3. my stylist is better than yours
When I wake, the room is dark, the light covered up by the dense clouds that sweep the sky. The basement is still dark, but not as much as last night. I look to my right, and see that a thin sheet of ice has frozen over where the window should be closed, so no more snow is coming in. I look up, and see Peeta's face, his eyes closed, so peaceful. That's when I realize; I didn't wake up, disturbed by my mind. And I didn't feel Peeta rustle from beneath me.
We didn't have nightmares.
It's so comfy, calming in his arms, pressed up close against him, just like in the sleeping bag in the arena. Those times were one of the few good things about the Games. His ashy blonde hair is spread down the side of his head, the ends fraying everywhere in a frenzy, but it looks organized. Not messy and tangled, like Gale's gets sometimes. I place my head on his shoulder; it's surprisingly comfortable, I'm not cold at all and his skin is soft against mine, despite the rough spots of paint. I don't care that I have to meet Cinna in a few hours, that Gale is waiting for me in the woods, that my mother is probably wondering where I am.
I feel Peeta move beneath me, and I turn to see his eyes open. It takes him a second to realize where he is, but when he sees me, a small smile breaks across his face. "Good morning," he says.
"Morning, sleepyhead," I say, ruffling his hair. I pull my hand back, and see his hair covering his eyes.
"You look all messy now," I laugh. Peeta pushes the hair out of his eyes, and it falls back to what it looked like a second ago, but just a little more disheveled. My hand falls back down under the tarp, landing on his bare stomach. That's when I realize we're both half-naked. I know I should be freaked out; I just slept with a boy practically naked. But it doesn't bother me. It's Peeta. He's just so…innocent, pure, and real. Not fake. Like I can be more myself around him, let out my 'fun' side like I do with Prim.
Funny, how I find Peeta real, yet he spills endless lies to all of Panem all the time.
I can even feel a little bit of muscle on his smooth stomach. At least he's getting stronger. When we started the Games, he was stocky and muscular. After practically dying in the arena, he was weaker, slimmer. It's good that he's getting his muscle back; even his legs are starting to form again. Now he's skinny, but still strong; it doesn't show on him, so he doesn't look gigantic and overly muscular. I like it. He looks better that way; it suits him more than a muscular form like Gale's.
"How are you gonna get out?" Peeta asks, gesturing with his head to the frozen snow blocking the window.
"I don't want to leave," I say. He smiles.
"How can you go without my parents seeing you?"
"Who cares if your parents see me?"
He laughs. "Don't you think they'll be a little suspicious? After all, I'm in my underwear and a thin shirt and you're in…that," he says, waving a hand at my pajamas.
"But they're more comfy," I retort. "Just because I act serious and hard all the time doesn't mean I sleep like that."
"I know. You're pretty when you sleep. You're face isn't as troubled."
I start to get up, pulling Peeta with me. His briefs rode up a little when he was asleep, so he pulls the ends down a bit; and I grab his hand and drag him toward the stairs, his dress shirt flowing out behind him. I see him shiver. "What?" I ask.
"I'm not exactly dressed in a big bundle of clothes." I see his bare feet. I forgot. I'm wearing boots, and he has nothing on; it must be colder for him. I start taking my boots off for him, leaning on the stair rail. "No, Katniss," he says, a genuine look of concern on his face. "You'll get sick." That serious look on his face is sweet, and it sparks something in me. I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. He seems surprised; I guess he didn't expect to get anymore of those after the Games. I didn't expect to be giving them.
I remember my jacket on the floor and run to grab it. With it draping on my arm, I tug Peeta up the stair way. I peer out the door, Peeta peering above me; he's just a little bit taller than I am. We hear a commotion at the front door to the left and I hear Peeta's mom. "-I don't know where he is. He's always disappearing to who knows where." She walks forward, followed by about five people. Peeta's breathe catches. "Portia!" he whispers. It occurs to me that I've never actually seen Portia; only head Cinna talk about her. We back up, closing the door a little more. Peeta's mom leads Portia and her prep team into the kitchen; a roundish woman stands in front of the fridge that's next to the door and leans on the island in the middle of the room. She's big, not overweight, but she also isn't freakishly skinny like some of the people in the Capitol. In fact, the fat makes her look homey, nice. She turns around, looking for something, and her eyes catch us. I freeze.
"Mrs. Mellark, would you please show my prep team to Peeta's room? I'll be up in a second," the round woman asks. Peeta's mother walks out of the kitchen and into the entryway and up the stairs, the prep team following her. The woman, who I assume is Portia, turns toward us and we open the door. No doubt we musts look strange to her; I'm in tiny pajamas and Peeta's in an unbuttoned shirt and briefs, and we're both splattered with paint. She leans in towards me. "Hurry. They'll be down any second. Cinna's waiting for you at your house." This statement alone makes me oddly happy. She's not going to tell anyone, or ask any questions. I lean forward, give her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and make my way out the kitchen door.
*V*
Outside, I pull my jacket on. It's cold out here, so cold, my breathe forms in little wispy clouds. It wasn't the best idea to venture out in only pajamas. But I spent time with Peeta. That makes it easier to stand the cold.
When I get to my house, I step quietly in through the kitchen door, throwing my coat in the living room. My mother comes rushing down the stairs. "Where were you?" she demands.
"In the basement," I say. It's partly true.
"Basement?" she asks, more than a little bit confused. We keep extra things down there; medicine supplies, blankets, pillows. "I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you and Prim up." Her face softens.
"The nightmares again?" I nod, even though last night was the one time I didn't have them.
She ventures over and loops her arm through mine. "Come. Cinna's waiting for you in your room." Although my mother despises anyone from the Capitol, she likes Cinna. Thinks he isn't too far-fetched like most everyone in the Capitol. She thinks he's normal.
When we arrive at my room, I see Cinna talking with Octavia, gesturing to a sketch he's holding in his hand. She's nodding, apparently agreeing with whatever he's saying. I can't help but grin. Ever since we got back home from the Games, I've been talking to Cinna on the phone. But it's been such a long time since I've seen him person. He's my friend. My only friend besides Peeta, Haymitch, and Rue from the Games. He looks up, sees me, and smiles. I rush over to him, and wrap him in a hug. "I missed you," I say. He laughs. "I missed you too. Come sit down. You have a lot of clothes to try on; we have to get you dressed for the Tour. And we have to prepare you. Have you done everything I've asked?" Before I returned home, Cinna asked me not to touch my hair, keep my nails clean, and keep my leg hair shaved. "For the most part," I answer shyly. He breathes out. "I suppose we could take extra time to fix things." A sudden thought comes to me. "Cinna, why are you here? You usually wait until my prep team fixes me until you see me."
"Why are you covered in paint?" I tense. I forgot about the paint. No doubt my mother noticed.
"Um-ah," I stammer, but he laughs it off. "If you must know, I have many ideas for your clothes, and I need to try them out while they're fresh." He raises his eyebrows at me, moths a silent question. In answer, I nod.
He knows me too well. He knows I spent the night with Peeta. Who else do I know that paints? Who else do I know that I could've snuck out to see? Certainly not Madge; wouldn't want to upset the mayor. Certainly not Gale; we may be close friends, but it's just something that doesn't happen. And most certainly not Haymitch; the last time I swa him he was staggering around and bumping into walls. He's alright when he's sober, but he hardly is anymore. He gets like that when but events come up, and he'll get special attention this year because of the Quarter Quell; which occur every twenty-five years and which Haymitch won the first of.
Wait…snuck out? I went for a walk and saw Peeta, so I spent some time with him. Something must be wrong with me if I'm starting to define 'midnight walks' as 'sneaking out'.
Peeta's the only answer. At least Cinna spoke to me discreetly, didn't reveal it to my entire team. It's not bad though. We used to sleep together before the Games, but now that they're over I think no one expects us to.
While my prep team, Octavia, Venia, and Flavius, works on cutting my nails and fixing my hair, Cinna shows me the wardrobe he has planned for me on the Victory Tour.
The first outfit is a deep red dress with flecks of gold that shimmer when the fabric moves; to be worn when I attend the dinners hosted in all of the districts. The next is simpler; an orange strapless skirt that I can wear with my hunting boots, which is a first. All of my outfits still keep the same theme- I am still, girl on fire.
Cinna must show mw at least a dozen outfits before he says we're down for the day. "We didn't even show you a sliver of everything we have for you!" Octavia says, packing up all her supplies. Cinna and my prep team will be staying in one of the empty houses in the Village. I tried to get him to stay in our house, but he refused; he didn't want to intrude on us.
Tomorrow I get to try on my outfits, then the next day I get to rehearse my speeches with Effie, my escort, then it's on the train for the Tour.
I hope the days go by slowly.