average human’s Reviews > Back to Twelve > Status Update

After what seems like too long a time, he opens it. Behind him, the house is dark, but the afternoon sun illuminates his face and I look at him with an expression I try to make into a smile but really feels like a painful grimace. I hold up the skinned carcass of a one-eyed animal. "Do you still like squirrel?"

His eyes are no longer cloudy - that hazy look, like cataracts were forming over them - but there is a flat affect to his face that didn't used to be there. Drugs, probably. Or possibly the "anger management programming" that Aurelius mentioned. That sounds horrifyingly clinical to me - just like something that would erase the good along with the bad.

"I don't know," he says, bluntly.

Suddenly, I see myself as he must see me - half-feral, offering up a dead rodent as if it were a housewarming present. I hesitate. "Do you - want it? Or would you like me to give it to Sae to put in our dinner tonight?"

"I'll take it," he says, holding out his hand. The squirrel is transferred between us, and I don't know if he actually knows what he's going to do with it, but he's at least being polite. I try to peer discreetly behind him to see what shape his house is in. It smells faintly of bread, but apart from that, I can get no clues about him, how he's doing. It's possible that I'm too impatient.

Impatient for what, exactly? He doesn't invite me in, and I would have to refuse, anyway.

"See you at dinner," I say, walking away.

. . .

We eat quietly, as usual, and then Peeta offers to wash the dishes, so Sae just builds the fire up in my hearth before she leaves. Eat. Sleep. Hunt. As if following a script, I burrow into the blankets on my sitting room couch and stare at the fire, trying to drift off to sleep, but anxiously, tensely, listening to the sound of water and stoneware. Then the water stops and drains, and I stiffen, ready to flee, defend myself, whatever I have to do.

"Katniss?" he asks, tentatively. He thinks I'm maybe asleep.

"Yes?"

"Turns out - I do like squirrel."

I sit up, shaking from the release of my muscles, and look up to see him standing in the doorway to the dining room, all shadowy from the darkness, all flickery from the fire. This causes double and triple memories to pass before my eyes all at once, and I press my finger into my temple to stop them before they take over. “I - the woods are full of them. I can bring you more."

"Don't put yourself out, but I was just - it just made me think … You used to bring them to me before - is that real?"

Here it is. Whereas I am possessed with memories - so many that I am drowning in them - he is thirsty for them. It's not quenchable. I’ve lived through the inquisition before - the barrage of questions ranging from minute (the price of milk) to vast (one’s complicity in the war) and all of them fumbling toward a rebuilding of whoever this boy once was; and none of them quite succeeding. Memories are not enough, if the emotions attached to them are lost.

"Yes - and no," I reply, anyway. "I sold them to your father. He shared them with you."

There you go - two memories for the price of one.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," I reply.

There is silence and it starts flooding the room. The crackle of the fire in the hearth sounds like someone laughing at our muteness.

"If I can ever get anything for you - you'll let me know?" he asks.

"Yes, of course. Of course."

"You still know my phone number?"

"I have it written down somewhere."

"OK. OK. See you in the morning."

"Peeta?" His name bursts out of my mouth, all unintentional. The question that is on the tip of my tongue. But I don't ask it. "See you in the morning,” I say instead.



-2-

The nightmares take an unwelcome turn that night, as Peeta turns into a white lizard mutt and chases me, interminably. Occasionally, he catches at me, and gnaws something off me. Not enough to kill me; always, I escape and we do it again and again.

So, when he comes over for breakfast, I have a hard time meeting his eyes. I talk to Sae.

"There's game in the ice box. Small stuff."

"Thanks, girl."

"If I hunt - every other day or so, is that enough to keep the five of us fed? I'm going - further out from my old hunting grounds now, so I might not be able to do it every morning."

"Once the trains start coming in from 10, we'll be more than fine. In the meanwhile, if we need to, we can order whatever canned goods we need."

"Oh," I say. I didn't realize we can just request food now. I don't even know how we would do it. Living on canned food sounds depressing to me.

"Not that I don't prefer fresh," she says hastily. "You know me."

"Oh, for sure," adds Peeta, sincerely.

I feel like I'm being managed. But I need to hunt, so I'm going to pretend that I'm not. I finally meet Peeta's eyes. Peeta likes squirrel, so there's at least that. This is doable, this is livable, I say to myself. Small goals.

"Sae," he says, "do you know if we can order herbs and other things, too? I'm out of - a lot of stuff. And eggs and butter."

"Eggs and butter - yes, but it will take some time to get here. Didn't anyone show you two how to order supplies?"

By anyone, she probably means Haymitch. He might have explained something at some point when I was dead to the world. But Peeta shakes his head, too.

"What kind of herbs?" I ask.

"I'm not particular. Anything for flavor, anything fresh. Well, I guess it won't be fresh if it comes off the train, but as close as possible." He frowns. "What we need around here is a garden."

The next morning, instead of breakfast, I'm out hunting again. Hunting and gathering. When I return, I have not only squirrels and dill, but also chives and duck eggs. I knock on his door, but he doesn't open it. Instead I hear his voice coming through the half-opened window next to the door. "Hello?"

"Peeta - something wrong? I brought you some - things!"

"I can't come to the door right now, but you can come in!"

This is odd. My mind automatically imagines that he is injured, or laid out by one of his flashbacks - or that it is a lure, a trap. My fingers are trembling as they reach for the doorknob, and I remind myself that I am armed, and I won't go unaware into any dark places.

But I see him - sitting at the table - as I open the door. His elbows are propped up on the table and he is just applying some ointment or something to his arms.

"Sorry," he says, gesturing apologetically with his hands, which are shiny with whatever he's putting on his skin.

I hesitate before putting my game bag on the counter, closing the door behind me, and approaching the table. He's watching me with his wariest look. But I am mesmerized by his skin. I've seen his hands of course - the back of his hands with the uneven patches of pink and red skin. His forehead, with similar scarring. But I haven't seen the backs of his arms. These must have taken the brunt of the flames, as he covered his face when the firebombs exploded in the City Circle. There is a very familiar melted-plastic quality to the way the scars swoop down and up the skin, with baby-pink patches of fake skin and red patches of burned skin, and the unnaturally white patches of his original skin, which looks timid and out of place. I know my back looks similar, but seeing it on him is worse, somehow. To a certain extent, I chose to go into the fire - him, less so.

"Hey," I say, in an unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance.

"Bad, right?"

"Does it still hurt?" I wonder, looking over at the jar of ointment - it has a sweet and piney smell.

He frowns. "Not really. This is the salve to keep the skin from drying out - and to keep it from getting infected. Didn't they give you any?"

I shrug. If they did, I don't remember it.

"How are you doing, then?"

"I'm fine," I say - though maybe I'm not. I wonder if that's what all the itching is about. "Do you want me to show you what I brought?"

"Sure - I'm almost done here."

But it doesn't hurt my peace of mind that his hands are preoccupied as I pull out the two squirrels I shot for him, the eggs I took, the herbs. His gratitude is genuine. I leave them on the counter for him to put away as he likes, then leave the room, leave his house, with a quick reminder that I'll see him at dinner.

I know I fell asleep on the sofa, so I can't figure out what I'm doing on a concrete floor in a dark room.

I start rubbing the back of my arms with an insane intensity. And I am - where? Basement. Basement. I hope it's mine and not someone else's. I don't ask myself how I got here. Some lurching disconnected episode would be nothing new. I'm not sure how much time has passed or if Greasy Sae is looking for me. I guess I'd better not worry anyone. So I feel my way around the room until I've found the stairs to climb up. Fortunately, they are my stairs. I open the door on to my kitchen and tentatively peer into the semi-darkness. Buttercup is sitting on the kitchen counter, staring at me as if he's been waiting for me for hours. It must be pretty late.

There is a glow coming from the direction of the sitting room and I walk through the kitchen on slow, quiet feet. There are low voices.

"Hey," I say, making both Haymitch and Peeta jump.

"Katniss!"

"Um - what are you guys doing here?"

Haymitch stirs, rising stiffly and stretching. "Getting ready to organize a mockingjay hunt."

"So, I missed dinner," I say dismissively.

"Yes," retorts Haymitch, "you're almost in time for breakfast."

His head is covering the clock, so I can't tell what time it is, and anyway, he's probably exaggerating.

"Remember, technically I'm supposed to make sure you stay in the District, so just warn me when you are going off on unexpected journeys. Peeta, she's all yours." And he trundles out.

"I should go, too," Peeta says, quickly.

I suppose he means well, but it's starting to aggravate me, how anxious he always seems to not be alone in a room with me.

"No, you don't have to," I say. "Did you eat?"

His face twitches, almost as if he's going to smile, but he just says, "Some time ago, Katniss."

Now that I can see the clock, I see that it's almost midnight.

"Oh," I say.

"I won't presume to remind you to be careful when you go out. But we were worried and - maybe - a note, next time?"

"Sure." I shrug, then wonder if I should admit I can't really make that promise. My stomach grumbles. "Is there any dinner left over?"

"There is some stew in the ice box. Also, some bread on the table."

"I'll just have some of that."

He follows me into the kitchen and watches while I cut a slice for myself. The bread is white and aromatic, with green flecks. Dill. It is amazing. I cut another slice. "This is so good, Peeta. Won't you sit down? It's weird sitting here eating with you standing behind me."

He sits down across the table from me and I cut him a piece and hand it to over to him. For a moment, we eat together in silence. When was the last time we were alone together like this? The training center before the Quarter Quell? Even then, we were under surveillance. We have almost always been under surveillance. For a second, fear rises again. Why did Haymitch leave me alone with him? Why does everyone assume he is safe?

Peeta reads my face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says.

"I know," I say, with a heavy sigh. And in my heart, I really do. He may no longer be the smiling boy who loved me, but his voice is clear and steady. "I'm the one who is crazy, now."

He squints at me. "You spoke to Dr. Aurelius?"

"A little."

"I spent several months with him. It helped me a lot - give him a chance."

I shrug. "It's all a front, anyway. He agreed to say I was crazy so I wouldn't be executed for assassinating Coin."

He regards me for a long time. "'Crazy' is such a loaded, awful, misleading word. No, of course you're not ‘crazy,’ but you don't seem right."

"How can I be? How can I?"

"I know - I know."

Having finished his bread, he takes the knife and cleans it in the sink. "He can help with that, too, you know."

Peeta says goodnight and leaves, and I'm left all alone in the darkness. There's nothing to do but lie on the couch and wait for sleep to come - which it doesn't.

-3-

I'm still awake when Greasy Sae comes in to make breakfast. Peeta doesn't show up. It is likely that he is just sleeping off the late night. I try not to let it bother me, but Sae can tell that I'm agitated - gone are the days when I could successfully mask my discontent - and she says she'll take some food over to Peeta's, and look in on him if she can.

The morning is unusually quiet. I'd almost welcome even Haymitch's company. Instead, I pull out my plant book - I haven't opened it since Peeta and I worked on it, over a year ago - and I look for all the different pages that show the herbs that grow around District 12 - fennel, sorrel, savory - to remind myself what they look like.

I'm somewhat distracted by the more recent pages, drawn and colored by Peeta, and the strange, bittersweet emotions they stir.

There's a knock on my door and I hop up - thinking this must be Peeta coming to apologize for being late this morning. But it's Thom.

"Sae sent me for you. She found Peeta wandering around town and she thinks he needs to talk to you."

My heart thumps, but I try to look unconcerned. "Sure."

I jog out of Victors' Village toward the vast gray ruin that is my home. It's just a few minutes to get to the town square. It's not quite the formless mass of stone it once was; the men who have been working to clear it have piled up the larger pieces of stone in neat stacks around the square; this was necessary to look for the bodies in the collapsed buildings.

Peeta and Sae are standing near a hunk of melted-down metal that was once a large oven. When Sae sees me, she gives a huge sigh of relief. "Here's Katniss, Peeta - do you want to talk to Katniss?"

He looks puzzled, lost, blank. "Yes?"

"Peeta, what are you doing?" I ask, as Sae slips away, with one last glance at us.

"I came home to have breakfast with my family. But..."

I swallow. "You forgot; District 12 was destroyed. My old home is gone, too."

He nods, slowly. "I did - I forgot." He suddenly crouches down and puts his hand in the earth, picking up a handful of gray dirt and letting it run through his fingers. This dust was the bakery - the place where he was raised. Tears start in his eyes but they don't quite drop down his face. "Are they - still here?"

"No - in the Meadow. Do you want to go - see?" I really would like to take him to his house and put him to bed, but first I need to get him moving.

"Sure."

I take his arm to help him up. Beneath the shirt, his arm is thinner, less muscular than it was - but there's still something familiar about even just linking arms with him, as once I did for strength on the victory tour. Everything familiar is tainted with sadness… We walk down the road, away from the Town Center and toward the Seam. Behind the Seam, lies what once was the Meadow - most of which is now brown with freshly-turned earth, dotted by the dandelions and some other spring weeds. There is still a sizeable hole on one end that has not yet been filled in.

Peeta stares at it for a long time. "I know it's real," he says finally. "But I just can't believe in it."

"You need to go back to bed."

"Yes."

But we wait for a while and watch the sun climb over the top of the trees beyond the fence. And I start to hum - music, it has recently been my one salvation - the meadow song. And his body relaxes against mine. We wait until there is a stirring of people from the direction of the Seam. Most of the returnees to 12 have moved back to the Seam; District 13 providing them with military tents, beds, and cooking equipment. It's honestly not much worse than the shacks they lived in before - at least while the weather is warm. They come walking toward us, carrying picks and shovels.

Peeta asks what they are doing, and I explain - they are shifting the rubble, to rebuild the town.

"I should help."

"When you're better."

"Are the families - living in tents? That doesn't seem fair, somehow."

"They wanted to come home as soon as possible," I explain. "The more people who come home, the faster the houses can go up."

He shakes his head and turns away from the Meadow. We walk back home in silence. Our houses look like mansions compared to the tents in the Seam. I hadn't really thought about it before. I follow Peeta right up to his house and go in behind him.

"I'm much better now," he protests.

"You need to eat, and then you need to lie down."

"I need to take some pills," he says. He goes into a cupboard and brings out a small cardboard box, from which he fishes out five or six bottles. While he sorts through them, I light his stove and start frying some duck eggs. I'm not much of a cook, but eggs I can do, and quickly enough I'm setting a plate in front of him. It's not much, but frankly - between groosling soup and force-field-roasted rat - it's among the better meals I've ever provided him. This thought makes me smile.

I sit and watch him eat, fingering the plastic bottles with strange words printed on them. "What are all these?" I ask him, nosily, as he lays out a rainbow of colored pills.

"Let's see - this one is for depression, this one is for anxiety, the long white one is a pain killer. The little tiny white one is an antiviral. And - this pink one is a sleeping pill."

"How well are they working for you?"

"It's hard to say. The painkiller helps when I need it, and the sleeping pill - well, that's how I sleep."

My hands tremble. "Will you have to take them - forever?"

"I don't know. I hope that I can stop taking the sleeping pills. I don't like them. They do make me sleep, but they don't completely keep away the nightmares, and I wake up - tired and - foggy, like this morning."

Right - my prep team gave me some of those and they didn't work at all. I bite my lip, remembering what did work. Wondering if it would still work. Knowing those days are gone forever. In place of memories, emotions, sleep, wellness, me - he has pills. And I have nothing.

I watch him take the pills, the pink one last of all. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

I shake my head. I should tell him that he might see me in some similar state of confusion, but I don't want to worry him. "That's nothing - you should have seen me after I was out of the hospital. Wandering all over Snow's mansion. I kept waking up in strange places. The only thing I ever got was morphling. And I can't take that anymore."

"Why?" He blinks at me; the sleeping pills are already taking effect.

"Addiction. Peeta - you get up to bed. I'll wash up. If you aren't awake for dinner, do you want me to get you up?"

He shakes his head. "I should just sleep them off this time."

He stands up and looks down at me. The puzzled look on his face - I'm not sure what it's for. Is he trying to figure out what I'm doing? I'm just trying to be kind, as if we are still friends. Does he mistrust this, deep down, the way I still mistrusted him? "Thanks," he says again, then slowly walks up the stairs.