I stare at my reflection in the pristine mirror of the Capitol's fancy hospital mental facility.

What have I become? I ask myself.

No longer am I the strongly built, well postured, happy, positive, bright eyed boy that I used to be. I really haven't been that way for a long time, since the first Games. None of us have. They destroyed us.

Now all I can see when I look at myself is a broken, pale, skinny, weak boy with no hope whatsoever left inside of him. I am but a shell of my former self. The only thing left that possibly resembles me is my blonde hair, but even then, that seems duller then before. I am not the boy that I used to be. I probably never will be again, that's what Doctor Aurelius warned me about. 

The only plus side of being here for recuperation is that with all the high tech medicines, the nurses managed to come up with a cream that has almost completely made my scars disappear. There are a few that still look faded, in the particularly bad places. My eyebrows have grown back completely by now and not a mark is left on my face. Except for the heavy purple bags caused from lack of sleep under my tired eyes. But my wrists are still plastered with rough pink and pale scars that curve all the way around my boney joints. Apparently the damage done from the handcuffs and restraints and chains in the Capitol, the restraints in District Thirteen, and then again with the handcuffs in the rebellion, was too deep and I'm now stuck with them. My forced harm on myself with them whenever I felt myself slipping probably didn't help at all. Now they will be with me as a constant reminder of what happened to me, of what kind of monster I've become, of what will never fully leave me.

Finally, today I actually get to leave. That's all I've wanted to do since I checked myself into this place. Even though I had the chance to go home as soon as the war was over, I knew I couldn't, I had to stay here and get at least a bit better and under control. To be perfectly honest, I shouldn't be leaving today. I'm no where near ready, but I don't think I could stand it here another moment. With everyone treating me like I'm a ticking time bomb. The nurses looking at me with pity. Doctor Aurelius constantly asking me how I'm feeling. I know they are only trying to help, but it's truly frustrating being treated like I'm mentally unstable. But then again, that is what is implied by my plastic bracelet which reads, 'Hijacked', in big bold letters and then in smaller print underneath, 'Mentally Unstable", digs into the fresh scars on my right wrist.

I wonder where I would be today if I had never been picked for the 74th Hunger Games. It's hard to believe that that was less than two years ago, so much has changed in such a short amount of time. Would I still be at home, working at the bakery, with my family. I feel a twinge in my chest at the thought of them. I know that what I've been told now is the truth, that what I remember isn't. They died because President Snow bombed the District, not Katniss.

Katniss. I still don't know what to think about that girl. If what they say is true, if I did love her that much, then why is it that I feel absolutely nothing there now? And why doesn't she seem to return the affections? No. There is something. Small and curious. Tiny. I felt it stirring when she kissed me in the sewers, but I was driven to madness at that moment and the feeling left almost as soon as it came. Then again, there was that other moment at the execution, when she tried to kill herself. I felt such an intense longing for her that I couldn't bare to see her die. I was stopping her before I knew what I was doing. But then, once again, when she was engulfed into the crowd, the confusion got to me and I was driven back to insanity all over again.

The moment Plutarch saw my rage he suggested that I come here. They had sedated me to calm me down and when I woke up, he was already waiting beside my bed. I understood completely what he meant and agreed to come, but really, it's made zero difference, except maybe the medication. And I don't even think that really helps in a good way.

They got most of the venom out of my system, but the doctors told me that it will never fully go away. There will always be moments of terror and confusion. They can't change my newly replaced memories. Sometimes when my 'flashbacks' or 'episodes' as Doctor Aurelius likes to call them get too bad, he says that there is the potential for the adrenaline to cause the venom to kick in and I could go completely crazy again. But I just need to learn to fight it. Fight it? I scoffed when he said that. Why doesn't he try having these spastic voices telling you things in your head. Once they start, I can't tell what I'm doing, what's real and what's not. There's no way I'd be able to fight it off.

I try to divert my frustration at everything, I'm going home today! I should be at least somewhat happy about this. But the truth is, I'm not. I'm completely terrified. What is left there for me? Nothing. I haven't been back there for what must surely be nearly a year. I have no idea what the District looks like now. Perhaps just a pile of rubble. Perhaps worse things, that I can't bring myself to think about. No bakery, no family. Just a giant empty house all to myself. And Katniss. But she probably wants nothing to do with me. I can't blame her, I'd be scared of me too, in fact, I am scared of myself.

I find my expression turning into a fierce scowl. My forehead forming the crease lines I have developed lately from all of my frowning. I'm just not happy. With myself that is. I have become a monster. A mutt. I can't see the good in anything anymore. All that was left of that was taken away by the revolution.

Unable to stand looking at my hideous reflection any longer I swiftly turn and go sit on my bed in the opposite corner of the sterile white room. I find myself fiddling with my arm band and swinging my legs that dangle over the side of its metal base impatiently. Unable to wait to be released. But then I don't even know where I want to go. I'm not sure I'm ready to face District Twelve. Or Katniss. I'm not ready for any of it.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. I shoot my head up hopefully but I come off disappointed when I only see Doctor Aurelius. Not Plutarch, who will be escorting me out of here.
"Hello Peeta." He says cheerfully.
How is he so cheerful when it's this time of the night?
I smile as warmly as I can muster as he comes over to me.
"Hi." I mumble.
"Now, before you go, here are your meds. You know which ones to take, how often and the dosages. Do not take them too frequently or skip out on them because that could cause some serious issues and setbacks. If you have any issues don't hesitate to call me." He instructs me firmly while handing me the huge bag full of all my pill bottles. He's just turning to leave when he stops for a second. "Oh, and one more thing. Could you tell Katniss to pick up her phone please? I can't keep pretending that I'm treating her forever." He bids me one last brief smile before striding off in a rush.
I not in his direction, even though he's already gone.

It's not much longer after that when Plutarch arrives. I'm springing up off the bed and grabbing my bag in no time at all.
"Right, let's get you home, Peeta." He beams widely.
I grin eagerly and pull on my gloves and woollen hat, do up my coat and tighten my scarf before following him straight out the door without even sparing a parting glance for the small room that has become my home for these past few weeks. I've wanted to get out of here so badly, I don't know why. I think I just couldn't stand the feeling of the Capitol. It holds far to many bad memories for me.

Once we are out in the open I am shocked by the feeling of fresh air. In the hospital, sure it was clean, but all I could smell was the awful sterile smell constantly, it got to the point where it gave me a headache. But now out here, I suck in big gulps of air gratefully. Feel the gentle wind blow against my neck. For the first time in so long now, I actually do feel renewed and refreshed. Maybe all I really needed was to go home. It can't be that bad there, can it?

I try to erase the doubt forming in my mind by talking about something else.
"So, Plutarch, how have you been?" I ask, trying hard not to sound like how Doctor Aurelius does when he asks me this every other day. It's strange to hear myself asking about someone else for once, instead of everyone fussing over me.
"Oh, I've been grand Peeta!" He gets out in a muffled voice as he pulls his scarf up over his nose to protect it from the chill in the air. "So far everything is going perfectly." He beams proudly. "And what about you? Aurelius tells me that you've been improving tremendously everyday." He asks, gesturing to me.

Have I? The comment pulls me up short.

I don't feel at all like I have. Yes, obviously since my initial hijacking I have. But I don't really feel anymore in control then I did when the rebellion came to an end. We pad across the snow dusted concrete for a few more moments before I can finally manage to find the right words. "I've been alright, I guess." I say dully.
"Aren't you excited to be going home? Isn't that what you wanted?" He exclaims.
"Nervous." I point out, turning to him.
He nods gingerly, finally understanding.

It's only a brief walk to the sleek, black car that will take Plutarch and I to the train station. The trip is silent. I press my frozen face against the frosty glass and watch as the streets of the Capitol pass by. See the damage that was done during the war. Last time I was out there, the streets were full of mayhem and chaos. Now they are just dead. I hope District Twelve isn't this bad, because I can hardly handle this. The crumbling, empty buildings, the aftermath of pods. Eventually, I end up staring at my fumbling, leather gloves hands.

This is a habit I've gotten into lately. According to Doctor Aurelius it appears to be what I do when my nerves get up, because I've started to sense this as something that could lead to a large amount of emotion or confusion. And that tends to be what causes me to have a flashback, and since I automatically register that a flashback is bad, I do this to try and calm myself down or take my mind off whatever I was thinking of. That's how he fraised it. I personally just think it's because I'm an unstable lunatic that fidgets when I can't control myself.

After the toasty car trip is over stepping  out into the dark in the winter air is hard. I'm reminded of the nip in the wind as it stings my nose and cheeks. I pull my beanie down over my ears and hesitantly shuffle forward.

Once I'm under the shelter of the train station I let out a chilled sigh, leaving a puff of white mist in front of my face and try to rub some heat back into my cheeks with the cold leather of the gloves. They're warm and furry inside, but I don't dare take them off and leave my frail fingers exposed.

I finally have a chance to look around. I step around in a circle on the same spot in disbelief. Taking in all that I can see out of the giant glass walls. The whole rebel camp, all of it, is gone. Whether it was destroyed or removed I'm not sure, but all that's left is a distant stretch of plain, flat concrete. I don't know what I was expecting. I mean, the war is over. I guess it just wasn't this. It's probably just a reality check that what we have been fighting for for so long now, is finally over. And now I don't know what to do.

Plutarch stands back graciously and silently as I take it all in. Mouth dropped open in realisation. This is the first time I've been outside in so long. The first time I've been able to see the changes being made.

My thoughts are interrupted by a high pitched voice.
"Peeta!" It squeals.
I whip around to see none other than Effie Trinket teetering towards me as fast as she can on her ridiculously high heels, as usual. I'm surprised to see her here at this time. The station is empty apart from Plutarch, her and I. She embraces me in a tight hug before I can react. It takes me a few seconds to adjust to having such a close, intimate human contact again, but eventually I squeeze her back lightly.

She pulls back and takes me in. Her expression somewhat shocked at my change in appearance. I know she's trying to hide her worry. I'm not surprised. I know I look worse then I did at the end of the war. The mental hospital session have been so hard, and draining.
"Oh Peeta." She whispers with tears in her eyes. Then she collects herself. "You look well." She swallows with a pause.
I smile slightly. "Thanks Effie, so do you." Truthfully, she looks exactly the same as she did last time I saw her. Same big hair and an out there dress.
She cups my hollow cheek and takes one of my hands in hers and looks at me sadly. "Now, you go home, and find the life that you deserve." She whispers.
I nod slowly. Find. She certainly couldn't have put it a better way, because I sure don't have it yet.
"And look after Haymitch will you? Tell him to get a new hobby. Raise some Geese or something." She chokes out half jokingly.
I chuckle slightly until Plutarch places a big hand on my shoulder.

I turn my attention to him.
"Your train is here." He says nodding towards the giant silver carriage. It's just one carriage, all to myself. I'm the only person going anywhere right now. "I've organised for Haymitch to meet you at the other end. But don't bet on him being there. He hasn't been in a very good place since the war ended. None of them have. But who knows, maybe finally having both his victors back might cheer him up a bit." He warns me.
Them? Who is them? I push the question aside, knowing that I will find out later and nod and look back to Effie who has a tear running down her cheek through her pale makeup. When she sees me she plasters on a smile and brings me into her once more.
"Oh, I'm going to miss you so much Peeta." She sobs before pulling away and kissing me quickly on the cheek.
"Come visit." I say to her kindly.
She smiles and nods. "Don't worry, I will."
"Goodbye Plutarch." I say hoarsely.
He smiles and pats my shoulder gently.
"Thank you so much, both of you, for everything." I say with tears in my eyes, looking between the two of them.
"Well, you better get going." Plutarch huffs.
I nod. "I will see you both again." I say as I let go off Effie's hand and slip out from under Plutarch's one.
They smile and nod encouragingly.

And that is the last thing I see of them before I turn around and step onto the train.

Finally, I'm going home.