Chapter 2: Selling Yourself

His room is dark when I enter. The curtains are drawn against the night, which would be normal, if that position was not the same one they have been in against the garish light of day. Daddy lies in bed, unmoving; his head doesn't even turn at the opening of the door. I approach tentatively, as kindly as I can.

"Hi, Daddy. I brought you some soup." Eating has always been a challenge for him, since the mining accident that left him paralyzed from the shoulders down. But, sip by sip, I manage to coax some broth into him. "Primrose is asleep. I just sent her to bed."

"Good girl," he rasps. It isn't long before he collapses his head against the pillows I manage to keep fluffed. Within moments, he is asleep.

Checking to make sure he is truly out, I slip out of his room and into the one I share with my sister, Prim. Opening the closet, I find the faded blue dress that my mother wore during her youth as a Merchant, and slip it on. It hangs a little loose, but not dangerously so. I then proceed to the bathroom where I shakily apply make-up. I have never been one for cosmetics because I've never considered myself that type of girl. And besides, our poverty has meant that these were a luxury that was difficult to come by.

Both of these factors, however, must change if my family is to survive.

Life has been almost unbearable in the five years since my mother's death. With her gone, and my father permanently barred from the labor force, it has fallen to me to provide income for my family, and to raise Prim. I do this by hunting illegally in the woods beyond Twelve, selling my game in the black market of the Hob. The money I glean from these efforts is all that has been keeping my family alive.

The natural seasons bring with them a cyclical variation into how much meat I can bring in and, subsequently, how much we earn and eat. I can usually manage a subsistent haul whatever the weather, but what I can't count on are the degrees of the weather patterns that dictate my hunts. And this winter has been one of the worst in living memory. The ponds are frozen, so no fish have been biting. Large game like bears have been hibernating. And the extraordinarily low temperatures have ensured that even non-hibernating animals stay out of the cold. These days, I am lucky to bring in two or three kills, if that. Sometimes, I have arrived at the Hob empty-handed - a reality that fills me with shame, but I have dependent customers who rely on me to be straight with them over what I have, or have not, managed to provide.

All of this sums up why I must do what I must do tonight.

Only the very desperate stoop to selling themselves. It isn't because a market isn't there - oh, there is! It is because these women have nowhere else to turn. Our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, holds a monopoly on the prostitution "industry" here. I have observed many a woman outside his door, hoping to be picked. Especially within the Seam, the competition is quite high. My only advantage? My virginity. Cray would be more than eager to take me to bed if he knew he was my first. I try to swallow the bile rising in my throat at the thought.

Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I steal quietly out the back door of our Seam abode. I crawl under the fence bordering the District and head for the woods. At its edge, I move along in a horizontal direction. Entering Cray's from the back will give me more of a chance that I will not be observed. The only pride I can still cling to is the confidence that few people as possible will witness what I have been brought down to.

I am so focused on the rows of houses, and making sure I reach the right one in Cray's, that I am not watching where I am going. All at once, I crash into something. No - someone... a body...

"Katniss?" I jump back, startled. Why would anyone be out here at this time of night in the woods - and anyone who knows my name? I am not the most sociable person in the world, so few people are considered my friends or viewed with any value beyond what price I might be able to haggle from them for game.

But the most startling anomaly of this unexpected encounter is the features of the person I have bumped into. In the moonlight, I can see that he has blonde hair as golden as the sun. Porcelain skin. And those eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

It is Peeta Mellark - the Baker's son, and a Merchant. He's in my year in school; we even have a few classes together. Though we don't talk at all.

"What are you doing out here?" Peeta smiles, as if he is happy to see me. He looks me over once, though not in a leering way, just curiosity. As he takes in the sight of me, I can see his eyes narrow, can almost observe the gears turning in his head. When his eyes widen, I want to cry. He knows. If the dress didn't give it away, the make-up certainly did. I almost exclusively wear my father's hunting jacket when I go out, and pride myself on the plain front I project when it comes to my physical features.

"Katniss, you're not going to Cray, are you?" I'm surprised that he makes his deduction in the form of a question and not a statement. All the same, I find myself choking out, "How did you...?"

"Just the way you were dolled up. And the fact that you never wear that dress unless it is to attend the Reaping."

I am floored. How could Peeta Mellark - of all people! - be so divinely astute as to keep tabs on what I wear? I shake my head to clear it. I did not expect this impediment to my inevitable destination, but I will think my way around it. I side-step to pass him, but he blocks me with ease and grips my shoulders.

"Katniss... you don't have to do this."

I scowl at him and fling his hands away. "What business is it of yours what I do? You're not the one whose father is a dead man walking. Whose little sister is starving to death! What do you know about me?"

"No," he allows. "I'm not. And you're right: I don't know what any of that is like. But I do know this: the Katniss I know would never stoop to this level unless she had exhausted all of her options. She would continue to do whatever it takes to feed her family in the honorable way." Peeta suddenly fishes in his pocket and pulls out a bag of coins. He holds it out to me. "It was from my birthday," he mumbles. "Take it. I know you need it."

I stare with resentment at the gift he presents willy-nilly, as if giving away something for free is altruistic. And perhaps, in his view, it is. But to me, it's painfully naive. Nothing in this life is ever free, and anyone who accepts gifts as such - no matter the intentions of the giver - does not possess the pride that I do. So thinking, I swat the money bag aside and seize Peeta's shirt in my fists angrily.

"Then you should know this about me too: I'm not a charity case! I never accept my keep unless I have earned it. Doesn't matter how, and at this point it doesn't matter from who."

Peeta's eyes grow wide with fear, like a prey in the moments before death, when it becomes painfully aware of its own mortality. "I didn't... I'm sorry, I... Mmmm!"

I silence him as I fiercely press my lips to his in a violent kiss. I move quickly, slithering one arm around his neck so that he can't get away, while I sneak the other past the waistband of his jeans. I grope for a bit, clumsy and inexperienced in sexual foreplay, before finding what I am looking for. I grasp the fleshy foreskin of his length, cupping it in my palm, before beginning to vigorously stroke him - up and down, up and down.

"No..." Peeta's voice is weak as my lips assault his, and I take the opportunity of his cry to slip my tongue in between his briefly parted mouth, to dance and intertwine with his. One coaxes the other, like a serpent charmer, to willingly participate in his own seduction.

All at once, I feel hands go about my waist. I sense fingers grope lower, heavily petting and squeezing my bum. Peeta's pelvis suddenly and ferociously humps into mine, and I respond almost involuntarily, grinding mine into his. Is this what two people do when they fornicate?

Apparently so, for Peeta suddenly raises my leg to his waist in a galling display of desire. He wants sex, and he wants it with me! Communicating my consent, I hook my other thigh around his leg, bringing myself flush against him. We break apart briefly, panting for breath.

"You're all I've ever wanted," Peeta gasps out. "Marry me." His lips go back to mine.

I let out a confused whimper into his lips. Marry me? Really? He would have a plain, mediocre daughter of a Seam miner as his wife? The thought is stunning and confusing.

"Mmmmmmm... Mmmmmmmm..." As I moan sensuously, I let Peeta back us up into the grating bark of the nearest pine. I feel him take the flesh of my thighs in his hands as he proceeds to hoist my body up the tree. I have no choice but to fold my body around his. I close my eyes, and my grip on his back tightens. I know what is to come next, and as a woman, I should prepare myself for it. This is going to hurt; that much is clear. Add the fact that I'm a virgin, and Peeta will soon be ripping my insides as though he has never bedded a female in his life. And perhaps he hasn't. How should I know of a Merchant's experience, or lack of it, in bed? Will the golden opportunity to fuck me - an opportunity he didn't even have to work for - lead to Peeta being rough in our coupling? Offhand, I wager it might.

So imagine my surprise, when I feel a gentle palm roll back the hem of my mother's dress, slide my panties off almost reverently. The gentle brush of something against the follicles of my entrance...

"MMMMMMMM!" Despite the fact that Peeta enters me swiftly, fluidly, the shattering of my hymen still transmits a ghastly pain. The baker's son thrusts slowly at first, and then faster; with each thrust, pleasure builds up in me. I spring my lips from his to plant kisses along his jawline and face, even as I groan from our coming together.

"Uhhhhh... Uhhhhhhh... UHHHHHHHHH! UHHHHHHHH!" My hands scrabble for purchase along his rippling shoulder blades. "I... Ohhhhhhhhhh..." I don't even know what I might have been about to say, nor do I care, as I release myself along his length. The pulsing of my orgasm is so debilitating, that if it weren't for Peeta literally propping me up, I would topple to the ground.

"Grrrrrruhhhhhhh..." Peeta lets forth a noise like none I have ever heard uttered from any man, before ejaculating into me. He staggers against my body, finally collapsing under the combination of his own weight and mine, and we more or less gracefully fall into a heap on the grass. I am settled beneath Peeta, and he moves no more.

My eyes are wide, as for the first time, I begin to process what it is I've just done. Fucking a Merchant is a whole different scenario than throwing oneself at a Peacekeeper; soliciting sex from someone across class lines is usually frowned upon in this district. If anyone saw us... shit!

I push Peeta out of me, then off me, and he flops over unconscious. Redressing myself, I rise to my feet, and seize the discarded bag of money before taking off into the night. I don't check to see if the object of my tryst is all right. I don't even say goodbye or give a thank you for a lovely fuck. A debt paid. A trade made fair.

I just do what I do best: I run.