Seize Me

Chapter 6

"And I can rock it right

'til the end of rolling sight.

So come on pretty baby if you like to cut loose,

Well you kick it like

High heel, leather boots.

Baby Bee-High Heel Leather Boots

We'd gotten back to the hotel around five, and the boys had ardently pleaded for a small nap, which we'd agreed to. But before any of us are ready, the suite's phone rings somewhere near my head at a quarter after seven. I ignore it for a while, hoping one of the sleeping girls in the bedroom will get it. I'd fallen asleep on the couch in the living area about 45 minutes ago after flipping through channels for over an hour so they've had much more snooze time than I have. Sleep had eluded me as my mind had raced over and over through my different reactions to Peeta. I'd been convinced the sooner I sorted everything out the sooner I'd be able to move on and forget about him. But no, I'd just fallen asleep mid-channel change and I'm now waking up to find I'm lying in a pile of my own drool having made no progress on sorting through anything.

The phone finally stops ringing, and I think I'm going to get out of having to wake up. But when it starts ringing again I know I'm going to have to be the one to answer it. I don't bother opening my eyes, I just lift my hand and fumble around at the table near my head. After a few failed attempts I finally manage to get my slow-with-sleep-fingers to curve around the phone.

I don't even get out a bleary 'hello' when a voice says far too loudly, "We're going out." It's Finnick, talking a million miles a minute and leaving me no time to say anything. "Dinner, then club. So get cleaned up." Then the phone abruptly goes dead. I crack my eyes open to stare at the receiver in my hand, debating on not passing on the message and squeezing in 30 minutes more of sleep before the boys come charging over, but I know I'll regret it later.

Of course, when I go wake everyone else up with the news they're all thrilled, hopping out of bed like happy little bunnies in their glee. Prim's more excited than the rest of us, what with clubs being something she's just now gained access to. Johanna's raving about having a chance to cut loose tonight and dance in a dark club with random strangers, her usual tradition of unwinding at the end of long work weeks. Madge is more subdued, which is a relief for me, what with her beings so uncharacteristically enthusiastic and chipper lately from seeing Gale. But I know I still won't have my fellow wallflower at my side tonight by the way her eyes are shining with excitement.

So we're quickly getting dressed and Johanna and Prim are redoing everyone's makeup and hair. Johanna slips into a too-short red dress with capped sleeves and a surprisingly modest neckline. However, when paired with her woman-gladiator boots, you completely forget about the modest neckline. Prim is back in some cute little dress, pink this time, and a set of black pumps. Madge has pulled out her LBD, which surprises me because I didn't even know she had a little black dress. It seems a little reserved compared to the other girls and I'm relieved, knowing that if Madge is wearing something simple I can get away with it too. But then she starts pulling on too much jewelry and slips on a pair of boots that rival Johanna's.

Shit.

So I know I'm screwed in the modesty department. The others have pulled out nearly everything in my suitcase and laid it all over the bed. They've argued a few times over different things while I've sat miserably in the corner on a chair after, having been placed here by Johanna after several attempts to leave the room before they could get me in something. But finally they've decided I will stay in the shorts I'm already wearing, sans tights, and will wear the black corset top Johanna had wanted me to wear earlier today.

Yeah. Not happening.

I'm making a beeline for the door when Johanna seizes me from behind and throws me into the bathroom with the bundle of clothes she's handed me. The door slams shut behind me, and I stare at it incredulously. How could Madge and Prim do this to me? Johanna I understand; she's always begging me to wear something more exciting whenever we go out. But Prim knows how uncomfortable I am in stuff like this and Madge usually feels the same way I do. I'm furious with them and I'm more than willing to sit here in this bathroom with the door locked until they're all forced to leave without me. I'm reaching to lock the door when it flies open to reveal Prim standing on the other side with my red leather jacket.

"Please," she says, eyes wide. "Please just...just try it on with the jacket. You'll look great."

"Prim," I groan. "No."

Prim throws the jacket at my arms, forcing me to catch it. She then crosses her arms and gives me her most stern look as she says, "You will put that on and come out with us, Katniss. You're being ridiculous. I wouldn't put you in something you wouldn't look good in. Here," she adds as an afterthought, throwing a pair of black ankle boots with obscenely high heels at me too. "Put these with it." And then she slams the door in my face again.

Un-fucking-believable.

I throw the jacket and pumps with rest of the clothes I've left piled on the kitchen sink. I stare at them dejectedly, itching at my thigh as I do. Damn, these tights are getting itchy. I've been wearing them all day, not having changed since I fell asleep on the couch. Sighing, I strip off the shirt and shorts I'm wearing to take off the lacy tights that are making my skin crawl now. I'm left standing in the bathroom in my underwear, cursing my friends. I pull the shorts back on with a groan, then lift up the corset-type top they've thrust at me. As I examine it I admit to myself that it's not really a corset, it's just sort of shaped like one. It's more of a form-fitting tube top with a set of black laces that run up the front and tie in a bow at the top of the shirt—actually the opposite of a real corset.

Rolling my eyes, I slide it on. It's not as immodest as I thought it'd be. With the strapless bra I'm wearing it leaves my shoulders bare, and at the top, a bit of my breasts show seductively but there's no real cleavage so it keeps just on the opposite side of slutty. I realize that my sister's right—it's not as bad as I'd thought it'd be. I'm still not sure if it's something I'm comfortable wearing and I'm contemplating going out and demanding a different shirt when I hear masculine voices outside the bathroom door. Through the frosted glass walls that separate the bathroom from the bedroom I can see four new, very masculine bodies come into the bedroom.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. I couldn't go out there now even if I wanted to. Not with them all there and me in this.

"Katniss?" calls Madge outside the door in a falsely sweet voice. "Are you almost done?"

"I need a new shirt," I demand shrilly. Shit shit shit shit shit...

"You're not getting one." Madge's voice is sing-song with a hint of malice in it. "So just put on the clothes and get out here."

"I'm not coming then," I say, fully aware of how childish I sound.

Then comes a different voice. "Katniss." Shit. It's Peeta. "I'm sure you look fine. But we really need to go to make these reservations. And we're not leaving you behind."

"You'll have to," I say angrily, infuriated they've brought in Peeta to try and whittle me out.

"Katniss!" comes a mild roar. This time it's Gale. "You're coming with us. I will call hotel security up here to unlock that door and pull you out of there in your underwear if I have to. Now come. On."

"Fuck!" I yell in exasperation. I claw at my red jacket and throw it on, ignoring the part of me that knows it's the perfect thing to tone the top down and that Prim had been completely right. I look at what Johanna and Prim have done to my hair and face and decide to be spiteful. I wipe off the majority of the eye shadow Johanna put on, toning it down significantly without removing it altogether. I yank out the intricate style Prim has woven into it and quickly wrap it up into my usual shoulder braid. I hastily pull on the shoes Prim's given me. I again ignore what a good selection this had been on Prim's part and jerk open the bathroom door.

"There," I scowl at the seven impatient people standing waiting for me. "I'm done, okay?"

The fact that everyone's hiding smiles raises my anger to a whole new level. I'm trying to work up something really vile to say to them when Peeta steps up, his smile sweet and genuine.

"See?" he says mildly. "I told you that you'd look great."

"You'd said it would be 'fine' actually," Johanna says with a smirk.

"Well," Peeta retorts with a harmless scowl in her direction, "She's better than fine. Great." He turns back to me and gives me a shy smile as he says, "Really. You shouldn't worry so much."

And I can't help noticing the gleam of the tongue ring in his mouth as he says it.

Shit.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Madge asks, changing the subject just in time for me to avoid having to say anything to Peeta in response. "Going out in public I mean."

"Hey," Gale says with a laugh. "The big-time celebrities go out in public all the time. We'll be fine. The reservation is set in one of their more private areas and the club will be so dark that no one will recognize us."

Finnick laughs dryly. "It's not like we're Brad Pitt or anything."

"Could have fooled me," Johanna mutters under her breath with a very un-Johanna silly smile.

I don't think Finnick heard her and if he did, I appreciate him not acknowledging it. Some small part of me is still hoping Johanna has more sense than to get involved with one of these boys on the tour.

And then I remember how hard of a time I'm having with it.

I'm relieved when I don't end up standing next to Peeta on the elevator, relaxing when I realize I won't have to fight the draw between us in such cramped quarters with everyone else. I'm not so lucky in the limo, though. He somehow ends up sitting next to me—despite the fact Johanna and Madge had been between us in line to get in—and every time our knees accidentally brush I have to fight to keep from jumping. I make a point to sit down almost last at dinner, hoping to have a temporary reprieve from him. But Johanna makes some stupid little comment about drafts from the air vents to get Peeta to switch spots with her so she can sit next to Finnick—which puts Peeta immediately next to me.

Our knees don't brush during dinner, but his hand occasionally meets mine when he collects all our menus for the waitress and when I reach for my glass as he's reaching for a second roll. Our hands jump away from each other as if an electric shock has passed between us every time our skin meets. I pray that no one else at the table notices it, but I think Prim's eyes are on us more than they're on anyone else at the table. Prim's too perceptive for my well-being and I pray to God she doesn't think anything is going on between us so quickly. The last thing I need is my baby sister thinking I'm using this trip to get laid.

I don't even remember what I ordered and I sure don't remember if it was any good. I'm nervous and fidgety, not sure what's safe to do in front of her and what's not. My head is spinning as I add my sister's scrutiny to the list of things to ponder over as I'm trying to fall asleep. I do know I drink one too many glasses of wine and I'm feeling a bit sloshed by the end of dinner. For a split moment I take a second to consider the amount of alcohol I've consumed already during this trip in an attempt to dull all the sharp edges Peeta is bringing to my life. For someone I never noticed in high school I'm sure turning into an alcoholic just to be able to concentrate in his presence. And I just pray my nerves, and my liver, can make it through this tour.

The club is thrumming around us and I can feel all the vivacious energy of the environment and the people in it swirling around me. Johanna and Prim are totally in their element, Johanna giving lustful eyes to every cute guy that walks by and Prim holding meaningless conversation with whatever guy is buying her next drink. Normally Madge is my wing-woman on nights like tonight, she and I sulking in a corner and watching the rest of the people in the club at like felines in heat. But tonight Madge only has eyes for Gale, who's been getting her liquored up decently for the last hour in the club in addition to all the wine she'd drank at the restaurant. So I'm left alone to make conversation with Finnick, Peeta and Rory.

Yeah. Right.

Finnick and Rory are talking about something related to football, which I'm totally tuning out. Peeta doesn't seem much interested in that topic of conversation either so he's trying to make conversation with me. I give a few one-worded answers until he understands that I'm not interested in talking. I regret it immediately when his face takes on a hurt expression for half a second, but then he's all smiles and I remember why I can't talk to him. He's too smooth, too easy to talk to. And if I look at his eyes, in the sexual atmosphere of this club, I'm a goner.

Johanna turns to the group suddenly, her eyes wild with excitement. Clubs like this that play songs heavy on the bass are completely her scene, the place she can thrive without judgment. I'm always caught off guard by this Johanna, the one who lets herself go in the thrill and the music. She loses none of her hard exterior, but her aura of being unapproachable dims a little bit when she can let go in the music. A few guys manage to catch her interest from time to time, and she'll flirt with them in her off-putting way that some guys just seem to pant over. But just when she realizes she may be looking too interested in the guy, she shoots Finnick a quick look to see if he's noticed then promptly sends the guy on his way. She's just done that now and I'm expecting her to say something scathing about the guy's appearance when she turns straight to Finnick to address him selectively.

"Dance with me," she says to Finnick, holding out her hand to him.

Finnick chuckles and takes her hand, mildly surprising me. "Alright," he says, throwing back the last of his drink. He's letting Johanna drag him from our booth when he turns to us and says, "You guys coming?"

"Yeah," says Gale, pushing Madge along the booth. "Come on," he says with a wicked smile as he manages to shove her completely out of the booth. Madge rolls her eyes but gives no other protests, not that I'm sure she could. She stumbles a little and Gale has to support her, pulling her in close and kissing her sweetly on the neck. I know he's playing at trying to get her tipsy enough to go have sex somewhere secluded before we have to go back to the club, but I'm not sure that he hasn't overdone it on getting her drunk. He may have over-shot drunk and hit her 'holy crap, I can't feel my legs' stage that's her warning sign for the 'one more drink and I'm going to hurl' part—which I learned through years of hair holding and back rubbing after just a few too crazy of parties.

I see Rory giving Prim a shy look and I know he's going to ask her to go dance too. But before he can work up the never Prim shoots down the rest of her glass then turns to look at him expectantly. "I'm not getting left behind," she says in response to his bewildered face. She yanks him out of the booth so fast I think his feet leave the ground and flap behind him like a windsock. He gives me and Peeta a bewildered but pleased look as they disappear into the throng of people.

"Don't worry about me!" I call after them sarcastically. "I'll stay here and guard the drinks."

"Oh no you're not," Peeta says. He quickly throws back what's left in his glass then turns to me and says, "We're not getting left behind here while everyone else is off having a good time."

"Ha!" I say, giving him a firm stare. "You go enjoy yourself. I don't dance."

"Yeah," Peeta says thoughtfully, tipping his head to the side in a way I'm starting to think is his trademark. "I noticed all your friends were dancing and having a good time at our show. You didn't like the music?"

I can feel a blush rising up in my cheeks when he says this. "No!" I hurriedly protest. "It's not that. That kind of music is hard to dance to, you know?"

"You danced at our first show." He points this out calmly but I know he's searching, trying to figure something out.

"Yeah, well," I say slowly, at a loss for words. "That was different. I just..I just don't dance. Not usually. And definitely not places like here." I add this last bit in the hopes that he will drop the subject completely.

"Don't..." Peeta begins to ask, "...or can't?"

I roll my eyes and look down at my drink, refusing to meet his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Peeta says matter-of-factly. "Don't can be fixed by a few more of these." He lifts up my glass and shakes it, making the ice cubes clatter around.

"Then I can't," I say, hoping this will end the conversation and send him scuttling away.

"Well," Peeta says with a mischievous smile. "That changes things."

I whip my head up sharply to look at him now, my blood going cold as I realize what he thinks he's going to do. He tilts the contents of my glass, sans ice, down his throat and I take a moment to enjoy the chiseled corners of his jaw and the muscles in his neck as he tips his head back to get the last few drops. Then his head snaps back down and he sets the glass down heavily on the table. And then I get about half a second to register the impish glimmer in his eyes before he seizes me by the hand and drags me from the booth.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demand while trying to pull my arm from his grip. I quickly learn it's futile; his grip is like iron around my wrist. Not painful, but certainly not weak enough to let me go.

"I'm going to teach you how to dance," Peeta says simply. He's managed to get me out of the booth now and he's dragging me across the club's seating area. I try to dig my heels in, but it's no use. He just lets me stumble along behind him like a puppet in the wind as he winds through the crowd of bodies that gets more and more dense the closer we get to the music.

It's not until we're in the middle of the writhing throng of dancers that he stops. He gives my arm a tug and pulls me up next to him.

"I'm not dancing," I yell over the music, still trying to pull my wrist from his grasp.

Instead of letting go, Peeta spins me so my back is to him. He lets go of my wrist but before I can get away from him, he puts his hands on my hips and pulls me flush up against his body.

"I saw you dancing last night at that bar where you guys met up with us," he says, having to speak directly into my ear to be heard over the music. It sends chills down my spine and I have to make a conscious effort to not sink back into him. His body is hard behind me, all muscle and man. But I can also feel the heat and softness of it too as it molds around me. "You were moving your hips to the bass." I swear I can hear the shake of nerves in his voice, but I can't be sure over the pounding of the music around us. "The bass is tied to the drums, which is the foundation of a song. So start with the beat."

His hands at my hips start to direct them to the left and right in time with the beat of the music. He moves his hips with mine, guiding me in the movements. I try to fight him for a moment, but he says something I can't make out and his breath raises hairs on the back of my neck as he speaks. I feel a shudder run through my body and I relax into him subconsciously, letting his hands and hips sway me with the music.

"See?" he says, a laugh in his voice. He lets go of my waist with one hand to capture one of my hands, which have been hanging limply at my side, in his before returning it back to my hip. He does the same with my other hand so both my hands are trapped under his at my hips. "If you can find the beat, you can dance."

I'm torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to move one of my hands up his arms to his shoulders and then to his hair, to wind my hands into his locks and find out just how soft they'd be under my fingers. I didn't want this, not when this trip is so important for Prim. I'd told myself I wasn't going to let my sexual fantasies take away from me spending this time with Prim and making sure she enjoyed herself. But it was hard to remember that with Peeta's warm breath playing at the sensitive bit of skin where my neck meets my shoulder, with his hips coaxing mine side to side.

And then he spins me around, his eyes locked on mine in a way that takes my breath away. His face is unreadable in the flashing lights of the club's dance floor but I think he's breathing hard as he stares at me. The air is stirred by the spin he'd turned me in and I'm hit again with the smell of cinnamon, dill and oil paints that seems to forever accompany him. I wonder for the second time how he gets to smell like that, if it's some sort of new perfume or if he spends all his time around those things. I remember Madge saying his family owns the bakery in town, so I suppose it makes sense that he'd smell like the cinnamon and dill. But I can't fathom how he'd get to smell like oil paints. Hell, I don't even know how I know what oil paints smell like. I make a mental note to ask him when we're not having to shout over music just to say simple things.

But I know I'll forget the mental note, because as I'm making it his eyes meet mine. His normally icy blue eyes are dark in the club lights. He's wearing a shy smile now, a small peak at his insecurities. Normally I think I'd hate that, the look of vulnerability I see when I look at him now. But something stirs inside me...attraction. Maybe it's because I know he does have confidence most times, but apparently with me, he loses all of it. And it's endearing somehow in a way I'd never have expected. I've never been one to fawn over wounded creatures. But Peeta seems to bring out that part of me, a part I didn't know existed.

But then something more predatory glints in his eyes and he says, "You're biting your lip."

I gasp, releasing my bottom lip in the process. "I'm sorry," I say without thinking, an automatic reaction for me now. My mother had always scolded me for that when I was younger, saying I'd ruin my lips.

"Don't be," he says with something I think might have been a growl. He's tilting his head down, bring his face closer to mine.

'Kiss me!' The sex-starved part of my brain screams. I try to pull away, the rational part of my mind digging her claws in, attempting to snatch me back to sanity. This close I can see how long his eyelashes are, how icy blue his eyes can be. The smell of him is overpowering me now, and I think my chest must be heaving as my heart and lungs start racing. 'Kiss me!'

"You just shouldn't bite your lip like that, though," he says darkly, his breath tickling my face as he says it. I can smell the sweet smell of rum on his breath and I can't stop wondering if I would be able to taste it on my tongue. "Not unless you—"

"Katniss!" calls Prim, cutting Peeta off as she comes stumbling toward me through the last few people separating me from her. I quickly step back from Peeta as I shove at his chest to further the distance between us, my cheeks blazing.

"Prim!" I squeak nervously, hoping the squeak isn't noticeable over the pounding music.

Prim looks back and forth between me and Peeta for a second with a quizzical look, but to my relief all she does is shake her head and press her lips to my ear as she says, "Madge is sick."

"What?" I ask, horrified. "What do you mean?"

"She drank too much," Prim yells over a particularly loud bit of music. "We're taking her home. Do you want to come with or do you want to stay?"

I'm about to respond when Peeta cuts in, "No." He gives me a look I can't place then says, "We'll come with you."

I'm almost weak in the knees with relief. I'd been almost certain Peeta would try to keep me here, would try to finish what had just almost happened. But instead he pushes me through the crowd, guiding me with a firm hand on my back as if he's as eager to get away as I am. We follow Prim through the crowd to find Johanna, Rory and Finnick waiting for us.

"Gale's with Madge outside," Johanna says with a roll of her eyes. "We figure since he's the one who got her so drunk, he can be the one to take care of her."

Rory shakes his head with a small grin. "That plan backfired on him, didn't it?"

Prim groans, turning to lead us to the front door. "Come on," she says glumly. "We'd better go."

Luckily, Madge doesn't puke once in the car, even though Gale's got a small trash can for her. In fact, she manages to make it all the way to the hotel front doors before puking in one of the bushes.

"Oh good god," Johanna says with a growl. "Let's just get her inside before any paparazzi show up." Madge swears swiftly but doesn't fight us as we push her as a collective group though the hotel doors.

We're without incident the whole elevator ride up, and Madge is coherent enough now to start profusely apologizing. All the boys but Gale bid us good night as we reach our rooms, and I think Peeta gives me one last look before closing the door behind them, which I choose to ignore in light of my best friend hurling for third time tonight, this time into the provided trash can. Johanna flatly refuses to let Madge sleep in the bed with her tonight, so Gale sets up Madge on the couch in the front room and pulls up a bed of blankets on the ground next to the couch to stay with her. He refuses to call down for a cot, saying he'll be fine, but I call down to the front desk for him anyway. I end up pretty much forcing him onto the cot, then stumble into the bedroom to get myself settled in.

Prim and Johanna are already in bed, Johanna snoring softly as she sprawls out indulgently over the entire bed she has to herself tonight. I find a new set of pajamas in the suitcase and pull them on in the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror tells me my hasty braid from earlier tonight didn't stand up to the evening, so disheveled you can barely tell it even started out as a braid. I quickly redo it, praying it hadn't looked like that for very long and especially not at the club. I grab a quick glass of water to take to bed with me, an old habit from when Prim had nightmares after Dad died, when she'd wake up hiccupping from crying and the only thing that could ever make it stop was a long drink of water. I set it on the nightstand on her side of the big bed then climb in next to her.

"You missed all the drama earlier," Prim says nonchalantly as my weight sinks the bed next to her. "I think Johanna's head spun around about five times."

"What happened?" I ask absentmindedly, winding my braid into a knot at the back of my head. Johanna having a spaz moment is nothing new, especially when alcohol is involved.

"They ran into some girl named Annie," Prim says, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I guess she lived in Four with Finnick. They got to talking, catching up, you know? Right in the middle of Finnick dancing with Johanna. I've never seen Johanna look so upset. I guess he seemed really into her, more than he's been into Johanna."

"Really?" I ask, sliding a bobby pin into the knot to keep it in place for the night. My spirits are raised by this. Maybe this will teach Johanna that going after Finnick is a very bad idea.

"Yeah. I mean, eventually Annie had to go back to her friends so Johanna got Finnick's attention back. Well," Prim says with a snort, "Sort of. He'd kept looking around for Annie, trying to spot her. But I think Johanna said something that kind of put him off, because he finally stopped looking for her. But I think Johanna might have ruined her chances with him tonight."

"Good," I say firmly, falling back into the pillows. They're more plush than I thought they'd be, and I have to hide a moan of relief as I sink into them. "Maybe that will show her what a bad idea it would be to date a guy on this tour."

"You didn't have to leave with us, you know," Prim says softly as I pull the covers up over me. "You and Peeta looked like you were having fun."

"Yeah, well," I say grumpily. "You all left us alone. Who else was I supposed to dance with?"

"You don't dance," she says pointedly.

"He doesn't believe that apparently," I say with a groan.

"He likes you, you know," Prim says softly. "I remember him from when we were in school back in Twelve. He'd stare at you whenever we went to the bakery."

I sigh, throwing an arm over my head, trying to block out the connotations of what she's saying. "How is it everyone else knew this except me?"

I feel Prim shrug beside me in the darkness. "You never paid any attention. You were too busy taking care of me and Mom after Dad died." She's quiet for a moment, they says gently, "He came to the funeral, you know."

I turn to her now, surprised. I tuck one arm under me and rest my head on my hand so I can look at her squarely. "He did?"

"Yeah. He brought those cheese buns." I can hear her voice go wobbly with what I suspect are tears. "Those were the first thing you ate after Dad died, when you stopped eating for first five days. When I thought I was going to lose Mom and you with Dad."

"Oh, Prim," I say softly, taking my sister in my arms. She's not crying, but I can feel the hurt she still carries sixteen years later. I can feel shame rise up in me as I confess, "I'd forgotten about that."

"You came around," she says simply, pulling away again out of my arms and I suspect she's a little embarrassed for having been caught so uncharacteristically sad. "And you still took care of me. You were like a ghost, though, which was almost worse than what Mom did."

I don't have anything to say, shocked by this. I had sunken into my own sort of depression after Dad died and Mom went nearly comatose. I hadn't been able to eat, hadn't been able to sleep. I'd just laid around when I wasn't taking care of Prim, unsure of how I was going to support my little sister and grieving mother without Dad. I remember the cheese buns now, the first thing that had smelled good to me in what had felt like ages. I hadn't known who'd brought them, though. I'd never really thought about it. I'd just eaten all twelve of them, feeling better with each bun I'd eaten, had felt them warm me from the inside out.

Prim's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep in my arms until she says, "I'll never be able to repay him for that. For being responsible for bringing you out of that."

I don't know how to respond to this bit of news; I'm overwhelmed by it really. As Prim says it, I can feel the connection now. The warmth brought by those cheese buns tied to the warmth I feel when Peeta looks at me in his way. But I wouldn't know how to tell Prim this even if I wanted to. So I don't say anything, I just let my thoughts swirl around me as I allow myself to succumb to the feel of the plush mattress beneath us.

And just as I'm starting to slip under, I hear Prim say, "It's ok to like him, Katniss. I'd like to see you happy."

And I can't think of anything to say to this either. So I let sleep take me into alternating nightmares of mine explosions and dreams of cheese buns and blue eyes.

.x.x.x.

Hey guys! I'm just full of surprises! I couldn't wait until Monday to post this, so I'm posting it a few days early! I plan to return to the normal Friday updates after this unless I can get some down time to work on the story more regularly.

Follow me on tumblr- simplyabbeycat. I'd love to hear from you guys! (It's a Saturday and I have to go put in some hours in the office, so you guys should probably entertain me with 'asks')

Thanks again to my amazing beta Court. I'm pretty blessed, not many people get such talented and wonderful betas!

Let me know what you think guys! I hope this chapter leaves you both frustrated and satisfied... :)