A/N

Don't know if I really like this chapter :/ tell me what you think :)
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Katniss's P.O.V

I wake up in an unfamiliar room and bolt up in the bed that I don't recognize. My fingers tap lightly on the bed with one hand, a nervous tick of mine, and I bite the nails on my fingers of the other. Then, I use them to scoot the blankets tucked tightly against my figure away from me. Shivers run through my body, forming chill bumps on my now bare arms. I dangle my feet from the highly elevated bed and bury my face into my hands. I know I had a nightmare last night, but I can't remember one detail of it. It isn't like I'd want to anyway, but somehow it bothers me.

When I look up, I see that across from me is a simple mirror with a brown frame. A bed and this mirror seems to be the only thing the room consists of with the exception of my boots and jacket placed neatly in the corner. I stand up on wobbly legs and make my way over to the mirror, standing before it. Even my face consists of a few scars that I can't seem to remember how I got. I also have red scratch marks running from the bottom of my ears to the end of my neck from yesterday in the closet. I slide two fingers down the rough skin around it, the long cuts hurting too much to touch directly. The roughness of my skin reminds me about how after war, I was all patched up with fresh and soft baby pink skin that has now peeled off. The thin layer wasn't expected to last long, just until all eyes of Panem were off of me. Nothing will ever be strong enough to hide my scars. I will never be ridded of my beaten appearance just like the memories will never fade. I am the reflection of the things that haunt my endless nightmares.

I undo my disheveled braid. Thin strands of black hair stick out in all directions around my roots and within the braid. A result of a night of rough sleeping. When I undo the braid from it's tightly weaved pattern it falls in thick waves past my shoulders. I sigh at the uneven tips and quickly start to redo it before the memories can come flooding back.

"Good morning Katniss."

I jump back, startled, and press myself against the cream colored wall to my left. Peeta sighs and walks in with a tray of breakfast foods. The smell of it all wafts into my nose making my mouth water. He places it gently on the bed and then turns slowly to look at me. My hair has fallen back into waves again. Peeta's blue eyes examine me for a while. Then, the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile.

"It's really amazing, you know? How beautiful you look no matter what."

I push myself off the wall that had been my only stability just a second ago when I nearly died of fright. He walks closer to me and then diligently touches a part of the scratches on my neck. I flinch and whimper, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away.

"Don't lie, and don't touch that," I hiss. I unravel my fingers' grip on him and then start to braid my hair again.

"Katniss," he whispers. I bite my lip until it bleeds and then tense when he grabs my wrist this time and pulls my hand away from my hair. "Don't," he says, softly demanding me not to braid it. He then undoes it himself, letting my hair fall, but he only pushes it away to plant a gentle kiss on my neck right next to the long trail of my scratch. I sigh at the warm touch, pondering over wether or not I like this.

"No. Stop, Peeta."

I lurch forward, reminding myself that I don't love him even though some part of me says I had missed that while he was hijacked . . . and that I still do.

"Katniss," he whispers, pain etched in his voice, "I have a question."

I frown and walk around him, sitting in bed and pulling the blankets over my lap.

"Me too," I reply. He waits silently for me to go first. "This is your house, and this food is mine?"

"Yes and yes. But my question is a little . . . deeper than than." I want to stop, keep him from speaking. I'm afraid of what he might have to say. I grab the tray and a fork set on a neatly folded napkin.

"Go ahead," I whisper, nervousness dripping in my tone. I draw circles in my eggs, trying to remember the last time I ate without being forced by Greasy Sae or Peeta. I try to decide if I'm really hungry or if my stomach is churning because of how anxious I am for his question.

"Do you . . . do you love Gale?"

I choke on my spit, dropping my fork. His blue eyes look up and meet my grey ones. It feels as if they're burning straight through me. I have no clue what to say. I look around, as if something in the room will tell me. So I don't, I don't answer yet.

"Well, why? Why do you ask?" I question and his face falls. I set the tray aside, my appetite lost. The motivation I'd built up to eat is now let down by the worry I have for this question. How will I answer? I have to say yes so he won't think I love him even if a part of me does, but it seems so cruel. To let him down so bluntly like this. If I say no, he'll get his hopes up.

"Last night you were mumbling his name," he says sadly. I sigh and stare at his chin, not able to look in his eyes. It feels like I'm not worthy to.

"I don't know," I say, frowning. My lip quivers and I battle threatening tears. Peeta fakes a smile and sits on the edge of the bed, stroking my hair.

"You're so beautiful Katniss. I think anyone would be lucky to have you," Peeta whispers gently. "And I think you and I both know that lucky person isn't me. I don't deserve you. I'll end up hurting you sooner or later and I don't want to do that," he frowns.

"Peeta," I sigh, my heart sinking to my chest.

I know what this feeling is. I feel sorry for him, like I've hurt him. It's happened many times with Gale, but never with Peeta. And I know what's gonna happen before it takes action. Not because I want it to, but because I don't know any other way to comfort him. Just like what would happen with Gale. I reach my hand up, grab his cheek and pull his lips to mine.

I feel him smile genuinely against my lips as I move mine against his. Then, his arms swoop underneath me and lift me up to sit in his lap. I'm glad too because I don't think I could hold myself up any longer. I pull away, slowly and affectively, my eyes opening a few seconds after, but he dives right back in, connecting my lips to his. Peeta's lips were always gentle, like the kiss of an angel. Like they were recently when I just kissed him. This time when he leaned in it felt nothing like him. It felt aggressive. His lips were still soft, yes, he just kissed me with more desire and passion. It felt familiar, but not from the past times I kissed Peeta. I knew automatically what the memory was and dared to think of him. Gale.

I'd never really decided who's lips I liked better, but feeling the reminder of what Gale's were like I'd now decided. Gale's because Peeta usually kisses me slowly, his lips in between kissing me and not kissing me. They always just barely touched mine. He did it so gently, as if scared to hurt my lips, which is nice and still is, but Gale did it with passion and aggression. Always. Just like Peeta is finally doing now. It felt like Gale really wanted me. Like he needed me. Just like Peeta's now probably because he's desperate as he realizes he's at risk of losing me.

However, my choice isn't based off of what lips suit mine. I will be living with the person who I choose forever and kissing wouldn't be the only thing we did. It honestly wouldn't even be frequent. My life is a tragedy. A story about a girl who was broken to bits. And I need the person who can give me a happy ending by healing all my mental wounds. Gale understands the part of my life from when I was twelve till I got reaped and Peeta understands the rest. He understands my pain of what the games were like and how they hurt me. He truly gets my nightmares. But is it really about who understands? Or is it something beyond that? And is that something what keeps drawing my heart to Gale's?

I pull away from Peeta's lips fast, my mind racing making my head throb. My eyes open quickly and I glance down at the blue bedsheets.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night instead of leaving me at my home alone," I say, trying to cover up my anxiousness.

"Katniss, what's wrong? What'd I do? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" Peeta asks frantically.

"No, I'm fine, I'm okay Ga-" I stop myself shaking my head and hopping lightly off the tall bed, "sorry I meant Peeta."

Then, without looking back at him, I run. It's the only thing I can think of doing. I'd always been the type to run from my problems. I was never the one to face them head on. So I run out of the room, down the stairs, and outside. My hair blows back in the wind and my eyes sting at how quickly it hits my face. My legs carry me as fast as possible across the empty road and to my house. I slam the door shut, locking it, and run to the place where I always hide. My closet.

My entire body shakes, remembering every last detail of Gale down to the dirt that was always caked underneath his fingernails from working in the mines and hunting. I loved him. I still love him. And it simply took me too long to realize this. If I'd let him know earlier or ran away with him when he suggested it, I wouldn't be facing this problem. Now, he might not even be an option I have. He might be gone forever. But it might not even matter. Because yes, part of me still has an urge for Peeta like the times when I lay in bed screaming at night.

Before I know it, I'm ripping the coats in the downstairs closet off of the rack and throwing them everywhere around the tiny space I stand in, grunting in anger. Then, my back slides against the wall till my bottom hits the floor, resting on top of hangers and coats. I let out a scream. A scream louder than I'd heard the night before. Not a frightened one though. One just to let out all the anger and frustration and sadness I'm fighting.

I hear the doorknob twist from outside of the closet and someone enters my house, their light footsteps echoing throughout it. The soft steps indicate this is not Peeta. The smell of hot food swarms my nose making my stomach rumble. It smells exactly like what Peeta had fixed for me. I stand up and tentatively open the door.

"Katniss?" I hear a fragile voice call from the kitchen and I know it's Greasy Sae.

"I'm here!" I reply, not wanting to frighten her. I turn the corner and we connect eyes. She gasps and I frown.

"Honey what happened?!" she asks, setting her tray of breakfast food for me down. I glance down at my neck.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," I mumble as she rushes over to me on her short, thin legs. "Uh . . . I was-" I try to think of something quick, not wanting to worry her by saying I did this to myself. She already supplies breakfast for me to make sure I'm eating at least one meal during the day. I don't want to occupy her by making her feel obligated to stay longer than she already does.

Just then I see Buttercup trudge by. He no longer hisses at me. Either he's too depressed to do so, or he figures I'm all he's got left to love. I'd say him and I have bonded a bit since Prim's death and I'm actually enjoying him, but now I totally throw him under the bus.

"Buttercup!" I don't hesitate to say, meeting her grey eyes with mine. Greasy Sae chuckles.

"You and that cat won't ever get along will you?" I put on as strong of a smile as I can although I'm sure she can see my tear streaks that I'd frantically wiped away before leaving the closet.

Greasy Sae sighs. I can see in her eyes she didn't really believe it, she's only pretending to. She doesn't question it further, but she's wise. She knows that isn't a cat scratch. A cat scratch wouldn't be that long and persistent and wouldn't be on each side of my face. There's really no good excuse for my injury though.

"Ready to eat?" I nod, my stomach growling angrily at me. "M'kay, go sit," she orders and we walk to the table sitting in the fancy chairs of my Victors' Village home.

Greasy Sae slides the tray of food over to me and I examine it, diving into the bacon first. It's a meat product, so of course it's the best of my selections. Greasy Sae is wonderful with any type of meat. I crunch down on the slender of bacon and moan as the flavor hits my tastebuds. She lets me eat a little more before starting a small conversation. She licks her lips uneasily.

"I don't suppose you've watched much television lately," she says in her frail voice. I glance over at the wide screen that hardly gets turned on. I shake my head.

"No, I haven't," I confirm, shrugging and swallowing a bite of pancake. She seems to have expected that answer. I find myself rather surprised because I didn't think she really did either.

"Well, I think you should watch the news channel sometime. Have you heard anything from Gale?" I dip my head low, dropping my gaze from her, to my food, to the floor.

"No, have you?" I ask. I glance up at her and she nods.

"Yeah, every so often. Him and I send letters back and forth and chat on the phone."

I want to ask her so much more. I want to ask how he's doing, what he's doing, if he's successful. I want to ask if he's met a new girl, if he thinks about coming back to twelve, and if he's recovering from everything okay. I'm not okay, but I imagine he is. Although the thought makes me cringe, I continue to think he's better off without me. I want to tell her to let him know so many things, but most of all I want to ask if he ever mentions me. But instead I just sit there, immobile, as she leaves my thoughts and I to ourselves.

When Greasy Sae leaves, I stand up, pushing my half eaten food away and grab the remote sitting on the arm of my couch. I turn the television on, flipping to the news channel. That's when I understand why she wanted me to check it out. Cause there is Gale sitting professionally dressed in a fancy suit sitting on a stool with posture and all. I guess Greasy Sae knew I wanted . . . needed to see him. And the image of him makes me miss his presence that much more.