Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3)

by Suzanne Collins

Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.

After tossing and turning for hours, I finally accept that it will be a wakeful night.

Time and tragedy have forced her to grow too quickly,

“You’re still angry.” “And you’re still not sorry,”

For a second, I’m afraid he’s dying. I have to remind myself that I don’t care.

“I can’t believe you didn’t rescue Peeta.”

I stop trying to sleep after my first few attempts are interrupted by unspeakable nightmares.

Under this debate lies the real source of my distress: Peeta. What have they done to him? And what are they doing to him right now?

😢😢😢😢

Maybe I have been too spiteful, not given him enough time to explain. Maybe everyone is just trying to protect me by lying to me. I don’t care. I’m sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it’s mostly for their own good.

I do feel sick. Heartsick.

So why does everything bring on a fresh pang of grief?

I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.

Her heart is breaking and she doesn't even recognise it gets me bawling my eyes out

I mention it to no one, but it devours my waking hours and weaves itself throughout my nightmares.

“How do you bear it?” Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.”

I’ve got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and a camera crew’s waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow’s got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he wants.

“But that kind of thinking . . . you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time.

It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly.

“But that’s not going to happen under my watch, Soldier Everdeen. I’m planning for you to have a long life.”

“Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he’d kill you, but Peeta doesn’t know that. He doesn’t understand what’s happened to him. So you can’t blame him —” “I don’t!” I say. “You do! You’re punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it’s time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you’d been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?”

“The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

“It’s not your fault, Peeta,” says Finnick.

I'll never be okay

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.”

I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely.

“This is why we rebelled! Remember?” Peeta looks at the rest of us. “Annie?” “I vote no with Peeta,” she says. “So would Finnick if he were here.”

Why am I not dead? I should be dead. It would be best for everyone if I were dead. . . .

I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despite being one myself.

We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life.

That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.