The first thing I become aware of when I wake from my dream is that I'm screaming. The second is Peeta's comforting arm around my shoulders. The third is the nausea rising like a wave. I close my eyes and gulp hard. It's only when I sleep that I seem to be free of it. Five weeks have passed since it first appeared and how I've managed to hide it from Peeta I will never know.
I sit up and draw my knees closer to my body in the hope that it might ease the desire to vomit. Peeta sits with me, placing a soothing kiss on my shoulder as he rubs my upper arm with the hand draped across me.
"Just a dream..." he mumbles soothingly, still half asleep.
"Yeah" I pant.
"It's been a while since the last one" he notes. "I wish I could tell you that one day they will go away completely but that would be a lie."
"We're both stuck with nightmares" I mumble in response.
I lean my head forward, closing my eyes and resting my brow against my knees while I wrap my arms around my legs. I don't even remember what I dreamt about but that's just as well. There are too many horrors to choose from. I'm exhausted and part of me wants to go back to sleep right away, hoping that one nightmare per night will be the limit, but first I must make the nausea dial down. It's threatening to overwhelm me at the moment, as if fuelled by the bad dreams.
I lift my head and plant a gentle kiss on Peeta's lips.
"Go back to sleep" I say. "I'm going to go to the bathroom and then I'll fall asleep again right away. I'm exhausted and I can't even remember what I dreamed about."
He frowns but doesn't protest as I lift up the thin blanket we sleep under during the summer months and swing my feet over the side of the bed very carefully. Any movement that's too hasty is sure to make my stomach even more upset. I walk hurriedly towards the bathroom, closing the door behind me and rushing over to the sink to splash my face with ice cold water. I then fill a glass to the brim and take a few trembling sips. Maybe the cold water will make me feel better.
It has the opposite effect. Merely seconds after I gulp it down I find myself sending it right back up again, along with whatever was left in my stomach from our dinner. I gasp for air, close my eyes tight and inwardly curse the tears that always stream down my face with this activity. I wait for a while to see if it will get any better but it doesn't at first and I begin to fear it will be like most days out in the woods. Ever since this whole thing started I have spent my time out there in a battle of wills with my uprising stomach, losing more often than winning, and sometimes it's as if once I start vomiting it can go on for ages, far beyond the point where my stomach is empty. I don't even want to think about how many basic hunting rules it violates; it's not as if I have a choice in the matter and it's at least better to seclude myself in the woods until I'm far enough along to let Peeta in on what's going on.
It's a wonder he hasn't started asking questions yet. It's the height of summer yet I often come home without any game at all, looking worse for wear than I ought to. Twice I have even bought game from a pair of teenaged siblings who are sometimes out hunting as well; officially to encourage the young people in town to learn how to hunt and provide for themselves but the real reason is to fool Peeta into thinking I did something more productive out in the woods than fight the sickness in my stomach and nibble on bread. One of the strangest things about this whole situation is that the one thing that seems to make the nausea better is eating. Bread is the best thing, something I can easily much on even when my appetite is low. I have begun stealing bread from Peeta's morning trays, hoping he won't notice that I've taken a much keener interest in his baked goods than I ever have before, which is saying something given how fond I have always been of the things he bakes. I'm worried that if he notices it will be one more piece of a puzzle that shouldn't be too hard to assemble and I'm not ready for him to know about it yet. It's still far too early.
When I go back out to the bedroom I'm startled to find Peeta still sitting up in bed waiting for me. It's obvious that he heard me in there. It would be impossible for him not to have heard. Nervously I walk back to the bed and climb up on it, sitting next to him without uttering a word while my mind races a mile a minute. I have to tell him something, but what? I have never been good at spontaneously lying to him. Plus he can read me like an open book after everything we've been through and all the years we have spent together. I need to get creative and fast.
It takes almost a full minute for him to say anything. He just looks at me and even though the room is dark I can see sadness and worry in his eyes. When he speaks he takes me by surprise.
"You are sick" he states. "Real or not real?"
I'm stunned at first. As time has gone by he has played that game less and less often. In the past ten years he's used it maybe four or five times, always following a particularly powerful episode of the remains of the hijacking he was put through. Asking: "Real or not real?" is his tool to find reality when something far too frightening overcomes him. Him using it now must mean he's afraid that there's something very seriously wrong with me.
"Real" I manage to answer.
It's hard to tell in the darkness but I think his face goes pale. He looks away for a second and swallows, then meets my eyes again.
"How bad? And why have you not told me?"
My hand reaches out and caresses his cheek.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you" I tell him. "I spoke with Mother over the phone when it first started... She says my symptoms are those of a disease that seems like stomach flu but it holds on for much longer. Weeks. Months even." As I speak the lie comes easier and easier. I do remember Mother teaching Prim about this many years ago although she never said anything about it lasting for months. That part is just me buying time.
"Where would you have caught such a thing?" Peeta asks.
"Contaminated food or water" I answer.
"What have you eaten that I haven't?" he wonders.
"It could have been in just one fruit" I tell him, hoping he won't question it further since I am making this up as I go along now.
He looks at me with worry but at least the fear seems to be gone from his eyes. His hand reaches out to caress my cheek and I find myself smiling as I realize we are mirroring each other.
"How bad is it?" he wants to know. "I mean... how bad do you feel?"
"Like hell" I complain, relieved to finally be able to share my troubles with him without giving away the surprise too early. I lean in and rest my head against his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around me. I sigh, closing my eyes while wondering how I made it this far without his support. I'm not used to facing hardships without Peeta sharing it with me. It's how we have operated for almost as long as we've known one another.
"You should have said something" Peeta mumbles into my hair. "You had me worried."
"It will pass" I assure him. "The nausea, I mean... Mother says I just need to rest and drink plenty of fluids."
"Perhaps you shouldn't go out into the woods every day if this is how you feel" says Peeta. "I know you love your hunting but I'm rather concerned you'll get into trouble out there if you're ill like this. A bunny rabbit could probably harm you in the state you've been in lately."
I can't help but laugh at the idea and wrap my arms around him, feeling a bit better.
"I'll think about it" I tell him.
"Do that. I know how much you love your woods but these past few weeks I've been honestly worried when you've been out there."
I assure him there is nothing to be worried about and give him a kiss. We lay back down and with his arms around me I soon find myself calm and at peace again. Before I can drift off to sleep a thought haunts my mind. Peeta wants children so much but I have been adamant against it. So adamant in fact that when faced with signs of a pregnancy he doesn't even consider that as a possibility, worrying instead that I might be ill. Something about that is deeply unsettling to me.
I hear his breaths turn slow and steady and after a while they are accompanied by light snores. As he sleeps I let my mind wander, thinking back to when our fake relationship turned into reality. He wanted children even then, although not right away as we were still in our teens. I don't want to think about that right now. All I want to think about are the good times. There have been so many. Many, many more than I ever thought possible during the war or in those first agonizing months after my sister's death. Peeta brought me back to life. He gave me a future. In those first months of our relationship I never once felt guilt over the times I had made him sad since I knew I was now making him very happy. Against all odds we were making each other happy.
Fifteen years earlier
When I wake up in the morning it is a morning of many firsts. The first time in as long as I can remember that I've had a smile on my face. The first time in ages that I've felt good when I've woken up. It is the morning after Peeta and I consummated our relationship, which at least for me was my first time being intimate with someone, followed by my first admission of love to him. I turn my head to look at him and my smile somehow manages to grow wider. He looks so peaceful where he sleeps next to me. I know that even if I live for a thousand years I will always remember the look of happiness on his face when I confirmed that I do love him, not to mention the feel of the kisses that followed. I had thought that kisses could feel no better than those earlier that night, the ones that woke my hunger for him again. Instead I learned that when you can admit to yourself that you love another person and admit it to them as well the kisses get even better. I know now it was always going to end this way between us but I also know that it could probably not have happened any sooner. We needed all this time to get to this place. I needed it. Peeta, he was already there, had been for a long time.
With a gentle hand I slowly caress his cheek, allowing myself a luxury I've never fully allowed myself before. To watch him as he sleeps, taking in every aspect of his face, marvelling at how the facial features that were nothing special to me at one point now have become the most beautiful features I have ever seen.
A loving smile plays on my lips. My sweet boy with the bread. Though after last night, calling him a boy is probably wrong. More like my sweet man with the bread. Truth be told I don't even know if last night was the first time for him as it was for me; perhaps some other girl already took that step with him in the past and made him go from boy to man. It doesn't really matter much. I know that whatever has transpired between him and other girls earlier on can in no way compare to what we gave to one another the night before.
I decide I can't wait any longer to look into his eyes again. The hunger his kisses last night woke in me refuses to be sated. Even after we had been as intimate as two people can be I still craved more and more. Now I lean in and press my lips to his, feeling his mouth curl into a smile a second before his hand grabs the back of my head and a content groan lets me know he has woken up. His eyes remain closed for another few moments until the kiss ends and our eyes meet.
"Last night..." he begins.
"Real" I say before he can ask a question, laughing a little just because I'm happy for once.
"Today?"
"Today is ours" I tell him. "Forget baking or painting or hunting or getting intoxicated just from setting foot inside Haymitch's house. Today I just want to be with you and explore this."
The hunger is too persistent, too urgent for me to want to think about anything else than how to satisfy it. I want to spend every moment of my day with Peeta, exploring him, letting him explore me and together exploring everything new that comes with this upgrade of our relationship. I know Peeta won't object. He's been wanting for this much longer than I have. I wonder if every time we've ever kissed he has felt that hunger that now threatens to consume me. I think that might be the case but if so I have no idea how he managed to contain it. Never once has he tried to press his advantages. There hasn't even been a straying hand in his sleep. I find it impressive but I am happy to note that I won't have to restrain myself the way he has done. What I want is right there for the taking. Peeta belongs to me now and I belong to him.
I kiss him again, feeling my desire only grow deeper with each passing moment. It feels so good to finally let myself feel what I have been trying for so long not to feel. It feels so good to finally enjoy being in love.
It takes months to satiate my hunger to the point where we can start to find some form of normalcy to our lives, so reluctant am I to let go of that positive feeling. Those first months are forever embedded in my heart and my mind, memories I bring back and cherish when life gets too hard. We are all over each other during this time, experimenting and exploring and learning exactly how much fun sex is and how creative a pair of teenagers can be about it. When we aren't naked we're for the most part kissing or touching. It is probably a sickening sight to see which is why it is fortunate that we are left to ourselves most of the time. We do try and get our act together when other people were around, a shift that is not lost to us. Between the 74th and 75th Hunger Games we put a lot of energy into convincing people we were in love. Now that we both are we put almost as much energy into not making it painfully obvious in public.
Not that we fool anyone, or even really want to. It just seems inappropriate to act on our every desire when other people are watching and I think Peeta feel as I do, that the best moments are those that are shared when nobody but us is around. No cameras, no audience, no one who listens. The secrets we whisper to each other in the night are only for each other's ears. The proclamations of love and affection are nobody else's business.
Of course, we can't always contain ourselves. Every Friday evening we have dinner with Haymitch, a tradition Peeta started when he came back from the Capitol and eventually involved me in, and the first week we are together our old mentor quickly tires of the looks we share and the kisses we steal when we think he's not paying attention.
"If I wanted dinner and a show I would have gone to the Capitol" he sighs and gets up from his chair halfway through the meal, tossing his dirty napkin of the table. He stops at the door, giving us a look that is part irritation and part happiness for us. "Get a cave, you two. They seem to have suited you in the past..."
He leaves and Peeta and I share a look before bursting out laughing. We then finish dinner in a very platonic and well-mannered fashion, mocking the fine wine and dine style of the Capitol more and more with each passing minute. Then after dinner is done we retreat back upstairs and behave in ways Effie Trinket surely would never even imagine.
Though it's not just physical. We play games, tell each other stories, spend long stormy days entertaining each other in front of the fire in the living room. For the first time in forever I'm actually having fun and it surprises me because I never thought I would again. This is why I need Peeta to survive. The fun we have, both with and without clothes on, and the happiness that's in my heart can only come from him. Finally I begin to understand what he talked about at the beach of the Quarter Quell when he said his life would have no meaning anymore if I were gone. Now that I have tasted this kind of joy and fulfilment it's hard to imagine ever having quality of life without it.
When enough time has passed that I've reached the point where I don't crave Peeta's lips and hands on me right now at all times I am hit by a sudden reflection. It's been months on end without me taking many steps without him, spending almost every waking moment together at the cost of previous preferred activities such as my hunting or his painting. When the realization dawns on me it irritates me. This is not me. Katniss Everdeen is not someone who needs to spend every single moment with her boyfriend. She is not someone who depends on others. She is a free-spirited, independent person.
At first it makes me a little embarrassed to look back at myself over the past months. I have truly become the role I once played for the cameras; a role I disliked because that Katniss was so... co-dependent. True the past months have held more bliss than I thought my life ever could after the Games and the rebellion but enough is enough. I refuse to live the rest of my life as some ridiculously infatuated girl who can only talk and think about her boyfriend.
So when I wake up the next morning I quickly get out of bed and declare to a barely awake Peeta that I am going hunting. He mumbles something incoherent in reply and buries his face in the pillow, clearly not aiming to get out of bed for a good while yet.
I shower and dress myself for a day in the woods, sneaking past Peeta who has gone back to sleep and head down the stairs to rummage the kitchen for something to eat while I'm away. With my trusted bow in one hand and a backpack in the other I leave the house and very independently stalk towards the woods.
It feels remarkably good to be out there on my own again. Thoughts of Peeta often appear in my head but I have no trouble proving to myself, or anyone else who might care, that I can fully enjoy a day in the woods by my lonesome. It's actually a bit of a relief to enjoy the silence, go where I want to go when I want to and do whatever I feel like without considering what somebody else might want. I hunt, I gather some herbs, I hike around the woods and for an entire day I don't speak a single word to anybody but the animals in the forest.
I don't return home until it's almost nightfall. Peeta and I have spent practically a full day apart, something that hasn't happened in a long time, and now that I have been so independent all day long I can afford to smile with eager anticipation as I walk the steps leading up to the front porch and the door. It's beginning to get dark outside but the windows of my house shine with warm light, illuminating the primrose bushes planted beneath them. It feels great, coming home this way. I might not have my mother and my sister waiting for me when I pass the threshold but I have another type of family that's no doubt as eager to see me as I am to see him.
"Hi!" I call out as I walk inside, ignoring Buttercup who sneaks in with me. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the whole house and I quickly get my jacket off to go and greet the baker. When I walk into the kitchen Peeta is taking another set of beautifully golden bread loafs out from the oven. He carefully sets them down on the stovetop and turns around to greet me, spots of flour on his cheeks and looking better than ever.
"Hey" he says. "Catch anything good for dinner?"
Before I answer him I put the game bag down on the table and walk up to him, claiming his cheeks between my palms as I give him a hungry kiss. I have longed for that kiss all day long but I don't like to admit it.
"So you had a good day in the woods, then?" says Peeta with a charming smile when our lips part again.
"Caught three squirrels" I tell him. "I was tempted to do some fishing but that can wait until tomorrow."
The line is in its own way a form of test. So far he has made no comment about being surprised or displeased that I was gone all day but I wonder how he will react to spending one more day apart from each other.
"Sounds like a plan" he tells me, making me frown. "We haven't had fish in a while. I know something though that can't wait until tomorrow."
He kisses me again and I wrap my hands around his neck, agreeing wholeheartedly that this can't wait until tomorrow. In fact it can't wait another five minutes.
Fifteen minutes later we untangle ourselves and get up off the floor. Peeta pulls his pants on again and walks over to the table to start working on the squirrels. Sounds good to me, I'm famished. After putting my own clothes back on I take a seat on one of the chairs, pulling my feet up under me, reaching for a cookie in the basket sitting on the table.
"Don't" says Peeta, somehow knowing what I'm doing even though he has his back turned to me. "Those are for Mayor Wilcox. Special order."
I frown.
"Mayor Wilcox? When did you speak to him?"
"He was here earlier in the day" Peeta tells me, grabbing a knife to get to work on the squirrels. "Him and his family are moving in to the new house tomorrow and they wanted something nice to treat their guests."
"So you've been keeping busy all day?" I ask, grabbing another cookie.
"Pretty much. It was refreshing, really. It's been a while since I spent an entire day with my bowls and my pans."
I make a sullen face while I ponder this and watch him from behind as he prepares dinner. He doesn't sound like he missed me much at all today. In fact he sounds rather relieved that he got the chance to do something other than, well, me.
"What about tomorrow, then?" I ask. "Once Wilcox has stopped by to claim his cookies. What will you be up to?"
"Depends on how long you're gone fishing, I guess" he shrugs.
"I might be gone all day, like I was today" I declare.
"Great" he says and actually seems to mean it. "If you catch more fish than we need and decide to trade some, could you see if you could find me some cardamom?" He finishes skinning a squirrel and tosses the fur in the sink. "I'm almost out and I won't be getting any from the Capitol in around two months."
"In conclusion you are fine with me being gone all day long so long as you get some cardamom out of it" I say, wondering why it bothers me so much that he doesn't hate the idea of us being apart for several hours.
Peeta turns and smiles at me, tossing the squirrel's tiny entrails to Buttercup who is meowing and begging like a pro.
"Cinnamon rolls taste better with it" he says.
"Oh, well in that case."
If he picks up on my snarky tone he doesn't let it on. By now I'm not sure if I'm more irritated with myself or with him. Why do I care so much about this when I myself want to spend time on my own? Why does he not care that we'll be spending another full day away from one another? Has he been secretly longing for this for a while now without me realizing it?
"You surprise me" I say.
"Do I?" He tosses the skin from the second squirrel in the sink.
"Yeah."
"How so?"
"I didn't think you'd be more excited about spices than about spending a day with me."
He chuckles.
"I wouldn't say that." He turns his head and gives me another smile. "These past few months have been great. They just couldn't last forever. At some point we have to establish some form of normalcy. You go out into the woods because that's what you like to do. I bake bread and decorate cakes because that's what I like to do. We both had interests and lives before this happened between us and we'd both be miserable if we gave that up. Plus I think we'd drive each other insane after a while if we were together all the time." He finishes skinning the last squirrel and turns around to face me, looking sad all of a sudden. "And I think... I think we've been using our relationship as a means of escape. The more time I've spent with you, the more intense and physical things get, the more I can try and forget the things I don't want to think about. Did you know I dreaded the day I would start baking again?"
"No."
"Yeah, well I did. I mean, I've baked since the war, I just... I haven't spent a full day baking in I don't know how long and it's not just because of lack of time." He makes a face and goes to grab a frying pan. "My whole family... everyone was a baker."
I look down at my hands and nod slightly. He doesn't talk about it very often so it's almost surprising to me when I'm reminded of his loss.
"I miss Prim" I say. "I miss Gale."
Peeta gets the frying pan without a word and then stops as he is about to put it on the stove. His latest batch of bread is still sitting there. For a moment I wonder if he's about to have another flashback and if those bread loafs will come flying across the room in just a few seconds. Instead he sets the pan down with a sigh and begins to toss the still warm loafs into a basket.
"I guess we've both been using each other to escape" I say.
"I guess so" says Peeta, tossing the last loaf of bread in the basket and clearing the stovetop.
"I never thought I would feel good again" I say. "I never wanted to let go of that feeling once I had it. The feeling was real. We just... overdid it, I guess."
He sighs heavily.
"I wouldn't call it that... and I can't speak for you. You have your own demons to fight. All I know is what it's been like for me and I really needed it. That you actually love me too, I couldn't believe it. When you've wanted something for that long and it's finally yours you don't squander time wallowing in grief and sadness."
He sounds so resigned. I watch him work to prepare dinner and I realize I've hardly spent a second thinking about his problems and his losses. Hell, I haven't even spent much time thinking about my own in the past months. All I've wanted to do was forget and to explore everything new and joyful that Peeta brought into my world.
I get up from my chair and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He freezes for a second but then continues his work.
"You're absolutely right" I say. "We have been using us to escape from our sorrows. Maybe that should taint us somehow but it doesn't for me. Ever since the Games, no ever since my father died I have been searching for something to make the pain go away. I had long since given up on finding that when I returned here after the war. Then you somehow made it happen... Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing in the long run, I mean we did only delay dealing with things, but I for one really needed it. What's so wrong about letting love make you feel better? As long as it's real... and it is between us." I kiss his neck. "I love you. We gave ourselves a few months of indulgence. Now it's time to face the things we've been running from and I think we're much better equipped to do so than we would have been if we hadn't focused so much on the new development between us."
"I just don't want this to be about nothing more than escaping pain" mumbles Peeta.
"It's not" I assure him. "It's how about we make each other feel. It's about having hope for a future."
Finally he stops preparing dinner and turns around. His arms wrap around me and we hold each other close.
"This kind of sucks" he says. "This whole conversation and having to have it in the first place."
"Yeah."
"I thought I was ready for this... I've been expecting it for weeks. I guess we're done escaping now but I kind of wish that we weren't."
"It's going to be different" I say. "I'll be out in the woods, dealing with my stuff. You'll be wherever you prefer to be, dealing with yours. When we're together we'll help each other deal. And at least once a day we'll do something fun, just for us. It's not all been escapism. A whole lot of it has been two people in love."
He pulls back from the hug and finally smiles again, even if it's not quite as brightly as when I first walked through the door.
"I still find it hard to believe sometimes" he says. "That you love me."
"Believe it." My arms move from around his waist up to around his shoulders and my fingers begin to play with the hair at the back of his neck. "But just so you won't begin to doubt I think I will have to remind you as often as I can."
I kiss him lovingly, hungrily. Yes, I'm still independent Katniss who likes to go out hunting and gathering in the woods. But I'm also with Peeta now and that means truly sharing my world with him. All I have to do is figure out how to find the right balance.
Buttercup struts by me and over to the couch where Peeta is busy sketching. With a meow the scrawny cat hops up on the couch and begins to purr as he climbs up on Peeta's lap. I snort. From the moment Peeta began to spend a lot of time here Buttercup has made no secret of who he prefers and of course it's not me. The ugly fellow looks over at me and seems to grin and purrs even louder, as if to point out to me that not only does he like Peeta better, he is also now occupying the lap I love to rest my head on. I roll my eyes and walk over, grabbing Buttercup by the neck and lifting him away, ignoring his indignant hisses.
My plan is to wrap an arm around Peeta's shoulders, get his full attention by blowing air into his ear and then comment on whatever he's drawing before giving him a good reason to put his pad and pencil away and focus on me. I only get as far as sitting down on the couch beside him because then I see what he is sketching and I suddenly feel like I know what Haymitch feels when I wake him up with a bucket of cold water.
On the piece of paper in his hands Peeta has lovingly sketched a picture of me kneeling on a meadow, my hands gently gripping a toddler attempting to take her first steps. It's an excellent sketch, drawn with love and care, and it practically makes my skin crawl.
"What is that?" I manage to get out.
"Something I've been working on for the past hour" answers Peeta, oblivious to my tone.
"Why are you drawing me and a child?" I ask coldly.
He looks up, surprised by how hostile I sound.
"Because..." He shrugs and turns his eyes back to the drawing. "Sometimes I get tired of drawing the past and find it more fulfilling to draw visions of the future."
He's unprepared when I grab the piece of paper and yank it away from him, resulting in a large line of charcoal running over the face of the child. His perplexed and annoyed look only makes me more irritated.
"Why on earth would you draw a child in our future?" I ask.
He looks even more perplexed. Then he looks angry and gets up from the couch, setting his pad down on the coffee table.
"What has gotten into you?" he asks. "What's so strange about me imagining us one day having kids?"
I realize that I never actually told him how I feel about marriage and procreation, or if I did it was at some point when he had reason to believe I wasn't serious. Getting angry and yanking the piece of paper from his hand was probably an unfair reaction. Still, no time like the present. He needs to know my stance on this and the sooner the better.
"Peeta I don't want you going around hoping to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet" I say, pulling my feet up under me on the couch.
"Relax Katniss" he says, his voice calmer and his eyes friendlier. "I don't want to have kids now. I want to have you all to myself for the nearest future. Besides, we're not even in our twenties yet and I think we need to work past some of our issues from the war before bringing children into the world."
He's obviously not getting it. I set my feet back on the floor and stand up slowly.
"I can't imagine ever having children" I tell him.
"Yeah I feel that way sometimes too" says Peeta. "When I have those attacks of hijacked memories or when one of us has a terrible nightmare or when I see Haymitch too drunk to even stand up straight I feel like we can barely take care of ourselves, let alone a new generation. Then those moments pass, often very quickly, and I think about how many great things there are in the world. Things I'd like to share with a kid, you know?"
I hold up my hands to stop him from getting carried away.
"That is not what I'm saying" I emphasize. "I'm saying that I do not want children. At all. At any point. It's not something I feel during the worst of times, it's something that I feel at all times. You need to know that."
He frowns.
"Maybe you feel that way now but the further we get from the war-"
"It has nothing to do with the war!" I object. "I mean... Yes it has to do with the war but it's not just that. How can you want children? How can anybody want children when they've seen what we've seen and suffered what we've suffered?"
"Katniss I understand why you feel that way" he says. "I've felt that way. But all that is in the past now."
"It will never be truly in the past" I object. "These nightmares that we have, they won't completely go away. I'm sorry Peeta but I'm not bringing a child into this world. I don't care if you want one or not. It's never going to happen so you might as well accept it and please don't draw any more pictures of it. Now you know how I feel and that's just that."
"Evidently so" he says, his blue eyes colder now. "You don't want kids and that's just that and to hell with what I want."
"I'm sorry" I say, which could have been a good start if not for what blurts out of me next. "That's just the way it is and it sucks for you that you find out about it now but it wouldn't be such a shock to you if you had bothered to get to know me before deciding you were in love with me."
Once the words are out there's nothing but silence for about ten seconds and those seconds feel like minutes. I don't know what compelled me to say it. Maybe it's an insecurity I've carried somewhere deep inside. He didn't know me when he fell for me and after he was hijacked I saw far too clearly that there were sides of me he had either chosen to ignore before or just plain failed to notice. There is some part of me that wishes he hadn't fallen in love with me until he knew me. Maybe what happened after his hijacking was that he fell in love with me all over again, this time knowing full well all the negative things about me, but I don't know that for sure.
Peeta stares at me with disbelief and I feel a brief pang of guilt over what I said. Then my frustration over being in this situation takes over and I feel anger more than guilt. Why does he have to want kids? Can't he see that it's a horrible idea? Why does he always have to be so naive and believe that things can just work out?
"Wow" he says when he finally speaks. "I cannot believe you are throwing something like that in my face. I never decided that I was in love with you and the mere implication..." He snorts. "I'll take my offensive drawings and offensive opinions somewhere else."
I can tell there are a lot of other things he would like to say to me right now but when it comes to using his words he has always been much smarter than me. He knows when to talk and he knows when it's better to hold his tongue. He walks past me and goes out the back door, resisting the urge to slam it. I scowl at him once he's gone, even angrier because he didn't retaliate and say something equally hurtful to me. As it is I now have to feel guilty over what I said to him knowing he didn't retort.
Buttercup meows unhappily, probably worried that he's not going to get cream in the morning now that the one who provides the tastier food has left.
"Oh of course you'd take his side" I hiss at the cat.
I quickly put out the fire and stomp upstairs, too angry and worked up to be concerned about going to bed all on my own. I don't even miss him when I close my eyes and try to go to sleep. When I wake up screaming from another nightmare it only makes me angrier to not find him there. Why didn't he stay and yell it out and then we could both have gone to bed sulking, our backs turned to one another? He wouldn't have been overly fond of me but at least he would have been here. Being angry is no excuse to leave me all alone to fight my nightmares.
Buttercup lies on Peeta's pillow and glares at me in the night. He obviously doesn't feel the least bit sorry for me. Still, at least he's a living being and he's someone I found comfort in before Peeta came back from the capitol. I reach out for him and pull him over to me and he doesn't protest. I bury my face in his fur and wish things could be different. Why did I allow myself to think life could be peaceful from now on?
A few days pass without Peeta coming over and without me going to see him. It's the longest we've been completely apart since returning to our homes and while I hate sleeping alone and I miss his company I'm also mad at him and unwilling to go and apologise. I know I said something hurtful that I didn't really mean but the core of the problem is not something I should be apologising for. It's my full right to never have children and I have pretty much convinced myself that he's angry with me for it and that it's the reason why he won't come see me. So after the first day has passed I've managed to convince myself that he should be the one to come and apologise, or at the very least try to make things better again.
I spend most of my time out hunting or bartering in town. I avoid the stores I know Peeta visits the most even though there's a part of me that hopes I will run into him. I can't figure out what I really want or how I really feel right now and it angers me. I'm in a really foul mood and even Buttercup begins to leave me alone rather than end up in another hissing match. After the third day I don't even see the cat anymore. No doubt he's figured out where Peeta's at and decided he was better company.
I take most of my anger out on the animals I hunt. I feel a little bit better the day I manage to shoot a small deer, drag it back from the woods and sell most of it to the butcher. I don't need the money but I don't need that much meat either and it's good business to deal with the butcher. He takes care of preparing the meat and by tomorrow I can come and pick up the share I didn't sell without having to lift a finger.
On my way home I realize I should have gone into a clothing store and bought a new pair of gloves but I can't be bothered turning around now. The gloves I'm wearing have a tear in them and the cold winter air has begun to really chill my fingers which just adds to my current annoyance. Well, at least I don't have to feel that cold air in the night since with Peeta being a no-show I can sleep with my windows shut.
I'm more than halfway home when I feel the scent of alcohol and I realize the sound of footsteps have been following me for a while. There can only be one person those footsteps and that alcohol smell belong to but I'm not interested in talking to him.
"I see you and Peeta have detached yourselves from one another" notes Haymitch, coming up to walk beside me.
I snort at him and furiously kick an icy bit of snow. It seems that no matter how far we get from the very public lives we once led we will always have Haymitch as an audience.
"I had no idea you cared so much" I say in a tone that implies that he's pathetic for taking an interest in our love lives.
"Well, you could either take out all your anger on the snow or you can tell me what caused Peeta to suddenly remember there are bedrooms in his house too."
"It's... this stupid drawing" I mutter, staring at the snowy ground before us. "Nothing you would be interested in."
"What did he draw?" Suddenly his face widens with a grin. "Johanna Mason in the nude?"
"No" I say with a frown.
"Delly Cartwright in the nude?"
"No."
"Gale in the nude?"
The obvious enjoyment he's taking from it infuriates me and I send my elbow into his chest. The grin disappears for a second but then he chuckles.
"Whatever he did paint it doesn't matter" he then says. "You will have forgotten it by the end of the week if not sooner. I know you've never been in love before, sweetheart, but even though you may have thought otherwise you're going to fight with him and you're going to make up with him and you're going to do it often." He shrugs a little. "Perhaps not as often as some but it happens to every couple. The sooner you learn not to be so dramatic about it the better. Sulk for a day or two then kiss and make up. They say make-up sex is really good."
My face turns as red as it's ever been. The last thing I ever need to hear is my former mentor talking about that. I've never been comfortable discussing that particular topic; even with Peeta I prefer not to talk about it. Enjoying it is one thing, putting the things we do behind closed doors into words is a whole other.
Besides, Haymitch doesn't understand. Not if he thinks this is just a simple quarrel between two young lovers.
"Haymitch he painted a picture of me and a child."
If I weren't so frustrated I'd find the look of pretend horror on his face comical.
"The nerve!" Haymitch gasps. "If I had only known. Too bad the Games are over because he should be sent straight back to the arena."
"This is not a joke" I say angrily, frustrated that he doesn't understand me the way I've come to expect him to always do. "I don't want children. I'm not going to have children."
"You're not supposed to want children at your age" says Haymitch. "But you know Peeta. He's probably frustrated now that he doesn't have anybody he needs to protect."
"That's not funny" I say icily.
"Katniss I don't see what the big deal is" says Haymitch and looks at me with his eyebrow raised. "He painted you with a child, so what? He sees his future with you. I was under the impression you had begun to see yours with him."
"I do" I say, calming down a little. "Children are just not part of the deal."
"I know they are among the most annoying things on the planet, what with the noise and the smells and having to raise them... I wasn't aware that you were so adverse to the idea. You've always had such a maternal strike about you."
That surprises me a little. Haymitch and I think very much alike and I thought if anybody could understand it would be him.
"After everything we've seen how could any of us want kids?" I ask. "I can't understand that you and Peeta seem to think it's a good idea at all."
"The Hunger Games are over, Katniss" says Haymitch, confirming that his mind does go to the same places as mine does.
"So?" I say, my voice rising a little. "There's always going to be some new threat. Games or no Games, kids still die of hunger or diseases. We've only had peace and freedom for a few years; who's to say it is going to last? I will not bring children into the world when I can't guarantee them a safe place to grow up in."
"When was there ever a safe place and time to grow up in?" asks Haymitch. I look up at him and he's got a strange look in his eyes as he studies me. "Things are different now, Katniss. I don't know about you... I thought one of the reasons why we rose up against the Capitol, one of the things people fought and died for, was so that people would no longer have to be afraid to start a family because the Capitol could take their children away." We reach the Victors' Village and he stops at the part of the road where we go in different directions. He shoves his hands in his pocket and looks at me. "I get that you're afraid, sweetheart. I'm betting Peeta is too but he's braver than you or me. He might have painted that picture for any number of reasons but if having children is something he really wants then you should think long and hard about that."
"I should be forced to bear children because the person I am with wants them?"
"You should learn to compromise. That doesn't mean you have to do all the things he wants but it sounds to me like you're not even considering it. At the very least allow him to want it even if you're never going to give it to him." He begins to walk towards his house, turning his head to give me one last bit of food for thought. "You are not playing dress-up in front of the cameras anymore, sweetheart. This time it's for real. You should think about what that means and remember that there are things in life he wants other than you."
I spend the rest of the day sitting on the couch with Buttercup, who for whatever reason decided that I'm worthy this afternoon, thinking about the things Haymitch said. I know he's right – to an extent. It's just more complicated than that. Usually Haymitch offers sound advice but in this matter it's not as clear-cut as when our lives were on the line. There is no real right or wrong here. Nobody is obligated to have children or even want them, just as everyone has the right to want them. He's right that it will come down to a matter of compromise but he can't offer any answer as to who should be the one to give in. That's up to Peeta and me.
Even so I crave his advice. I realize it as the day goes on. When I finally grow tired of Buttercup's angry meowing over wanting dinner I get up and feed the cat and then leave my house to go see Haymitch.
I step inside expecting to find darkness, the smell of old garbage and my old mentor stretched out on the sofa clutching a bottle of white liquor like a child would a bottle of milk. Instead the place is somewhat clean, the lights are on and it smells like dinner. Surprised I walk through the corridor into the bright kitchen where Haymitch sits with a deck of cards, playing some form of solitaire. He looks clean and sober and the kitchen is somehow clean even though I can clearly tell from the smell that he's had a proper dinner.
"Hi" I say with a hint of confusion.
He looks up.
"Well hello again, sweetheart. You just missed your boyfriend. He came over and seized my kitchen, force-fed me some form of spinach lasagne. Too bad you're late or you could have gotten some yourself."
That explains a thing or two. The smell of food, the lights, the kitchen and the whole downstairs area being clean. Peeta hates a mess when he's preparing food. I wonder why he came by. Was it to talk about me? It annoys me that Peeta would turn to Haymitch for advice about us even though I'm here for that very purpose myself. It must be even more awkward for Haymitch. He never signed up to be a mediator between the two of us.
I pull out a chair and take a seat by the table.
"I don't know why he bothers feeding you" I say. "Sounds like a waste of good lasagne to me."
"If you're here for some friendly advice you're not off to a good start."
"Is that why Peeta was here?" I ask, reaching out for a grape from the bowl on the table.
"No" says Haymitch. "Unlike you he doesn't want something every time he walks through my door. It's Friday, in case you haven't noticed, and the boy and I have been having dinner on Friday nights since he came back from the Capitol. I feel odd telling you this since you've been present for the vast majority of these occasions but since you don't seem to remember it I suppose I have to remind you."
"I had no idea it was Friday" I mutter, chewing down on a grape.
"Peeta came to have dinner" says Haymitch. "You've come for something else. Let's hear it, sweetheart."
I grab another grape and chew on it slowly before speaking.
"I don't want kids, Haymitch."
"That really isn't my problem" he replies, studying the card he just drew before placing it on one of the piles. "Unfortunately it's the boy's problem."
"You said there are things he wants other than me" I say. "Why did you say it?"
"You know why I said it."
"You think we'll fall apart over it?"
"Children tend to be a deal-breaker" says Haymitch. "If one person wants them badly and the other can't imagine having them somebody's going to end up giving in and in the process lose a huge part of themselves. Usually it's the person who wants kids who has to give up. We both know Peeta would never force you to get pregnant against your will."
"No" I agree. "He would never do that." There's a pause. "So you think he will leave me?"
"No I don't" sighs Haymitch. "That boy has gone to hell and back for you; he was willing to die for you before you even saw him as a friend."
"You're saying I should leave him" I conclude. "So that he can have kids with somebody else and be happy."
"I'm not saying that either" says Haymitch, setting the cards aside and looking up at me. "If he has to make the choice he'll choose you above children, every time. If you love him then you'll let him choose for himself. I just think you should be sure, Katniss. If you don't want to be a mother then don't be. Just... make that decision for the right reasons."
"I don't want children" I say. "For the right reasons. Because I know I can't handle it."
"Then might I suggest you two keep a bit more distance between your baby makers" says Haymitch dryly and begins to lay out the cards for another round of solitaire. "Those pills I presume you take are no guarantee. What will you do if you one day realize that he's knocked you up, huh sweetheart?" He gives me a firm look. "That's what you need to think about."
The reality of what he's saying overcomes the embarrassment I feel at the mentioning of mine and Peeta's private entanglements. I don't believe Haymitch is advocating lifelong chastity but rather that he's trying to make me think long and hard about how I truly feel. There is always a small risk involved, truthfully I have been a bit nervous for a few days every month in case I would get a sign that the pills have failed me, and as long as I'm in a real relationship with Peeta this is going to be a possibility. I don't want children but I also don't want to give up my sex life with the man I'm in love with. The closeness, the pleasure, the intimacy... Something we share that is truly ours and gives us an outlet for all the things we feel that words cannot describe. It's a risk I'm willing to take and I know that the odds are for once in my favour but there are never any guarantees.
"If that happens..." I say slowly after a minute. "Then I suppose I will be a mother."
"There are easy ways to end unwanted pregnancies, you know that" says Haymitch a touch too casually.
"I couldn't" I say. "Not Peeta's baby. There's no way I could ever abort a child by him."
"That's good that you know that" says Haymitch much more gently and he reaches out a hand, placing it on top of mine. "It's not my place to interfere in your relationship and only you and him can decide what's right for you as a couple. But it would have pained me a great deal if he had fathered the child I know he badly wants and you took it away."
I give Haymitch a cold look.
"Well I wouldn't" I say firmly.
"Good. I think you might have your compromise right there."
A dozen insulting comments and clever comebacks are on my lips but I can't seem to get them out. He gives me a pointed look and then returns to his cards. He doesn't need to say anything else. I'm not so adamantly against children that I would take away one that has already been conceived and begun to exist. If I had been then it might get really complicated at some point in our future. I lean back in the chair and grab another handful of grapes. I'm not sure what to make of this, really. The fact that I would not terminate a pregnancy by Peeta means he might get his wish one day and have kids. But it's a faint hope to cling to.
"I'm not going to tell him that though, and neither are you" I say to Haymitch. "It would be cruel. It implies hope."
"You're not as adamant against kids as you think you are" says Haymitch.
"What the hell do you know about it?" I snort.
"I know that you don't hate kids. I know that you have a maternal streak about you. I know that the reason you don't want them is that you don't feel safe enough to have them. Some day that might change."
I say nothing for a while, chewing grapes and flicking the seeds across the table. Peeta must have stayed behind after dinner and cleaned everything up because there's not a dirty dish in sight yet I don't feel bad about scattering grape seeds all over. It's not like Haymitch won't make a mess real soon anyway.
"How was he?" I then ask. "Did he seem okay?"
"He didn't talk about you, if that's what you're asking."
It is, to an extent. I can only imagine what goes through his mind right now. He must have genuinely thought I wanted children, or at least that I was open to the idea, and I can understand that it came as a shock to him that I'm so against it. On top of that I yelled at him about it as if he's in the wrong and then I haven't spoken a word to him in a few days.
"Did he seem okay?" I ask again.
"Why don't you go ask him?"
The front door is locked but I have a key. The door opens with a creek that reminds me he doesn't spend a lot of time here anymore. Except these past days. I step inside the house which is strangely unfamiliar to me considering my close connection to its owner. Peeta and I have never spent much time here together. I take off my coat and realize the coat hanger is not even on the same side of the door as it is in my house or Haymitch's. I hang the coat up and take off my shoes to avoid getting melting snow everywhere.
I say his name but get no response. I walk into the kitchen and find it empty with no lights on, though on the counter sit some very familiar sights. Flour, sugar, various baking paraphernalia. So that's what he's been doing these past days. I look up at the clock on the wall and see that it's past eight. The house looks like he's called it a night and gone upstairs to sleep but since when does Peeta go to bed at eight o'clock at night?
I walk up the stairs, trying to remember which room is his bedroom. Since the house seems ready for the night perhaps I ought to come back tomorrow but it seems strange to me that he would have gone to sleep already. Perhaps he's just not planning on going downstairs again this evening. He might be up painting or reading a book or doing any number of things. I say his name again but still get no response. I hope he's still awake. I don't want to have to wait till tomorrow morning to talk things over and be on good terms again. I'm tired of being at odds with one another and I'm not sure I can take another night without him near.
I remember which room he sleeps in and knock carefully on the door. When I get no answer I push the door open with my foot and my eyes fall on him right away. He has indeed gone to bed and is asleep already. I turn to leave but then I hear a moan pass over his lips. I turn and look at him, wondering if I really heard it or if I just imagined it. Then he whimpers and I realize what's going on. I don't recall ever seeing it before but Peeta is having a nightmare. I usually sleep through his bad dreams, never knowing about them unless he tells me in the morning, but there's no doubt in my mind that he's having one right now. Then suddenly he gasps and his eyes shoot open. I stand frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do at first even though I probably should given how often I find comfort in Peeta's arms when I've had a bad dream.
Before I can decide on what to do he sees me and lifts himself up on his elbow. Suddenly I wonder what he was dreaming about. He once told me that his dreams were mostly about losing me. That was before the was hijacked by the Capitol. Are his bad dreams still the same?
"It's just me" I say, in case my appearance in the doorway startled him. I walk closer to the bed. "I came to talk to you but you were already asleep. You had a nightmare." He nods. "The same kind you used to have? That you told me about on the train?" He nods again. Without knowing if he even wants me here after the argument we had I get up on the bed and sit on my knees in front of him. "I'm here" I tell him. "You haven't lost me. You never will lose me. I don't care what we fight about or what might happen; you will never lose me. And I love you. So much that it scares me."
His hand reaches out and runs through my hair. Tired of being at odds with each other and realizing that he needs me now like I so often need him in the night I lean in and kiss him to prove my words. He hesitates only for a second before parting his lips and letting me in. I wrap my arms around him, he buries both his hands in my hair. We stay like that until we both need to come up for air.
"You're welcome under the covers if you'd prefer" he says.
I grin and sit up straight, pulling my sweater over my head. It takes about a minute for me to shed my clothes and crawl underneath the covers and I realize this is the first time I've ever been in Peeta's bed. He's always been the one who comes to mine.
I let my hand caress his cheek before I lean in for another kiss. I haven't apologised to him and he hasn't apologised to me but it doesn't seem like it will be necessary. I've really missed him and he's clearly missed me too. All that matters to me right now is being together and making him feel safe after his dream.
It turns out Haymitch was right. We do occasionally have our fights. And the make-up sex is fantastic.
I wake up screaming from a nightmare that must have been worse than usual for the intense panic and disorientation does not release its hold even though I can't remember what the dream was about. I gasp for breath, trembling and so anxious it's almost physically painful. Peeta's arms are around me just a heartbeat after I awake. With my eyes closed and my voice coming out in short bits between the gasps I repeat to myself the mantra that helps keep me sane.
"My name is Katniss Mellark. I am thirty-two years old." The words are merely a faint whisper, just enough so that I can hear them myself, but they usually help. Not as much tonight, for whatever reason. Still I continue. "My husband is Peeta. My sister Prim is dead. I live. I survived two Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. That was fifteen years ago."
That is as far as I get tonight. There are a few more statements to repeat but I can tell they won't be any help this time. When the faint whisper of my voice goes silent Peeta makes his own addition.
"You are safe at home" he says in a soothing voice. "Everything is okay."