Authors note: I'm so sorry I haven't been writing lately! I've just been sick for like three weeks. But thanks you all for sticking it out with me. You guys are like, the best ever. I hope you enjoy! Leave a review! Love you!
-Blay


Dylan led me through a series of underground tunnels to reach the makeshift encampment the government officials had made. I wasn't really paying that much attention, so after an unknown amount of time we reached a ladder. He climbed up first and then gestured for me to follow suit.
Once on the other side of the ladder Dylan links his arm through mine and takes me down a long hallway. We reach the door and Dylan asks if I'm ready. 'Ready for what?' I think, but don't say. After a moment of semi-awkward silence he opens the door.
As I'm sure you could imagine the look of shock on my parents face when Dylan led me through that door, arms linked, was vaguely comical/triumphantly heartbreaking. There's no telling what I look like, my face and body cut, dirtied, and bruised. I bet they had thought they would never see me again, I mean, I was being completely honest I thought I wasn't going to see any of them ever again either.
My dad was the first one to see me. He actually walked right past me, murmuring urgently into a radio headset and clicking on some sort of tablet.
"Peeta." Dylan called, startling dad bad enough to make him jump and almost drop the tablet. He almost didn't recognize me at first. He has to blink a few times to realize that it is in-fact his daughter, alive and semi-well, not dead like presumed.
"Julie?" He half whispers. "Julie?" He says again, like his mind hasn't yet comprehended it.
Then he does actually drop the tablet, and half walks, half runs to me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. It takes me a moment to hug him back, but I do. He just stands there and holds me. I can hear the sound of him crying, I can feel him shaking. I feel nothing, I know that I should, but I don't. I've felt so much lately, I'm desensitized. Does that make me a bad person? Who knows?
After what feels like forever he lets me go and pushes me out at arm's length, looks me over, then hugs me again.
He's shaking, which I find mildly strange because he's not the one that's been beaten, abused, and tied for the past 72 hours.
He pulls away again, but doesn't take his arms off of me. He wraps one of them around my shoulders and says, "I think your mother would like to see you."
I don't say anything back; I want to, I want to smile, I want to say ok, I want to tell him that I'm ok. I want to do something. But I can't.
He doesn't wait for an answer, he just begins leading me through the little compound they have. I want to pay attention, I want to notice things. But I can't. The only thing I can focus on is my inability to say anything.
After we pass a few doors, my dad stops us in front of one, he opens door and steers me inside.
I look around the office. In front of me is my mother, typing furiously on a computer. She doesn't even look up when the door slams shut.
"Katniss." My dad calls out softly.
"Hmm?" She responds, still not looking up from whatever she's doing.
"Katniss, look." My dad says.
She continues typing for a moment before looking up slowly. When her head is all the way up, her eyes meet mine.
She has this blank look on her face, like she doesn't recognize me. I don't blame her, I don't recognize myself anymore.
Her eyes skirt to my dads, "Is that….?" She asks, trailing off, her eyes becoming wide.
"It is." My father tells her.
She then gets up slowly, then, in what seems like an instant she is holding me, sobbing, whispering my name over and over again. My dad wraps his arms around the both of us and starts to cry again.
This is such a touching little reunion, if only I could feel it. The only thing that I do feel is the pressure of their bodies on mine, heaving and hot.
Being this close to people is making me uncomfortable.
It reminds me of the man who kept me captive. His voice is suddenly in my mine.
"Doll."
The feel of his dirty hands on my broken body.
I feel like bugs are crawling all over my skin.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
This is the only thing I can think, no matter my parents have thought me dead, had no idea where I was, most likely cried themselves to sleep every night I was gone, if the even did sleep. I need to get, I need to get their hands off of me.
I need to get out.
I start to push away, my parents don't react, I start to push again, this time they loosen their hold.
I push again, this time they let go.
"Julie, what is it?" My father asks.
I don't respond.
I need to get out.
I just head for the door.
"Julie?" my mother asks.
I don't respond.
I need to get out.
I open the door, and then I'm running down the labyrinth –like halls.
I have all these thoughts racing through my mind now.
I am a terrible daughter.
I need to get out.
I am a horrible person.
I need to get out.
I am broken.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.