The Epilogue - Katniss and Peeta

One Last Time.

*Katniss's POV*

I sit by the door, looking out at the rain that has continued for days. Finally leaving my room after 3 days was hard, and it took everything just to open the door. Being flooded with nothing but memories of Gale paralyzed me, and I couldn't even bare the thought of standing. I couldn't sleep either, and that affected both me and Peeta.

I feel him sit down beside me, and I try to soak in every last moment with him—knowing it could be my last. I turn to face him, and he smiles once he sees me.

"You're out of bed." He starts, the smile on his face remaining. I nod my head at him before looking back away at the rain, and my eyes shift towards the sky. Maybe I'll be up there soon. "How are you?"
"I'm good." I say, flashing a fake smile before beginning to stand. "I feel better than I did a few days ago."
"Are you sure?" He asks, standing up with me.

I reassure him by nodding my head, and I see Willow and Flynn come out of the art room in the corner of my eye. I turn towards them, and Peeta thankfully drops the subject we were just on. I can't let him know I'm only getting worse.

"Mom, we're going on a walk." Willow says as she reaches us, acknowledging Peeta as well. I look up at Flynn and smile at him, the sight of seeing them back together is relieving. "Do you need anything while we're gone?"
"I'm okay." I say, before beginning to walk away. None of them call out for me to stay, and I take it as reassurance that they'll be fine without me—once my plan goes through.

My plan, the one I've spent the last 3 days thinking about, is way more calculated than my last, and has a way higher success rate. Although I failed it once, I'm positive it will work this time. I have a lot to do in only a short amount of time, so I can't be constantly sulking around and being depressed.

I wait until Willow and Flynn have left to walk back towards the front of the house, and I turn left just before I reach the front door. I make my way down the hallway before reaching the art room, and I crack the door to make sure it's empty. I smile at the sight of all of the paintings on the walls, some painted of myself and some painted of others.

I sit down at Peeta's desk, and I take in the sight of all of his belongings. I feel a sense of comfort in seeing this room being so lively and peaceful, and I feel myself wishing that my heart felt like this—wishing my mind felt like this.

I pick up one of the pens sitting on the top of the desk, and I roll it in my palm a few times before beginning to write with it. I grab a blank piece of paper before staring at it, trying to determine which one of the letters I want to write first. I look at the pen one more time, and I can't bare to write to him yet.

His will be too hurtful to do.

I push the thought of him being hurt over me out of my head, and I settle on writing to Haymitch first. I'm not sure he'll even be sober enough to read this letter, considering that he hasn't put down the liquor in a solid year. I miss when he used to be there for me. I miss when I could talk to him without him falling asleep due to his intoxication levels.

My hand begins to scribble my thoughts, and I'm writing things I didn't know I felt. Soon the page is filled up, and I reread the letter to make sure I've made no mistakes.

"Dear, Haymitch.

I still remember the day I met you, and I remember thinking that there was no possible way I could ever like you, let alone tolerate you. Now, I can't imagine my life without you, and I do way more than just tolerate you.