Chapter 7: Melt Back to the Past?

Evidently, Winnie and my sister are not the only ones who have noticed my moping about for the last few days. One Friday, when Gale comes home from the mines to find that I have not moved from the house all day, not even to hunt, he throws down the gauntlet.

"That's it. Get something pretty on, Catnip. We're going out."

I raise an eyebrow at him, partially over his childhood nickname for me, and partially for his ordering me about. The last thing I want to do is go to some party - for presumably, that is where I am being conscripted into going - with my brother-in-law. I finally rise from the cushioned seat of my bedroom, where I have spent most of the afternoon staring sadly out the window. "Fine. But why can't Prim come with us?"

"She has an appointment with a patient in town. Another birth." Gale explains. When she finally came of age, my sister followed in our mother's footsteps and quickly became the most respected - in fact, the only - Healer in District Twelve.

I guess there is no way out of this, or any way to make it any less awkward. Digging through my closet, I find an old dress of my mother's that I haven't worn in years - a red party dress with flashy sequins. It was probably the most expensive piece of clothing she ever owned. Pulling it out, I find my blue Reaping dress hanging next to it, and behind that... my wedding dress...

I slam the closet shut with a scowl, not wanting to look at either of those dresses ever again, so painful are the memories they evoke. I probably should have burned the damn things long ago.

After waiting downstairs, Gale comes down in a pressed shirt and pants, topped with a blazer. "Didn't think you would actually listen to me."

"If I didn't, your wife would have my head," I drawl dryly. "Prim OK with this?"

"Thrilled. I think she was about ready to kick you out of the house herself. Let's go."

My brother-in-law leads me to the decorated lights of the Hob. The black market is hosting this year's Summer Festival, an event that traditionally kicks off the beginning of the harvest season for most districts. Right away, Gale encounters many of his mining buddies. Most of them look already drunk or at least buzzed, for they burst into unusually loud laughter when they see me on the young Hawthorne's arm.

"Couldn't get your own wife to come, eh, Hawthorne?"

Gale calmly explains the situation, sadly sparing the details of what he must think is my depression and instead relaying that in the absence of his wife, I - his sister-in-law - was the next best option for a date. Ouch.

Gale doesn't dance. And I'm not in the mood to. As I follow my brother-in-law and his buddies over to one table with plenty of drinks, I happen to look over at the bar of Ripper's stall. One stool is occupied by a very familiar crop of blonde hair.

Curious, I draw closer. It's him all right. In the brief time I was married to him, Peeta was never the party-going type. His shyness of large crowds and boisterous events suited my purposes just fine, and we instead opted to just be alone together. The exceptions, of course, were when there was a shindig that Peeta's family had to cater. Only then would he go out.

Another equally uncharacteristic sight is Peeta with liquor in his hand, or any alcohol at all. I remember, on the night of our wedding, Prim unlocking our father's liquor cabinet for wine to celebrate. I had a glass, but Peeta didn't imbibe a drop. He prided himself on being a teetotaler - one of the many reasons I warmed in my attraction to, and eventually love for, him.

And now, there he sits, the man whom I once shared my bed with, drinking a tall bottle of Bourbon and literally crying into his beer... er, wine, or whatever.

Gently, I touch his arm. "Peeta?"

He flinches significantly, spinning to face me so that his stool nearly topples over. "What are you doing here?" he slurs.

"My, uh... brother-in-law invited me. I think it was just a ploy to get me out of the house. Prim was probably nagging him about it, if I didn't know any better."

"Ah," Peeta nodded, clutching at his bottle the way my toddler nephew Ben might clutch at a toy. "So, you've been observing it too, then."

I frown. "Observing what?"

"Don't play... dumb with me, Katniss! Do you know what day it is?"

I open my mouth before automatically closing it again like a fish, for it suddenly dawns on me what day this is. Tonight is the anniversary of the bakery fire. Of Peeta losing his family. And of his and my divorce.

Drunk as he is, Peeta notices all of this. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says in a tone of mock-apology. "You forgot, didn't you?" I cringe at the very disturbing sneer he sends my way. I shake my head to clear it.

"You're drunk," I say flatly. "You need to go home before you turn into Haymitch Abernathy!"

"Yeah, Cray? Whaddaya want?" Just beyond Peeta, I see a paunchy, middle-aged man raise his head up a fraction off the tabletop at the sound of his name before plopping it back down again. Haymitch Abernathy is our district's only living Victor, out of only two to have survived the Hunger Games. And he's a national embarrassment.

"Katniss!" I feel a sudden hand on my arm as Gale appears at my side. "Come on; you don't want to get caught up in the dealings of these drunken riffraff!" I struggle half-heartedly as he leads me away.

"I was doing just fine on my own!" I growl, annoyed at his protectiveness. If he wanted me looked after, he should have gotten Prim out of her appointment and had her accompany me!

"Katniss, that Townie was giving you a really sleazy look! And what were you doing, talking to Mellark anyway?"

I pause, before glancing up to look him dead in the eye. My expression is flat, serious, honest. "He's my husband."

Gale's eyes go wide in shock and anger. "Excuse me?"

"My ex-husband," I quickly amend.

"Ex or not, you were seriously married to that Townie?" Gale spits.

I square my shoulders. "Yes. I was. And I'm not ashamed of it. If you want all the juicy details, ask my sister!" I march away from him, calling over my shoulder. "Right now, I have to get him home!"

Gale is smart enough not to follow me. By now, Peeta is barely conscious at the bar, so I help him up and we stagger out of the Hob together. I guide him down the path that leads to the bakery, as if I could walk it blindfolded. And perhaps I am, in a way. Except for the beautiful stars twinkling above, it's pitch-black out.

Peeta and I have barely reached the back alley of the bakery, just off the loading dock, when he is shrugging me aside. "All right... all right! I'm fine!"

"No, you're not," I tell him honestly. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be passed out on the floor of the Hob by now!"

"Since when do you care where I am or how conscious I am of it?" Peeta snarls back, swaying slightly as he turns back to face me. "What business of it is yours what I do?"

I scowl. Two years of marriage and I have never seen him as irritable as he has been tonight. It's the booze that is making him into a sarcastic, childish brat. But two can play at this game. I'm the most sarcastic person one could ever meet, even when sober.

"Because I love you!" I say the words without thinking, my frustration forcing them out of me. Just for a moment, the look in Peeta's eyes clears, and he seems to register what I have just said. At my wit's end, I suddenly reach him in one stride, seize his face and crash my lips against his.

We moan as one, our lips battling roughly for dominance as if no time has passed in the twelve years since we last physically joined in this way. My fingers sink into his blonde curls almost painfully, and I consume my lips into his, my teeth grazing his bottom lip, my tongue slithering in between the split as he opens himself to me. It is true magic.

I feel his hands go about me in a very deft and un-drunken way, and I allow him to pull me flush against him. Peeta's hands fondle me, grope my most intimate places that only he has known, and brazenly so.

"Hmmmmmmm... Mmmmmmmmm... Peeta..." I whine as his lips assault my neck. I am reaching blindly, like a child flailing his limbs in the water, before I seize a chunk of his shirt's fabric in my fists. "Get this... goddamn..."

I show remarkable strength as I literally rip his shirt in two; why bother with the buttons? Alabaster skin - perfect, healthy and strong - greets me as I cast the ruined garment aside. Contrary to even his best expectations, Peeta recovered miraculously well from the fire.

"Mmmmm!" I let out a startled squeal as Peeta's calloused hands lift me off my feet, hoisting me by my thighs into the air. We spin, uncoordinated, as Peeta's drunken stupor interferes with his balance and plunges us into the dirt. Peeta mounts me with surprising swiftness, pushing the hem of my red dress up past my waist. The panties I wear are not much to marvel at, but he makes quick work of them, throwing them all the way down to my ankles.

"Ahh!" I suddenly yelp airily as Peeta bites into my neck, leaving a love mark. He licks it smooth almost roughly.

"Tell me you want this," he growls, his voice husky and even more emboldened by the booze. "Say it... say it, baby!"

I don't have time for this teasing bullshit, writhing beneath him as he plants kisses and bites on every inch of my body except where I need the most reprieve. I seize him by his shoulders, and force him to look me full in the face to make damn sure he knows. "TAKE. ME."

Peeta slams his engorged manhood into my vagina without mercy. I cry out, eliciting swift retribution in the form of a bite just behind my ear. "Shut up," Peeta snarls. I mewl in response, so Peeta kisses me deeply just to get me to shut my damn mouth.

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" I squeal like a piglet with every thrust of his cock. Minutes pass like this, my body sliding painfully up against the dirt gravel and I could care less. Peeta throws my legs over his shoulders as he pounds faster towards his release, like a runner entering the final sprint for the finish line. He attacks the last of his energy, burns it as hot as the fire that nearly killed him. At last, a roar is wrenched from his throat and he explodes within me, collapsing on top of me in almost painful fashion.

His worship of me now slows. He's exhausted, but at least he still remembers how to fuck me tender. He trails kisses down my jaw, my collarbone, the valley of my breasts, occasionally capturing my lips with his. "You're still all I've ever wanted," he half-slurs, half-whispers. "Marry me... marry..." He passes out on top of me and lies still. Absolutely still.

I stare up into the night sky. My mind is a pile of mush, still trying to process that I just angry-fucked my ex-husband, sleeping with him in the middle of an alley. My eyes pop open as I suddenly realize: we were really loud. Did half the district hear us? Where is Gale? Or my sister? If they come across this... Oh God...

Like our first time together, I have to push an unconscious Peeta out and off of me. He flops into the dirt, not moving. I can't just leave him here like this, half-naked! Grunting from the effort, I manage to drag him as safely as I can onto the loading dock and in through the back door of the bakery. I leave him in the back hallway, confident no one will disturb him here. Also, no way was I getting him up those stairs to his apartment above the store.

Confused, frightened, and perhaps a bit guilty, I flee, running for the Hawthorne Homestead in my half-ruined dress and hoping against hope I beat both my sister and my brother-in-law back. And the children - what of the children? They'd better be in bed! None of them would want to see their dirty Auntie Katniss. Not like this!