Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creations. Big thanks to my beta Court for all her help with this story!
It's the sunlight peeking through the window that causes me to stir. My heart seizes for a moment as I take I take in the linens, which most certainly aren't mine, before remembering whose bed I occupied last night. I flush at the thought and at the soreness between my legs.
"Oh," says a voice, as I yawn and rub my eyes, "you're up. Good morning."
It's Peeta Mellark...and he's as naked as the day he was born. Wet, too, his hair slicked back with water and his skin glistening ever so slightly.
"You're naked!" I exclaim, my eyes widening at the sight of him.
"Well, yes." His forehead wrinkles as he look down at himself. "I just got out of the bath."
"Shouldn't you dress, then?" I ask, crinkling my nose. I pull the bed sheets closer to my body as I sit up. I'm suddenly thankful I bothered to put my nightgown on last night, thankful that I'm not exposed in front of him. Because even now my body clenches at the thought of him.
"I will in a minute," he says, almost befuddled. At the crease of my forehead he grins. "I don't mind if you look," he says, wiggling his eyebrows. "Nothing you haven't seen before."
My face blanches with embarrassment at the thought of what we did last night. "It's different," I insist, "you weren't so…"
Peeta just laughs, a smug smile plastered on his face as he reaches into his dresser and takes out a pair of trousers. I can't help but admire him as he turns around, though I'm quick to avert my eyes when he looks back at me.
"Before I put these on," he says, hanging the black dress pants over his arm, "what's the chance I can convince you to let me join you in bed?"
As I open my mouth to reply, he shakes his head. "Nevermind that," he says with a soft smile. "Even if the thought of it makes me want to spend the whole day wrapped up in those sheets with youI don't think I want to miss church on that account. Something makes me doubt God would find the excuse all that valid."
I bite my lip, not sure if I'm thankful for the out or disappointed. "What time is it?" I ask as he steps into the trousers.
"Can't be too late," he says with a shrug. "The serving girl hasn't come to give me the hour warning."
I sigh in relief. "Good," I say, looking towards the door, "I should be able to sneak back into my room without anybody noticing, then."
"You live with me," he says dismissively. "People already talk…"
I freeze at that, recalling Effie's words from earlier. "What have they said?"
"I got jostled by some friends about you being here. Pretty young girl under my care, you know how it looks. Though I suppose it is what it looks like, in one way or another."
"Oh." I bite my lips and pull my hair from where it has stuck underneath the collar of my nightgown. I knew people would assume things about us, that much was obvious, but I hadn't expected anybody short of Effie to bring it up directly. "Everybody thinks I'm your whore, then. Or knows, rather."
He tilts his head in my direction, reaching down to press a kiss against my collarbone. "You're not my whore, Katniss. And besides, it doesn't matter what people think."
I squirm under his touch. "Of course you'd say that," I scoff. "You're a man, wealthy one at that. It's different for me, and I have Prim to think about. I can't have her knowing that I did this…"
"No," he interjects, scratching his head. "You're right. Prim shouldn't hear about this, and she won't. We'll be discreet, so nobody will know any differently." He sighs a little. "I really wanted to spend some more time with you, talk a bit, but maybe you're right. Maybe it is best to head back to your room for now."
I nod once in agreement, allowing him to 'help' me out of the bed, though he seems more interested in touching me than anything else. His hands wrap around the thin fabric of gown at my hips, idle fingers tapping against bare bits of skin as we pad to the door of his room, his hands resting along my body.
As his hand wraps around the brass doorknob, he kisses my forehead. "Don't worry too much. Nobody will know any differently, I promise. And hell, Annie and Finnick are pregnant. Everybody in the city is going to be too occupied gossiping about them to worry about us."
My eyes shoot wide at that. "Annie's pregnant?" I ask, pausing in the doorway for longer than is probably safe. Something about the information disappoints me, though it explains a lot of things, mainly why Finnick Odair of all people is marrying a girl like Annie.
He nods, a gentle, assuming smile on his lips. "We'll talk on the ride there," he says, dismissing me. But as I turn to walk away, he catches the edge of my lacy sleeve and stops. "And Katniss," he adds in a sing-songy voice, a grin spreading across his face, "I had a wonderful time last night."
The doorknob to my room is stuck a little, but with a few seconds of jolting and a momentary panic that I'm going to have to run back to Peeta's room and hide, I manage to unlatch the door and return to the safety of my assigned room.
This room, being closest to Peeta's, is a lot larger than the first one I was given. Less homey, certainly, but more ostentatious. The colors are richer as well, less childlike and more suited to the 'woman' I have become. Does sharing a man's bed even make you a woman? Several of the girls from the factory had professed that, but girls far younger than me sold themselves on the street every day, and last night didn't make me feel any older than caring for my sister or working in the factory did.
I strip my nightgown off and toss it onto the top of the dresser, taking a moment to examine myself in front of the long floor-to-ceiling mirror that hangs on the wall. Back in the Seam we only had a hand mirror, something of my mother's that we had to put up for rent money more than once. Even now I find it unfathomable that a random guest room has such subtle luxuries like these. It's so odd to stand naked in front of such a priceless item, in such a priceless room, with Peeta Mellark's marks pressed all over my body. I remember when I was younger and still in school marvelling over the fact that one of the girls in my class had a whole room all to herself, and yet, here I am.
I think about Peeta as I look at myself, think about his touch all over my body. I am a lot more filled out than I was several weeks ago, and I think my breasts have grown a bit as well. Has Peeta noticed, I wonder? Did he find me pleasing even when I was limp and thin and battered? Or has his indulgence in me only been the work of pretty dresses and a plumper chest?
After all, Peeta is certainly handsome. Well defined and strong-jawed, benefited by all the luxuries a wealthy childhood gives. Even ignoring his wealth and charm, he exceeds me in every way. He likes to save things, though, and that's what I had been to him, no different than the broken pigeons and half-disfigured cats that Prim used to bring home.
Sharing his bed hadn't been awful, though, or as painful as I had expected. I might even say I had enjoyed it, being so close to him, letting him touch me. And even if people gossiped, it wasn't like the reputation of an orphaned factory girl was worth much. Besides, I had made Peeta feel happy—and didn't that make everything worth it? For once I had given him something of value, made up for all the saving he had done with kisses and touches and mutual pleasure.
A shiver goes through me as I think back on the way it had felt as he had rested above me. I end up having thoughts about him all morning, things that no woman ought to think on a Sunday. Even as I'm hooking on the buttons of my shoes, braced against the tiny wall that that separates us, my mind flies back to all those kisses and the way it felt to hold his jaw in my hands and know that he was completely and utterly mine. My body clenches at the memory, and I almost do something stupid like run back to his room and take him up on his earlier offer to join him in bed. Eventually, I resort to biting my nails and waiting for the girl to come and bring me downstairs.
It's Rue who brings me downstairs, a stray curl of black hair bouncing from underneath her white cap as she excitedly recounts the sunrise service she attended in Harlem with an older serving girl.
I don't see anybody but the staff as I walk through the house. It seems that everybody else has left before me. My assumption is proved correct as I step outside and stare out at the already lined up horses.
Past the cobblestone and mill of people is Peeta's distinctive carriage. I recognize it immediately; even amongst the other expensive carriages Peeta's looks shinier and newer. By the time I see blonde hair peeking through the glass, I'm already bounding across the sidewalk, waving goodbye to Rue before snapping open the carriage door and falling into the plush seat.
The moment my eyes catch his I know I'm a goner. There's something about the way the sunlight highlights his jawline through the window and the way his mouth parts as he begins to speak that makes me lunge across the carriage, catching his lips in mine before I even have the chance to think.
He's hesitant at first, his lips slack with shock. But then he catches on, giving into the moment and diving full in. Our bodies touch as much as the formal clothing allows, his hands digging into my hair as I stop his words with my mouth. We move together almost forcefully, desperate and pulsing for something more,for that thing we felt last night. I think about it for a second: taking him here and now. But then, just as I am digging my silkbound knee into his lap the door handle rattles and we crash apart.
At the jolt of the door handle, I fling back into my seat, a flustered look on my face as I attempt to tuck my hair back into my hat.
"I swear," the exasperated voice and bounce of blonde curls tells me everything I know, "this city is just getting dirtier and dirtier."
"Glimmer!" Peeta greets the girl with wide eyes and a questioning smile. "What are you doing here? I thought you were riding with Effie."
Glimmer flashes Peeta a smile, plopping down in the seat beside him with a little sigh. The skirts of her emerald green suit brush against his leg as the carriage starts. The dress is hardly scandalous, but the triangular collar and tight sleeves seem more fitted for a party than church. My mother certainly wouldn't have allowed me to enter a religious building looking like that.
"Their carriage was full," she says, pouting in his direction. "Besides, you make better company than Effie."
"Well," Peeta smiles back at her, "you are always welcome to join us."
"Us?" Glimmer raises an eyebrow, feigning confusion before going, "Oh, Katniss," and examining me as if she didn't realize I was there. I quickly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, desperate to cover up whatever nonexistent evidence there is of Peeta's and my kiss. "I didn't know you...attended church."
"I'm not a heathen," I retort, scowling.
My response must be a little too defensive, however, because she glows at my words, a sly smile lighting up her face. "Oh," she says, waving her hand away, "I never meant to insinuate that. I understand you had...difficult circumstances growing up. I actually think it is wonderful that Peeta's bringing you to church. He is a great man and I am sure he is a great father figure to you and your sister as well."
Peeta nearly chokes at that, his eyes bulging wide at the word 'father.' We exchange a little look of amusement and horror, and I blush at the thought of what we did last night. Whatever Peeta is to me—friend, host, perhaps even guardian,—he most certainly is not my father.
It's Peeta who manages to cover up the moment's awkwardness, regaining the conversation with a question about the health of one of the Glimmer's relatives. I'm thankful, then, as they chat on about mutual friends, that it is I who filled Peeta's bed last night, I who shared touches and kisses and so much more with him.
Glimmer's babbling and doting on Peeta creates the perfect barrier between us, though Peeta sneaks glances at me the whole ride there. Little half smiles and gentle looks that seem to make it past Glimmer's radar. He seems desperate to touch me, his hands bracing my waist, as we step out of the carriage and in front of the church.
"You look so beautiful," he whispers against my shoulders as he helps me onto the pavement.
I readjust the collar of my dress, blushing at his words. All around me people seem to buzz with laughter and pointed looks; it's as if I fear somebody, everybody, is going to know what I did last night. As if they will look at me and know I am no longer a virgin, pure and white and innocent.
But as I take in the grandeur of the parishioners gathered around the entrance to the grand, old building I'm thankful once again for Peeta's generosity. My dress, a yellow printed silk with black trimmings and brocade, looks perfectly at home among the outlandish displays of the wealthy churchgoers. The collar of the dress is a crisp lace that matches by the edged sleeves. Around my waist is a black silk band with matching silk flowers and dark shiny embellishments that must be pearls. The hat, a satin-covered straw thing with yellow and blue flowers, pins uncomfortably into my hair.
Back home, my mother had a good Sunday hat like this one. It wasn't so new or fine, but it was covered in a faded blue satin and had two green ribbons that ran like streamers across the sides. She had always worn the thing on holidays or when we went to church. Prim and I had simple straw hats back then, ones with black cotton bands wrapped around them that we wore on Sundays and to school events. I think I sold mine for bread some months ago.
"Oh, Peeta," Glimmer says, waving across at somebody across the street, "I think I spot my cousin Clove over there with the Vanderbilt girls. I really ought to say hello, excuse me," she nods, giving him her sweetest smile as she turns away.
And then suddenly Peeta and I are alone. Well, as alone as one can be in New York, anyways. But without Glimmer nearby, I feel it again, the urge to just pull at his collar and press my lips against his. It's only the swarm of churchgoers and onlookers that dissuades me. I care little for my own reputation right now, but I hardly want to scandalize Peeta on account of my impulsiveness.
"Maybe we should head on inside," he says finally, squinting upward at the bright sky. "I think it is getting late."
"Okay," I say, biting my lip and trying hard not to look at him. I follow him across the street, careful not to let my skirts touch the city grime. With his lips and body so close to mine, I barely notice the people waving at Peeta or saying good morning to us; instead I savor the way he presses against me as we shuffle through the tightly-packed crowd.
It's only the magnificence of the church and threat of damnation that sobers me. The high ceilings of the godly building are crowded with arches and carvings that no doubt cost a small fortune. It's a pretty sight, no doubt. In the center, right in front of the pulpit, is a towering window of colorful stained glass, but that reminds me more of a prostitute's dress than anything religious.
I cling onto Peeta's arm as we make our way through the crush of people, hesitant to separate myself from him in this uncomfortable, unfamiliar place. But before Peeta can lead us to our seats in the second row, a man steps away from one of the chatting groups and blocks our way.
"Peeta, my boy, it has been ages since I last saw you. How are you doing?" asks the paunchy man. "And who is this fine young lady you have with you?"
"I am doing well, sir." Peeta smiles at the man before turning to me. "Mayor Plutarch Heavensbee, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Ms. Katniss Everdeen," he says, shaking the man's hand.
The need for introduction is wasted on my part. It's hard not to recognize the man; I imagine every able-bodied man and woman in the city knows who he is. Plutarch Heavensbee, the media lord turned politician. Once known only for his newspapers and advertising companies, he had run for Mayor of New York a few years ago and won in a landslide victory. Now he reigned in every parade, his face covering all the morning papers.
Mayor Heavensbee smiles at me. "Why," he says, eyeing me thoughtfully, "aren't you a treasure. The pleasure is all mine, dear. You will be at Finnick and Annie's wedding, I presume?"
I nod wordlessly.
"Well, I will have to talk to both of you then," he says as the melodic chime of the organ starts to play. "Better get back to your seats."
Peeta gives a nodding smile of dismissal before hurriedly guiding me to the pew where Glimmer, Effie, and Finnick are already sitting.
The stony organ music bellows through the crowded hall, echoing through the room with a sound like commendation. The church is nothing like the Catholic one I once attended with my father. There are no sayings to memorize and a minimal grasp of ceremony. The hymns aren't terribly difficult to sing along with either, though the pastor, a middle-aged, questionably sober, man who looks more bored than anybody else, drones on a bit.
Somewhere around a discussion on good works, Peeta's hand slips between the gap of our bodies and reaches for my hand. Our fingers brush together against the cold wooden pews, but his touch does nothing but remind me of everything we did last night. I freeze for a moment, throwing his hand off of mine. I feel like a whore in church in the most literal sense.
He looks down at our hands, a pinched, almost hurt expression on his face before he resumes looking forward.
The ride back to the house is filled, yet again, with Glimmer's mindless droning on about various social clubs and events. It's clear that I don't fit in the conversation, that I know nothing about the people they are friends with or the upcoming weddings, dinners, and balls that they find so fascinating. I wonder if he'll marry her long after I'm gone. Not her specifically, but a woman like her, poised and pretty and knowledgeable on the subjects a wife of his ought to be.
As we step inside of the foyer I notice instantly that the dead quiet place I left this morning is now abuzz with life. The staff has come back from church, it seems, and in the meantime have swarmed half the first floor with flowers, fresh and silk and clay alike.
And, amongst all of those flowers is a woman who I can only assume to be one of the wedding guests. She's pretty, with wide-set brown eyes and hair that falls to her breasts, but not in the demure way that Glimmer is. No, this woman practically exudes spirit, from from her low, lacy neckline to the jaunty way that she walks toward us.
"Peeta!" the woman practically shouts, smiling brightly as she wraps her arms around him. Brushing her fingers against a curl of his hair she beams, "I see you took my advice and got rid of that ridiculous moppy haircut."
Peeta swallows, turning to look at me as Johanna frees him from the hug. "Katniss, this is—"
"Johanna," she says glumly, not bothering to offer me her hand to shake. Brushing past me she practically stomps towards Finnick, and then, with a lascivious wag of the tongue says, "Finnie, you look like a god. That Annie is a very luck woman."
Finnick laughs in response, embracing her in a tight hug before taking a moment to look at her. "Jo," he says, "you're here!"
The woman smiles, leaning backward against the wall as she recounts her most recent adventure. "Well, I ended up stuck in Boston with my absolutely horrid twit of a husband. But yes, I'm here. Wouldn't miss the scandal of the year for nothing."
From the corner of my eye I see Effie huff. "Katniss," she says very pointedly, "why don't you head upstairs and work on a letter for your sister."
Prim. In the afterglow I've nearly forgotten about the half-dead sister I have lying upstairs. Nonetheless, I'm annoyed at Effie's attempt to remove me from the conversation.
"Fine," I say, a little aggravated, "I'll go."
I trudge upstairs to my room, closing the door behind myself and flinging my body across the bed. My corset is hurting already, so after flinging my shoes across the room I pull off my outer dress and attempt to take it off. Unfortunately, the thing isn't quite as easy to take off as it is to put on, and I only get halfway through the laces before giving up.
I must lie on my bed half dressed for twenty, thirty minutes before I hear a gentle knock on my door.
"Hey," Peeta says, holding up a white paper bag. "Brought you something."
Closing the door behind him, Peeta walks over to the bed and sits down beside me. "Here," he says, handing the bag to me. "I snuck it from the kitchen, figured you might be hungry."
Curious, I stick my hand inside. It's a scone, light and fluffy and filled with a sweet cream that melts on my tongue.
"Good?" he asks, as I take my finishing bite. "They aren't serving lunch for some while, and we're all eating in our rooms, so I thought to might want something."
"Thank you," I sigh, biting my lip. He looks nice in this light, soft and understated. "Can you help me?" I ask, gesturing to my half opened corset. "With the laces."
His eyes wander down to my half-dressed state. "Oh," he says, "uh, sure," he pushes my hair back, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he pulls gently at the ties.
"So," I ask, "what was Effie in a tizzy about?"
"Oh nothing," he shrugs, "she scolded me for inviting Johanna to the wedding."
"Why would Effie care about that?" I ask, but I already know the answer. It's clear, whatever Johanna is, she's not the epitome of propriety.
"Well," Peeta says, pausing, "Johanna has a reputation, you might say."
"A reputation?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Well," Peeta says, "she didn't make her money by the most reputable of means."
"She's a…" I drift off.
Peeta chuckles. "Try not to look so scandalized when you see her again."
"And you...fraternize...with a prostitute?"
He shrugs. "She isn't a prostitute anymore—married one of her clients, a Blight something or another. Besides, it isn't like she was ever a common street whore. More a professional mistress than a prostitute, and by all means integrated into society."
"Oh," I say, holding back my words. I'm hardly one to judge respectability, but I can't help but wonder exactly how well Peeta knows Johanna.
"There," Peeta's hands wrap around my waist as he pulls the corset through and tosses it on the bed, "all done."
I turn to face him as his hand settles under my breast. "Stay," I plead, perhaps a little too desperately, my mouth hovering against his.
"I'm sorry," he says, pressing a kiss against the tip of my nose, "as much as I would love to spend the day in bed with you, I have a prior obligation."
Lunch still hasn't arrived by one. I almost get annoyed before remembering what it was like back home, how long I have gone without food before.
But when the door opens and the girl dressed in black finally arrives, rather than bounding to accept the food I freeze in surprise. I know this girl, with her tell-tale dingy black hair and Seam-worn face. She worked with me in the factory back home and grew up in the building across from me. Hell, our mothers were even friendly in the old days.
"Leevy!" I exclaim, my eyes widening at the familiar girl. "What are you doing here?"
The girl's brows pinch together. "Katniss," she falters a little, her face turning red as she sets down the flower adorned tray, "I'd ask the same of you, but everyone already knows that story."
So they have been talking about me back in the Seam. Gossip traveled fast, especially among the factory girls. Long hours and repetitive tasks made empty talk and idle chatter seem inviting, even to me. Depending on who was overseeing the shift, past the hum drum of the factory things were either dead silent or filled with singing and gossip.
"What story?" I ask, then shake my head. "Never mind, how did you get here? The factory—did you get fired?"
She shakes her head. "Your...Mr. Mellark had bread sent down the the factory where we work and the cook hired me to work on weekends. I usually just do scullery work, but it's Sunday and half the kitchen is at noon service or working on that wedding."
The girl in front of me seems so flat and lifeless. Barely living has that affect on people, I suppose. After all, I'm no stranger to those half-dead eyes. Haven't I spent most of the past five or six years looking like that? Mostly gone and vacant. I wonder if that's why Peeta took so much pity on me, if he saw the same thing I see in Leevy now those months ago.
"Peet—Mr. Mellark had bread sent to the factory?" I raise an eyebrow at her. It's a kind gesture, but not one that surprises me. It's just like Peeta to think of something like that, to care for the people in my life, even if I wouldn't necessarily do the same.
"Yeah," she says dismissively, "not long after the holidays he sent food out to all of the girls in the factory. Paid a doctor to come see the children."
My heart swells with pride at Peeta's actions, at his goodness. "Oh," I smile at her as I accept the food, "that's, that's nice."
"You did a good thing for your family, Katniss," she says, a sad smile on her freckled face as she turns the doorknob, "no matter what anyone says."
A good thing for my family. The words don't shock me, I know how it must look from her end. After all, she'd do the same. Most girls would sleep with far less appeasing men than Peeta for far less coin.
That would have been my fate, undoubtedly, had it not been for Peeta. Had it not been for the bread he had given me when I was younger, or the bread that had came long after that. Better to share the bed of a man who cared for me, who touched me tenderly, who would never lay a hand on me, than a man like Cray. That's how I had justified my actions, wasn't it? Told myself that I was lying underneath him for his pleasure rather than my own.
But it had been a lie. I didn't sleep with Peeta because of debts or pennies or perfumes. I slept with Peeta because I wanted to, and allowed myself to justify my actions on account of all that he had done for me. Being drawn to Peeta had nothing to with expensive shoes, or even the things he did for Prim, but with the way his eyes looked when he smiled and the way my heart pulled tight when I rest my head against his shoulder.
I shake my head. There is no place in my life for Peeta, not when I have to write a letter to my dying sister, not when I barely have a footing on life. So I start my letter to Prim instead. I must go through at least four sheets of paper. Wasteful, certainly, but I can't think of what to write. All that's on my mind when I look back on this time is Peeta, Peeta, Peeta. And what do I say about that? Oh, Prim, I had soup for lunch and by the way I also slept with Mr. Mellark?
After writing a handful of painfully fake stories about what I have been doing these past weeks, aside from dealing with Peeta and Gale, I settle on telling her about the wedding. Finnick and Annie's love story, minus the pregnancy, makes for a tale I know my sister will enjoy. And as I think of the smile that will be on her face as she reads it, the words just flow. I fill up two whole sheets with details about flowers and ribbons and the sorts of things Prim appreciates.
When I'm done I'm so proud of myself that I have to show Peeta. He would like it, I think, to see what I've written for Prim. At least, that's what I tell myself my intentions are. So I crack the door open, checking for servants or passersby as I always do. And that's when I see him. When my heart drops to the floor.
Not twenty feet away from me, no other than Peeta Mellark, the same Peeta Mellark that shared my bed last night, that came apart on top of me, is slipping into Glimmer Carnegie's room.
Author's Note: Sorry for the length of this filler chapter, lol. What did you think of the introduction of characters like Plutarch and Johanna? Let me know in the comment section below.
For the record, Peeta isn't sleeping with Glimmer. But that doesn't stop Katniss's mind from wandering in that direction. You'll have to wait and see to find out what's up with Glimmer.
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