Author's Note: Hi everyone! How are you all doing? I hope you're okay. Since I've been re-reading Hunger Games, I've been inspired to write another chapter. I'm trying to get some chapters written before I go on holiday next month, but you all know what I'm like with deadlines! I'm hoping I'll get this chapter out before I go. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own anything from Hunger Games. It belongs to the fantastic Suzanne Collins.
I lean against the wood, a huge smile lifting my cheeks.
Chapter 36
"Katniss?" My mother calls from the living room. Slipping off my shoes, I hang my father's jacket up on the wall. I walk into the living room cautiously. The fire glows softly behind an iron prison, flickering light casting strange shadows on the cream wall. My mother is seated in her armchair, a thick volume on her lap. Looking up, she places a frayed scrap of material in between the thick parchment to mark her place, gently setting the book down on the table next to her.
"Yes mother?" I ask, sitting on the sofa opposite her.
"Did you have a nice outing in town?" She questions, focusing all her attention on me.
"Erm, yes it was alright thanks." I reply, fiddling with a tassel on one of the decorative cushions. I did have a nice time in the Hob. I enjoyed spending time with Greasy Sae and Ripper. But I had almost ruined everything with that stupid flashback of mine. That one word, said as a joke, sparked a strange sensation inside me that couldn't be tamed. I still can't believe that I hit Peeta. What sort of sick and cruel person does that? I hate how he downplayed it, pretended it was nothing. I bet that's how he acts when his mother beats him. Guilt twists my insides, round and round. The knife of guilt stabs at my heart, digging and digging until I can barely breathe.
"Katniss?" My mother asks, standing over me, a concerned expression displayed on her face. I've wrapped an arm around my torso, gasping for breath. Startled, I look up at her. What is going on with me today? I'm acting like a crazy person. Unwinding my arm from around my body, I force myself to stand on wobbling legs.
"I'm fine." I reply quickly, reaching over to peck her cheek. "I'm feeling a little tired, so I'm going to head up to bed. See you in the morning!" I gable, before rushing out the room and up the stairs. I don't stop until I'm in my room, the door tightly closed. Dumping my game bag on the sofa, I wander over to the window, looking at the night sky. There are no stars, only clouds, obscuring the light from the moon. The Victor's Village is cast in darkness, the shadows playing amongst the silent houses. I feel a chill rising within me. When I lived in the Seam, there was never any silence. During the day, children played boisterously on the streets; housewives chattered amongst their laundry, the clumping of worn leather boots on cobbled streets. At night, there was the clatter of pots and pans; the buzz of the TV's when the Capitol aired the Games. It was never silent. Silence means two different things to me now. On one hand, it means solitude, it means peace, it means the woods. But even in the woods, it is never silent. There is always the rustle of leaves, the cracking of twigs, and the songs of the birds. On the other hand, silence is a bad thing. It means you are alone with your thoughts, dangerous things that take root and grow until they are at the forefront of your mind. Silence is the Games, wondering when death will take you, wondering who could be getting brutally murdered this very minute…Stop. The Games are over, for now. I will never participate in another Hunger Games. I have got to stop thinking like this. No wonder I'm acting like a crazy person when I think that I'm still in the Games. I should be rejoicing today. After what seems like forever, Peeta and I are finally together. I should be lying back on my bed, a huge smile on my lips, clutching a pillow to my chest as I giggle excitedly. Instead, I'm staring mournfully out my window. A flicker of light catches my attention. I turn my head to see Peeta in his room. He must have lit a candle, since the light is soft and flickering. He moves round the room, straightening this, tidying that. Then he begins to walk over to the window. Heart pounding, I duck down, flattening my back against the wall. I hear the creak of the window as he opens it. I wait a few seconds, then slowly stand, checking that the coast is clear. Peeta stands at the side of his bed, dragging a hand through his hair. Then his strong arms are crossed over themselves, pulling off his shirt in one smooth coordinated move. I gasp at the sight. Peeta, now shirtless, muscles rippling in the soft candlelight, lifts his arms and stretches, his mouth open as he groans. I cannot hear the noise he makes, but I feel it, rippling throughout my body. He gets into bed, blowing out the candle, and his room is engulfed in darkness. I slump down onto the window seat, my legs suddenly unable to hold my bodyweight. I lean my head against the glass, utterly confused. Seriously, what is wrong with me today? Sighing, I get up and undress, throwing on a random pair of pajamas. I rest my head on the soft pillow, tossing and turning. Why can't I sleep? My mind goes back and forth, unable to lodge the image of a shirtless Peeta out of my mind. The feeling from earlier comes back, now stronger than ever. Flipping over to the other side of the bed, I close my eyes and try and force it out of my mind. But it refuses to move. I have a strange urge to run over to his house and kiss him senseless. I roll my eyes at myself. I'm being pathetic. Peeta was shirtless, so what? Why should I let it affect me so? I snuggle further into the warm bed, trying to let sleep come to me. My last thought is of Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread…
"No!" I gasp, sitting up in bed, kicking the sweaty duvet away from me. I draw my knees up to my chest, curling up into a ball. I shake my head from side to side, trying to dispel the grotesque images in my mind. When I finally come to my senses, I uncurl myself, dragging myself out of bed. I glance at the clock, sighing when it reveals the time. There's no point trying to get back to sleep. It will never happen. I grab a large fluffy jumper out of my cupboard, pulling it over my head. I shiver slightly. Now that the autumn leaves are beginning to fall, the nights have been getting increasingly colder. This means that it'll be a hard winter. I wander down the hall, pausing to open the door to Prim's room. I see her curled up on the bed, young, sweet and innocent. Her golden hair is splayed over her pillow, her mouth curved into a sweet smile. I close the door carefully, trying not to make any noise. Smiling, I go downstairs, carefully avoiding the steps that creak when you put your weight on them. It wouldn't be fair to wake my mother and Prim just because I can't sleep. A few minutes later, I find myself pacing the length of the house, wondering aimlessly throughout the rooms. I focus on my footsteps so I don't dwell on my nightmare. It doesn't really work. Step. The cornucopia, its golden horn glinting in the sunlight. Step. Tributes hacking away at each other, competing for the weapons that will ensure their survival. Step. Clove's knife flying past me, nearly lodging in my head. Step. My mouth opens in a wordless scream, the noise trapped in my throat. Suddenly, I rush out of the house, unable to withstand the stuffy room. I escape into the cool night air. It's cold, but the air still tastes slightly sweet, the lingering reminder of summer. Taking a deep breath, I perch on the cold stone steps, feeling the cold leach through my pajamas and numbing my bottom. I watch the sun crawl reluctantly through the sky, almost unwilling to wake up and face the day. I know how it feels. I feel that way myself. A creak to my right catches my attention. Peeta's kitchen window has been opened. At least I'm not the only person awake. I guess he must be baking. I feel like I should go talk to him, but I can't seem to bring myself to move. Huddled in a jumper, I sit on the steps. I barely notice the time passing.
"Katniss?" Peeta's voice makes my head snap up. My neck clicks as I move my head, numbed from hours of sitting in the same position.
"Yeah?" I croak. He stares at me in concern, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Are you okay?" He asks kindly. I look up at him, his blue eyes gazing down at me.
"I don't know!" I burst out, tearing my eyes away from his. He sits down next to me, setting the wicker basket on the steps next to him. He places a strong arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I snuggle against his warmth, my fingers clutching onto his shirt.
"Kat, you're freezing!" Peeta exclaims, taking his arms and rubbing them on mine, trying to warm me through friction. I smile at his kind gesture, sitting closer to him so that I'm practically in his lap. "It's okay to cry you know." Peeta's voice disturbs the silence. I look up at him confused.
"What?" I finally say.
"It's okay to be sad." He replies. "It's fine to admit once in a while that you're not strong enough." My eyes well with tears. I bury my face into his soft shirt so that he can't see me cry.
"I have to be strong. For my mother. For…Prim." My voice, muffled by the shirt breaks on her name. Peeta tilts my head up, gently running his thumbs over my cheeks.
"You don't have to be." He tells me firmly, looking into my eyes so that I'll believe it. "You don't have to be Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the Hunger Games, tough as old boots with an astonishing talent with a bow. You can just be Katniss."
"At least I know who Katniss Everdeen is." I reply. "I knew where I fitted in. I knew who I was. Now, I don't have a clue." Peeta tilts his head, looking out on Victor's Village.
"That's for you to decide." He finally says. "Only you know who Katniss is. You're in control of your own destiny Katniss. You can choose who you want to be and what you want to do." Sitting up, I look into them, feeling my inner strength return.
"You're right." I murmur.
"Of course I'm right!" He chuckles, turning my bad mood into a good one with one sentence. "You are not always right!" I retort, shoving him good-naturedly.
"Okay, okay." He says, holding his hands up in the air. "How about we compromise and say that we're both always right?" I smile, rolling my eyes at him.
"Okay." I agree. Peeta reaches into his wicker basket, pulling out a pastry wrapped in linen to protect it from the elements.
"Here. I bet you haven't eaten anything." Smiling gratefully, I take the still warm pastry into my hands. I unwrap the linen, taking a bite. As usual, it's delicious.
"Mmm…" I sigh blissfully, leaning my head against Peeta's shoulder. He laughs, but shifts away from me a little. I sit up, frowning at him. Why did he move away from me?
"I'm glad you like it!" He chuckles, flashing me a devastatingly handsome smile. An image of last night springs into my mind, and I try and force it away, taking another bite of the mouth-watering pastry. I finish it with another few bites, licking the buttery grease away from the corner of my lips and brushing away the crumbs. We sit in silence for a while. Victor's Village is nearly always silent. You can't hear the bustle of town, it's so far away. "My family will be up by now." Peeta states quietly. "My father gets up at four, my brothers and I got up at five. Any later, and my mother would beat us. Then, we'd have to start the oven, shoveling coal and stoking the fire until it was burning hot. We have three big ovens, and one of them always breaks. It takes forever to light it! Of course my brothers would leave that for me, because I was the most patient. We'd chat lightheartedly, until my mother came down. She'd assign tasks for us to do. Mostly they were the same; light the ovens, clean the surfaces, make the dough, make sure the shop was clean. Sometimes, she'd give us the task of checking the store cupboard. Then, we'd be able to sneak a spoonful of sugar or a handful of raisins." He sighs wistfully, as if remembering the stolen happy moments of his childhood. I listen interested, having never really heard about his life in the bakery. "But if my mother caught us…Rye got caught once, with a girl." He chuckles and I laugh along with him. Only Rye would dare to try and sneak a girl into the bakery. "I think she was one of the merchant's daughters." Peeta went on. "She hadn't stayed over or anything, perhaps she had called to get a loaf of bread and Rye convinced her to stay. It sounds like something he would do. Anyway, my mother caught him, and you did not want to be in his shoes then. She beat him so hard with a wooden spoon that the handle snapped clean off!" I gasp, a little shocked. I should hardly be surprised, but every time I hear of Mrs Mellark's cruelty it never fails to shock me.
"Why don't you all stand up to her?" I ask. "Surely, if there are three of you, you could easily overpower her." Peeta stares at me, shock evident in his blue eyes, almost as if the thought has never even crossed his mind.
"She's my mother!" He protests. "I could never…I would never…" He chokes out, as if the though repulses him.
"I know that," I reply. "But she…she beat you for years. Why didn't your father say anything?" I can't ever imagine the kind hearted baker supporting the abuse of his sons.
"I don't know." Peeta replies quietly. "After, he would silently slip us a cookie or something, but he has never once stood up for us." Rage silently fills me. Kind hearted Mr Mellark, who would smile at every child who entered his shop, who gave me a bag of cookies when I went into the Games, who swore to look after my sister, how could he stand by while his sons were abused by a witch? For a second I wonder how he ended up with a woman like Mrs Mellark. I remember that Peeta said in the cave that his father wanted to marry my mother. It's so weird to think about, but I like to think that even if they had married, my father would still have fallen in love with my mother. Their love was so pure and true, you could feel it radiating from them a mile off. If I ever fell in love, I would want it to be like that. Suddenly, I realize that Peeta is talking. "So, are we gonna sit here all morning, or are we actually going to get up and do something?" I look up at him.
"What should we do?" I ask. It has to be said, District 12 doesn't have much in the way of entertainment.
"Well, I've got a huge basket of bread. It'd be a shame for it to go to waste wouldn't it?" Peeta says. He stands up, offering a hand out to me. I take it, his skin warm and rough from years of working with ovens. I groan as I stand up, my muscles protesting angrily. I start to walk down the steps, but the sound of my name called makes me turn. "You might want to put some clothes on!" Peeta says. I look down at myself, still in my rumpled pajamas and blush.
"Perhaps you're right…" I reply, wanting to bolt inside as fast as possible.
"Hey, I like it," Peeta smirks, winking slightly. My blush reddens even more, until I feel like my whole face is on fire. "I just wouldn't want the rest of District 12 looking at you with so little clothes on. What would your mother say?" I look down at my bare feet, toes curling in the cold.
"Give me a minute." I murmur, opening the front door as quietly as possible. "Stay here, and I'll be back in a second." Peeta pretends to look offended.
"Why can't I come in?" He says, his eyes wide with 'hurt'. I roll my eyes at him and smirk.
"Because you walk louder than a pack of wild dogs running through the woods. Do you not remember when we tried to hunt in the Games?" Peeta nods his head, as if remembering.
"Ahh yes. And you were very pissed off with me. Pretty much like most days then!" He chuckles. "Go on, go get changed. I'll stay here." I smile in reply, going inside and shutting the door. Warmth swirls around me, sending a shiver down my spine. Quietly, I sneak back up the stairs, going into my room and pulling out a pair of thick black trousers and a maroon coloured top. I pull them on, the trousers fitting to my legs like a second skin. I go back downstairs, pulling on some leather boots and a jacket. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I unbraid my hair, combing through it with my fingers then re-braiding it. It's not the best outfit I've ever worn, but it'll have to do. I'm surprised by how much I want to look nice for Peeta. After all, he's seen me in a far worse state. Heading back outside, Peeta looks up and flashes me a brilliant smile. He hoists the overflowing basket into his strong arms, and starts walking to town, slowing a little so that I can keep up with him. As we walk to town, we chat about anything that comes into our heads. The conversation flows naturally, with Peeta cracking jokes. I surprise myself by how much I enjoy myself. I expected things to feel different since we are now 'together' but it still feels normal. I don't feel obligated to be something I'm not. I can just be myself, and I like how normal the situation feels. As we go under the brick arch that leads into the square, I expect Peeta to turn right and go into the bakery but he marches straight on.
"What are you doing?" I ask him. I thought he would have dropped the bread off with his family.
"I'm going to the Seam." He tells me, walking onwards.
"Why?" I question. He rolls his eyes.
"What does it look like? I'm going to give some bread to as many families as I can. When I have nightmares, I bake. My house is practically overflowing with food. I'm never going to eat it all. It might as well feed a family rather than go in the bin." My heart swells with pride at his statement. He has such a kind heart.
"They won't accept it." I tell him. He whirls around in the middle of the square, clearly wanting me to elaborate further. "They'll think its charity, and they don't have anything to repay you." Peeta smiles.
"Come on." He tugs me through the square, shop windows lit up but no customers are milling around. It's far too early for that. We pass through the divide between Seam and Merchant, down one of the alleys, then come out near the Hob. There's a verge of grass on the opposite side of the street. Peeta puts his basket on the verge then waits. There's a minute of silence before all hell breaks loose. Children pour out of the homes, vying with each other to get close enough. The adults lean against the doorframes, watching the scene unfold. "The kids are more willing to accept the food." Peeta tells me, handing out a perfect loaf to a child that can be no more than six years old. He rushes back to his house on the other side of the street, excitedly showing his mother the treasure that he has brought home. She smiles, relief in her eyes. Her child will not starve today. She looks up at me, nods in thanks, then shuts the door. I turn back to Peeta, surrounded by a crowd of children. He gives and gives, the basket never seeming to run out of food. How much has Peeta made to give to all these families? A smile creeps up on my face as I step forward, taking a loaf and turning to hand it to the nearest child.
"Katniss?" Posy's tiny face looks up at me.
"Posy? Oh it's so good to see you!" I smile, as she throws her arms around me.
"I haven't seen you in aaaages!" She giggles. Guilt courses through me when I realize that I haven't seen Hazelle in weeks. How is she coping while Gale's in the mines? Yes they've got more money, but money is easily spent on wages and essentials. I haven't really hunted properly in weeks. I decide that I'll see Hazelle tomorrow. I'll go hunting, and then give her the meat. As I hand Posy a loaf, I can't help but feel grateful towards Peeta. He is the person keeping little children like Posy alive. As she disappears back home, I throw my arms over Peeta, engulfing him in a tight hug.
"Thank you." I whisper into his arm. I feel him smile against my neck as his arms wrap strongly around me. I pull back a little, planting a kiss on his lips. It was meant to be a quick peck, a thankyou kiss but it somehow turned more passionate, our lips melding to each other, the familiar feelings igniting inside of me. I break away when I hear the children around us giggle, clearly not used to such passionate displays of affection. We pull apart, my cheeks burning. We continue to hand out bread until there is none left. Peeta looks heartbroken as he has to explain to the kids that there is no more food. Some of the children cry, others just trudge away sadly. Peeta turns away from them, but I can see the shine of tears on his cheek. I tell the children that we will be back soon, then wrap my arms around him, hugging him from behind. I rest my head on his back, and I feel his body shake as I hold him against me.
"I hate disappointing them." He whispers. I take my arms off him, walking round so that I can see his face. I stretch up on my tip toes, using my sleeve to dry his tears.
"I know." I say quietly.
"Every day, I try and make more, so that I can feed them all. But it's impossible. And it breaks my heart when I've got all these kids that will go hungry all because I can't make enough. He stares mournfully at the houses behind us.
"Peeta." He turns and looks back at me. "What you're doing, is amazing. No-one I know would even think of that. You can only do so much, but what you are doing means so much to everyone here. I can see it. They know that you are trying, and they greatly appreciate it. If you ever get into some kind of trouble, you can guarantee that all the people you have helped will be there to help you. Honestly, Peeta, you couldn't be doing more." He smiles.
"Thanks Kat. I needed to hear that." He runs his hand through his hair, smiling through the pain. He hugs me close, burying his face in my hair. I take a shuddering breath in, relishing the feeling of comfort in his arms. We stay in a close embrace for an unmeasurable amount of time. We pull apart and I pick up the empty basket.
"Come on, let's go home." I tell him, lacing my fingers through his. We walk back to Victor's Village, the early morning sun peeping through the clouds from the night before.
Author's Note: There ya go! I'm honestly not sure if another chapter will be written before I go on holiday. I've got two weeks left, so I'm not sure. Who knows? ;-) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know there wasn't a huge amount of action, but I promise, good things are coming up very soon. You'll just have to be patient! Anyway, please leave a review, I love hearing your opinions and they are so valued. I also sometimes use ideas in my story, so if you've got a suggestion, I'd love t
o hear it. See you guys soon, and if you don't hear from me in a while, I'll be lying on a beach in sunny Spain! Hope you guys are having a great summer!
Love,
Mjenney21 xxx