Songs: "Brighter Than Sunshine" by Aqualung
"One and Only" by Adele
Chapter 8 – After (K)
I'm lying in the soft, springy grass of the Meadow, encompassed in a delicious warmth. The sky above looks as if it were designed by Peeta's paintbrush; varying, saturated shades of blue swirl into wisps of pure white clouds, an iridescent sun casting a golden glow upon everything, colors so rich they almost don't seem real. Because they are not real. As I feel my body begin to float, I know none of this is real. Instead of rising up into the air, it's as if the ground below dissolves away, as if everything vanishes around me except the beaming sun. Every fiber of my weightless being seems to radiate life and light as I drift sublimely through indefinable space. The sun intensifies to the point where I must shut my eyes against it, only to find that the darkness, too, is bright.
I open my eyes to find myself awake in my bed. By the light in the room I know it's well past dawn, hours after we're normally up, yet Peeta still lies asleep beside me. Turning into him and nestling myself against his chest, I grow self-conscious when I realize we're both still completely naked. But the feeling of our bodies together is so comforting that I soon relax, faintly recalling how it felt to float in my dream: serene, yet exhilarating.
A rush of memories of the night before inundates me, accompanied by a brief sense of panic. But while the aggressiveness of my behavior caught me off-guard last night, I can't say it was unexpected. I had spent nearly all of yesterday afternoon home alone, reading on the soft leather sofa in my study or else pacing the hallways of the house, lost in my own thoughts. As the characters of my novels floated through my mind, so did thoughts of Peeta, and although I know the stories I've been reading are fictitious, the people in them seem so real, their struggles, while different, still so like ours, that I can't help but be bolstered by their resolve to persevere. And when two people take this journey together and become each other's courage and strength, when they find themselves together despite the odds against them, when they want each other with a desire they can't explain, isn't this love? If I had suspected I had been in love with Peeta before, I knew for certain when it felt so good to kiss him last night, when everything that followed seemed so incredibly right, when the sparks that had long been there suddenly set me aflame as never before.
And yet this morning, even though I can feel the smile on Peeta's lips as he turns to kiss my forehead, although (or because?) I allow myself to be content with this turn in our relationship, there's still a sense of apprehension I can't quite shake.
As I awaken I grow aware that I'm sore in ways I didn't expect. Familiar as I am with the stiffness that sets in the day after working muscles that have long been stagnant, it's strange to feel the sensation in this particular part of my body. Peeta turns to face me, and I put a little distance between us as not to invite an immediate repeat of last night.
"Good morning," he groans through a sleepy smile, gently pressing his lips to mine.
"Is it still morning?" I tease. "How long have we been asleep? What about your baking?" I say through interrupting kisses.
"Too many questions," he murmurs, kissing me more deeply and pulling me close, grinning all the while. My hips balk back when I realize that he is all too ready for more. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"Yes, just…I'm a little sore," I reply sheepishly.
"Was it painful, last night?" Peeta asks, concerned.
"Compared to everything else we've done?" I say lightly, reassuringly. "It was the most wonderful thing I've ever felt." It really was, after I had overcome the initial discomfort of it.
"I agree," he says, and I close my eyes and relax into the sensations of lips and hands which have taken on a whole new energy, as if it's more than just his skin that touches me.
"Shouldn't we get up?" I ask, suddenly wondering how late it really is and glancing at the clock, which reads well past ten.
"Probably," Peeta replies as if he dreads the idea. "I did tell Dad I'd see them at lunch."
"When did you talk to him?"
"Early, when you were sleeping so soundly I hoped you wouldn't notice. I guess you didn't. I was only gone five minutes, I just called my house to let Dad know I wouldn't be over until lunch. Even before I'd hung up the phone I wanted to be back in bed with you. And I still don't want to leave," he says."
"So…he knows?" I ask, feeling a little embarrassed.
"He's surprised it hadn't happened earlier. Don't worry, we have his blessing. We always did," he adds, planting a line of kisses down my neck.
"We do have to get up eventually," I remind him.
He smiles in spite of himself. "I suppose." More kisses. "Want to take a shower?" he asks, finally moving to get out of bed.
"You can go first."
Before I know what's happening, Peeta has plucked me out of bed and carried me into the bathroom. "I thought we could go together," he says, programming the shower to a mode I had not yet discovered that fills the entirety of the space with what feels like a warm, concentrated rain. Still holding me, Peeta steps into the shower and sits us both on the tiled bench built into the stall.
At first I'm uncertain about being so naked, so exposed in contrast to the dark of the night or the blankets which previously covered us, at least somewhat. But as Peeta gently rubs mild, fresh smelling soap suds over me, my skin melts and my nerves tingle under his sure and steady touch.
His affection once again assuages my inexplicable anxiety, and I begin to return the washing, running my hands over Peeta's muscular form. Working my way down his torso, I can see that my touch excites him, and while I feel the desire to, I know my body's not ready yet to share my newfound love with him in the way I had last night. But I remember the pleasure Peeta's hands had given me, and when I go to touch him in the same way, he is quick to encourage me and even show me how. It would have never occurred to me before to have such knowledge of my own body, although I'm somehow not surprised at how well Peeta seems to know his.
When his pleasure overtakes him, I am at first startled and think that he's going into one of his flashbacks. But I soon realize what is actually happening and find myself feeling strangely gratified in my own right as Peeta holds me so lovingly and fills my ears with honeyed words I can hardly believe to be true.
We remain under the invigorating fall of water until our fingertips are well wrinkled, and as we dry and dress ourselves, I realize that it's nearly noon. Again, I'm struck by an unsettling feeling, and I tell Peeta that I don't think I want to come to lunch today. When he asks why, I say that I want a little time alone. Which is true, although I can't put a reason as to why.
"Bring me back a plate, and we can spend the afternoon here," I offer, as if to hedge any concern he might have over my skipping lunch. But when I say it, I realize that I do want to spend the afternoon with just Peeta, that I'm not ready yet to leave the perceived safety of my house, as if doing so would leave me exposed, vunerable.
"Of course. I love you," he says, hugging me before he leaves.
I realize that although I had answered Peeta honestly last night, I've yet to say it myself. "I love you, Peeta," I reply, and he clasps me tightly to his chest in return. And like everything else so new and foreign to me, the words feel surprisingly satisfying and absolutely true. Yet someplace in all this lies a certain terror about what it implies, an unease I can't quite define.
Still, as he takes my face and kisses me, his fingertips slowly tracing my jaw as he pulls away, I know at least that my love for Peeta is every bit as real as my fear of it.
In the coming days, I find that the thing most changed in Peeta is the ardency of his affections, making me realize just how much he had been holding back in the past. Even still, I know he's restraining himself. For Peeta, the change in our relationship means allowing himself to love me in the way he always wanted; for me, it means allowing myself to love him in a way I never knew I could.
And while my body soon adjusts to the demands of our new activities, as I learn to ease into the physical pleasures of Peeta's gentle strength, something in the emotional intimacy of it remains…not uncomfortable, but disquieting. I don't think it's the fear of pregnancy, although I still don't think I'll ever have kids. When I was in the Capitol hospital last winter, I had a procedure done that completely prevents pregnancy for five years. I hadn't exactly been planning on having sex any time soon, but there didn't seem to be any reason not to do it, and now I'm glad I did. No, my apprehension has nothing to do with my not wanting children.
My thoughts alternately calm and panic me over these days. At one point I'm on the phone with Peeta's head doctor. It amazes me how much I've come to like her, even trust her, yet we've never even met in person. Once again, I find myself almost relieved when she picks up the phone.
After a polite greeting, Dr. Aceso surmises why I've called and doesn't hesitate to bring it up. "Peeta's told me about the new changes in your relationship. First off, I don't want you to feel embarrassed about it; my professional opinion is that it's entirely natural and healthy, as long as you're ready for it. But tell me, how are you feeling about everything?"
How do I put this into words, talk about emotions and actions I've never had a real frame of reference for? "It's good," I say, starting with the most basic fact out of habit. "I like it. I love him. But…I don't know, sometimes I feel so scared of it all. Like I don't deserve it. Like it's not fair."
"Not fair to whom?" she asks matter-of-factly. "I can think of nothing more just than for both of you to be happy. And love can make you happy, Katniss, but you have to let it. I know it can hurt, or that it at least can make you very emotionally vulnerable," she says, the timbre of her voice changing. "I'm not in the habit of divulging my personal life to my patients, but if I may, I think you might benefit from knowing a bit of my past.
"I was also in love once. His name was Jason, a biotechnologist I met through the medical community. He was everything I ever wanted, Katniss. He was so passionate about everything that he did, and so smart. We were soon inseparable, and before long we found ourselves planning a wedding and buying this beautiful townhouse in the Capitol. But then…" Her voice begins to falter, losing the warmth it took on when talking about Jason. "Then, he found out."
When I ask her, the doctor goes on to tell me how Jason, and his twin brother, Jax, who worked alongside him, discovered that the work that they were told was research into cutting-edge medical technology was actually being used by the government to make muttations. A subtle remark from Jax about his distaste for the project to a friend of Dr. Aceso's who himself was a high-ranking figure in the bourgeoning rebel movement introduced both brothers to the cause.
"I wanted to join, too, but Jason refused, said it was too dangerous. He never wanted me to know too much," she says. "But I think he was involved much more heavily than he ever let on. Because when Jax grew careless and they both were caught…they didn't kill them. They tortured them. With tracker jacker venom. They became the test subjects for the very same hijacking technique they used on Peeta. Except apparently, it went wrong. They killed Jax, but Jason… They forced me to come see him, where he was being held in Snow's dungeons. He just lay there, on the cold concrete floor of that cell." He voice has dropped to a bare whisper. "His eyes were open. He was alive. But even though I was right in front of him, even though I know he could see and hear me, there was no recognition. Like I was a stranger."
I remember my own confusion upon finding Peeta a stranger to me after his hijacking. "What did you do?" I ask.
"I was able to convince Snow's people that I didn't know anything about the rebellion, which was only partially true by that point. They let me go, but I knew I was being watched very closely. I had to keep my work carefully hidden, but I spent as much time as I could researching the effects of tracker jacker venom, its chemistry, its antidotes. If there was even the slightest possibility of getting Jason back, I'd want to do everything I could to help him. When the war started in earnest, my connections in the rebel forces kept me safe, even gave me new work looking after the mental health of the battle victims. But by the time Snow's prisoners were freed, it was too late. Jason was still alive, but only just barely. There was nothing I could do for him, and he died the day after his rescue.
"I abandoned my research and plunged headlong into the work of treating my patients, not even paying attention to the current state of the war. But when I got word of Peeta's hijacking, I was quickly on the phone with Plutarch."
"Plutarch Heavensbee?" I ask, surprised that she knows him.
"Yes, Katniss," she replies in her usual calm state. "We've been friends for some time. I told him about my research and all but demanded I go to District 13 to see if I could treat Peeta. But Plutarch told me he had just been sent to the Capitol. He said I should leave the city if I could, that the battle was likely to be dangerous to civilians, but I realized I had never really considered myself a civilian in this war. So, like any good soldier, I refused to abandon my post and stayed in the rebel hospital. And as it turned out, Peeta came to me."
"And you helped him," I say.
"I had to. I couldn't let Jason and Jax die in vain. But it's more than that, much more. I knew I had work with a purpose, that my knowledge and actions could make other people's lives better, and that's all Jason ever wanted to do. Even though I'll always love him, I've learned to move on with my life, Katniss, to choose to be happy because that's what he would have wanted for me. Is it what Prim would have wanted for you?"
There's a heavy silence. Here I was, wrapped up in her story, when she drops Prim on me. Yet the truth in what the doctor has said, the emotion with which she told it tell me she is right. "She did always like the idea of Peeta and I together. She said…she told me once…" Don't cry, I tell myself. Breathe. "She said if she ever had a brother, she'd want him to be just like Peeta," I whisper. "And that even though she knew our relationship was mostly for show, that sometimes she wished it were real."
Another silence, but a softer one. "I won't tell you what to do or how to think, Katniss," Dr. Aceso says. "I just wanted to remind you that just because she's gone doesn't mean she can't still keep you going."
After that initial morning of languishing in bed, Peeta had returned to his usual morning routine, saying that it wasn't fair to leave all the work to his father. As we walk from Peeta's house to mine after dinner on the eve of his and Marko's birthday, he tells me that his dad had told him to take the day off from baking. "But just the morning," he says. "I do have a cake to frost, after all."
So we spend the morning absorbed in each other, leaving the soft, safe confines of my bed only to scavenge my kitchen for breakfast. After sharing a gratuitously long shower, we resign ourselves to dressing and heading to Peeta's house for lunch. That afternoon, Mort rests while Peeta and Marko take over the kitchen, enjoying their shared day and preparing for tonight.
I pass the afternoon at home, not needing to hunt today. Yesterday I took down a deer, a young buck. Hunting solo for the past year, I haven't killed a deer in quite a while, but this one was a special request for the dinner party Mort insisted on throwing tonight in honor of his sons. Peeta and Marko volunteered to haul it home, and we even have a butcher in town again. Porter, the rebel soldier from District 10 Mort had befriended during the war, had nothing left to come home to after the fighting had ended. He had been a widower for many years; his wife died of grief soon after their daughter was taken by the Games when she was thirteen, and his grown son had died early on in the war trying to defend District 10. Twelve, he decided, would be a fresh start.
As the sun lowers in the sky, I take my time getting ready for the party, putting on a simple dress and even braiding a ribbon into my hair. Walking into Peeta's kitchen, it seems as if I'm the last person to arrive. Greasy Sae and Mort are finishing the cooking, Haymitch and Porter are playing a game of cards in the corner, and Peeta and Marko are in the living room with several of their friends, new and old: Mica Hamilton, Thom and Allen, and Aimee, who has just recently arrived from District 13 and whom I haven't met yet.
Peeta's face lights up when he sees me standing in the doorway to the room. "I was just saying I should go get you. Dinner's almost ready," he says in greeting. "You look beautiful." He kisses my cheek before taking my hand and leading me into the living room.
Peeta hands me a glass of the same golden, fizzy liquid the others are drinking, and I soon find myself more at ease and begin to enjoy the party. Aimee is sweet, if a bit shy. But she has a warm smile, and I decide I like her. She and Allen will be married next month. We've all been invited to the toasting. They said they would do it sooner, but they're waiting until after the dust has settled, both literally and figuratively, on the groundbreaking of the medicine factory.
The bubbly wine Peeta had given me is sweet and light, much better than the few I've tried previously. Mort had special ordered several bottles of it for the occasion, and he insists on refilling all of our glasses as we gather around the dining room table. Before, I hadn't liked the fuzzy feeling the alcohol had given me, but tonight it makes me giddy, as if the little bubbles float through me, making me effervescent.
We all enjoy a rich dinner of venison steaks, vegetables, gravy, bread, and wine. After we eat, the cake is brought out. Peeta has outdone himself; it's absolutely beautiful. The cake is spring itself, with trees and flowers seeming to sprout out of lush grass so detailed it's nearly impossible to believe it's all frosting. Best of all, tiny frosted mockingjays in flight are suspended around the cake. On closer inspection, I can barely discern the thin silver wires that hold them up. I'm not the only one who finds the effect breathtaking.
"Oh, it's so pretty!" gasps Aimee.
"Seriously, do we eat it or frame it?" jokes Marko.
"Eat, please," say Peeta, and although it's a shame to cut such a work of art into slices, we all deem it worthwhile upon finding that the cake tastes every bit as good as it looks. Well, all of us except Haymitch, who bypasses the dessert for a full wineglass.
I need no more wine; the combining factors of the night have intoxicated me enough. When the topic of the medicine factory comes up again, I suddenly remember that this means Plutarch's visit is imminent. But this thought no longer plagues me like it once did. Tonight, buoyed by the revelry of those around me, I finally feel as though I have a plan. I still need to sort out the details and make some phone calls, and I'm scared to death of the whole thing. But I know what I have to do, whether it's rational or not..
"Hi, Katniss," says a soft voice. Pulled from my thoughts, I find Aimee sitting next to me. The cake is finished and we're the last two left at the table as the men head for the living room. I smile and nod to Peeta to let him know we'll join them soon.
"Hey, Aimee," I say.
"I just…I guess I just wanted to say thank you." To me? What for? "When you killed Coin, a lot of us in 13 were grateful, actually. My father, he's the deputy mayor there now, he worked for her. He says you did the right thing, that we're all better off now."
There's truth in her sincerity. I didn't know there was such an anti-Coin sentiment in 13. "I...I guess you're welcome," is my lame reply. What does one say to being thanked for murder? But her comment, all the same, lets me know my forthcoming plan is the right thing to do. "Let's go have tea," I say, and we join the others.
After we've seen our guests off, bid good night to Marko and Mort, and made sure Haymitch stumbles back into the right house, Peeta and I are practically racing each other back to my front door, which he pins me to the back of as soon as it's closed behind us, kissing me ravenously and kneading my body as if it's dough in his hands.
I practically jump into his arms as he bends his knees to pick me up. He carries me up the stairs and we fall into bed, my legs still wrapped around his waist as Peeta's lips leave mine only long enough to pull my dress over my head. In contrast to the tender, slow pace of the morning, tonight I am caught up in Peeta's intensity and passion, and fueled by wine and desire and love and perhaps even a hint of hope, I allow myself to succumb to it all, to feel waves of pleasure pulse though my body like never before.
But after, when Peeta sleeps soundly at my side, I lie wide awake, gripped by silent sobs. Whether they are tears of triumph or trepidation, I have no idea.