Chapter 2: Make Money in our Sleep
The nicest clothes we own consist of my blue Reaping dress from my mother's Merchant days. Mother dons a faded gray dress before doing my hair up in the signature braid down my back. We both look at ourselves in the dirty mirror.
"Now you look beautiful, too," Mother says softly. But there is something in her voice that sounds dead. Resigned.
From where she has been watching us on the nearby settee, Prim asks, "Where are you both going?"
"Party at the Hob," Mother lies with surprising ease. "Time for... bed, Primrose." She nearly cracks, but recovers and escorts my baby sister to the bedroom we young girls share. Prim does not appear to suspect, or even notice, the falter.
While they are upstairs, I sneak a bottle from what is technically called our liquor cabinet. It only has one old bottle in it - wine that my parents apparently drank at their wedding, and has remained unopened since my father died. I take a long swig from the thing, while still trying to leave some liquid inside out of reverence for my Daddy. I hardly ever drink, so the effects of the alcohol are far more dramatic and faster on my sober, thinner frame. I begin to feel light-headed, but that's the idea. Hopefully, it will lower my inhibitions enough so I can do what I have to do tonight with less nerves.
All at once, there is a knock at the door, and I quickly hide the bottle away before going to answer it. I find a figure with ashy blonde hair and deep blue eyes on our stoop.
Peeta and I are classmates in school. We became friends after Peeta tossed me some burnt bread one rainy day so my family wouldn't starve. That was five years ago, not long after my father died, and ever since then, Peeta has been bringing leftover bread for us. The Baker's youngest son is probably one of only a few men in this district whom I don't openly hate.
Peeta gives me an amused smile at my fancy attire. "Going somewhere tonight?"
I gulp, not knowing how I can lie as easily to him as Mother lied to Prim. But I don't have to. Peeta's eyes narrow as he takes in my lipstick and make-up, the high heeled boots that don't quite fit on me.
Then he connects the dots, and I want to cry. He knows. "Katniss, no," he breathes. "You don't have to do this."
"Oh, don't I?" I crack, screaming as hot tears pool in my eyes. "There is no water, Peeta! There are no ducks. There's barely any meat. I... I..." I can't finish as I burst into tears. I feel Peeta's gentle hand caressing my arm soothingly.
"Oh, Katniss... I would give up a thousand bakeries if I could stop this..."
I touch my palm to his cheek. "I don't think even the President himself could stop this now... Goodbye, Peeta," I say sadly.
Peeta stares at me forlornly. And then his gaze becomes hardened, determined.
Before I can do anything, Peeta seizes me by the shoulders and kisses me soundly on the lips. I let out a muffled, surprised squeak into his mouth, my eyes bulging. My uncertainty allows Peeta to curl his arms about me. He gallantly dips me in his embrace, holding me gently.
"Hmmm!" I whimper, even if I know Peeta would never let me fall. All the same...
I know Peeta is in love with me. He has been since we were in kindergarten, poor boy. He has never been one to be subtle about where his affections lie, and even though I have been aware of his crush on me, I have never openly acknowledged it. I haven't even discouraged him, as he has never made an advance this bold and is so innocent. He's a kind boy. A good man. So maybe it is for my pity at his hopeless love, maybe it is because the alcohol has clouded my judgement. Whatever it is, I soon find myself closing my eyes and wrapping my arms about him to make sure I don't fall. Awkwardly, I turn my lips into his as I begin to kiss Peeta back. I find myself humming in pleasure now: "Hmmm..."
We stay like this for a few moments. Then, my eyes pop open to see Mother watching the scene in stunned silence. Peeta whisks me to my feet again, out of the dip, and I take the chance to gently, yet assertively, push him away.
But Peeta looks triumphant rather than rejected. "At least that was your first kiss. They can't steal that from you." He squeezes my hand. "Be careful, Katniss." And he leaves.
As Mother and I exit into the frigid fall a moment later, I expect her to ask me if I am in love with Peeta Mellark. If I have feelings for such a man. I don't. But I admit there was a time when I actually entertained the thought of marrying Peeta for the security, to help my family. Besides, he is handsome. And as I said, he is a kind young man, which is not something you can say about really any of the men in 12. In a district ruled by the mines and where men can easily become hard of heart, many husbands can be cold and even abusive towards their wives. If I were to marry Peeta, I would get the deal of a century. Any girl would be blessed to have him as a husband.
Not to mention he's a good kisser...
Mother and I reach the Barracks. We can actually hear carousing coming from inside. Mother looks at me nervously and squeezes my hand. As a widow and one still grieving to a certain extent, this will be the first time she has slept with, much less kissed, a man who isn't my father. At least, as far as I'm aware.
A leering woman scantily dressed - one of Cray's whores - ushers us in when we knock. The Peacekeepers hoot and holler when they see us, though I get most of the catcalls and leering, the sexual harassment. A young girl. Fresh blood. As soon as they learn I'm a virgin, they'll be fighting each other to claim me first.
And indeed, Cray does, but only after he convinces his Vice Peacekeeper Thread to go in to my mother and lie with her. Thread is an older man with tufts of gray hair and a chiseled, wrinkled face. Mother leads him by the hand into the nearest "bedroom," sending me a terrified look, and my heart goes out to her. I hope that I am bedded somewhere a distance away, so I cannot hear my own mother's cries as she is largely taken against her will by a stranger.
The Peacekeepers argue amongst themselves over who should have me first. All seem more concerned with their glory - both figuratively and... anatomically - than for my own well being.
All except one, that is.
"I'll take her! I need a poke!"
Darius. One of the only kind Peacekeepers I know. A bit of a flirt, and quite the character. With his flaming red hair, he is hard to miss. I consider him a friend. And now he is trying to claim me so that my first time is at least with someone decent.
But Cray shuts down the jockeying. "She's MINE!"
I try not to bristle. Really? Then why did he announce me to the market? But Cray is now dragging me into a private room and slamming the door behind us. He gleefully throws me down onto the cot/mattress, and mounts me, straddling my hips. He roughly shoves my blue dress almost over my head, breaks my mother's bequeathed garter and casts it aside as though it is trash. My panties suffer a similar fate when yanked to my ankles.
Cray roughly kisses me, and I try to return it over my repulsive thoughts. I think of Peeta oddly in this moment, and find myself grateful that he grabbed me and planted one on me; he stole my first kiss from these monsters!
But not my first time. That is made painfully clear as Cray's member slams into me with little regard. I think I can feel my hymen break deep within my core. My eyes sting with sharp tears of pain that slide down my cheeks, tears that Cray kisses away as he slobbers my face with kisses unworthy of a dog. He doesn't do this gesture out of concern for me; to him, my tears are just in the way.
He slides out, slams back in. The cot creaks and sways. My body has no choice but to flop against Cray's, then back into the mattress, with his every thrust.
At last, the beast gives an almighty growl and explodes inside me. I panic, not remembering if he used protection and kicking myself that I did not bravely force him to pull out when he was close.
I orgasm soon after, but it is weak, underwhelming. And I am glad, for I am entirely unethused that I am now no longer pure. In fact, I feel unclean.
Cray rolls off of me, curls up like a child into my side, and goes to sleep. With an arm draped possessively around me. I turn away from him as best as I am able.
And I sob, mourn, for my lost innocence now ripped away from me.
