Chapter 9: As Long As You're Mine
I think I'm going to burst at the seams every time Gale looks at me.
Does he know? Can he tell? Is my misdeed, my transgression, written all over my face as I feel it is? Surely, he has to sense something is wrong. I jump every time he speaks, anticipating that whenever he opens his mouth, my husband is going to say it: "You fucked Peeta Mellark."
But he doesn't. If he notices I've been acting weird, he doesn't say anything. After he came home from his shift in the mines that evening—after I had dumped my filthy bathwater out and readjusted the couch cushions, after I had changed into completely different clothes and rebraided my hair seven times, after I had pressed a cold compress to my eyes to reduce the puffiness from my tears—Gale had grumbled something about being exhausted from the day's work. He's always tired; I know the work is back-breaking, but neither of us really like to talk about the mines, so he doesn't expand on the conversation. So we eat our dinner in relative silence, and for once, I am glad Gale doesn't inquire about my day. He crashes after dinner and a shower, his exhaustion taking him to our bedroom for an early night.
I don't go to bed for a while; I sit on the tiny stoop outside the back door and stare at the cluster of trees behind our house. The night air is muggy, thick with moisture from the afternoon rain. It doesn't remind me of what I did earlier with Peeta; the truth is, I don't need to be reminded. I haven't stopped thinking about it.
What is wrong with me? What had I been thinking? This is the problem, I surmise; I hadn't been thinking. I deliberately chose not to think. But I am making up for that lapse in judgment now; my mind races with questions and doubts and self-contempt.
I'm a horrible person. I am horrible; I am selfish and distrustful and manipulative. I hate myself. How could I do that to Gale? I've already bound him to a fruitless, querulous marriage with me, and I can't even afford him the decency of remaining faithful. And Analise...I feel my guilt sink like a lead ball to the pit of my stomach. I don't even know Analise, a woman already broken by her inability to conceive—and here I am, selfishly willing to break another woman's marriage by one thoughtless action.
Burying my face in my hands, I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. But I don't cry; there are no tears forthcoming, no miniscule amount of relief to be had from the suffocating shame I feel. I used it all up earlier in the bath, and now I have to face the cold, hard truth of what I have done.
I can't tell Gale; I can't. He would be devastated. No matter how much we fight, how much he might resent me for my unrelenting resistance to children, he would be irreparably damaged by this betrayal, I'm sure of it. It would be worse to tell him, I reason. So, why cause Gale any more anguish than necessary?
It's not going to happen again; I am going to cut Peeta out of my life for good. It's the only option. I will go back to my lonely, friendless life because it is no less than what I deserve. Peeta will be just fine without me. I cannot even begin to decipher what he is thinking and feeling about our ill-advised tryst, but he has plenty of friends, plenty of activities and obligations to fill his thoughts and time; forgetting about the Seam woman who seduced him into cheating on his wife shouldn't be too hard for him to do.
Will he tell his wife, though? Would he tell her what happened? Fresh terror settles like ice over my heart at the thought, and I hug my knees to my chest tightly. He's a decent person; he might not be able to live with the guilt the way I can, am prepared to do. If Analise knew, would it eventually get back to Gale? It would, I realize, because everyone would know. Everyone in this district knows everything; no one is allowed to wallow in their own fucking misery and self-hate in peace. God damn this stupid district. God damn it, and god damn me for being such a fool.
I am a stupid, stupid, stupid woman.
I don't sleep much over the next few days. Every night, when Gale comes home from his shift, I am sure this is it; I am sure he is going to confront me about sleeping with Peeta. The accusation never comes, however. It would be funny, really, because before, when he'd suspected I was having sex with him, he had been wrong, but now that I've done it, he doesn't seem to suspect a thing. It would be funny, if I haven't been making myself physically sick from all my anxiety.
I tread carefully around town, around the Hob, wondering if anyone else knows, wondering if each day is going to be the day Analise tracks me down to shame me in front of the whole district for fucking her husband.
But no one pays me any mind; no one even really looks my way as I go about my business. I'm too wound up, though. Trying to work in the Hob as if nothing has happened is nearly impossible—forget trying to do any of my regular trading around Town. On Wednesday, my usual hunting day, I refuse to get out of bed that morning. Instead, I tell Gale I'm sick, which isn't hard to feign as my stomach has been knotted painfully for the past week, and I burrow further under the covers, prepared to sleep the day away. I don't want to hunt because I don't want to have to pass through the Meadow; I can't risk running into Peeta.
Wednesday is – was - our day. He wouldn't show up, though. Right?
I can't think about it.
Another week goes by, and I know I need to hunt again. I can't hide forever. I slink out into the woods, before the sun has even made an appearance. But once I've retrieved my bow from its log, my motivation escapes me. Instead, I sit down on the log and just enjoy the forest. The trees rise high above me, obscuring the dusky sky, as if the woods are going to swallow me up. I feel safe. I feel unjudged. I feel...redeemed. This is where I belong.
I don't want to leave. Nothing good awaits me back in District 12. So I start to walk. And I walk until I find the one place that can remind me of the person I used to be, when things were less complicated, when I was actually happy: my cabin in the woods, the lake where my father had taught me how to swim.
I really, really miss Daddy today.
Approaching the lake, I carefully remove my clothes and fold them on the ground. Naked, I walk out into the water, submerging my head and resurfacing farther out in the lake. I swim for a while until I am exhausted, then I crawl onto a large rock to sunbathe for hours, bare to the world. Birds and squirrels chirp in the trees that surround the lake as if they are singing to me, and I almost, almost forget about my troubles.
But then I get hungry, and I know I need to head home. The berries I'd collected on the way to the lake have done little to satiate my hunger. Regretfully, I redress and begin my hike back to the Seam. I shoot down a couple squirrels on my way and stuff them in my bag. As I climb through the gap in the fence, I throw my bag over my shoulder—and nearly scream when I see Peeta standing before me.
He holds up his hands as if placating a terrified prey. And I know I must look like one.
"Wait. Wait. Please. Just wait," he begs as if I'm about to run. Perhaps if he wasn't blocking my route home, I would. I could always escape back into the woods, I suppose, but I'm frozen to the spot, utterly horror-struck by his appearance in the Meadow.
"What are you...what are you doing here?" I ask when speech returns to me.
Peeta stares at me quietly for a moment. He looks nearly as terrible as I do—his skin is paler than usual, his face is lined with exhaustion and worry, and his normally bright eyes are dull, punctuated by the dark circles under them. But even fatigue can't diminish his handsomeness, and I'm not sure if the swoop in my stomach is fear or longing.
"It's Wednesday," he states simply, his voice strained. Then he looks away, running a hand through his hair. When he looks back at me, he gives me such a raw look that I feel myself actually tremble. "I thought you might be in the woods, so...I waited."
I blink. I've been out for hours. It has to be in the middle of the afternoon by now. "How long...how long have you been waiting?"
He swallows, his eyes shifting around nervously. "A while, I guess. Forever, if I needed to," he says, stepping closer, but his movements are cautious. I don't know if I want to take a step back—or take a step toward him. So I stay still, my chest constricting with a quickened breath.
"Peeta—"
"Wait," he interrupts me, holding his hands up again. "Just...I'm sorry. I am so unbelievably sorry for what I did. I'm sorry. I don't know if there are enough words in the world to accurately convey how sorry I am, but I just...I needed to apologize to you."
My eyes widen. "Why are you apologizing to me? I'm the one—I'm the one who...who started it. I… I kissed you, and..." I had wanted him. I had wanted him to do what he did; I had wanted to do what I'd done. If anything, I should apologize to him. He'd just been hit by his wife, who'd accused him of having an affair, and then I have sex with him. Snow, what is wrong with me?
But he shakes his head. "I think...I think I've been pushing it, pushing you. I- I think about you. I've been thinking about you—I'm sorry. I've tried not to, but...I guess I haven't really tried hard enough," he rambles, his eyes focusing on the fence behind me. "I wanted you, and I think I projected that onto you, and, just...I escalated things between us, and they got out of hand."
My eyes are riveted to him, only one part of his speech reverberating in my mind: I wanted you. I understand, of course, that in the moment, he had wanted me, but the way he says it, he makes it sound like it is something beyond just that day, that singular action. "You wanted me?" I repeat dumbly. He stares at me.
"Yes."
I think about what Gale had said a while ago, about Peeta staring at me in school. Slowly, I set my game bag on the ground. "How...long have you wanted me?"
He blinks rapidly, his lips parting in disbelief. "How long? I - a long time, Katniss."
Tugging the end of my braid, I chew on my lip. "Since...we were teenagers?" I ask.
Something akin to terror flashes in his eyes. "Longer, probably," he whispers. My heart is racing, and my palms have started to sweat.
"Is that why you stared at me in school?" He nods cautiously. "And not because of the—bread?" I ask, timid.
He furrows his eyebrows. "The bread...I watched you because I wanted to make sure you were okay. But I watched you before, and I watched you after. Because I liked you."
My breath hitches. "Because you liked me," I repeat, and he purses his lips. "Like me?" I rephrase, a questioning lilt to my voice, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
"Yes," he finally answers after a beat, his voice barely above a whisper, and he drops his eyes to look at the ground. His cheeks are red; my own face feels like it is on fire. I feel like a teenager all over again. A confusing rush of embarrassment and giddiness and anger swells inside me.
"Peeta." My voice is strangled as I try to choke down all my emotions. "Why didn't you ever—tell me? Why didn't you ever just say something to me?"
He huffs, running his hands through his hair again. "I don't know! I don't know, okay? I was...I was scared, I guess. I was a coward. What could I even talk to you about?" He laughed then, a strange, nervous bark of laughter. "You were so...you were so much more, and how could I compare? And then I thought you were with Gale, and then you were with Gale, and what did it matter at that point? What could I do at that point, Katniss?"
"You could have talked to me! Anything, even a hello would have gone a long way to—to—"
"Talk to you? I didn't even register to you!"
I pull up short, blinking furiously. "Is that what you think? That I didn't notice you?" I ask, and he gives me an exasperated look. "Because I noticed you. A lot."
He swallows, his eyes wide with alarm. "You...But you—you were with Gale. And I respected that. I moved on—I tried to move on. I couldn't—I didn't want to spend the rest of my life pining after you. You seemed...you seemed happy. And you married Gale. You—"
"I was waiting for you!" I yell, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could cram them back in. His mouth drops open, his entire face registering shock, and I clamp both my hands over my own mouth in horror.
We're silent for a tense moment until Peeta breaks it. "You were...you were—"
But I'm already shaking my head, moving to dart around him, to run from my confession. He moves faster than me, however, his body colliding with mine as he intercepts my escape route; I ricochet off his chest, but his hands shoot up to lock around my arms, holding me in place. "Wait! Wait! Please, don't run, please!" he cries, and I struggle in his grasp, but he just pulls me closer, tighter. "Just stop, okay? Just—just wait a minute, please."
I cover my whole face with my hands, trying to block him out, trying to block out what I've said, but when my body stills, he wraps his arms around me. My head rests against his chest. His breathing is ragged, and I can feel his heart under my hands. It syncs with the fast beat of my own heart. "Katniss...what do you mean, you were waiting for me?"
I hadn't realized it until I said it. How am I supposed to explain it to him? I don't understand it myself. I had been close to understanding it years ago, the day I found out Peeta was getting married, but it had seemed like an exercise in futility by that point, to even think about it, to consider the possibility that I had feelings for Peeta. How could I have feelings for him when we had never interacted beyond a contemptible exchange of food? It was an absurd notion, so I quashed the feelings and threw myself into a marriage with Gale because—because it was expected of me. I was supposed to be with a man from the Seam, not the boy with the bread, not a man from the Merchant class. It had been an impulsive decision, one I'd made in a moment of weakness, so I wouldn't have to face the fact that I'd been foolishly longing for a man I can't have.
Shaking my head, I inhale shakily. His familiar scent fills my nose, making me lightheaded. "What does it matter, Peeta?"
"It matters, damn it," he says harshly, his mouth moving against the top of my head. His nose is buried in my hair, and I hear him inhale, his chest expanding under my hands. "It matters...please..."
His proximity, his scent, his warmth—it is all too much, disarming me. Memories of our desperate coupling assault my mind, how he felt in my hands, inside me, moving above me, his weight pinning me down, his mouth worshipping my breasts, his fingers making me beg. My body betrays me, flushing with want, and I squeeze my eyes shut, curling my fingers into his shirt. "I don't...I don't know," I say, my voice catching. "I didn't understand at the time, but...you were, you were always there. Ever since the bread, I just—I've thought about you. I noticed you. You were different, I guess. And that day at the bakery, the day you got married...I realized...I realized...I had lost you. I never had you. You were not mine. So I finally—I agreed to marry Gale."
My eyes water at the realization, the words I have never let myself say out loud, the words I had hardly let myself think. I only married Gale because I couldn't have Peeta.
I can't feel any worse about myself than I do in this moment.
He swallows audibly, his hand snaking up my back to palm the back of my head. "I—I didn't...fuck, I didn't know. I didn't fucking know," he murmurs, his voice trembling. "God, if I'd had any idea, I never would have...I never would have..."
"Don't say it," I plead, tugging on his shirt. "Please, don't fucking say it." I don't think I could bear it.
Peeta pulls back slightly, forcing my head up so he can look at my face. His blue eyes are swimming. "I have to, I have to say it, Katniss. I love my wife, but you—it's you. It's always been you." I close my eyes again tightly, my heart in my throat, and he cradles my face between his hands. "If I had known how you felt, I would have been with you. I love you." My heart stops then, and my eyes snap open. "I love you," he repeats earnestly, his eyebrows pinched together as he looks at me. "I've always loved you."
How can he love me? I'm not sure how anyone could at this point, but Peeta especially. I just stare at him, my mouth hanging open, my heart now beating painfully in my chest.
His lip curls in contempt, his eyes drifting to gaze at the ground. "I know. I'm a horrible fucking person. I married a woman knowing I was in love with someone else. I'm terrible. I've hated myself for it, but I thought...I thought the feeling would lessen over time...but...And now, I've betrayed my wife. I just—this isn't me. I didn't think I was this kind of person...but here I am..." He shakes his head, falling silent.
I feel dazed, not sure how to respond. If he is a horrible person, then what am I? Scum. I'm fucking scum. I find herself leaning into him, my hands sliding around to his back, and I tuck my head under his chin. His arms secure me there, and I inhale deeply, my nose brushing the skin left exposed by the collar of his shirt. He's here. And so am I. If he is horrible...then, maybe, we can be horrible together. He's the only one who understands what I'm feeling at this point. We did this together; we dirtied each other.
What's a little more dirt between friends?
I press chaste kisses along his neck, trailing my mouth up to his jaw; his beard tickles my lips, and I can feel his pulse thrumming. Stretching up on my tiptoes, I place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and that's where my lips linger as I wait for him to react—to do something, to either kiss me or push me away, anything.
He hesitates, and the moment passes like an eternity, until he finally rotates his head, just enough to touch his lips to mine. That is all the permission I need; I crush my chest to his, prying his mouth open with my tongue. One of his hands cups my face to hold me in place while he kisses me back wetly, and our tongues slide against each other in a desperate quest. His fingers dig into my back, and I slip my hands under his shirt to feel his hot skin, the tensing muscles in his back. He grunts into my mouth when my jagged nails scrape his skin, his teeth biting down on my bottom lip. I gasp before covering his open mouth with mine, pulling him closer, trying to climb up him, trying to crawl into his skin. Is it possible to want someone this much? I can't remember if the desire has ever been this demanding, this consuming before.
Suddenly remembering where we are, I jerk away from him, a string of spittle snapping between our mouths and dribbling down my chin. Peeta stares at me with glassy eyes, his lips swollen and red. There is fear in his gaze, too, but I realize it isn't fear of what we are doing—it is fear that I am going to stop.
Untangling my arms from around him, I fist his shirt and pull him with me as I step back toward the fence. "Come with me," I whisper, climbing under the fence into the forest, and I help him through the gap. I grab his hand and guide him with deliberate purpose through the trees until we are concealed by the woods, then I back him up against a particularly large tree, pinning him with my body. His hands settle on my hips, and I stretch my torso along his, nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck. There, I place wet kisses; I refrain from sucking on the delicate flesh, knowing I can't risk leaving a mark, but I drag my teeth, nipping at his collarbone.
"Katniss," he murmurs roughly. Emboldened, I tug open his pants and slip my hands inside the parted fly, finding his stiffening cock under his boxers. He moans quietly as I stroke him until he is hard and throbbing in my hands, then I push his pants and boxers down to free his cock, sliding down his body to kneel before him. I glance up at him through my eyelashes as he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face is slack with disbelief as he stares down at me. "Katniss," he says again, a slight whine straining his voice this time.
My gaze settles on his cock. It is thick and glorious, and my mouth salivates in anticipation. Bracing myself on my thighs, I lick the length of his erection a few times; he gasps at the first touch of my tongue, dissolving into a series of groans as I continue. Swirling my tongue around the head, I can taste the cum that dots the tip. I pull back slightly to lick my lips. Then I take him into my mouth, sliding him along my tongue until I can't take any more in; I stop before he hits the back of my throat, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock.
Peeta moans above me, his hands grasping the sides of my head, and he curls his fingers into my chestnut hair. But he lets me set the pace, and I bob my head up and down his length, sucking on his hot flesh. "Katniss...fuck," he hisses, his head falling back against the tree. I move my hand in tandem with my mouth, the flat of my tongue bathing the underside of his cock. I didn't know that I was particularly good at giving head, but the way his hips thrust into my face gives me confidence; I suck harder, and he all but growls.
Before he cums, he pants out a warning. I hold him tenderly in my mouth as his cock pulses, spurting semen down my throat. Gagging slightly, I swallow what I can and pull my head back, spitting out what I can't gulp. With a cough, I clumsily wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before glancing at his face. He is watching me intently, his breathing heavy.
"Sorry," I mutter, embarrassed. Dropping my gaze, I sit back on my haunches and crush a dead leaf in my hand. Peeta tucks himself back in and zips his pants up, then he slides down the tree to sit on the ground before me. He touches my chin, turning my face to look at him. His brow is knitted in concern and confusion, but his cheeks are still flushed.
"You don't—you don't have to apologize to me," he says, his fingers trailing along my jaw line. His eyes are troubled, though. "Why...?"
There's the question, isn't it? Why? Why? Why?
"I don't know, Peeta," I say honestly, meeting his gaze. I cover the hand on my face with my own and squeeze his fingers. I lick my lips, catching a missed drop of his semen at the corner of my mouth. It tastes like him; I don't know why I think this exactly, but it does.
He pulls me between his legs, and then he is kissing me again, a needy, heated kiss. When he breaks away, I slump against his chest, but he tilts my head back, his large hands framing my face. "Katniss, if this—if this is going to stop, it's going to have to be you, okay? You're gonna have to stop this because I—I don't think I can," he implores, his plaintive eyes boring into mine.
The problem is, I don't think I can either.
