Chapter 6: Look At Me
The next week, Peeta sidles up to my booth in the Hob casually, and I fight the blush that heats my cheeks, trying not to think about my recurring fantasies that center around him. "'Morning," he says, and I nod in greeting.
"Come to purchase more condoms?" I ask, and he chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.
"Ah, no, not this time," he replies, showing me a bottle of clear liquor he must have bought from Ripper. "But I thought I'd come bug you, anyway."
A shy smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "So, is this your idea of friendship? Because I'm starting to rethink this arrangement."
He grins. "Have I scared you off already? This might be a new record for me. Maybe I need to draft a contract for all my new friends to sign or something," he muses, bracing himself against my booth.
"You should probably include a trial period so they can change their minds after a predetermined time frame," I suggest, and he pretends to mull it over.
"Or maybe I should start paying for my friends' time with cheese buns," he says with a crooked smile, and this time I blush.
Clearing my throat, I brush some loose pieces of hair off my face. "Is that part of the deal? Because forget what I said earlier. I think you might just be my new best friend," I reply, smiling when he laughs.
"Bribing friends with baked goods; I see. I guess I've been doing it wrong all this time," he laments dramatically, and I shrug.
"Ply them with cheese buns, and I think you'll never find yourself in short supply of friends."
"Well, now I know why I decided to befriend you. You clearly have all the best ideas," he says, quirking an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes, playing with my braid. With a sigh, he looks around before flashing me another smile. "I guess I should leave you alone now before I scare off your customers. They might think I'm buying up all your condoms," he jokes, and I scoff, smiling, anyway.
"Yeah, you should probably start baking right away if you plan to make any more friends," I say, and he bows to me.
"Thank you for imparting your wisdom on me, Katniss." With one last smile, he walks away, my gaze lingering in the direction he left long after he is gone.
Fucked. I'm fucked.
Making friends with Peeta Mellark was a terrible, ill thought-out idea, I realize. He comes around too often, tracking me down at the Hob when I work to "keep me company," he says. I'm at least glad he actually purchases things while he's there, whether it is more alcohol from Ripper or some stew from Greasy Sae, because then it doesn't look like he is solely visiting me. But he must be because I've never seen him in the Hob before now. Am I his only friend who doesn't work normal hours in an officially approved job? I just might be; somehow, I doubt he has any other friends who are Seam.
And yet, despite knowing it's a bad idea, I still can't bring myself to send him away. I rather enjoy his company. He makes me laugh, something I don't do often anymore—or ever, really. Peeta isn't the only Merchant to patronize the Hob, not in the least, but he's the only one who spends time in my company, almost exclusively. Surely, people have to be talking.
This fact is confirmed to me when Gale confronts me about it over dinner one night.
"Are you fucking Peeta Mellark?" he asks, his voice razor sharp, his gray eyes glinting.
I blanch, dropping my fork to my plate. "What? No! What the hell—why would you even ask me that?" I demand, my temper flaring.
My husband regards me coldly, his eyes narrowed as he stares at me. "Thom told me Mellark's been hanging around you at the Hob. Why would he be hanging around you?"
My nostrils flare, but underneath my anger I feel fear bubbling. Why should I be afraid? I have nothing to hide. "He's not—hanging around me. He's there to buy shit. He's there to buy alcohol and food, and he—he buys condoms from me. He stops to chat with everyone there," I say this as evenly as I can, knowing I am partially lying.
Gale snorts, leaning back in his chair. "And what does he need condoms for?"
"I don't know! Ask him, ask his wife! Ask whoever he's sleeping with because it's not me!" I yell. "I hardly even know him!"
He just shakes his head, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Can you blame me for being suspicious? That guy's had a hard-on for you since school."
My eyes widen, and I gasp. "What? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, come on, you can't tell me you didn't notice," Gale says with a scoff. "He stared at you all the time! You mean to tell me you didn't notice? Bullshit."
"No, I—" I falter, gaping at him as I try to digest this new information. Did I notice Peeta staring at me? Of course. But because he likes me? No. That can't have been it. It was because of the bread. Because he expected a thank you or some kind of acknowledgement. That was why. Wasn't it? I shake my head, desperately clinging to my denial. "It doesn't matter what he thought of me in school. I'm not fucking him, and I can't even believe you would accuse me of something like that!"
I push away from the table and snatch my plate up, carrying it to the sink where I drop it, loudly. I hear Gale stand up behind me.
"Whatever. I'm going to get a drink at the Hob," he says through gritted teeth, but I don't acknowledge him. Our front door slams shut, and I inhale shakily. I'm trembling now, and I grip the sink so tight, my fingers turn white.
It doesn't matter if Peeta liked me in school. That doesn't mean he still likes me. That was a long time ago, and he's married now. If he had actually liked me, he would have said something sooner.
It doesn't matter. I don't like him, anyway.
But, then, why can't I stop thinking about him? Why do I think of him when I touch myself? Horrified, I bury my face in my hands. What have I gotten myself into?
It has to stop. And I have to be the one to stop it. I can't be friends with Peeta Mellark anymore.
As he approaches my booth the following Thursday afternoon, Peeta smiles easily at me, but I keep my face hard, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by him. He frowns, stopping before me. "What's wrong?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice, and I shake my head.
"You need to stop coming around here," I say, my voice low. My eyes dart around the Hob, wondering who is watching us, waiting to report back to Gale. Peeta's brow furrows.
"Why?"
"Because." He watches me expectantly, and I huff. "Because people talk, Peeta."
He looks at me oddly. "Yeah. I know they do. People always talk, Katniss. What's your point?"
I grind my teeth. "Stop playing dense. People talk, and they think you and I—you and I..."
He just blinks. "You and I what?"
"Oh, come off it, Peeta," I hiss, my fingers curling into fists. "You know what they're thinking."
He sighs, rubbing his scruffy chin. "So, what—a man and a woman can't just be friends anymore? Without something illicit going on?"
I glare at him. "No, not when the woman is from the Seam, Peeta. You know how that looks to people."
His eyes darken, his lips pursing stubbornly. "I don't care about that shit. These arbitrary class differences that dictate who can be friends with whom, who can love—" He stops himself abruptly, swallowing, and I feel my pulse throb in my neck.
"They're not just arbitrary, Peeta; they're real," I grind out, a flush heating up my face. "And I have to deal with them every day. I have to deal with people judging me, looking down on me. So it doesn't matter what you care about because this affects me. I can't be your friend anymore."
His face falls then, the corners of his mouth and his eyes creasing with sadness. He drops his head, and my heart constricts painfully. But when he glances back up, he smiles ruefully. "Okay. I'm sorry. I will respect your wishes," he says, his voice thick. "It was nice while it lasted, but I guess I knew it couldn't last forever. Take care of yourself, Katniss."
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walks away, and I try not to stare after him. I look down, blinking against the tears. What is wrong with me? I feel horrible, the anger over the situation giving way to a new anguish. I bite down on my lip, hard, but my mind is racing.
It isn't fair. Why should anyone besides me get to decide with whom I can or cannot spend my time? I don't have a friend in this whole damn district, and I am supposed to drive away the only person who has ever really gave a damn enough to befriend me, just because the prejudiced assholes of this town think it somehow improper?
My head flies up, and I look in the direction Peeta left. Glancing at Greasy Sae to my right, I make up her mind. "Hey, Sae, can you keep an eye on my booth for a minute? I gotta get something from my house." Sae nods, and I dart around my booth, walking briskly out of the Hob. I spy Peeta not too far up ahead, ambling toward Town, and I jog to catch up to him.
"Peeta, wait!" I call to him quietly, and he stops, turning around with an expression of surprise, but his face slips into one of dejection when he looks at me. Slowing to a stop a couple of feet away from him, I glance around nervously. "It's not that I don't want to be friends with you. It's just...I can't deal with people gossiping about me, spreading rumors and telling Gale things that aren't—true."
He nods sadly but doesn't speak. I take a deep breath, wrapping my arms around my stomach. "I—I do want to be your friend. I do. It's nice to have someone to talk to..." I trail off, and he looks at me wistfully. "I guess, I just don't really have friends. Close ones, anyway. I'm handling this all wrong, I guess." I tug fretfully on my braid, and he smiles at me finally, a small one. "Maybe...maybe we can still be friends. You just can't come around the Hob anymore."
Peeta raises an eyebrow. "So...friends who don't see each other, then?" His tone is teasing, and I am glad his eyes have lost that sad look. I smile bashfully, trying to fight it, and I look away from him, squinting into the distance at the woods.
"There's a meadow, near the edge of the woods, past the Seam," I say quietly. "If you want to talk sometime, maybe...we can meet there." He is quiet, and when I finally glance at him, his face is slack with disbelief. I start to backtrack, realizing how … illicit it sounds, though it oddly thrills me. "It was a stupid idea, never mind—"
"No!" he interrupts. "No. I mean...I just, I've never been there before. I think that would be...nice. I would like that." He smiles at me, a shy smile, and my heart rate spikes. This is wrong; I should tell him I've changed my mind.
But I smile at him instead.
