Chapter 1

I twist the hem of my faded blue dress in my hands nervously, as I wait in front of the wooden door in the Justice Building. I don't really know what I'm doing here. And I didn't even know as I ran from Mother and Prim as we headed home from the Reaping, safe and unscathed for another year.

Except I am not unscathed. A boy has been Reaped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. A boy who I now feel obligated to visit before it's too late.

Peeta Mellark is a classmate of mine. He's in my year in school, though I don't know him well at all. I only know he is a wrestler, and a good one at that. We've never even spoken; we only interacted once and it was years ago.

But it was an interaction that changed my life. And I must express this to Peeta Mellark, the Baker's son.

The door suddenly opens as a boy whom I know to be one of Peeta's many friends exits the room. A Peacekeeper pushes me in before I have time to turn back.

"Last visitor before the train. You have 20 minutes." How convenient. Most other visitors get a strict five minutes with the Tribute. I hope I have not been given this extra time because the guards think I am Peeta's...

Peeta Mellark is seated on a cushioned seat by the window as the door closes behind me. He turns and starts when he sees me, rising.

"What are you doing here?"

My mind has strangely gone blank as I take in his stocky build. He's actually shorter than me, with ashy blonde hair. And those eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

He's attractive enough. One might even say handsome. And that beauty is soon to be destroyed, which re-energizes me into saying what I came here to say.

"I never got to thank you. For the bread. I just... thank you." Rarely have I ever expressed a debt like this so openly, and I feel my face growing hot.

Peeta stares at me quizzically, almost amused. "What? From when we were kids?"

I peer at him. "You remember that."

"I remember most things about you. And Katniss... you have to know that the reason I gave you that bread is because... because I love you."

I gape like a fish. Peeta Mellark loves me? I'm just the poor daughter of a Seam coal miner. Not particularly pretty, or even well-filled out. Prim is the real beauty of our family, having inherited our mother's Merchant features. Averting my eyes for a moment, I self-consciously tug at my braid.

"Well... thank you," I mumble. Shocking though it is, to tell someone out of the blue you love them. "But why didn't you say anything? Before?"

"I didn't know you," Peeta replies honestly. "We had never spoken; do you think I was going to walk up to you and say, 'Hey, remember me? I threw bread to you when we were kids; would you marry me?' No, no... but..."

I, however, have stepped back as if physically struck, eyes wide. "You... what?... What did you say?"

Peeta blushes, as if catching himself for the first time. He pulls a small object out of his pocket. "Oh. I was, uh... I've had this for several years. I was going to give it to you at the end of our last Reaping and ask you to marry me."

Peeta's intentions are common enough. It is customary for 18-year-old boys to, having survived their last Reaping, kneel before their sweethearts and ask for their hand in marriage. I know of many couples who marry at that age; Mother was only 19 when she wed Daddy.

I now run Peeta's ring through my fingers, my face furrowed in thought. It's true that in proposing to me in two years' time, Peeta would have likely been asking an almost-total stranger for marriage. I probably would have viewed his ring as foolish, a waste of money. Laughed at his gall. And yet... Peeta is strong. Good with his hands. He could have built a strong house for us and kept us alive with a worthy profession. Just as I know of many marriages in Twelve based on love, so also do I know of still more marital unions based on economic dependency. And even though I once vowed I would never take a husband in marriage for any reason...

"If you had asked me... I would have said Yes," I find myself confessing to him.

I suddenly feel a hand go about my waist, pulling me close. I look up to see Peeta's other hand cup my cheek, my face. His deep blue eyes draw in closer; my own gray orbs flutter shut. Standing perfectly still, I allow Peeta to kiss me full on the mouth.

Even so, as his lips touch and press into mine, I let out a gasp into his mouth; this sound allows for Peeta to slip his tongue in between the split and massage my own tongue. The hand cradling my face now wraps around to hold my head in place.

Though, as I sink my fingers into his blond curls, I had no intention of moving anyway.

Meanwhile, I feel Peeta's other hand slide down the curve of my ass, caressing and cupping the tender flesh there between his fingers. Boldly, I raise my leg to his waist, hitch it around his torso. I can be a pretty assertive woman when I need to be. He wants me, does he? Then he shall have me!

I back us up until Peeta reverses into the cushioned seat. He falls backward onto it, taking me with him. Less sure of myself now, I awkwardly straddle his waist. Confident I am not going anywhere, both of Peeta's hands are now groping my ass through my blue dress, feeling me up.

All at once, Peeta flips us, so that I am settled underneath us. As if on instinct, I spread my legs wide, so that Peeta can better nestle between them. His fingers now roll back the hem of my dress, the digits slinking up and petting the length of my thighs. The top straps of my dress are shrugged off my shoulders, so that my chest and bra are exposed in full view. Peeta's hands are everywhere! Mine, on the other hand, are still working on... his damn belt buckle...

I finally manage to throw down his pants, boxers and all, just as Peeta unclips my bra. He buries his face in between the valley of my breasts, before taking one of the perky nipples in his teeth. Gasping, I clutch his skull close, keeping him there as I arch into him, eyes wide. I can feel the slick saltiness of our bodies colliding, engaging in a ritual I have yet to place a name on.

All at once, I feel a bloated... thing push into the folds of my vagina. I gasp airily, choking on the breath passing into my lungs. I squeeze my legs tight around Peeta's waist and hold on. He begins to thrust into me. When my lips are not sealed around his, I moan like a dying animal.

"Mmmmm... mmuhhhh... Huhhhh... UHHHH! UHHHH!" With each of my cries, the rocking of our bodies becomes more violent. Peeta's thrusts become faster, more desperate. He finally throws both of my legs over his shoulders, pushing the hem of my dress nearly up over my face, as he pounds into me.

At last, keeping Peeta suckling on my breast, I cry out. "AHHH!" It is something between a wail and a breathy sigh as I orgasm, my juices lapping out of my walls and coating Peeta's member. Seconds later, with a manly grunt, Peeta spills his seed into me, pumping and pulsing until every last drop has settled in my core. Kissing me gently, he swiftly pulls out. Our frenzied, mad coupling is over.

I shakily get to my feet, despite the pang now between my legs, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress and re-clothing myself. Peeta zips up his pants.

"Thank you," I croak out. "Come home alive."

We shake hands - an unnatural interaction, anticlimactic based on the sexual encounter we have just engaged in. Peeta pulls me back to him. Cupping my chin in his hand, he kisses me one last time. I push his engagement ring, his District token, into his free hand.

The Peacekeepers collect me, not suspecting. I try to walk out of there as normally as possible, despite the stinging pain at the apex of my thighs. Despite the trail of blood staining my panties and trickling down my legs. I can wash away the red sheen of blood, out back of our house. Throw away the underwear before Mother can see.

After that, I can only hope for Peeta to come home so that, someday, our paths will cross again.