A/N: My second submission to promptsinpanem on tumblr under the prompt of 'envy'. This was gonna be a whole lot longer, but it was getting late and I needed to post it! Enjoy :)
Understanding
I lean against the doorway leading to the bakery kitchen and watch as Peeta plucks a sugar-dusted cookie from the display case and moves around the counter to hand the child the free treat. I watch the way he draw smiles from everyone and anyone through simple comments about the weather or simple hellos. He's goodness personified, able to bring out the best in everyone. He has no qualms about handing kids cookies, despite the threat of his mother over his head. Peeta would go to any length to make sure that someone else was happy, and he doesn't even realise how sickening it is to watch him.
To someone like myself, it's like being a slug compared with a kitten. I'm the kind of person who looks like thunder twenty four seven, even though I think I'm looking neutral. Gale had two nicknames for me, both of which I hated. 'Catnip' was the usual name, and the other (his favourite) was 'Scowly'. It wasn't particularly rude, but it pissed me off because I didn't think that I scowled all the time. The wrinkle in the space between my eyebrows says otherwise.
Peeta waves goodbye to the child and her mother before turning to his next customer. She laughs at something he says within five seconds of walking up to the counter. With a loud huff, I turn on my heel and retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen. Peeta persuaded his father (who persuaded his wife) to employ me about three months ago when the tenth customer complained that the meat in the pies the bakery sold wasn't prepared properly.
"Aymee, Miss Everdeen is an efficient worker. She can catch meat and prepare it properly. Employing her will benefit us." I had overheard Peeta's father saying one afternoon while Peeta and I were sitting in the living room doing our math homework.
At first, it was nice working with the Mellarks. They're a nice family – excluding Mrs Mellark – and during the slow hours when Peeta and I are there we can just make out. I get paid too, which just makes everything more worthwhile. I mean, it's still nice to work there, to be around my boyfriend and get to eat leftovers, but lately I'm starting to get annoyed.
Peeta is just so damn good.
He's always concerned about someone's wellbeing. He never thinks about how it might inconvenience himself. I have to physically change the channel if a charity commercial comes onto the TV screen. He's given hundreds and hundreds of dollars to countless charities by working longer hours. It's as if he wants to hug everyone and spread as much love as he can. I know this kindness stems from something deeper-seated. His Mom is an abusive woman, and I think he's been so deprived of love that he's begun to think that he doesn't deserve love himself. Instead, he thinks everyone else deserves love. It's extremely frustrating when you're his girlfriend. I'm supposed to show him how much I love him (which is difficult in the first place because I'm like a stoic plank of wood at the best of times) and he won't accept it.
I'm sure you're thinking that I just sound like a cynical bitch.
I am, don't get me wrong.
It's nice that Peeta is so perfect and selfless. But it's gotten to the point where you just want him to stop for a second. He's so good that everyone else dulls in comparison, and for one minute I'd love for him to just be a little more selfish. Our sex life if amazing, but I just know it would be phenomenal if he just let go. If he stopped being so concerned about me and was more worried about himself for once. He's been ruthless and rough on a handful of occasions, and as I fall back onto whatever surface we're on, jelly-legged and delirious, he's almost in tears, begging for my forgiveness. I know I shouldn't ask him to be rough, given his childhood, but it turns me so much. Dates are stressful because he won't decide on anything. He sacrifices so much for others without thinking about himself and- ugh! I just can't handle it sometimes.
I check the oven timer and pull on some oven mitts, squinting when I pull down the door, hot air blasting into my face. I almost drop the hot tray of oatcakes when I turn and find him standing right behind me, looking concerned.
Oh, wait. He always looks concerned.
"Hey, are you alright?" he asks.
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" I reply, stepping around him and placing the tray on the cooling racks.
"You kind of ran back in here in a huff."
"Did I?"
"Something's wrong," he says, his brow furrowing as he stares at me. "I can tell."
"I'm fine!" I insist.
"You always say that when you aren't okay," he looks down at me with wide eyes. I pull of the oven mitts and put them aside, prodding one of the oatcakes to make sure they've cooked properly. They have, of course. Peeta cooked them, I think bitterly, folding my arms over my chest.
"I'm fine." I repeat.
"Tell me what's wrong," he says, pulling my arms apart and kissing both of my hands. "I want to know."
"Shouldn't you be go back to handle the register?" I ask, taking my hands from his and moving back to the oatcakes.
"No. I put the bell out. People know to ring it if someone isn't there," he says, his voice calm. I can't see his expression, but he's probably got that pout on that means he's getting worried. He gets worried so easily.
"That's bad customer service, don't you think?" I say. "Surely you don't want to ruin your immaculate reputation?"
"What?" Peeta asks. I freeze. Something sounds different in his voice. I test the waters again.
"Perfect Peeta. Why don't you have that one your name tag?"
"Katniss, have you got a problem with me?"
"No, not at all," I say, keeping my words light and airy. I know he hates people who talk in a sing-songy voice.
"Kat… would you just tell me if you're annoyed or angry… if you're annoyed or angry with me I'm terribly sorry."
"No, no. Don't worry your perfect head."
"Katniss!" he says, exasperated. He grabs my arm and spins me around so that I'm facing him. I fight to keep a smirk from my lips, but I know I'm failing.
"What?" I ask, smiling innocently at him. He frowns.
"Are you trying to wind me up?"
"Nope." I say, raising my eyebrow in a challenge. Peeta fixes me with a look. I wait.
"You are, aren't you?" he says.
"Maybe." I tease. Peeta trails his hands up my bare arms.
"Why?"
"I thought you would know. You're so perfect and all," I'm planning to continue, to push him as far as I possibly can, but he has his mouth on mine before I can carry on. An electric thrill runs through me when his hips bumps into mine, pushing me back against the countertop. My hand snakes up to dip below the back of his shirt, my fingers running over his skin. He groans, his fingers pressing on my hips, and I slant my mouth over his, opening my mouth, encouraging him to deepen the kiss.
He does so, lifting me up, his hands wrapped around my thighs, onto the countertop, stepping between my legs and moving his hand further and further upward, his fingers spread out over my rib cage. I gasp when his hands closes over my breast, and he smiles against my mouth, squeezing my flesh as his tongue touches mine. I dig my nails into his skin when his fingers dive under my bra and his thumb brushes over my nipple and-
And then the bell rings.
"Fuck," I whisper against his mouth, kissing him again.
"I'm sorry," he says. "That was out of line." I move back and sigh, smiling up at him. He isn't going to ruin the moment by worrying.
"No, Peeta. It was alright."
"It wasn't alright, Katniss."
"I liked it." I admit.
"You did? I was worried that-"
"You worry too much," I say, kissing him again and pushing him backwards so I can climb down. He blushes, smoothing his thumb over my cheek tenderly. "You should get out there." I say, tilting my head in the direction of the kitchen. The bell rings out again along with a call of 'anyone here?'.
"I can't." Peeta admits, looking down. I follow his gaze and grin at his crotch, reaching down o palm his erection through his pants. He hisses, pushing his hips forward into my hand.
"We'll have to deal with this later, I suppose." I tell him, tugging on his earlobe.
"I am sorry, Kat."
"You have no need to apologise."
"Okay."
"I'll go handle the customer, you go wrangle that trouser snake." I say, kissing his cheek, adjusting my shirt, and going out into the shop.
Two days later, and I'm back to being pissed off with Peeta. He doesn't even realise what he's doing. Truthfully, he isn't actually doing anything, but it annoys me still. He spent the night at my house the same evening, but the previous passion had disappeared, replaced with gentle touches and whispered apologies when his entire body weight is rested on me after he comes. I just say silent, trying to prolong the weightlessness I'm feeling.
I voiced my feelings to Haymitch last night, knowing that I wouldn't get anything but sarcasm and he told me with a laugh that I was jealous.
"You're about as charming as a dead slug, sweetheart. In fact, I don't even know why I'm calling you sweetheart. I should be calling you jealousheart or something."
"How creative."
"You're jealous, kiddo. You envy how selfless and kind and just an all-round good-guy," he had paused to take a drink. "The seven deadly sins, sweetheart. Envy is one of the worst. You just can't handle how good he is to everyone he meets."
Despite my Uncle's harsh words, I can't help but wonder if I really am envious of Peeta's goodness. The more I think, the more I realise I am. It scares me and makes me feel sick to the bone. I shouldn't really be envious, but my ability to trust people and inability to make people feel happy with nothing but my presence has begun to make me question how much of a person I really am. Even Peeta with his broken childhood has managed to be friendly. Maybe I need to take a page out of Peeta's book, as well as loosening him up at the same time.
We're in the kitchen and I find myself distracted by Peeta's ass as he bends down to clean the ovens, and end up slicing my hand open with a sharp knife. As blood pours from my hand, Peeta runs around like a headless chicken, panicking, and I have to wrestle the phone from him so he won't call an ambulance.
"For fucks sake, Peeta!" I exclaim, sticking my hand under the faucet.
"What happened?" he asks, standing beside me and cradling my hand in his large ones.
"I was distracted!"
"By what?"
"Your ass! Now get me a bandage will you?" I snap. Peeta blushes but moves to find the first aid kit. Once the bleeding has stopped a little, he winds a bandage around my hand expertly. I notice how he follows the way he wraps his hands for boxing.
"I'll drive you to the hospital," he tells me, pressing a light kiss to the bandaged area and smiling at me. I roll my eyes.
"I don't need to go to hospital."
"Yes you do. I don't want you bleeding out on my watch."
"Seriously?" I ask. Peeta nods, packs away the first aid kit and returns it to its place on the shelf before heading upstairs. I hear him talking to his brother, his brother complaining, and then he comes back into the kitchen.
"Fen's gonna take over."
"I don't need to go!"
"Please?" Peeta asks, pulling a puppy-like expression. He knows that's my weakness, damn it. "For me?"
"Jesus. Fine," I say, remembering my promise to myself to listen to Peeta more often. Peeta grabs his keys and guides me out of the bakery with an arm around my waist as if I was to collapse at any moment. I let him buckle me in, but when he asks if he wants me to get a wheelchair once we're at the hospital, I snap. "Would you stop worrying?" I say, climbing out of the car and storming towards the hospital.
"Katniss…"
"I'm fine! I've dealt with much worse pain than this!" I tell him. I hear him running towards me and stare straight ahead. For a moment he's silent. I think I've succeeded in making him shut up for just one Goddamn second, but then-
"It hurts?"
"PEETA!" I say, exasperated. He looks away and presses his lips together. I sigh and continue walking.
Half an hour later, I'm sitting in a sterile white room with a plastic plant in the corner, swinging my legs back and forth as a nurse stitches my hand. Peeta stands a foot away from me, twisting his keys in his hand – a gesture I've come to recognise as a release for when he's stressed and anxious. His phone buzzes and he pulls it out.
"Uh, I'm just gonna take this," he says, flashing me and the nurse a small smile before ducking out into the hallway.
"What really happened?" the nurse asks when the door closes, her eyes wide.
"Excuse me?" I ask, confused, watching my skin getting stitched back together.
"Your…"
"Boyfriend." I offer. She nods.
"Your boyfriend told me that you cut your hand open while you were working," she says, tying off the thread and reaching for a bottle of antiseptic. "And I'm sorry if I sound like I'm prying or whatever, but the atmosphere around you two is just a little tense. Was the knife really an accident?"
"Yes, it was," I say, narrowing her eyes. "What are you insinuating?"
"I'm sorry, but I've seen a lot of young girls your age coming in after having fights with their boyfriends that have turned nasty. I'm just concerned."
"Peeta and I… we aren't anything like that."
"That's good. I'm sorry for prying."
"Don't worry about it," I shrug. This town is built on lies – I'm not surprised she's asking me. "We just had an argument on the way here. I got distracted, cut my hand open… he just has this way of caring too much."
"You've sure got it better than some people."
"I know… he's just too good, you know?"
"He looks it. Is he the type of person who's just too good for his own good?"
"Exactly that. I want him to stop apologising for everything he doesn't do. For everything he does do. It drives me crazy, sometimes, how selfless he is. He just needs to let go for once," I wince when the antiseptic touches my skin. "I guess I'm jealous." I look away. I don't usually tell strangers about my feelings. When I look up, Peeta is standing at the doorway and my hand is bandaged up.
"Just keep it clean, take some painkillers if necessary, and it should heal up in a couple of weeks." The nurse says, sensing how awkward the atmosphere has just become.
"Thanks," I tell her, sliding off the gurney.
"Thank you." Peeta echoes. I head out of the door and walk ahead of him. Peeta is silent all the way back to his car. He doesn't open the passenger door for me like usual, but just sits down in silence, his brow furrowed.
"Peeta-" I say, wringing my hands.
"Kat, I… I don't wanna talk about this," he says, starting the engine. "Just give me some space, okay?"
"Oh. Okay." I nod, taken aback. Peeta has never done something like this before. He's always taken the time to speak about the feelings of other. But he's never asked for space because of his emotions. I bite my lip.
My envy has begun to push us apart.