"thy lips are satraps in scarlet
in whose kiss is the combinings of kings"
-"My Love," e.e. Cummings
Mockingjay, Page 33
Another sleepless night without his arms brought me to my drawer. When I found what I was seeking, I ran the pearl incessantly across my burning lips as I sat cross-legged on my bed. I closed my eyes, sighing as I was soothed by the cool embrace of the smooth surface of the pearl.
Peeta.
My hands were cold and my lips were lonely and only he could mend it. "Katniss?" Prim whispered, squinting as she tried to find me in the dark. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep," I said without thinking, trying to shut her out so that I could be alone with my thoughts.
But she didn't listen. Instead, she talked to me as if she were a grown young woman, which of course she was. Time and tragedy had forced her to grow up too fast, and taken my Little Duck with them. I told her how I was afraid for Peeta's safety, and how I would be the Mockingjay the next day.
"Katniss, I don't think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, you can," she assured me.
I thought about that. They had put a lot of effort into me already by rescuing me from the arena and then by taking me to District 12. Perhaps I was in a position to demand Peeta's immunity to Coin so that they wouldn't execute him for treason. It was a brilliant idea; I just had to make sure that Coin announced it in public. I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of my chest. My Peeta would be safe and sound. I would make sure of it. "I should wake you up more often, Little Duck," I said gratefully.
"I wish you would," she said softly as she kissed my cheek. "Try and sleep now, all right?"
I nodded and then lay back in my bed, clutching the pearl in my palm. I kissed it before going to sleep. No more nightmares invaded me for the rest of the night.
Mockingjay, Page 146
His eyes were crazed and his posture unstable when he announced the bombings. It was thanks to Peeta that we knew about the attacks tonight. I gathered all of my belongings and kept Peeta's pearl hidden in the depths of my bag, as if I were carrying his soul and guarding it with my life. As long as the pearl was safe, no one could take him from me.
The bombs resonated into the depths of my being. Prim informed me that they weren't nuclear, just filled with plenty of explosives. I hardly doubted that the metal doors would guard us against radiation if that had been the case. I wondered if I was stuck in this place for the rest of my existence, and the possibility of it terrified me. I would rather die outside than live the rest of my life confined inside a prison.
"We're so far down, I'm sure we're safe," my mother said, and I knew that she was remembering my father being blown to bits in the mines. "It was a close call, though. Thank goodness Peeta had the wherewithal to warn us."
It was this particular word- wherewithal- that stumped me. How exactly had Peeta attained the resources to warn us? He'd had the courage, the knowledge, and the opportunity, and yet he'd been afraid. Peeta had a silver tongue; his way with words was one of his greatest gifts. Had he been tortured so badly that he could no longer use it effectively? Had he gone mad? The thought made me shudder. I just wanted him back the way he was when he had handed me the pearl. It had been my last gift from him, and I could have sworn at the time that I would die. And now, it was again possible. The pearl always seemed to offer me strength when I most needed it.
Coin's grim voice came through the speakers just then, and she mentioned how we all owed Peeta Mellark a great debt of gratitude for his prudent message, and she warned that there may be more bombs to come. It was strange hearing his name said out loud when he wasn't present. And it was strange thinking of someone else owing Peeta when I always considered myself to be his number one debtor. I would never stop owing him, so I felt like there was no use in trying to repay him any longer. I just wanted him back.
Prim and I settled down for the night, taking out our bunks on the floor to ease Prim's fear of them collapsing over us as we slept during the bombings. We started talking, and I asked her how she was, and she told me that they may make her a doctor here, but she still missed home sometimes. And then she asked me how I was as she stroked Buttercup's fur. "And don't say you're fine," she warned.
She was right, of course. I wasn't fine at all; I was the opposite of fine. "I miss Peeta so much," I confessed to her softly. "He looked so broken when he was on-screen. I don't even want to think about what they may be doing to him right now. They're probably hurting him, torturing him, killing him," a lump swelled up in my throat as I continued, "He doesn't deserve any of this; I just want him to be safe here with me." Prim was now brushing my hair away from my ears with her nimble fingers. My chest felt hollow, a piercing pain invading me as if my heart had been ripped out.
"Katniss, I don't think President Snow will kill Peeta," she said, trying to comfort me. "If he does, he won't have anyone left you want. He won't have any way to hurt you." It was these words that surprised me, and I realized then that she was right. My mother, Prim, Gale, and even Haymitch were safe here and away from his grasp. Snow couldn't afford to take everyone away from me, like he had done with Johanna. He needed something to threaten me with, and he only had Peeta.
"So what do you think they'll do to him?" I asked.
Prim sighed, sounding a thousand years old when she finally responded, "Whatever it takes to break you."
Mockingjay, Page 195
Ultimately, it was the corruption of Peeta's love that broke me. And it wasn't because he was cruel to me now; it was obvious that he saw me more clearly now than he ever did before. No, it broke me because it pained me to see that Peeta was something pure and rare, and I didn't know what I had until it was gone. I could fully appreciate him now, and this was something that I wouldn't have achieved even with his death. I missed his kindness, his steadiness, his unexpected warmth and unconditional love. His sweet smile with the just the right amount of shyness.
So when I was alone, I took the pearl. It was the only thing I had left of him, a drop of purity swept from the vast and dangerous ocean that was this war. I closed my eyes and inhaled the musty scent of the closet where I hid as I tried to remember the boy with the bread. I tried to remember his strong, muscular arms that kept me safe from harm. They kept me safe from the nightmares, sweeping them aside when we spent our nights in the train. Those same arms had been so incredibly gentle with me. I tried to remember his kisses in the arena, the heat of his crimson lips and their impossible softness. They reigned over my heart, so pure and noble they had been. I tried in vain to recreate all of this, but it was no use; he was gone. I clutched the pearl in my fist and then ran it over my lips, now salty with the tears that had inevitably escaped from my eyes. The pearl was his royal kiss, his humble soul, his cool heat. It was the unexpected warmth in its iridescent surface after living in my grasp, the relief to my fire.
I knew that it was useless to hold on to something that would never come back. I wanted to remember him as he was before, and put a name to all this madness. Whatever we had, it was something I had failed to keep. But Peeta was always so full of hope, and this pearl felt like his last promise. I didn't know what it meant, for the only promise I could focus on was my intent on killing Snow. My revenge was my daily mantra.
But I didn't want to have these dark thoughts with my pure pearl. I felt like I never had enough privacy with it, someone always interrupted. I just wanted to taste his lips again. It suddenly occurred to me that there was also something strangely sensual about the silky smoothness of the hard pearl. It felt like Peeta, but it didn't taste like him, as if it were holding a secret I hadn't dared to explore. My breathing accelerated, and I was suddenly reminded of something else that made its presence when I thought of Peeta.
So when I was alone, I took the pearl. Not only did I run it over my lips, not only did it live in my pocket. No, that was not the only thing the pearl did. Sometimes, the fire and hunger that had overtaken me at the beach could only be soothed by this jewel that had been born there.
So I slipped my hand beneath my gray pants and pulled aside my panties in the darkness. No one could see me here. No one could possibly see what had become of me as I slipped Peeta's gift between my moistened folds and ran it over the fleshy nub, a twin of sorts to Peeta's pearl. Back and forth, back and forth until I started to feel a pleasurable burn. No one could hear me gasp and cry out his name as I sobbed and rubbed the pearl faster and faster over my oversensitive skin, a bundle of nerves that could feel the effects of the pearl but could not project anything to it in exchange. The pearl gave me so much pleasure and pain and yet the pearl itself felt nothing. He was gone.
My sobs were fully audible now, and I was perplexed by the paradox of the cooling and the burning of the pearl and my tears and my pleasure and my pain and finally my relief. I held its slippery surface in my palm so that it wouldn't escape.
I stopped crying when a white noise invaded my senses, and I was numb afterwards. I sighed and took the pearl out of my pants, rubbing it clean with the outside of my pant leg. This is what I loved about the pearl. It took all the pain away, if only for a moment. In a second of ecstasy, I was protected from the overwhelming burden of my loneliness and suffering.
And then afterwards, I tasted the pearl. Now it tasted like Peeta. It tasted like his mouth and my heat after those long nights on the train. Back then, I had his lips instead of the pearl to give my pleasure. For his flushed lips, his warm kisses, did not limit themselves to only ruling the lips of my mouth. No. Like the pearl, they sometimes found that secret gem of flesh between the lips of my folds and made me burn with fire, satiated my hunger, and made me numb to the pain. He was my release, and he had gifted me this pearl to remind me of it. But now he was gone.
I tucked the pearl back in my pocket and stood up. Another lonely night without his comforting lips would bring me back. And I would take the majestic pearl to replace them when I found myself alone again.
Mockingjay, Page 258
I considered saying good-bye to the boy with the bread. But I didn't. Instead, I took Peeta's token and slipped it inside my pocket, where it had made its home. I knew that it was for the best. It would be bad for both of us to meet again. The pearl had replaced his lips, and it was the only remnant of his soul that I had left. It was the last token from the old Peeta, my Peeta; the one who used to hold me and love me in more ways than one. I didn't want to risk another fight with him and be reminded of what he had become, of what they had done. They had taken everything from him, and they had ripped away what little I had repaid him. Now I just had this pearl. Its significance was the only kingdom I wanted to live under, and any other ruling would be overthrown. He was gone now, but the memory of his lips would never be. That was something pure and rare. This time, I couldn't fail to lose his love and let it be corrupted by the pressure of the coals. This last piece of hope was the only real thing I had left to hold on to.