Warning: Mentions of child abuse. Nothing graphic, pretty vague stuff. But still warrants a trigger warning.
Seize Me
Chapter 10
"Never gonna change my mind,
We can leave it all behind.
Nothing's gonna stop us now,
No, not this time."
Black Veil Brides-Rebel Love Song
The electricity between Peeta and me is intolerable at this point. There is something about elevators and cars that just seem to put me over the edge when I'm in them with him. He's dutifully sitting on the other side of the car from me, toward the front of the limo while I'm toward the back. We couldn't be further away from each other with six people separating us, all jabbering on excitedly and pulling us into conversations. But every time he speaks I can feel the blood in my veins sing, luring me toward this strange man who's caught my attention so thoroughly in the space of a little over a month. It's been two days since I last kissed him, and I can feel the way my body is calling out to him. I try to slam a lid down on it every chance I can, forcing myself to ignore him. But once in a while I'll look up without thinking and find his eyes on me, scorching me across the distance. I immediately lose my train of thought every time it happens, and I can do nothing but stare back at him until he's pulling me into another conversation. And I always feel a small piece of me curl up, like a flower in the cold, bereft of the warm his gaze brings.
The car takes us to a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away from our hotel. I'm skeptical as we get out of the car, unimpressed by the nondescript exterior that screams of a small family business. But I'm surprised when we go inside. Every table is covered with white linen and a solitary candle, set with beautiful white china. The walls are a creamy sort of gold with little lighting to illuminate them, giving the restaurant a cozy feel. It's well lit enough, however, that I can see the restaurant is completely empty.
"Are we sure they're open?" I ask nervously, scanning the deserted restaurant.
"They're open," Gale says smoothly, pushing past Johanna to step further into the restaurant. "They closed the place down so we could have it to ourselves tonight."
I gape at Gale as a waiter in black slacks and a white button-up dress shirt comes striding over, a wide smile plastered on his face as he approaches us. "Are you kidding me?" I gasp. "The whole restaurant?"
"Chill out, Catnip," he sighs with a smile. "It'll be nice."
"Welcome to Icarus, sirs and madams," the waiter says, sweeping his hand out beside him as he adds, "Please, follow me to your table."
We all make our way to follow the waiter, but Peeta hangs back, an uncomfortable expression on his face.
"You guys go ahead," he mumbles. "I'll catch up to you in a bit."
I give him a curious look, tilting my head to the side. "You okay?" I ask, trying not to sound too concerned while everyone stares at us.
"Fine," he gasps, stepping off to the side and making his way toward the side of the restaurant to the sign that says 'restrooms.'
"You sure?" I ask, the worry in my voice barely veiled. I can feel Prim's eyes on the back of my head, boring into me.
"Yeah," Peeta says, giving me a grim smile. "I'll see you in a minute."
And then he's gone, racing toward the restrooms.
"Gross," Johanna scowls, turning to follow the waiter. I have to fight the urge to seize one of the salt shakers off a table and throw it at her.
He leads us to a large circular table in the middle of the restaurant. I try to wait it out while everyone takes a seat, hoping to dive in at the last minute to avoid sitting next to the empty seat I know Peeta will come back to occupy. Dinner before the club all those weeks ago had been hard enough. Now that we've crossed some physical boundaries I can't imagine how I'll be able to handle sitting next to him in a relatively quiet and romantic atmosphere. Even with the others sitting around us, it'd be hard to think about anything other than reaching under the tablecloth and touching whatever bit of him is within close reach. My mind flits over the possibilities quickly, and the muscles below my abdomen clench deliciously in response. It's just the distraction I didn't need, and I end up sitting next to the empty chair.
Shit.
The waiter is back a moment later, filling our glasses with ice water as he explains the chef has planned a very special meal for the evening. He rattles off a list of recommended wines based on the menu and Madge, the wine connoisseur of the group, selects her favorite for the table, a Pinot Noir. The waiter returns with five rounded, stemless wine glasses and pours a small tasting in a glass for Madge to sample. When Madge nods her approval, the waiter quickly pours glasses for the rest of us, then scurries off to pick up our appetizer. The wine is dry and cutting on the tongue, something Madge has taught me goes well with heavy, rich meals. I wonder what this exciting meal is going to be, slowly sipping on my wine while the rest of the group chatters animatedly.
And still, Peeta has not returned.
The waiter returns with a tray bearing seven small plates. He beams at each of us as he places one plate at our seats. On each plate is a large brown ball that appears to have been deep-fried and set on top of a bed of some sort of marinara-related sauce.
"Arancini di Riso, your appetizer," our waiter explains, his smile never wavering as he says it, despite our blank stares.
"A whoda de whato?" Rory asks, poking at his dish with a fork.
While his smile still never falters, the waiter's voice bears a hint of annoyance as he explains, "Risotto balls, stuffed with parmesan."
"Oh," Rory says, drawing the word out as he nods enthusiastically, bringing his knife down cleanly through the middle of the risotto ball. "Cool."
"Thank you," Madge says sweetly to the waiter, whose smile is finally beginning to morph into a disapproving frown. "That will do us for now."
The waiter gives one last quizzical look to Rory, who's obliviously munching away at his appetizer, before quickly striding back toward the kitchen.
"This is delicious," Prim coos around a mouthful of food, eyes closed in appreciation. "Melt-in-your-mouth yummy."
I bring my own fork down through the risotto ball, which gives way easily under the pressure. I break away a bite and dip it in the sauce before bringing it to my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, salty and creamy and delicious. I close my eyes and have to fight back a moan of appreciation. This is delicious. I quickly go for another bite and then another. Before I'm ready for it, my plate is empty. I turn my greedy fork toward the plate to my right, Gale's. He's always quick to let me taste off his plate, so I don't hesitate as my fork reaches toward his. But, to my surprise, it's already empty. I look up at Gale, who's smiling at me lazily.
"Not tonight, Catnip," he teases, pushing his plate away with a moan of satisfaction. I sigh, setting down my fork on my plate a little more aggressively than I'd intended.
Damn you, Gale.
Groaning, I reach for my wine and take a sip, unsurprised to find they're a perfect complement to one another.
"Good?" asks our waiter, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
"Perfect," Gale remarks, leaning back to sip at his wine. I'm impressed by this. Gale is usually a beer guy, and I think this sudden turn toward maturity has a lot to do with the blonde sitting next to him.
The waiter quickly gathers up our empty plates and piles them onto his tray, informing us our meal will be out shortly and he'll return with a fresh wine list for the main course. At the mention of the next part of our meal, it occurs to me we're still missing someone.
"Shouldn't Peeta be back by now?" I ask, aiming for nonchalance in my tone and actually hitting anxious. "It's been awhile..."
"Worried, Kitty?" Johanna asks sweetly, tilting her head and glass back to get the last drops of wine. She sets the glass down with a thud, smiling wickedly at me. "Looking for an excuse to go find him?"
"Shut up," I snap, willing myself to not go pink in the cheeks. "I just think he should be back by now. Someone should go see if he's okay."
"Don't worry about it," Finnick says easily, reaching his arm over to drape over the back of Johanna's chair as he leans back in his seat. "It's under control."
I'm about to ask what he means, why no one's worried about Peeta's absence, when the waiter returns with a new wine list for Madge. She changes it up for the main meal, choosing a Sauvignon blanc. The waiter returns with fresh glasses and a new bottle, which he also gives Madge a taste of.
Her smile is wide as she nods at the waiter and I feel myself smile in response. It's nice to see Madge acting so in control, as if she's comfortable in her skin. She's always been so much like me, an introvert uncomfortable with the limelight. But lately she's been so bright and happy and alive, and it's been bittersweet for me. I'm happy for my friend, but a small part of me worries I'm losing both her and my sister on this trip.
This new wine is also dry, but it's light and crisp as opposed to the Pinot, which was heavy and warming. I can feel the light haze that accompanies wine for me, and all of my muscles relax a little, letting me sink into my chair more. With the womb-like atmosphere of the restaurant, I'm feeling a good bit ready for a nap at the moment.
It's fifteen minutes until the waiter returns with our meal. He's brought a linguine with shrimp scampi dish, a deliciously creamy pasta dish that warms me from the inside out. The conversation fells the mutterings and sounds of agreement as we chow down on the meal, all of us too enraptured by the flavors to be bothered with talking.
Seriously, who the hell does the chef think he is, making something so damn delicious?
Before it seems any of us are ready, the waiter is returning to remove our empty plates.
"Any chance for another helping of that?" Finnick asks, leaning back and rubbing his slightly rounded belly. "That was fucking delicious."
The waiter smiles in response, clearing away the last of our plates as he says, "The chef has something planned for dessert that should tide you over, Mr. Odair. But, if you'd like, I can see if I can get second portions for you all to take with you."
"Please," Gale responds, dropping back the last of his wine. He raises the glass at our waiter as he says, "And more of this, please."
"Ms. Undersee?" the waiter asks, clearly having deduced who the authority on the wine is tonight.
"Whatever the chef recommends," she says sweetly, polishing off her glass as well. "After this meal, I trust his judgment."
The waiter nods. "Of course, Ms. Undersee. And Ms. Katniss Everdeen?"
I'm surprised to hear my name come from the waiter's mouth. I stutter as I say, "Yes?" while fighting the urge to raise my hand.
The waiter sets a plate in front of me, eyes shining with merriment. "This is for you, a gift from the chef." And then he's gone.
I look down at the plate and, to my surprise, see a bun sitting there on my plate. A cheese bun.
"Gale?" I ask, not taking my eyes from the pastry sitting in front of me. "What's going on?
Gale's answer is full of laughter as he says, "Don't look at me, this was his idea."
And suddenly a warm, masculine voice comes from behind me, low and unsure. "How was dinner?"
I turn in my chair to see Peeta standing there, dressed in chef's white. He's scratching the back of his head nervously, a shy smile on his face. He's got a bit of flour on the right side of his nose where it looks like he rubbed his face. His apron is dotted red in a few places, which I deduce to be from the risotto balls sauce.
"You made this?" Prim asks, her tone admiring.
Peeta shrugs. "With some help from the kitchen staff. That's why we rented this place out for the night. I've missed this, so I wanted to cook for you guys tonight. But I didn't want you to know it was me, in case it was awful."
"No," Madge says quickly, a smile blooming on her face. "It was all perfect."
"Yeah," Peeta mutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "That's what Marcus said."
"Marcus?" Johanna asks, tilting her head to the side.
"Your waiter," Peeta explains, gesturing at our waiter, who has returned with a new bottle of wine for our dessert course. "He told me you guys liked everything."
"It was great," Rory says. "Especially those ball things."
"Yeah," Peeta says, fighting a smile as he exchanges glances with our now-annoyed waiter. "I heard you liked them."
Peeta bids us a momentary farewell, heading back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on our dessert course. We all say a round of goodbyes as he leaves, my heart going up into my throat as I do so. Every time this guy walks away from me, it's like more and more of me walks away with him. What's happening to me?
"You going to eat that?" Gale asks, casually making a move to grab the cheese bun off my plate. I raise my fork and give him a gentle stab in the hand with it. Gale's responds with a dramatic yelp, pulling his hand away and acting wounded.
"Hands off, Hawthorne," I growl teasingly, tearing the bun in two. Steam pours out as the bun splits and cheese strings between the two pieces as I pull them apart. As I take a bite, my eyes close in ecstasy for the second time tonight. They're just as delicious as I remember, warming me from the inside out. Memories of Sunday trips to the town bakery after a morning of hunting flood my mind, my father's laugh echoing clearly through the flashes. This is why I love these cheese buns. They're an instant portal back to happier times.
Peeta returns after my cheese bun is gone, bearing eight plates of the most delicious tiramisu I have ever had. He sits beside me to eat his own, cheeks staining red under the flood of compliments bestowed on him. We're all completely stuffed by the time Marcus returns with the promised travel containers of the shrimp scampi along with a small bag of cheese buns for me. I expect Marcus to hand over a bill or something of the like and a small bit of fear opens in my stomach, worried over what the dollar amount for this extravagant evening will be. But instead. Marcus calls our car for us then shows us graciously to the door, thanking us for selecting Icarus for the evening.
As everyone else in climbing into the car, I stick my hand in the cheese bun bag, quickly grabbing one and stuffing it into my mouth. Only a small section of it fits, so I hastily close the bag back up and tuck it under my arm so I can shovel down the bun quickly before it's my turn to climb into the car. Luckily, the wine has gone straight to Rory's head, and it's taken him a few tries to maneuver his way into the vehicle.
"You liked them, then?" Peeta asks, stepping up beside me and putting a hand at the small of my back.
Mouth full, all I can do is blush and nod furiously.
"I'm glad," Peeta says, eyes twinkling in the starlight overhead. "I've wanted to make them for you all tour, but this is my first chance with a real kitchen."
Quickly, I swallow the large bite of cheese bun I've been chewing on. I grimace as it goes down too painfully, too large and poorly chewed to slide down smoothly.
"They were amazing," I gasp, reaching up and clutching my burning throat. Holy hell, that hurt.
Peeta laughs. "Good. Anything to make you happy."
And then his lips are on mine, soft and sweet as we meet. I allow myself to enjoy the kiss for a moment, warmed by the delicious food and wine along with the close proximity of his body to mine. But then I pull away, sighing.
"Peeta," I admonish softly, shooting a glance toward our companions. Gale and Madge are the last ones to get in the car, Gale holding Madge's hand as she eases her way in.
"Hey," Peeta says, the thumb on his hand at my back stroking me softly. "It's okay."
I shake my head, sighing again. "I just can't, not right now. I'm not sure I could handle a famous boyfriend. And with what happened to Johanna today—"
"Hey," Peeta repeats, his tone suddenly firm. "Nothing's changed, Katniss. I'm not asking anything. I get it. I'm just glad to even have this with you."
My lips flutter as I struggle to come up with something to say to this, to somehow make this situation suddenly less depressing. I want to be with him more than I ever thought possible, but I just can't find it in me to be with him in a public sense. Just the idea of our friends knowing sends foreboding shivers down my spine. Somehow the idea of people knowing just seems so...invasive. I know the instant anyone finds out, we'll be all over the papers. Peeta is too well-liked by their female fans for a significant other to go unnoticed. I'll never get the chance to know if all of what I'm feeling is anything more than a fangirl crush.
Fangirl. Just the word makes me feel sick to my stomach. Katniss Everdeen does not fangirl.
Particularly not over blue-eyed guitar players.
And before I ever have the chance to respond, Peeta's getting in the car and I'm left alone on the sidewalk, trying to pick up the scattered pieces of my thoughts. I finally climb into the car, still unsure what I would have said to him.
"I just don't know what the fuck to think anymore!"
Johanna has come storming into the bedroom of our suite, slamming the door behind her in a rage. Madge, Prim and I look up from the game of Uno we have going on the bed in front of us, startled.
"What's going on?" Madge asks, hesitantly laying down her hand on her lap to meet Johanna's furious stare.
"It's Finnick," Johanna hisses, shaking her head in frustration. "I can't figure out what this is, if it's anything."
"Why would you think it's not something?" Prim asks diplomatically, setting her hand down as well. I sigh and follow suit. It's pretty evident from the expression on Johanna's face we're not going to be able to finish our game.
Johanna begins to pace the room, worrying the hem of her shirt between her fingers as she does so, her gaze locked on the floor as she walks back and forth.
"He's so...polite," she hisses, biting her lip hard as her lips flash dangerously.
Madge gives a humorless laugh in response. "Polite is bad these days?"
"No, not for a friend," Johanna says the last word bitterly, spitting it out like it's sour on her tongue. "But for a boyfriend?"
"I wasn't aware things had gotten that serious," I say off-handedly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to hop off. I reach for my phone, which has been charging on the bedroom's entertainment center, and briefly check the screen. No messages. Damn. I'd been hoping to hear from Peeta after last night, but so far my phone has been silent as the grave.
"They haven't," Johanna sighs, flopping down to take over my vacated spot on the bed, running a hasty hand through her long, brown locks. "But I'd thought...things seemed like they were progressing that way. But lately he seems almost...disinterested? Not that he doesn't seem to enjoy our time together," she adds quickly, eyes flashing with a bit of mirth. "But it's becoming pretty obvious he's not invested."
'Hallelujah,' I think to myself, fighting back a triumphant grin. "It's probably for the best, Johanna. Dating a rock star is never a good idea."
"Hey!" Madge says suddenly, immediately jumping to her own defense. "Gale and I have been working out just fine, thank you."
"Yeah," I snark back combatively, "but you guys had already set a solid foundation before rock god fame."
"Because that makes it any better?" Madge retorts, her gaze angry as it locks with mine. "Things changed a lot when he left. We both had to make sacrifices. But you can do it if you're willing to work."
"At least Gale doesn't have any baggage," Johanna sighs, flopping back to lay on the bed and throwing an arm over her eyes. "I understand now why you don't want to date Peeta, Brainless. Men with baggage are hard enough. Add rock star to the mix and it's nothing but trouble."
I try to fight down my surprise at this statement. Peeta has baggage?
"What is it you think Finnick is carrying around?" Madge asks slowly, suddenly very cautious as she speaks. Her eyes are wide with alarm, her face paling a bit in response to Johanna's remark.
"All that shit from Snow when the band first started," Johanna said matter-of-factly, shaking her head a little in dismay. She pulls her arm from her face with a sigh and sits up on the bed. "Being hired out as a prostitute for fame is a hell of an introduction to the business."
Madge's mouth, along with Prim's and mine, drops open in a horrified gasp.
"Johanna," Madge hisses, eyes wide with horror. "I'm pretty sure that was a secret."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand, glancing back and forth between Madge and Johanna. "Who is this Snow guy everyone keeps talking about."
"Snow's the president of the label," Johanna explains, her eyes not leaving Madge's furious expression. "He's a bit of a dictator in the company, pretty invested in all of his bands. He took a special interest in Finnick, told him he had to make a name for himself if he wanted to get anywhere in the business. So Snow 'loaned' Finnick out to a few major investors early on, and in exchange they supported the band. It was pretty terrible."
"Do the others know?" I ask, looking to Madge. I can see Prim's face out of the corner of my eye and it's green with disgust. The churning in my stomach mirrors her expression and pallor.
"Yes," Madge says softly. "They all found out about it a few months after it stopped, after Operate Alive said something pretty crude about Finnick. He confessed what had been going on and Rory, Peeta and Gale wanted to leave the label, but Finnick refused. He'd done it all to help them in the business, so he wasn't going to let them ruin it."
"That's ridiculous," I sigh, leaning up against the entertainment center and giving my phone another quick glance. To my disappointment, the screen is still black. I turn back to Madge and roll my eyes. "I don't see Finnick just letting some guy hand him over to someone for prostitution."
"It was because of Annie," Johanna sighs, rising from the bed to start pacing again. "He was in love with her, and Snow held it over his head."
"Annie? The girl from that club a few weeks ago?" I'm surprised I remember the name, recalling a whispered conversation between Prim and me all those days ago after a night of dancing.
"Yeah," Johanna says, shaking her head as she paces. "When Annie's parents died, Snow took her in, sort of like she was his ward. When he found out Finnick loved her, he used Annie as a way to get Finnick to do what he wanted. Told Finnick if he didn't follow the rules, Annie would be kicked out and he could try and support her. Finnick didn't really have a chance. But when Annie found out he was sleeping with other people, she broke it off. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth."
When Prim finally speaks, her voice is hoarse and broken. "That's disgusting."
"It is," Madge says softly, running a hand quickly through her long, blonde locks. "But Finnick refused to leave the label; he won't let Operate Alive win. And they're so close to where they need to be. If they can get famous enough, they'll have a better chance at getting on with a different label. Which is why this summer is so important for them."
"Then why have us along this summer?" I ask, reaching out to grab Johanna's arm as she passes. "Stop," I order softly. She glares at me, but takes a seat in the armchair in the corner.
Madge shrugged. "Honestly, Gale and Peeta thought it would take the edge off, having us around. Make it so they can't focus on the band so much."
The mention of Peeta brings me back to a thought from a moment ago, something that's been hanging on the edge of my thoughts ever since Johanna mentioned it at the beginning of her rant.
"What baggage does Peeta have, Jo?" I ask quietly, knowing better than to try and ask Madge.
"You don't know?" Johanna snorts rudely. "That was the worst kept secret of District 12."
"Obviously not that poorly kept," I retort, crossing my arms at my infuriating friend.
"Only from you," she laughs, crossing her arms to mirror me as she brings her pacing to a halt in front of me. "Forever Brainless. Why did I never think of that endearment before, Kitty?"
I groan. "Are you going to tell me, or do I need to go ask Finnick? I'm sure he'd love to know how the subject came up."
"Bitch," she replies sweetly, eyes glinting with barely-concealed malice. "Fine. Peeta's mother beat the shit out of him."
"Johanna!" Madge gasps, whipping her head toward me to watch as my face pales in horror. "That's a complete exaggeration."
"Yeah, sure," Johanna scoffs. "I'm sure those bruises were all from falls and trips and stumbles. Into a fist."
"It wasn't like that," Madge insists, staring at me with wide eyes as me knees go out from underneath me and I fall to the floor. "You remember how it was in Twelve. Running that bakery had to be one of the most stressful jobs in that place. Every ruined pasty is money in the trash."
"That doesn't excuse hitting a kid." My voice is low and hoarse with revulsion, my stomach somewhere on the floor with my heart up in my chest. The remaining cavity is cold with dread, thinking of my imaginary child-Peeta, whose mother beats him over burned bread. Something about the whole scenario raises a forgotten memory in my mind of a wrestler in school who'd missed a big tournament for a broken arm. The school had been buzzing from it, no one convinced it'd really been from a fall down a set of stairs. Had that been Peeta?
"No, Katniss," Madge says softly, falling to her knees to kneel beside me as I sit stunned on the floor. "It wasn't like that, not really. Like I said, running that bakery was hard on the Mellarks. It wasn't the food fun-fest everyone thought it was. It was hard on them when every mistake meant another missed profit. It wasn't just Mrs. Mellark who was hard on the boys. Mr. Mellark got pretty upset with them too whenever something went wrong. It was a pretty stressful way to grow up. Mrs. Mellark was just a little less in-control of her emotions when stuff went wrong."
"That still doesn't excuse it." My voice is hollow now, and I can't stop myself from seeing a small, blond-haired boy falling to the ground over and over as someone bigger than him hits him. When the image is suddenly replaced with Prim in place of the boy, I think I'm going to be sick. Anyone who puts a malicious hand on a child deserves a special place in hell. "I don't care how hard she hit him, Madge, or why. Anything that warrants town gossip is disgusting. How did no one know what was going on, how could no one fix it?"
"None of the boys said anything, Katniss." Madge's voice is slow and steady, as if she's trying to reason with a feral animal. "The Peacekeepers came a few times to follow up on anonymous calls, but the boys always denied everything. So the Peacekeepers couldn't do anything. Until someone could prove their mom was hurting them, no one could do anything."
"You mean to tell me," I say slowly, venom clear in my tone, "that not a single one of those boys was willing to stand up to their bitch mom and tell people she was beating the shit of them?"
"What would you have had me do?"
The room goes silent as a new, masculine voice joins the conversation. I'm unwilling to turn around, my back to the speaker. I know immediately who it is, and while my heart sinks in fear, my body sings in excitement as it senses the close proximity.
Peeta.
"Did you want me to rat out my mom?" His voice is low and dangerous and I flinch, each word a blow to my heart. "Ruin our business? Our lives?"
I take a deep breath and brace myself, then turn around in my seat at the floor to look up at him. His eyes are sharp and angry as they meet mine, and I feel my defenses go up automatically.
"I would have expected you," I hiss lowly, my own anger rising as I meet his gaze, my fury over what his mother did to him singing in my veins, "to stand up for yourself and your brothers."
"Just like you went running to the Peacekeepers when your mom went bedridden and you had to work three jobs just to stay alive?" His voice is cold and unforgiving and unapologetic as he says it, and the statement knocks the air out of my lungs.
"Hey," Prim growls fiercely, speaking for the first time since Johanna let loose her 'baggage' bomb. "That's not fair."
"That was different," I gasp, my lungs short on air as he glares down at me. The thrum in my body has died to a low hum, still attracted to this man but made leery by his anger. "My mom wasn't a danger to us."
"Wasn't a danger to you?" Peeta's voice is incredulous. "How is you and Prim nearly starving not a danger to you?"
"Katniss?" Prim's voice is low and hurt as she says my name.
I wince. I'd withheld from Prim the dangerous cliff we'd been on during my mother's depression. She knew that things were tight, but she'd never known I'd gone hungry myself to make sure she'd had a good supper. In this moment, I hate Peeta for telling her this—for breaking my sister's fragile innocence about those months of close calls. I long to jump up, seize him by the throat, and shake him until he's blue.
"Get the fuck out," I hiss, rising to stand and meet his eyes head on. "Now."
Peeta's eyes flash with surprise for a moment. He looks as if he's going to fight me for a moment, or maybe say something else that's cruel. But instead he gives a quick, angry nod, then turns on his heels and strides from our room, back through the doors connecting our suite to the boys'. Johanna, without needing any plea from me, jumps to follow him and locks the door behind him, sealing off our rooms.
"Katniss?" Prim's voice is firmer now, angry. "How bad was it?"
I sigh, refusing to turn around and face my sister. I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration as I fist my hands at my side and say, "Not that bad."
"You're fucking lying," Prim hisses, reaching out and seizing my shoulder in her surprisingly strong grip. "Turn around and face me like an adult."
I groan and turn to face my sister, hard grey meeting icy blue as our stares lock.
"Tell me the truth," she says, eyes blazing. "How bad was it?"
I sigh and then, unable to lie to my sister's face, I confess, "Bad."
Prim's spine stiffens at my words. Her eyes widen and begin to tear at my words. "How many times did you go without eating?"
"A few." The words burn as they leave my lips, knowing a small piece of my sister's childhood is dying as I say them.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asks, tears finally spilling over her eyes.
"You never asked," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I tear my eyes from hers, unable to bear the weight of the guilt that so plainly shows in them. "And telling you wouldn't have done any good."
"You should have told me," she says, reaching up to briskly wipe away her tears. "I could have helped."
"You were a kid," I sigh, reaching out to pull my sister into my arms. "You couldn't have done anything to help."
"We could have sold my goat," she moans, burying her face into my shoulder. "We could have done more. You were just a kid yourself."
"Hey," I say, rubbing her back soothingly, unsure if I'm more relieved her anger has faded or has been daunted by her sudden onset of tears. "It's over now. There's no way to fix it now."
"Couldn't you have told someone?" she asks, raising her head to look at me mournfully. "Told someone what was going on with Mom so they could help us?"
I shake my head sadly. "All they would have done was taken us away from Mom and separated us. That wouldn't have fixed anything and it definitely wouldn't have helped Mom or you. I just couldn't see you in one of those homes for small kids. No way was I letting them separate us."
Prim sniffs a few times, then steps away from me. She wipes away the last of her tears, a hiccup or two marring her breathing. As her breaths become calmer and less erratic, she looks up and locks eyes with me, giving me the saddest look I have ever seen on my sister's face.
"That's probably what Peeta was thinking when he was a kid too, you know?" Her face is suddenly thoughtful as she considers what she's just said. "That telling anyone wouldn't really fix the problem, wouldn't help anyone. It would only make things worse for everyone."
I'm surprised by her words, mildly annoyed by just how insightful everyone has been lately, particularly my sister. I hadn't really considered this when Peeta had said it, but something seems to click in my mind as my sister brings it to my attention. I can see where Peeta was coming from now, why he hadn't felt the need to speak up as a child.
"Maybe you're right," I admit, shaking my head dejectedly.
Prim's eyes widen in shock. Clearly she wasn't expecting this response from me.
"You should go follow him," Madge says quietly, speaking for the first time since my argument with Peeta began. "You two should talk."
"He probably hates me," I sigh, moving to sit on the edge of Prim's and my bed. I put my face in my palms, groaning in defeat. "I was awful."
"He was pretty awful too," Johanna adds, her voice surprisingly soft. "You guys should talk; things are going to be rough from here on out if you don't fix this now."
"What would I even say?" I ask, raising my head from my hands to look to Madge for help.
"Start with 'I'm sorry,'" she says gently, walking over to put a hand on my shoulder.
"Right," I say, standing and steeling myself. "We'll just see how that goes. If I'm not back in an hour, send reinforcements."
Johanna grins, patting me on the back as I walk past her toward the doors separating our suite from the boys'. "You got it, boss."
I unlock and open our door separating our suite from theirs to find that their door is shut and locked now. I knock on the door, my heart hammering in my chest. I can hear Madge, Johanna and Prim gabbing in muted tones behind me, but I try to put them out of my mind. In normal circumstances, I'd be second-guessing this decision to openly seek out Peeta. But the gnawing fear in my stomach drowns out everything other than finding Peeta and making amends.
The door opens to reveal Finnick, whose eyes flash with surprise as he sees me. He leans casually against the door frame, blocking my view of their room.
"What did you say to him?" he asks without preamble, his voice stern and his expression judging.
"Nothing nice. Neither of us had anything good to say. Is he there?" I add anxiously, rising on my toes to attempt to peek around Finnick. "I want to talk to him."
Finnick snorts. "Want to give him a swift kick in the balls to top it off?" he asks bitterly. "If you keep playing with him like this, Katniss, I'm kicking you off the tour. I don't care what Hawthorne or Undersee say, I'm not letting you stay if you're going to fuck with him like this."
I'm startled by this, but a part of me knows I deserve it. I groan, biting my lip worryingly. "I'm not trying to fuck with him, Finnick. Honestly. I'm just not sure what I want."
"Well figure it out," he snaps, standing up as he stares me down. "Or else you're gone."
I sigh, then nod in defeat. "Understood."
"Good." Finnick says, moving to close the door. "He went down to the tour bus; you can go find him there."
"Got it, thanks Finnick," I say, turning to head toward the door to the hallway. "I'll meet him down there."
I've got the handle in my hand and I'm preparing to open the door when Finnick calls, "If he comes up here anymore fucked up than when he went down, you're gone, Everdeen."
"Trust me, Finnick," I mutter to myself, turning the door handle sharply. "If this doesn't go well, I'll leave myself."
.x.x.x.
Phew. That was kind of an irritating chapter to write. Katniss is probably one of the most frustrating people to write about, I swear. But it's my birthday today so just...try not to hate me too much for this chapter, okay?
Follow me on tumblr if you're not already-simplyabbeycat. I post excerpts and there are some drabbles that will be showing up on there as well. I'd love to talk to you guys :)
I'm participating in the Fifteen Days to Finish you Fic challenge hosted my Baroness Kika's THG Abandoned Fics on tumblr, so keep an eye out for the return of my old fic "Kindled Embers" as I plow through the next fifteen days to get 'er done.
Thanks, guys!