1
I knead the bread between my palms as the sun rises over the trees. It's early, but I cannot sleep when the dreams keep clawing at me. The cries, the blood, and the emptiness heaving its way into those grey eyes once the end has slipped its into her body makes it so difficult for me to shut my eyes, to even want to sleep. I coat the counter with more flour but a small shadow makes my hands freeze. I smile as two little blonde braids come into view, a small pack strung behind her back. She lets herself in because I have told her she is more than welcome in my home. Even though things haven't gone as I had dreamed they would, she still feels like my family. It's not long before she is in the Kitchen setting her things down and walking to stand beside me.
"Katniss get a late start?" I ask, trying to seem as uninterested as possible. It's the game I play when I ask anyone about her. I can pry for a few minutes so it all seems harmless but I don't want her to know that I still care. I want her to think I moved on and in enough time maybe I might start to believe it myself. Prim is too smart though. She sees it, what I've been hiding since the cameras went off, but she never mentions it. She let's me indulge in something I will not win in and I am thankful for that.
"Yes, she didn't sleep too well last night. Mom wants to sneak syrup into her coffee." Prim responds.
"If I knew when she mashed it in that food, she'll know it's in her coffee." I comment.
"I think we'll take our chances. Grumpy, sleepless Katniss isn't always extremely pleasant to be around." She mumbles. I laugh at the way her face crumples at the thought of her sister whom knows to how be an immense terror when she wants to be. I want to tell Prim that even with sleeping syrup she'd still have the nightmares and that we victors have no chance of peace, but I hold my tongue. It is best that she thinks there is hope for us, that this cloud will eventually blow over.
"How many loaves did your mom want? I have three ready but I know she wants to send some with Katniss to Gale's house." I say, moving to the oven.
"I think she said something about six."
"And cheese buns, I made some fresh for...the house." I mutter.
"For Katniss you mean? She's the one that loves them." Prim says politely.
"Yeah, I know. What about you sunshine? I have cookies ready with pink flowers. I also made you some chocolate chip and apple tarts. Your mother is going to kill me when you come home with all of this." I state as I grab a basket from the cabinet and stack all of the food neatly inside. She smiles as she grabs the handle and her pack pausing in the doorway before she leaves.
"Could you teach me how to make cookies tomorrow? It's Sunday so she won't be home all day." Prim asks.
"Sure thing." I agree.
"And when you bring over the other loaves, mom wants to see that leg." Prim informs me.
"It's fine. It really is." I argue.
"Wear loose pants when you come over. My mom will have a look." She responds and leaves my house.
Katniss's family has gotten this habit of caring about me. Two weeks after the madness stopped and real life resumed, Prim had showed up on my doorstep barely before the sun started it's journey into the sky. I wasn't expecting to see anyone from that family even though we live three houses away, but she was there holding out stew her mom had made fresh the night before in the little bluish green dress I watched Katniss buy for her. I invited her in although I was worried about Katniss seeing her here. Would she think I was trying to persuade Prim to act on my account or did she really believe I was that angry with her, that I stopped loving her all together? She laid her presents out on the table and instead of dropping off my bread load to the house on my way in to town, I wrapped it up in a basket for her to take with her.
"I'm sorry about how things ended for you." Prim said so innocently, cautiously looking up at me as if I may say something hurtful or stalk away in irritation at her intrusion.
"It's fine. Katniss is a free spirit...you can't really hold her down now, can you?" I answer back, trying to be playful, trying not to break down in front of someone so young who shouldn't have to understand this.
"She doesn't know how to love anyone but me...and mom. I'm glad you love her though, because if I had to pick between you or Gale for her...I'd pick you. Thank you for the bread. Mom says she'll be making a portion of dinner for me to bring to you later, she doesn't like that you live alone and she doesn't think you eat anything but sweets and rolls." Prim says giggling.
"I eat with my family once a week. That's when I have real stuff." I say in a whisper and she giggles again.
"I best not tell mom that, she'd be hounding you over here whether Katniss liked it or not. She says since you take care of us, we are to look after you too. See you tomorrow Peeta." She finishes and quickly rushes out of the house.
That's the routine I have established with Prim and Katniss's mother. Prim leaves after Katniss's wakes up so Prim can come over fetch the daily haul of treats and bread from my house. I go over later to bring what I didn't have ready before I head into town or before I take care of whatever Haymitch needs. Katniss's mother always wants to check my leg when my limp gets noticeable or when she thinks I'm having trouble and then gives me what meat Katniss has designated for me. It's just astonishing to me that people can be like this, selfless. I guess after seeing so much hate I couldn't rationalize people just genuinely being nice, kind, or sweet.
Once Prim leaves, I go into my studio. The smell of paint and canvas sends me home, to the portion inside me that isn't wounded and still has faith. This new strategy I have concocted to heal is so strange to me. When I see Katniss, pass her on the street, I have this edge where nothing seems familiar. I try to pretend she is some girl that I barely know, that we are meeting for the first time and I have to keep my manners in order. It is so easy to be infuriated with her. How could you lie to someone who had done nothing but given you the truth about his intentions? I get that she doesn't understand, that maybe loving is something she has to work on, but to destroy someone who has the capacity to love for two people is nonsense to me.
The victory tour was coming. This Saturday morning would fade into the distance and I would be packed on a train. This time there wouldn't be only one person pretending to be in love. I wasn't sure if I knew how to love someone like I did before. I groan and shuffle my feet, remembering that I have food for Haymitch, and that even though he picked her and helped her manipulate me, I owe him. At the end of the day under all the hurt, I still care.
I get to the house and open the door, remembering not to inhale through my nose. Haymitch loves his filth and his drunk tendencies but I do not see the need for it. It will come in time, I think, when sending off the next tributes will get to me. Right now I am the tribute still, I don't have too many deaths on my hands. It surprises me when I see him sitting at his dinning room table, a glass clutched in his hand. He looks more sober than usual, the slight glassy glow in his eye had died down to a minimum. Sometimes I think he stops drinking to feel the pain again so he can justify the need to hit the bottle so often or he wants to bring back memories from the past. He looks over at me pointedly and takes a swig, the remnants of alcohol gliding down his chin.
"Sit, boy." Haymitch says, pointing to an open seat across from him.
I cross the room and sink into a seat, hoping this will end quickly. I am sure what ever comes out of his mouth is going to either offend me or make me upset, both of which I do not want to deal with.
"You have got to stop sulking. I have watched you continue to pout since the cameras left. So happily ever after didn't happen. She's alive, be grateful." Haymitch scolds. His eyes are fixed on me as if he expects me to just bow down and let him rule the way I feel about the entire situation. He thinks with a few of his "wise words" I would just forget. I don't that easily.
"I am glad she is alive but at one point someone should have tipped me off that everything was an illusion instead of thinking 'oh it's okay if Peeta gets hurt. He can take it because he'll be understanding. He is so blinded by his affection that he would walk over hot coals just to save her. Never mind that he might feel like someone exploded a bomb in his chest.'" I say, rage filling my words.
"And you think that if I sent you a note telling you the truth in that arena, that I didn't think she knew how to love anyone romantically, you would have still fought as hard to save her life." He spits back.
"You and I both know we picked her to come out of this thing. Knowing she didn't love me wouldn't have changed a damn thing. I would have sent her home but I probably wouldn't be sitting across from you. That is the only change to the present." I glare, his eyes scatter across my face. I don't know if I see a flash of empathy or if he needs to drink a little more but his mouth forms a hard line and I know the conversation is over.
"I don't know what that girl did to deserve it but love is not something she is exactly skilled at." Haymitch grumbles.
"I figured that much but...I don't think that changes anything." I say, sighing.
"You'd give her a second chance, wouldn't you?" Haymitch presses.
I shake my head and thrust my fist at the table, hoping the pain will wash over me and keep my thoughts from buzzing around in my head. I leave the bread on the table without slicing it for him, without another gesture. He laughs as I stomp across the room, the both of us highly aware of the unsaid words spinning around the ceiling. If Katniss ever let me in, if for one moment she could see what could happen if she just trusted me, things would change drastically. I would give her a second chance, and that kills me.