Chapter Twenty-Five: Taste

"Life is not the way it is supposed to be. It is the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference." - Virginia Satir

The next morning I wake up shivering uncontrollably.

A cold front had evidently moved in overnight, plunging the temperature a good fifteen to twenty degrees lower than it had been. But that's what the weather's like around here when it's nearing fall—it usually changes very quickly and without warning. Well, at least without warning for me; I don't have a TV or radio to listen to any weather forecasts.

I close my eyes tightly and pull the cover up over my head for a few minutes in a feeble attempt to block out the sunlight, the chill, and the horrible smell that's permeating the trailer. I just want to ignore reality and hold on to the leftover feelings of yesterday for as long as I can before I'm forced to face the harsh truths of my existence.

I eventually get up, though, grudgingly knowing I'll have to deal with the day one way or another. The rapidly changing weather only serves to remind of how much I still have to do before winter gets here. If I don't finish chopping the wood outside, we'll likely freeze to death by the time December rolls around. The trailer has little to no insulation and many holes throughout, so it takes a lot of firewood to keep it even slightly warm. It already worries me when I think of how I'm supposed to keep Mom from freezing during the winter since I'll be gone for most of the day and evening and won't be around to keep a fire going.

Lately I've been so preoccupied with the bakery and school that I've barely had time to do anything besides tend to Mom's needs and sleep when I get home. Due to her incapacitation, we have to make sure she eats and drinks a little something each night, even though it's usually hell to get her to do so. I also try to keep her clean as best I can with a wet wash cloth, but it's impossible to give her full baths. I use a baking soda and water mix on her hair, even though it's thinning so much that it clumps into tangles and falls out in chunks anyway—but at least keeping it clean prevents her from getting serious rashes and bugs from being attracted to her. More than normal anyway.

We have a slight problem with flies and gnats, so I place moth balls around her bed to try to keep them at bay. We used to have cockroaches, too, but they went away as soon as they realized it was pointless to stay around. I think they got tired of being hungry.

As disgusting as it is, I also have to change her. Over time, Mom's mental and physical state has deteriorated so much that even something as simple as getting up and using the bathroom has proved to be too difficult for her. I have a blue tarp covering the bed so her defecation doesn't sink through the fabric of the mattress. Plus it's easier to clean as I just have to rinse it off with water and let it dry. We usually don't have toilet paper as it's too expensive to afford, so I have clothing and sheets cut into squares that we use to wipe with. When we're done, we place the soiled fabric into a bucket full of water and bleach, which I later rinse out and hang to dry so we can reuse them.

I've also made Mom some cloth diapers out of cut up sheets, and I usually change them daily—though sometimes I do forget when I've had a busy or exhausting day. It's not something I'm happy or thrilled about doing, but I know if I don't that she'll get an infection or worse, and her death will weigh upon my mind as something I could have prevented by not being squeamish. So I do what I have to in order to keep her alive. Sometimes she lays in her own filth for days when Snow's home, but eventually even he has his limits and, after taking his disgust out on her, forces me to take care of it.

So aside from the fear that Snow has instilled upon me about escaping this place, I also know that leaving here would mean my mother's certain death—one in which she'd more than likely rot and slowly wither away in her own filth as she starves and gets eaten alive by bugs. Even if she's as far gone as she is, it makes me sick and break down into tears just imagining it. Despite whatever resentment I may harbor for her, no one deserves to leave this world in that way.

I sigh heavily and try to temporarily rid the worries from my head as I bring my axe down with force and split a piece of wood. Aside from the fact that it blisters and bruises the palms of my hands and makes my muscles ache, I've always kind of liked chopping wood. It's a fantastic stress reliever. As I sever each piece, I like to imagine the logs as people I despise—Snow, Coin, Mrs. Mellark, bullies at school… the list goes on. It helps, somewhat. Or at least it helps the wood get chopped very quickly and with great fervor.

It isn't long before Prim makes an appearance. She comes over, wrapped in a heavy blanket, and sits down on the ground without a word. I can tell by her deep frown and sulky demeanor that there's something the matter with her so I still my axe and lean on it as I turn to her with my eyebrows raised in question.

"What's wrong?"

She brings her knees up to her chest and covers them with her arms. "I don't feel very good," she answers quietly and shrugs. "My body hurts everywhere. I feel like I want to throw up and I'm dizzy and shaky. It hurts to look at anything bright. And your wood chopping is making my head pound like crazy."

"Well, I have to do it, Prim," I reply monotonously, looking away from her so I don't feel too guilty for continuing. "You know I don't have much of a chance to do it during the week now. It sounds like you just have a migraine. Go in the house and lay down for a bit. Cover your ears with a pillow or something."

"It smells really gross in there, though," she whines. "I can't stand it. It makes me wanna throw up."

"Cover your nose then," I offer impatiently. It isn't that I don't care about Prim feeling badly, it's just that I feel powerless when it comes to making her better. We don't have any medicine, and I can't remember the last time we've even seen a doctor. So we deal with sickness by ignoring it and hoping it'll go away, and I guess we've been lucky so far that neither of us have been seriously ill. "What do you want me to do about it? I can't lift that bucket even if I tried. You're just going to have to deal somehow. Maybe you're just hungry? Go eat some of Peeta's leftovers."

Prim shakes her head and purses her lips, narrowing her eyes in discomfort. She then tightens the cover around herself and begins to slowly rock back and forth. We're silent for a moment until she looks up at me with tears in her eyes.

"God, I hate it so much here, Katniss…" she whispers, her bottom lip quivering.

"Well, it's not like I love it," I reply wistfully. She hides her face within the cover, but I still hear a stifled sob escape her. I exhale loudly and let the axe fall to the ground with a heavy thud before walking over and sitting next to her. I nudge her shoulder with mine, but she still doesn't look at me. "I'm sorry you're not feeling very good. Maybe tomorrow I can ask Peeta to let me stop by a store and get some medicine for you. That sound alright?"

Prim leans her head onto my shoulder and nods, and I wrap my arm around her, bringing her into a half-hug. "You know I'm doing the best I can right now. I don't like it here any more than you do. You're just going to have to tough it out for me a little bit longer, okay?"

"Please just get us away from here soon," I hear her sniffle from beneath the covers. "I know you're scared, but Peeta would help, and so would Mr. Mellark. I know they would. You just need to ask them."

I don't know how to reply so I just wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her onto my lap like I used to when she was younger. She doesn't say anything, only rests her head on my chest and circles my waist with her tiny arms. I can feel her shaking, even under the thick blanket, so I begin to rub her back in an attempt to soothe her.

"You know Mom said my name last night? When we we're falling asleep, she whispered 'goodnight, Primrose.' I think if we fed her and got her energy up, and kept her away from Snow long enough, she might start to remember things again," she whispers thoughtfully. "I'm afraid she's going to die if we don't get her help soon, though, Katniss. We're going to come home one day and she'll be…" she doesn't finish her sentence, but starts crying again. I don't need her to continue to know what she was going to say, though. She sniffles and continues shakily, "And what will happen then?

What would Snow do with her body? What will he do with us?"

"Shhh, don't be thinking about things like that. It'll only make you feel worse," I say, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze. "You know I'd get us away from here right now if it was really that simple. I'm working things out. It's just going to take a little bit of time."

Of course that's a white lie. I don't know how else to calm her fears, though, or make her feel better. I'm lost when it comes to thinking of escaping this place; I've spent countless hours dwelling on it. And Peeta's offer of living with him is way too good to be true. I can't take advantage of his generosity. I know he's only trying to be chivalrous and helpful, but he has no idea the gravity of what he's offering and what it entails, or how much we'd all be risking—which would be everything.

"What are you going to do?" Prim asks with a trace of hope in her voice as she peeks her reddened face out from the covers. I bite my lip and look away from her so she can't see the uncertainty and trepidation in my eyes.

"Never you mind that," I answer shortly. "You'll just have to trust me, okay?"

She nods and luckily lets the subject drop as we sink back into silence.

Prim eventually returns to the trailer to lie down, opening a window in our bedroom for some ventilation, and I go back to chopping wood. I feel badly for doing so while Prim is feeling so rotten, but I reason that it'd feel a lot worse if she were to freeze to death.

I suddenly stop what I'm doing and listen intently, my heart pounding rapidly as I hear gravel popping under tires in the distance. Someone's coming down the driveway, and I'm hoping against all odds that it isn't Snow. I know it's about due time to face his wrath, but I'm not ready for it.

I'm never ready for it, though.

When the truck comes into view, I'm relieved to see that it isn't him. However, it's someone else that I would rather not see or talk to at the moment: Gale.

We haven't spoken since the misunderstanding I had with Peeta. I'm still not quite sure what to think of the little feud we had, or the things he had said to me. We don't have arguments often, and never about the things we'd discussed the other night. Well, not so much discussed as yelled at one another.

Needless to say, I know it's going to be an uncomfortable reunion. I really don't want to admit to Gale that he was right about Peeta having a thing for me. Or even more embarrassing, me having a thing for him. And I just know he wouldn't react well at all if he knew we were dating. So I won't tell him.

I swiftly bring the axe down and chop a piece of wood in half, doing my best to appear nonchalant and indifferent when Gale pulls up and steps out of the truck.

"Hey Catnip, it's a chilly one, huh?" he calls out to me as if we'd never had an argument. I can tell from his tone and demeanor that he doesn't want me to bring it up or discuss what happened. However, it only makes me feel like doing so out of spite and rebellion. I look over at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, but I don't say anything. I avert my eyes back down to the wood I'm chopping and shrug before I swing my axe again. He comes to stand beside me and crosses his arms, "So… planning to chop my head off with that thing?"

I still my axe as I turn to him again with a scowl, "The thought did cross my mind."

"Oh, come on. You can't still be mad at me? That fight was ridiculous," he rolls his eyes and smiles at me in an apologetic way. "Look, I'm sorry for assuming dough boy has the hots for you—"

"His name," I correct quietly through clenched teeth, "is Peeta."

"Whatever," he replies dismissively, adding as an afterthought, "I also know you're not stupid enough to be schmoozed by a rich little pretty boy."

"If this is your idea of an apology, it sucks," I mutter, sending him an icy glare before I bring my axe down with more force than needed. The piece of wood splits down the middle and the two halves fly in opposite directions. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath before I turn to Gale with a hand on my hip. "If you only came here to give me sugarcoated insults, you can leave right now."

"I'm not trying to insult you." He kicks a rock, and his face is scrunched up as if he's thinking deeply about something. "And I came here because I miss you and I was worried how you guys were doing. I would have come by sooner, but work's been keeping me busy."

"It's alright, I've been busy with work, too," I reply, rubbing my eyes. I smile bitterly at him, "Luckily I still have a job, seeing as to how my best friend was a complete ass to my boss."

Gale at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed, but then he ruins it by asking with a defensive sneer, "Has the prick been giving you a hard time about it?"

I shake my head and snort, "No. He hasn't even brought it up. Peeta has a lot more tact than some people I know."

"Well fuck, here we go again," Gale sighs loudly as if he's annoyed. "Go on, please tell me how perfect this Peeta dude is, and how horrible I am in comparison."

He looks at me challengingly, as if bracing himself for me to sling insults in his direction. I can tell by the look on his face that he's tired and his feelings are a little hurt, though, and I find that I just don't feel like arguing with him.

"Oh, shut up! I don't think you're horrible. You're just a huge jerk sometimes."

"That almost sounded like you accepted my apology," he replies with a shaky laugh. I raise a disapproving eyebrow at him and place another block of wood onto the stump to split. When I glance back up at him, I notice his face seems more serious and he's purposefully avoiding my eyes. "I am sorry, for what it's worth, though, and I really don't like you being mad at me. Every minute you're away and not speaking to me, I worry like crazy about you. You…" he pauses and looks back at me, "you mean a lot to me, you know? I don't know how I could live with myself if something bad happened to you or Prim and the last things we said to each other were hateful."

"Then don't say hateful things, Gale," I retort, "and I won't say them back."

"I don't mean to. It just comes out that way. I feel really protective over you. You're like family to me and I don't want you to get hurt—"

"Yeah, well. You're doing a pretty good job of that yourself lately," I mumble and swing the axe.

"I know. I'm sorry. I guess… " he starts quietly, then sighs and stares at the ground with a deep frown. "I guess you were kind of right. About what you said the other night."

"What's that?" I retrieve my axe from the block of wood and lean on it as I turn to him curiously.

"The jealousy thing."

"What?" I whisper, not knowing what to think of his admission. My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. I'm not sure what to say. I don't want to hurt his feelings or make things any weirder between us, but he has to know that I could never be anything more than his friend. I love him, but in a sibling sort of way. Never in that sort of way. Just thinking of being with Gale in the same intimate way I'd been with Peeta makes me feel uncomfortable and nauseous. "Gale, I… we could never… ever—"

"God, not like that!" He scratches his head and closes his eyes tightly as if mortified and appalled. "Not… not like I want to be your boyfriend or anything—"

"What, am I not good enough for you?" I retort without thinking. I feel like kicking myself for it, though. In no way do I want to be Gale's girlfriend or for him to be my boyfriend, but the way he states that it's so unbelievable, like I'm beneath him or totally undesirable, grates my nerves for some reason. "Look, nevermind. This is just stupid—"

"Not good enough for me?" He cuts me off, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Not at all. If anything, you're way too good for me, Kat."

I glance at him skeptically for a moment and finally roll my eyes, "Stop being weird, okay? Just tell me what the hell your problem is."

"I don't want to lose you," he states simply, shrugging.

"How would you…" I chop into a piece of wood to alleviate the awkward tension between us, "lose me? Not like I'm leaving this place anytime soon, after all."

"Once you start dating, you'll forget about me. I'll be replaced. You won't need me anymore, and things will be different and weird between us. They already are. You don't think so now, but you'll change," he rubs the back of his neck and sits down on a stump. "And most guys don't typically want their girlfriend to hang out with another guy when they're not around."

"You're being really stupid, Gale," I reply, sending him an incredulous look. "We've known each other forever. I'd never forget about you and nothing would change. And I highly doubt Peeta would care, he knows you're my friend. Even if he did care, he'd have to get over it. Anyway, it's you who's making it into a big deal. Just because he's my boyfriend now doesn't mean—" I stop mid-sentence, feeling my heart pound and my face begin to redden. I know he heard it, though, and it's too late to take it back.

He takes in a deep breath and furrows his brows before giving a small cynical laugh, "I fucking knew it! So how long did it take for him to butter you up? Did he offer you a raise for a—"

"Go to hell!" I snap, cutting him off before I have to hear him insinuate anything disgusting. "Whatever. I really like him, Gale, he makes me feel good. He's sweet and thoughtful, and he makes me happy. And if you can't handle that… well, I don't know what to tell you."

I move around the stump so that my back is towards him and swing my axe with force, feeling my whole body shake with anger at how indignant he's being. It's really none of his business.

"He makes you feel good, huh?" Gale asks with a sarcastic edge to his voice. "So what, you're already fucking him?"

"God, Gale!" I wheel around quickly, glaring at him in exasperation and feeling completely mortified. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask me that! What is wrong with you?"

"Since you're not denying it, I'll take that as a yes," he continues in a deadpan tone.

"First of all, what I do with Peeta doesn't concern you. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I don't even know why you care about it so much," I blurt in a heated rush. His pompous attitude is making me so livid that my fingers are turning white and numb from gripping the axe handle so tightly, and it's taking all my restraint not to chase him off with it. After all these years, he should know that I'm not that sort of person, and for him to insinuate that I'd immediately have sex with the first boy to show a slight interest in me is not only extremely offensive, but it's totally humiliating. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and flex my fingers to rejuvenate circulation into them. "And not that it's any of your business, Gale, but I haven't done anything like that. I might be poor, but I'm not cheap."

"Not like you'd tell me anyway. I know how his brothers are, and if he's anything like them—"

"He's nothing like them!" I quickly defend. "Peeta has been nothing short of a gentleman. I think it's unfair that you're judging him based on who he's related to!"

"Of course he's a fucking gentleman now, Katniss! He's probably sweeter than sugar, am I right?" Gale asks condescendingly, raising his eyebrows in a dramatic, pointed way. "Just wait until you give him what he wants, see how fast his true colors come out after that—"

"Not all guys are like that."

"Yeah. They pretty much are. I'm a guy. I should know."

"Really? So you'd sleep with a girl and then treat her like shit after that? Nice, Gale. Real nice."

"I didn't say that—"

"But you just said all guys are like that!"

"Not all guys!" he bellows, making me jump slightly from the abruptness of it. I bite my lip and close my eyes to blink away the tears that are starting to well up in spite of me. He continues in a miffed tone, "Just rich little twerps who think it's cute to see how long it'll take for a poor girl to fuck him. I guarantee that's all you are to him! You're a challenge to him. A game. Don't be so damned dense!"

There's a tense and uncomfortable silence between us for a moment. I keep my eyes closed, continuing to take in deep breaths to calm my nerves and rid the feeling of wanting to cry. I won't let him get to me like that, I'm not going to cry over his ignorance, and I won't feel guilty about dating Peeta.

I know he only feels threatened; he's being territorial and protective. I know I'm one of the few friends he has, and probably the only friend who knows the personal details of his life. And I'm used to Gale's fire; he's always had a slight anger problem, especially after his dad died. But not about things like this, and I've never been so intentionally insulted by him—at least not since we've become friends these last few years.

I'm also aware that unless he actually gets to know Peeta, he's not going to believe any of the good things I say about him. Gale's never been one for trust, seeing the good in people, or sugarcoating his feelings. In fact, he's about as blunt and brash as they come. And I doubt he really knows how much his words are actually hurting me. He's speaking without thinking, but deep down I know he doesn't believe the things he's saying about me.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Peeta might actually like me?" I ask quietly, attempting to keep my voice even and controlled. It's not an easy task as my body is shaking like crazy. I keep my focus on the ground, and avoid his eyes. "That he doesn't give a crap about how much money I have or having sex with me? That he just likes being with me? Just talking to me? Why is it so hard for you to believe that a guy would be genuinely interested in me? Do you really think that low of me, Gale?"

I finally look at him in question. His face has softened slightly, but he still looks pretty incensed and self-righteous.

"No. I think very highly of you, Katniss. But, unlike him, I actually know you," he replies derisively. "He doesn't know you well enough to like you. He just likes the way you look."

"And you don't know him well enough to make that assumption! In fact, you don't know him at all! You don't know what it's like when I'm with him. I'm happy. I feel alive. He remembers things about me that I'd almost forgotten. It's refreshing and new, and I wish you'd just try to be happy for me! I don't understand why you're being like this."

"I'm just trying to look out for you," he explains, his voice taking on a lighter, more nurturing tone. He brings his eyes to mine and I can see the worry and weariness in them. "I don't want to see you get hurt. I don't want your heart to be broken. And I know it's going to happen."

I snort loudly and give a cynical laugh. I shake my head and swing my axe down with force, burying the edge into the stump before turning back to him. My body is trembling with adrenaline and annoyance, and I feel so light from anger it feels like I could float.

"You think I can't deal with heartache and pain?" I ask rhetorically, gesturing around me furiously with a deep frown. "Look around! In case you haven't noticed, my life has been nothing but heartache and pain for years! Every day I wake up, I'm afraid that it might just be my last, and that's not even what scares me, because I don't care about dying. It'd be a welcome vacation! What haunts me every minute of every day is what would happen to Prim if I wasn't around anymore, or if she ever gets too sick that rest and a hug won't cure her. Or the one time I go to feed my mom, and she's cold as ice and never wakes up again."

I feel a tear start to roll down my cheek and wipe it away quickly and furiously, feeling stupid and weak for crying in front of Gale. I continue in a quieter, uneven voice, and lightly kick at the stump to relieve some of the tension from my body.

"A boy hurting my feelings is the least of my worries, Gale, and as far as heartache goes—I expect it. It's never been anything new for me. So thanks for your concern, but I don't need you to protect me. I've been doing a pretty good job of it, myself, so far."

I sigh and sit down on the ground, feeling very lethargic all of a sudden, and start to pick at a blade of grass. I don't look up at Gale. I know it'd probably just make me feel worse than I already do. I don't like arguing, let alone with him. I hate confrontation. I deal enough with it as it is.

"I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into," he replies quietly after a few minutes. "And what you're getting him into. You better hide your relationship well in public, because if Snow ever finds out—"

"Don't," I snap, holding a hand up and cutting him off before he can even finish. "Just don't, Gale. Don't patronize me with your scare tactics."

"I'm not using any scare tactics. I'm telling the truth. Is it worth it? Putting Prim's life in danger so you can kiss and fuck a boy?" I open my mouth, momentarily speechless from his audacity, and narrow my eyes at him in anger. I'm completely astounded that he'd actually go there—actually try to guilt trip me with Prim.

"I'm not putting anyone's life in danger! Not any more than we face every day anyway. And Peeta already knows about Snow, and he's not afraid—"

"Because he doesn't know the fucker, Katniss!" Gale counters loudly, his face contorted with disbelief and contempt. "And really? You told him about Snow? Are you fucking dumb ? You barely even know him!"

"I've known him for as long as I've known you!" I shoot back with a sarcastic, scornful smile. "In fact, my mom used to be best friends with his dad. They were even in love with each other."

"Oh, well isn't that just too fucking precious," he laughs in a condescending way before placing his hand over his heart and sending me an overly saccharine, dreamy look. "You could have been brother and sister. What a beautiful incestuous love story!"

"You really need to go," I tell him finally, unable to take any more of his disdainful, degrading comments. I stand up, retrieve my axe from the stump, and turn back to him threateningly. "I'm done talking about this with you."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going," he stands and holds his hands up in defeat. I bite my lip, feeling my head and body start to ache and throb from stress as I watch him walk over to his truck. He flings the door open forcefully and hesitates before sighing loudly and glancing back over at me with a scowl. "Look, just be careful, okay? I want you to be happy and if this thing with dough boy makes you feel good for a little bit, well la-di-fucking-da for you. Just don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face."

I don't say anything. I just turn away from him and swing my axe downward, splitting a piece of wood in half on the first try. I hear his door slam and the truck roar to life. He begins to pull away, but then suddenly stops. I glance up to see him roll down his window and holler out, "Also, make sure he wears a condom! The last thing you need is baker boy putting a bun in your oven."

I purse my lips and glare as I flip him off with both hands. He returns the gesture with his arm hanging out the window as he drives from view.

I continue to chop wood to relieve the intensity of the anger and hurt I feel. I have a strong urge to cry, but instead of allowing tears to roll down my face like a crybaby, I just swing my axe and take deep breaths until the feeling passes. But despite trying my best to forget about the things Gale had said and insinuated, they just seem to replay repeatedly in my head like a broken record.

I can't help wondering… what if he's right? Peeta is good at wearing a mask and switching his emotions on and off. What if this is all an act? He seems genuine enough, but what if I'm just being gullible?

And then I remind myself that I'm being an idiot for even entertaining the idea. I remind myself of the lovely date we had. The movie, the dinner, the memories… it couldn't have all been superficial or a means to an end. The things he said to me were real, and he treated me with nothing but respect. I mean, he really enjoyed my breasts… but I enjoyed him enjoying them. The feeling was totally mutual.

About fifteen minutes pass before Gale's truck reappears. He doesn't get out, though, just drives over and rolls down his window to, I assume, hurl more insults at me.

"What the hell do you want now?" I yell before he can say anything. I toss my axe onto the ground and cross my arms, preparing myself to turn and walk to the trailer if he says anything mean. "I think you've already said enough!"

He shakes his head and sighs loudly, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm really sorry, okay? I know I'm being a huge asshole about all this, and… I'm sorry. You've done a good job making the right choices this far, and I trust you'll keep making them," Gale says in a hushed voice, looking regretful. He seems to be genuinely apologetic, but I still study him with skepticism as he continues. "I don't trust this boyfriend of yours just yet, but it's obvious that you're pretty fond of him. I can't say I like it, but I'll live with it. And I won't say any more about it. I just want you to be happy, and if this makes you happy… I'm happy for you. Really." He raises his eyebrows hopefully, smiling slightly. "So… truce? Please?"

I stare at him for a moment, mulling everything over. As hurtful as he was about some of the things he said, I'd rather be friends with him than not. I just want things to go back to the way they were.

"Sure. Truce, I guess," I nod and add lightheartedly, "But you know, if you just tried to get to know him, you'd probably get along really well—"

"Don't push it, Kat!" he warns and abruptly changes the subject, "I actually came over here to see if you needed a ride into town for anything."

"I do, actually."

Prim stays over at Gale's house as we go into town and pick up a few things from the store. I get some Cold & Flu medicine—daytime and nighttime, Tylenol, Vick's, Pepto-Bismol, and a slew of other things that might help make her feel better. I also pick up other things such as toothpaste, toilet paper, razors, soap, laundry detergent, deodorant, underwear, socks, and shampoo. Now that I have money, I find myself going overboard when it comes to buying necessary things that I used to consider a luxury.

Gale doesn't bring Peeta up again for the remainder of our time together and neither do I. Things are weirdly polite between us, even formal, but I reason that it's better than the alternative. He does ask how I'm able to afford all the stuff I bought, and I tell him how generous Mr. Mellark had been. He seems outwardly happy for me, but he's oddly silent and I know he wants to say something rude but he's refraining. Which is probably a very good thing.

When I get home, I hide all the stuff I bought behind the wood paneling in our bedroom.

On Monday morning, Prim and I meet Peeta at the end of the driveway as usual. She's feeling a little better, though she did wake up with a slight fever, a sore throat, stuffy nose, and chills. I gave her some daytime flu medicine and she told me that it helped a bit. I'm not thrilled about her having to go to school when she feels so badly, but I can't let her stay home by herself. Knowing my luck, Snow would come home and make her feel even worse. She's safer this way.

Things are noticeably different between Peeta and me now. On our date, we revealed parts of ourselves to each other— physically, mentally, and emotionally—that we're both aware no one else has ever been privy to before. There's a kind of unspoken intimacy between us now—an understanding, trust, and closeness that I've never felt as intensely before. And after the confrontation with Gale yesterday, I somehow feel more connected to Peeta by having to defend him. Maybe a little rebellious, too.

The first part of the school day goes by as to be expected—a few rude comments and giggles are directed our way at the beginning of first hour, but we ignore them and decide to distract ourselves by writing down quick notes and passing them back and forth to each other. It's nothing of great importance, just Peeta being sweet and me attempting to be sweet back. It's hard, though. Flirting has never come easily for me. Then again I've never actively done it before.

He starts with, 'I can't wait to be alone with you again. I've been thinking about kissing you ever since I dropped you off on Saturday.'

I reply by writing, 'Only kissing?' I look at him with an eyebrow raised playfully.

He grins widely and shrugs before writing back, 'Other stuff too. I think you know what I mean.'

I feel my face heat up and glance over at him again. He winks and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I write, 'No, I don't actually. I'm curious, what is this 'other stuff' you'd like to do to me?"

'Probably shouldn't write it down here. Maybe I'll show you later, though,' he answers and wiggles his eyebrows at me. I shake my head, suppressing a snort, and start to reply. As I do so, I feel him place his hand on my upper thigh and squeeze it gently. My eyes widen and I remove it quickly, glancing around frantically to see if anyone else saw. However, we're in the very back of the room and everyone's attention is focused towards the front where the teacher is starting to write lesson notes on the chalkboard.

I shake my head at him disapprovingly and he smiles impishly. I roll my eyes and feel my pulse quicken as I daringly write, 'Maybe I'll let you,' and pass it to him.

I stare down at the desk, feeling embarrassed for being so forward. I hear him take a deep breath and release it slowly before moving the paper back over in front of me.

'Let's talk about this later, okay? We should stop before the teacher catches us and reads this to the class.' I glance over at him with horror on my face at the very thought of that happening, and quickly fold the piece of paper up. I place it into my backpack, and begin to write down the class notes. My mind is on Peeta, though. I hope I didn't say the wrong thing or come on too strongly. My heart is palpitating just thinking about talking about what we were writing. It's different to playfully write something down, but it takes on a whole different life when said aloud.

I meet Peeta by his car at lunchtime, feeling nervous and self-conscious. However, when I see him smile sweetly as he approaches, I instantly start to relax. He unlocks the doors, and once we're both inside, starts the car without a word of explanation.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously as he begins to back the car up.

"Going someplace where I can kiss you without people seeing," he winks.

"Oh," I reply, not knowing how to really respond. We're both silent for a few minutes as Peeta drives down the street and pulls into a quiet, rarely travelled gravel road. After about a mile and a half, he turns off onto a nearly hidden pair of wheel tracks that lead to a lake. From where he parks his car, I know that we are completely secluded and no one will ever see us here.

"I sometimes come here to think," he explains quietly, turning the car off. "It's really peaceful."

"It's beautiful," I say, gazing out of my window at the surrounding scenery.

"Not as beautiful as what I'm looking at right now," he whispers.

My breath catches as I see him lean over from the corner of my eye. He places his fingertips under my chin, and gently moves my face towards his. I lick my bottom lip in anticipation, knowing his mouth is only an inch or two away from mine and he's going to kiss me at any moment.

I glance down at his lips and my heart begins to flutter when I see them turn up into a half-smile. "So… about that note—" Not wanting to discuss what we had written, I fill the space between us by bringing my mouth to his.

And that's how we spend our lunch together.

We barely say a word as we explore one another with our hands and mouths, frenzied and rushed, knowing we don't have much time. We kiss each other as if it had been weeks since we'd seen each other rather than only a day. His hands slip under my shirt without hesitation, and mine find their way under his too. I run my fingertips along his chest and torso, stopping right above the button of his pants, and make my way back up.

His mouth eventually finds my breasts again—tasting, nipping, and sucking. I find the sensation as overwhelming as I did before; goose bumps prickle my skin, my lower body starts throbbing, and I can't hold back the murmurs and moans that escape me. It's amazing, thrilling, and unbelievable to me to be like this with him again… especially since we're in broad daylight and should be at school.

He places his hand on the inside of my thigh, and brings his lips back up to mine once more. He starts to slowly move upward along my leg, getting closer and closer to the most intimate part of me, and I suddenly feel panic well up inside of me. As much as I'm curious of what it would feel like, I'm not sure we're ready to take things that far just yet. I cover his hand with mine and remove it, shake my head, and abruptly pull back from our kiss.

I look away and whisper, "I'm sorry. We should… we should probably go back now. I'm… really sorry, Peeta."

I feel mortified and silly for being so skittish, especially with the things we've already done, but I just don't feel like this is the time or place for this big of a step. I also can't shake the things that Gale had warned me about from my mind. What if Peeta does lose interest in me after all the mystery and challenge is gone?

I nervously chew on my bottom lip and continue staring out the window, purposefully avoiding Peeta's eyes. I jump slightly when I feel his warm, wet lips brush against my cheek and his hand cover mine. I timidly turn to face him, and he smiles at me in a comforting way as he squeezes my hand gently and entwines our fingers.

"Katniss, please don't ever apologize for refusing to do something you're not ready for," he reassures strongly. "This isn't a race for me; I'm not going anywhere any time soon. Not unless you get rid of me. I'm as new to all of this as you are, and sometimes it feels so good, being like this with you, that I get a little carried away. But I would never want you to do something you're not comfortable with. If we're both not ready for something, then neither of us is." He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the top of it softly. "Never feel bad about telling me you don't want to do something, or if you don't want me to. The last thing I'd ever want you to feel for me is obligation or regret."

He raises his eyebrows at me meaningfully, as if waiting on me to reply. I nod and try to think of something to say in return. My face is completely red and, as much as his words mean to me, my mind is blank on how to respond.

I shrug and begin quietly, "Thank you. It's… not you, Peeta. I'm not sure if I'm ready. I don't know what I'm doing, what we're doing, and I don't know why… " I stop and close my eyes, bringing my free hand up to cover them. "I like the way you make me feel and it's nice… um… you know. But maybe we shouldn't take certain major steps in our relationship on a forty-five minute lunch break?"

I hear him laugh, and I peek over at him through a gap between my fingers. He looks at me in amusement. "Yeah, I see your point. It's kind of rushing things on a whole different level."

I shrug and smile as a way of agreeing, and he squeezes my hand one last time before starting the car and heading back to the high school.

The next few days go by in a blur.

Peeta and I start a habit of sneaking off to our secret, hidden place during lunch. We kiss and touch, but we don't go any farther than him feeling my breasts. In fact, he doesn't even kiss them like he had before. I'm a little disappointed by it as I kind of liked the way it felt, but I don't want to seem too eager, either. Maybe the way I'd prevented things from going further the other day had made him self-conscious about it, or he thinks we're moving too fast or that I'm uncomfortable with it. I feel like bringing it up to him, but I don't know what to say. I figure things will eventually go back to the way they were before without me having to start an awkward conversation about it.

We barely have any time alone at the bakery, and when we do, we're always doing something work-related. It's been pretty busy lately, and Peeta has had to work on a lot of commissioned wedding and birthday cakes along with all the regular stuff. Mr. Mellark has also been staying late into the night to help out, though I have a feeling it has more to do with Mrs. Mellark being back home. Anyway, since Peeta's been so preoccupied with his decorating, his dad's been training me more than he has. He also helped me fill out what he calls 'government paperwork' for me to officially work there.

Prim is still sick, though the medicine is helping her get through it. Needless to say, she hasn't been very pleasant or cheerful. When we get to the bakery, Peeta usually insists that she go upstairs and lie down, which she doesn't hesitate to do.

Luckily Snow is still gone and she hasn't had to contend with him on top of already feeling so awful. I wonder what he's off doing, when he's going to come home, and how bad it will be for us when that happens. The constant waiting and worrying is horrible, and however morbid it may be, I almost wish he'd come back soon so that we can get the pain and punishment over with and be done with it.

It isn't until Thursday night that Peeta and I have a little bit of breathing time together in the bakery. It's a slow night, he doesn't have any commission pieces, Mr. Mellark leaves early, and Prim is fast asleep upstairs. We'd had a rather intense lunch, and the feeling between us has carried on throughout the day with our glances and brief touches.

I wait for him at the counter in the back room as he finishes a transaction with a customer up front. When he finally returns, he grins widely at me and brings over what looks to be two thawed pie crusts. Only they're not pie-crusts. It looks too crumbly to be a pie crust. I watch silently as he retrieves all sorts of ingredients from the shelves and refrigerator— butter, cream, salt, vanilla pod, lemon juice, mint leaves, and things called mascarpone and grappa, which I'd never even heard of before. As he brings them over, I try to keep up with all the ingredients, feeling a little overwhelmed as I try to ingrain them all into my memory. It amazes and impresses me that Peeta doesn't even have to look at a recipe book to know what to use.

Finally, he retrieves a bowl from the fridge with a huge knowing grin on his face. He places it in front of me and raises an eyebrow.

"What are you making?" I ask curiously, lifting the lid on the bowl. I smile and shake my head when I see what's inside. I bring my eyes to his and ask quietly, "Are these…?"

He nods and comes around to stand beside me.

"They are. We've always used each and every one of them." I can't help but feel a little bit of pride as I glance back down at the blackberries I'd picked by hand and journeyed to sell Mr. Mellark. It's a wonderful twist of fate that I would never have landed this job or even be dating Peeta if it weren't for these simple, small, sour-sweet berries. "I'm going to show you how to make the crème filling for the blackberry tarts. Dad already prepared the crumb base since those take a while to set."

I nod and bite my lip as he begins showing and telling me in detail how to prepare the filling for blackberry tarts. Honestly, though, I can't concentrate on what he's saying or doing because I'm too preoccupied admiring the look of pure concentration and confidence he has on his face.

There's a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile on his lips. Each move he makes is specific, efficient, and meaningful. Besides, no matter how much he tries to explain things to me, I will never be able to remember it all… at least not a recipe this involved. He'll have to write it down for me, at least.

When the crème is off-white and fluffy, he retrieves the mixing spoon from the bowl and brings it to my mouth.

"Be my taste-tester?" he asks enthusiastically. I nod and place my lips over the spoon, moaning in approval as the sweet tartness of the blackberry crème dances delightfully upon my taste-buds.

I lick my lips and tell him in awe, "That's probably the most delicious thing I've ever tasted in my life."

"Well, there's still more on the spoon," he grins, looking amused as he brings it to my lips again. I don't hesitate before taking it into my mouth. I take hold of the handle and he lets go off it, chuckling slightly as he turns away and starts putting ingredients back to their original places. I lick the spoon clean, not feeling even slightly embarrassed about doing so. The crème is so good that not even a speck of it should go to waste.

He glances over at me with a smirk and raises an eyebrow, "Uh. Do you need some alone time with that spoon, Katniss? I can step out for a few minutes…"

I feel my face heat up and quickly place the wooden spoon down onto the counter. I roll my eyes and smile shyly as I cross my arms, "Not with the spoon. But I can guarantee that there will be nothing left of your crème if you leave me alone with it. It's really amazing, Peeta. "

"Well, you know… my crème wouldn't even exist without your berries," he replies, coming over to stand next to me again. He grins and points to my lips, "You have a little bit…" I lick frantically to find it, and he shakes his head, grinning amusedly at me. I bring my hand up to wipe it away, but he stops me.

"Let me?" Peeta asks hopefully, raising his eyebrows. I eye him quizzically, but finally nod. My heart starts to race as he leans in closer. I gasp quietly and close my eyes when I feel his tongue lap at the skin between my mouth and cheekbone. His warm lips then replace his tongue with a lingering kiss and move slowly down towards my mouth. He licks my bottom lip, tasting the leftover sweetness of the crème, and I tentatively bring his tongue into my mouth to let him taste more.

I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer, and his hands rest lazily on my hips. As our kiss deepens, however, he lifts me up unexpectedly and places me onto the counter. Without warning, he moves away from me and opens a drawer. I watch curiously as he retrieves a batter spatula and dips it into the crème, lifting out a nicely sized dollop of it.

He brings it to my lips again, not saying a word, and I happily lick the spatula clean like I did the spoon. Peeta seems oddly enthralled as I do so, and I notice that his face is completely red. He suddenly sucks in a deep ragged breath, shakes his head, and turns away. I'm sure he probably thinks I'm being completely strange by the way I'm acting over the crème, but I can't help it. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.

"What? I'm sorry if I'm being gross. It's just really good," I defend myself, shrugging.

He turns back to me, smiling slightly as he comes to stand right in front of me. His arms circle my waist as he leans over to whisper near my ear, "Gross? No. Sexy beyond belief? Absolutely. God, Katniss… you have no idea…"

The feeling of his breath on my ear and neck sends pleasant shivers down my entire body. He slowly starts trailing open- mouthed kisses along my neck and eventually makes his way up to my lips—licking, tasting, and savoring my mouth once again. His hands move lightly over my legs, parting them so he can stand in between them.

He then moves closer to me and places his hands back onto my hips, kneading them gently as we continue to kiss each other with fervor. I scoot nearer to the edge of the counter and reach down to lift his apron. I want to feel the warmth of his muscles beneath my hands, and I want him to touch me, too.

I gasp loudly and pull my hand away immediately, though, when I accidentally graze the thick bulge in the front of his pants. He moans against my lips and his hips thrust forward, and I find it strangely intriguing that I can get such a strong reaction out of him from such a slight touch.

So I hesitantly do it again.

I place my palm over him, feeling the warmth of it radiate through the fabric of his pants. I curiously and slowly trace my fingertips over the outline, wondering what it'd look like. After all, I've never seen a boy's penis outside of technical diagrams in my old Health textbook. I can imagine, though, from the shape and thickness of it.

Peeta's breathing is shallow and uncontrolled, and his kissing is getting more sloppy and unfocused. He keeps groaning and pushing himself into my hand…

And then the customer bell goes off in the front, causing us to jump away from each other as if we'd been caught in the act. Flushed and dazed, we both look at each other with wide eyes.

He runs a shaky hand through his blond curls and takes a deep breath, "Katniss, can you…?" He gestures to the front. "I uh… I need to take care of something."

I nod, grinning as I kiss him quickly on the cheek, and feeling euphoric as I enthusiastically make my way to the storefront.

We get an unexpected rush of customers, and by the time it dies down, Prim is up and clinging to my side. Peeta and I send each other shy, knowing glances and grins, but we don't bring up what had happened between us again for the rest of the night.

When he drops me off at the end of the driveway, he whispers into my ear, "You'll be in my dreams tonight."

"I bet," I say, rolling my eyes and smiling self-consciously before I get out of the car and make my way over to a grumpy and impatient looking Prim. I feel both lightheaded and disappointed as his car backs up and out of view, leaving us in complete darkness. I wrap my arm around Prim's shoulders as we begin our walk home.

As soon as the trailer comes into view, I feel all my hope and happiness turn to dread and despair as I notice the familiar beat-up truck parked outside.

Snow's home.

Now it's time to face whatever wrath he plans to inflict upon us. He will find something to punish us for; he always does. And I know that since he's been gone for so long, that it's probably going to be harsh and painful. I stand still for a moment and close my eyes tightly, hoping that when I open them, his truck will be gone and I can go back to living a life where the only thoughts that fill my head are sharing sweet, berry flavored kisses with Peeta.

When I get to the trailer, I shakily reach for the doorknob and gasp in surprise when it's yanked open before I can even place my hand on it.

Neither of us has time to react before we're forced to the ground by something thick and wet. I hold my breath and try not to hurl as feces and urine cover every inch of my body. Prim is partially covered, too, though not as badly; I took the brunt of it. The smell is putrid and unbearable. I hear Prim start to cry loudly from beside me, but it just seems like an echo in my head.

I can't think, can't move, can't speak.

Whenever I breathe, the smell stings my nose and my throat, and I'm afraid to open my mouth in fear of any of it getting in. Eventually I have to, though, in order to breathe properly. I immediately start to heave as some of it gets on my tongue

and the pungent waste invades my taste-buds. I vomit despite my best effort to control myself.

I hear Snow screaming at me, but I can't make out his words. It's just background noise to me as I try to process what's happening and regain my composure.

I feel something hard hit my back with force, knocking the air completely out of me. I try to breathe again, but it proves to be useless as Snow's steel-toed boot connects full-impact with my ribs, sending an intensely painful shockwave throughout my entire body. I hear a loud popping noise in my ears, my heart is beating fast—too fast, and I try to suck in air, but it's to no avail. I flip over and look up. If I'm going to die, I want to see the stars one last time. However, my vision is blurry and I can't focus. I can only see the silhouette of Snow standing over me with the bucket. I close my eyes in time for it to make contact with my face.

And then everything is dark.