Chapter 21
Days go by faster. Not that they get any easier, because they're not meant to. Peeta says we're survivors and we'll continue to be so in our daily struggles. So the fight doesn't lessen. Nightmares and painful memories won't retreat just because we tell them to go away. In fact, some days they arrive with full force, armed with special weaponry made of crying children and splattered blood. Still, the clock has learned a new pace. Time isn't counted in minutes or hours, but locked lips and the gentle embrace that makes me stronger. Making up for time lost as we learned to heal. Finnick was right. It does take ten times as long to put yourself back together. If only I knew then how much soft kisses could speed up the process. So I tell the pain it can bring me its best. Peeta's warm body at night and bright smile in the mornings do their trick to pick me up if I do fall apart.
I hear strong winds outside, ripping the leaves off the trees before their time. The woods aren't even quite yellow yet, but autumn has announced itself, even if prematurely. I go to my house after hours of hunting, though I don't really know why I still call it mine besides the chores I do around it once a week. Buttercup is its only resident, and aside from the times he follows me to Peeta's in search of food, he barely leaves it. Prim's bedroom is his now and I don't dare trespass. In any case, I went over to clean up and secure the windows, which had been flapping away like a butterfly ever since dark clouds nested above the district. The bad weather upsets me, reminding me soon it will be too cold to continue the picnics I have come to love, sitting with Peeta by the lake. The only place I know we're safe from curious eyes. The only place where I let myself forget the suffering and appreciate the multiple hues of the sunset and the rainbow Peeta has finally figured out.
I lock the house behind me, my hunting bag in one hand and a few more pieces of clothing I've been heedlessly moving into Peeta's dresser since kissing became our favourite occupation. Then guilt catches up to me. Such a big space, lying mostly empty when there are new families arriving every day. Although Haymitch has decided I live at Peeta's now and won't look for me anywhere else, this is still officially my house. Maybe in the future I can give it away. Little plans I'm learning to make now that Peeta and I have grown closer, hoping they're more than wishful thinking.
I wave goodbye to the last of the primroses Peeta had planted in the spring and walk on the stones that pave the way to his house. He decided to paint it and had been scrambling to find the time to finish the job before it begins to rain again. Haymitch was supposed to help, but he spent more time holding a bottle than a brush, driving Peeta crazy along the way. I walk around the external walls and verify that Peeta finished the back this afternoon. I think of the smile he'll wear when he voices his accomplishment and it makes me wear one myself. The walls are as white as snow, but the wood trims carry a soft shade of orange. Just enough to remind me of the orange creamsicles Greasy Sae now serves as desserts at her food shop.
"Katniss, what do you think?" Peeta stops me as soon as I enter the kitchen. He's covered in white flour and I smell something good in the oven. His hands are stained black from the wood oven; somehow resembling the coal smudges on my father's clothes. The dirt doesn't stop Peeta from hugging me and touching my cheek as he brushes his lips against mine. The same thing my father did to my mother after a long day of work. It feels bittersweet and familiar. And I accept it as a blessing from the love and trust my parents shared.
"I think it looks great. I assume you did the trims yourself. It looks too well-done to have been Haymitch's work," I tell him, only to hear steps behind me.
"What a way to hurt a man's feelings, sweetheart." Haymitch walks over from the living room to make his presence known and informs Peeta that he needs a refill.
"Sorry, Haymitch," I say, though I had intended to reply something snappy back at him. I thought Peeta and I were alone, and a visitor wasn't exactly what I had in mind for tonight. Even if it's just Haymitch.
"Not a problem. It just hurts to hear the truth after the big-shot painter over here decided to re-do the wall I had been working on. What can I say? I warned you. I don't paint, I drink." He guzzles down the contents of his glass, only to scowl when Peeta shakes his head at him and takes the empty bottle away from his hands.
"No more, Haymitch. Our deal, remember? Besides, you don't want a hangover tomorrow," Peeta points out while he checks the oven for what I now realize looks like quiche.
"What's tomorrow?" I ask.
"Nothing." Haymitch interjects and frowns even harder when Peeta looks in his direction. "How about some discretion, baker boy?"
"Sorry. You just don't want a hangover. Period." He corrects himself and winks at me as soon as Haymitch turns away to look for hidden liquor. The wink is Peeta's code for telling me this is probably Effie related and no words should be exchanged if one is to avoid Haymitch's rage.
"Peeta, my boy, are you burying the bottles now? I could swear you had more," Haymitch mumbles, clearly disappointed. "What time is it? I think Sae's shop is still open. Time for an emergency purchase." He runs out the door to prevent either of us from stopping him, but not before he looks from Peeta to me and lets a crooked smirk escape from his mouth. The kind of grin only Haymitch can carry and that subtly informs us that he knows.
With the front door closed and carefully checked to keep us locked inside, Peeta removes the quiche from the oven, washes his hands and meets me in the living room. I find his lips before we sit down to let him know I missed him during the day. Conveying every thought I had of him as soon as I kissed him goodbye in the morning. I can't quite describe it, but his kisses have become my addiction. Unlike the times before, when I under appreciated them for fear of cameras and the Capitol, I can now enjoy them fully. I can wrap myself around Peeta and allow him to drown me in kisses while I eagerly hold on to them. Afraid that each could be the last one.
"Are you hungry?" he asks me, trying to disguise his shortness of breath. I tell him I am hungry, though I don't think he knows quiche isn't exactly what I'm craving. He lets go of me to get the dining table ready, and I follow him seconds later. Suddenly taken by the strange sensation of watching a piece of me leave the room with him.
I place the plates, glasses and the cutlery on the table linen he just set and wait for the quiche.
"It's bacon and asparagus," he says proudly. "My dad never attempted quiche, even though he wanted to. But my mother would always stop him by arguing that the eggs would be better spent on cake or bread. I've been meaning to try it since we saw the recipe on TV last week."
"It smells delicious. I bet it tastes the same," I compliment him, knowing how important baking is for Peeta. I don't even have to try hard to say good things about his food. He usually comes through with flavours I had no idea were possible and his pastries beat any we ever ate at the training centre.
"I hope so," he tells me and hands me back my plate with a slice of the quiche. As expected, the bacon does wonderful things to it.
I am barely done chewing when I exclaim, "Oh my, Peeta. This is great! But what am I saying? You never make mistakes when it comes to baking."
He smiles, though I can see he's pensive. He scratches his temples for a good minute before he says something again. "Well, I used to burn bread a lot."
The bread. The first time Peeta kept me alive. "I only know about that one time," I tell him shyly. "I'm sorry your mother hit you for it."
"It's okay," he says. "It wasn't the first time I took a beating for burning bread. And after what happened that day, it definitely wasn't the last."
I'm surprised and troubled by what Peeta may be insinuating, but I probe him to make sure. "What do you mean by after what happened?"
"I knew what was happening, Katniss. Ever since the mine explosion. You became thinner, and even your sister seemed quieter and weaker when you walked home from school. Before that day, I had tried to sneak in some of my breakfast toast for you. But I never had the courage to approach you during classes. And after them, you were always the first one to walk out and all I could do was watch you leave. Then I saw you through the window. I couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't even think twice about it," he admits.
"You burnt the bread knowing your mother would hit you for it," I finish his sentence.
"Yes. But apparently, all the guts it took me to burn them immediately vanished when I went outside. I had to toss them to you."
"I told you that's okay, Peeta."
"I know. But I still burned some bread every now and then. Carefully timing it so they were still good enough inside, just in case I could use them for you. Though you never needed them. Months later you were hunting. And then I could see you and Gale trading in town. That's when I graduated as a baker. She never hit me again."
I'm considering Peeta's words. The extent of his love for me never ceases to surprise me. He eats his piece of quiche in silence, fixated on his plate and a scar on his hand. I want to thank him. Not because I owe him or anything I've told myself over the years. But on account of the way he makes me feel. Loved. Protected. Safe. The Katniss Everdeen who had to sacrifice herself to get food and keep her family alive needs to be no longer. She can finally understand the purity and beauty of being cared for with no expectations in return. Not like a hunter's agreement to take care of each other's family if bad days came. Not a spoken deal. Simply Peeta's genuine wish to guard me because he loved me. And, as I recently confirmed, still does.
I swallow the cold water in my glass in one sip, in a rush to finish dinner to return to our previous activity. Peeta hasn't finished yet, but he seems to hurry up when he notices my unconscious tapping of my fingers on the table. Anxious, but not too anxious not to voice my intentions. I let him take his last bite and ask him, "Do you want to go upstairs?"
"I'm not really sleepy, though," he says nonchalantly. Completely unaware of my true invitation. I consider him for a moment. His blonde hair falls over his face, covering the burn mark around his eyebrow, and his eyelashes glimmer in the light of the candleholder sitting on the table. He's wearing a blue button down shirt, short-sleeved and still slightly smudged with flour. His khaki pants are longer than they should be, even though he's been meaning to hem them for weeks now. Other than that, he's in his bare feet, like me. A habit we've developed when trying to avoid bringing dirt into the house after working in our herb garden. Although it's been a cool day, Peeta's face is shiny from the heat in the kitchen. So are his hands, which I take into mine before repeating my request.
"Let's go, anyway," I tell him, a lump forming in my throat. Suddenly, I'm thirsty again and pour myself another glass of water before leading Peeta up the stairway. He follows me quietly, supposedly studying my face. This time, he's the one looking for clues. He doesn't have to wait long to find out, for when he closes the door behind us, I press him against it and wrap my arms around his neck. Safe at last.
"What's going on, Katniss?" he looks down at me and asks with a concerned expression on his face.
"Nothing, I told you. I just really missed you today," I say. I can see my warm breath almost visible on his torso while I twirl my fingers in the hair on the back of his head.
He arches one of his eyebrows and sizes me up. Wondering if I've been replaced with a more loving version of me. There's still a lot Peeta has to remember about my past and my actions, but he probably has the understanding of my personality down to a science. Already familiar with how I can go from unloving, defensive, untrusting, stubborn, broken, and selfish to logical, patient, playful, accepting, and even affectionate. But this really isn't quite like me. I thought I was strong, but the fire burning inside of me is overpowering. I hold him harder and he watches the self-reliant Katniss, the huntress who keeps her guard up, make an exit to give room to the, even if temporarily, new me. Clingier and desperate for his touch. What I'm feeling isn't just passionate. It's ardent and it tells me that if I let go, I might just die.
"Well, I missed you too. But when winter comes, you won't have to hunt. We can spend more time together then. There won't be much to do, but we'll get by," he tells me, circling his fingers on the small of my back. At one point, my shirt lifts up a bit, partly exposing my skin. Peeta quickly removes his hands from me, afraid he did something to upset me. It's when I press harder and kiss him with all my might. I'm no good with words. So I resort to little acts to show him that, actually, there could be much to do come wintertime.
I think at a certain point I carelessly bite his lip and Peeta pulls away, bringing his hand to his mouth to check if he's bleeding. I meant for it to be playful, but I'm obviously not very good at it.
"Calm down, Katniss. I'm not going anywhere," he tells me, and readjusts himself against the door. He can't be very comfortable there, but somehow standing in front of him like this is reassuring. Even if he wanted to go, I wouldn't let him. I can't afford to lose him too. I nest my head on his shoulder and tell him, "Yes, you should stay right here."
"Something's on your mind," he says. "I can tell. Do you want to talk to me about it?"
"No, I don't want to talk," I mutter.
"Are you sure? It might help." He's taken his fingers to my hair and slowly undoes my braid. This has to be one of his favourite things. A privilege of his own. Something he does when it's just the two of us. He runs his fingers through where the braid was once more, freeing the remaining strands of hair. As he lets my hair down, my last defences come crashing with it.
"No, Peeta. Talking won't help," I say, putting on my face of determination and conviction.
"So what will?" He asks and I reckon I have to be clearer than this. His eyes convey worry. Peeta fears I may break down at any moment and he wants to know how to stop it. I pull apart from him by an inch and bring both my hands to his shirt collar. I find the first button and undo it. Then the second one. Then the third one. I stop and look at Peeta. Expecting him to say something. But he doesn't. He's seemingly speechless. Completely tongue-tied. I grin at the sight in front of me, registering a dose of satisfaction for succeeding in leaving Peeta Mellark at a loss for words. I take his arms and let them wrap around me again. Finally, he seems to find his voice. "Katniss..." he whispers. It sounds like a mixture of warning and pining.
I look out the windows to watch the late summer sun set amidst the clouds. Its faint sunlight the only thing illuminating the room and my body next to Peeta's. A year ago I sat in District 13 wondering if I'd ever see him again. Broken and heartbroken. Never imagining that we'd be here and now, let alone that I could ever feel everything I'm feeling again.
So in this split second, on the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. I trace my fingers down his collarbone, only to repeat the same trajectory with my lips. I make it to the edge of his shirt, and gently pull on it until I get Peeta's attention. He kisses me once more and then removes his lips from mine, asking me a question with his eyes. Almost as if looking for confirmation. Then, to avoid any confusion, I kiss him again only to whisper in his ear, "It's the only thing I'm certain I want." Removing his shirt and giving him a reassuring nod before pulling his body to bed with me.
A/N: Reviews make a girl happy :) I'm dying to hear your opinions about this chapter. The next one is the aftermath, but at the same level of detail, since I think you'd all agree that more detail than this would be out of character for what I set out to do with this fanfiction. Also, fanfiction. Net only allows suggested themes, no more.
Like I mentioned before, I'm trying to work on something Peeta's POV related. Most likely one of these last three chapters (20,21,22 - not sure which yet). If you think you might be interested in reading it, please let me know. And if you are, please add me to author alerts.