Chapter Seventeen: Questions
"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates vision for tomorrow."
- Melody Beattie
"Katniss! Good morning dear," Mr. Mellark cheerfully greets as I enter the bakery. "Such a nice surprise seeing you and Prim here this early."
"Peeta saw us waiting for the bus and gave us a ride," Prim pipes up from a table in the dining room. She already has a plate full of baked goods in front of her. I'm guessing Mr. Mellark gave her free reign to pick whatever she wanted and her eyes were a little bigger than her stomach.
My heart leaps into my throat as I hear Peeta enter the bakery behind me. I don't feel like answering or acknowledging any of his questions about my neck, and I really hope he lets the subject drop. I twist my hair anxiously in my hands, bringing it forward enough to cover the cut. I don't need Mr. Mellark asking questions, too.
Peeta comes beside me and asks quietly, "Will you follow me to the back room? I need to show you something."
I cut my eyes at him in warning. Mr. Mellark smiles to himself and shakes his head as if amused about something, then walks into the dining room to sit with Prim.
"I'm not talking about it, Peeta," I whisper forcefully.
He begins to walk to the back room, waving for me to follow him. I hesitate at first, but reluctantly give in.
I stand in the backroom quietly, staring at him in defiance. He can ask all he wants, but he can't make me talk.
Peeta walks over to the far corner of the room and retrieves a white metal box from a shelf, which I instantly recognize as a first-aid kit. He makes his way back over to me, places the box on the counter, and opens the lid without a word.
I break the silence in spite of myself. "What are you doing?"
"Regardless of how it happened, it looks pretty bad. I don't want it to get infected," he replies solemnly.
"It's not even deep, Peeta. It's a surface wound. It'll be just fine," I shrug. "I've had a lot worse than this before."
"I know," he says without meeting my eyes, "I've noticed."
"You have?"
He takes a bottle of antiseptic out of the container and pours some of the liquid onto a piece of cotton. A sigh escapes him as he meets my eyes once more. I look down, feeling all to self aware under his seemingly knowing gaze.
"You're really not as invisible as you think you are."
"Maybe not to you," I say.
"Never to me."
Our eyes meet again for a brief moment, and he raises his brows to make a point. I sigh and look down at the floor again. I then feel his hand on my hair—moving it to the side to gain access to my wound—and I step back from him quickly, folding my arms.
"Come on, you need to let me do this. It won't hurt—"
"I don't care if it hurts."
"Then let me—"
"No."
"Katniss, please? You're being stubborn," Peeta pleads with me, both with his words and his eyes. "You want it to heal faster, don't you?"
I shrug and, just like that, I know I've lost any control over the situation. I don't know why I'm refusing his aid anyway. It can't hurt anything, and he's only trying to help. He closes the distance between us again and questions me with his eyes. I shrug again and look away, giving in and wanting him to get it over with.
He pushes my hair back over my shoulder, then brings the wet piece of cotton to my neck, dabbing it softly along the line of the cut. It's wet and cold and burns slightly.
I take a sudden breath, wincing. "You lied to me. It stings."
"Only for a split second," Peeta replies softly. He then takes me completely by surprise by leaning down and blowing air onto my neck in an attempt to dry the wound quicker. His breath is warm against my cold skin and it sends a shiver throughout my entire body. I clear my throat in an attempt to compose myself and appear casual, but it's hard to do with him standing so close to me, with his lips mere inches from my neck, blowing on me.
"I… I think it's dry now," I state rather unevenly. Peeta leans away from me and nods before moving back over to the box. He pulls out a yellow tube of antibiotic ointment.
"I promise you this one won't sting or hurt at all, okay?" he says with a small, reassuring smile.
"Okay then. Get it over with."
He unscrews the lid and squeezes some of the white gel onto his index finger. I suck in a deep breath and bite my lip, trying to prepare myself for the contact again.
"I'll be gentle," Peeta says to me right before he places his finger lightly to my neck. He runs it along the length of the cut, making sure to get the antibiotic onto every bit of it. I stare at his face as he does this, wondering why in the world someone like him would care at all about someone like me. His eyes seem a little darker than normal as he concentrates on treating my cut.
Suddenly he shakes his head, as if disgusted, and looks up at me.
"I know someone did this to you. And who ever that person is, I hope they rot in hell." He picks a big flesh-colored bandage from the box and looks at me, frowning. "I'm sorry. It just makes me mad that someone would ever hurt you like that."
"You don't know that," I tell him quickly, defensively. "You have no idea if someone did this to me."
"I know you didn't do it," Peeta states. "I also know paper certainly didn't do it. And I know the only reason you'd have to lie about it is if you're covering for someone. You think I don't know all about that sort of thing, Katniss?" He points to the light bruise on his cheek and then to his leg.
I don't really know what to say, so I remain silent. He obviously already knows more than I'm willing to admit to him anyway.
He nods slowly as if I've proved his point. "And now you're all quiet, so I know I'm right, not that I want to be."
"I just… I don't want to talk about it, okay?" I reply weakly. He peels the back off of the bandage and gently tilts my chin upwards to place it onto my neck. Once it's secure and fully covering the cut, he looks up at my face and brings his hand to my lightly bruised cheek.
"I wish you would tell me," he persists. "I told you things. I trusted you with things that no one else knows. You can trust me too. I promise."
I give a heavy sigh and stare down at the floor.
"You didn't have to tell me those things, though," I counter.
"But I did. Doesn't that count for anything?"
I shrug, feeling backed into a corner by his words.
"There isn't anything you can do. It's just pointless to even go there."
"Pointless?" Peeta echoes in disbelief and touches my neck gently. "This? It's not pointless, Katniss! It's pretty damn serious, actually."
"Yeah? Kind of like losing a leg, and nearly your life? That's pretty serious, too, Peeta!" I heatedly retort. He runs his hand through his hair, looking tired and stressed.
"I'm stuck in my situation. When I turn eighteen in November, though—"
"And I'm not stuck in my situation?" I cut him off before he can finish.
"I don't know. You won't tell me," he says with obvious exasperation.
"Well, I am."
"Who is it?"
"I can't say."
"It's been going on for years, I know that much."
"You don't know anything."
"I know a lot more than you think I do." He brings his hand to my bruised cheek again and runs his thumb over it tenderly. "I know it isn't normal for little girls to come to school with bruises and broken bones, or practically starved."
"Don't judge me, Peeta," I say, my voice quivering.
"I'm not judging you. I'm judging whoever does this to you! It's not your fault, I don't care what the reason is. You don't deserve to be treated like this and neither does Prim! I saw the bruise on her face too, by the way. If you're not going to tell me who it is on your behalf, at least do it for Prim. I'm sure I could get her to tell me in a heartbeat—"
"Don't you even dare."
"Or what?" he challenges. "I want to help you. But you need to help me by letting me help you."
"I don't remember asking for your help," I mumble.
"You didn't and I know you won't," he says. "You're too stubborn. But I am going to help you."
"It's a lot more complicated than you think!" I blurt, my face burning with agitation. "Stop trying to play the hero, okay? Because it won't work."
"I'm not trying to play anything. I just hate seeing you hurt and afraid. You and your sister, you deserve so much better—"
"And so do you!"
"I know," he replies with a small, sad smile. "We do deserve better. Maybe we deserve each other?"
"No, Peeta…" I mumble quietly. "You deserve much better than me."
"How can I do better than the best?" He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone. "Besides, we already kind of match." He points to the bruise on his cheek and softly traces the one on mine at the same time. Before I can stop him, he leans over and places a small kiss on my cheek. My breath catches at the simple contact.
He leans back and smiles at me.
"What was that for?" I ask, attempting to frown.
"I owed you one from yesterday. You kissed my cheek, so I kissed yours. It's only fair." "You already kissed me this morning though."
"So there's a limited amount I can give?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "I'd like to know the exact number you'll allow so I can make full use of each one."
And like that, the anxiety of the situation vanishes.
"Peeta, you are absolutely horrible, and you really need to stop with the kissing stuff. Seriously," I reply with a slight smile and a roll of my eyes.
"Why? Am I bad kisser?"
"Stop fishing."
"So you're saying I'm good, then?" He grins playfully at me.
"I'm not saying anything."
"Seriously, though," Peeta looks a little uncertain, "if you really don't like it, I'll stop. Just tell me you don't like it."
If I said that, it'd be untrue. So I change the subject, "Isn't it about time to head on to school? We're going to be late."
He looks at his watch and nods.
"Yeah, you're right. I guess we should get going."
Once Prim is dropped off at the elementary school and we arrive at the high school, we realize we're a little early. We decide to sit in the car for a few minutes to eat a couple doughnuts. Things are kind of quiet between us, but I'm not about to start a conversation with him. It always tends to lead to something I'd rather avoid.
Peeta's the first to speak. He doesn't look at me, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "Katniss?"
"Hmmm?"
"It wasn't that guy, was it? That one who came into the bakery? He said he treated you rough and—" I look at him with wide eyes, mortified that he'd even bring this up again.
"Gale? No, not at all. He'd never hurt me," I reply quickly.
"Oh. Okay." He falls silent for a moment. "I really wish you'd tell me."
"Peeta, please just stop."
"Is it your parents?" I don't say anything; I just look out my window. I see him nod his head from the corner of my eye. "It has to be, now that I think about it."
"My mom would never hurt me," I mumble. She might have made the mistake of marrying Snow and putting us in this situation, and I do resent her for it, but she would never physically, intentionally hurt us and she'd never wish for it either.
"Your dad is dead and your mom remarried when you were eleven, right?" Peeta asks quietly.
I shrug and nod, but I don't say anything. I'm surprised that he remembers these small details about my life. "So it's your stepdad?" He turns to me, but I don't answer. I bite my lip and look away.
His hand goes to my hair and he combs through it with his fingers, tucking a few of the long tendrils behind my ear. His knuckles graze the side of my cheek.
I feel like crying, but I won't.
Peeta knows. I don't have to say anything. I technically didn't tell anyone. And I know he's aware that he's figured it out by my silence.
"You don't have to face this alone," he whispers sincerely. "Not anymore. We'll figure something out, okay?"
I shrug, but I feel too overwhelmed to speak.
