Chapter 5: How the Other Half Lives

It is one thing to go stag to a dance. It is quite another thing entirely to be stood up at the end of one, before which you ended up dancing with one boy all evening on a sort-of date and he promised to walk you home.

Peeta's abandonment of me lends me the perfect excuse to respond to the truly confusing feelings he has been stirring in me for much of the past year. I had only just begun to put a word to all the emotions that arise whenever I see him, or when so much as his name is mentioned. And, despite my socially introverted style, and general mistrust of most people outside of a select few, I have found myself receptive and accepting of these feelings that only the handsome, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Baker's son seems to bring out of me.

No longer. I very nearly gave into these temptations, and look where it got me: humiliated and embarrassed. I must come to the conclusion that love is a silly and pointless thing in which to indulge oneself. To love is to set yourself up to be hurt. The case of my mother is a perfect example: for an entire year, she has scarcely moved or been able to rouse herself into doing anything productive to raise her two daughters. I have heard the neighbors whispering about her having The Sadness. The month's wages we collected upon Daddy's death dried up last February, and we've had to fend for ourselves – that we have done so moderately successfully is solely due to my intervention and hunting to feed the family. If the absence of love, the loss of it, can do that to a person – as in, leaving the bereaved barely wanting to live – then what is the point of giving into love at all? What is the point of allowing yourself to be wooed by pretty eyes and tantalizing lips and whispers of sweet nothings?

The one factor that seems to complicate my theory is how I feel towards Prim. It has never occurred to me to disavow the love I feel for her; unlike Peeta, she has never given me a reason to. I am quickly able to make a distinction in how I feel for my sister, and how I…. shouldn't feel for this boy by rationalizing to myself that I am rejecting romantic love, not familial. I will never doubt my love for Prim – I love her certainly and utterly.

The rest of this winter following the first anniversary of my father's death has been cold, wet and dreary. The only positive that can be gleaned from it is that the snowdirfts have not been nearly as high this year as they usually are, affording Gale and I the ability to manage some hunting, even in the cold.

It's not enough, however. No matter how large or small the snowdrifts might be, winter always means more animals are in hibernation. Our hauls are thus always more meager compared to other seasons. Even getting a squirrel is considered a lucky break.

Stubborn as I am, I never concede an inch until the reality of futile resistance is staring me in the face. Usually, this comes in the form of Prim's doleful eyes, graciously accepting what little I can put in front of her.

I don't have a choice. I'll have to bite the bullet again, just as I did last year, and go sign up for tesserae at the Justice Building – the monthly ration of oil and grain you can get in exchange for more slips with your name going into the Reaping Bowl. As I'll be 13, I'd ordinarily only have two slips this year; now, I'll have a dozen.

On this overcast and rainy morning, as I approach the equally drab seat of the District 12 government, it is to my immense shock that I spy Peeta coming out of the hallowed halls, a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

Our eyes lock and we stare at each other from across the square. Almost beyond my own accord, I find myself drifting closer like a piece of metal pulled to a magnet as I stare at him.

"Wh….What are you doing here?"

Peeta hefts the rucksack on high. "Just had to pick something up for my folks." He says it lamely, and seems to find it difficult to look me in the eye. He still does, though barely and with some struggle.

I'll admit, I don't know nearly everything there is to know about how things are done at his family's bakery, just as I don't really know anything about most Merchant businesses. But all the same…. What would the government have to give a simple bakery in a backwater place like Twelve?

Then I get a closer look at that rucksack. Wait a minute….

"That's a tesserae sack." My voice is oddly accusing.

To his credit, Peeta doesn't try to lie or deflect. He gives a guilty, little nod. My appreciation of his honesty, however, does nothing to combat the anger and even….panic I feel upon realizing he has done this. The Mellarks are Merchant, reasonably well off – they don't need to sign up for tesserae! Granted, there is the possible revenue that putting the extra grain towards yeast and later bread might bring, but even then, the Baker usually makes all his ingredients by hand.

So why would Peeta….?

"Are you insane?!" I hiss at him. "Your name goes into the Reaping Bowl six more times if you sign up for tesserae!" I feel myself start to sweat, my breath coming in huge gulps as I turn red in the face. "And you don't even need it!"

"I didn't get it for myself, Katniss – I damn well got it for you! So you wouldn't have to!" Peeta blasts out.

His admission snaps me into silence, and if it were possible to become any redder, I do. But it's more than just blushing. I am additionally flushed with anger. Peeta is looking at me in that way that still makes my heart hammer in my chest.

"I did it for you. To protect you…."

"I don't need you to protect me!" I snap, seethe through gritted teeth. As soon as I say it, however true it might be – I am a very independent young woman, after all – I feel that pang of desperation to take back those words.

"I know you don't," Peeta agrees with me. He looks as contrite as a kicked puppy. "At the very least, I did it to try and apologize for standing you up after the festival. My mother wouldn't let me out of her sight; she never said outright, but I know she saw us dancing together."

My glowering at him is dimming of its own accord. I try to will the rage of owing him, yet again, back, but my heart is resistant. I study the tesserae bag across his shoulders witheringly, as though it said a bad word. "So, that's for me then?"

Peeta turns pink. "I was on my way to drop it off at your doorstep, ask directions to your place. I didn't expect to run into you." He holds out the bag lamely, and I snatch it up. I waver too late over the possibility of refusing it. What's done is done. I may get the oil and grain but Peeta has already had his name added more times to the Bowl. A tiny, traitorous part of my heart actually swells at the knowledge that he is literally risking his life to protect me. So that I won't have to risk my own skin.

Even so….

"Thank you. But don't ever do this again." I turn to flounce away in a huff, until I feel him catch my arm.

"Katty."

"What?" I round on him, snarling.

"… I'm sorry." And even though I want the apology to be in regards to the tesserae, I know that's not what it's for.

Eyes softening ever so slightly, I merely murmur, "I know." I still storm away.

I find myself unable to concentrate on hunting over the next several days, as I stew over the generosity Peeta has shown me. Although we sort of managed to clear the air on why he stood me up after the Harvest Festival, another spat has taken its place. I can feel my stomach churn with the disquiet of it.

Peeta signed up for tesserae, not for his family, but for mine. For me. To protect me. Why would he do such a thing? What am I to him that he would voluntarily jack up his own probability of going into the Hunger Games just so I might be able to feed myself and my loved ones? Every possible answer to this question leaves me more confused and bitter than before.

A rare squirrel is prowling along the forest floor, and in my excitement and lost in my own thoughts, I rush in lining my arrow up. I fire wildly, the shot missing by a mile. The squirrel starts to scamper off…

"No!" Gale throws out a desperate shot of his own. Though just as wild as mine, it manages to hit the squirrel through its temple, felling it. Exhaling, and ambling over to the little corpse, I examine it. Gale's arrow did the job, but he didn't get it through the eye. A piercing through the eye is cleaner.

Gale knows it too, sighing dramatically as he plucks his arrow out of the squirrel and cleans the tip of blood. "Messy, messy, messy," he tuts. "Catnip….? – Catnip!"

"Huh?" I shake my head, blinking.

"What is going on with you, Catnip? Wild shots? Glazing off? You're never like this. Something's bothering you – now what is it?"

I feel my cheeks rouge, and just hope Gale chalks it up to the cold. I glance away, studying the trunk of a sapling. Gale would be murderous if I told him of Peeta's charity – hell, he'd probably go so far as to march right up to the back loading dock of the bakery and punch Peeta in the nose the moment he showed his face. I find that my heart couldn't bear the thought. So I keep silent. "It's nothing. Stress."

I can tell from Gale's probing stare that he doesn't quite believe me, but he nonetheless lets the matter drop. "It's been a bitch of a winter," he concedes. I frown hard at his language, but don't call him out on it; Hazelle probably has to do enough of that. Gale shoves the mauled squirrel into our game bag, alongside the wild turkey that practically walked right up to us, as well as a badger that was snuffling out just beyond the edge of the meadow. Not a great haul, at least as far as quantity goes (in terms of quality, the badger is a boon and will make a good pelt) but it'll do for today.

We head back under the fence and cross the district into Town. We decide to stop by the Bakery first to sell off the one squirrel.

"Hopefully, the Baker won't mind the mess," Gale grumbles. He hates failing to make clean shots as much as I do. I smile weakly. Turning the corner into the back alley leading up to the loading dock, we come up short and I feel my heart rate speed up in my chest: La-Push-Dub, La-Push-Dub.

Slinging some trash into the grimy, silver cans, Peeta glances up and blinks when he sees us. "Katniss…." he breathes. He briefly turns his attention to my hunting partner. "Hawthorne."

"Mellark." The boys nod to each other cordially. Gale strides forward and procures the suquirrel. "Just one, I'm afraid. And…. it's rather messy."

"That's OK," Peeta grins easily. "We'll salvage the meat on the body. I know winter hunting can't be easy." Gale frowns at this, bristling, but his grey eyes betray his shock that a Merchant would actually show sympathy for a Seamer's plight.

Gale and Peeta make the transaction, my friend noting the lightness in our game bag. "Got another stop after this?"

"One more. Need to trade at the Hob. Badger and turkey." Peeta's lips upturn into a pursed smile, impressed. I feel myself turn pink at the praise, almost forgetting how sparse our haul really was for the day. "Say, have you ever been to the Hob? Why don't you come along with us?"

Gale is staring at me as though I suddenly decided to volunteer for the Hunger Games. Peeta appears unsure.

"I'd love a break, but I still have work to do….."

"Doing what? Selling to customers? There's practically nobody out today!" Gale half-laughs.

Peeta chuckles awkwardly himself. "There's always next day's bread to prepare…."

"…. And someone else can do it," I state, looping his arm through mine. "Everyone deserves a break, Peeta."

He seems surprised and pleased at how friendly I'm being, considering our most recent history. I'm shocked myself.

"But, my mother…."

"If she's that pissed about losing an extra set of hands for an hour or two, she can take it up with me," I state firmly. "You're coming." And we stride arm-in-arm across the dividing line into the Seam, Gale following behind at a leisurely pace. I can feel his curious eyes boring into the back of my skull, but I don't pay it any heed.

When we enter the black market, most folks call out greetings to Gale and me, then pull up short when they catch sight of the fair-looking boy on my arm. Eyes dart askance, mistrustful. Peeta still has a wariness about him, but has little choice as I drag him along deeper into the Hob. I start over at the stall of Rooba, the butcher, who seems to be sporting the friendlist expression of everyone here. Absently plucking the badger from Gale's game bag, barely remembering that he is there, I dump the fine corpse on Rooba's stall.

The butcher's eyes gleam. "Badger…. As I live and breathe… it'll make a fine stew…."

"Good pelt too," I quip.

Rooba seems just as interested by the boy next to me as she is the badger. "Well….. now who is this?" Though the twinkle in her gaze gives me the strangest feeling that she already knows. "Did you just come from having him at the Slag Heap, girlie?"

I turn positively scarlet. Next to me, Peeta nearly chokes. "Aunt Rooba…."

I swivel to my friend in disbelief. "Aunt Rooba? You mean you…."

Peeta flushes. "Mother's sister. When she married Seam, much of my mom's side of the family disowned her."

Rooba shrugs as if she did something as insignificant as litter in the street. "Love doesn't care about class. Folks down here are more authentic anyway." She nods to me pointedly. "But you still haven't answered my question, girl: are you really seeing my nephew?"

My entire neck is now on fire as well as my face. "Oh, we're not…" Peeta and I chuckle, giggle awkwardly.

Rooba hoots, shaking her head. "Fools… the both of you…" she mutters, only half to herself. I am almost tempted to ask what she means, but I am also afraid of how she might explain herself if I do. Peeta, meanwhile, is glancing all around at the bustling activity, at all the wares stacking up to the high-ceilinged rafters.

"I had no idea people down here thrived like this, Auntie…." Peeta murmurs, almost in awe. "It's kind of a damn sight nicer than what we see in Town."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because… not many people do," Rooba shrugs. "Know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, that's right!"

"Tell him, sister!" Other vendors call out.

Peeta watches in fascination as his aunt and I haggle a price for the badger. I am still quite stunned that Peeta's aunt is one of my best customers. Peeta promises to Rooba that he will stop by more often, before I drag him away to pass off our turkey to a contingent of Peacekeepers at Ripper's bar. The cadets are appreciative, smiling brightly at me and promising to take the bird back to share at the Barracks. Peeta appears stunned that I just sold off wild game to officers of the law.

"Cray's men don't really do anything to crack down on contradband," I whisper to him. "They're in on the take themselves."

"Isn't that corrupt?" Peeta asks me.

Technically, it is, but I shrug. "What happens in the Hob stays in the Hob."

"You're amazing, Katniss," he breathes.

I turn pink, smiling radiantly at him. "Thank you, Peeta."

From the way he looks at me, I pretty much forget to be sore with him about taking out tesserae on my behalf.

I return from my trades at the Hob feeling…. happy. Almost giddy. I have a blissfully content smile on my face as I float up to my bedroom, my thoughts consumed with Peeta. He was so sweet and kind, and not at all prejudiced as most Merchants would be regarding folks from the Seam. Most people who hail from Town, including my estranged maternal uncle who runs the apothecary, would be caught dead in the Hob. But Peeta never treated my neighbors as though he was better than them, and by the time we left, several Seamers had actually warmed up to him, their mistrust ebbing away.

Flopping down on my bed, I continue to smile as I think of the handsome, sweet, sensitive Baker's son. Visions of his smile, his bright, blue eyes dance in my head…. I've never seen such eyes….

Without meaning to, abruptly and yet naturally all at once, my thoughts turn lurid, as I daydream and fantasize about Peeta smiling at me as he dips his head close to mine. I envision his lips kissing my willing mouth, his tongue probing along my soft and compliant lips. His strong, calloused hands, fingers as firm as stone pushing up my skirts around my hips before dipping into the damp folds of my womanhood….. I see us strewn across this very bed – my bed – Peeta's hips canting into me as he thrusts, whilst I squirm beneath him, moaning happily while I jerk my lower half up to meet him….

"Hmmmm….. Mmmmm….. Ahhhh… Peeta….."

My trousers are now down to my ankles without me even remembering pushing them down. My whole palm is nearly sunk into my aching and soaked folds. I let my fingers swirl along my nub, imagining that it is Peeta's talented, deft fingers touching me there….. Followed by his mouth as he kisses and sucks at my holiest of places….

"Ohhhh…. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…. Peeta…. Yes, Peeta….."

I can hear his voice in my mind, velvety as liquid gold, whispering to me with a lover's caress. My name.

"Katniss….."

With a mewling whimper, I murmur out, "Peeta!" as I feel a wave crest over me and I am dunked in pleasure, my orgasm washing over me upon the muscles in my femininity clenching around my fingers. Juices stain my trembling, scrabbling thighs and I parachute down back to Earth with a blissful sigh.

It isn't until I have cleansed myself and changed that the reality of my masturbation crashes over me. What did you just do? You want, lust for a Merchant? Nothing good will come of it! You're a dirty, dirty girl, Katniss Magenta Everdeen! You're a dirty, dirty girl! But….. ohhhhh, how I…. I…..

The words are on the tip of my mind, if not quite yet on my tongue, and it fills me with a fear all at once terrifying and thrilling.

I go to bed restless, unable to achieve hardly any sleep.