Chapter Fifteen: Contrast

"Without having experienced the cold of winter, one cannot appreciate the warmth of spring."

-Chinese Proverb

My eyes are squeezed shut and my lips are pursed tightly as I feel Peeta moving in closer, slowly invading the comfortable distance I've grown so accustomed to.

Why am I allowing this? What exactly is there to gain? I shouldn't even let this start between us; I know I'll just get hurt in the end. It's only a matter of time before Peeta realizes that he's seriously deluded in his vision of me, and that this thing he wants between us could never work out.

Still, I can't say seem to say no to him.

How can I? I owe him so much already. I reflect upon the thoughtful lunches he left me so long ago, this job that I'm so thankful for, the rides he gives me without complaint or compensation, and, most importantly, how he treats me like I matter. Like I'm special. Like I mean something to at least one person, even if he doesn't really know me at all.

A kiss shouldn't be too much for him to ask for and, really, it's the only thing I can actually offer.

Butterflies flap ferociously in my stomach and my entire body is trembling.

My eyes flutter open and I see that he's only a couple inches away from me. I shake my head and try to gather my wits. "We really shouldn't, Peeta…." I whisper.

His hands leave mine and move to the sides of my face.

His eyes stare into my own with such intensity, such desire, that my cheeks burn warmer and I have to abruptly look down to avoid them. It makes me feel strange to see him looking at me like that, and not strange in a bad way at all; strange in a confused way. When I make eye contact with him, I get the odd sensation that he can see every thought in my head, like he can read me like a book, and that he actually wants to.

Looking down does me no good either, however, as I just wind up staring at his mouth—now curved up on one side in a playful half smile. He has full lips, though the bottom is much thicker than the top, and they're a perfect shade of light pink. My own feel chapped, imperfect in comparison, and unworthy to even be touched by his.

"Why? Do you not want to?" he asks curiously. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and I have to look quickly to the side, away from him.

I shrug half-heartedly, unable to find my voice or even think straight enough to combine words into a coherent sentence. I can't help it, I look back at his mouth again; his bottom lip is now between his teeth, but the half-smile still remains.

"Scared you might actually like it?" he teases in a joking manner.

I look into his eyes again, knitting my eyebrows together in slight indignation, but he just grins wider.

"No," I retort. "It's just kind of inappropriate."

"How?"

"It… it just is. We're at work."

"I assure you, no one here will find it inappropriate."

"But what if—"

"Katniss."

"But I really don't think—"

He places a finger gently to my lips, and I close my eyes as he leans in next to my ear and whispers softly, "You worry way too much. Relax."

I try to, but his words and actions have the complete opposite effect on me. Feeling his warm breath against my ear and neck only causes my heart to thump even quicker, and a shiver to run through my body.

It's impossible to relax.

I'm about to object once more, but I'm stopped by Peeta's lips on mine.

I'm too shocked to react at first.

I'm frozen, surprised, and breathless—wondering what I'm supposed to do and why this is happening at all. Then I'm hit with the overwhelming realization that Peeta Mellark is kissing me; that this is my first ever kiss and I'll always remember that it was with him.

Finally, I accept what is happening between us.

His mouth is just like the rest of him, gentle and warm. His lips are unbelievably soft and supple, and very easily kissable. I then wonder how many girls have kissed him, but I let the thought disappear as soon as I think it. It's none of my business. It's startling how naturally my lips mold into his, how I'm kissing him back without a second thought. I might be thinking of the reactions and repercussions this action might cause and how it feels, but the action itself is without reason or control. It's like a magnetic force is involved, bringing us together, and I'm powerless to stop it. It's unnerving how I don't want to.

My heart is beating like a drum. I'm lightheaded and my body feels different, but I don't know how to explain it. I just know I've never felt this way before in my entire life.

His mouth steadies on mine for a few seconds, and then it's gone completely.

I'm surprisingly disappointed at the loss.

While our kiss seemed to stop time, in actuality, it hadn't lasted very long at all. It was just a small kiss on the mouth, but it felt like so much more.

My lips feel tingly, warm, and slightly damp from the lingering moisture of Peeta's lips, and I can't bring myself to open my eyes. What if he didn't like it? What if it wasn't as nice as I had imagined it? After all, it's not like I have any others to compare it to and he probably has dozens.

There's dead silence for a few a moment and it worries me. A million negative thoughts run through my head. I refuse to open my eyes; I can't bear to see the look of disappointment on his face.

I feel Peeta's hands slide from the sides of my face and move to the nape of my neck. His fingers glide gently into my hair, causing goosebumps to run down my back. Before I can even react, however, his mouth is on mine again.

This time it's different though. Before, it had been one quick kiss on the mouth; now, it's a series of lingering kisses, as if he wants to remember the feeling of his lips against mine, how they both move together so fluidly and effortlessly. Or maybe that's just my own thinking. Who knows what his reasons are.

Again, seemingly way too soon, his mouth abandons mine. His hands remain where they are, though, and he leans his forehead onto my own without saying a word. My head is full of a million questions and the silence is only making things worse.

I can't take it anymore. I'm the first to speak.

"Peeta?"

"Hmmm?"

I bite my lip, trying to find the exact words without seeming silly or stupid. I swallow nervously and ask quickly, "Was it okay?"

I open my eyes and look down at his mouth, which is now sporting a soft smile.

"Okay?" He sighs and shakes his head. My stomach fills with dread and I attempt to prepare myself for the heartbreak that is sure to come with his next words. "'Okay' would not be the word I'd use to describe it at all."

I feel mortified for even asking. I knew I wouldn't be good enough.

"Oh. I'm sorry—"

"I'd describe it as… extraordinary. Amazing. Fantastic. A million times better than I could've ever dreamed or imagined."

I pull my head back from his and he does the same, letting his hands drop from my face, into his own lap.

"You're lying to make me feel good, aren't you?" I ask skeptically. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head with vigor.

"Not at all. I meant every word," he assures me, then frowns all of a sudden. "The only way I'd be lying is if you didn't like it as much as I did."

My eyes widen as I'm put on the spot. What am I supposed to say? I enjoyed it quite a bit, which surprises the hell out of me and even scares me a little. Admitting that to him would make me vulnerable, like putty in his hands.

I look away from him and shrug. "I don't think you're lying then."

"So you liked it?"

"Peeta…" I warn.

"Katniss…" he echoes.

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking, I'm just curious—"

"Yes."

"Yes to what?" He insists on me saying it.

"Yes," I mumble, my cheeks burning. "I… I liked it. Okay?"

He grins widely at me, apparently pleased with my answer.

"Okay," he replies, then says after a moment, "Well, I'm glad about that."

"Why?"

"Because I definitely want to do it again in the future."

The customer bell rings loudly all of a sudden from the front room, startling both of us, and we promptly get back to work.

We don't mention it again for the rest of the night, but we both know what the other is thinking about. Every so often I chance a quick glance at him, but he catches me each time.

We don't say much during the ride home either. Peeta makes small talk with Prim about decorating cakes and school, but I remain silent aside from a few short replies.

I feel wistful.

I'm sad because I feel hopeful, and hope is hopeless when it comes to my reality. This here, with Peeta? What happened between us at the bakery? It isn't reality, not the one I'm used to. I know that. I accept it. And I hate feeling good about it because I know it won't last.

Once I step outside of this car and onto that gravel road, this fantasy ends. The dreams of normalcy, of hope and happiness, of shy smiles and sweet kisses, they'll vanish as quickly as raindrops on a summer day.

Once we reach the driveway, Peeta turns to me and asks with a sigh, "Still won't let me drive you all the way?"

I shake my head and answer solemnly, "Sorry."

"Don't be," Peeta replies, then reminds me like every other time before, "I won't judge you though. Ever. I promise."

I nod and open the door. Prim does the same and gets out before me.

I turn to Peeta and smile shyly. "Thank you, though. Good night Peeta."

"It can't get any better than it already is," he replies, "but it'll remain good only because I'll be dreaming of seeing you again tomorrow. "

I'm back in Hell.

As soon as I walk through the door, I'm bombarded with hateful words and things being thrown at me. Prim cowers behind me as Snow begins to unload.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Work," I answer shortly, trying to keep any sort of emotion out of my voice and off of my face.

"I'm sure you were," he retorts, his voice dripping with derision. "I've been hearin' from people that you've been runnin' your fucking mouth about things you shouldn't. I've got eyes and ears everywhere in town—"

I haven't said one word about anything here at all. I know better. I know that Snow is just trying to make me paranoid and get me to confess to things I didn't do, simply so he can feel warranted and justified when he hurts me.

"I didn't," I say quickly. "I swear, I haven't said anything."

He slaps me anyway. I bite my lip and close my eyes, willing and waiting for the stinging to subside. "You lying—" He starts to lift his hand to hit me again.

"Don't!" Prim squeaks from behind me. I want to turn and yell at her not to say anything, to run, she should know better by now... but I don't have the chance.

Before I can react or prevent it, he yanks her by a braid and grabs her face so strongly in his hand that I can see his knuckles turn white. He gets so close to her that their noses touch. "Don't you ever fucking talk back to me! You hear me? I'll snap you like a twig."

She nods, tears starting to pour down her cheeks. This seems to make him angry, because he smacks her and bellows, "You want to cry? I'll make you fucking cry—"

He smacks her again.

She cries louder, unable to stop, and he shoves her to the floor. He looks like he's about to kick her, and I know he won't let up unless I distract him, unless I try to bring attention to myself. I know I'll pay the price, but I don't care. I expect it. I just don't want to see Prim in pain, because that hurts worse than anything he could ever do to me.

I grab a glass plate from the kitchen counter and hurl it at him. It bounces off of his back and hits a wall, where it breaks into pieces.

This does the trick. He turns to me with pure rage, then picks a piece of glass off of the floor and charges for me.

I run but I don't make it far.

He pushes me up against the wall with force, knocking my breath out for a few seconds. He grabs my braid and twists it until I feel like it'll rip from my head.

He brings the piece of glass to my throat. I don't even dare to breathe. If I do, the razor sharp edge will cut into my skin in an instant.

He gets so close to my face that I can smell alcohol mixed with the putrid smell of his breath.

"I'm getting really tired of your shit," he says, smiling like the sadistic maniac he is. "Do you know how easy it would be to just get rid of you?"

I don't move. I don't speak. I can't even think.

One wrong decision and I am dead, if I'm not already.

He twists my braid a little more. "ANSWER ME!"

I nod as softly as I can without having the glass break the surface of my skin.

I feel the shard dig deeper; something warm trickles down my neck.

"You're nothing! You're worth less to me than the fucking plate you threw at me, worth less than the fucking pieces of it! I could end you right now and no one would care. Your brain-dead bitch of a mommy won't even notice you're gone. They'd never find you."

"They'd know," I whisper, knowing that if I don't try to prove to him otherwise, he might just go through with what he's saying. "I have friends that will know."

"So you have been talking," he sneers. "I knew I shouldn't have let you get that fucking job!"

"I haven't said anything. And it's not the job. I hate the job, actually," I lie, knowing that if I plead with him to keep it that he'll be happy to take it away. "The Mellarks are horrible, I hate working for them—"

Well, one of them is, at least, that's for sure. I'm not fully lying.

"Well, you aint quittin' it! It's the only reason you're useful to me, the only reason you're not finding your new home in the bottom of a well."

He tosses the shard to the ground and lets go of me, surprisingly. "When I get paid, I'll give you—" He slaps me hard before I can finish.

"You'll give me the money. That was never a question."

He walks off and out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I stand there in wide-eyed shock, shaking with hate, anger, and fear. I hear his truck start up and leave. I take a deep breath after I know he's gone and run to a mirror, Prim crying as she follows me.

She hugs me tightly around the waist as I look at my reflection. He drew blood alright, but luckily it looks to be only a surface wound. It should quit bleeding soon.

It could have been a lot worse.

"Prim, you know better than to set him off like that!" I reprimand her in a consoling voice, rubbing her back as she clings to me.

"I know, I know. I'm so stupid!" she sobs into my shirt. "I got you hurt."

"No you didn't," I reassure her, although it's not entirely true. "I would have gotten hurt anyways. Are you okay?"

She looks up at me and nods, shrugging her shoulders, but she doesn't say anything. I know neither of us is okay right now.

"I hate him so much," Prim says, trying to calm her breathing down. "I wish we could just leave."

"We can't. Not yet," I tell her sadly. "I'll think of a way though."

"Why not? Peeta will let us stay in the bakery."

"He will not, Prim, and don't you dare ask!" I snap.

Besides, we're both under 18 years old. Snow will call his police friends and get Mr. Mellark and Peeta arrested for kidnapping. This is his sole threat anytime I've ever told him someone will help me. I will not get them involved in this.

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor, and Prim does the same. I wrap my arms around her tightly, and she sighs heavily as she glances up at me.

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"You should just marry Peeta," she states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

With a bitter laugh, I answer, "Never going to happen, Prim."

"No, really. He's nice and handsome and he'd never hurt you, and he'd always bake you yummy things—"

She continues telling me all of the reasons why I should take her advice. I don't say anything. I simply allow her to continue deluding herself in her fantasies of a happily ever after. I know things are much more complicated than that, however.

I won't let myself dream or hope.

I know better than to let myself feel happy.

Because, like some cruel twist of fate, I always wind up paying for it.