Gale's inauguration is a week later. Everyone joins him in the Capitol to celebrate, but since I'm stuck in 12, Haymitch, Peeta and I stay behind. To be truthful, I'm grateful for the time alone. While my family keeps me on my toes, sometimes I just want to hide away from everyone. Everyone but Peeta.
There is a smaller celebration in town to swear in Thom as Mayor. Apparently I wasn't the only one scribbling his name on my ballot. Peeta, Haymitch, and I go to the celebration. I have a little too much champagne, which makes my head spin, and I cling to Peeta as we twirl around the dance floor. I'm not normally so forthcoming with my affection in public, but when the band slows down, I find myself burying my face in the crook of his neck while we sway. The room is starting to tilt, and I feel his hands tighten on my hips. I want to get out of here.
I whisper in Peeta's ear, "Let's go home." This is the first time I've referred to my place as "home," as in "home for both of us." As in "our home." I can feel Peeta's happiness radiating from his body. I trip on my way down the front steps, and he catches me.
"Which one of us is missing a leg?" he teases.
My feet hurt, and I walk home carrying my heels in my hand. The grass feels wet and cold against my toes, but I like it. I can hear that I'm chatting non-stop with Peeta, but I'm not really sure what I'm saying. I struggle with the front steps, and Peeta sweeps me into the house and over the threshold.
His arms are delicious. I begin sloppily kissing his throat, and he smiles as he plops me on the couch. "Let's get you some water," Peeta says as his crosses to the kitchen and fills a glass. "Here, drink this." I struggle with the water, spilling more than I'm probably getting into my mouth. I don't really care. I don't want water, I want Peeta.
He's standing in front of me while I sit on the couch. I feel absolutely giddy. Dizzy, but giddy. I want this. I want him. Things between us have been moving slowly. At my pace. I've had a hard time breaking down the walls I put up around myself to let Peeta in, and I make sure to take smalls steps so I don't scare myself and push him away again. More and more often, however, we've been kissing until we are both panting for lack of air. Our hands are exploring. We push boundaries by inches. Tonight, all that seems stupid. I want him. His waist is eye level with me and I start fumbling with his belt. He smiles and laughs. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I want you," I say, and pull his belt from its loops and throw it away. I stand up and start kissing him. I run my hands all over his chest, his hair. He's smiling and reciprocating, although not quite to my level. I push my tongue into his mouth to try to get him on the same page as me.
"What's gotten into you?" Peeta smirks at me. I'm sucking one earlobe and tugging on the other. I can't get close enough to him. I try to unbutton his shirt, but I'm too buzzed to get my fingers to cooperate. Instead I pull until I rip through the buttons. I sweep my hands across his bare stomach and slip one down his pants.
"Woah," Peeta says and pulls back. His face is flushed and he looks shocked. "Katniss, what are you doing?"
"I told you, I want you," I say, stepping forward and kissing him again. It's sloppy and passionate and I want to make him shatter. My hands start roaming again and he grabs my wrist.
"I think we need to slow down," he says. That doesn't make sense.
"Why? I know you want me." I whisper in his ear, "You're a boy, I can tell." His face flushes again, but this time he's not smiling.
"No," he says, and pushes his hands away.
"No? I thought you loved me?" I'm acting like a petulant child, but I don't care. He can't spend all this time telling me he loves me and then rebuke me the first time I want to… I want to…
"I do love you," he steps forward and cups my face. "I've always loved you." I take this as a sign to move forward, but the second I resume he's pushing me away again. "Stop, Katniss!"
My emotions shift in kind. I grab a pillow and throw it at his face. He ducks. "I thought you wanted me! You're a liar!"
"Not like this. I don't want it to be like this." This time I grab the glass of water and throw it at his head. Or, at least that's where I was aiming. It shatters on the wall behind him, shooting glass and water everywhere.
"Well, it's this or nothing, Peeta," I spit at him.
His eyes are sad when they meet mine, then he turns and leaves my house.
I sit on the couch and pass out.
When the morning light peaks through the living room windows, my head splits. I force my eyes open and take in my surroundings. It looks like a battle scene. Glass is shattered all over my floor. Pillows are strewn about. The carpet is tangled. I'm still in my dress from last night, but it's twisted. I see Peeta's belt lying on the floor behind me and it all comes back to me in a flash of shame and anger. What was I doing? I try to stand but the world tilts dramatically on me and I sit back down. I should clean up the glass. I should lie back down.
I try to go back to sleep but everything hurts. I want to die. I want this couch to suck me into the cushions and then I'll disappear along with socks and whatever else gets lost down there. When the front door opens, I groan. Sae hasn't made me breakfast since Peeta started staying here. I manage to roll over and squint at the door. It's certainly isn't Sae.
Peeta makes his way to the couch and squats in front of me. He pushes my hair out of my face. "Morning, sunshine," he says.
I try to hide my face in the couch cushion. I am humiliated by my behavior last night. I try to say, "I'm sorry," but instead it comes out as "Imsrrrr…"
"And it's time for bed," Peeta says as he scoops his arms under my body and lifts me from the couch. He carries me up the stairs and I cling to his neck. I now feel very guilty for every time I've woken up Haymitch from a hangover with glass of ice water to the face. Peeta sits me on my bed and pulls the dress up over my head. I lift my arms and he tugs one of his old tee shirts onto my body. When I drop my hands, my stomach lurches and I feel myself sweat on my lower eyelids. I'm suddenly… I'm going to be sick. I bolt for the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet before I'm heaving up champagne and raspberry tarts. Peeta holds my hair back until I've emptied everything inside me. I rest my head on the porcelain and take him in. I have vomit on my chin. I'm sweating and smell like death. My face is in a toilet. And yet Peeta is looking at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world.
He wets a washcloth in the sink. He wipes my mouth, my face, my neck. He pulls me up off the floor and we walk to bed. He tucks me in, draws the curtains, and closes the door. I hear him downstairs - sweeping up glass, straightening furniture. I hear him baking in the kitchen. I'm feeling better, and in a few hours I creep downstairs. Peeta's back is to me as he's checking something in the oven. I sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. He smells like dill and his body is warm against my chest. He spins around without breaking free from my arms. He puts his hands on counter behind me, and I'm pinned with his arms on either side of me. I relax into him.
"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I breathe into his chest. I am sorry. And ashamed.
He wraps his arms around my body and puts his chin on my head. He squeezes me tight in his arms. "No more alcohol, okay? You clearly have no tolerance for it."
"Okay," I agree. I had already decided this anyway. Alcohol and I don't mix. I don't like being out of control.
He hands me a cheesy bun. I pull it apart and watch the cheese stretch and melt. My stomach growls. This is how I wanted our alone time to be. Us doing us things. I sit on one of the kitchen stools. I'm still not wearing pants, and I catch Peeta staring at my fire-streaked legs. At first I want to shy away. My scars are hideous. But then I see his gaze linger...
"Peeta Mellark, are you checking me out?" I tease.
"Sorry, but you are sitting there with your bare legs and my old t-shirt hanging off your shoulder. It's kind of like a fantasy of mine come true."
"Oh?" I hitch the t-shirt up a little more, exposing more of my legs and until the bottom of my underwear is peaking out. I watch as his jaw drops slowly. He steps forward until his fingers are ghosting over my thighs. I run my lips along his cheek, until my mouth is at his ear. I whisper, "So you still want me?" He gulps and nods his head. "Good," I whisper, and pull myself away. "I've got to shower." I skip up the stairs and leave Peeta in the kitchen, clutching the stool.