This is a longer update than normal, but you've been waiting for two weeks so hopefully this makes you happy. If all goes as planned, the next update will be everything that's left! (Notes at the end for more info) Thank you to Burkygirl, who pre-read, then betaed, then read more when I added to it. All while she was packing for spring break vacay.
As we sit here alone in my kitchen, it's obvious Peeta's having a hard time saying whatever it is that's been on his mind. I'm not sure if he does it subconsciously or on purpose, but his hand turns over in mine so that our palms are touching. He closes his fingers around mine, and it feels right.
"You can tell me," I say encouragingly, noting how he chews his bottom lip and his eyes are worried. The way he's acting is making me just as nervous as he is, and I hope whatever it is isn't as bad as what he's projecting it to be.
"My mother said you would say no," he says. It's a cryptic confession, and leaves me no closer to understanding him than I was before he said anything at all.
"What do you mean? She said I would say no about what?" My grip tightens its hold on his hand. I hope it's as grounding to him as his touch is to me.
"I shouldn't have asked you. At least not so soon." Still not a direct answer to my questions, but I think I know what he's referencing.
"She told you I would say no about getting married?" Peeta nods his head, and the look on his face is reflected in every part of his posture - the way his shoulders slump forward and his head hangs down. He looks defeated and boyish, and my heart breaks for him. If he asked me to marry him again right now I'd say yes just to put some joy in his expression. It would put some in mine, too.
"She never loved me," he says. "Not like she loved Rye, at least." It wasn't commonly known around town how Peeta was treated at home, but our friends knew because we were all so close. Delores Mellark's pregnancies had been difficult. The second one, Peeta, resulted in a complete hysterectomy. Not only had Mrs. Mellark wanted a baby girl, but the baby boy she did have ruined her chances of it ever happening naturally. She never physically abused him, but the verbal attacks and retraction of support from her weighed on Peeta as if she had. It was almost worse in my opinion. Physical abuse would leave bruises, marks, scars; evidence that someone needs help. It's much easier to hide emotional wounds and psychological damage. Peeta's always seemed so strong, though.
"Peeta, I'm sure your mother loves you," I tell him, but if a twenty-eight year old man doesn't believe that his mom cares about him by now, my weak reassurance probably won't do much to convince him. I try to direct him back to the reason we're here. "Why didn't she think I would say yes?"
"Back when your dad left, and you - you kind of pulled away from everyone. I tried to keep coming around. I wanted to help you. I didn't want to lose our friendship, but even I could tell you weren't the same."
"You know I had to take care of Prim. I had to work and go to school-"
"I'm not saying you didn't have a good reason to do what you did, Katniss," he calmly interrupts my defense. "My mom knew how I felt about you. I never said anything to her but apparently it's not hard to see," he laughs weakly, but my mind latches on to his use of the present tense instead of past. Surely that's a mistake. "She always hated that we were friends. She would tell me I wasn't good enough for a girl like you. She admired you for stepping up like you did for your family, you know?" I didn't know actually. Mrs. Mellark wasn't known for her people skills, and any regard she had for me must have been from afar.
"I admired you for it, too," Peeta says with a nervous reserve, as though this is the first time he's paid me a compliment. "When things settled after graduation and we started seeing each other, she told me there was no way I had a chance at anything lasting with you. That you were just using me as a replacement for affection in your life, since your dad wasn't around anymore." All I can think is how Mr. Mellark ended up with a real peach. I knew Peeta's mother was unsupportive, but I had no idea she was downright malicious. I'm annoyed that he has never confided this in me before.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"You mean why didn't I repeatedly bring up the fact that your father was gone and that I've been in love with you since middle school? Telling you the awful things my mother said would have just been opening a whole can of worms neither of us were prepared to deal with at the time." When he says it that way, I can see why he wouldn't.
"I didn't believe her, of course," Peeta continues without waiting for a reply. "Every year that rolled by and we were still together, and happy, or I was at least-"
"I was happy, Peeta." I interrupt. I can't allow him to doubt that. "Being with you always made me happy." A ghost of a smile flits across his lips, then disappears. "I saw it as proof that she was completely wrong about us, but then-" a derisive grunt escapes his lips and his reminiscent mood changes immediately. "Then she started telling me I was wasting your time. I was going to ruin your life the same way I ruined hers. She just always made me feel useless and unimportant. But you - you always made me feel the exact opposite. I felt…" he pauses to reach for the right word before settling on one. "Worthy."
My skin prickles on my arm and spreads a path across my body and down to my toes when I realize he has removed his hand from mine, and with his fingertip draws lazy circles onto my wrist. I can't tell if he's doing it absentmindedly or if he's trying to make me putty in those perfectly calloused baker's hands, but it's a touch I've missed. Even with everything between us, I can't deny how he makes me feel. That alone doesn't fix anything, though.
"Hearing her constantly tear me down got so old, and I was sure you loved me enough that I could change your mind." Peeta's delicate touch evaporates as he sits back in the chair, creating a tortuous space between us. His gaze rakes over my features, flitting from one place to the next - eyes, neck, cheek, hair, shoulder, arm. Finally resting on the hand he left lonely and uncovered on the table.
I don't know what to say to him. I can't tell him I did love him enough to marry him because, whether the feeling of devotion was there or not, I proved otherwise. To admit that I didn't, or don't, love him is also wrong. It doesn't add up in my head, and I'm certain it would make even less sense coming out of my mouth, so I refocus the conversation. The reason why we're here. "How does any of this make you even partially responsible for my leaving?"
His eyes raise to meet mine, then fall quickly away as he releases a deep breath. "She told me if I was so sure of us, that I should just risk it all and get on with it already. I was so tired Katniss," he explains, laying his forehead down on the table. His voice is muffled when he speaks again. "It was years of fighting off the negativity and constant criticism. Nothing I ever did was good enough." He lifts his chin to rest it on the table and looks at me pleadingly. Silence fills the air as I piece together what I think he's saying. He sits up and folds his arms on the table before he says, "But I knew she respected you. I knew I loved you, and I wanted to prove her wrong. Show her that I was wanted by someone. And then, when you freaked out and said no, it was like it validated everything she'd ever said about me. I knew I messed up big time, but I didn't think you'd leave and stay gone for so long."
Peeta falls silent. It's almost as though confessing the secret he's been holding onto for years has exhausted him. My mind is spinning so fast that I feel disoriented. But, if I could speak, I wouldn't know what to say anyway. His mother pressured him into asking me to marry him? Did I understand that right?
But he used the word 'love' to describe the way he feels about me more than once. Did he mean to? Does he still? Surely not. It's been too long, and he's moved on with another girl.
"Does Cassie know you're talking to me?" I ask before I can think better of it, remembering that she's still part of this. He's spoken to her very recently, although he has no idea that I saw her picture on his phone. He scrunches his nose and cocks his head to the side before asking, "Why do you ask?"
I open my mouth to speak and then close it quickly, realizing I have no idea why I asked. Her name just popped into my head and out of my mouth. I have to say something, though. If I wait too long it'll look like I'm asking about his relationship with her. I don't want him to think that I think we should get back together, but I don't want him to think I don't want to either in case he does. But of course he wouldn't. I've hurt him too badly. I decide to say, "I guess I just wonder what she thinks of all this. I mean, obviously she's upset we were together once, but… the way you're talking about me now, it's like-" I look down and absently pick at my unmanicured nail beds, searching for a delicate way to say it. But I don't find one. "Like you still have feelings for me."
I can't bear to look up. I don't want to see rejection, but part of me still fears acceptance, too. Probably just out of habit. I hear Peeta sigh and from the corner of my eye I see his arm rest on the table and his body lean in. "Katniss, I don't think I'll ever not feel something for you. You were my first everything. It's not easy to forget someone like you. The most difficult thing I've had to do is move on without you. But I'm not sure what's going on with Cassie. She left upset, told me to call when I have things figured out. We haven't really spoken at length about our relationship and it's not something I want to talk about here. With you. I want to talk about us."
And there it is again. Us. What about us? I want to shout it out, sleeping mother be damned. What is he trying to accomplish by using those terms other than making my entire being, body, spirit and soul, crave him? He's everything I want right now and nothing I have. I want to blame him for giving in to his wretched mother. I want to blame him for being weak and allowing her to manipulate me through the control she exercised over him. Until now I've only been mad at myself. Only blamed me.
Suddenly, the things he admitted earlier, the things he's inadvertently admitting now, rise to the fringe and bring with it a surge of aggravation I am helpless to stop. I look right at him so he can feel my words. "Did you even want to marry me?" Either my tone or my question catches Peeta off guard, probably both, and he recoils. He looks hurt, but I don't give him much time to answer before I ask another. "Or did you just want to prove to your mother wrong?" His face turns to stone, but I want to know more and until he answers me I will keep asking. "What would you have done had I said yes?"
"I would have fallen to my knees and kissed your feet!" he says indignantly, slamming his fist on the table and startling me, scattering my barrage of questions like ash. A beat of silence descends, and I swallow the bitter pill of his words. "I would been have the happiest man on the planet! I didn't even need a wedding. We could have done everything your way, including waiting as long as you needed. I wasn't in a rush, Katniss. I just wanted my ring on your finger and to know you wanted the same one day."
It was real. I knew it was, but I had to lay to rest the shred of doubt that had been nagging at me since he mentioned his mother. I lower my eyes to where my hands are folded in my lap and compose myself with a deep breath, deliberately squeezing my eyelids together before I say anymore. I don't want to fight. I just want answers so we can put all this confusion and anger behind us. "How could you let her do that? " I raise my eyes to meet his. The tenderness in his eyes doesn't match the irritation in his voice when he responds.
"Katniss, my mother didn't influence me any more than your father influenced you." The truth is a brutal kick in the gut. I want to say he's not being not fair and stay pissed at him. I really do. But it's impossible not to see it when he says it that way. We've both let our slacker parents control too much of how we feel and influence what we do. What we've done.
"Do you know how hard it was to move on?" I ask, reliving the nightmare of leaving and being without him in my head. I was so sure it was the right thing when I decided on it years ago. His expression mirrors what I'm feeling. Of course he knows. He probably knows it better than me. "I thought I had to leave. For you to be happy. For me to do what I thought would make me happy." I don't give voice to the other thoughts in my head. That I wish every day he hadn't asked. And I wish more than anything that I had just stayed.
Peeta's head dips down and then back up. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it and sighing. The sound is regretful. "We can't change the past, Katniss. I've wished and prayed for it enough that it would have happened by now if it were going to."
I let myself into the Hawthorne's home quietly. Peeta went back to his place after we talked. It's probably for the best. Both of us need some time to process and come to terms with everything that was said. I decided to go back to Gale's because it was still somewhat early and the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off me, now that I've finally said what I needed to say and heard him do the same. But the burden of my break-up with Peeta has been taking up real estate on my shoulders for so long, that I don't feel relief. Instead, I just feel hollow, empty. As though letting go of the guilt means that Peeta is truly gone. It's real now, and I don't know where to go from here. Nothing could ever replace him. Nothing will ever be as good in my life without Peeta.
The old stairs into Gale's basement are still as creaky as they ever were, even under my meager weight. Peeta and I have been gone for over an hour, but I'm surprised to find only Prim and Rory still here playing a game of horizontal tonsil hockey on the couch. I start to say get a room, but then think better of it. She is my baby sister and I practically raised her after all. Instead, I decide announce my presence by clearing my throat. I have to do it twice, because apparently you have to be extremely focused to play.
They look up at me, standing on the last step with my arms crossed. Rory gets up quickly with a guilty look on his face and pulls Prim to her feet. She plants her hand on his bicep and says, "It's fine. She's not going to hurt you and we're about to be married in two days." Rory smiles nervously, coughs and excuses himself to get some water.
"Can you be less parental with your disapproving looks?" Prim asks when Rory has gone. I fish a beer out of the noisy old refrigerator that's been down here for as long as I can remember.
"Want one?" I ask, ignoring her comment. All too soon it won't matter anyway.
"Sure," she answers.
We fall back into the couch and take a few swigs in silence. It's probably asking too much to hope that Prim will just drink with me and say nothing.
"So how was your talk with Peeta?" Yep. Too much to ask for. I drop my head on the couch. The back of my skull thuds against the wooden frame that's barely covered by material anymore. I welcome the bit of pain it causes.
I roll my head to the side to look at her. "We got some things out in the open. There wasn't any fighting. I think we can move forward." I raise my beer up in paltry congratulations to myself and then rest it on my thigh.
"Forward to what?" she questions, taking a pull from the bottle. I don't like where this is going. I need to do something to derail the hounddog that is my sister before tonight gets downright depressing.
"How should I know?" I snap. "I just want to sit here and drink a few beers, and relax with my sister before she grows up and gets married. Is that okay with you?" I ask in a tone that tells her she doesn't have a choice but to agree. She nods, although I'm convinced she'd rather ask me a million questions and write them all down in some headshrinkers notebook. I'm probably the perfect subject for her thesis paper, and from the way this couch is bending my spine I'm really wishing she would have become a chiropractor instead of a psychologist.
After we've both polished off a second beer, she starts more conversation, but it's different. Easy. Prim tells me about life in Panem while I've been away. We've spoken on the phone as much as we could, but only about the need-to-know things like her and Rory, our mother, Prim's classes, my job. I never knew about Reverend Abernathy's bad idea to try and raise geese one spring for the children's Easter program. Somehow they got loose and ended up depositing themselves in the baptismal that Sunday morning, which had taken six hours to fill with fresh water. I hadn't heard about Gale's attempt to repatch his roof after a hail storm last year. The ladder fell away and he was stuck on top of his two-story house overnight. I also didn't know that he'd bought the house from his mother at market price so she would have something to retire on and he could start building equity and getting ready for marriage and family.
The conversation shifts to my life in L.A. My fourth grade classroom. My favorite taco place that I hit up at least three times a week on my way home from work. I tell her about my only two friends, Cinna and Johanna, who pretty much force me have a life outside of the classroom.
Johanna is the P.E. teacher at our elementary school. If I hadn't seen her in action with my own eyes, I would never have believed her occupation if I'd met her outside our workplace. She is bold and brash and confident, and everything opposite of me. I was terrified of her for the longest time, but I'd heard through the grapevine that her students adore her and she can be quite the softy. I don't get to see that side, though. I get called nicknames like 'Brainless' and told how pure I am, even though neither are true. She says it's tough love.
Cinna is her roommate who moved out to L.A. from podunk Nebraska to pursue design about the same time as I moved there. He needed a place to crash and she had an extra room for rent at the right time. When we go out the women are always ogling him, flirting with him and trying to get his number, but they have no chance since he prefers men. He has the most amazing style. He can wear a scarf in the summer and make it look like everyone else should be doing it, too, even though it's hot as Hades.
After my fourth beer and Prim's third, she starts to chatter animatedly about what she wants for her future. The number of kids, the right timing for her first pregnancy, the office she wants to work out of, the house they're looking at buying. I have no answer for any of that when she asks me. Her happy chatter about her plans for the future are causing a rising bitterness inside me towards a certain woman across town. One who cost me all of the things Prim is dreaming about before I even had the chance to figure out whether I wanted them. And now that I know what they are, I can't have them.
"I have an idea," I say, feeling something wet land on me. The room wobbles when I look down. "Awwwwww," I drag the word out and smile when I point to my jeans. "My beer landed in the shape of Peeta's faaaaaaace." It's really funny to me. I've never seen his likeness in beer before. "Should I take a picture of it and send it to him?" Prim giggles and points to a smaller splotch of wetness near beer-Peeta's head.
"And looooooook!" she slurs happily as she leans over. "It's your baby! Hi baby Peeta! It's Aunty Prim…" I start laughing as Prim goes on and on in her baby-talk voice to the smidge of alcohol on my jeans. It's utterly ridiculous, but I want to laugh so bad that I just go along with it. We laugh, spill more beer, this time on purpose and on Prim, trying to find Rory's likeness, but all we really see is a foot. Or a maxi pad. We're not sure.
"You and Peeta would have the most adoooorable babies," Prim says as the laughing dies and she sits back, closing her eyes.
"Anyone would have adorable babies with Peeta," I admit. "He's adorable. No, he's hot. Hot babies shouldn't exist so technically nobody should have babies with Peeta," I say, and we both giggle. It's cute when Prim does it, but God I hate that sound when it comes out of me.
"Do you wish it would happen?" Prim asks, and I feel we're turning that corner from bubbly, fun drunk to depressing, insecure drunk. I've been told that it's not too pretty on me.
"It doesn't matter. It's too late for that now." I brush off her question, wanting to stay on the happy side of drunk. Suddenly remembering my idea from earlier I sit upright and snap my fingers in the air. My thumb and middle finger miss each other, but I don't care. "Hey, you wanna help me get some revenge?"
Prim looks at me like i've grown an extra head, but I don't want to explain. I just want to do. "Do you trust me?" I can't tell if the room is spinning or if she's trying to shake and nod her head at the same time. It doesn't matter. She owes me for that whole getting-me-to-move-home bit with Rory. "Let's go." I decisively pull her off the couch and up the stairs with me. I grab a few rolls of toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom and smirk at Prim's befuddled expression.
"Katniss, I'm not teepeeing someone's yard. I'm a grown woman about to get married. Not some bored teenager." I look her straight in the eyes and quickly tell her who and why.
"I'm in," she says defiantly and snatches a couple of rolls of toilet paper from my arms. "Nobody messes with my sister." I follow her out the front door and the cold that hits me is welcome. It was stuffy and warm in the house. We forget our coats, our hats, and gloves and basically anything that would keep us warm. But I feel fine. We must be having a warm streak for December.
The Mellark's house is only two streets over, and we make it there fairly quickly. I set two rolls in the crook of a tree, give Prim one and I take the other. We start with the smaller trees. They don't take long, and once they're done we tackle the two big oaks.
I look straight up and pitch one of the rolls high into the oak tree nearest the house, trying to catch a branch but they're so tall I just end up falling on my ass in the snow. The roll of paper hits the roof instead, then lands a few feet away from me. A snort of amusement leaves my mouth followed by even louder laughter. Prim sees me and, looking nervous, runs over to pick up the paper, then me. She's pulling on me to get up, but my body just doesn't want to move. That is, until the porch light flickers on and the front door opens.
I do not expect Peeta to walk out onto the porch, but there he is. He surveys what's going on, then bounds down the steps and over to us looking irritated. I don't know why. It's not his house anymore and after what his mother did to us, she deserves it. She probably wouldn't have a clue that she'd been papered until late spring anyway, since everything out here is covered in white. I'd be long gone and she'd be none the wiser.
"Katniss, what are you doing?" Prim lets go of me and steps back as Peeta yanks me up by my arms. I stumble but he catches me, then leans in to take a whiff. "Jesus, Katniss are you drunk?" He abruptly turns me around like a child and begins smacking my ass to dust off the snow. Normally this would be fun, but now it just hurts. I feel like I'm being spanked, and not in the good way.
"You're skin is ice cold," he chides. "Where is your jacket? Your hat? Gloves?" His eyes search my face and his hands snugly grip my arms. "Did you remember to bring anything with you when you left to keep you from getting frostbite and hypothermia?"
"I'm... sorry?" I offer weakly, and my attempt to keep another laugh from escaping goes awry.
He sighs and looks disapprovingly at me, then Prim. He tells her to get in the car. I can't believe I didn't notice it in the driveway earlier. My head snaps in Peeta's direction when I feel something heavy drape around my shoulders. It's his coat and it's warm and smells heavenly, just like Peeta. One of his hands grabs my arm gently and the other reaches around my back as he guides me to his car, opens the passenger door and helps me inside. I pull the coat around me as I begin to feel colder by the second. By the time we've dropped Prim back at Rory's and Peeta drives me home, I'm a mess of chattering teeth and shivering limbs.
Peeta helps me out of the car, into the house and up the stairs to my room. I watch with a warm, familiar feeling in my belly as he pulls the covers down and fixes my pillows just right. He guides me to the bed, and when I sit he pulls off my boots off, placing them neatly by the nightstand. "You're freezing, Katniss," he tells me. "What were you thinking? Going out into sub-freezing temperatures underdressed like that?" His scolding should have upset me, but I can hear the underlying concern there.
"I'm mad at your mother," I say as I lay back onto the pillow and curl up on my side, hugging my trembling body. Peeta shakes his head slightly as he pulls the covers up and tucks them around me, then disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running and moments later he returns with the hot water bottle I've kept stored in the cabinet for years. He pulls the blanket up and situates it under my numb feet.
"Goodnight, Katniss," he says, as he turns to leave. I reach from under the covers, faster than I should be able to in my state, and grab his forearm before he can walk away. He stops and turns his head back to look at me with questioning blue eyes that pierce my heart. I can't stop the longing I feel from expressing itself.
"Peeta, I've missed you. So much. Will you stay with me?" My voice sounds small and fearful to my ears, but I want Peeta to stay with me more than I want to hate myself for the way I sound. My stomach drops at the look on his face.
"I can't, Katniss," he says softly, his voice cracking when he says my name, his eyes locked on where my hand holds onto his arm. When he looks up at me I know it's time to let go, and so I do.
I enjoy writing drunk people. :) What stupid things can I write about that people wouldn't normally do unless alcohol is involved? Loads of fun there.
I want to get this story finished, but it's got a few more chapters to go. My plan is to take about 2-3 weeks, write the entire rest of the story and post it all at once. Any objections? Also, would love to know what you thought of this one. It took a while because I needed to get it just right, and it has been giving me indigestion. Or maybe that's the pizza with extra robust sauce I've been ordering… anywho, talk to me. Pbg.