Yet another blow to the face. Blood spilled out of my mouth, and I could feel the bruises forming.
The minute we had arrived back at District 12, Peeta changed. No longer was he the "star-crossed lover" that everybody adored. My mother was fine with the idea of me staying with Peeta—at first he made me feel safe, and I wanted to keep up appearances for the cameras that visited us. But later, he changed completely. They started when I mentioned Gale in my dreams. Subconscious, and out of my control, I had revealed my true feelings. At first, all that happened was some screaming—banning me from hunting, seeing Gale, telling me I was his.
Less than a month later, I looked in the mirror. I noticed the faint marks of his fingers on my arms, my face stinging from where he'd slapped me. I was sick of it. I had been locked inside for quite a while; the only way to the outside was through a window. Thinking, I formulated a plan. I had to wait for Peeta to leave, which rarely happened, load up a rucksack with food and clothing and hop out the window. There were a couple of problems though. Seeming to sense that I wanted out, he had put a lock on the pantry—the only place with non-perishables. We only had fresh, ripe produce—none would keep in a bag. He had also given away my outdoor clothes to the needy—saying that it was my idea. Every once in a while, when he knew all threats were gone, he would get me dressed in big, covering clothes and take me into town. With his paints he made a pretty face, a happy smile, the portrait of two lovers. I was forbidden to speak with people I knew, he knew I would try to communicate with them. We never visited the seam—or my family, though they lived 3 houses down. He insisted I was still recovering from the arena—when I was actually recovering from him.
Then one day, one fateful day, I was blessed. I missed my period.
Not knowing what to do, he walked me to my mother's.
"She might be pregnant!" he said, with a sick grin as he feigned happiness.
"If you leave her here, I can try a few methods we use to determine pregnancy. It may take a week with the herbal responses—but it is the most reliable. We can't have visitors—it interferes with the solitude. She will be in capable hands." Her response was simple, demanding, and I felt Peeta hesitate. He slowly nodded, and his knuckles white from his clenched fists. As he left, my mother winked at me.
"What is this really about?" Her maternal instincts knew I wasn't pregnant, but Peeta couldn't be too sure with his ritual abuse—sexual, physical, mental, and emotional. Words spilled too quickly from my mouth, telling her everything. Tears spilled down as I fell from my seat on the couch and crumpled on the floor. She picked me up and looked me in the eyes, her expression hard. "Why?" was all she asked. Choking and hiccupping on my words, I said one thing, "Gale." And suddenly all the wind was gone again. But this time it wasn't Peeta. It was my body, losing the will to live, knowing I would never again be happy with that…thing.
My mother nodded, and grabbed what she could, and told me to go to her room. She would be there soon. As I trudged up the stairs, I almost fell—again. Prim caught me, looked into my sad eyes, and said, "You saved me. It's time I save you." She walked me to my mother's room. Stroking my hair, drying my eyes, singing. I looked at her, and begged, "Bring me Gale. That's all I want. No, that's all I need." Nodding, she got up, went downstairs and I heard the front door close.
30 minutes later, she had Gale by the wrist, both practically dying by the loss of breath. I let out a sigh, smiling for what felt like the first time in years. He sat down next to me, and took my hand. I flinched. The last time a man had touched me, I had been abused. But his hands were warm, soft, and dry, unlike Peeta's. I broke down again, and pressed my head against his chest. He slowly ran his hands through my hair, kissed the top of my head, whispered. It was comforting. He pushed me away, and I started hyperventilating, afraid that once I lost sight of him, the demons would come back. He smiled and told me he'd visit again soon. As he left, prim came back, a bowl of soup, no bread. I shuttered. I never wanted to anything made by Peeta ever again. Bread was the only way I stayed a healthy weight when I was with him, and I never wanted to see him, be with him, or think of him again. Unless he was dead. I fell asleep, warm, full, and as content as I had ever been. I woke up, sun beams streaming in the windows. A glass of warm milk, held by a muscular arm, greeted me.
"Are you ready to escape?" he looked at me, smiling. I took the glass of milk, drinking slowly. When I finished, he lightly took his thumb, chuckled, and got rid of the left over milk above my lip. He picked me up with his arms, and planted kiss on my lips. I smiled. I nodded. "Good," he continued, "I just have to finish rebuilding that temporary house in the woods. We're going to escape to another district. I was think 7. Nice forests, but it's a long journey. You need to get you strength up. And, I hate to say this, Catnip, but we have to change your appearance. Nothing stranger than seeing a victor with a mysterious man." I nodded, agreeing. Hey, I'd dye my skin blue if I had to. "I have to go now, Peeta will be dropping by to visit your mother and I don't want to be caught in an awkward situation." He smiled and added, "Oh, and I got your old clothes back. Used some of your victor money. Hope you don't mind."
Later in the afternoon, Peeta came by. I knew it was him. A sick feeling spread through my stomach, and I grabbed my milk glass. I vomited, and was thankful, because soon after, my mother came in, tucked my hair back, and took the glass. "Prim," she called, "I think the herbal treatment is working, her bile is not as clear." Peeta sighed, with relief. He must have thought a pregnancy would me he could keep me. I smelled bread, and vomited again. On myself, this time. He was shooed out. Quietly, she told me she had placed some sort of "medicine used for people who couldn't afford to have their stomach pumped after intoxication" inside. I was thankful. Even more thankful that my period came, I wasn't pregnant.
2 more days passed, Gale visiting me, and he had finished. We could leave tonight if we wanted. At 9 o'clock at night, it happened. Peeta and Gale saw each other. Both were fighting in less than a second. Gale brought down Peeta with sheer forced, grabbed his hunting knife, and stabbed him. He let out a few painful moans, and died. I hated seeing human life dissipate into nothingness, but this sick man had abused me. I was indifferent on the outside, joyous on the inside.
Gale lifted me on his back and ran, he ran to the forest, past the lake, to the small hut we would live in. Our weapons, a fire, and lots of food were there. In a little pile facing the fire was a pile of blankets and pillows. I collapsed into his arms, and smiling, started crying. "Thank you," I whispered, "Thank you so much. I love you and I need you. And I am willing to go anywhere as long as you're there." I curled up in his arms, feeling safe for the first time in a long time. He took the pillows and blankets and built up a little bed. I crawled in, fully clothed, and he joined. Even though I had been abused, Gale's touch made the pain go away. I drifted to sleep in his arms, the fire dying down along with my fake romance.