Last Time in Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged:
"Katniss, is this your way of trying to ask me to be your boyfriend?"
I nod again, my head tilting down to stare at my feet. I trace a half-moon in the dirt as I wait for his response.
It isn't long in coming. Rather than words, he slips a finger underneath my chin and tilts my head up until my eyes meet his. In this pale dawn light, his normally light blue eyes are so dark as to almost be the color of midnight. As I watch, a slow smile spreads across his lips to brighten his whole face. "I'm going to kiss you now."
He's giving me the choice to say no. I have no intention of saying that word. Instead, the word "Okay" slips from my lips.
He lowers his head, his mouth covering mine. It's just what I expected: sweet, with a hint of spice hiding underneath. He tastes of cinnamon and sugar and of home. And I've never felt anything so right as Peeta's lips on mine.
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Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged
by RoseFyre & FanficAllergy
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Chapter Twenty-Four: Not Months But Moments
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"The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough."|
― Rabindranath Tagore
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Even though it's the last thing I want to do, I end the kiss. I need to find something to hang on to. I need to stop myself from floating away. And we both need to breathe. Besides, the district is starting to wake. Lights come on. Shadows move behind drawn curtains. Considering Peeta and Nata only broke up less than a week ago, it wouldn't do for Peeta to publicly jump into another relationship right now. It might hurt his reputation, or worse the bakery's reputation.
Mine's already long gone.
"Wow," Peeta says sounding as out of breath as I feel. "That was some kiss."
"Thanks." I push a nonexistent strand of hair back behind my ear to cover my blush. My eyes drift down to the basket still dangling from his left hand. "What's in the basket?"
"Oh no! I completely forgot!" He grabs my left hand in his right. "Come on!" He tugs me into motion.
I speed after him. "Where are we going?"
"I'm supposed to take these cinnamon rolls to the Mayor's house," he says glancing back over his shoulder at me. "He's got someone from the Capitol coming by for an early morning meeting."
"Oh!"
"Yeah, it's some bigwig." He shrugs. "Don't know why."
"It's probably about the mines. Or something like that." That would be the best option, anyway. We try to avoid the Capitol here in Twelve.
"Probably," he agrees. "Or at least I hope it is. That at least it hopefully wouldn't be bad news." He leaves unsaid that any Capitol visit was probably bad news.
I just nod. He said exactly what I was thinking.
"So," he changes the subject, "what are you doing later?"
"Working at Haymitch's." It's a silly question; I do the same thing every day. I wrack my brain to find something more interesting to say. "Although I was thinking of going out into the woods, maybe setting some traps, seeing if there's anything else I could find."
"Like squirrels?" He sounds sort of hopeful.
"Yeah, I suppose."
"What I wouldn't give for some squirrel stew. We didn't have any last night. It's normally our Armistice Day dinner, and I miss it."
Suddenly, I want to get a squirrel more than anything. "What are you doing after this?"
"I've got school."
"But that doesn't start for hours." I tug at his hand. "Come on. Let's go get you a squirrel."
He holds up his basket. "Just as soon as I drop these off."
Once Peeta's run his errand, we stop by my house to pick up a few things before I lead him out into the woods. I feel this lightness about me, a happiness I haven't felt in a long, long time. I keep stopping to kiss Peeta. Quick little kisses, nothing like the kiss we shared before, but each time his lips touch mine, a little jolt of pure joy flows through me.
"What's gotten into you?" Peeta asks with an expression of wonder on his face.
I shrug. "I don't know. I'm just… happy." I pause, looking away shyly. "You make me happy."
He gathers me into his arms and plants little kisses all over my face. "You make me happy too," he says in between each kiss. "Come on," he tugs at my hand, "we've got hunting to do."
"But what about school?" It's getting close to the time when he should leave.
He shrugs. "Eh. I'll skip it. I've only missed a couple of days this year, and no one would think anything of it, considering it's the day after Armistice Day. They know how busy the bakery is. Come to think of it, I think Johnny's skipping too. With Madge." He waggles his eyebrows at me.
I can't help but smile. "Are you saying I'm a bad influence on you?"
"Nope, not at all." He gathers me into his arms to rest his forehead on mine. "You are the best influence on me."
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The rest of the morning is just as idyllic. We hunt. We fish. I show him a few of my other favorite places in the woods. In the area where the stream enters the lake, there's this little clearing where dandelions grow. We gather the first tender spring leaves to eat as a snack while I set up a target to start showing Peeta how to use a bow.
I demonstrate how to draw the bow a few times, telling him not to pull too hard or too jerkily. That's how you end up with a snapped bowstring or painful welts on your arms. I should know. I learned the hard way. But not Peeta. He takes to archery like a duck to water. I'm surprised; I would've thought with his build that he wouldn't be able to draw it properly. I guess I've underestimated him.
Like my father did before me, I stand behind him, reaching out to correct his stance or to shift his elbow or shoulder into the right place. At one point, his entire stance is off, and I wrap my arms around him to reposition his body.
"I could get used to this," Peeta says, his voice a little husky. "You, having your hands all over my body. I like it."
My cheeks heat up despite the coolness of the air. "I like it too," I tell him, then forcibly shake myself out of it. "You need to use your thumb as an anchor against your cheek. You need to keep your elbow up. You keep dropping it." I demonstrate for him so that he can see what I'm trying to describe.
"Let me try," he says. "With an arrow."
"Okay." My tone is dubious. There's no way he's going hit anything.
And I'm right. He drops the arrow the first few times he tries, and I struggle not to laugh. He seems to know that I'm amused at him, but unlike when I was trying to teach Gale, he doesn't get angry at my amusement. Instead, he joins in the laughter. Stealing little kisses for each dropped arrow.
It takes him more tries than I can count, but he finally manages to nock the arrow successfully.
His first shot doesn't go very far. Maybe five feet. Maybe. If I'm generous.
He retrieves the arrow and starts again. This time the arrow goes further. It's still at least a good ten feet from the target.
To give him something to shoot for - metaphorically - I say, "If you manage to hit the target on your next shot, I'll give you a kiss. A real one. Like the one this morning."
"And if I don't?"
"Hmm… you have to rub my feet."
"Deal," he says quickly.
Dang it. I should've bargained for more.
This time, Peeta pulls back and takes careful aim. He draws back even further than before, understanding that how far he pulls the string equates to how far the arrow will fly. He bites his tongue in concentration; I find it utterly adorable. He takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment then lets the arrow fly.
It completely misses the target, shooting off into the brush.
There's a high-pitched squeak from that direction, which gives me pause. Bushes don't squeak. I hurry over and root around, searching for my arrow. I find it sticking out of a medium-sized hare, its fur still a mottled mix of white and brown.
"I guess this means I have to rub your feet," Peeta says, coming up behind me.
"I don't know," I say, holding up the now dead hare. "You may have missed the target, but you definitely got the better prize."
His eyes are warm when he looks at me and says, "Yes I did."
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"Did he really say that?" My sister's voice is incredulous.
"He did."
"Aww! How sweet!" Prim coos as she slips a nightgown over our mother's emaciated body.
While my mother has never been what you would call plump, she's now nothing but skin and bones. Even more worrying are the large sores that have developed on her shoulders and over her hip bones. I've done what I can to bandage them, keep them clean, but they still keep getting bigger and bigger. I don't know what to do.
I wring the rag I've got soaking in a solution of witch hazel and water out and continue washing my mother's limp limbs. "It was sweet," I say, continuing with my work.
"So what happened next?"
"We sat next to the lake, I made a fire, and we roasted the rabbit he shot."
"Do you really think he missed and just happened to hit it?"
"Well, it wasn't the target. This was his first time with a bow, so unless he's been training with a bow without me knowing..." I trail off, letting Prim draw her own conclusions.
"How would he do that?"
"I don't know."
She nods decisively. "Then it has to be luck."
"Yeah, it has to be."
"So you shared a rabbit, and then what?"
"Well, we kissed, then we kissed some more… it was nice." My mind drifts back to relive the moment. A little shiver steals through me. "He's a good kisser."
"Like, does he use his tongue?" She wrinkles her nose. "'Cause that seems wet."
Oh to be twelve again. "Um, a little? Not much." Thoughts of Peeta's tongue against my own slip through my head, and I end up dropping my rag in the water with a splash. "Um, sorry, yeah. It's nice. But only if you do it with somebody who knows what he's doing."
"So Peeta knows what he's doing?" Prim presses.
"Oh yeah."
"Rory doesn't."
"Wait, what?" I drop the rag again. "When did you and Rory-"
"Armistice Day. You know how we went hunting?"
"Yeah."
"So we went hunting, and it was nice. We set a lot of snares, although I'm still really pissed about that deer that got away. And I was ranting and raving and scaring all the birds away, so Rory grabbed me and kissed me."
"And?" I'm not happy about Rory kissing my sister like that without her permission, especially since it's the second time he's done it. I think I need to have a talk with Hazelle about teaching her boys about consent and respecting a girl's boundaries. At the same time, if Prim wants this, wants Rory, it's not up to me. So I need my sister to tell me if I'm just talking to Hazelle, or if I'm bringing Hazelle the body of her second son.
"It wasn't bad. I kind of liked it at first."
Okay, Rory gets to live.
"But then he tried to put his tongue in my mouth, and I didn't like that."
Or maybe not.
"What'd you do then?"
"I pushed him away."
"And?" Depending on Prim's answer, Hazelle may be down one son.
"And we talked."
"Uh huh."
"I told him I didn't like him kissing me without my permission."
Way to go, Prim. "And what'd he say to that?"
"He told me that it took all of his courage just to kiss me the first time and that since I didn't object the first time, then I must have wanted it. So he didn't think he needed to ask permission again." Prim paused. "But he does. We're not dating. Not really. So I told him that. And he said he won't do it again."
"Uh huh. And do you believe him?"
"No. It's why I smacked him."
Good for her! "And?"
"Then I kissed him. Then I asked him how he liked it. Do you know what he said?"
"No, what did he say?"
"He said he didn't like it, and he saw my point. He didn't like that he didn't know what was coming."
I guess I don't have to talk to Hazelle and the woman won't lose any sons. Prim took care of the problem. But if Rory takes one step out of line… "Good for you. So what are you going to do now?"
"We're going to try dating. For real. With kissing and hugging and holding hands and that's it. I mean, he's a good hunting partner, but it's not like I'm going to marry him. I mean, I wouldn't want my hunting partner to be my husband. Could you imagine? We could never hunt together again!"
I stifle the urge to laugh. Trust my sister to have her priorities in order. "So this is just practice dating?"
"Yeah. I mean, who gets married to the person they like when they're twelve?"
Prim's got a point. Even our parents didn't meet until they were older, when our mom was sixteen and our dad was fifteen. And unlike so many other people in District Twelve, they didn't get married right after my dad's last Reaping. They waited a couple of years. I don't know why. They both got really quiet the one time I brought it up.
"So, are you going to marry Peeta?" Prim asks, changing the subject.
The rag makes a repeat splash in the bowl. "What? We just started dating!" I'm not ready to think about marriage!
"Yeah, but is it like practice dating or real dating?"
"I am not answering that question!" I exclaim as I fish the rag back out.
Prim grins. "Real dating. Got it."
I need to get her off that topic. And there's something else I need to tell her. "You shouldn't go out into the woods right now."
"But Katniss!" Her eyes go wide.
"No." I lay our mother back into her customary position. She doesn't resist or help, just stays limp in my hands. I wish she would react at all. But she doesn't. It's like she's a doll. "I've got to work at Haymitch's, and we've been catching a lot lately. Somebody's got to preserve it all, and it can't be me. I can't do everything."
She pouts and crosses her arms. "You're only saying this because I asked you about Peeta."
"No really, Prim, I need you to do this. I need your help. Really." I meet her eyes and watch as she sags. "Oh, and while you're at it, can you fix the nets? You're better at it than I am."
"Fine. But I'm not going to forget about Peeta."
"I-"
The door to the bedroom opens and Aven wanders in, his index finger stuck in the corner of his cheek. He comes over to where I'm standing next to our mother and tugs on my sleeve. "I'm hungry."
"How hungry?" I ask the little boy.
He puts his hands out in front of his stomach. "Big hungry!"
I sigh. "Can you finish with Mom while I go make dinner?"
Prim glances at the hollow shell of what's left of our mother. "Yeah. Just… save me some dessert, will you?"
I pick up my brother and give her a nod.
As we leave, my little brother wraps his arms around my neck and whispers into my ear, "When's Mommy coming home?"
I glance back at my mother's wasting form. "I don't know, Little Man."
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AN:
Written: 12/3/18
Revised: 1/6/19
So… we can't remember if Katniss used a nickname for Aven in the past. Or what it was. So if you can find one or tell us what scene it was in, we will either edit it in or give Aven more than one nickname. :P
To everyone out there, kissing someone without permission is not okay. It's sexual assault. There are ways to tell if the kiss will be appreciated… leaning in, pursing the lips, VERBAL CONSENT! Look at what we did in the last chapter, that's okay. Peeta gave Katniss an out. Darius way back when gave Katniss an out. Consent is mandatory. Without unambiguous consent, it's not okay. Don't do it. And don't romanticize it. We're guilty of doing this ourselves. But we're acknowledging it and changing. *steps off of the soapbox*
Let us know what you think! Your reviews inspire us to write more. This is especially true with fic. Since we don't get paid for this. ^_^ To those who do review, you're the reason we haven't abandoned our fics. We love you.
Until next time! Thanks for reading!