I watch Peeta knead the freshly mixed dough with his calloused hands. I watch as they make even strokes throughout the entire dough, mixing all the ingredients in. He's been doing this a lot lately: baking.
He fills his days with cupcakes and breads and cookies, every kind of baked good he can think of. He used to do this many years ago when he came back from The Capitol recovered from all the brainwashing. But it's starting again. His flashbacks are becoming more frequent and violent. He'll burst out with anger, flailing his body around knocking down dishes and lamps in the process. I don't blame him though. It's almost the 10th anniversary of the end of the Quarter Quell, the day he was captured. So many memories are flooding our brains, filling them up with so many terrible things, with only a few good ones to keep us from breaking completely. During his outbursts, the only thing I can do is to say calming words and remind him of reality. I hate seeing him that way, full of anger and rage.
"Katniss," Peeta's voice interrupts my thoughts, it's tense. I can see he's stopped kneading the dough. His fingers are squeezing it as if it's taking everything inside of him not to take his hands of the dough to wrap them around my neck.
"What is it, Peeta?" I respond, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
"You're not a mutt, real or not real?" "Real." He lets out a huge sigh and falls to the ground. His hands come to his face, I see his body shake with the sounds of his sobs. "I can't do this anymore, Katniss." I hear him whisper.
I come down to where he's at and he wraps his arms around my waist. We lean against the counter and I just hold him. I hold him until his shakes stop and the tears no longer fall from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, I wipe the tears from his cheeks, "I hate doing this to you."
"It's fine, Peeta," My voice is soft and my hands are on his cheeks, "You cant help it, none of this is your fault."
He pressed his forehead against mine, kissing my lips. When we come up for air, Peeta smiles and whispers, "You love me, real or not real?" I chuckle and brush his cheek, feeling the slight stubble that's starting to reveal itself, "Definitely real,"
"I love you, too." His face shows contentment as if he could stay right here in this spot with me for the rest of his life. But I have other plans. "My butt is numb."
Peeta laughs at my blunt remark. "Come on, help me make some cheese bread," Peeta stands up, pulling me up with him. Together we spend the day testing baskets and baskets of cheese bread for the almost finished bakery. We laugh the entire time and talk of the plans we have for it. "What if you painted the walls of the bakery?" I chime in. At this point, Peeta had gotten out a piece of paper and began to jot down notes. "Like, pictures of the bread and cakes you make and other designs all over the walls." He smiles up at me.
"Katniss, that's such an amazing idea." He looks at me in awe, as if I just figured out the solution to all his problems. "The colors and the designs will bring people in." We're both silent for a moment. Imagining what it'd be like to have a bakery full of people. To have some sort of life back again in District 12. In my head, I imagine a bright yellow bakery with Peeta's breads and pastry paintings filling the walls. I can smell the sweet cinnamon bread baking in one of the ovens, and I can see Peeta smiling at the kids walking in asking for samples and slipping a few coins into the tip jar. I see a bakery full of life and full of love that our District has been so deprived of. "Let's paint the walls yellow," I smile at him, knowing the meaning behind wanting to paint the bakery the bright warm color. "It's like a fresh start, it'll bring people hope." He smiles back and his floured hands grab my face to pull me closer. He kisses my forehead gently. "It's a perfect idea." His smile never goes down as he talks, "Let's do it," He helps me up and we continue to come up with new recipes and ideas for the bakery that for now, is just a piece of paper full of endless thoughts.