Hi guys!
Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I have never expected to earn this much recognition for my work, so it is honestly like a dream come true! You guys are truly motivating me to continue writing - and considering my profile, this is the only story I am often updating. I have worked really hard in this fic, and I will continue to do so in the chapters to come. Please feel free to continue reviewing, favoriting, and following. It is seriously motivating me to write, I mean, I have exams next week but I'm still writing for you guys xD Love you all! Just wanted to make sure that your help has not gone under appreciated!
Alright, back to the story. I have another angsty chapter for you guys - and it might seem that this story is moving quickly,but trust me, there is much more to come. I'm only setting up the tension and the angst for future chapters, which you guys will see later on as the story progresses. I know you guys are probably eager to hear about Peeta's story, but I'm not going to spoil it for you guys yet - although some of you might already have a hunch of what happened to him (hint: it's not only the child abuse) ;). Oh, and those who are following my other story, "Play it Again"...I'm sorry it has been over 7 months since I have last updated. I have not given up on it, life just got in the way and I got really busy. And I just really wanted to focus on this story right now. However, I already have a chapter ready for you guys, and I'll be sure to update by Sunday.
Wow, I've written an annoucement much longer than I originally intended it to! Now, go along! Read! :)
As always, review, favorite and follow!
*I own nothing*
Confused, I step back from him. "What do you mean?" I ask, watching him carefully.
He blinks the tears away, and shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm going to class now."
He begins to walk away from me, but I take his hand, preventing him from leaving me. I need to know what is happening to Peeta. He has been avoiding me for all this years, and I'm not going to let him go now. "No, stay Peeta. What did you mean?"
Peeta turns sharply towards me, locking his eyes with my own. His eyes are full of fire. He throws my hand away from his, and states angrily, "It's nothing."
"It is something!" I tell him pleadingly. "Or else you wouldn't have said it in the first place."
"It shouldn't matter to you," he spits. "So you finally came crawling back to me after all these years, huh? Where were you for all this time?"
I have honestly no idea what he's talking about. I watch as his irises darkens as they lock on my face, and his cheeks reddening. "I was always here," I reply carefully. "I should be asking you this question instead. You're the one who started to avoid me in the tenth grade."
"Did you ever wonder why I avoided you? Did you ever wonder why I came to school beaten into a pulp? Did you ever wonder why I started doing all this crap?" he sneers, gripping his fists tightly into balls. For a second I think he's going to punch me, but he wouldn't do that. I know that the 16-year old Peeta is still inside of him - deep, deep inside.
But that isn't the issue right now. "Of course I always used to wonder," I fire back, trying to seem sure of myself. But it is true, I suppose. His bruises that appeared time to time did seem suspicious, and couldn't possibly be formed by play fighting with his brothers.
It is as if the events are beginning to flash back into my mind. I remember Peeta coming to school on the first day of tenth grade, eyes sullen and pale face. I was furious that Peeta wasn't picking up my calls over the summer, and he wouldn't open his door whenever I used to come to his house. So I haven't had any contact with him for months. So I avoided him, yeah. But that was because he avoided me during the summer, making it clear we were not friends anymore. We hadn't talked for months. I had taken note of his body beginning to frail, the paling of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, his lack of social life, the constant fights he was in, the cigarettes between his teeth…
"Then why didn't you do anything about it?" he cries, suddenly taking his head into his hands. "Why did you just watch by as I fell apart?" Then, he drops to the floor, sobbing. My heart drops at the sight of him in such a fatal position, knowing fully well that there is nothing for me to do to comfort him. It is the first time I have ever seen Peeta cry, especially in a public setting. Guilt throbs in my throat, perhaps feeling as if I were the reason for his tears.
No – it's not perhaps. Of course it is. I am at fault, utterly and truly. I am the reason for his tears.
So, I drop to the floor along with him, and try to pick him up from the ground. At first, he swats my arm away from him, but one thing I can take pride in is my persistence. I no longer care that the library is now quiet, and everybody is looking at us. I don't care if we look ridiculous on the floor like this. Peeta needs me, and this time, I will be there for him. So, pick him up from the ground, taking both of his calloused, dry, and large hands with my own. I realize that's he's cold. Rubbing his palms as if it help circulate the warmth around his hands, I whisper, "I'm here now, Peeta."
Peeta covers his face with is hands, and says wetly, "Just get away from me."
"No, I won't," I reply fiercely. "I can't."
Suddenly, a voice calls from above. "Are you kids are okay?" a stern woman asks.
Tilting my head upwards, I meet eyes with a grey-haired, cold blue-eyed woman with permanent scowl plastered on her face. I tell her impatiently, "We're fine." Peeta has stopped sobbing, but he' still on the floor, and covering his face. I don't want to make a big scene in the library, not like we haven't already.
"Students have reported a lot of noise here. Please take your situation outside of the library. This is a quiet – zone," she states firmly. She points to the exit, and then with her other hand she signals us to get out.
"We're going, we're going," I mumble, trying to help Peeta up from the floor. I take both of our bags and sling them over one of my shoulders, and take Peeta's arm with my other hand to support him. He hands his head to the floor wordlessly. He seems so frail and hopeless, and no matter what I do, I won't make his situation –whatever it is–better. There is always a reason why people act the way the act, Dad would say. He explained to me when I was young that my late uncle, Haymitch, would have to drink away the pain after the loss of my aunt. I never understood it at that time, but now I can realize why people would choose to be drunk instead of sober. You become numb of feelings, outside of reality, without a care in the world. So I know that there has to be reason the way he's acting now. Maybe he's drinking away the pain because he's being abused at home? Possibly. But there are too many grey areas. His father would always step up when Mrs. Mellark insulted or embarrassed him, so there is no doubt he would intervene if he's abusing him. But at the same time, Peeta does cover up the bruises pretty well, it seems that Mrs. Mellark always hits the spots where they won't be exposed. However, Peeta has become accustomed to the abuse –although it was only verbal and emotional before- so he wouldn't be suddenly acting up like this unless there is another reason.
Whatever it may be; the only thing I am sure of in this situation is that Peeta is crying because he's all alone – and I'm the reason for it.
Once I lead him out the door, and the librarian finally removing her hawk-eyes away from us, I lead him to the school exit. I figured that Peeta would like time to be alone now, and he's in no shape to go to the next class. I don't mind I'm skipping biology with Mr Heavensbee, I have always had perfect attendance before. She wouldn't mind too much that I didn't come to class that one time. And besides, Peeta needs me now.
The cold air hits our faces the moment we open the door. The November chill is signalling that winter is to come soon, but we don't care we are without jackets. However, the coldness sending shivers all over my body is not the problem. Kicking the dead leaves as we made our way to an isolated old tree, I think to myself of what I'm going to say to Peeta. There is nothing else to do except to ask what has been happening to him for all these years. I lean against the metal fence, as I watch Peeta stare down at his shoes.
Peeta is the first to talk. "Why did you bring me here?"
I reply smoothly, "I want to help you, that's why."
"You weren't helping me before, especially when I needed it," he says, but his voice is not laced with anger. He's speaking as if he's presenting a report – factually. Yes, it is a fact that I ditched him for all these years. And I have no excuse but to counter that he was avoided me first.
"I don't want to argue, Peeta," I say exhaling. "You're still my friend."
Peeta locks his gaze with mine, eyes still glassy with tears. His cheeks are red with the cold, and the tears are stained on his face. "We're not friends," he states. "You're simply my tutor."
Although it may be freezing, I'm suddenly feeling warm. My blood boils at his response. "As that all I am to you? A tutor?"
"That is the reason why you started to talk to me, yeah?" he responds defensively. "Would you begin talking to me if Crane didn't force you to teach me physics?"
"I didn't know anything that anything was wrong with you," I lie between my teeth. "You never told me. I figured that you didn't want to be my friend anymore in the summer before grade 10."
Peeta looks away, and doesn't respond. We are standing in the cold in silence, the only thing filling the air is the sound of the American flag whipping in the wind. My gaze drops from the flag until I hear a shoes crunching. Eyes meeting Peeta' figure walking away from me, I have nothing else to do but stare as he becomes smaller and smaller off in the distance.
Looking at my watch, I realize that there is still over an hour and thirty minutes left of school. I decide I might as well attend biology class.
The rest of the day goes by like a blur. I don't even realize that the bell rings until I hear the screeches of the chairs grinding against the tiled floor. Everybody rushes out of the door, shouting obscenities and laughing on crude jokes. I am the only one left in the class, scrambling to pack up my things. My biology teacher, Mr. Heavensbee, watches me intently as I throw n my textbook, but I pretend as if I don't notice him. It is not until he clears his throat when I look up to find him, looking at me quite skeptically. I lock my eyes at him momentarily, until he says gruffly, "Miss Everdeen, I'd like to speak with you."
Nodding, I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and walk over to him. "Yes sir?"
"There has been some talk that you have been involved with Mr. Peeta Mellark, is that right, Miss Everdeen.
Staring at him wide-eyed, I stumble out, "Yeah, I'm his tutor."
"You know that's not what I meant," he states. "Your physics teacher, Mr. Crane, has already told me that you were helping Peeta with his studies. But that isn't what I'm concerned about."
My palms sweating, and legs shaking, I still try to control my voice and compose myself. "Then what is the problem, sir? I'm simply trying to help him," I say impatiently.
"I'm not blaming you of anything," he says defensively. "No, no. Not at all. I'm more worried about Peeta than anything else."
That's even worse than I thought before. Do the teachers know about Peeta's wrong-doings? Or worse yet, do they know about what's happening to him at home? Instead, I ask him, almost as if trying to avoid the question, "You don't know Peeta."
Heavensbee raises his eyebrow, his brown eyes twinkling knowingly. That is when I know that he knows. "Miss Everdeen, he's in my period one class. I do know very well, perhaps more than what you would know of him."
"Then why am I here?" I snap. "I have to pick up my sister, sir. I must go now." So then, I prepare to take off in the opposite direction, until he halts me.
"Katniss, wait," he says, voice booming across the room. "Mrs. Coin, the guidance counsellar,has saw both of you in the library. She said Peeta was not in a good shape. We have seen bruises and cuts all over him previously, and his dropping grades and lack of mannerism prove that something is indeed wrong with him. All I would like you to do is to help us help Peeta." So Coin was that stern, hawk-eyed woman who told us to get out of the library. And now. all of them, are involved with Peeta's situation - the situation I'm not even sure of what it is about.
"There's nothing wrong with him!" I say quickly, turning around to face him. "Nothing!"
"Everdeen, please lower your voice," he says cooly. "Mr. Crane, Mrs. Coin and I are involved in Peeta's situation to help him. We are not doing anything to harm him. Instead, we are preventing the harm. You, of all people, have seen his injuries. You know that they are not simply 'wresting accidents'."
That is when the guilt hits me at full force. The blame is undying, overwhelming. It is something I have never felt before. I am, certainly, at fault. I have not felt such pain, in any context, since Uncle Haymitch died. But this pain is something else than sadness - it is the pain knowing that you could've prevented the tragedy only if you had the courage to do so. So I am, utimately, at fault. My indecision hours ago has become clear. There are no doubts anymore.
My gaze fixating on my shoes, I ask, "What do I need to do?"