Three in the Morning

Losing Touch

Katniss

I don't know why I just kicked the wall, but I did. Between the pain from that and all of the frustration and anger compiling inside of me, I try to let it out with a scream, but I'm only further enraged.

Why can't anything good happen to me? Why am I living in a freaking nightmare all the time? If only I had the luxury of an expansive forest right outside to lose myself in now.

Peeta's cheese buns sit on the table, still steaming and filling the room with their fragrance of cheddar and fresh bread. I pick one up and send it flying at the wall.

One by one, they hit with force I haven't channeled in years, and land on the floor in a deformed, sticky mess that I decide isn't enough, so I stomp on them as I would to put out a fire.

What did I ever do to deserve Peeta's kindness? Nothing. I don't deserve him or his cheese buns at all, and I don't want them reminding me of that.

I pace the apartment aimlessly, knocking over a chair, beating my fists on the counter, and clenching my teeth together; trying not to yell. I don't need another eviction warning. Maybe the next time I lose control, it won't be a warning.

I need to calm down. The view from my window reveals people laughing and smiling as they walk the streets of the city. Even the birds are chirping louder and more cheerful than ever, it seems. I wish I could punch out the glass and hurl myself at the ground right down there in front of them.

But I don't, for now.

My head remains fuzzy from the rage. I'm still seeing red.

At the mirror in the bathroom, I find not me staring back, but a ravenous horror. Someone destructive, conceited, and who's wrecked her life. I wish I could punch that out too.

Within my reflection is everything. It's the reason people don't say hello to me on the street, why I have no friends, and why my mother feels no compelling reason to stick around for her daughter. My eyes are narrow and unfriendly. My demeanor is stiff and cold.

I didn't think there were any tears left to spill after the long walk from the hospital to my home, but I'm proved wrong, and my cheeks are wet.

It's been a while since my lips have trembled this furiously about something so superficial.

I am not pretty. I am certainly not beautiful. I am cruel and heartless and that's conveyed clearly through my appearance. What I don't understand is why Peeta is so infatuated with me. He should spend his time on someone worthy of his consideration.

I try to wash away the saltiness on my face with a splash of water, but on the inside I'm left equally as frustrated. Anything as insignificant as the way a few strands of wet hair now cling to my forehead finds a way to annoy me.

I sit on the cool tiling and stretch my legs out in front of me. If I could start my life over, I would not hesitate for a second to take that opportunity. I would give anything for my body to be a blank canvas again; for the nasty scars that decorate my knees and elbows to dissipate, for the age and heaviness in my eyes to disappear as well.

Basically, I would love to be who I was when I was youthful and innocent and unknowing. Who I was when my dad was here to hold my hand through thick and thin.

Never have I felt the need to be personable or approachable until now that someone's acting that way towards me. Nothing else had ever really sparked a need in me to step back and take a look at the mess that is myself.

I know with suffocating irritability that to drag myself out of here and into bed would only mean uncontrollable temptation to touch my lips to those bottles. So I lay right here, resting my head on the shower mat and covering myself with a damp towel until my rage is eradicated, for the most part, in the form of teardrops, and I find enough peace to drift off.

While I'm under a thick blanket of sleep, I dream that I'm wandering, confused, in a field of of primroses. They feel gentle and comforting against the skin of my ankles. It's very serene. Only Peeta's there. A generous amount of yards away from where I stand, and he's holding out a tray of cheese buns.