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*****DISCLIMER*****
Katniss: YOU'RE CHANGING THE STORY, AGAIN!?
Me: I have to! I'm just not happy with it!
Peeta: Katniss, love, maybe you should -
Katniss: ARE YOU FRICKING CRAZY! THE READERS LIKE IT HOW IT IS!
Peeta: Kat-
Me: I'M MAKING IT BETTER!
Katniss: THIS IS JUST AN EXCUSE BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG!
Peeta: KATNISS!
Katniss: FOR BALLS SAKE, WHAT?!
Peeta: Be quiet.
Haymitch: Oh, shit. Peeta. . . .RUN!
Peeta (Screaming and running away from Katniss): SAY THE DISCLAIMER!
Haymitch: Lovely does not own the Hunger Games Trilogy, she merely writes fanfiction for entertainment. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.
Previously:
Seeming to sense my thoughts, the redhead pulls out a little package from his side bag, pushes it into my arms, and, without a word, leaves. There is a note on the package that reads:
Katniss,
Do not open this unless you are alone. There is a lot that you do not know that you need to. I know that you are confused about why I have joined. It will all be explained in this. You must not let anyone find this. I trust that you will be safe as you were always good at being sneaky about hiding things. Sae knows about this and will give you a room. Stay strong, and don't forget who you are.
Roal.
I look over to Sae who shifts her eyes to a room behind her stall. Nodding in understanding, I walk into the room and tear open the package. Inside is a small, withered journal engraved with my name.
Chapter Two: Making Up
121313
LovelyUnderland
(KPOV)
"What's that you've got there?"
I jump at the voice behind me and see Cray's greedy eyes. My legs react quicker than my mind and, before I realize what I'm doing, I am out of the Hob and racing towards Victor's Village. It's secluded from every other building and gives a glimpse of what the Capitol is like.
When I pass through the gates, I don't stop. I run straight towards Haymitch's house, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are in mine and Peeta's house is out of the question, and nearly crash into the door. Instantly, my nose is assaulted with the vile stench of alcohol and vomit. Clothes litter the floor and dishes are piled in the sink.
How is this place even habitable?
As I make my way through the dumps, I notice a basket of bread on the kitchen counter.
Peeta must've stopped by. Stupid goody-two-shoes.
The snore from the living room stops me. In the corner, sprawled out on the floor, is Haymitch.
"Get up!" I yell because, truly, there is no other way to wake him up. When he doesn't wake up I smack his arm and say, "Get up, you lazy sack of shit. It's Tour Day!"
Still, I receive no other response than a loud snort. I set the journal on the mantle and, turning on my heel, march to the bathroom. I grab the corner pail and fill it in the tub with ice cold water. He's still sleeping when I return so, in one swift movement, I upend the pail over his head. Unfortunately I forgot about his violent reactions and I barely dodge the knife he's wielding.
"It's just me, Haymitch! Christ!" I hiss.
"What the hell!" he growls, coming to his senses.
After I open the window and retrieve the journal, I sit on the edge, prepared to run for it.
"You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come. I was just listening," I say with a shrug.
"Why am I all wet?" he asks, squeezing water from his shirt.
"Because your ass wouldn't wake up when I tried to shake you, so I dumped water on you instead. It did the trick."
I snort as he huffs.
"Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta."
"Ask me what?"
That stupid voice causes me to tense and brings back the guilty feeling. My heart hammers in my chest and it astounds me that it hasn't popped out. The atmosphere become cold and awkward. I can feel Haymitch's eyes flicking between Peeta and I.
I barely notice that Peeta has made his way to me until he holds out a small bun with cheese melted on top of it. Everyday he makes something new, according to Haymitch, and everyday he leaves these stupid, delicious cheese buns on my porch. I make Prim retrieve them every day so I don't have to show my surprise and awe.
Dumbly, I stare at the creation before taking it. It tastes heavenly, as always.
"So, once again, 'asked me what'?" Peeta iterates, but the harshness in his voice reminds me where we stand with each other.
"Ask you to wake me up without giving me damn pneumonia," Haymitch replies.
I can feel Peeta's eyes burning holes through me.
"Thank you," I say and hold up my piece of bread, "um, for the bread."
My voice is noticeably different. It's high and. . .nervous? I take a chance and look up at him. The coldness in his eyes brings up a shamed blush on my face. When he doesn't respond after a few minutes, I look away and let the silence to fill the air.
"Brr. You two really have a lot of warming up to do," Haymitch says through a mouth full of bread. "Look, you both need to deal with the situation because the audience expects a happy couple and, at the moment, you two are not exactly supporting that picture."
It annoys me that Haymitch is right. . . .about something he knows nothing of. I want to leave, but I'm stopped when he snatches something from my hand. The journal. I curse at myself for not hiding it in my bag. Reaching out to take it, I'm thrown back by Haymitch's arm.
Apparently he's much stronger than I ever thought because I end up halfway across the room, hitting my skull on the table. The headache appears almost immediately. . . .as does Peeta. I guess even our incident didn't change his protective side because he begins looking me over for any sign of wear or tear.
"I'm fine," I say brushing his had away. The amount of blood that is on his hand makes me queasy.
"Sweetheart, where did you get this?" Haymitch asks, but his voice has a hint of fear in it.
"Give me that back!" I hiss and force myself up.
I'm overcome with dizziness and stumble backwards. I brace myself for the fall but it never happens. Why? Peeta has once again caught me. Slowly, he lowers me onto the couch and whispers, "I'll get it."
At first, I don't know what he is talking about, until I hear him arguing with Haymitch. The journal lands in my lap soon after, with the two standing in front of me. I feel as though I am in a room for questioning or under my father's watch.
"Well, sweetheart, are you going to explain where you got that?" Haymitch grumbles.
"It's mine," I say, bringing the journal to my chest.
Haymitch rolls his eyes at me and says, "That's obvious enough, the thing has your name in it, but did you look on the back?"
I turn the tattered book over and see something I'd missed before.
In faded, gold lettering, is Property of Suzanne Eliza Everdeen. Confusion sets in. Maybe Roal– er, Darius, was playing a trick on me. Maybe he joined my father's side and planted this as a set up. . .but that's not like him to do. Even if Darius was on my father's side, he wouldn't do that.
"I got it from a friend," I say and turn to to Peeta, "today. . .down at the Hob."
Haymitch reaches for the journal again, but Peeta stops him. They exchange a look and Peeta sits next to me. "Katniss, what do you know about Mrs. Everdeen?"
"What?" I ask.
"This journal, Katniss, belonged to her. Have you read anything in it?" Haymitch snaps.
I jump at the rise in his voice and lean into Peeta. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around me, as if to protect me from our mentor. Haymitch reminds me a lot of father when he's mad, except that he's less violent. When Haymitch softens his expression I notice that I've started shaking. And, despite my tight grip on the book, Peeta manages to pull it from me and hands it over to him.
"Katniss, I don't want you reading this. Not yet, at least."
I begin to protest, but am silenced by Peeta.
"Trust us, okay? Don't read it until after the tour."
Reluctantly, I nod my head. I want to know what's in the book, badly, but Peeta's warning look prevents me from taking the book and locking myself in a room. Haymitch leaves the room with the book and when he comes back, it's not with him.
"Let's take a look at your head, it's still bleeding."
Peeta takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. Clearing off the counter, he picks me up with ease and plants me onto the beautiful marble. I go wide-eyed when he wipes my face and the amount of blood on the towel reminds me of my previous nausea. I've never been good with blood and injuries, even my own.
"Don't look at it," Peeta whispers.
It's his hushed tone that makes me think of a father tending to his child. One day, he is going to make an amazing parent and whoever ends up with him will be lucky. Because Peeta Mellark is, in all ways, perfect.
"I'm sorry," I mumble.
Peeta sighs and sets the blood-filled rag in the sink. I half expect him to lash out on me. He reserves the right to do so. However, like always, Peeta is calm. I catch his eyes before transfixing mine on the tile. With his thumb and forefinger, Peeta lifts my chin and plants a kiss on my lips. A warm feeling fills my belly and everything feels perfect and safe.
"It's fine," he says, and pulls away, "I forgave you awhile back."
I don't want him to stop kissing me. My legs wrap around his waist, trapping him, and in response, he quirks his eyebrow and smiles. His body tells me that he feels my longing as he leans down and presses his lips onto mine. He slowly runs his tongue against my bottom lip before pushing it inside. We fight for dominance but in the end, he wins. A moan leaks from his mouth and–
"Sweetheart, I said make up, not make out."
Damn.
