Real or not real?

Panic Is A Delicacy

As I opened the door a rush of cinnamon and other spices fill my nostrils. "Peeta!!!" I cry. I listened to it echo against the sea blue walls and marble flooring entrance room. "Katniss?" A shy yet warm voice came from behind me. Anger yet happiness feels me as Peeta stands there looking more worried than ever "Peeta, where were you?! I called for you!" I feel like I'm going to cry, a massive lump fills the back of my throat making it harder to breathe, and making my head feel heavier and heavier. "I'm sorry, I was outside painting, I didn't hear you," He looks up from his shoes with a sorry expression.

"They're you go, freshly made and freshly cooked, don't worry. I'm right here" I take a bite from the cinnamon swirl Peeta hands me, small, layered and pretty and tastes fantastic. Before the rebellion we used to get this sort of stuff from Peeta's fathers bakery when I got a particular good amount of money from my game. I shudder as I think about the many long, cold and harsh nights spent curled around a fire with Prim, My mother and Buttercup, the cat I wished I drowned. "It's really nice Peeta, thank you" I say with my mouth full. I've calmed down now, I had a panic attack as soon as I explained about me thinking he was dead. Peeta calms me down quick, quicker than anybody else. He sat me down and we eat his delicious delicacies by the fire while drinking caramel coffee and talking about little things. "I'm glad you like it" he smiles twisting the end of my platt round his little finger. We stay silent for a time as we enjoy the amazing delicacies Peeta has to offer. I lie in his lap as he plats and fiddles with my hair, slowly lulling me to sleep, but every time my eyes get heavy I wake up again. I don't want to sleep. Sleep means nightmares.