Okay, so you all probably hate me but I updated anyway! I'm so sorry I wasn't able to upload last Sunday! My birthday and my dads was this past week and I was super busy! Thanks for being patient! Well anyway, as always, all credit goes to Suzanne Collins. Thank you for sticking with this story and please review and follow! Thanks!
Chapter 4
My feet clamber along the road littered with pebbles and that is the only sound I can hear. I ran for what seems like hours and my throat is raw and sore. My breathing is labored but I am used to it after everything today. I am willing my brain to forget everything and not think, pushing forward, hoping the painful exhilaration I feel from running will numb the thoughts racing inside.
I see the dim glow emitting from the only homely house in the Victors Village. Haymitch's house is dirty and dark, as always. If he continued on his trend, he is probably passed out somewhere, alcohol pulsing his veins in place of blood. My feet pound on the ground and I find myself standing on the porch, facing my door and hearing faint voices slipping through our sturdy door.
"When will mom be back? You said soon, daddy." That is Rye's little voice, questioning Peeta. I can visualize the way he'd be tugging at Peeta's sleeve, his eyes wide and confused, begging a response.
"I think she should be home any minute now. She just had somewhere to go." My heart swells a little when I hear Peeta's smooth voice comforting children. He knows me. He really, truly knows me, and I know him. He knew what my reaction would be and he knew I'd go and he knew I'd come back. He knew. He knows.
I stand here, looking at the wooden door. Memorizing every detail I already have engraved into my memory. The wood is cracking and old, worn from days and days of people pressing in on it, rushing in after a long day in the mines, or the cold weather that would settle over the area. Then the more recent events: kids running in from school, or Peeta gently pressing it open after checking on the plants or on Haymitch. Peeta still made sure he was okay, but he never tells me anything about him. He knows I don't want to hear it. Haymitch used me just like all those other people. He doesn't care. Nobody does really. I continue my study of the door, procrastinating the inevitable.
I hear the voices fading slightly and then a loud squeal. "Daaaad. Put me down!" A high pitched giggle fills the eerie night air and pierces though the door, awakening something inside me that seemed to have numbed itself from the outside world. Willows voice rings out again, "I don't want to go to bed, Daddy! Please don't make me! I want to stay up until Mom get back." A shiver runs down my spine and the cold air starts to bite at my bare skin. I didn't bother grabbing a jacket when I left but as night descends, the chill immerses everything in sight.
"I'll make sure she kisses you when she comes in. I'm sure she is just moments away." His warm voice comforts them both and I hear their excited voices trail away, up the stairs.
For some reason unfathomable to me, I am still unable to move. Though I feel my skin freezing and the air wrapping it's spindly fingers around me, I can't motivate myself to go inside and face the inevitable confusion and questions I will be facing. Peeta won't press the subject if I don't want to, but he will still have a desire to know. And he deserves that much. He deserves that much knowledge.
All at once the door swings open and the orange light from our house floods in. I find my eyes locked with Peeta's, which are clouded with worry and confusion, but no mistrust or anger. He is never angry with me, even when he could be. I don't deserve him. When this thought crosses my mind, I am reminded of something Haymitch once told me, 'You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him.' I open my mouth, prepared to offer up some sort of explanation for my actions but I don't have a chance to say anything a Peeta closes the gap between us, his warmth enveloping me and before I know it, I feel tears streaming down my face. Generally, I try to keep crying to a minimum but lately, I have been feeling less and less like the old Katniss. I am more broken and weak. It is far more easy to get this new Katniss to cry than it was every to get the old Katniss to show a single emotion rather than disapproval.
"I – I'm sorry," I manage to murmur into his soft shoulder, nuzzling my face into the fabric of his shirt and taking in the smell of him and the ever constant air that always reminded me of freshly baked bread. My breath catches and I feel it coming into my lungs in small spurts as I make an effort to contain myself.
Peeta holds me tight and caresses my hair with one hand, whispering into my ear, "it's okay. Shhh. You're all right. You don't need to apologize, you didn't do anything wrong." He somehow moves us inside, closing the door behind him and lowers us both on the couch in the front room. I curl up in a ball next to him, leaning on his chest with my face burrowed in him.
We stay like this for a while, a fire burning across the room from us. Both of our eyes train themselves on the flames, dancing among the logs and letting out random clicks and sparks. I know Peeta hasn't said anything and that he won't, but he is curious. "Peeta," I start.
He cuts me off gently, "No, Katniss, you don't have to."
"I want to," I emphasize, though we both know it's a lie. He just patiently sits still which I shakily sit up, still curled in a ball near him. "Well… I saw him."