Hey!
So…I'm taking a break from my AU Everlark story and just working on this little side order…
I'm interested in Peeta's POV during Catching Fire, after the Games and before the Victory Tour…so it's set in that period/ time frame
As Peeta is a 17 yr old guy, I hardly believe that he was not filled with violent rage at Katniss during this time, that and he was probably so pissed at her that he wanted to turn badass…which is hopefully what I've achieved!
I don't know if this story will fly…advice for further chapters would be really appreciated! I have a couple, but I'm interested in what anyone has to say!
Thank you, to everyone who read the final chapter of 'Pillow Talk' …it was emotionally to say the least:)Thank you AmyLooWho, JustAnotherAbnormalGirl, twixy575,ElsterBird, TwiHunger, YouSaid-Always, itzybitsy, texmex7, ieizwarriorcat, wedontbelong81, SAmbalia, BERRYNICE and to katiebearbug15 for your alerts/PMs and reviews!
Dear God…Please Review this! Pretty Please?;)
Shout Out to SilverMistKey… "Hey there girl you got me going again…AFRO CIRCUS!"
It hurts. If I know one thing in the screwed up mess that is my life, it's that. And it's her fault. Although I was stupid enough to think that she actually gave a shit about me. About what could've happened had we not been in the fucking Games. Even then, she'd made her mind up. No kids. No relationship. Nothing. She'd wither away, a lonely, decrepit, barren old woman, alone with everything that she once cherished gone or slowly dying. She deserves it. She deserves everything that happens to her, all that guilt and burden should be put on her shoulders for what she's done. For what she led me to believe when we were in the arena. I was just a fucking piece in her games…
My hand bristles the hair at the back of my neck, long strands slipping through my fingertips as my eyelids pinch shut. I need a haircut; I probably resemble a Labrador at this stage. Rubbing my eyes, I shrug the sheets off in blind panic, my chest covered in a light sheen of sweat. It's been another night of muttation dreams and tracker jacker memories seeping their way in and out of my subconscious as I welcome the dawn. What's the point of sleeping for me really? The memories never leave; the thoughts of tributes being ripped apart or killed mercilessly still haunt me. My night was filled with Foxface and countless, never ending lines of deadly nightlock berries. They each pass in and out; Cato, Glimmer, Rue, Clove, Thresh…all of them serve to remind me night after night of the life that I'm living, how I got the worse deal than the rest of them. By winning the Games, I just prolonged a longer, slower and more Capitol controlled death, one that's based on this 'star crossed lovers' shit between her and me.
The worst dreams of course of her and I. My eyes involuntarily shut for a fraction of a second and I'm transported back to the cave; back to her… Except this time it's different. We're not bleeding, dying, starving or weary. My leg is still perfectly intact and we're dressed normally, avoiding the heat from the midday sun, slipping into the darkness to find some comfort or relief. She smiles at me; an action that is so irregular in her facial movements that I blink hard to make sure it's real. Her fingers knot through mine firmly as my wrist jerks towards her; effectively pulling me closer to her. I can feel my chest heaving, although it's not from the damp, musty air that surrounds us, as her grey eyes flick into mine before looking down at our hands again. Neither of us says anything but we both anticipate what's about to happen. Her fingers trace over my knuckles and the surrounding skin of my enclosed hand in circular patterns as she tries to plan her next move. Then her eyes are on me again, deep and pensive; lost in thought before inching even closer to mine. In this very moment the world may have stopped rotating. The entire districts may have been wiped out in some nuclear experiment gone wrong. This moment feels real, so real it scares me, intimidates me even. Her lips touch mine, slowly, nervously, but still curious as she steps forward into my chest, my arms snaking around her, drawing her closer, always closer to me. It feels real, so very real and heavenly as her skin touches mine, the way her lips move against mine, pliant and willingly that when she suddenly breaks away I feel empty inside. She looks up at me, except her grey eyes are gone. In their place are a pair of scarlet ones, the colour of blood as her mouth pulls into a wicked smile before stepping blindingly fast against me and sinking two sharps rows of teeth into my neck, severing my throat to ribbons as my blood flows into her mouth…
I wake up in a daze; images of Katniss as a muttation flood my mind vividly as I try to drag back oxygen into my lungs. The humid night leaves my head heavy and sore with all these thoughts running around and around constantly until I hear her, loud and piercing the morning air, sending a bunch of nesting mockingjays in the nearby tree into flight. The thought that she's hurting gives me some sort of sadistic gratification. She deserves it for all the shit she put me through. Besides, Gale Hawthorne will be able to look after her and fall in love with her now. There's nothing stopping him. All that hurt, all those lies, all those kisses in front of the cameras that was all just some sort of survival game to her, but of a different one from her previous life. The cool wooden floor of my bedroom hits the soles of my feet acting as a comforting reassurance that I'm still alive. That I'm still here. That I still have that internal injury from her that time will not seem to mend. The girl on fire played me for the cameras and didn't think twice about how I'd feel. She used me for food. She only came to my rescue when she heard that without me she wouldn't be able to go home without me. She made me believe that it was real, that we: her and I were real. I was nothing; I am nothing to Katniss Everdeen other than some boy that she occasionally sucks face with to maintain the façade of a loving relationship to the Capitol. Nothing more. Katniss Everdeen made me understand love in the worst possible way, and I hate her for it.