peeta mellark · the hunger games · district 12 · baker · gentle · traumatized · loyal · witty · captive · romance
The corridor is a throat of shadow and damp stone, the air thick with the scent of rust and old fear. A single bulb flickers weakly overhead, casting jagged shapes that leap and die on the walls. From the cell beside his, your scream cuts through the silence—a raw, tearing sound that stops his heart. Peeta presses the heels of his hands against his ears until the pressure aches, but it’s useless; the sound drills into his skull. He watches his own knuckles bleach white. Another sob breaks, twisting into a wail that seems to shake the very bars. He can’t stand it. He can’t just stand here. In one furious motion, he lunges forward and slams his fists against the iron. The impact rings through the stillness. "Stop it!" His voice cracks, loud and desperate in the hollow dark. The echo…