"Johanna?" I ask, surprised and a bit confused to hear her voice.
"Yeah, hi brainless," she says.
"How-uh...why...?" I start, but I can't really find the right words. Johanna doesn't seem to have any problem with that, though, so she continues.
"Haymitch called me and said you and Lover Boy "broke up" or whatever. I'm not entirely sure why he thought I was the right person to help you in your lover's quarrel, except for the fact that I'm pretty sure his criteria was just that it be anyone but himself." She laughs a little before continuing. "He said you needed "sisterly advice." I told him to fuck off, but he didn't stop calling until I said yes."
This just makes me feel embarrassed. I don't need Haymitch doing any of this, I don't want anyone to feel pestered to take care of me.
"I'm really not annoyed about it," Johanna says, as if reading my mind. "I think this could be fun. I just give fair warning that I know jack shit about love and don't really care if I hurt your feelings. Other than that, I think we're in for a fun time."
"Fun?" I say, skeptically.
"Well, fun for me, because I'm gonna make you give me all of the sordid details of your and Lover Boy's most recent tragic love affair. Might not be fun for you. Might be painful. Like I said, I don't really care."
I groan a little and she laughs. I don't know why on earth Haymitch thought this was a good idea. I don't want to talk to anyone, and Johanna's just going to make me bring up things that hurt and that don't even matter.
"Start at the beginning," she commands me.
"I...what even is the beginning?" I ask. I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes over the phone.
"The beginning of your relationship, dumbass. Or at least this iteration of it. Your man has told me bits and pieces when we talk on the phone, but he's always been considerate of what you'd want to keep quiet. I don't give a fuck, so tell me." I feel myself start to blush. I don't want to go over this with Johanna.
"Why does it matter?" I ask. "Can't I just tell you what went wrong?"
"Well, for one thing, no, because I'll be able to give a hell of a lot better advice if I know all of your context." I'm actually weirdly touched by this; it's more empathetic and introspective than I usually expect from Johanna. "Plus, like I said, it's fun for me. Life is boring right now, I want some drama." Ah. That's more like the Johanna I know.
I sigh and begrudgingly start filling her in on the start of my romantic relationship with Peeta; I tell her about first realizing my feelings while working on the book, I tell her about kissing for the first time after the trip to the bakery, I tell her about the many ways we've been comforting each other and helping each other with our rebuilding projects. I don't mention any of the more...intimate things that we've done; it's not related to the problem at hand and it's none of her business. She, on the other hand, does not seem to agree, as she calls me out on avoiding it.
"You're not getting out of this conversation without telling me about your sex life," she says, and I flush with both embarrassment and annoyance.
"Why?!" I ask her, frustrated now. "It has nothing to do..." I don't even finish because she's laughing at me.
"What?!" I ask again.
"For fuck's sake, stupid, why does it matter?! Literally who the fuck am I going to tell? It might help, it might not, but who gives a shit, I wanna know! What's gonna happen if I know?" I don't have a good enough refute to this, so very very bitterly I fill her in.
"Fine. Well, we've done some stuff but we haven't done...that." I can hear her chuckling on the other end.
"You can say the word "sex", you're not a 12 year old boy," she says. "But ok, you're moving slow."
"Is that even slow?" I ask, hating myself for being genuinely curious. I honestly have no standard for what a normal pace would be, and I've never thought much about it. I didn't know that many people around my age who were in real relationships. I always heard about people getting together behind the slag heap, but those were usually one time things. I don't know what the normal speed of a relationship is.
"Well, what have you done?" Johanna asks. I feel the heat burning in my cheeks and know that they must be flaming red. I don't care if she ends up helping me so goddamn much, I'm never fully forgiving her for this.
"We...uh...we've done, uh, hand...stuff," I say, hating every word that comes out of my mouth. I hear her snort at me. I know she won't relent until I'm done telling her everything there is to tell, so I just decide to get the rest over with. "And he...uh... he used his - oh my God Johanna why are you making me do this?!" I moan, and she cackles at me yet again.
"Ugh, fine, he used his mouth!" I say. Johanna's laughing continues.
"Well?" she says.
"Well, what?" I snap.
"Was he any good?"
"Johanna!"
"It's a fair question!"
"I mean, yeah, he was good!" Her laughing only increases with this, and I realize I find myself somehow laughing too, even through the complete and utter mortification of the situation.
I realize that this was her intention. It wasn't that she thought this information would be useful in helping resolve our problem, or even that she wanted to know, although I'm sure she did. She wanted to get me to laugh, to get me out of my own head, to get me to feel like some semblance of a normal 19 year old girl. I can't believe it kind of worked.
"Is that it?" she asks once our laughter has finally settled down.
"Yeah, that's it," I say, in utter disbelief that I just said those things out loud and laughed about it, to Johanna Mason of all people.
"So, tell me what happened. The fight, I mean," she says, and the mood becomes more serious.
"I...it's all my fault," I start, trying to keep my voice as calm and together as I can. "I was in a bad place, a really bad place, but I didn't want to tell him because the reason was so stupid and awful."
"What was it?" she asks.
"You're gonna hate me," I whisper, letting all of my fears that my friends will see me for the selfish person that I am slip out.
"Aw, brainless, don't worry. I already hate you!" she says, in the most sweet, comforting voice I can imagine. The humor is enough to push me forward.
"Ok...basically, Annie called, and she told us about the baby, and at first I was so happy for her. But then...she was telling me about how great my mom has been, how she was her nurse and she took care of Annie and was planning on visiting her regularly. And I am so sure that Annie was just trying to be nice, but for some reason it just broke me. I got stuck in this spiral of thoughts about how my mom would rather take care of anyone else but me, how I failed by not saving Prim for here to take care of, how I was too much of a burden on people. I don't know, it was all really stupid."
"It's not stupid, Katniss," Johanna says. I'm a little bit taken aback, both by the gentleness in her voice and the fact that she actually used my real name. It helps me keep going.
"It just got to me so much that whole day. I isolated myself, but when Peeta came over for dinner he knew something was wrong. He kept trying to ask me, trying to take care of me, and I kept pushing him away. Eventually I was screaming at him about treating me like a baby and that he should just leave me alone, and then...I lost it. There was a book, on the table in front of me, and I..I threw it at him. I abused him just like his mother did. I could see how much it hurt him, and I realized instantly that I wanted to take it back, but he left." My voice is very small now. I hear Johanna exhale on the other end.
"That's...that's not great, Katniss. I'll admit that," Johanna says.
"I know," I whisper, feeling terrible. But she's right, and she should say it. She shouldn't lie to protect my feelings. "Haymitch said that apparently he flashed really badly after."
"That's not surprising," Johanna says, and I realize just how often I forget that she has probably the best understanding of the way Peeta's mind works after his torture than anyone other than himself and maybe the doctors. "I mean, you being violent towards him, even in a small way, sort of plays right into what they wanted him to think about you. It would probably be damn near impossible for him to not flash after that."
"I feel so awful about it," I say quietly.
"So why don't you go and apologize?" she asks.
"Haymitch said that Peeta's scared of hurting me again, and that he says we shouldn't be together. That it'll be easier since we're both apart already if we just stay that way. I should just stay away."
"Katniss, you're an idiot," Johanna says, now sounding actually angry with me.
"What-"
"You're a fucking idiot. He's lying to himself. He's scared, because all he wants to do is protect you so goddamn much. That boy, he wants to protect the people he loves more than I've ever seen from a person. Hell, he'll protect people he doesn't even love just because he knows it's right, and he'll do it no matter how much pain it causes himself. That's for someone he doesn't love, that's for me, not for you, the person he loves most in the world."
"What do you mean? What did he do for you?" I ask, a little confused at her comment. Johanna pauses, and the line is silent for a moment.
"He never told you," she mutters. "He kept it a secret for me. Figures."
"What did he never tell me?" I ask.
"Ask him about the Bad Night," she says, her voice much softer than it was just a few minutes ago. "He'll know what it means. Tell him I said he can tell you. I'm not talking about it, but he can tell you." She takes a deep breath before starting up again.
"He's worried he's going to hurt you, physically, if he flashes, so he's staying away even though it hurts him. He's worried that you don't want him, that he's been imposing himself on you and that you want him to stay away, so he is, even though it's the last thing he wants. If you tell him that you want him, he'll come back. I genuinely can't imagine a scenario where he wouldn't. The fucking Capitol couldn't take the love for you out of him forever, don't flatter yourself into thinking that you can."
"I'm no good with words," I mutter.
"Then show him," she says. As she says it, an idea hits me as if it fell from the sky.
"You're right. I'm gonna go. I'm gonna...I'm gonna show him," I say. "Johanna, thank you. I mean it."
"No problem, brainless," she says, chuckling a little.
"Johanna?"
"Yeah?"
"He loves you. You know that, right?" She's silent on the other end. Johanna is incredibly important to Peeta. They have a bond forged through their shared hell, and I know he would do anything for her. She doesn't have that many people for her, she should know that he loves her.
"Johanna?" I ask again when she doesn't reply.
"Go get your man," she finally says, and then hangs up.
I put the phone back on the wall and immediately start looking around in my cabinets. Luckily, Peeta's been baking and cooking here enough that I'm more well stocked than I have any right to be. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I think back to all the things I've seen him bake and try to land on something I can manage. I land on a memory of him making a chocolate cake. It was relatively simple and I know Peeta loves chocolate.
I find some bowls and a round baking pan and start recreating the recipe as best as I can remember. I'm anxious as I wait an hour for it to finish baking. When it comes out of the oven, it's definitely not perfect. It's kind of uneven in places and the top is shiny in a way that Peeta's never is, but it smells pretty good and I think it's edible. I put it on a plate and cover it in foil.
I'm about to run out the door when I realize I am ridiculously disheveled. I don't want to waste the time a shower would take, but I run upstairs to change my clothes and throw my hair up in a bun to avoid having to deal with the matted mess. I bound down the stairs again, grab the cake off the counter, and head out immediately to Peeta's door.
I'm moving too fast to even have the time to be nervous. I do register that it's dark out, and that I don't really have a sense of what time it is. I know I was on the phone with Johanna for a couple hours, but I'm not sure how late into the night it is. I don't know how appropriate it is for me to be coming over right now, or if he might be sleeping, but I don't care.
When I reach his door I start knocking frantically. I don't hear anything for a while and am worried he's asleep, but then I register that the light in his studio is on upstairs. A minute or so later he opens the door. He looks genuinely surprised to see me.
"I...Katniss?" he says. I notice that his arms are splattered with blue and green paint. "It's almost midnight. Are you ok?"
"I baked you a cake," I say, and I walk past him and into the house. He looks deeply confused, but he closes the door and follows me in.
"You...baked?" he asks.
"Well, I tried to," I say, setting the cake on the counter and uncovering it. Peeta inspects it with his eyes.
"It...it looks good," he says. "What...why..." Normally he can make magic with his words, but right now he's at a loss.
"Because I'm sorry," I say. He's been staring at the cake, but now his gaze moves to me. "I'm so sorry Peeta. I cannot believe that I did that to you, that I...I lashed out at you like she did. I threw something at you! I don't know what...I don't, God, I'm so bad with words. That's why I made the cake; because I'm not good at telling you how much I need you, and I wanted to try to find a way to show you."
"Katniss," he says quietly. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to be with you so badly, but if it's too much, I understand. I don't want to risk...'
"Peeta you don't hurt me," I say definitively. "You help me more than anyone or anything else. I want to be with you too, so badly, if you want me too."
He doesn't move or say anything for a minute, and I feel panic start to rise in me. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe it was too little too late. I'm about to try to say something, anything, when he steps towards me and slams his mouth onto mine. Even though it's only been about a day and a half since our last kiss, it feels like an eternity too long. I don't think I want to go a day without kissing him ever again.
"God, I missed you so much," he mutters into my lips.
"I missed you too," I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers into his hair.
We're standing up against the kitchen island, I feel the cold stone up against my back as he pushes his body against mine. I pull his shirt off quickly and he does the same with my own soon after. Every inch of skin that makes contact with him feels like it's covered with little sparks, but in the best way. Somewhere in my mind, it occurs to me that I do not think there is one other person in this world who I would want to do this with other than Peeta. No one else could possibly make me feel safe enough while still exciting me in every possible way. I want him. Only him.
I hop up so I'm seated on the counter and he moves to be standing between my legs. I can feel that he's hard and it only makes me want more. I grind into him a little and smirk at the expression that passes over his face and the strangled gasp that escapes his lips. He moves his lips to my neck and sucks near my pressure point in a way that makes it my turn to gasp.
"Oh," I moan. "Fuck, Peeta." This seems to only charge him up further, because he repositions me so that I am lying on my back on the counter, and then climbs on top of me. I'm only wearing my bra on top now, so I am completely exposed to the cold counter top, and yet for some reason this only heightens the pleasure in every sensation I'm feeling.
When he moves to take off my bra I sit up slightly to allow him access, and he unhooks it with more ease and dexterity now than he has previously. He plants his mouth on one of my breasts, sucking the nipple into his mouth and twirling his tongue around it, and I cry out. It's exceptional. He repeats the motion on the other soon after and elicits the same response. The amount I need him right now has reached an unfathomable level. I can feel the warmth and wetness pooling between my legs, to the point where I'm sure the fabric of my panties is soaked through. As he moves his hands towards the button of my pants, I whimper a little with want.
"Please Peeta, don't stop," I mutter. The look of complete desire in his eyes is intoxicating. He moves off of me so he's standing on the ground at the base of the island, and at first I'm annoyed until I realize what he's positioning himself for. He removes my pants immediately but takes his time teasing me over my underwear, running his fingers excruciatingly slowly over the most sensitive parts of me through the thin, wet fabric.
"Fuck!" I cry out, moaning. I keep making sounds that I hardly recognize. He lets out such a dark, deep-throated chuckle, it's unlike any sound I've heard from him before. I can see just how much he's enjoying watching me squirm. He continues his movements over my panties while running his other hand up and down my inner thigh torturously slowly. He's never teased me, taken control of me like this before. I crave more, crave release, but it's the most wonderful sort of agony I've ever experienced. He can see what he's doing to me and finally he relents, sliding my panties down my legs and letting them drop to the ground. He lowers himself a bit before taking both of my legs and placing one over each of his shoulders.
Fuck.
That is absolutely all I can think when his mouth makes contact with me. He slides his tongue in and out of me and I'm screaming out some string of words that I can't even follow, some combination of his name repeated over and over again with some obscenities mixed in. I'm already so close, it doesn't take long for him to finish me off. As I finish I am immensely grateful for the sparse population of Victor's Village because I scream at a truly indecent level of volume.
I'm still sort of on the high when I feel him set my legs down, and I open my eyes and see his stupid, adorable, smug face. He stays on his feet but leans his elbows forward onto the counter and places his head on his hands.
"I like the way you taste," he says, making eye contact with me as he runs his tongue over his lips. "I like all of you." I pull my body up off the counter and slide forward so I'm standing up facing him, entirely naked and exposed. I kiss him firmly and try to express in the kiss all the things that I can't in words, that I'm too bad at telling him but that I deeply and desperately feel. As I press myself against him I feel how hard he is, and a thought occurs to me of yet another way I can show him how I feel.
I push his bare shoulder so that he turns and his back is up against the island, but he's still on his feet. I continue kissing him, but I move one of my hands inside both his pants and his boxers and stroke him ever so lightly, getting back at him just a little for how long he teased me earlier. He moans and his eyes close. I start pulling down his pants, lowering myself down with them as I go. It's not until his pants are off and I'm on my knees that Peeta seems to grasp what I have in mind. His eyes fly open, and he's suddenly much more alert than he had been.
"Katniss you don't have to, you don't owe me any-" he gets out, and I shush him.
"I want to," I say, and it's absolutely true. I want him to know that I am his and he is mine. I can't express that in words the way he can. I want to make him feel it. I remove his boxers and take him in my hands at first, running my hand up and down his length once or twice. I then bring my mouth closer to him. The first thing I do is trail my tongue up his length, starting at his base and ending at the tip. I hear him moan in pleasure at the sensation. I make one small circle with my tongue on his tip before pushing my lips past his tip and starting to take him into my mouth.
"Fuck," Peeta pants. I make eye contact with him and his expression is one of complete and utter bliss. "Oh my God. You're amazing. Holy shit." He keeps mumbling and moaning and I just take it as a sign that whatever I'm doing is working. I start trying to mimic what I normally do with my hands, moving my lips up and down his length as much as I can. I'm wary of taking him too deep into the back of my throat just for fear of gagging. Once I get used to the feeling of having him in my mouth, I actually really like it. More than anything, I absolutely love seeing the obvious effect I have on him. The look of ecstasy on his face makes me speed up my pace a little. He bucks his hips into my mouth in response.
"Fuck, I'm so close," he tells me. "Y-you don't have to..." I know what he's offering me and I don't want it. I just pick up my pace further, hoping he gets the signal from that. I think he must, because just a minute or so later he presses his hips forward and groans, and I feel my mouth fill with something slightly salty. I swallow and lick my lips, and I see him looking down at me in utter awe.
"You are the most amazing, sexiest thing," he says while panting. I laugh a little as I get up, before placing a kiss on his lips. We taste like each other. Good. That's how it's supposed to be.
I grab Peeta's hand and lead him towards the couch, too tired to bother going upstairs or putting on any clothes. He lies down first and I throw myself down on top of him. We lay together, both exhausted and sweaty and satisfied and entirely happy. He wraps his arms around me and I nestle my head on his chest under his neck.
As we drift off to sleep, I think of how much I like showing rather than telling.