Author's Note: Thanks for taking the time to review, Anonymous. I truly appreciate it! I have more of a twist later in mind but I hope this is a good mini-twist to build up to it in the meantime. Sorry this chapter is massive! And warning, there are maybe three instances of profane language but it isn't intended to be gratuitous. This is how I think a heated conversation would occur.
CHAPTER 10
When I wake up just as the sun is beginning to peak above the horizon, Peeta is there next to me, sleeping soundly in a puddle of his own saliva. I make a mental note to wash the pillow and its case.
I hold my breath and creep silently out of bed without bothering to shower since I'll only return with the stench of death on me. I pull on my pants, a shirt, and my hunting jacket. My body is sore so I just throw back my hair into a loose ponytail and grab my bow and quiver. Before I silently step out of the room, I pause a moment to look at Peeta. I'd slept near him multiple times of course but he looks completely different: he's relaxed and in a deep sleep that isn't riddled with anxiety. He looks peaceful and rather boyish which makes me think back to that eleven-year-old boy with the bread. I can't wake him. Not like this. I silently close the door and make my way to the woods.
My concentration is ruined when a breeze gently tousles my hair in my face. I breathe it in and find that I smell different. I smell like him. I shake the scent from my memory and trudge on. Possibly due to my inattention or due to the heavy scent of sweat that still clings to my skin, I'm rather unsuccessful this morning. My mind wanders to Gale. It catches me off guard since I have not thought much about him in months; it seems especially inappropriate and deceitful after yesterday. But still, I can't help but miss his assistance as my hunting partner. I'd be more successful with his help.
Disappointedly, I return to the diner with only squirrels in my traps. On difficult days, we can at least fall back on Haymitch's geese (and now hens) and their eggs. Once I've removed the pelts from their bodies, I present the meat to Greasy Sae and Haymitch who are prepping for the day. Delly won't be in until open; she's that person who just barely makes it on time everywhere she goes.
I notice Peeta isn't in making the morning bread.
"Where's Peeta?" I ask.
Haymitch shrugs. "I tried calling his house but he wasn't there. I thought he'd overslept. I'm worried about him."
Thank goodness, I thought. He didn't try to reach me at my place to see if I had seen him at the diner this morning before hunting as I usually did.
"But then I called your house to get a hold of you and low and behold, guess who was on the other line."
"Oh, that's funny," I say. I quickly think of a lie. "I didn't come by this morning for my usual coffee and sweet roll so maybe he stopped by to see if I had overslept."
"I don't really care why. He's late."
Just then, Peeta rushes through the kitchen door, his hair sticking up on one side. Had he not bothered to look in the mirror?
"Oh, look who's shown up. Busy day off yesterday, huh?" Haymitch accuses.
And just then, Peeta and I make eye contact: very brief eye contact that surely only lasts a millisecond. A blush begins to creep into my cheeks and I have to believe that Peeta is experiencing a similar phenomenon. None of this is lost on Haymitch.
"So, you two are sleeping together." He states matter-of-factly.
"What!" I feign surprise.
"N-no," Peeta stammers.
"Listen to me, the both of you. This stops right now. The Games are over and the War is over. You are work colleagues now and this is entirely inappropriate. I won't have my business be put at stake because Peeta is ridiculous and can't get over you and because apparently Katniss is a spoiled toddler who only wants to play with a toy when someone else is playing with it. You two idiots better control your hormones or you're out."
Peeta and I stand dumbfounded. Had he really just said that?
"You're kidding yourself," I scream at him, nostrils flaring in anger. "You know as well as we do that this shithole diner would fold without either of us."
"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he spits.
"People come here to see me, the Mockingjay. They come here for Peeta's famous baked goods and his talent. People want us. They don't give a shit about your geese or Greasy Sae's heart attack specials or Delly's boobs. Without us, you have nothing. Face it: without me or Peeta, you'd be nothing. You'd still just be the town drunk, the embarrassing Victor from District 12 without friends or family because you're such a miserable person. You're so miserable that you insist everyone else is miserable with you and you push people away. It's obnoxious—not endearing and I am so so sick of it!"
We all stand in the fallout of what I've just said. I mean, it's true. It's entirely true and we all know it. There's no point in trying to take it back or in apologizing because well, how can I apologize for something that's honest? My delivery was just not so great.
Just then, Delly bursts through the door.
"Hi guys!" she says jubilantly and then stops when she sense the tension in the room. "Is everything ok?"
I roll my eyes at her and make my exit out the back door of the kitchen. I can hear Haymitch continuing to lecture Peeta but he ignores him and follows me.
"Katniss, wait."
I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone. I continue on.
"Would you just stop for a second?"
I halt my livid steps and turn around to face Peeta and find that my anger subsides a bit.
"Look, Haymitch is an asshole. I'll give you that. But I think he's just looking out for us."
"He's looking out for himself!" I begin to walk away in a huff (to where? I don't know) but Peeta grabs my hand and stops me. I forget how strong he is when he wants to be when he's constantly such mush on the inside.
"Katniss, he's looking out for all of us. We have to have some sort of sustainability and we're all better together than we are apart. The rebellion may be over but you have to know we aren't without enemies. There have got to be people in the Capitol that would still pay top dollar to watch us starve again on national television. The world hasn't just changed over a couple of years."
I stare at him with crossed arms. What have I been doing? I've been so focused on my own depression, on the morphling, on my—whatever it is—with Peeta that I've willingly removed myself from the actual reality of things. The actual reality is that, while to some, Haymitch, Peeta, and I will always be war heros, our lives will always be in danger. In the fragile state of forming a new government, it cold easily be overthrown. While the richest in the Capitol may be the minority, they've held the power and the nation's resources for many years. They've formed allies with the more affluent districts. This power formed over centuries—even prior to the Dark Days. It can't just all unravel in a matter of a few years.
When had Peeta gotten so insightful about this kind of stuff?
I'm silent for a moment before continuing, "I don't know what I had expected it to be like. I think I thought we'd go back to the way things were in District 12 but without the Hunger Games or the hunger. I thought—" I begin to choke up and find that I can barely breathe while trying to fight back my tears. "Peeta, we worked so hard. This is what we fought for?"
He takes me in his arms and whispers into my hair.
"We have freedom."
"We don't. We will always be Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen. I don't want that. I don't want to remember or be remembered as the Mockingjay or the girl that almost committed suicide on national television or the girl that assassinated a president or the Girl on Fire. I just want to be me."
"That is you. It was always you. Cinna just helped you find that within yourself."
"Oh, Cinna," I wail. "And he died for it."
"He died because he believed in you. I believe in you. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but Haymitch believed in you, too."
"I can't stand to work for Haymitch anymore. I've been taking the morphling each morning just to get myself to work. I can't stand to talk to these people about the same things over and over and replay the worst moments of my life. I just want to escape it."
"You can't escape it and neither can I. We just need to get used to it."
And overwhelming feeling of despair washes over me and I know that Peeta is absolutely right.
"Katniss, before you and Delly got to the party the other night, Haymitch and I were talking. Haymitch was telling me his greatest accomplishment in life has been the two of us. He told me he'd be worthless without us. He needs us more than you think."
I slant the corner of my mouth up into a half-smirk, dubious.
"He said as soon as we stood up to him on the train, he knew we were it and he couldn't let us go down without a fight. It was the first time we had really…you know…ever actually candidly talked about those Games."
"That's so weird," I say.
"He's worried about you, though. He said he sees you going down the same self-destructive path he did and he doesn't want that for you. He loves you."
"Peeta, Haymitch doesn't love anyone but Haymitch."
"Katniss, Haymitch told me he loves you."
I don't know what to say. It's weird to think of Haymitch like…like… I had to consider this. Did I love Haymitch, too? I try to think back about what it was like to love a parent.
"If he loves me so much, why is he being like this about us?"
Peeta doesn't answer because I've already answered the question for myself. Is it possible that Haymitch loves both Peeta and me to the point that the two of us actually being involved—and not just playing it for the cameras—gives him a sense of unease in a fatherly sort of way? Had he not truly been calling me a tease but had actually been saying in his own crude, Haymitch-y sort of way, 'Peeta's my boy. Be good to him'?
And then I get it. Haymitch doesn't know how to be a parent or a friend. Haymitch doesn't know how to be an adult. All he knows is how to keep people at arms' length before watching them go as lambs to the slaughter. He's learned nothing except that emotional intimacy of any kind is futile and only leaves you vulnerable. Haymitch doesn't like vulnerability. Neither do I.
This is why I've been distracting myself with these things over the past few months, only to be dragged out of my comfort zone by Peeta who is much more resilient than any of us could have thought. Sure, he has little discernible skill other than his trade, but he isn't afraid. He is impenetrable to any sort of manipulation, even to the complex neurological manipulation of hallucinogenic-induced false memories.
I look at Peeta and see him differently now. He isn't just the boy who silently cried himself to sleep before the morning of boarding the train for the Capitol. He has his own fire, really, that can't be eradicated. Looking at the man who stands before me now, I can't even imagine how any of us had overlooked this. It's irresistible to me and I pull him in for a kiss, pressing my nails against the nape of his neck.
He begins to kiss me back briefly before pushing me away.
"No, no, stop. I can't go back in if you kiss me like that and we need to sort things out with Haymitch."
I relent and follow Peeta back to the kitchen, not knowing what I'd say. I've never been great at apologizing or admitting fault. Fortunately, Haymitch is nowhere to be found. Peeta and I head toward the dining area and find the usual morning clientele at the counter, engrossed in a gossip magazine. I think nothing of it until Peeta stops and I nearly run into him.
"K-Katniss…" he stammers. It takes a moment for it to register when I follow his gaze.
There, on the magazine covers, is a picture of Peeta and I from the interview following the 74th Hunger Games engaged in—
And my stomach twists into a tiny knot when I realize that no, it isn't a picture from the 74th Hunger Games because Peeta and I are entwined in what is clearly an unstaged moment of passion with the strap from my dress seductively hanging off my shoulder.
The headline reads: The New Hunger Games and in smaller subtype: Katniss and Peeta hungry for each other, exclusive from District 12!