The Hunger Games- What If's (Fan Fiction)

Chapter Eighteen

   Prim and I make our way down the dirt trail that is quickly turning into thick mud quietly and slowly. Everything about us is drooping, not just because of the rain. My heart feels heavy, but having Prim beside me makes me feel a bit better. Occasionally I sneak peeks at the girl beside me as we walk. Her shirt tail is untouched as always, and her feet move slow and steadily.

   I match her pace exactly, sighing and throwing my head back to face the sky. I throw my arms up to the sky and close my eyes, to rain plunking onto my eyelids. I start spinning calmly at first, but as time goes on my spinning becomes faster and faster. I can hear Prim's muffled laugher; she must have put her hands over her mouth in hopes I wouldn't hear it.

   But, I do. So I run over to where Prim is standing in a surprisingly straight line and wrap the small girl in my arms. She yelps out, and I quickly begin tickling her. Her laughter is so crisp, so clear in the muggy air. Rain is blurring our vision and mud is caking our shoes, sticking to our clothing.

   Nobody is around to witness the fun that we're having. There aren't any houses around at the moment, since Victor's Village is set apart from the "common residence" area. It is more "elite,"  more "prestigious" than the "common folk" of District 12.

   But this is a good thing. I don't want people to see me so carefree, even if it is for just this one small minute, microscopic seconds, that I let myself go. If people see that in public, what will they think of me? I can already imagine how jealous some must be of me.  After all, I'm set now; I have all the money I could ever ask for, a house large enough for at least half of the population of District 12, and enough food for the population three times over.

   And then they remember why I have it all: the Hunger Games.

   Next thing you know, people drop their heads, ashamed of thinking so lowly of me. I have survived, I have beaten the Capitol. Then again, I just let them play me. I let them walk all over me. After all, I played didn't I? I often think back to what the effects of my presence in the Games brought. I wasn't exactly the most well-behaved competitor. I had decorated Rue's body, I was defiant in that sense alone, however idiotic it may seem.

   But doesn't that make me a target, that simple thing alone? If both Peeta and I would have won, that would make me a cheat, too. Even if it was the Gamemakers' own rule. They would find a way to hurt me, to hold me hostage to them. They would want to use me to their advantage, President Snow would make me sit idly by while watching my family and friends die of "accidents" that he so happily put into motion.

   But if I didn't do something for Rue, I would have regretted it. Especially if I had had the idea and not gone through with it. She reminded me of Prim, so how could I not love her? Even after only a few short days, she made me trust her, love her, she made me want to protect her.

   I shake my head slightly, wearily. I'm home now. I'm with Prim and my mother and Gale. Eventually everything will be just fine. Right?

   My laughs slowly fade into a simple smile. I hold out my hand to Prim; she grabs onto it. Together we continue to walk, down the road, the cobblestone on the ground slowly growing more worn as we walk to where most people cross over daily.

   We walk pass dingy clothing stores, run-down barber shops, beaten-up lampposts, and finally a cake shop. I pretend not to notice how the cakes in the window look much less impressive compared to the ones before . . . to the ones before the Games. I also pretend not to notice Prim, who is staring straight into my face with wide, innocent eyes. She wants me to stop by. She'll try to make me go inside.

   "Hey, Katniss, uh. . . ." Prim's steps falter as we nearly pass the shop.

   I stop and turn to her, pretending like I don't know where we are. "Yes? What is it, Prim?"

   The rain is still pouring down relentlessly. "Well, don't you think we should get some, uh, cookies or something for Gale and Hazelle?" Prim lets go of my hand and stares down at her shuffling feet.

   "I don't think Gale would appreciate that very much. You should know that, Prim," I sigh sadly. I turn to walk away, but--

   "Katniss, I'm cold! Let's stop in here for a moment, it's always nice and cozy-warm here!"

   I turn around quickly to pull her away from the dimly-lit shop, but she's too fast; she's already in the door. I take a shaky, shallow breath and follow in after her.

   The sound of sweet bells fills my ears as I open the door. There are some small bells on a chain hanging from the hinge. Each bell is a different color other than gold of silver. I smile, thinking that only Peeta would do such a thing.

   I turn toward the counter where Prim is standing patiently, waiting for who I assume to be Peeta's father, the baker. I can smell the delicious scent of sugar and fruits and dough and flour all around me. Whenever I turn, even the slightest, a new scent tickles my nose, making my mouth water.

   I walk over to Prim, sniffing the air the whole short walk over to her. "I know why you want me in here," I whisper into her ear. I can visibly see her stiffen.

   "I was cold, that's why you know since I told you!" I can hear the pout in her voice. I only half-smile at her. Her intentions were good, her execution better.

   Just then Mr. Mellark comes through the swinging doors that must lead to only the kitchen. He has a smile on his face, but it turns into a real one when he sees that it's Prim. He wipes his flour-drenched hands on his apron and nods to Prim, then me.

   "We would like one batch of cookies!" PRim says cheerfully.

   I pull her the slightest bit away from the counter. "Prim, no! Gale wouldn't take th-"

   "I know, but Rory would! Besides, Gale doesn't have to know! You and I can have one, too," Prim smiles at me. Right then, I know I've been beaten.

   "Fine."

   "And, what kind of cookies would you like?" Mr. Mellark says.

   I'm a little startled to hear his voice, but then I remember Prim is with me. He always seems more cheerful and talkative around her. Then again, so does everybody else in this district, at the very least.

   "Can I have the, um, er, . . . oh! I know, I'll have the cinnamon ones!" Prim smiles.

   Peeta's father smiles back. He opens the display case holding all the cookies and takes a box off of the counter. He folds it up and sets one, two, three cinnamon cookies inside. The smell is intoxicating. When he reaches thirteen cookies, he closes the box and hands it over to Prim.

   I hand him the money I brought with me which is obviously more than enough. "Don't try to give it back to me," I say before he can say anything.

   "I'm going to go sit down," Prim says before skipping a few feet away to the table in the corner.

   She leaves me face-to-face with the baker. Peeta sure did look an awfully lot like his father. I wonder if he ever noticed.

   All of the sudden, I feel as though I owe a great deal to this man. After all, he gave me cookies for what I'm assuming to be comfort and a promise. A promise to take care of Prim. Which he obviously did, and I can't give him two lives back. All I can give him is the recognition he deserves, and regular business. No, daily business. Even then, that wouldn't earn him back the life of his youngest son.

   On a  whim, I decide to attempt to pay him back. Not with money, though. I walk over to the portion of the counter that separates the front from the back. I lift it up slowly, and it squeaks. I walk through so I'm standing behind the counter and walk over to where the baker is standing. I slowly lift my arms up and wrap them around his neck.

   "Thank you," I say to him, hugging him. "And I'm sorry. For everything."

   He doesn't reply, but I can feel his body shaking slightly. Then I feel the wetness of tears against my cheek, my neck. I slowly pull away and lift a towel that's sitting on the counter. I find the cleanest spot on it and lift it up to his eyes. I wipe them, and set the towel back down. The baker smiles at me.

And I smile back.