Sometimes I Can Forget

What happened when Peeta disappeared to his room after Katniss suggested the public marriage proposal in Catching Fire? Rated T for some teenage boy type thoughts, nothing too graphic though.

I slump down to sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands as I contemplate the task before me.

I'm glad Katniss was the one to suggest the public marriage proposal. The idea had crossed my mind, but the proposition had to come from her. Even though I would do anything for her, I don't think I could be the one to suggest what would essentially be a forced marriage.

I may have loved her since I was five years old, but if it weren't for this mess with President Snow and the Capitol, I wouldn't have thought about proposing to anyone until I left school at the earliest. Plus, you normally need a girlfriend to propose to, and I know how Katniss feels about me. Or rather, doesn't feel.

Out of all the injuries I sustained in the arena, Katniss's confession on our way back to District 12 was the one that hurt the most. I still feel a twinge of embarrassment when I think about how blind I was not to realize that her actions during the Games were ones of survival, not love. Looking back, I know it wasn't fair of me to hold her to anything that happened in the Games, and I've apologized for that. But with everything we went through together, I just thought maybe… and there was that kiss in the cave…

I know she probably went along with it for the cameras, but I can't help thinking she enjoyed it all the same. After all, I was the one to pull away first. And I'm not convinced that she's a good enough actress to incorporate those tiny details that I still remember as if they had happened yesterday: her breath accelerating, the almost imperceptible sigh that escaped her lips, and most importantly, a look of wanting in her eyes that I haven't seen since.

I look up and finally realize I've been sitting in the dark, but I can't be bothered to turn on the lights. Instead, I scoot further back on the bed and flop onto the mountain of pillows, placing my hands behind my head as I stare up at the ceiling.

Lying here makes me think about our sleeping arrangement on the train. It's been at once wonderful and torturous to sleep together in Katniss's bed during the Victory Tour of the districts. To sleep with her in my arms through the night, to comfort each other after nightmares that are fewer and farther between…it's more than I had any right to expect. And I'm grateful.

But that doesn't stop me from wanting more. Or from experiencing a completely different kind of physical torture than what we suffered in the arena. Like those times when I wake up, not from her screams, but from her back arching against my chest, or her bottom pressing against my hips, trying to get closer. My hands positively itch to caress her soft skin, to know the feel of those small curves, to find her lips searching eagerly for mine in the darkness…

I give my head a little shake, trying to clear it of those thoughts, as appealing as they are. Because I know it's no use.

And yet sometimes I can forget that she doesn't feel the same way about me, that she may even be thinking of her friend, Gale. Sometimes I can forget her indifference when my arms are wrapped around her, my face buried in her hair, her hands clutching my arms.

Sometimes I can forget, because I know it's not forced. It's not an act for the cameras meant to fool the Capitol. And that's what an engagement and marriage between us would be. For Katniss, anyway...

I sit up, running my hand through my hair in frustration. Is this how our lives are going to be from now on? Are we always going to be pawns of the Capitol? I think angrily, clenching my fists. Is it not enough that we were forced to kill for their amusement? Had our lives changed forever by the horrors of the Games? Will soon be sending other tributes off to their deaths? Suddenly I can't take it anymore, and without thinking I reach for my boot and hurl it across the room, where it hits the wall with a loud bang.

I stay seated on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut. I know this is dangerous, that I can't afford to lose my cool.

With a weary sigh, I open my eyes as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and place my feet firmly on the floor. All right, Mellark, enough procrastinating, I tell myself as I push up off the bed to go retrieve my shoe. After pulling it on over my prosthesis and fixing my pant leg, I walk into the bathroom to rinse my face. As I look up at myself in the mirror, hands resting on the rim of the sink, I ask the question I've succeeded in avoiding thus far:

What am I going to say?

Almost as soon as the thought forms, I realize it's the wrong question. What I should be asking myself is: What would I say if it was real? What would I say if I knew she wanted it?

I close my eyes and picture Katniss's face beaming down at me, arms reaching out, head nodding as her mouth forms the word "Yes"...

For a moment, my heart feels full. And I know the words will come.

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