Hey everyone! I pray this all finds you well. Things here in my neck of the woods are okay. My family has been blessed and not yet been sick and my hubby and I are both essential workers. Please know I'm praying for each of you, as we all face strange times.
That all said, I have a new Chappy for you! I know it has been a while in the making, but I'm finally okay with it and ready to post. As always, read and send me notes, it makes me giddy and excited to write some more.
It's two long days of dodging kisses and mind-numbing Capitol TV before Carter finally mentions going into town again.
"I think we could do with some groceries," Carter says the second night as we sit watching some ridiculous rerun of an old movie starring a signing cat.
I perk up at the suggestion but try to not show my eagerness. This is my chance to escape out the window in the attic, I can't fumble this. Flopping down onto my side I look up at him feign a thoughtful expression. "Well actually, there are a few things I could use if you do go," I say.
He nods and smiles, "Hot chocolate mix?" He needles, his voice saccharin sweet.
I inwardly cringe a feeling that has been ever-present since I woke up here four days ago. His intimate knowledge of not only Peeta's home and Victors Village but of my likes and dislikes makes my skin crawl. I swallow thickly at the thought but nod. "That sounds delicious, but there were a few more practical things too, " I tease in return. "You know what, let's make a list," I suggest. He nods his approval at the suggestion so I push myself up and off the couch, and head to the bookcase for a pad and pencil. Settling into the chair at the desk, I consider my options. I want to make this list long but not so long as to be suspicious. I slowly start to compile a random assortment of necessities I don't think I've seen around the house, paying specific attention to pick items I think are specific to 12. Having no idea where we actually are, I hope the random items are in various shops as they are back home. "Anything specific you want?" I ask over my shoulder. He considers the question for a second before joining me at the writing desk. Scanning my list, he holds out his hand out for the pencil. With a flourish, he adds a few items at the bottom before moving to the mail center by the door and pinning it to the corkboard. "I'll head out pretty early, do you want me to wake you before I leave so we can have breakfast?" he asks as he drops down onto the sofa.
Forcing myself up, I cross the room to join him on the couch. I snuggle into his side and gaze up into his fake blue eyes. "Yeah, I'd like that," I coo. I'm rewarded with a wide smile and the predictable the dip of his face to mine. I allow the kiss this time, fighting with myself the whole time to act as naturally as possible. Giving him one more peck, I detangle myself from my captor, "I'm a little hungry, you want some popcorn?" I ask batting my eyelashes at him, which feels unnatural to me but he seems to eat this kind of stuff up. His eyes sparkle. "I'll pick another movie," he offers as I stand. I bite my tongue and respond with a forced smile.
In the seclusion of the kitchen, I let my fake smile fall away and the shiver I've been suppressing for hours work its way up down my body. I shake out my arms and breathe deeply. Faking this infatuation is exhausting and I'm at the end of my rope when it comes to playing make-believe with this psycho. It strikes me that I've played at pretending lovers before, but Peeta, my sweet and kind Peeta, always made it easy for me, even when it must have been killing him. I swallow back tears at the memories and give myself a firm mental shake. The two situations are not the same, and I wasn't a prisoner with Peeta. Running hands over my face, I scrub my lips with my fingertips but it does nothing to erase the icy feeling running down my spine. Out in the living room, I hear a corny melody that can only mean he's landed on another sappy love story for us to watch. I sigh, holding back the groan that begs to be freed. Better get at it, I think collecting a pot from the rack above the island and drop it on the stove. I quickly fill the bottom of the pot with vegetable oil and while I wait for it to heat, I start on the real reason I suggested a snack. Pulling open the cabinets I begin to make a mental list of things I might bring with me on my escape tomorrow. Anxiety builds in my stomach as I find myself considering each item for what feels like forever. Without a bow, I need to be prepared to feed myself from what I can find and what I bring with me. What I choose needs to be light and easy to make. I'm pondering the practicality of dried pasta when Carson comes into the kitchen. I glance over my shoulder at him, "Where's the popcorn?" I inquire, covering for why I'm snooping in the cabinets. Picking up a canister off the island he hands it to me. "Wine?" He asks. I don't really care for wine, especially the red he's pulled out, but then I realize the bottle and cork might be my best bet for a canteen. "Sure," I agree, dumping corn kernels into the hot oil.
While I shake the pot encouraging the corn to pop, he gathers two glasses and the wine bottle and disappears back into the living room. Alone once again, I make quick work of gathering a can opener, a spoon, and fork and dumping them into a drawer of miscellaneous items for quick retrieval in the morning and sigh. What else do I need, ponder, before decided to add a couple of flour sack towels and some candles to the stash and shut the drawer. Food I'll decide on tonight now that I have a mental inventory of the cabinet's contents.
I let my fingers tap out a random melody on the countertop as I wait for the popping to slow. Pulling the pot from the flames, I drop in a couple of tablespoons of butter, give it a shake, then dump the whole thing into a bowl. Grabbing the salt shaker, I move on reluctant feet back into the living room and to another two hours of mind-numbing television.
I'm not sure when I nodded off but I find myself jerking to consciousness when the background jabbering from the TV goes silent. I'm instantly wide awake. "You're clearly ready for bed," Carson states gathering the wine glasses and empty popcorn bowl. I rub my eyes and just nod. I haven't slept more than 30 minutes at a time since I woke from the drug-induced sleep a few days go. I know I need to sleep to stay sharp but there seems to be no convincing my brain, it's on high alert with this deranged man nearby.
When Carson disappears into the kitchen, I take the opportunity to escape upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom. The last two nights he has joined me in the washroom for my bedtime routine keeping me from showering. If I'm to head out into the wild tomorrow I want to get a shower in tonight, might be my last one for a while.
With hot water cascading down my form my mind spins, making and remaking a list of essentials that I'm going to need. Wire or fishing line, matches, a blanket, something to store food and carry everything, the wine bottle, canned food, and an opener. A knife would be nice but I don't know that I'll have the time to break into the drawer that houses them. Most of the items on my list are easy to come by, a blanket from the closet, a canvas bag from the entryway, matches from the fireplace, but the wire for snares or fishing has me stumped. Shutting off the water, I step out of the warmth of the enclosure and distractedly towel myself off. Wire, wire….wire… my brain spins finding no traction. I open the hamper to drop in my towel and spot a paint-covered rag. I snort at the sight; the man can't paint a stick figure why bother with real paint? Then it hits me, the studio! While this imposter can't so much as finger paint, he has replicated Peeta studio down to the smallest detail and I'd bet that includes the thin wire Peeta keeps to hang canvases. It will allow me to catch food, it will help keep me alive. Giddy laughter bubbles up in my chest and out of my mouth without my permission. The very thought of escaping has my heart pounding in anticipation. For the first time in days, I allow myself to think of home. My eyes drift closed and I picture my house in my Victor's Village, a cranky, scraggly yellow cat, my woods… I can almost even hear the sound of geese calling me into the day. "Home," I mutter softly. Home to my family- Haymitch, Sae, and, of course, my Peeta. The very thought of my boy with the bread causes tears to push through my lashes and my chest to ache. Being surrounded by everything that reminds me of him but being trapped here with a batshit crazy imposter has been chipping away at my sanity. Exhausted, I lean into the mirror, bracing my hands on either side of the sink. My reflection is muted by the fog the steam from the shower created, but I still spot lines and dark smudges marring the delicate skin under my eyes. Lack of sleep is beginning to show on my features but I been through worse.
A knock on the door startles me back to the present. "I'll be right out," I yell. I quickly pull on my pajamas and shoving a toothbrush in my mouth before unlatching the door. Carson saunters into the bathroom and leans against the sink as I brush. "Why are you hiding in here?" he asks, his attempt at nonchalance obvious. I roll my eyes in what I hope is a playful manner and spit out my toothpaste. "I wasn't hiding," I lie, "I'm…keeping the mystery alive," I add lamely. He cocks an eyebrow at me.
My mind spins and lands on the one thing all men avoid discussing, "It's my lady time," I fib as I rinse the toothbrush. "Actually, could you add my necessaries to the list for tomorrow?" I ask. This topic works exactly as I hoped it would. Carson nods quickly and turns his reddened face to the mirror to start his evening routine. Hiding a smirk, I plant a peck to his cheek, "Thanks," I offer before padding into the bedroom. Tucking into bed, I struggle to keep still, my anxiety about tomorrow causing my body to hum in anticipation.
The lights go out in the bathroom and I see Carson's shadow move across the room and circle the footboard to his side of the bed. On my side, facing away from him, I feel bed dip and the blankets shift over me as he makes himself comfortable on the mattress. When he doesn't snuggle into me, I let out a breath, though my body stays tense and ready to spring into motion at the slightest provocation. The room is silent for a few beats before he breaks it. "Uh, Katniss, I don't recall…umm…what kind of necessities do you need me to get? There are different kinds, right?" he asks, his voice shy.
If he weren't right next to me, I would laugh. The man is holding me captive and has proven he's willing to incapacitate me but is shy about feminine hygiene products? I guess this necessity didn't register while he was stocking me. "I'll write it down for you in the morning," I state, adding a yawn to the end of the sentence hoping he'll think I'm tired and hold any other questions he might for me until the morning. The ploy apparently works because the room goes quiet and before long soft snores emanate fill the room. Finally, my body relaxes. Settling into my pillow, I stare at the clock on my nightstand, 11:34. I watch as the minute hand ticks ways the seconds of my captivity. Letting out a breath, I try to focus my thought on list of things I need to gather. A blanket from the hall closet, wire from the studio, dried pasta, maybe rice, potato flakes, peanut butter, bread, crackers, dried fruit, few cans of tinned meat, can opener, spoon and fork, candles and matches, canvas bag, wine bottle, water. The list repeats itself on a loop as my eyes become heavy. I try to force myself back to consciousness, but weariness wins out and I slip into a fit full sleep.
The wind brings Peeta's anxious voice to me across the promenade in Victors' Village. "Katniss? Katniss? Where are you?" It begs.
I turn in a circle trying to pinpoint the direction of his lament. "I'm here," I cry out as loud as I can as the wind blows around me, sending my hair in all directions at once. "I'm at home, but I'm not," I try to explain.
His frightened voice skips along the tops of the trees, "I don't understand Katniss, where are you? How do I find you?"
Tears spill down my face, how do I tell him where to find me when I don't know where I am? I give him the only clues I can. "I'm going to the woods, but they aren't our woods. Come find me there," I beg.
His tears fall from the sky and drop onto my upturned face. "I will find you," he promises in the whisper of the grass around me.
Sobs leave my body, "He isn't you. I need you!" I wail.
The gravel under my feet quakes, "I will kill him," he bellows.
I fall to my knees, "Just find me," I whisper.
Suddenly, Peeta is with me, on his knees in front of me. His hand comes up and cradles my cheek in a sweet caress. "Always," is his pledge as I startle to wakefulness.
"Are you okay?" a voice that isn't Peeta's asks.
My shields go back up immediately. Turn from my side to face him, I nod. "Yes, fine. Why?" I ask with faux sleepiness in my voice, all the while completely petrified that I may have been calling out Peeta's name while I slept.
"You were moaning in your sleep."
I blink innocently at him, "Oh?" I ask.
He nods and stretches his arms over his head. "Yeah, you sounded hurt or sad," he says.
My heart decelerates a bit, No Words then, "Huh, must be the cramps bothering me," I say with a shrug.
Propping up on an elbow, Carson looks down at me with concern. "Do you need something for the pain?" he asks.
Flashing back to the last time he gave me pain reliever I shake my head emphatically. "Nope, not hurting now, not even a little bit," I smile. Despite the creepy feeling clawing around inside my stomach, I lean up and give him a lingering kiss. This apparently does the trick, because he doesn't question my discomfort when he pins me to the bedsheets for another long kiss. I swallow back bile as his tongue forces its way into my mouth. I do my best to mimic his moves, not able to creatively implore my own. When his lips slip from mine to my neck, I'm somewhat relieved, that is until I feel his morning erection pressing against my leg. I'm familiar with the feeling, I did, after all, wake up tucked against Peeta's chest more than once, but unlike the small guiltily sense of pride it brought me those mornings, Carson's hard on only sends panic coursing through me. I clear my throat and pull away from him a tiny bit. False turquoise eyes, the pupils largely dilated, look up at me. I attempt a coy smile, "I'm…I'm.. menstruating," I stammer in way of an excuse for interrupting him. His eyes widen a bit in understanding, and his head falls to rest on my shoulder. "Sorry," he mutters into my t-shirt. I hesitantly bring a hand up to brush a wayward strand of dyed hair out of his eyes. "It's okay," I mummer. "Next week…we can…um…I'll be done," I offer, my stomach roiling at the very thought of him touching more than he already has. He lifts his face to mine, a sultry smile playing on his lips. It vaguely reminds me of the one Finnick would sport on Capitol TV, just not as well executed. "Next week…that's a long time…" he says, as he begins kissing me along the jaw. I'm paralyzed with fear. Is he going to force it now? My mind screams. His face comes up to hoover above mine, "I guess I'll have to take a cold shower then," he laments, his smile crooked. I swallow thickly and send a prayer of thanks up to the heavens. "Sorry about that," I say, sticking out my bottom lip in a pout. He sighs and puts his forehead to mine. "We have all the time in the world, one more cold shower won't hurt me." He places a peck to my cheek and hoists himself up. "Plus, it's already after five, I should get moving anyway." He leans over and gives me a kiss before getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
When the door latches my entire body quakes in disgust but I don't have time to revel, instead I rub a hand over my mouth to remove his saliva as I toss the sheets aside and bolt out of bed. In moments I'm dressed and the clothes I plan on adding to my outfit after Carson leaves are neatly stacked in my top drawer.
Down the hall and into the studio, I rummage as quietly as possible through drawers and boxes until I find the wire. I also locate a long-handled pallet knife, dull and rounded but metal, as well as a new plastic jar with screw-on lid, lighter and larger than the wine bottle it's a great find. I gather my treasures and rush on silent feet to the closet in the spare room and stash them under the blanket I plan to take. Down the hall, I hear the bath door open as I silently close the bedroom door behind me. Scurrying down the stairs, I grab the shopping list from the corkboard next to the door and barely make it to the writing desk when I hear feet on the stairs. "You want me to make you eggs and toast before you head out?" I ask, scratching the first brand of sanity napkin I can think of to the bottom of the list and pin it back on the corkboard.
"You do the toast, I'll do the eggs," Carson says heading for the kitchen. Following him in, I make quick work of slicing a couple of slabs off bread off a half-eaten loaf as he dumps wished eggs into a hot pan. "Hey we still got some hard-boiled eggs in here from yesterday," Carson says showing me the egg carton. Can you whip them up into egg salad while I'm out?" he asks. I nod as I slather the toast with butter and add the eggs to my mental checklist.
Thankfully breakfast is a quiet affair, Carson distracted by a book he's been reading. I spend the time filling myself as full as possible and running through my list for the twentieth time. The sound of the book thumping close pulls me back to reality. Putting his plate in the sink, Carson rounds the table to place a quick kiss to my forehead. "What ya going to do while I'm gone?" he asks, grabbing his coat of a hook by the back door. I stare at him blankly for a moment, then give my head a shake. "I've got some….um…laundry that needs done…the bathroom needs to be cleaned and I think our bedroom could use a dusting," I grapple. He nods and shrugs on the jacket. "Don't work too hard," he says as he makes his way towards the door. With a final glance over his shoulder and a wave, he disappears out the door.
I sit stone still, barely breathing until I hear the lock engage on the door. Then I'm up and running. Grabbing the canvas bag by the door, run back to the kitchen and start yanking open drawers and cabinets. It doesn't take long to dump the items I set aside yesterday into the bottom of the bag, but I do pause to consider my food options. Plucking the lightest and most protein-packed items from the shelf, I carefully stow them away before heading to the fireplace for the matches and then a coat from the front closet. Dashing upstairs, I quickly dress in the layers set aside and pull on the coat. The clothing is a bit of overkill for June, but better safe than sorry. Dressed, I glance around the room for anything I might have not considered. That is when I quickly go to the bathroom for my toothbrush, toothpaste, a washcloth, bar of soap, and extra hair ties. I can't believe I didn't consider the bathroom in my planning. Pulling open the medicine cabinet, I also take a tub of antibacterial gel and some bandages. Frantically give the room one last once over before heading for the spare room. From the closet, I retrieve my find from the studio and the blanket. With it rolled as tight as possible I shove the items in my pack and look up at the entrance to the attic. "Freedom," I mutter and ascend the ladder.