Chapter 7: Fuck the Rules

I've never believed in fairytales. But Prim's new and rapid move into the Victors' Village is the largest rags-to-riches story District 12, and perhaps any district in Panem, has ever experienced. My baby sister has now come into so much money that I would never have to hunt again if I didn't want to. Mother and I happily leave behind our little shack in the Seam and move into the gargantuan mansion with Prim in the Village. When Prim had first won, I hadn't been looking forward to the prospect of having a drunk as our new neighbor (and I'd only liked the idea of living near Rye marginally better).

But I do very, very much like living closer to Rye's brother.

Peeta's whole family was given the option of moving in with their Victor relative when Rye came home from the Capitol. Only Peeta accepted. I have a feeling he saw the opportunity to get out from under the thumb of his mother and grabbed it, though Prim believes – vocally – that Peeta did it so he could be near me. She's taken to playing matchmaker, trying to catch me in the act of watching Peeta as he does yardwork or comes back from daily jogs through the district. When Prim starts cooking up ways of getting Peeta and I alone together, I have to put my foot down a little, and chide her (with pink cheeks) that "Peeta and I are just friends. I'm never falling in love, Little Duck. I'm never getting married." To which Prim rolls her eyes and replies. "I see the way you look at each other, Katty. The way you always look at each other." Momentarily speechless, I somehow manage to steer us both towards other topics of conversation. Still, as soon as Prim skips off to play with her cat, I can't help but have my eyes wander, tugging back the sash on our window curtains to get a better view of Peeta sweeping his brother's front porch. While I can deeply appreciate the sight of a shirtless Peeta, the fact that he's doing the household upkeep makes me scowl in annoyance. Rye, that lazy ass…..

I used to always think that, if you were fortunate enough to be a Victor (or, in my case, a Victor's relative), that meant you were essentially immune from the Capitol's rules. Of course, up until now, I only had Haymitch Abernathy as a point of reference, but he has always seemed allowed to drink as much as he likes, despite Twelve having strict temperance laws on its books.

What I come to realize, however, is that, for a Victor and everyone in his or her immediate circle, there actually are quite a few rules to follow.

Mother and I are informed by government notice that, in the event of Primrose predeceasing us, we will both be evicted from our new mansion in the Victors' Village. I don't see that happening, but the other hypothetical leaves me feeling strangely nervous, even if the likelihood of it happening is also small: in the event that either Mother or I get married, we are still subject to Justice Building housing policy. In other words, should Mother ever remarry or should I ever Toast the bread, we would be required to move into the tenement the Justice Building assigned to us and our new husband. As the Victor, Prim is obviously immune; even if she got married (which won't be for a very long time if I have anything to say about it) she would simply remain in her mansion.

Another rule is one that fills me with great envy: as a Victor, Primrose is no longer required to attend school. In fact, she, like other new Victors, is highly encouraged to drop out, with the registrar going so far as to personally de-enroll her. When Prim receives notice of her de-enrollment, complete with an honorary diploma, in the mail, I am more than a little peeved. Mother is livid.

"Primrose, it is your prerogative to get a good education! A district lady must be well educated! You must go back to the school and ask that you be re-enrolled!"

To my annoyance (and maybe a little envy), Prim is adamant in her refusal. "I don't need to go back, Mother. I don't want to go back! I've always known I wanted to be a Healer! And well, I guess now I'm going to be a mentor too. What do I possibly need to learn in school that you or Haymitch can't teach me?"

I have to admit, my sister has her there. But it still doesn't erase how jealous I feel. I've always prided myself on being a good student, but I wouldn't say I enjoy academics. And I still have two whole years to go before I graduate and then age out of the Reaping.

"Besides, Rye's dropping out too! He told me this morning!"

"Rye only has a year left," Mother sighs. "Empty-headed boy that he is, I don't see what another term of studies could do to help him. But you… you have six whole years still that you're now willing to throw away!"

Prim shrugs. "What do I need Mining Safety or Hunger Games History for? I already know what I want to do for the rest of my life."

I scowl, still stewing. "Why can't I drop out?" I float. Following Prim's logic, I too know what I want to do for the rest of my life – hunt. Never mind that such a profession is technically illegal.

Mother shakes her head at me. "Nonsense, Katty! You'll have Home Economics your senior year, and if you want to keep a household well once you take a husband…"

My jaw drops open in mortification. "Mother! ….."

"…. You will need to know everything about supporting your spouse and raising a family…"

"But I don't want to get married or have children!" I stamp my foot. And I don't. Even if, one the first point, a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy is making me start to waver…. I shake my head to clear it. Even if Peeta would have me, I would have to move out of Prim's mansion the moment I said 'I do' on the day of our wedding; after only living here a few weeks, I'm not sure I want to give this up just to return to a life of squalor in the Seam.

Mother, as usual, doesn't appear to have heard me or what I want. "You might say that now, but you'll learn. I expect my daughters to be provided for and to be well-educated ladies – both of them."

For someone who abandoned her Merchant lifestyle for love, Mother sure still adheres to a Merchant's social standards.

"The new term starts next week. Primrose…" Mother sighs. "If you truly feel you have learned all you need to know, then… I won't force you to re-enroll. You're a Victor now, so I can't say for certain that the government would allow you readmission anyway. Katniss, I expect you to be up and ready for school first thing in the morning come Monday. You, young lady, are going to graduate on time and that's the end of it."

"But, Mama…"

"The END of it!"

I growl, stamping my foot again and stalking outside, slamming the door so hard, I scare the damn cat.

I cross into the Village green at the center of our little village, plopping down next to the truly gaudy fountain with a huff. Off to the left, I hear the whir of a motor disengaging, followed by a loud chuckle.

"Having a bad morning?"

I turn, my lips fighting to upturn from their enraged scowl into a smile as Peeta saunters over. The most I can manage is a bitter grimace. "Mother's forcing me to finish school."

Peeta laughs again, sinking down beside me. "Hey, I hear you. Rye practically danced a jig when he got his de-enrollment papers, the lucky bastard. I still have to finish too. So does Delly. But hey, maybe the three of us could study together."

I smile hesitantly. "I would like that. But we'll have to tell Delly to keep it down – don't tell her I said so, but she sometimes talks too much."

"Oh believe me, duly noted." He shakes his head. "Between her and Rye…"

"Speaking of your idiot brother, why isn't he out here mowing his own damn lawn?"

Peeta rolls his eyes, making me giggle. "He's reading."

"He reads?" I quirk an eyebrow, causing us both to collapse in laughter.

"Cookbooks mostly. For the Bakery. Now that he's back, he'll be the one taking over the business one day, after he and Delly get married." He sighs, silent for a long moment. Then he turns to me with a truly guilty look on his face. "Is it bad that a tiny part of me hoped that he would die in the arena? If he had, the family inheritance, the bakery, would have automatically passed down to me. Leven's on his own now, a family to support, and he's set to take over the funeral home."

I stare at him, studying him. In truth, I don't know what my answer to his musing should be, so I opt to say nothing. Except…. "I don't think you're a bad person for being concerned about your future." I pause. "But even if you don't get the Bakery, you'll still work there once Rye takes over, right?"

"Yeah. Hopefully, he and Delly would let me stay on."

"Hmm," I murmur, actually daring to rest my head on his shoulder. "I'd still come and trade with you."

I shiver when I feel him steal a burly arm around me. "Oh, nothing would make me happier, Katty girl."

We're deep in the middle of an unseasonably warm fall – really an Indian summer – when I stride through the Village gates back from a hunt with Gale one morning. As I get near the fountain, I pull up short when I see Rye Mellark outside on his porch for once, going over some papers on a small side table. He glances up when he sees me.

"Oh. Hey, Everdeen."

I purse my lips in a neutral line and head over. "Got up off your ass for once, I see."

"Hardy-har," he sneers, turning back to his work, if what he is doing can really be called that. I actually do feel bad that Peeta missed out on his family's inheritance. Someone who actually deserves the Bakery should get it.

Speaking of…. "Where's Peeta?"

"Down in Town, at the Bakery. I placed an order with him that should keep him busy… and relatively happy."

I don't bother to suppress a groan. I'll always be grateful to Rye that he had enough good sense to shield my sister's life in the arena, but that doesn't mean I have to like him. I certainly don't like him for placing orders for Peeta… at his own business. Or what will be his own business. "Peeta isn't your pack mule, Mellark. What do you even have him working on?"

Rye looks up, his expression an uncharacteristically serious one. "My Toasting cake."

I let out a gawking laugh. "You can't be serious. Delly won't be free from the Reaping until next summer…" More to the point, the District 12 age of consent is 18. That's why most young men propose to their sweethearts following aging out of the Reaping their last year.

"Three weeks. The Toasting's in three weeks," Rye corrects me.

"Three weeks?" I stare. "You and Delly aren't even of age yet!"

"We are thanks to this form," Rye lifts a sheaf of paper off the stack and waves it in front of my face, all without looking up. "If you actually knew the law, Everdeen, you would know that the district age of consent is 18, but marriage can still occur underage provided that you have the signed, written consent of a guardian. I told your boyfriend as much so he'd know he can make an honest woman of you – preferably sooner rather than later!"

I glare. "Your brother is not my boyfriend," I huff.

"Whatever you say, Everdeen," Rye mutters, his nose still buried in his papers. Turning on my heel, I flounce away in a huff, teeth grounding at Rye's obnoxious voice grating against my ears and retreating back. "You're going to him right now, aren't you?"

I wheel about, hefting my game bag on high. "If you must know, I'm going down there to trade squirrel with him!"

"You could just give him free shags for bread," Rye shrugs. "It'd be a better deal and save us all from the tension."

"There is no tension!" I half-shriek, stamping my foot. "Delly truly is a saint to have your hand in marriage!"

"Everdeen!"

"What?" I snarl, halting at the Village gates.

Rye smirks. "You'll be at the Toasting, won't you?"

I want to say no just to spite the bastard, but remembering my promise to Peeta, I nod. "Plan on it."

I march down to the Bakery, turning into the rear alley and up the back loading dock with my wares. Peeta accepts them graciously, and at the sight of him, I can't help but smile. He's covered in flour and batter and icing.

"Your brother really is awful," I chide him, face dancing with mirth and sympathy in equal amounts.

Peeta sloughs it off. "I enjoy the challenge. Guessing you heard, huh?"

"Delly must be thrilled."

"In a sappy, romantic sort-of way," Peeta chuckles. "She and Rye don't want to wait any longer." His face turns serious. "Delly has been having nightmares that she's going to get Reaped her last year. She was the one who pushed for the wedding to be moved up. I guess she figured that if it does come to pass, she and Rye will have had some married life together."

I sigh, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the redheaded, bubbly girl. "Well, here are your squirrels," I hold them up by the tail, and we both laugh as Peeta performs his usual show of inspecting them.

"I love you, Katty," he sighs.

I start at what he says, blinking, but turn slightly pink as I mumble, "Don't let your mother hear you saying that." I grin delightedly when Peeta passes me a tin of cheese buns in exchange for my squirrel, completing our transaction.

"I have to go," I murmur.

"Katty girl!"

I turn back. "Yes?" My voice is sweet.

"You'll come with me to the Toasting, won't you?"

I softly smile. "I already promised you I would, didn't I?"

Peeta beams. "I'm thrilled you remember. Bye."

I blush. "Bye."

I round the front of the Bakery, heading for the Village up on Victors' Hill when I feel an urge to turn back. Get another look at him, through the front windows of the Bakery. Peeta is back at the counter whisking something in a mixing bowl. Off the corner of the counter, I recognize the blond curls on Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. She's leaning over the polished wood and chatting amicably with the young baker.

For some reason, the sight of them together sends an insecure jealousy roaring through my veins. But no, Peeta wouldn't hide anything from me… would he?

I head back up the hill trying to calm the what is hopefully only paranoia seeding doubt in my head.

Rye and Delly's Toasting is beautiful. The bride looks resplendent, radiant, standing in the office of the District Clerk while she and her intended affix their names to the marriage license. Upon the clerk announcing them husband and wife, Rye and Delly embrace and kiss to applause and a few light cheers.

I smile, genuinely happy for the couple… and hopeful that Delly can temper that infernal Rye's more immature tendencies. Mother, Prim and I were touched when Rye asked us to join his family to the signing, the most formal part of the marriage ceremony. It's just us plus the Mellarks and the Cartwrights crammed into the District Clerk's office.

The wedding reception is held at Rye's mansion in the Victors' Village. As he carries his bride across the threshold, we all sing the traditional District 12 wedding song:

"May your house be a palace, and your hearth never grow dark…."

Mr. Cartwright, an accomplished fiddler, strikes up a reel. When Peeta asks me for a dance, I flush scarlet but accept his offered hand. I try not to think about how my sister and probably my mother are watching us, never mind the Witch, as the reel fades into a slow waltz. At the end of the number, the spell of Peeta and I gazing into each other's eyes is broken when Rye approaches his brother.

Peeta quirks a teasing eyebrow. "Married less than two hours and you're already straying! Delly know you're cutting in with another woman?"

"Very funny," Rye glowers. I, however, can't resist smirking.

"Like I'd dance with you, Rye Mellark." Peeta's cheeks bulge like a chipmunk's as he tries to hold in a shocked laugh.

"I'm telling you know so you'll be spared Mom having to: she needs you to get down to the Bakery now and start cleaning up. You left the counter a mess this morning before we left for the Justice Building."

Peeta splutters in annoyed fury, letting out something between a growl and a sigh, and he turns to me apologetically. "I have to go," he croons. I suck in a sharp breath when he kisses my hand. "Thanks for the dance." I stare after him as he ducks out the door.

"You know," Rye offers up, his eyes still on me. "I don't think Delly would mind if we went for a dance, so long as I keep my hands where they should be."

"Shut up," I jeer at him.

Despite being in fancy dress – my blue Reaping dress, to be specific – I try to hunt by moonlight to take my mind off the ceremony, and while I nab some meat, I can't stop wondering about Peeta. Before I know it, my feet are carrying me to the back door of the Bakery.

I'm still wearing the blue dress with my hunting boots and when Peeta asks me what I'm doing here, I mutter something about rabbits, throwing my game bag into the kitchen.

He offers me a loaf, and I shake my head. My movements are jerky and my eyes dart around wildly. I actually trip over a sack of flour and cry out in agitation, falling right to the ground like I've been shot by an invisible arrow.

Peeta drops the sieve he's been handling in his rush to get to me and help me up. He quickly finds a long cut on my palm from the floor and stares in anguish at the tear tracks running down my face.

"It'll be OK," he says, helping me up, taking me to the sink, pressing a damp cloth to my palm, holding my small hand carefully in his big square one.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I came here," I say, suddenly avoiding looking at him, embarrassed.

"It's OK," Peeta says again. He sounds desperate in his search to say the right thing in this moment. What he thinks I want to hear.

"It's always a pleasure to see you," he offers a hesitant smile.

I smile wetly back. "Likewise." Something is nagging at me, and I shake my head. "Don't you ever get tired of being nice to me?" I look up, frowning, genuinely curious.

"No," he answers honestly.

"I don't deserve it," I watch as he returns to rolling out the dough, wielding the wooden rolling pin in his large hands.

I can feel him staring intently at me. "Yes, you do," he croons.

I have to glance away, picking at the cloth on my palm. "You're so charming. Kind. Disarming." A pause and then, I say almost in a whisper:

"Why don't you have a girlfriend?" I say this, even though he and I have been stuck in a will-we-or-won't we détente for the better part of three months… and maybe even longer.

"I've had girlfriends," he answers quickly, a little defiant.

"Why didn't you marry any of them?" Madge Undersee's face taunts me in my head.

Peeta goes quiet. Looks intently at his bread.

"You know why," he mumbles.

I lock eyes with him. My mouth is agape. When he first told me he loved me a few weeks ago, I hadn't believed him. Or at least, hadn't known whether or not to believe him. From the shock and fear in his eyes, he must be terrified of scaring me off. That I'll leave. Clearly, that was too big of a reveal, for him. And though my heart is leaping, though I'm scared too, I come closer and start tracing patterns in the flour on the table.

"You don't want me," I mutter, try to deny. "I'm not built to love like that."

"You don't know what I want." Is he really saying this out loud to me? "You haven't tried loving me yet. Maybe you could."

Though I desperately want to say that a part of me already does, an image of my mother, depressed and emotionally lifeless in my mind's eye makes me shake my head. Draw more in the flour with my fingers.

"Even if I could…. I won't," I sigh, and my heart howls at the blaspehmy. "That's the price we pay for independence."

Peeta watches me as I trace patterns unseeingly in the flour.

"I want to be free. The Capitol already has too much control over me. I don't want to belong to a husband too," I shudder at the thought of Peeta being disowned for loving me. Of him going into the mines, only to be blown to bits and leave me a widow, like my mother before me.

"To be in love is to be helpless—look what good it did my mother. I won't ever choose to give someone that control over me," I look at Peeta intently. Tears spring to my eyes.

"Doesn't it feel awful?" I ask softly.

"Sometimes," he whispers, caught between holding my blazing gaze and hiding his eyes in his dough."When I think about how hopeless it is. How you—I mean, how the person you love—will probably never feel that way about you." He smiles sadly, and my chest tightens painfully. "But the good feeling makes it worth it," his smile grows involuntarily. He is so easy to talk to, so free with his words and uncomplicated with his thoughts. "When the whole day gets better because you spend a few minutes with the person you love, or when a look or smile from her can make your afternoon…"

I start to get nervous as I remember he is talking about me. I still can't believe my wildest dream – what I always figured would be just a dream – is real. Peeta loves me. Me! I'm not used to having that kind of power over someone.

"But what's the point of it?" I interrupt angrily. I can't let myself be swept away, get caught up in the light feeling Peeta provokes in me. "At best I'd eventually loose control of my body to babies and spend the rest of my life worrying about them. I have enough to worry about now."

Peeta doesn't say anything. He starts to sieve flour for the next batch. My fingers' patterns in the flour on the table become more frantic until I break the silence,

"Sometimes I think: What am I going to do when I'm the only one left?" my floury fingers tremble, "Prim will get married one day. She already pretty much has a boyfriend. She's so easily made happy. My mother will die. Like my father did. And I'll be…"

"You won't be alone," Peeta's voice comes out harsher than he must have intended, with the conviction in it. He reaches for my flour-covered hand. "You won't ever be alone."

I don't need a mirror to know how vulnerable I look, how unguarded my face is, so close to his.

And then, before I know what I am doing, I lean up and kiss him. Before Peeta can realize it's happening, I'm kissing him. Slowly, experimentally at first, but then I grab his shirt collar to pull him in closer. Draw him into me. My mouth bursts into full bloom as it petals open for him.

He kisses me back, dazed with wonder. Peeta tastes like yeast from his baking; it makes me dizzy. He is all warm and it thrills me.

My mouth is wet and grows increasingly urgent, clumsily pressing against his. He welcomes me hungrily, too dazed to think straight. His arms go around me, lifting me easily and my strong legs wrap around his waist, blue dress riding up my thighs where his hands now squeeze.

Peeta sweeps tomorrow's buns off the worktable, setting me down on top of it, and I nestle him between my thighs, the buckles of my hunting boots pressing against his legs. I am burning with a passion long pent up and he meets me kiss for kiss, gives me access as I fumble with the ties of his apron.

"Peeta," his name on my breath against his lips stirs something huge and primal inside me.

His kisses move along my jaw, down my neck, my skin salty with a day's sweat. He runs his lips reverently over my shoulders. Blue straps fall out of his way, revealing my alabaster skin.

I pull his mouth back to mine hungrily, maneuvering so one of his legs is between mine and I rub up against his thigh, trying to gain friction. Already, I can feel he is painfully hard in his desire for me. Surprisingly, this makes me grin eagerly, as I pop the button on his pants.

But Peeta seems to want to take his time. He lays me out on the worktable, worshipping every part of my body he can reach with soft kisses. It appears he wants to be gentle, tender, explore me; wants me to feel his kisses not just on my skin but in my soul. Let me feel his love in every pore with each kiss.

Large hands trace tenderly down the top of my spine, feathery kisses along my collar bone, his lips seal promises on the soft flesh of each wrist…but I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be fucked. A fire is burning in me that I need him to put out, and I need him to put it out now. My heels are at his back and they dig in sharply.

"Peeta, hurry up," I urge, a frustrated frown between my eyebrows.

He tries to kiss it away but I am already slipping my hand into his pants.

"Come on," I urge, sucking on his neck, stroking his erection, cupping him in my fist.

He stills my hand with his own, and I frown harder. Why the hell is he fighting this?

"Kat…Katniss, slow down," he begs, stuttering to regain control as I try to stroke him again.

He is trying to figure out how to slow me down, relax my frantic mood, when I lift my legs so my dress rides up around my waist, and his focus is drawn to the new areas revealed for his attention. His hand slides reverently along my smooth, muscular calf, holding just above my knee, his mouth following with kisses ever so softly.

I get agitated again, groaning in frustration, unbuttoning my bodice and pushing the top of my dress down to expose small pert breasts, my nipples already hard. I want him to taste them.

"Peeta," I draw his face to my chest, guiding his mouth to me, "I need..."

"Katniss, I…" he turns his head away like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do, kissing my ribcage instead, over my heart.

He looks up at me earnestly,

"I want to do this right…I want you to feel…" He is so nervous, I can hear it in his voice.

Damn it all.

Growling in frustration, I yank his face down into my cleavage and seal his lips to my nipple. Peeta lets out a choked squeak along my boob, but then his lips and tongue slather my breast. When he takes my nipple between his teeth and begins to suck, I let out a gasp, lifting, pushing my hips against his as I arch my back, nearly levitating off the counter.

"I want you to taste them, Snowdamn it!" I hiss along his cheek, my voice strangely hoarse. Purposefully, I take both of his hands and lead them to me – one palm to cup and attend my right breast, his other hand to plunge beneath my underwear and grope my damp sex. "I want you…. to touch me!"

Peeta moans around my nipple, kissing, licking his way in between my glistening cleavage and then working his way up my collarbone, before his lips capture mine in another, bruising kiss.

"Hmmmmm….. Mmmmmm….." I begin to buck my hips, rutting helplessly along his pelvis and thighs, needing the friction of our undulating bodies like I need air to breathe. "P-Peeta….. Please…..!"

"Please what, Katty girl?" Peeta grunts, his voice husky, and I whimper. Seizing his glutes in my fists so that my nails dig into his skin, I hump him frantically.

"Please…. please fuck me. I want you to fuck me!"

At the sound of my begging for him, Peeta finally stops acting like a perfect gentleman.

He takes me with one, fierce plunge and I cry out in pain, but also in triumph.

"Did…. hmmm…. did I hurt you?" Peeta gasps between our frantic kisses.

"N-no…." I croak. "Mother taught us how the first time always hurts for women. Just… just go slow for now…"

We begin to bounce against each other, my giggles turning into gasps and breathy groans as Peeta starts to thrust into me faster and faster.

"Huhhhh….. Uhhhhh….. Ermmmmmm… Mmmmmhmmmmmm…" I kiss him deeply, closing my eyes as I rock against him, an extreme, tingling pleasure replacing my initial discomfort. " That's it - Harder…. Harder….! HARDER!" I'm wailing now. "Peeta, fuck me harder!"

Peeta grunts into my shoulder, the soft curve of my neck, and bears down. I choke on the air, my hands have moved up to splay and claw around his rippling shoulder muscles.

"Make love to me! Finish me now, or I'll scream! I mean it, I'll scream, I will! I'll…. Ohhhh…. Ohhhhhh my goodness….. Ohhhh Snow's Roses, I…. I….I'm gonna cum…. I…. Ahhhhhh….. AHHHHHH….. AHHHHHHHHH!"

My core is overloading. A wave is cresting there, and I can't even begin to turn back the tide.

Peeta's face is still buried in my neck, suckling on my pulse point. Kissing my lips deeply once again so that I can only sigh around his tongue, he hisses along the seam:

"I love you….."

Clamping my thigh muscles tight around him, melting into his kiss, I scream. "MMMMMM-HMMMMMMMM!" I squeal and scream and scream and squeal as my body writhes with my first orgasm. I'm quite impressed that he made me cum my first time. Hell, I am thoroughly amazed with myself that we had to the gall to do the dirty deed on the night of his brother's wedding.

Peeta jerks against me several more times, before he finally succumbs, orgasming inside me and then finishing his spurting along my spread, quivering legs.

He rolls off me, and I stagger off the counter in a daze, wordlessly smoothing down my rumpled blue skirts. I'm breathless, lightheaded, but it is only as I gaze into the deep, smoldering, awestruck eyes of… of my lover that I realize what I have just done. What we have just done.

I stagger back into my family's mansion late. I can feel the sticky mixture of blood and semen clinging to my thighs as I complete my walk of shame. Pushing the door to, I lean against it for a moment in the quiet of my family's darkened house, my mind whirring over what just happened. Peeta and I had sex right there in his family's bakery. We kissed. And… and I liked it. Panem help me, I liked it!

The sharp glare of a lamp turning on makes me wheel around. Mother is swiveling in her easy chair to face me, her one blonde brow cocked like a loaded gun.

"You said you'd be back by eleven."

"I told Prim I'd be back later," I correct the record.

"I would have assumed so," Mother appraises me coolly. I don't know where this sudden desire to parent came from, ever since her youngest came home a Victor, but I don't like it.

"Well, I'm back," I shrug. I turn to go, when I hear Mother suck in a sharp breath.

"Katniss Magenta… there is blood and semen on your legs."

I inwardly suppress a sigh, wanting to run upstairs but my very exhausted legs can't seem to move. I dare to face my mother who is staring at me in shock.

"Katty…. Did you sleep with Peeta Mellark?"

I actually bite my lip like a chastised child and guiltily nod my head.

"And did you use protection, young lady?"

Gasping, I blanche as I realize – shit. We didn't. In our passion, I didn't give it a thought.

Sighing, Mother bustles over to the kitchen stove and busies herself over the kettle. After about five minutes of her working and me standing there like a guilty criminal, she hands me a steaming saucer and cup of tea. "There are mint leaves in there. You must drink this immediately after you and he come together, as a preventative."

I down the drink in one go, now feeling a little nauseous. Mother is still staring at me with what to her must constitute disappointment.

"Katty, dear, you've always had such a good head on your shoulders. I would have expected you to make better choices."

That's when I explode, casting the empty cup and saucer into the roaring fireplace so hard that both shatter. "Oh, you are talking to me about bad choices?! That's really rich, Mother!"

I'm deliciously satisfied by the shattered expression of shock that now comes over my mother's face, and it encourages me to work myself up into my rant.

"You were the one who went to the Baker and fucked him! You cheated on your husband and your youngest daughter is the proof! You're lucky she looks more like you; no one would have figured it out if not for the Games! Did Daddy know? Did Daddy know that you cheated on him? How dare you!"

Mother exhales deeply through her nose, looking truly anguished. I glower at her, the light from the dancing flames making me look ghoulish.

"You were almost four," she begins slowly. "At that time, Wheaton – Mr. Mellark – had thrown his wife out of the house. One night, Peeta was sick and his father came running down to our place in the Seam, begging me to come with him. I treated Peeta up in their loft, and later when Wheaton tried to pay… I told him it was no charge." She smiles at me sadly. "He kissed me. And I kissed him back. We went back to his bedroom and had sex. I regretted it the minute that it was over and stole back to our house before first light."

"Did… Daddy ever suspect?"

"No. It had been raining hard that night; he believed me when I told him Wheaton had insisted I stay over on the spare couch downstairs. When I found out I was expecting Prim, he was thrilled. He never suspected that she might not be his."

I turn this over in my head. At least Mother is now brave enough to admit and accept what she did. It even helps slightly that she regretted it almost immediately. I just wish she would examine some of her other failures as well. Like her failure to parent after her husband's death.

I nod to her once, neutrally. "Well... in case you were wondering about Peeta and me, don't worry: it won't happen again. Good night."

Nonetheless, I stumble upstairs and fall into my own bed, mind spinning.