Fire Extinguished (Flaming Desire Book 1) A Katniss and Finnick FanFiction

Chapter 2

Katniss POV

There's a light. White. It shines all over my face. There is also a person. The person is by my side. The person is filled with warmth. My eyes flash open. Haymitch.

"About time sweetheart," he retorts, "I'm going to release you, okay? But, you have to promise that whatever we say, you are not going to hurt anyone. You can scream, cry, and thrash all you want, but no hurting anyone. Got it?"

"Yes," I croak, anticipating to get released.

We walk back into the room that I was in before I was put to sleep. Everything comes back to me in a flash. Peeta is dead. I can't hold it anymore and my knees buckle. Before I collapse on the ground, Finnick scoops me up in his arms.

"Katniss, are you all right?" Worry is written all over his face. Along with pain, a voice inside my head echoes.

"What the hell happened? What's going on Katniss?" Haymitch bursts out.

"I think she just remembered what happened," Plutarch says calm as ever.

"Peeta," I whisper. I'm having trouble breathing. Peeta. There are so many things I will never get to tell him. I couldn't even say goodbye.

Haymitch and Finnick reflect the look of sadness and pain upon my face. They too are hurt by the loss of Peeta. They just know how to hide it.

"It's okay sweetheart. You aren't the only one who's hurting," Plutarch tells me.

"What do you mean?" I ask choking out the words.

"Katniss, don't you remember? You and Finnick are the only survivors of the 75th Hunger Games. Everyone else is dead. Everyone," Haymitch says it in a way that sends chills down my back.

"How?" I ask darkly.

"Some by the dome collapsing. Others by the Capital," Finnick says sadly.

"How did Peeta die?" I ask afraid to hear the answer.

Haymitch looks down before answering me. "They got him and Johanna out of the arena. Then they tortured Johanna and shaved her head. Peeta," he trails off not answering.

"Peeta was what?" I growl.

"They tortured him too. Just not that civil," Haymitch trails on, not finding the right words to say.

"How?"

"They made him believe you didn't love him, they made him forget you, and finally they made him hate you. They made him think that you were a monster. By that point, he wanted to kill you himself," Plutarch says cautiously.

"How do you know all this?" I ask. It was barley a whisper, my lower lip trembling.