Aftermath

Gone

"So..." says Haymich, smacking his lips and tapping the table. "When's the baby due?" It's a feeble attempt at starting a conversation, but I grateful.

"In about another month." Smiles Prisca.

Haymich nods.

I stare at Haymich across the table, but his eyes are glued to his tea, which is frozen by now.

"I have to say, Katniss, these scones are amazing." She says, reaching over for another. "I thought Gale said you were awful at cooking!"

"It wasn't me." I say grimly. "Peeta made them..."

"He's getting better then." Says Gale quietly, resuming the wounded act.

"No. He made these before he was shot. We saved them in the pantry...so they stayed fresh." I say wryly. "His hands shake to much now for baking...plus he doesn't sleep anymore...nightmares."

"I get them too." Says Gale.

"No, Gale, you don't." I say shaking my head. And as if on cue a deep howl tears through the house.

"Katniss!" Peeta wails. Everyone around the table jolts, eyes wide and searching for answers.

"That's a nightmare." I say icily, leaving the table.

"Katniss!" Peeta wails as I march up the stairs. "Please! No!

I calmly walk into his room. Peeta's writhing against the bed, slamming his fists into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut, head dripping with sweat.

"Peeta." I say gently, crawling over the bed. "Peeta, it's okay." I say, tentatively running my fingers through his hair.

Gale appears in the doorway.

Peeta jumps up, eyes darting around. He locks eyes with me. "Hey." he says drowsily.

"Hey." I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck.

Then Peeta starts twitching again, his hands pulsating. I pull away. "Peeta,it's okay-"

"What are you doing here?" asks Peeta coldly.

"I'm here to help Katniss." Gale says, a nervous tone to his voice.

Peeta pulls away from me, and attempts to climb out of bed.

"Peeta-" I begin.

"No, Katniss." He says sternly, before hauling himself out of bed.

I gasp, this is the first time I've seen the devastation the bullet caused on Peeta. Since for the past couple of weeks he's been covered up under sheets and bandages, I haven't seen his wounds. But now they're off, I cant take it. He stands there in front of us both, chest bare, still wearing his hospital trousers that are a clean white colour and hugging tightly to his legs.

His chest is so brutally scarred and cut, it reminds me of how Gale's back looked following his whipping...but even those healed better. His scars from the Capitol's torture shine through far more prominently, leaving his chest almost completely covered  in scar tissue. And since his skin is pale, along  with the constant shaking of his body, this doesn't help him with his appearance either.

I stand there, gawping in silence.

Peeta is gone.