The realization rocks me. I hadn't assumed – I hadn't even thought about it – not once. But then I remember where I met him and why he must volunteer there and it all seems to click into place. I try to slow my heart through the pounding in my ears, gripping my hands around the sink while I focus on how this isn't a big deal.
How Peeta isn't one bit different from a moment ago.
But when I close the cabinet door I notice my hands are shaking. Making my way back down the hall, I clasp my hands together and head for the door hoping to make a quick exit to give me time to settle down.
"I'm sorry – did you want to stay for a bit?" Peeta asks just as I'm rounding back towards the kitchen. He must notice the startled look on my face that I'm desperately trying to hide because, though I didn't think it was possible, his face goes a shade paler than before.
"No, Peeta I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just barged in here. I'll go," I attempt hastily and step closer to the door. My hand makes contact with the cool steel just as he calls out again.
"Katniss." There's a tired note in his voice. I hope he doesn't hate me for what I've discovered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
Swinging back around I stare at him, mouth agape.
"Don't apologize!" I shout tactlessly. Peeta frowns and sets his hands calmly on the counter, his gaze never leaving mine. "I shouldn't have – you didn't need to tell me. It's your life and you would have told me when you were ready, if you wanted to. I get it – I'm just sorry I don't-" I gasp for a breath, struggling to get air in between my rushing thoughts. I'm not angry – I'm not really sure what I'm feeling.
"Katniss, I can tell by the look on your face that you clearly didn't come expecting this. Do you want to sit and talk about it?" He tries and I shake my head while my mouth utters a yes. Even my brain doesn't know what's going on. Peeta only smiles sadly.
"Yes," I state more clearly. "But only if you want to. It's fine, I can go and we can talk another time if you want to. Please don't hate me for - " The words falling out of me stop instantly when he walks towards me and stops within arm's reach. Though he doesn't touch me, I can see that his hand wants to reach out towards me.
"Katniss, it's fine. Seriously. Let's sit and talk, okay?" His voice is soothing now and I'm bothered by the fact that even though I came here to help him, he's now the one coddling me all because I invaded his privacy. That doesn't stop him though from leading me towards a beat up couch as he pulls up an old rocking chair. We sit in silence, staring at each other, until Peeta lets out a sigh. "I was a user," he states blankly. I bite my lip and meet his eyes, holding up my hand slowly.
"You don't have to tell me this," I try to reassure him one last time, just in case he feels cornered. He only smiles and shakes his head.
"I used to be an addict. Used to be," he laughs weakly and shifts. "Once you are, you are, I guess. That's how – that's why I'm positive." He twists his hand about his wrist, rubbing the skin red while his eyes flicker between me and the window. I want to take his hand, to tell him that I'm listening, but I don't. I don't move. It's all so much to digest that I'm trying to focus on not passing out. "I've been clean since my diagnosis, about five years now. I went to rehab, got on the program and started getting the treatment. My older brother Rye has pretty much been my lifeline, unlike the rest of my family. He got me help, set me up here and helps me make ends meet when money is tight. I think that's why I admired you from the start, because you were so like him for Prim," he adds almost wistfully as he stares out the window.
I still can't move. Though the shock is beginning to wane, it's just getting through my mind that Peeta is in recovery as well. Staring at him, I try to see it. My mind flickers back to visions of Requiem for a Dream and Jared Leto and internally I shudder – Peeta doesn't look like anything from that movie. His features are strong, his eyes a bright, clear blue and his complexion is smooth. Every addict I've seen looks jagged and a wreck – far beyond saving – but Peeta looks whole. Maybe that's why I'm surprised? Maybe his blond curls and broad shoulders have hidden his past demons with the guise of attractiveness. I smile a bit to myself at the thought of Peeta coming into who he is now, someone who looks strong and confident and well, after his addiction and his diagnosis.
"I think I respect you even more right now," I blurt out, surprising even myself. I don't miss Peeta's small frown as he looks at me again.
"What? Why?"
"I – Uh, well. When I first came into the centre, you just seemed to have it all together. And now – well, now knowing, and uh –" I pause and try to gather my thoughts, if only to stop this annoying stuttering thing I've got going on right now. "You didn't hate me for the way I reacted with the needle exchange!" I finish sharply and bite my thumb reflexively.
The memory comes rushing back to me – the way I'd recoiled and almost been ashamed to be associated with needing a needle exchange program. Peeta hadn't even really batted an eye at my judgemental reaction even though he could have, considering everything.
Tuning back in, I see that he's laughing lightly and is leaning forward in the rocking chair.
"I could never hate you," he states softly after a moment, the laughing stopped. The words make my breath seem to get caught up in my chest and I have to force it out in a huff before I can meet his eyes.
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," I add lamely and shift in my seat. Peeta rocks back and relaxes into his chair, sighing heavily.
"I was going to tell you soon, I just...wasn't sure yet." I nod because that's really all I can do, unsure of what questions I can ask and what ones I shouldn't. But then I remember why I'm here and curiosity seems to get the better of me.
"What's happened lately, to change things, if you don't mind me asking?" I ask quietly and sit forward on the couch until my knees are nearly touching his. Watching him, I notice his shoulders tense before he looks down at his bandaged hand with disdain.
"I got fired on Monday," he mumbles and gets up to pace, leaving me leaning towards an empty chair.
"What! Why?" I gasp, the shock of it running through me. I know how much Peeta loves his job – I can't imagine him doing anything to get in trouble at work. It's just unfathomable. "I don't get it – that doesn't make any sense!"
Peeta moves slowly around his apartment, pacing the space like a caged animal as I rant on his behalf. I'm surprised he's not more angry, to be honest. But then Peeta's never been one for anger in the time I've known him.
When still after a moment he hasn't told me why, I move to where he's paused at the edge of the room, staring out the window. As soon as my hand touches his forearm he slinks back, a hard look filling his features.
"Don't! It's not safe!" he hisses and I recoil instinctively. The look in his eyes is far away, as if he was picturing something else entirely. Though I know he wouldn't hurt me, I also know that I've forced too many private things into the open today and maybe whatever has happened is reoccurring because of me. I'm pushing his limits. Realizing this, I step back and nod, turning to leave.
"Okay – I understand. I'll see you-"
"Katniss, wait," he calls out, interrupting me as I stand once again with my hand on the door. His voice has changed again. The hard edge is gone and his tone is beseeching. This time he's still near the window, the light from outside cascading around him only emphasizing the look of a fallen angel. I wish I could see his face, just to know what he's thinking now. "I just – only Haymitch knows. I don't want the whole centre finding out," he adds sadly.
A moment happens and I'm eager to run – either towards him or away, I'm not too sure – so instead I stay rooted to my spot, seemingly drawn to this man. When he finally laments the truth, my insides coil with disgust. "We were working on making stamps in class – you know the ones where you have to carve out the patterns? I was working on my example last Tuesday when I cut my hand," he holds up his bandaged hand and smiles sadly.
"Well, I needed stitches and I made a pretty good mess of the classroom. When one of the students got another teacher to help I might have overreacted. They started to try to clean up my mess without gloves and I got so scared. I tried to get them to stop but they wouldn't so I just – I just blurted it out." I get it then. Nobody at Peeta's work knew his status. They didn't understand they needed to be careful. Or that they should always be careful, no matter whom it is. "I guess one of the kids heard. Talked to their parents or something. There was a big meeting on Monday about it with the parents and the admin. They called me in after and told me my lack of disclosure was problematic and that the parents had serious issues with my 'teaching methods', I think they called it."
I stand there dumbfounded with a roiling anger in my gut. How dare they fire him for this? It's unbelievable. It's horrible.
And then it hits me like a wallop to the chest.
This is life after diagnosis. This is life with the social stigma of HIV.
I don't stop myself when I have the urge to move forward, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a bone crushing hug – the ones I reserve solely for Prim. Instead I focus on keeping the angry tears at bay as I squeeze tighter around his waist.
"That's not fair – isn't it illegal? We can fight this Peeta – I'll help. We'll all help!" I repeat, mumbling into his shirt. Through my haze of frustration and my jumble of reassurances I almost miss his low laugh and the whispered words that fall from his lips.
"I didn't think this would be the reason I first got to hold you," is all he says.
I don't know whether to ignore it, whether I was supposed to hear it or not, so I just stay quiet and cling to him as he moves us until we're sitting on the couch again. Finally seated, he pulls back until we're facing off against each other on other sides of the couch. I wonder why all of a sudden he's put this distance between us but I try to ignore it. If he wants space, that's okay.
I have to keep reminding myself that it's okay because no matter how much I'm convinced that I subconsciously knew this, the whole shock of his status, of everything, is probably something I should have been prepared for. I guess I just wasn't ready for how I would feel when I found out.
"Are you going to fight for your job?" I ask quietly, hesitant to bring it up since it obviously causes his emotions to rise. He shakes his head as his eyes sink to his clasped hands.
"No, I don't think so. It's probably for the best," he tries lamely though I hear the note of sadness in his voice.
"What do you mean it's for the best? You love that job – you told me so yourself." My words come out more abruptly than I intend and I have to scold myself inwardly.
"It's just – it's dangerous. What if one of the kids had tried to help and I lashed out at them? Or worse, what if... What if they were exposed to it?" He finishes with a harsh whisper and I watch as he scowls angrily out the window. I'm surprised to hear these words from his mouth.
If I were to be honest, I'd say that I was likely guilty of putting Peeta up on a pedestal in terms of his openness and accepting qualities. It's these words then that shed a shadow upon his perch and remind me that no matter how good he is, he still must face his own personal demons on the virus as well. Like so many others I've read about, or heard Prim talk about, Peeta is dealing with the acceptance of his illness and will always be dealing with it.
"That isn't going to happen," I reassure him, leaning forward and placing my hand upon his foot. He withdraws it gently, his eyes averted. "Why do you do that?" I prompt, my words cautious again. His eyes don't meet mine when his shoulders lift in a non-responsive shrug at the question. I have to leave it alone, at least for today.
Together we sit there quietly, time passing steadily as we both let our minds process the day's events. Neither of us push for more words, comfortable in the silence between us. When the sun finally begins to sink low in the sky, I meet his gaze and offer a small smile.
"I guess I should get going," I mumble. Shifting and letting my feet hit the ground, I stretch my arms up and groan with the change in position. Peeta follows me to the door and I hear an audible yawn escape from him. "I'm sorry I just barged over here. I just wanted to mean what I said about being here if you needed anything," I apologize as my hand lingers on the door. I feel Peeta pull the door open further and hear the audible sounds of him slipping his shoes on. Turning to him, I frown in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I'm walking you to your car. It's a dangerous neighbourhood, especially at night," he replies and shuffles until we're both outside his apartment and he's locking his door.
Together we walk down the stairs and towards my car in relative silence, our minds pre-occupied and no Haymitch in sight. When we reach my car I walk to the driver's side only to be surprised when Peeta's bandaged hand holds it closed as I try to open it. I look up at him, brow furrowed.
"Look, Katniss, I'm sorry I've been such an ass today and all this week, really. I just, I don't really know what I'm going to do yet. I just – I know that – " I listen as he grumbles and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Without thinking better of it, I reach out and rest my hand over his and squeeze. To my surprise and his as well it seems, he doesn't shake me off but instead pulls my palm to his cheek. "I know that I'm glad you came by today. Even if I didn't act like it."
I think I blink at his actions, too surprised to get out a sentence. We must stand there for a while though before someone down the street from us makes a cat call and has me startled back to reality.
"Peeta, I meant it when I said I'm here, okay? Come back to the centre and we'll help you – isn't that what you said that place is there for?" I joke lightly. I know I need to withdraw my hand at some point in order to get in my car, but I can't help the way I revel in the feeling of my fingers pressed to his stubbled cheek.
"Thank you," he murmurs and at last let's my hand drop, his own pulling open the door and ushering me into my car. "See you later," he adds, bending at the waist and leaning towards me as I sit in the driver's seat. For a moment I think he's going to kiss me – that he's going to press those lips to mine and make a move - but he doesn't. Seeming to think better of it he grins and pulls back, shutting the door gently and tapping the roof with his goodbye.
As I drive off down the street I glance in the rear view mirror, catching him standing in the road and watching me drive away with a small smile lifting the corner of his lips.
AN: So, fun fact: I've actually been in informal quarentine these last two days for a gastro thing. It's been horrible. And by horrible, I mean gross with a touch of all the napping I can get. You should give me a virtual high five since I finally kept some crackers in me today! Hurray! Anyways, I'm posting this up because life is crazy and the bump in my ego I got from Opaque today was very much a highlight. Hope you enjoy. Much love, lollercakes