Victor's Village
Night of the Quarter Quell Tribute Parade
(Katniss POV)
My hands tremble slightly as I open the envelope. I look back into Peeta's blue and incredibly open and honest eyes one more time for confirmation that it's ok to do this. He stares back at me in acquiescence. I open the dirty envelope to find a crisp white sheet of paper folded in thirds. I open it, and with a deep breath begin to read.
Dear Little Brother,
If you're reading this letter then that means Katniss made it home instead of me. I just want you to know that's ok. I mean, it kinda sucks for me, but that doesn't matter really at this point. What does matter is that her winning doesn't have to suck for you. Not for long anyway. You can grieve for a year, and let me go. Be sad if you want, until the next reaping. And if you're not chosen, then have to stop moping. Because if she's alive and you're not going into the Games, then you still have a chance to keep your promise to me. You still have a chance to be happy.
I mean it, Peeta. You deserve to be happy. I know you would never wish for me to die. But shit happens, and sometimes there's nothing you can do. I know it will hurt. I mean I am your favorite brother after all. The coolest. The smartest. And the best at giving advice on girls and sex. (Don't listen to any of the shit Rye tells you about girls. It was a miracle or a fluke that he got the girlfriend he has now. And between the three of us, we all know I was always the stud). Sorry I won't be there to impart more of my vast knowledge of the female species.
But I can give you this last nugget of wisdom. Don't be a pussy. I'm serious. Just because you're all sensitive and in touch with your emotions and crap doesn't mean you can't go after what you really want. And I know you want Everdeen. You have since before you could tie your shoelaces properly. That's ok. You've always been the one to take after dad the most. But don't follow in his footsteps. Don't let your opportunity pass you by. And for the love of God, don't fucking settle. Especially not to make mom happy. If you want to marry a wild Seam girl and have a dozen brown barefoot babies then just do it man. You deserve the life you want. You probably deserve it more than anyone.
So here, in this last letter that I will ever write I'm holding you accountable. I'm calling you out to be a man, and fulfil your oath. Quit selling yourself short Peet. You've got untapped potential to make that girl fall as hard for you as you have for her. You just gotta be brave enough to go for it. I want you to promise me that you'll just take the fucking plunge already and talk to her. Ask her out, or hell even just be her friend at first if that's what it takes, (she is kind of scary I'll admit). But that doesn't mean you can't start living your life. Your best life, from now on. Do this for me, little brother. And if after you've given it your very best shot, it doesn't work out then you can count your promise fulfilled. But I highly doubt it won't work out. You're too nice. And Katniss Everdeen needs more nice things in her sad lonely life. Alright, that's it. That's all I want Peeta. And it's the last thing I'll ever ask of you. Wait, scratch that. No, I'll ask you one more thing.
BE HAPPY. I don't care how you do it, or how long it takes, or even how much happiness you find. Just find a way to do it okay?
Love you and all that crap,
-Lev.
P.S. I would also consider it a personal favor if you could try to get laid before you turn 30. But, I won't make that a condition. Just take it as something I very strongly advise doing. Okay, now that's really all I have to say. Bye, baby brother.
I don't know what to think or say for a moment after I finish reading the letter. All I know is I need to sit down. Peeta's looking at me with an expression that's equal parts mortification and hopefulness, while I am just trying not to throw up the poorly constructed dinner of leftovers I'd eaten to soak up the excess alcohol in my stomach earlier at the party.
"I know he's a little crass, and if you can just overlook the asinine comments-" His continues speaking but I'm not really listening. His brother's coarse remarks aren't really my concern.
I wonder if my knees feel weak because I'm still a little inebriated, or if this letter is having the same effect on my body as it is on my mind, namely, something akin to a gut punch.
"I think I need to sit down." I mutter as I try to regulate my pounding pulse and my foggy thoughts.
"Shit, I knew it was too much too soon," I hear Peeta murmur, as he half guides, half prods me towards the nonworking stone fountain and gets me to sit on the edge. After a moment he sits too, but not too close to me, thankfully.
Minutes pass and we sit in abject silence.
I can feel him staring at me but I have no idea what to say to him right now. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime he breaks the stalemate.
"Say something, please." His tone is soft, his voice pleading. And I know if I were to look over at him I'd see an infinite gentleness in his eyes, that's how careful his voice sounds.
"I'm not good at saying something." I reply, frustrated by the whirling thoughts I haven't even begun to digest, let alone the pressure to respond to such an overture.
"Can you at least tell me what you're thinking?" He entreats.
I let out a long shaky breath.
"I guess I don't know what to think." I reply, sneaking a glance at him.
His cheeks are red, he has his hands clasped tightly over one another. His head and shoulders hang uncharacteristically low.
"I'm sorry Katniss. I shouldn't have let you read the letter. I hope you know I never intended to confuse you. I just wanted to be honest and explain where I was coming from. I was in no way trying to obligate you to...return my feelings."
I swallow thickly, around my dry tongue and mouth.
"So, what he wrote in the letter...that was an accurate description of how you felt? Still feel?" I ask, finally finding something to say. I look up at him again.
He looks really embarrassed, but also...determined.
He nods, slowly.
"Yeah, Katniss. Lev knew I liked you. When we visited him in the Justice Building, before they took him….he asked me to promise to start trying to live my best life. At the time I didn't know what he meant. It was like a puzzle I was struggling to solve even a year later...but after Haymitch gave me the letter it made more sense. He just wanted me to stop being so spineless all the time." Peeta says with obvious disdain, for himself. Like he's disgusted with his own nature.
I shake my head.
"You're not a coward. A coward never would have burned the bread." I tell him quietly and his eyes snap to my face. I can feel color flooding my cheeks and I'm sure he sees it, because his fathomless blue eyes roam over me before I duck my head and look away.
"I guess even chickens have their moments." He says jokingly, but there's still an edge to it. It's uncomfortable and upsets me. Sometimes his self-deprecating humor bordered on overly critical. I shake my head, not knowing what to say.
We lapse into silence again.
I'm thinking back on my time before the Games with Lev, and reexamining the things he said and did. Things I've tried so hard to put out of my mind, but now won't stay buried. We spoke on the last night before we went into the arena….
.
.
.
.
The living room of the penthouse in the Tribute Center is large and one entire wall is lined in a seamless window overlooking the Capitol in all its glory. The other blond boy (that's the way I thought of him from the moment we stepped on the train so as not to get the least bit familiar with him like I had his little brother) sits on the windowsill, relaxed, or as relaxed as he can be on this night.
"Everdeen, shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep for the big premiere tomorrow?" The other blond boy asks with a joking smile.
I scowl, mostly because it comes easy. But there is another part of me that dislikes how similar in features he appears to someone else I've had in the back of my mind since they called out the name Mellark during the Reaping. I was glad it was his older brother, and not him. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to go into the arena with the boy with the bread. I don't know if I would have been able to keep my promise to Prim to fight and try my best to come back to her if that meant killing the one person who saved her life, saved all our lives back when my father had died and my mother gave up.
Looking at the blond boy seated on the windowsill I knew it would be hard to kill him, if it came down to him and myself. But it would have been infinitely harder if it was his kind little brother sitting here, with his bright eyes and gentle smile.
"Couldn't sleep." Is all I say in reply to the boy in front of me. His eyes are back on the party that's making its way through the streets of the Capitol, a massive throng of spectacular colors and movement winding along the grand avenue. It's made up of people, thousands of them, celebrating the fact that tomorrow 24 young children are going to be forced to fight to the death, for their entertainment.
A shiver runs up my spine. Here, in the land of excess and gratification, where everyone gets what they want...no one has thought to ask if dying a senseless and violent death is something any of us want. But then again, we're tributes, and therefore disposable. We aren't afforded the same privileges as the elite.
"Ah," the other blond boy says in a tone that rings like he just had an epiphany, "well, I never could sleep before a match either." He replies, looking back to face me. I try to catalogue all the differences. Eyes that are several shades too pale, hair that is more straight than wavy, a jawline that's not quite as sharp or strong, and a forehead that's too high. All these differences will help me remember that he's not the boy I owe my life to.
"Wrestling right?" I ask, just for something to say. I'm really not interested in small talk. But I am interested in continuing to list the differences in my mind. I've been avoiding my tribute partner for the better part of the last week, despite our mentor's instructions to act like a team. But tonight I just can't get out of my own head. A few minutes of distraction is something I badly need.
"Yeah, I took first place last year. Not that it matters now. The District 12 wrestling curriculum is probably nothing compared to what the Careers are taught." He says ruefully, with a smile that's a little self indulgent.
"It might still come in handy, if you have surprise on your side." I offer begrudgingly.
He hits me with a sardonic smile then, that says he doesn't believe me or my placating tone. I shrug and look out the window. Who am I to try and convince him of his skills if he doesn't want to see them? Isn't it better for me if his confidence in himself remains low?
"I'm not really worried about dying Everdeen. At least, not like I was at first." He says quietly, so quietly I think I've only imagined it.
"What?" I ask him, in a low but shocked voice. "You mean you actually want to die or something?"
"No. I've just always believed that if things are meant to be they'll be. Fate, or destiny, whatever you want to call it. If I'm meant to come home, then I will. If not, then I won't." He says in a strangely placid voice, with a serene look in his eyes.
I think maybe he's gone a little mad.
"If that's true, and you're so accepting of your fate, then why are you awake and not sleeping soundly in your bed? It seems to me you're just as nervous as anyone else would be." I inquire with skepticism.
"Oh, I'm nervous. Just not about tomorrow." He replies, as if his mind is deep in thought.
I don't ask him what he's worried about. I grit my teeth and look away. I don't know if he's being honest or trying to play mind games with me. I won't let him get into my head. I've got my little sister to worry about.
"I'm worried about my brother, and his future." He admits when I remain silent. My shock is so complete I gasp a little. It's uncanny what he's saying. Almost as if he can read my mind and is relaying my thoughts back to me in a way.
"Which one?" I finally ask, knowing instinctively what the answer will be, dreading it, and yet unable to have it remain unconfirmed.
"My little brother. He's your age, but...he's still mostly just a kid." The other blond boy replies with a sigh. He's still looking out the window, squinting, like maybe if he looks hard enough he'll be able to see all the way back to District 12, and the brother that he speaks of.
"We're all still kids." I bite the words out, and they taste bitter on my tongue. Because we all are, innocent in the sense that none of us are murderers. That would quickly change for those of us going into the arena tomorrow. Back in 12, the boy with the bread won't have to worry about that. I'm envious of him, for a second.
"Yeah, but Peeta….he's…." The other blond boy trails off, but somehow I know what he meant. His little brother was like my little sister. They are both bright spots in the otherwise grey and colorless landscape of 12. Rare, happy and kind, so much that everyone couldn't help but like and befriend them. Somehow they had held onto the good despite the bad hands life had dealt them.
Looking at him now, this boy who so resembled his little brother, but had none of his innate generocity, I knew the real reason why he was worried. It was written on his face, the way he winced and pursed his mouth. The Mellark boys had all shown up to school with mysterious bruises, burns, and cuts throughout the years. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together.
In fact I had seen it first hand one rainy day back when I was 11 years old.
"He's older now. Not like my sister. He can take care of himself can't he?" I ask in a harsh voice, because really, at 16, with his build and strength, why did the boy with the bread still need his older brother to defend him from their witch of a mother? Was their father in on it too? Did he help her beat their sons? The thought was too dizzying to contemplate. The kind face of the baker in my memory didn't fit with the scenario my mind was conjuring.
"He's sure strong enough to do it, if he has a mind to. But, you don't know him like I do. He'd rather talk his way out, or take the hit, than cause someone else pain. And talking, even threats...they're not enough with the person he's up against. It's been a while since she tried anything serious, but with me gone….I just don't want her to break him, turn him into someone he's not." The blond boy says, with a sad frown.
Something twists in my heart at the thought of the boy with the bread broken, losing his kindness and gentleness in order to survive. I shake the image from my mind to clear it. I can't afford to think like this, not tonight.
"You're going into the arena tomorrow, and this is what you're worried about?" I ask the blond boy in front of me. It's harsh, but it's true.
"Well, aren't you worried about what'll happen to your little sister if you don't come back?" He fires off, and it's a low blow.
"That's different! If I don't come back my little sister might starve!" I replied indignantly.
"There are plenty of horrible things in District 12 besides starvation, Everdeen." The blond boy tells me with a pointed look. And the look in his eye, it conveys something unimaginably dark. It almost stills the breath in my lungs.
"Does she really hate you all that much?" I ask the question in a whisper, unable to stop myself from asking, but not wanting to hear the answer.
"Actually, if you can believe it, I was her favorite. Don't know what contest from hell I entered to win that prize, but it's true. She mostly ignores our older brother, Rye, now that he's almost out of the house. But with Peeta, she has a special hatred for him. Because he's the one she hasn't figured out how to really break yet. He's also the youngest, so he has longer to go than the rest of us before he can leave." Leaven gives me his answer laced with resentment, and sorrow. I try to harden my heart against the sympathy I feel, but I don't know if it does any good.
"Where would he go, if he left?" I ask quietly. It seems that these secret fears we're both admitting to call for near silence. The luxurious penthouse suddenly seems as quiet as a tomb.
"Probably to work the mines." Is the answer I'm given and it hits me like a punch to the gut. I can't imagine the baker's youngest slaving away day in and day out in darkness miles under the earth. A terror that's as old as my father's death creeps up my shoulders. For a merchant boy like Peeta Mellark, the mines would almost be tantamount to a death sentence. At the very least it would be a miserable existence. I guess my tribute partner really does have a right to be worried about what will happen if he doesn't make it home.
"The mines are terrible." Is all I say in reply. The words feel inadequate.
"Yeah." He agrees.
I think about what it means, that Leaven Mellark is insisting that his little brother would take his chances in the mines over staying at home. Also that he'd have to survive another two years, until he turned 18 and could legally leave home and sign up to work as a miner and be assigned a home in the Seam.
"Why doesn't he just do what your older brother is doing? Marrying into another merchant family and moving in with them?" I ask, almost desperately, and I curse myself for my inability to remain neutral, unaffected.
"He won't do that. He doesn't fancy any of the merchant girls, and he's too principled to marry someone he doesn't love just to save his own skin." Leaven explains and I feel something in my heart drop. I don't bother arguing that Peeta's 16, and has time to fall in love. Unless Lev lives through this, and wins, he'll never get to see if his little brother marries one day and makes it out. It's like the fear I have for Prim being left defenseless without me, except I've got Gale and his promise to take care of my family. I know that as long as he lives, he'll do everything in his power to make sure my mother and sister don't starve. But if Leaven can't count on anyone else to defend his younger brother...not even their older brother or their father….
"Well, I guess we've both got some pretty good reasons to try and win." I tell him, looking at him with renewed caution. He looks back at me with something like resigned determination. But his features don't harden like mine do.
"If it comes down to me and you, Everdeen, how 'bout we both make a deal to make it as quick and painless as possible?" He says, and the moment stretches out for a second.
"OK." I finally agree, because really it was what I had been planning on anyway.
"Ok. I guess that's all I can ask. I guess I'll see you in the morning." He tells me and quietly stands before turning to leave.
"Yeah, see you." Is my only reply as I turn away and stare out the window trying to forget about him and his brother who I owe almost everything to, and might never get to repay.
.
.
.
.
Suddenly, back in the present sitting next to the subject of the conversation that took place a year ago, everything looks different in the light of tonight's confession. When Levean Mellark had said his little brother wouldn't consider marriage with just any merchant girl, and wouldn't fake feelings to escape his home situation….
He said it with such surety because he knew his brother already cared for someone.
I'm still reeling from the revelation. It's almost unthinkable that this boy would give up his chances of a better life because of a poor girl from the Seam. I don't know how to refute it. I don't know how to accept it either.
"Lev, he mentioned something once. He said you probably wouldn't get married to a merchant girl because you didn't fancy any of them." I breathe the words cautiously, sneaking a glance at Peeta.
"You and Lev talked about me getting married?" Peeta's response is bewildered.
"Well, it was more about how he wanted to make sure you had a way to get out...of danger." I tell him cautiously. Red blooms on his cheeks anew.
"I can't believe he talked to you about that." Peeta replies, his strong jaw tightening in displeasure.
"It was the night before the arena. He...was worried about you like I was worried about Prim." I say.
"Prim's 12." Peeta says angrily, turning away in embarrassment. "I can't believe he thought I was that much of a-"
"He said you were strong Peeta, more than capable of defending yourself." I interrupt, not wanting to misquote Lev, in a way that would bring animosity between Peeta and his late brother.
"I am." Peeta says grimy. I nod. Of course he is. He can throw 100 lbs sacks of flour over his head like nothing, he was the second best wrestler in the whole district. He could probably swat the witch down with one hand. But it would cost something, something Lev never wanted him to lose in himself.
"But he also said he didn't want it to come to that. He wished….he wished he could prevent you from having to change into something you're not." I explain, wanting him to know how much his brother really cared.
Peeta makes a small surprised sound, and looks away quickly. But there is a flash of emotion in his eyes before he does. He looks close to tears. I don't know if its because I revealed that his brother was thinking of him, and wishing he could protect him the night before he faced his own imminent death, or because he too doesn't want to lose the part of himself he'd have to give up if he ever had to fight back against his own mother.
In this moment, knowing what I now know about violence and harming others, even in self defence, I don't find his emotional response weak or cowardly. Not in the slightest. That kind of fight to survive breeds darkness in a person. No child should ever have to raise a hand against the parents that bore him. The world is ugly enough without families adding to the misery by heaping abuse at home where children should be able to find refuge.
Peeta Mellark seems to have lost one of the only people in his life that offered him refuge from the ugliness and cruelty around him. I knew it as surely as I knew my little sister was the only person in my life I really loved. Because I recognized that night what Lev had wanted to keep doing for his little brother. In the same way I went into the woods and got my hands dirty so Prim could keep hers clean, Lev wanted to be the buffer between his mother and his little brother. He wanted Peeta's hands to stay clean.
"I think he asked me to look after you." I admit quietly, speaking so low because it's a secret that I've been hiding for such a long time. It's part of why I can't sleep most nights.
I lie awake in the dark thinking about Leaven Mellark dying. I dream about him asking me to win, to go home and look after his little brother. To save him from the darkness that we both knew would change him irreparably or break his spirit eventually unless someone intervened.
I've avoided it. I've tried to forget it. Tried to rationalize it away. But every night I'd find myself looking up at the bakery windows, wondering what could be done for the boy with the bread.
So, if anyone was a coward here, it was me.
"When did he ask that?" Peeta questions me and I clear my throat before answering.
"Before he died. On the cornucopia, fighting with Cato...when he said one of us should go home….he said…" I break off, my voice too untrustworthy to go on.
"Look after him." Peeta finishes, and realization washes over his features. "This whole time, I always wondered what he meant by that." He adds, shaking his head as if he can't believe it was something so obvious or simple.
"Does it still happen?" I ask, not able to look at him. But from the corner of my eye I see his large hands clenched around the edge of the fountain until his knuckles turn white.
"No. Not since I had my growth spurt. Both of my brothers started pushing back when they got to be bigger than her. I think she expects the same of me." He answers quietly.
I nod, relieved beyond words to hear that she doesn't hit him anymore.
"Katniss," Peeta's voice holds a serious but tentative note and I finally look at him again. He looks worried, apprehensive even and I wonder for a second if he's upset with me for not trying harder to honor his brother's last request.
"Is that why you agreed to be friends with me?" His question cuts right to the heart of me, and for a second I almost imagine I'll start bleeding from a spot in the middle of my chest.
I don't know how to respond. Because yes, when he asked me I thought it would be a way of honoring his brother's wish. I thought being friends would also help me keep a closer eye on him, make sure he was being treated fairly. But there's a look in Peeta's eyes right now that is so vulnerable, but also so untrusting. Of me.
"It was part of the reason." I finally say, because it's the truth and it's the only answer I have.
"Would you have ever agreed to be my friend for real if my brother hadn't made you feel obligated?" He asks and his voice sounds unsure.
"I don't know." I finally admit and his entire face falls. I immediately want to take it back.
He stands up, abruptly, and puts a good five feet between us, like being close to me is suddenly hazardous to his health.
I stand up too, unable to sit still without trying to explain.
"Everything having to do with the Hunger Games is just so complicated Peeta! Sometimes I have no idea why I do anything anymore!" I tell him, willing him to understand my confusion. But he shakes his head.
"I said before that I didn't want to obligate you for anything Katniss. I meant that. Let's just forget the whole thing. Please." He says the words like they are the most embarrassing words he's ever had to get out of his life. I shake my head, not wanting him to be embarrassed, only wanting him to understand. But how can he, when I don't even understand myself?
"Peeta, this is all so much to take in at once! You can't expect me to sort through it all so quickly!" I tell him, feeling extremely confused and guilty. I don't know where the conversation went so wrong.
"Well, let me know when you work it out." He says, and the pain in his voice is palpable as he turns and walks away.
I want to tell him he's not being fair. That he just dropped a bomb on me and what did he expect me to say? To accept his feelings even though we're veritable strangers? To return them? How can he even expect me to agree to stay friends now that I know about how he feels about me? How he's felt for years if I'm to believe everything.
I want to tell him it's no good holding onto those feelings. I didn't change my mind about love and marriage for Gale, and we have a much longer history. There was no way I could change my mind for Peeta, and still be respectable. I couldn't give him what he really wanted, love and a future to go with it. Especially not after what I had experienced. No child of mine would ever live through a reaping or the Hunger Games. I'd die alone and unmarried but it would be worth it.
I'm like a ghost as I walk back into my dark house, every light turned off and all the doors closed. I get undressed in a foggy haze when I make it to my room as I try to think my way out of it, through it, around it.
But no matter how I look at it, I end up at the same conclusion.
It's better that Peeta finds out who I am now, before he ends up hating me more later down the line. And even if I did want to be his friend, it would never be enough. I was a terrible friend. I killed his brother, and I betrayed his trust after only one day of friendship.
Yes, it's better this way. I tell myself as I crawl under the covers and shut my eyes waiting for a sleep I know won't come.
I try to forget the feeling of his strong arms around me when we hid from the peacekeepers. I try not to think about how no one has held me like that since my father died. I try not to remember the instant sense of security I felt pressed that closely to him.
I don't let myself dwell on these things. I bury them. Because I don't think I can handle the idea that I'm losing the boy with the bread.