The Struggle ( Sequel to I Love Her, Real Or Not Real?)

Chapter One - Pool Of Red

( UPSETTING! BE WARNED!)

Chapter One - Pool Of Red (Peeta)

It's been a month since Katniss left me. I haven't left the house. There's no point.

After she left, I spiralled into a deep depression. My heart gets heavier every day, as does my mind.

My bed is sodden with tears, but still I sleep in it; I have a cold because of it. I cover myself in the sheets when I hear the click of the door closing.

" Boy!" I hear Haymitch. I'm glad he avoided 'lover boy'. " Boy!"

I hold my breath and wait for him to leave. He does eventually. He knows it's a waist of time.

I get up from my bed and stumble to the bathroom. I fall onto the cool tiles, stretching my arm to reach the blade of freedom.

I grab it, and bring it my wrist with a shaking arm. I drag it across, crying out. Blood drips onto the white tiles, staining them forever red.

This is what I do now. This is all I can do, to feel human.

" I'm sorry," I whisper over and over again to no one in particular.

My head smacks to floor. With shaking, blood covered hands, I cover my eyes, until everything goes black.

A glowing light appears before my eyes, begging me to walk towards it. With jolting legs, I walk towards it shakily, until I see the light is not in fact a light; it is a person.

It is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. With olive skin, and a long, dark braid that rests on her shoulder.

It is Katniss.

She is a aglow with flames, and they dance as she walks closer to me. She takes my hands, and fire works go off inside me. Gently, she places them atop her round, swollen belly.

But slowly, her belly shrinks down to normal. She begins screaming and tumbles to the floor. Her eyes are lined with tears until she disappears forever.

My eyes flash open tiredly and I glance at the pool of red that I lay in. I look down at the reddened scar that contrast with the rest of the puckered skin.

It's a long time before I decide to get up. I have to go to the bakery today because Jena isn't going to be there today and Marcus can't handle it all on his own.

I stumble outside, running my hand through my hair. I put my sleeve over my hand and wipe it over my cut. I wince. But at the same time, the pain is pleasurable, because it means I can feel something.

I trip along the streets to the bakery and walk inside. Marcus turns to me and sighs pitifully. My walks over to me.

" Hey, man, you don't look too good," he says.

" No?" Is all I say. I walk into the back and clean the counters. I slap some dough onto the counter and knead it. I shape it into buns and place them on a baking tray. I put them in the oven and sit against the wall.

After not too long, I find myself sobbing. I smack my head back off the wall and everything goes black.

This is my life now.