Chapter Eleven

Despite everything, Peeta still comes back to my house after we visit Alma to do my studies with me. Except, I can't concentrate. He knows I can't. He knows I have to talk about what happened. About what I know. About how and why and when. He tries to ignore it, to push through our work and ignore the way I'm staring him, probably burning holes with my eyes alone.

Eventually, it becomes too much.

Peeta slams the pencil down on the islet. We are sitting across from one another, not touching, barely moving. His eyes are locked on the marble bench of the islet and not on me. "What?" he snaps irritably.

"We have to talk," I say, my voice quiet but firm.

"About what?"

"You know what."

Peeta rubs his temples tiredly, shaking his head without much conviction. "I'm sorry," he said, voice splitting like cracks in the pavement. "I didn't want to disappoint you. I didn't want to let you down or make you lose your faith in me." He speaks as if this, the idea of having made lose hope in him, was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. Ever.

"You didn't," I insist, reaching across the islet and taking his hands. "Of course you didn't, don't be silly. I still have faith in you to get better, Peeta. You just have to tell me what happened. What made you relapse? Did someone say something to you? Or did something make you think on your own that you had to stop again?"

Peeta still can't make his eyes meet mine. He radiates shame. Like what has happened to him is something that he can control, something he should be able to get a handle on without causing such a fuss. Peeta has always believed that he is an imposition, that his problems are small and insignificant. Trivial, even. He could never be farther from the truth.

"I've been in a dark, dark place for a while now," he explains to me. "And I don't know how to find my way out."

My heart stutters in my chest. I don't like the sound of that. "Have you been speaking to your counsellor about this?" I ask. A thought comes to mind. "Have you even been going to your counsellor?"

Peeta squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. "I can't. They don't understand. They keep telling me things that aren't true."

"What sort of things?" I frown.

A small pause. "The same things you tell me."

I play with Peeta's fingers, trying to keep a lid on my own feelings. The last time we did this, we ended up screaming at each other which resulted in his leaving. "The things I tell you aren't lies," I remind him. "Neither is what your counsellor tells you."

"I know you don't lie to me," Peeta says. He sounds like he's battling with himself, like a war is raging inside of him. Mixed in with that is confusion. Heavy, rapid confusion. "But when you say things like . . . like . . . 'you're not fat', it feels like maybe you're humouring me. Trying to make me believe that I'm okay when I'm not."

"But you are," I say. "We've talked about this before. Not eating is not the answer. Whatever you feel, whatever you believe, not giving yourself the basic tools to continue to live a healthy life has never been the answer."

"You say it like it's easy," Peeta replies, his teeth clenched together.

"I know, I know," I sigh. "It's easy for me to sit here and tell you to eat. I don't know what it feels like to struggle with my weight, or feel like I'm fat to the extent of being physically incapable of eating. I don't know what it's like to feel uncomfortable in who I am. What I do know, however, is what it feels like to watch someone I care about struggle with his weight. To feel like he's fat to the extent of being physically incapable of eating."

I rub my fingers between Peeta's, trying to remain as composed as I possibly can. "I know what it feels like to watch someone who I deeply care be feel uncomfortable in who he is. And it tears me apart."

Peeta chews on his lips anxiously. I know he wants to say something to me, I know he wants to tell me not to worry about him but by this point I think he knows that it's useless. He knows that I will always worry about him, no matter what he tells me. "She called me fat," he says quietly.

"Who did?" I ask carefully.

He shakes his head. "We were eating dinner and I was doing my best to eat what I could. She laughed at me and said I should stop before I got fat again, which she could see happening very soon. Judging . . ." He clenches his jaw and I feel his hands shaking in mine. " . . . Judging by how much I was eating."

"Who said this, Peeta? Who was it?" I insist to know.

"My mother."

I feel my anger spill out like a lid being ripped off the top of a shaken up soda can. I slam my palm on the islet, making the glasses rattle and shake. "That's bullshit!" I snap. "She's a liar! You aren't fat, you know this. You can't let her control your thoughts like that, Peeta. You can't let her take away all the progress you've made."

Peeta collapses in his chair, resting his head against our joined hands. "She's right, though. I'm eating too much."

"She's wrong," I fire back. "No! You can't let her trick you like this. How long has she been saying this to you?"

Peeta shrugs despondently. "As long as I can remember."

Not only have the students' cruel taunting been getting to Peeta, but his own mother has been insulting him too! Never have I ever felt such a burning hatred for a woman I've never met before in my entire life. No wonder Peeta hates going home. No wonder he spends as much time with me as he can. His home environment is toxic!

"How often would she say things like this to you?" I demand to know.

"Every day, I guess . . ."

I shake my head. "No. No. I'm not standing for this."

"Katniss, I appreciate your concern, I really do but . . . what can you do? It's my mother we're talking about here. She's always at my house," Peeta explains. "I can't avoid her, I never could."

"Stay here with me," I say. "For a few days, at least. Until we can figure out what to do about your mother's abusive behaviour."

"Hardly abusive," Peeta contradicts.

"Anything that encourages your illness counts as abuse," I say firmly. "And I will not stand for it."

Peeta doesn't seem convinced. I don't know how to press this type of point. It's a sensitive area, trying to make him see that his mother has been abusing him verbally, and I don't want to make him feel like he's any more vulnerable than he already is.

"All I'm asking for is a few days," I say, reaching out to touch his face. He closes his eyes at the contact and I stroke his cheekbone soothingly. "Just let me chase the nightmares away."

"Katniss," Peeta says carefully, "You cannot protect me from everything."

I scowl. "Just watch me try."

~xXx~

Mrs Mellark calls Peeta at eight o'clock that night. We stare at the mobile, as if it's going to lurch off the counter and bite us. My mother is there too, leaning with her back against the oven. I explained everything to her, and she agrees that what Peeta's mother is doing is uncalled for and toxic to his recovery. It would be different if she was joking, if she was unaware that Peeta was sensitive to being called fat or had a condition that would cause him to retain such information, but she does know. She is well aware of it.

She couldn't even bring herself to visit him in hospital.

"It's only a matter of time now," Mum sighs.

"Until what?" I ask back.

"Until she comes barrelling through the Seam to knock our door down."

I look at Peeta in alarm, and he seems to agree with my mum's statement. I gulp. Oh god, what have we set in motion? I don't regret it but I worry about how this is going to go. Mrs Mellark, from what I've learned, is not a happy camper, especially where it concerns Peeta. The idea of us keeping him from, or suggesting that she is making his condition worse, will probably cause her to hit the roof.

True to what mum says, half an hour later our door is being pounded on. My hand is in Peeta's and as soon as we hear it, he goes stiff beside me. My mum walks to the door, taking her time and not rushing, and keeps the chain on the door as she answers it.

"Where's my son?" a voice immediately demands.

"He's here, with us," Mum says calmly.

"It's past his curfew. He has to come home. Now."

"That's not going to happen," Mum replies.

I can't see Mrs Mellark due to our door still being on the chain, but I can easily imagine her face flushing red with rage and veins bulging in her forehead as she shouts, "He's my son and I can dictate when he can and can't remain here. You're lucky I even let him around here at all!"

Peeta puts his face in his hands and I chew on my lip anxiously. My hand goes to his back subconsciously, rubbing in what I hope is a calming manner. He reaches out and squeezes my knee, trying to return the sentiment and remind me not to get worked up myself. As his mum continues to rant, I lean close and whisper, "Does she even know that we're dating?"

"If she did, I would never be able to see you," he whispers back, clearly ashamed of himself for not telling me.

I look over my shoulder, to where Mrs Mellark is still yelling. My mum simply stands there, listening to her and waiting patiently for her to finish ranting. "I will have the cops called on you! This constitutes kidnapping!"

"Kidnapping is the unwilling taking of a person," My mum sighs. "Your son has made the decision to remain here himself. He's eighteen, Semira, he can make his own choices now." It surprises both me and, evidently Peeta, that my mum knows Mrs Mellark's first name. When did they know each other, or even get on a first name basis? "Besides, I doubt the cops would want to know about the bruises I've noticed on your son's body throughout his time here, or the way you've been treating his condition."

"That's none of your business!" Semira spits back.

"I am a woman of medicine, Semira, I make it my business," Mum says firmly. "Not all abuse is evident through a slap."

"I'll have you for this!" Semira shouts.

"I know, I know. I'm a horrible person for protecting Peeta," Mum says, rolling her eyes. She moves to shut the door and pauses. "It's pretty shocking when you're a person's parent and you can't even tell what's going on in their personal lives, don't you think?"

"What are you blathering about?" demands Semira.

Mum looks over her shoulder, to where Peeta and I sit on the sofa, clutching each other's hands like if we let go we'll fall of the edge of the universe. "If you loved him at all, you'd stop to think about what makes him happy," she says with finality before shutting the door in Semira's face. The woman only pounded on the door for a minute and half afterward before sulking back to the bakery.

"Good job, mum," I beam. It's relieving to have my mum on my side on this matter. I could have told her about Semira's behaviour and my mum could have told me to keep my nose out of it and leave it alone. Thankfully, as a doctor, my mum has a natural caring streak within her. She can't help it, just like I've grown to be unable to.

Mum sits on the arm of the chair and touches Peeta's shoulder gently. "I know this is hard," she says. "And Katniss and I can't pretend that we understand what you're going through, but our door is always open to you. I know you care about Katniss, and she clearly cares about you, which is good. Because a relationship isn't a relationship without trust and caring. Therefore, not only is our door open to you, but our family is too."

Peeta nods, unable to find any words. "Thank you, Rose," he whispers, making mum smile at his ability to finally use her first name.

I lean towards him and squeeze him tight. This is what he needs during this vulnerable time: a family. It seems that the family he has either don't notice or don't care how Semira has been treating him through his recovery. Either way, I'm certainly not standing by while I know that's going on.

I know that he would do the exact same thing for me.

"By the way," Mum says as he heads to the kitchen, "you're sleeping on the sofa bed, not in Katniss' room."

I glower at her as she laughs her way to the kitchen. When I look back at Peeta, he's smiling, and that makes everything worthwhile.

A/N: Sorry, not much happens in this chapter. Because of the weather change, my head has been banging all week. I wanted to give you all something since I didn't update Kindred last Friday so I got this written for you. I apologize for any mistakes or typos, as it's hard to be perceptive with a headache :)

Something is finally being done about Peeta's mother, though, so I'd say it's still a win.

Please review with your thoughts.