Chapter Sixteen: Morning

"I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort, where we overlap." - Ani DiFranco

Prim and I wake shortly after the sun comes up and make our way down to the lake to bathe before school, as we do every couple of days while the weather is still warm enough.

Snow never came back after he left last night, not that it's out of the ordinary. I'm used to him sticking around long enough to hurt us and leaving again afterwards. Sometimes he'll be gone for only an hour or so, sometimes it can be as much as a week or three. Either way, I'm grateful for it. I don't care where he goes as long as he's gone.

After we finish bathing in the lake, which is already starting to get slightly chilly from the incoming autumn air, we change into our school clothes and brush the wet tangles out of our hair. I braid Prim's long, blond tresses, and then begin to braid my own.

We haven't really spoken to each other at all this morning; Prim seems more desolate than normal, so I'm assuming last night is weighing on her mind as heavily as it is mine.

"So what are you going to tell Peeta?" she asks quietly, almost whispering, as she breaks the silence. "About your neck?"

My hands steady on my hair, mid-braid. I release a long breath and glance over at the lake in contemplation, watching the sun shimmering on the rippling surface. I have no idea what I'll tell him. It's none of his business and he shouldn't ask, but somehow I know that he still will.

I turn back to Prim and shrug. "I won't tell him anything."

I unbraid my hair again. Maybe if I keep it down today, it'll hide the cut and no one will notice my neck at all. Prim shakes her head and frowns at me.

"Well, I think you should. I think you should tell him about Snow," she states, crossing her arms in defiance.

"I'm not going to," I tell her in a finalized tone. "And you better not either, Prim. I mean it. Not a word."

"Why not? He might help," she asks sadly, touching the light bruise on her cheek as if to make a point. I bite my lip and avoid her eyes as I reach for my backpack.

"How exactly can he help us?" I question her rhetorically. She's about to answer anyway, so I continue before she can. "He can't, Prim. So there's no use bothering him with all of this. It's not his problem to deal with."

Not to mention, or I can't mention since I'm sworn to secrecy, that he has his own problems and personal monster to contend with. If he's too scared and unwilling to do anything to improve his own situation, there's little chance he'll do anything to help with mine. Not that I'd expect him to do anything for me anyway. He's done enough as it is.

"But he's really nice—" Prim begins to argue

"And Snow is really mean," I counter. "Your point?"

"I know Peeta would try to help," she answers, desperation in her tone. She has tears in her eyes as she practically pleads with me, "I know he would! He really likes you, and I can tell you like him too. Please just tell him?"

"Prim…" I shake my head and open my backpack without another word.

She's young; she doesn't understand that things are much more complicated than she realizes. She still believes in 'happily ever afters' and 'knights in shining armor', and I'm happy she still has such a positive, fanciful outlook in contrast to our reality. But I can't afford to think like that. If I do, if I let myself be weak and vulnerable, this could all fall apart in an instant.

"You do, right?" Prim asks hopefully. "You like Peeta back, don't you? He's so—"

"I know, Prim. You've said it a thousand times already. I don't need another list of Peeta's good qualities, thank you. I'm well aware." I reach into my backpack and lift out a bowl, a spoon, a box of baking soda, and a water bottle.

"You didn't answer me though," Prim replies in frustration and asks again, "Do you like him back?"

"I don't know," I reply shortly. "It's none of your business anyway, so shut up about it."

I pour some baking soda into the bowl and add water, then stir without looking up. My face is turning red just talking about him and my hands are starting to shake.

The truth is that… yes, maybe I do kind of like Peeta a bit. How could I not? He's kind, thoughtful, and he definitely isn't bad to look at. He's a really nice kisser too. I'm not blind to his good qualities, and I'm not really sure if he even has any bad ones, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let myself fall for his charm.

I'm not going to set myself up for hurt and disappointment, and I won't become emotionally involved.

That's not to say that if he wanted to kiss me again that I wouldn't let him. I probably would, and I'd probably enjoy it - but that's purely physical. I won't delude myself or expect that he wants more or has any sort of deeper feelings for me. I don't need more and he doesn't need me. But if he wants to kiss me, I'll let him, because it's the least I can do to show my gratitude for his kindness. And also, maybe, just slightly, because I kind of liked how it felt.

Once the baking soda and water is mixed to completion, I reach into my backpack and pull out two toothbrushes.

I lather some of the mix onto our brushes and we clean our teeth and tongue with it. True, it's not very good tasting or minty smelling like normal toothpaste, but it goes much further and it gets the job done; it keeps our mouths healthy and odorless, and that's all that really matters.

I hand the water bottle to Prim and she takes a gulp, then swishes and spits. Afterwards, I do the same. Then, with what's left in the bowl, we stick our hands in and lather it under our armpits as deodorant.

In the many days I spent in the library at school during lunch, I've come across books about every day, cheap household items that can be used for multiple purposes. Baking soda is one that I always try to keep on hand. It can be used for so many things: toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo (or at least it cleans the hair), laundry detergent, the list goes on and on. It definitely helps when you can't spend very much money, but you still care about hygiene.

Despite whatever filthy living conditions I'm forced to contend with at home, it doesn't mean I have to like it or give into it by becoming it. I know that everything could be so much better, and it's these little efforts that make me feel like I'm at least trying to improve what I can.

I only wish that I'd known about the baking soda thing a few years ago, when I was younger. Once the kids started calling me by the nickname 'Never-clean', it just never went away, no matter how clean I try to stay now.

We wash our hands off in the lake and begin to make our way to the bus stop. It's still a little early, but it's better than being late. It feels weird not having my hair in a braid. The wind keeps whipping the long strands into my face and Prim keeps trying to suppress giggles because of it.

"You should just braid it, Katniss," she tells me finally. "You can still see the cut anyway."

"No you can't. You just already know it's there. I'm keeping it down."

"But your hair is so long, it's really going to annoy you all day."

She's right, of course. My hair falls to the end up my backside and I have to take special care not to sit down on it. However, the thought of being asked questions about my neck stops me from relieving the burden.

"Better than answering annoying questions all day," I answer, shrugging. I lean against a tree as we finally reach the end of the driveway.

We stand in silence for a few minutes, catching our breath and letting our minds wander. "I still think you should just tell him."

"Prim. We are not doing this again."

"Someone should know," she replies gravely. She sounds so much older than her age that it makes my heart break a little. "He almost killed you, Katniss…."

"He always almost kills me."

"Not like that. I thought he was actually going to do it this time." She shakes her head and wipes away a tear that starts to crawl down her cheek. "One of these times, he just might."

I sigh heavily, feeling frustrated and hopeless, but I still want her to feel better. I give her a quick hug and rub her back soothingly.

"He won't, okay? I promise." I attempt to console her, although I'm aware I'm half-lying. "Besides, there are people who know. Gale knows."

"Gale doesn't count though. He already knows about Snow and he won't stop him-" I hold my breath as I suddenly hear the distant sound of tires on gravel.

I should have known.

I roll my eyes and curse under my breath as I instantly recognize Peeta's car come around the corner. It slows down, as to be expected, and my face heats up as I approach his car.

He rolls down his window and smiles brightly at me.

"Good morning, beautiful," he greets cheerfully. I narrow my eyes and look over at Prim, who has a huge knowing grin on her face.

"What?" I ask her playfully, raising my eyebrows. "He's talking to you, Prim. Aren't you, Peeta?" I turn to him with wink for him to play along.

He grins wider and a small chuckle escapes him. "Actually, I'm talking to both of you."

Prim's face goes red and she looks away, shy and speechless. Without another word, she retreats over to where her backpack lays on the ground.

I turn back to Peeta.

"I mean it though," he says quietly. "You really do look stunning this morning. Your hair is—"

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, Prince Charming," I roll my eyes and attempt to joke, despite my feelings of trepidation, "I know I look haggard this morning." I toy with my hair, attempting to casually cover up my neck with it. "Anyways, what do you want?"

He seems to mull this over for a moment, then shrugs as if making up his mind.

"You," he answers simply.

My stomach flips at his obvious attempt to flirt.

"Seriously, though."

"I am serious," Peeta replies. He leans a little closer and gestures for me to get lower down to him so he can tell me something more quietly. I let out a long breath and decide to do so, even though I know I probably shouldn't. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, causing my skin to break out into goosebumps as he whispers, "I couldn't get you out of my head at all last night."

I lean back and look away awkwardly.

"Oh." I don't really know what else to say to that, but I finish lamely with a half-hearted, "I'm sorry?"

Peeta laughs, his blue eyes sparkling brightly in the morning sun. "No need to apologize, Katniss. You were definitely a welcome guest. In any case, it's all my fault for kissing you—"

My eyes widen and I glance quickly over at Prim, who is now viewing us with a kind of knowing suspicion. How much is she hearing from where she's sitting?

I turn back to him and reply, "Well, maybe you shouldn't do it again then."

"What?"

"You know," I say, fidgeting with my hair. He shakes his head as if he doesn't understand, so I lean down closer to him and whisper, "Kiss me."

"Sure." And before I can react or even process what is happening, his lips are on mine again. But only for a second. I gasp loudly in surprise and pull back quickly, my eyes wide from the shock of what just happened.

Prim giggles, then starts to chant mischievously, "Kiss her, Peeta! Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!"

I wheel around, mortified, and through gritted teeth I retort quite emphatically, "Shut UP, Prim!"

I'm going to kill her. I am absolutely going to kill her for this.

"I hear you, Prim! I'll do my very best to follow your orders!" Peeta calls over to her in amusement, despite what I'd just said to her. I face him again, giving him a disapproving look with my hands on my hips. He only smiles wider, however, and I find that I really can't stay mad at him. "Well, are you both going to ride to school with me or what? I'm stopping by the bakery for some morning doughnuts."

Prim picks up her backpack and runs to Peeta's car before I can even answer. She opens the back door excitedly and sits down without a word.

"Well, I guess you've been answered then," I say, knowing it's pointless to even argue.

I make my way to the passenger door, open it, and sit down inside. I feel even more self-conscious and unsure of myself now that I'm sitting right next to him. My face is bright red already and, knowing how Peeta and Prim seem to be working together against me, I feel very paranoid that she might tell him about Snow, despite my earlier protests.

Finally, after what seems like the longest car ride ever, we arrive at the bakery. I was tense the whole time, wondering if Prim was going to say something inappropriate about home, or about the cut on my neck. Luckily she didn't, but I can't be too sure that she still won't.

As we pull into the parking lot, I turn to Prim, "Go on inside. Peeta and I will meet you in a minute, okay?" I glance over at Peeta, who looks back at me with concern and curiosity.

"Why? You gonna kiiiisss?" Prim teases and giggles, then starts to make kissing noises. I press my lips together and shake my head. "Prim! Go inside. Now!"

I hear a small snort of laughter come from Peeta, who then tries to cover it up with a fake cough. When Prim finally disappears inside, I turn to him with a frown.

"You need to stop it."

"Stop what?" He feigns innocence, but he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"Kissing me and being all flirty in front of Prim," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. I feel weird even having this conversation with him.

"Why?"

"Why?" I repeat his question and shrug. "Because it's inappropriate for her to see, for one thing."

"See what?" Peeta asks, his eyes questioning but kind. "A guy showing interest in her big sister? Because I'm pretty sure she wasn't upset by it. I think it was kind of the opposite, actually."

"Yeah, well. You might get her hopes up and I don't want to deal with the disappointment."

"Then I'll try my hardest not to ever disappoint her." I feel his hand fold into mine. I want to pull it away, but I can't bring myself to. He's not being rude or anything, and I know that any other girl would love hearing these things, but I don't know how to process them. I don't even know why I'm letting him hold my hand at the moment, but I don't have a reason not to allow it. I find that I like it more than I don't.

I cover my eyes with my free hand and mumble, "I still don't understand you at all. I'm really not worth your time-"

I stop mid-sentence as I feel him move my hair over my shoulder. I give a sudden gasp of realization as his fingertips trace the cut on my now exposed neck. I glance over at him, my body trembling. He's frowning and looks angry.

"What happened?" he asks seriously, all trace of humor gone from his voice.

"Nothing," I blurt and swat his hand away from me. I quickly bring my hair back over my shoulder to hide the cut.

"No, it's not."

"It's… it's just a paper cut," I make up. I know it's stupid as soon as I say it. The cut looks nothing similar to a paper cut and I know he's not gullible enough to believe that.

"Yeah, sure," he replies. "And the bruise on your cheek was caused by paper, too?"

"Maybe." I shrug. "I don't want to talk about it."

I open the car door and get out, not wanting to discuss this any further with him. I walk as fast as I can to the bakery without looking back.