Chapter 8
The night after my altercation with Cato and Marvel, I left both doors open again. I hadn't shared any details about the incident with Peeta, but I still think he suspected something had happened to upset me. All evening he seemed to be trying to lighten the mood for me by telling me stories about the various antics he and Mathew pulled as boys, stories I had been hoping to eventually hear. For the most part, it worked. I had mostly relaxed before bedtime, but it seemed that no sooner had I shut my eyes than I was reliving the event yet again.
I woke up on my own. I sat up abruptly, and pulled my knees to my chest. When did I become such a coward? I wondered. Never before had I relied on someone else to make my fears go away. I may have talked with Gale about things that were bugging me, but I never looked to him for physical comfort to help me cope with them. Yet, here I was, sitting in my room staring at the ghostly outline of the door to Peeta's room, craving his strong touch to make me feel safe again. The idea terrified me almost as much as the nightmare of Cato and Marvel had. In the end, I lied to myself: I convinced myself that I was only going to Peeta's room to make sure that he actually was sleeping.
I crept into his room guided only by the moonlight. Peeta had tossed aside the covers and slept with his limbs spread out across the bed. His expression was far from peaceful. Instantly, I felt guilty. How petty and small my own nightmares were in comparison! I couldn't even imagine the terrible things that surely haunted his slumber. I could imagine that it was horrible and grotesque, but I hadn't experienced war the way he had. As his nurse and as his friend, I should have checked on him out of true concern for him, but instead I had merely used him. I reached out to smooth a wayward lock of hair from Peeta's forehead.
In an instant, Peeta sat up straight with a strangled cry. His arms flailed out in defense against some unseen enemy, and I jumped back barely evading a blow. Blind eyes stared wildly into the darkened room.
"Peeta, it's all right," I said softly from my safe distance. "It's just me...Katniss."
"Katniss," he managed to say between ragged breaths. He leaned his head against the headboard and covered his face with his hands. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"No," I assured him. I sat down on the bed with my side pressed against him.
"Come to chase off the dragon?" he joked uneasily.
I pressed my palm against his cheek, relishing the slightly rough texture of his evening beard. "Weren't you the one who said we were safer together?" I whispered.
"Sometimes I think you are the most dangerous person I know," he quipped as he patted the spot beside him on the bed. "I don't think I'll go back to sleep for a while, but I can hold you a bit if that will help you sleep."
"Then let's keep each other company until we can sleep." I took my spot beside him, and curled up on my side facing him.
"You didn't say much about your visit with your sister," he commented as he nearly mirrored my own pose. Our noses were so close they nearly brushed, but I didn't move away.
"We had a wonderful time. We ate lunch and did a bit of shopping. Nothing too exciting," I answered. An omission wasn't really a lie, I reasoned. "What did you do today?"
"Nothing much. Rue helped me write a letter to Aunt Effie. That girl actually has quite a good head on her shoulders, by the way," he commented. "I wasn't very optimistic when she offered to help me, but I think her spelling actually may be better than mine."
"She loves to read," I told him with a smile.
Peeta nodded against his pillow. "I told her to help herself to any of the books downstairs. I don't really think she'd be too interested in the ones in my old room, but she's free to read those, too, if she wants."
I hadn't really given much thought to the sleeping arrangements. It did stand to reason that he had been put in this room due to the connection it shared to mine. I wondered which room had been his before, and what it looked like. Would there be any little pieces of his old life left there? Maybe something he would still be able to enjoy. I didn't voice my thoughts outright. I'd see to it on my own, and bring it up later.
"You liked to read?" I asked instead.
"I did," he replied. "Before I left the hospital, they had just begun teaching me some things to help me be more independent. Someone showed me this kind of writing called Braille. There are these little raised dots that form letters. I hadn't actually started to learn yet, but it's nice to know it's out there. Who knows, maybe someday, I'll be able to read again."
"Why didn't you learn while you were there?"
He let out a snort of disgust. "My mother thought it was degrading for a Mellark to be left in amongst the common rabble. She convinced my father to pull enough strings to convince my doctors that I would be better off at home with my family's private physician tending to me. After I got home, it seemed that every time I tried to help myself or wanted to find a way to do something on my own, there was someone telling me it was useless, to just let someone else do it for me."
"And your whole family just went along with it?" I demanded feeling a slow boil of rage begin beneath my skin.
"Don't get upset about it. I think they meant well," he said obviously trying to convince himself just as much as he was me—if not more.
Deciding not to push the matter to far, I sighed. "What kinds of things were they teaching you at the hospital?"
"Basic things: getting in and out of the chair on my own, dressing myself, feeding myself without wearing most of it, starting to walk. Just basics," he replied casually.
"Walking? You mean with wooden legs? You never said anything about that." I sat up and frowned uselessly at him for all I was worth.
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter much, does it? Even at the hospital, they pretty much told me that I will never be able to do it on my own because I can't see where I'm stepping. I'll need someone to help make sure that I don't stumble and a cane to support me. They didn't waste too much time on it once it became clear that I'm not getting my sight back. There were other men who could eventually walk on their own to worry about."
"Sometimes, you are just an idiot," I mumbled as I lay back down angrily.
That was huge. How could Peeta not tell me that he could at least walk a little? And he had said it with such flatness, like it was nothing at all. It made me wonder just how convinced his family had him that his rehabilitation meant nothing. Why was it that people seemed to assume that it was all or nothing, he was either one hundred percent normal again or he would be one hundred percent dependent. I had only known him a short time, and I could see how very much small strides mattered to him.
"Don't be mad at me, please," he whispered, reaching out for my shoulder. His fingertips trailed along the lace trimmed sleeve of my nightgown, and seemed to burn through the thin fabric right against my skin.
"I'm not mad," I snapped. "Just irritated."
He let out a soft chuckle. "I know I shouldn't be happy that I've upset you, but I don't think you realize how nice it is to know that you care."
"Can I ask you something personal?" I hedged lightly.
"All right."
"Do you miss your fiance at all?"
Peeta was quiet for a long time. His fingers idly began to swirl along the flesh of my arm in tiny figure-eights. "I suppose that I should," he said eventually. "Delly and I had been friends for as long as I can remember, but I really didn't love her in that way. It's wrong, and I know that I should have loved her more, but I didn't. Looking back, I think I only asked her to marry me because I was scared that if I died that no one would care. I don't blame her for leaving me."
"Then I guess she really didn't love you either," I murmured. I couldn't help but be glad that he didn't love her. It was a hypocritical notion, and I knew it.
"What was Gale like?"
"Why do you want to know?" I asked defensively.
"I just want to get an idea of what the man who you love so much was like," he answered with a shrug. "Don't answer if it upsets you."
Did it upset me? Yes, it did, but not for the reason that Peeta probably thought. Thinking of Gale did still hurt, but I was beginning to come to the realization that it didn't hurt as much as it should have. I truly loved Gale, but I had never let down a single defense to let him in. I wasn't sure that, even if he had lived that we ever would have gotten passed that. After Gale left, I had missed him, but I hadn't spent my days longing for his return. I had accepted that he was away, and then moved on about my business. There was always something going on that demanded my attention at the moment, from Prim to our finances—or lack there of—to my hunting. Gale just didn't enter my mind like he should have.
To be completely honest, I hadn't actually thought much about him at all in the days before I found out he was gone. My own selfishness had blinded me to him until it was too late. Now, I didn't have any right to not think about him. Still, I wasn't ready to talk about him with Peeta.
"I don't want to talk about Gale," I decided aloud.
"Fair enough," he agreed pulling his hand away. "We should both try to get some sleep."
Immediately, I missed his touch. How was it possible to want to hold someone so close, yet want to push them so far away at the same time? I wasn't even ready to consider the implications of it.
We awoke in a mass of tangled limbs again. Somewhere in the night, our bodies had gravitated toward one another. His arms circled around me felt like such a natural pose that I barely balked at the improperness of it. As my mind became fully aware, I began to wiggle my foot in an attempt to banish the pins and needles from my toes. I frowned as I noticed something strange. My knee was nearly on top of his, but only as my leg moved did I really think of the absence of his own limbs. I realize that I had stopped thinking about what was missing when it came to Peeta.
"Sometimes, I can almost still feel them," he murmured as if he were reading my mind.
Like a child caught doing something she ought not be doing, I remove my leg from his quickly and looked away. "Sorry," I said guiltily. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable."
"You weren't."
We spent the majority of the morning dancing on eggshells around each other. I think Peeta requested to take a bath just so that he had a good reason to get away from me for a while. I didn't mind, though. It gave me enough time to go walk in the woods a bit on my own.
I left the path behind not long after entering the treeline. Keeping careful track of where I was, I walked along humming a tune Papa had taught me as a little girl. Though I had no need to hunt for food any longer, I couldn't help but be aware of just how much game there probably was on the Mellarks' property. I ached to go get my gun and spend a morning hunting. I wondered what Peeta would say if I asked him about it sometime. Despite my reluctance to leave, I decided that I shouldn't stay out too long.
As I emerged from the woods, I spotted Thresh and Rue in the yard in front of the the smaller house. Rue was filling a bird feeder with seed while Thresh hung a tiny little birdhouse. Even from the distance, I could see how he was smiling as she chatted away. It was like all of a sudden something clicked into place inside of my head, and I could see why Thresh had reacted to Prim as he had. I didn't get to watch them for much longer before Rue spotted me.
"Good morning, Katniss," she called out cheerily. "Come and see what Thresh made for the little birds!"
Thresh nodded in my general direction as I approached, back to his usual self.
I took a moment to admire the workmanship he'd put into the tiny house. "Very nice. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."
"I bet we'll have all kinds of birds coming to see us now. I bet if they knew who had made it for them, those little fellows would fly right up to Thresh's window to thank him," she said with a giggle. I swear that if Thresh hadn't been so dark skinned that he probably would have turned a bright pink right down to his toes.
"Is Peeta already downstairs?" I asked trying not to laugh.
"Yes, miss," he answered as he collected his tools and turned for the shed.
Watching him leave, Rue frowned. "I didn't mean to embarrass him," she said sadly. "Especially, not after he's been so sweet to me."
"Oh?" I intoned curiously.
"I've been a little homesick, and Thresh sat up with me most of last night to talk. I must have seemed so childish to him," she said looking away.
"Well, he is a good bit older than you are. I'm sure he understands," I assured her.
Rue gave me a strange look. "Just how old do you think he is?"
I shrugged. "Twenty-three, or so. A little older than me."
"He's just turned eighteen a few weeks ago," she corrected. "People think he's older because he's so big and so quiet."
"I guess so," I said thoughtfully.
Rue excused herself to go help Nola in the kitchen, and I stared up at the birdhouse for a moment longer. It wasn't very ornate, but it had obviously been carefully crafted. I wondered if Rue realized that Thresh was in love with her. Somehow, I doubted it.
By the time I made it back inside, Peeta was sitting at the dining room table waiting for me. His hair was combed back and still slightly damp from his bath. I noted several cuts on his cheeks and jaw from what I assumed was his first solo attempt at shaving, but didn't comment on them. He turned my way and smiled as I pulled out a my chair.
"I was about to send a search party. I thought you might have gotten lost," he teased.
"I never get lost," I told him defiantly.
He chuckled. "Mathew and I did once. I was eight, and we had decided to go exploring. It took Nola's husband, Jeremiah, almost six hours to find us. Mother whipped us both that day so good that we barely were able to sit down for supper."
"Papa used to take me out in the woods with him all of the time. He taught me how to hunt and what plants and berries are good to eat," I told him. "I'm certainly no city girl."
"And I'm certainly no sportsman. Before joining the army, I'd never even held a gun." He paused for a moment and frowned. "I really can't say that I am too sorry that I never will again, either."
Before I could reply, Rue came in carrying our breakfast. It was still strange to me to be served in the mornings, especially by someone I was coming to consider a friend. Peeta didn't seem to think much of it, but unlike his brother, he at least thanked Rue as she set the plate before him.
Sliding his fingers across the table, he reached for his coffee cup. "I was wondering if we could try something," he said uneasily.
"Like what?"
"Well, the way they did it in the hospital at meal times. The nurse who brought it for me would tell me where things were on the try by what 'time' they were located at. You know, like a clock," he explained.
The simple description of what was located where on his plate seemed to make a big difference. Though he ended up with some of his egg yolk on his shirt, it was nice to see him actually eat his entire meal. I wasn't sure exactly what had changed in Peeta that day, but breakfast was the first time that I had seen him actively try to be more independent. It was really wonderful to see in contrast to the sullen man I had met only days before.
After breakfast, he surprised me once more. We were sitting on the porch, hoping for a breeze to cut through the humid heat that was already building. Peeta had rolled up his sleeves, and I had undone the top two buttons of my blouse in a vain attempt to stay even a bit cooler.
"Your father didn't happen to also teach you to swim, did he?" he asked thoughtfully
"He did," I confirmed.
"If you're up for it, I was thinking maybe we could go for a dip."
At first, I was hesitant to agree. I had an image of myself trying desperately to keep Peeta from drowning, but then I thought about it for a moment. There really wasn't any reason why he wouldn't still be able to swim. And then another image came to mind: one of Peeta with his bare chest floating in the lake. An unwanted wave of desire hit me. Swimming was a terrible idea!
"All right," I answered pushing aside my traitorous thoughts.
He grinned like a little boy who had just been given a peppermint stick. "Wonderful. I took a chance and had Rue lay out one of Aunt Effie's swimming costumes for you."
"Aunt Effie's swimming costume?"
"Did you think I expected you to swim nude?" he asked with his eyes sparkling mischievously. "If you'd prefer it, I wouldn't mind at all. I could even be persuaded to join you."
I smacked him upside the head as I stalked off. "Cad," I huffed
"What? I was only thinking of your comfort," he said wryly.
However, when I saw what I supposed to wear for swimming, I think I regretted not agreeing to go naked. It was a God-awful, blue creation with pink bows on the shoulders and a short ruffled skirt about the waist that did little more than hide the ugly, square-cut shorts. Who wore frills to swim in? With a groan, I shed my clothing and changed into the borrowed swimsuit. To my dismay, it was even uglier on. I looked like a caricature of a shepherdess. I wondered what kind of woman actually wanted to wear the damned thing. Worst of all, I could only imagine that some fancy lady had paid good money for this.
Peeta was waiting for me when I finally had the guts to let myself be seen again. His own swim attire was much more functional than my own. It was a simple solid blue body suit that bared his muscular arms and shoulders wonderfully. However I noticed that he had draped a towel over his lap and didn't look any happier about what he was wearing than I did. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," he muttered as I began to push him toward the door.
"Why? At least you don't have to wear pink bows," I joked.
He barely smiled at my attempt at humor. "My stumps aren't exactly pleasant to look at. I should have thought of that before. Maybe, I can hold the towel around me while I get out of the chair to spare you the sight."
I had never considered that I hadn't actually seen what was left of his legs. Peeta was always very quick to grab his clothes and change in the bathroom in the mornings. I hadn't really thought anything of it until that very moment, but I guessed that he was more self-conscious of his injuries than he actually was concerned with propriety.
"It's probably not as bad as you think," I told him. "After all, you can't really see it yourself. I'm sure you're much to hard on yourself."
His snort of laughter was so bitter that it hurt. "You have no idea. My left leg was blown completely off, and the doctors took the right one when it turned gangrenous. Do you think that it all healed up nice and clean? Here, have a look for yourself," he spat as he pulled aside the towel to reveal his wounds.
I didn't want to look. It was much easier to think of him as he was now and not to think about just how horrific his injuries must have been when they first happened, but I found myself staring at the mangled flesh left behind. Peeta had been right: it wasn't a pretty sight. Puckered, red scar tissue stretched out around the oddly shaped appendages making me wince instinctively. Even the the right side that had been surgically removed was far from "nice and clean." In fact, the only thing that I could think was that he had endured a kind of pain that I would never really understand. Still, it wasn't revulsion that I felt when I looked at him, nor was it pity. I reached out at touched my fingertips to the bared skin on his knee, and he immediately stiffened.
"It's just a part of you, Peeta. Under the scars, it's all flesh and bone like any other part of you," I said defiantly.
"How do you do that?" he asked with a sad smile.
"Do what?"
"Say exactly what I need to hear."
I shrugged. "Maybe you just need to hear the truth."
We made our way to the dock without any further discussion. I had meant to ask him just how he planned to manage this, but I figured that he'd tell me what I needed to know when we got down to it. I stopped his chair a couple of feet from the end of the dock, and held the it steady while he swung himself to the ground.
"Mathew and I used to race down from the back porch every year. Whoever jumped in first got to the biggest piece of pie that evening after dinner," he said as he pulled himself to the edge.
"Who usually won?" I asked.
"I did, of course. And I'm going to win this year, too."
Before I realized that I had been challenged, Peeta pushed himself off of the dock with a huge splash. I stood on the edge peering down at the water for what felt like eternity. Just as panic began to set in, he surfaced with a huge smile.
"Feels amazing," he told me as he began floating on his back.
"You idiot!" I cried out.
He just laughed at my outrage. "Get in, Katniss. The water feels wonderful, and I think you'll be a little less angry with me when you aren't standing there baking in the sun."
If it hadn't been such a hot day, I think I would have stood there just to spite him. I climbed down the ladder and into the cool water with a sigh of relief. My feet touched the slimy silt bottom of the lake, and I didn't mind. I was too happy to finally be out of the heat to care about much else as I began to swim toward Peeta who was still floating on his back.
"You aren't mad enough at me to let me hit the dock are you?" he asked.
"I just might," I told him jokingly.
He smiled and took a few powerful strokes away from me. The ease with which he moved through the water wasn't lost on me. I realized that he had a grace and agility here that would forever be lost to him on land. His arms moved with a practiced precision pulling him farther out that I would have dared to go, but I wasn't about to impede his new found freedom. Eventually he turned back my way, and moved to his back once more.
"How close am I?"
"Ten feet to the dock and about five or so away from me," I supplied.
He followed the direction of my voice and reached out a hand that I instinctively took. Steadying himself by holding my shoulders, he gave me a sheepish grin. "I just can't tread water the way I used to," he admitted.
"Other than that, you don't seem to be having any problem at all," I reminded him gently.
"I don't think I would ever get out if I didn't have to."
I paused and stared at the sun glistening off of his water beads that trailed down his face. "You're not a foolish knight, either," I announced after a moment.
"Oh? Then what am I now?"
"A merman," I answered easily.
"And are you my very own mermaid?" he asked with a seductive laugh.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I don't think so."
He let tugged at my braid gently. "Or perhaps a pirate on the high seas? I'll swim beside your ship waiting for my chance to pull you down to the deep with me."
"Maybe I am a shark who likes to eat mer-people for lunch," I suggested splashing him with annoyance.
"No, you are my very own pirate princess. You're not nearly as hard as you'd like me to believe," he told me becoming slightly more serious.
I pulled out of his grasp. "Don't be so sure."
"I am sure," he countered undeterred. "You'd have been long gone like the others if you were. If I didn't know any better, I might even say that you like it here with me.
"We should get out," I told him avoiding the topic. "I'm starting to prune up."
He shook his head. "One of these days, you are going to actually start talking to me. I guess I'll have to be the patient one until then."
We soon found that getting Peeta out of the water wasn't nearly as easy as it had been for him to get in. It took a few tries, but he managed to pull himself up the ladder with only his arms and onto his stomach. However, once he was back in his chair, he looked rather satisfied with his accomplishment.
I didn't think I would be able to accept the lack of mobility so easily if it were me, but he seemed to be able to see the brighter side of the situation. I remembered Peeta telling me that I didn't know how different I was, and I wondered if the converse was true. Did he realize just how different he was? Most people would have been complaining or have even given up when faced with some of the challenges that he was, but there he was drying off and looking quite pleased with his day. I think that's why I pushed him so much. He had it in him to make it beyond all of this. It wasn't lip-service when I said that he didn't have to be dependent and helpless for the rest of his life. I wished for just one moment that he could take a look through my eyes at the man before me.
"I wish we could do this every day," he sighed as we headed back to the house.
"Weather permitting, I don't see why we can't," I said.
"I suppose that we should probably send away for a bathing suit without bows," he teased.
"It would be nice."
He chuckled. "I actually like the bright pink. It's easier to see."
"Pick another color. I despise pink," I told him flatly.
"Orange, then," he replied.
"Orange? You want me to dress like a pumpkin?" I asked incredulously.
"I don't think of pumpkins when I think of orange. I think of sunsets," he corrected me. "I should buy you a whole closet full of clothes in orange and red and gold."
"And maybe you should just keep me in the hearth," I quipped.
Peeta shrugged. "I could use a little fire in my life."
