Chapter Thirteen: A Tale About The Mellarks

"The thing about life is that you must survive. Life is going to be difficult, and dreadful things will happen. What you do is move along, get on with it, and be tough. Not in the sense of being mean to others, but being tough with yourself and making a deadly effort not to be defeated."

Katharine Hepburn

"Your mom is really horrible," I reply quietly. "I can't believe she said all those mean things to you, that she hit you!"

"Never mind me. I'm sorry you heard her speak that way about you. I never wanted you to hear those things. I'm so sorry..."

It makes me sick to my stomach that he's trying to make amends for something his mother did. It wasn't in any way his fault and he shouldn't feel guilty about it.

"Don't you dare feel bad about what she said about me, Peeta," I say. "I don't care about any of that. It's nothing that I haven't heard before from other people. And you didn't have to take up for me, either—"

"Yes, I did!" he cuts me off before I can finish. I sigh and look away as he continues, "I'm so tired of her saying mean things about you! And I'm tired of everyone else treating you badly, too. It's ridiculous and you don't deserve it!" He pauses for a moment and places his hand on my cheek. My skin breaks out into goose bumps, and my stomach does a flip as I bring my eyes to his again. They're such an intense blue that I find I can't breathe at all. I want to look away again, but I don't. "They're all wrong, every one of them. I don't understand why they can't see what I do."

"What do you see?" I whisper.

He smiles at me, his fingers tracing the outline of my jaw. My heart races, knowing that this isn't exactly behavior that two friends or coworkers normally share. There's definitely something more going on here and I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure if I want it to stop or if I want it to continue. I'm about to tell him to forget what I'd just asked, when he answers.

"I see perfection."

I don't know what to think of his words, but I know I don't believe them. Finally, I gather my senses once again and shoo his hand away from my face.

"Whatever, Peeta. I'm definitely not perfect. I'm probably the least perfect person ever."

"I didn't mean perfection as in no flaws," Peeta states. I look at him with narrowed eyes, wondering where he's taking this. "We all have flaws. I meant... perfection, as in I wouldn't change anything about you. I know you've heard people say mean things about you over the years and you've probably started to believe them. You really shouldn't, though. And just so you know, I think you're truy beautiful—inside and out."

I snort and roll my eyes. "You obviously don't know me very well then."

"Maybe not as much I should, but I'd like to." He shrugs, looking sheepish but earnest. "I really don't think you'll change my mind, though. And I already know I'm right about you being beautiful on the outside…."

"Yeah? Well, you need to get your eyes checked. I think you may be going blind," I try to joke, but my voice comes out shaky. My whole body is trembling; I feel overwhelmed with everything he's saying. I don't know what he expects from me and I'm not sure how to accept his compliments.

"I visit an eye doctor every six months. My vision is 20/20." He smiles and winks at me. "When was the last time you got your eyes checked, Katniss?"

The answer is, of course, before Snow.

I feel like this conversation is leading us down a path we really shouldn't be exploring. I'm aware of Peeta's feelings towards me, but I still don't come close to understanding them. And I never thought he'd be this… forward about them either. I've never had to deal with this sort of thing before; I really don't know how to handle it all, or even what I want or what I feel.

"Never mind that," I retort quickly and move over to the counter, where the icing and cupcakes are still waiting. "Are you going to show me how to decorate these or what?"

Peeta makes his way over to me, his face suddenly bright and cheerful again.

How does he do that? Whenever Snow is vindictive towards me, it seems like it takes forever for the hateful thoughts in my head to go away and for my mood to improve, but with Peeta, it's like the click of a light switch. Just how long has she been like that to him?

"Now, we just lift this up and steady the nozzle," he explains. "Then you make sure you have a good grip on everything. Now start on the outer part first and squeeze down steadily on the bag of icing as you go. Then you just twist it around like this, getting smaller and smaller towards the top—"He moves the nozzle around in circles in one fluid motion until it tapers off in the middle. "And you're done! It's simple enough. You want to give it try?"

He hands me the icing bag and I attempt to do what he just showed me. The icing comes out quicker than expected, however, and ends up as a sloppy mess on one of the cupcakes, as well as part of the pan and countertop. I frown and look over at him with narrowed eyes.

"You made it look easy," I mutter.

He shakes his head, smiling. "It's not hard once you learn how. You'll get the hang of it in no time. Here, maybe I can help—" He places his hands over mine and I immediately let go of the icing bag, letting it drop onto the counter.

I clasp my hands behind my back and avert my eyes.

"Really, Katniss?" Peeta asks with a hint of humor in his tone. "I thought we moved past the hand thing already."

"Well, you thought wrong then."

"Just let me help?" His voice is soft as he steps closer. "I only want to make it easier for you. I also can't have all the cupcakes being destroyed. I really need to teach you this."

I sigh, my heart racing at the thought of his hands on mine again. I know what he's saying is true though, I have to learn this, so I pick the icing back up again. "Fine. Whatever. Let's get this over with."

I hold my breath as he stands behind me and places his hands over mine. Maintaining a firm yet gentle grip, he begins to guide me.

"Just take it slow, okay? There's no rush." I bite my lip and nod, trying my best to ignore how the vibration of his voice sends chills down my spine. "Don't squeeze the icing out all at one time, apply a little pressure to the middle of the bag and just keep things slow and steady, like this—" Our hands move together in circular movement, inward from the outer edges of the cupcake, until we stop with a curled point in the center. A small, triumphant smile curves my lips upon seeing our cupcake finished, its icing perfectly coiffed.

I breathe again as Peeta releases my hands. "You just decorated your first cupcake, Katniss. Congratulations." I don't even have to look at him to know he's smiling.

"Yeah, with your help."

"Try again, by yourself," he instructs. I do as he says, and while it's not perfect, it comes out much better than before. "You're getting the hang of it. I knew you would. Now just keep practicing on the others."

I continue on to the rest, neither of us saying anything else for a while. I find that I can't take the silence anymore, and that I really need the answers to some things that just won't leave my mind peacefully.

"Peeta?" I ask quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I know it's not really any of my business or anything, but I can't stop thinking about it—"

"About what?" he asks in concern. "You can ask me anything, Katniss."

I inhale a deep breath, daring myself to ask but not wanting to seem horrible for doing so.

"How exactly did you lose your leg?" I finally blurt.

He's silent for a moment, and my stomach ties itself in knots. "The cover story or the real one?"

I look over at him and frown, feeling sick that my suspicions have pretty much been confirmed. "She did this to you, didn't she? And it wasn't an accident—"

"Well, I can't prove it wasn't," Peeta replies with a shrug. "But… well, you saw how she reacted. And she has never once apologized for it, so what am I supposed to think?"

"What did she do to you?" I ask as calmly as I can, laying the icing down. I turn and give him my full attention.

He looks away and runs his hand through his hair. "I was putting gasoline in the mower," he narrows his eyes, as if it hurts to even remember, "I had earphones in, listening to music. I guess I just sensed, you know, that something wasn't quite right. I jumped out of the way as quickly as I could, but my leg was still in the way of my mom's SUV."

He gives sigh before continuing, "At first she said that she didn't see me, but I had an orange shirt on. I was in plain view, she had to have seen me."

"She didn't…" My voice trails off in disbelief.

"She did. I guess I'm lucky that I only lost my leg," Peeta replies. "The doctors tried to save it, but it was hopeless. Everything below my knee had been crushed to tiny fragments."

My hands cover my mouth as imagine the horror and pain he must have felt. "Oh my god, Peeta! That must have been hell—"

"It was. The pain was unimaginable," he says, meeting my eyes. I know that there isn't anything I can do to take these heartbreaking memories away from him, but I wish I could. "Like I said, she never apologized either. It was apparently all my fault. I really think that she wanted me dead."

"Surely not!" I reply adamantly. I refuse to believe that anyone, especially his own mother, would want him not to live. "She might have a horrible personality, but I doubt she could ever—"

"She's said it before," Peeta cuts me off quietly. "She's said it all the time since I was old enough to even remember, that she wished I'd never been born. And even after everything, she sometimes says that she wished it had been more than my leg…." He rubs his eyes and walks off, placing some ingredients on a shelf.

I turn away, feeling unsettled and unsure of what to think. I believe him, definitely, but I can't imagine why his mother would feel so disdainful towards him. He's everything anyone could ever want in a son. How can she treat him this way?

All I do know is that I hate her. I hate her as much as I hate Snow.

"Does your dad know?" I ask after a moment.

"Not the full story," he answers, walking back over to me. "I really think it'd be too much for him to deal with. I just watch my back-"

"You have to tell him, Peeta!" I cut him off loudly. His eyes widen in surprise at my outburst and he stops in his tracks. "You can't just let her get away with it," I say in a quieter tone.

He bites his lip and furrows his brows. "It's… a bit more complicated than you think."

"How so?" I know I'm being way nosy, but he told me this much and he can't just leave me without unanswered questions now.

"Let's sit down, okay?" He walks off to the side of the room, where an old dining room booth seat is located. I follow him without a word. When we're both settled in, he turns to me and asks, "Promise me you won't repeat this to anyone, not even Prim?"

I narrow my eyes in confusion, but I nod. He looks away and leans back onto the seat.

"My mom… well, she comes from a very wealthy family. They've never really been big on feelings or love; they're all pretty cold and distant. My mom is a perfect example of this. Sure, she cares about my brothers, but only because she thinks they'll make her look good in some way. It's always about her, you see, and it always has been.

She's always been used to being spoiled and getting what she wants all of her life. My dad… he was pretty good looking when he was younger, he played on the football team, he was popular and outgoing, and I guess she decided that she wanted him. She knew another girl loved him and was getting ready to tell him. My dad told me that he really loved her too; she was his best friend since childhood.

Well, Mom loves competition and winning more than anything. I'm not really excusing my dad's behavior here, but my mom was really pretty when she was younger, and I'm not sure of all the details, but they wound up sleeping together," Peeta glances at me and raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and with a tiny hint of humor, adds to make it clear, "I mean, they did more than just sleep."

I feel a little embarrassed to be reminded of our earlier miscommunication, but I listen without a word as he continues with his story.

"Next thing my dad knows, she's pregnant and she's demanding that they get married. And, well, you know my dad. Of course he'd do the honorable thing and take responsibility for his actions. Plus, it was a different time back then; you didn't just get a girl pregnant and leave her to deal with it - not that I ever would. She also threatened that her father would do something drastic if he didn't marry her. So, even though he didn't love her and couldn't really stand her, they got hitched and he tried to make the best of it. She wasn't really pregnant, though. He didn't know that until a few months after and it was too late by then, because by that time she actually was.

After they were married and were expecting my oldest brother, my mom get a rude awakening. She had dreams of my dad becoming this famous football player and moving to a house by the beach or into a big city, but he had different plans. He always had, she just never asked.

My grandpa owned this bakery, and my dad grew up in it just like I did. He always knew that when my grandfather died that this place would be his, just like I know that this place will eventually be mine one day.

Anyways, my dad refused to give up the bakery and so my mom hates this place with a passion. She was able to fill my brothers' heads with how horrible and embarrassing this place would be to own and work in, and how it's beneath them, but she could never fool me. I loved baking from the time I was young. I loved being here with dad, helping out. So she never did like me because of that, among other things."

Peeta lets out a hollow laugh as he looks over at me. I've been biting my lip and listening so intently, that I'd almost forgotten where I was. I don't know what to say, but luckily I'm saved from having to find words as he begins to speak again.

"She's been pestering him to retire for years, to just sell this place and move off from here with her. He won't though. He never would. But she blames me for it. She thinks that because I help with the bakery, and since this place will likely be passed down to me, that I'm the reason he won't let this place go. I'm the reason she can't have the life that she wants, why she can't get her way…."

"Why doesn't your dad just divorce her?" I ask him abruptly, my voice quivering with anger.

He smiles at me a little sadly. "Because, like I said, her family is rich and she's vindictive. She could hire the best lawyers in the country if she wanted. She'd take everything my dad has, and especially anything he loves. She'd make sure she got this bakery above anything else, and she'd probably torch it to the ground and laugh. Dad also never wanted to lose his children and have them brought up in a loveless home. She would have taken us, too, just because she knew it'd hurt him. She and her side of the family don't believe in divorce. She feels that it's weak and that it'll ruin her reputation. I think she does a fine job of that herself, but she's always been blind to her own faults."

I release a breath that I realize I'd been holding for a while.

"You shouldn't even have to live with her" I reply strongly. "And I'm glad you're not like your brothers. You're better than they are. Don't listen to your mom. She's wrong."

"Oh, I know," he says. "She only insults what she finds to be a threat."

"I just don't understand how a person can be that way at all."

"Me neither." He looks away and his face noticeably reddens as he continues. "Dad always told me to be smart and not to repeat his mistakes. He said that if I ever decide to give my heart to a girl, to make sure that she's the complete opposite of my mother in every way, and also that she loves this bakery as much as I do."

I look away, feeling strangely disappointed. If he ever finds this girl, I know I'll have to eventually leave here.

"Well, good luck with that. After everything you've been through, you deserve happiness, Peeta."

"Thanks," he replies quietly. "And so do you."