Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES! All characters belong to Suzanne Collins.
This was inspired by one of my homeschool English journal writes that I have to do. I was going through a myriad of fan fiction phases at this time. Hope you enjoy! First fan fiction posted here so I thought I would start off slow with a one shot. Please go easy on me but do leave comments. Thanks for reading!
Working through the Love
He had to work. He had to have the squishy feel of dough and the powdery feel of flour underneath his hands at all times. It kept him grounded. It reminded him of what his life used to be like – before the games, before all the grief and death, and before the tracker jacker injections. He frowned at the thought that he may never be able to go back to District Twelve. He missed it. He could still smell the cheese biscuits he would bake especially for Katniss and the smile that would form on her face, starting at the left and spreading to the right like one would smear peanut butter on a piece of toast. And she would clutch her father's hand and giggle as he would hand her another from the bag and swing their joined arms together as high as they would go. Peeta wiped the sweat from his brow and fought back tears at the memory of the sweet girl he had fallen in love with. He stared at the dough he was kneading not too long ago and blinked away the moisture in his eyes, trying to concentrate on his work.
He was saddened at the mantra he had to repeat to himself at times like this. Remind yourself that you love her. The tracker jacker venom told him a different story. She was a traitor and evil and needed to die. But his heart fought with his mind. This was the same girl with two braids and that pretty red dress the first day of kindergarten. The one that sang the valley song with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. The very same girl that he had known he was going to marry as soon as he saw her. She was Katniss, and he was determined not to lose all the memories he had with her, painful or no. He tried to separate what was real and what was false, injected in his mind and muscles that he fought against every second of every day. He breathed in the clean scent of the metal kitchen that was too sterilized for his liking. But the bleach cleared his mind and washed everything away, if only for a little. He continued toiling until he was called back, having to be reminded of his schedule, even though it was printed on his arm. He just hoped he wouldn't see Katniss today. He pinched his hand as he recited the mantra that flowed through his mind and heart and body at least a thousand times a day: Remind yourself that you love her.