An Unfinished Battle (The Hunger Games FanFiction)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I lie on the floor, my ball gown in a heap surrounding my fragile body. I press the palms of my hands against my eye sockets in efforts to cease the tears. It's no use, hot streams still slip through the crevices between my fingers, leaving my hands a black blotchy mess of makeup. I feel more pathetic than ever. I'm weeping so hard that even breathing is a struggle. I remove my hands from my face, giving up trying to hold back the flow. My hands now clutch of my dress and I'm digging my nails into it so deeply that I fear I might rip it to shreds.

All of this is my fault, everything comes back to me - me and those stupid berries. I started this whole entire thing. I outsmarted the Capitol, and I forever live in the wake of misery because of it. I only wanted to save our lives. The berries were not a symbol, in fact they were nothing but a tool to escape from hell. I didn't know that I would send the whole nation into the fiery hole with one small gesture. I didn't know I would be the cause of death to so many people, including Prim. I should have just let Peeta kill me in the arena. Everyone would've been better off anyway. Peeta would've been okay. He would've moved on, still had his family, and would have never been hijacked. Gale would be sad, but he wouldn't be an obsessive terrorist. My mother and Prim would've be devastated, but eventually they would have moved on- they would have to keep going in order to survive. Prim wouldn't be dead right now if I would have died in the 74th games. So many, many innocent victims of war would still be alive, perhaps even happy if I could've just died. Now there's this, Panem is about to ignite into another war, all because of me and Peeta's life is once again at risk. I wish my death would be of use right now. I wish that if I could just die now everything would stop, but it won't. If I die, Peeta will surely die too, and god only knows what would happen to Panem...

The pounding in my head has become so extreme it feels as if my pulse has enough strength to crack my skull. Just when it feels like I can no longer stay conscious, Peeta crouches down at my side, and brings me back to life.

His crystal blue eyes are wide. His face appears pale, translucent. There are Plum circles beneath his eyes that stand out in contrast to his deep blue irises. It's the terror I've only seen pasted on his face when we are in real danger. It's the face I've only seen in the arena.

I can tell he's trying to conceal it, he doesn't want me to know he's scared, but I know he is. He's trying his best to be the strength I can't seem to find within myself.

"Katniss," he whispers, I can hear the tremble in his voice that he's trying so desperately to hide.

I glace up at with through filmy eyes and bite the inside of my cheek. I can't answer him. I'm to ashamed, too embarrassed, too guilty to speak.

"It's okay," he says calmly. He sits down on the ground next to me on the ground and places his hand on my back, rubbing in in slow, circular, strokes. His touch instantly makes me feel better, safer, and stronger. Once again he pulls me up from the impenetrable fog of dread with his light of kindness. My fingers slowly uncurl from their locked hold on my gown, and soon find themselves gently resting in my lap. I tenderly lie my head down in Peeta's lap.

"I'm Sorry." I croak. My sobs have now settled down to slient tears.

"Shhh," Peeta says, "It's okay," He reassures me. He continues to rub my back as we sit in the vacant room in silence. I stare off into space and think of absolutely nothing. there's so much to feel, that I have resorted to feeling nothing at all. My body is completely numb, unable to decipher hate from love or happy from sad. It's that cold, bone chilling numbness that I know all too well.

It takes a while, but eventually the numbness reaches my eyes and the tears cease to flow. I bring my self to an upright position and look at Peeta. He looks so tired, so broken, but yet so incredibly strong at the same time. I yearn to have his confident disposition.