering, as though he's cold. My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm okay once I realise you're here. His words rattle through my brain. I'm sure they wouldn't apply now. If he woke to find me here, he would feel anything but relief. I'm probably the reason he's trembling at all.

I think about our last kiss. About how I left him in the clock arena. About his steady arms around me on those nights on the train. About the last time I could truly save him—and how I probably never will again. The kisses in the Quarter Quell never satisfied me. They left me craving more. And now I may never have more.

Every kiss he gave spiralled into an airborne knife that pierced my heart so heavily that any confessions could only ever escape as nausea.

I gather every ounce of courage I have left and edge closer to his bed, so my lips are by his ear. "Peeta," I begin. I'll tell him while he sleeps. Maybe, somehow, the words will reach him. "I need to tell you something." He stops trembling slightly. I hope he's listening—but at the same time, I hope he doesn't wake.

"Kind people have a way of rooting themselves inside me and staying there. You did that the instant you threw me that bread. Since then, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind." My words falter. I'm not smooth like Peeta once was. "So when we went into the Games, I just knew I had to save you. If I let you die, I'd never forgive myself."

I almost leave it there—run away back into the dark. But I still haven't said what I came to say.

"Those kisses in the last arena, they stirred something in me. They made me want another." I swallow hard, forcing out the words. "I liked kissing you," I finally confess. "And now I'm scared. Scared because the Capitol took you away from me, and I can't seem to get you back." My voice breaks. "What hurts most are the traces of the man they left behind. Just to taunt me with what could have been mine."

Tears burn my eyes. I sprint for the door.

Outside, the cold air lashes my face, whipping my nightgown as I run back to my house. I slam the door behind me. Part of me hopes Peeta heard. Another part is terrified that he did.

Upstairs, I stare out my window. His curtains are drawn, but a warm light glows behind them. He must be awake. A shadow moves—Peeta running a hand through his blond hair, pressing his palms to his face. Even through the curtain, I can almost see the muscles in his back shift. Maybe he heard. Maybe I've only confused him more.

I climb under my duvet and let darkness drag me under, drowning me in a nightmare. This time there are no arms to hold me when I wake.

⸻

Peeta's POV

Katniss was here last night. Real or not real?

It seemed real. But so do the nightmares that consume me in sleep. Everything she said—it's everything I've ever wanted to hear. Which means it must have been a dream. Katniss would never speak words that hold such emotion.

And yet, I swear I felt her breath tickling my ear.

I drag myself out of bed and go to the window. The newborn sun glows orange—my favourite colour. I remember most things: about me, my life, the people around me. Except Katniss. She confuses me more than anything else. Some memories don't make sense, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. Like the nights on the train, when I held her close. The feeling of her skin against mine in the darkness. Her breath so near my lips, as if she intended to seal them with hers.

Her feelings for me have never been clear. She once told me she needed me—but what did that mean? What did she need me for? Maybe it was pity. Probably.

I glance at her window. She stirs behind the curtain, then throws it open. Her wavy hair falls to her shoulders, shorter now where fire singed it away. Her grey eyes scan the horizon before locking on me.

I should duck. Hide. But it's too late—she's seen me. Our eyes meet, and I feel guilty, as though I've committed some crime just by looking. She raises a timid hand and waves. At me. I wave back before ducking behind the curtain.

It's been four months since I planted those roses for Prim. The last time I saw Katniss face-to-face, her hair was matted, her eyes vacant. Now she looks well. Seeing her smile—even faintly—fills me with something I barely recognise. Contentment.

⸻

Katniss' POV

Today is full of nothingness, as always. In the first months after I returned, Greasy Sae came to cook for me twice a day. Now she insists I can cope alone. I miss her company. Another lonely day stretches ahead.

I sink into a chair, drifting into a daydream so vivid it feels real. The sun beams down on scarless skin. Clouds drift weightlessly above. Grass brushes against my feet. For a moment, I feel peace.

I glance down. A bouquet of pink and white flowers rests in my hand. Wild onions scattered among them. The scene is familiar. Then I see him.

A boy stares at me, expectant. His blond hair falls across his forehead, his blue eyes glowing in the daylight. My chest aches. My knees weaken. He is beautiful. He is Peeta. But not Peeta—this version is younger, healthier, untouched. And angry.

"It was all for the Games, Katniss. The way you acted." His voice cracks. He turns to walk away. I try to follow, but I can't. Of course I can't. It's only a memory, not a second chance.

I jolt awake, forcing myself not to linger on regrets. Still, I think of Peeta. This morning, he saw me through the window. Maybe he knows. Maybe he knows I was there last night. Maybe he knows how I feel now. Maybe he'll visit. Maybe I won't have to sleep alone. Maybe I'll finally get a happily ever after.

But probably not.

Buttercup leaps off my lap and sniffs at the letterbox. "What is it, you stupid cat?" He purrs and paws until I finally pull an envelope through. I tear it open and sit again to read.

⸻

Dear Katniss,

I'm writing to say I hope you're well. I've been missing you. This old house is hollow and lonely.

I've written this letter so many times, only to crumple it up and throw it away. But I promised myself I'd send this draft.

See, whatever kind of friendship we have, I don't want it to end this way. After everything, I don't want to die alone without having spoken again to the girl next door who saved my life.

I need you. You know that. You once told me you needed me too. Does that still apply?

I know I can never be forgiven for the things I did to you...

⸻

Tears sting my eyes. "The things that I did to you..." He means the hijacking. What the Capitol made him do. It wasn't his fault. It will never be his fault.

I wipe my face and continue.

⸻

...but I hope somehow we can move on. Please don't isolate yourself from me. If we can't be anything else, let us at least be friends. I don't want to lose you from my life. Stay with me?

Love always,
Peeta

⸻

His handwriting blurs through my tears. Suddenly, I'm on my feet, consumed with something I can't name. Like a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon. I run, letter clutched in hand, the breeze whipping my hair back from my face.

I barely realise where my legs are carrying me until I stop at Peeta's door. Before I know it, I've rung the bell.

When he opens the door, he looks so much like the boy from my memory. Clear eyes. Skin brighter. His face lightens when he sees me. He is beautiful.

His words echo in my mind: Stay with me?

I smile at him. "Always," I say.