Hello all! Sorry for the long wait, life kinda got distracting and I'm still figuring out this website, but here's chapter two! I guess I forgot to mention in the beginning that every other chapter switches from Katniss to Peeta's POVs (I kind of just uploaded Ch 1 right away out of nerves haha). Peeta's one of my favorite characters so this chapter was fun to write. Thanks to my friends for reading and encouraging me to do this, even if I did shove it in your faces haha. Enough of my ramblings- enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games trilogy, it is the property of Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate Entertainment.
Peeta Mellark
I wake in a cold sweat; the coughs shake my body and scratch at my dry throat. The sheets stick to my exposed flesh. I fumble around the bedside table for a light, for something to eliminate the darkness that seems to enclose me with every second that passes by. Finally finding the switch, the light is blinding. My eyes struggle to adjust as I squint to find my alarm clock. It's only two thirty in the morning. That can't be right. That would mean I've only been asleep for an hour. I lay back into bed and run my hands through my drenched hair and try to regain a steady pace in my heart beat. I must have had a panic attack while I was asleep. That would have been the first one in years. The empty feeling in my stomach ached of a nonexistent hunger, my chest felt concave and my head throbbed under my hands. The worst pain of all was in my left leg. Or at least, what was left of it.
The panic attacks began after the accident when I was nine. At first, I didn't know what was happening. I would feel the tightening of my chest, and then my body would shake viciously. Suddenly, I wouldn't be able to breathe and at any second I thought I would die. My brothers would have to take me somewhere quiet until the episodes passed. The only connection to the attacks was my mother. Should I even call her that? I think bitterly. What kind of mother scars her children? What kind of mother abuses her children physically, mentally, and emotionally? My older brothers, Mason and Reese, got the better end of the stick- they did not suffer as badly as I did. I was the rotten apple in Mara's eye, her favorite to throw around and slap. My father, Bannock, was too busy with the bakery to keep an eye out for his boys, only protecting us when he could. Mara would even slap my father occasionally. I never understood why my mother hated me so much, or why she called me a mistake, useless and undeserving. Was it because after two boys, I wasn't a daughter? Maybe I was a mistake, maybe I was never wanted. Nevertheless, the lack of limb below my knee was the only proof I had that I was the least favorite of her children.
Thinking of Mara always left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I glance back at the clock. Three in the morning. The throbbing pain of my left leg pulls me back into focus. I pull myself into a sitting position, pausing only to remove my cold, wet t-shirt. A cold breath of wind from the open window strokes my exposed flesh causing me to shudder violently. Putting on my prosthesis and crossing the room to close the window was too much of a daunting task. I feel too drained, too emotionally and physically exhausted. The mere thought of it causes the air to escape me. The panic attack took too much out of me. I wrench aside the comforter and sheets to examine my leg. I will never grow accustomed to the phantom limb pain, even after sixteen years without part of my leg. The pain was at its worst a couple of years after the amputation. I would lay awake at night, trying to scratch an itch that wasn't there; to wake up a part of me that would never return. It was unbearable. I couldn't run, I could barely walk, I was useless, just as Mara had said to me so many times. It was nothing a child should ever endure.
I rubbed the aching nub below my knee gently, hissing slightly as I accidentally hit a tender nerve along the scar line. I coax the feeling back into my remaining leg, applying gentle pressure in aching spots. Finally the pain subsides and I glance over at the clock once more. An hour has passed since my panic attack. The bakery opens in three. My eyelids suddenly feel as though they weigh eighty pounds and the exhaustion hits me like a freight train. The pillows and sheets greet my back and sleep finally takes over.
"Why don't you come over to the office whenever you're free and we can take a look at your leg, Peeta. I think I know what it could be, but I want to make sure. Are you experiencing any discomfort when you put on the socket?" Dr. Jackson asked over the phone. I tuck my phone closer against my neck as I attempt to balance a large plate of fresh strawberry scones in my hands. The new recipe Reese and I created seemed to be a major hit among customers. This is the third batch of the day and the morning is still young. I smile at the customers munching on their baked goods, seated in wrought iron chairs against the wall enjoying their breakfasts. The Mellark Family Bakery has been in business for about 100 years and has been in the same original building since then on 1213 Seam Street in downtown Blue Mountain. The old brick building gave it a charming, warm feeling as you step into the bakery, and the smell of fresh bread has seeped into the walls and floors. The big, open window front allowed the shop to be filled with sunlight. I wipe my hands on my apron and turn back into the large kitchen in the back of the building. I take a seat on a stool against the counter, giving a rest for my aching limb and eye the timer on the oven. Just twenty more minutes until the banana nut bread will be ready to cool. I turn my attention back to the phone call.
"Um, no, not that I know of, Dr. Jackson. The socket is fine; I may need to replace the liner. It just has been acting up more than usual." I glance down at my leg, the prosthesis hidden underneath my pants. The pain from last night has made appearances all throughout the morning. I wince slightly as a new wave of pain shoots through my leg.
"Very well," she says. I hear her mumble off something to the receptionist. "Can you make it at 3? I have a brief opening between patients." I confirm the time, hoping Rue, my only assistant besides Reese, would be okay with me being gone for a couple hours. Placing the phone on the counter, I rise from the stool and make my way to the pantry, my limp now more noticeable than ever. When I was younger, the limp was awful and embarrassing, and it grew worse the more flustered I became, especially out in public. Now, after wearing better prosthetic limbs and countless physical therapy sessions, the limp went unnoticed to the untrained eye. I gather the ingredients for chocolate cupcakes- requested by a very frazzled mother with a fifteen year old daughter- and place them in a large bowl while I re-tie the apron around my waist.
A loud clang from the backdoor started me out of my thoughts, causing flour to fly everywhere. I cough as the flour makes its way into my nose and mouth.
"Baby brother!" Reese called in a booming voice, carrying sacks of sugar and flour over his shoulders and slamming the back door behind him. My older brother clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder and reached around to grab a blueberry muffin cooling on the rack behind me. I scowl and cross my arms. Reese grins and takes a large bite. I give him a reproachful look. Flour had settled in his short blonde hair, but he didn't seem to mind as he gleefully peeled back the thin foil.
"Oh come on, Peet! Lighten up! It's a beautiful day, and it's only ten in the morning!" he exclaimed, popping the rest of the muffin into his large mouth and smiled. I shrug, turning my back to him and begin measuring out the ingredients. "It's just your typical Friday, Reese. Just another day at the bakery," I call out to him as he places the bags of sugar and flour in the storage room by the back door. His bark of laughter echoes from inside the room. He exits, wiping his large hands on the front of his black Mellark Family Bakery t-shirt.
"Just your typical Friday? Peeta, Peeta, Peeta. See, this is where you're wrong! Tonight's my date with a gorgeous trainer with the fantastic ass," says Reese, leaning his back against the counter where I stand, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I grunt in response and he rolls his eyes.
"Be excited for me, baby brother! I've been eyeing her ever since we saw her at the farmer's market a few weeks ago." He cracks a few eggs into the mixer, finally lending a hand. It's true. All I have heard the past couple of weeks is of the 'super hot trainer' who owned the newest gym in town, and whose name I finally learned to be Katniss Everdeen. But there was no denying it, she is gorgeous. I will never admit to Reese that she has been occupying my thoughts since then. The way her black hair cascaded in waves along her back or how nicely her black jeans hugged her perfectly toned legs, how her lips curled back to bite into a fresh organic apple, or even how the sun made her olive skin glow. Thinking of her always brought a rush of desire, and I cough awkwardly, managing to adjust myself inconspicuously. The fact that my older brother managed to talk to her first annoyed me. After his visit to her gym, she was all he talked about. Then again, I was the one who suggested he do something about it than continue to pester me. I regretted it as soon as he came home and saw the smug look on his face. I shake my head to try to rid the bitter thoughts. It was only fair. I did nothing to seek her out. I pass him the dry ingredients just in time to pull the bread out of the oven.
"Hey, Peet?" Reese asks, his voice an octave higher than usual. He pours the ingredients into the electric mixer, placing it on its slowest setting and turns to me. I place the bread on the cooling rack above the muffins, the wonderful smell of banana and cinnamon filling the kitchen. I raise an eyebrow as I take off the oven mitts.
"Oh no," I say, shaking my head. I carry the now ready to eat muffins out front. Reese scrambles behind me and holds open the door. I smile at Rue, who must have come in while I was busy with Reese.
"Hey, there, Rue," I call out as she makes her way over the counter. She throws me a smile as she clocks in. Reese grins at her and quickly turns his attention back to me.
"Here, let me get that for you, baby brother," he says, snatching the tray of muffins from my hands and begins to place them in the glass display case on the counter. I raise an eyebrow at Rue, who only laughs in disbelief, her dark brown curls bouncing as her tiny frame shook.
"Since when do you ever help around here, Reese?" she says, chuckling as she rearranges a plate of frosted sugar cookies. Reese frowns. "I always help out!" he says, feigning being hurt at her words. Rue and I roll our eyes and I walk back into the kitchen, Reese hot at my heels.
"Hey, Peeta…" He grabs my shoulder and turns me around and my prosthesis pinches the skin of my nub through the liner. I wince and adjust my posture. Annoyed, I bend over and rub some feeling back to my leg. Reese looks at me apologetically.
"Sorry. It was just that I was wondering if you do me a huge favor for my date tonight," he explained, going back to check on the mixer. I place the dirty bowls in the sink and wipe my hands on the kitchen towel I keep hung over my shoulder. I sigh. "What do you want, Reese?"
"Aw, don't come at me like that Peet. I just was hoping you'd cook something nice. You know I don't cook as well as you do and I didn't think to set up any reservations." I silently placed the cupcake trays next to him. So, that's what he wanted. I sigh once more. I would much rather cook for her if I was the one trying to woo her. I immediately feel guilty as I see the desperation on my brother's face and the concern in his blue eyes. I scratch the scruff of whiskers on my face, trying to decide if I wanted to waste the better part of my evening cooking for Reese. I forgot to shave, I realize.
"Okay. Are you bringing her over?" I ask, helping my brother put the cupcake trays filled with chocolate batter into the oven. I think of the mess that has accumulated around the living room and kitchen from this past week. No way would he have time to clean up, because I sure as hell was offering no more help. He grunts and shuts the oven door and wipes his brows from the heat radiating off the metal. "I, uh, I don't know yet. I thought I'd just bring it over to her place or maybe set up a table here after hours," he says. If he brings her here I will most likely see her again…
"Alright," I say, glancing at the clock on the old brick wall. Eleven forty-five. I look over at Reese, who eyes me warily. I shrug. "I'm going to need you and Rue to mind the shop while I go see Dr. Jackson around three o'clock. I shouldn't be too long. I'll get the groceries on my way out and cook here. What time is your date?" Reese's smile of gratitude quickly turns into a frown.
"You okay, Peet? Is your leg acting up again?" he asks, eyebrows pulled together in concern. I nod but shrug it off.
"Just a check up, big brother," I say, smiling warmly. Leave it to Reese to activate 'Big Brother Mode'. He was a baby himself when I was born, only two years old but acting as if he raised me himself. And I guess in a way he had, along with our eldest brother Mason. Mason would take me to the doctor and Reese was there for a majority of my physical therapy sessions after the amputation. He protected me from our mother during her worst fits of rage, which were usually aimed at me. I may not exactly be up to cook for him, especially since I can't seem to get his date out of my mind, but I'll do it for him. He smiles and slaps the counter lightly.
"You're the man, Peet," he exclaims. "Shoot me a text after you get out and let me know how it went." I nod, wiping the counter free of the flour and egg mixture that flew out of the electric mixer. "The date is at seven, so that gives me an hour to shower and pick her up. She said doesn't drive much," he explains, prepping for another batch of cupcakes. That strikes me as odd. To each their own, I guess.
Reese and I finish baking the commissioned order, leaving the frosting for later after I return from my appointment. I pass the time thinking of different meals for tonight. The thought of Katniss eating and enjoying my cooking stokes a primal fire deep within me. Thinking of her closing her eyes and moaning from satisfaction after taking a bite, licking her lips in anticipation for more… I want to make her moan for completely different reasons. Thinking of my brother's date in sexual situations made for an awkward, semi-erect afternoon as I rushed around the bakery, baking breads and pies, helping Rue with customers and finally, it was time to go. I reassure Reese that I will let him know what the doctor said and make my way to my car.
The drive to Dr. Jackson's office was short. I walk into the modern building and greet the receptionist with a warm smile. The young woman blushed and buzzed for the orthopedic surgeon that I had arrived. "She'll be with you in just a second, Mr. Mellark." I sit in an uncomfortable, over stuffed armchair and pass the time glancing at the magazine covers. Five minutes later, a nurse appears and leads me to the back of the building and into an examining room. He hands me a robe to change in and exits the room. I strip out of my pants quickly, leaving my shirt on but yet I was still shivering in the cold. I rub my hands along my arms to generate heat while I wait for the middle aged woman whom I've known for so long. After a short while Dr. Jackson enters the room and greets me with a smile.
"Hello, Peeta. Long time no see! Now, let's take a look at what we're dealing with here." She always got straight to business, a quality in Dr. Jackson that I really enjoyed. I reach down and detach the prosthesis and strip the lining around my stump. She rolls a stool over to sit in front of me and grabs my leg to study it closely.
"Sixteen years and it still looks fantastic," she says, readjusting her glasses with a gloved hand. "I did a great job, didn't I? My best transtibial amputation to date." Dr. Jackson winks at me and I smile. She preformed the amputation herself so long ago, and I've had my regular checkups with her since then. She inspects the amputation site, poking and rubbing in all the places that hurt. I sat on the cold examining table, lifting and turning my leg when commanded. Finally, she nods and looks up.
"It looks like it is just some nerve pain. It happens with a lot of amputees over time. Nothing to really worry about yet, Peeta. We will treat it with some morphling and hopefully it'll go away soon. I'll write a prescription for the pain killers and send it over to the pharmacy and you can pick it up later." Dr. Jackson turns and pulls a package of lining out of a drawer and hands them to me. "Here are some liners; hopefully it'll add some more comfort and ease the pain between strides."
"Thanks, Doc," I say, slowly wrapping the new liner around my nub carefully. I place it in the socket of the prosthesis and carefully latch on the bindings. Dr. Jackson looks on, nodding with approval. I bend my knee and watch as the prosthesis follows with resentment. I can barely remember what life was like before thirty percent of my leg was removed. How many football and rugby games have I spent cheering on my older brothers as I sat in the stands, unable to participate? How often was I stared at by the people around town, pointed and laughed at by the other kids at Sunday school or in the church services my mother dragged us to our whole lives? I shake my head, trying to rid these negative thoughts. Now, at the age of twenty-five, and with the help of different prosthetic limbs I can run and walk better and have more of a life than I did when I was younger. There is no need for bitterness, what's done is done, and there is no one to blame but her. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Peeta, I think to myself bitterly.
"How are you, Peeta? I haven't seen you in so long," Dr. Jackson says, bringing me back to the present. "How's the bakery?"
"I'm doing pretty well, thank you for asking. The bakery is picking up a lot of business now that Reese and I have changed some recipes around. Who knew so many people were allergic to gluten?" I say, managing to get a chuckle out of the older woman. Dr. Jackson tucks her hands into the pockets of her medical coat.
"That's good to know. I was surprised to hear that Mara passed it along to you boys. She managed that shop with an iron fist," she smiles. Oh, more than you know. "How is your mother doing, by the way? I hear she's over at Cedar Hills?" she asks, leaning against the door. I shuffle in my seat awkwardly. Discussing my mother wasn't my favorite topic in the world, especially these days, after what happened to Mason and my father. It's difficult to talk up Mara, like she was the best mother in the world.
"Yes, she's doing fine there. Her arthritis has been getting worse, especially in her hands so she's getting the help she needs. She took Mason and my father's death pretty hard… We all did…"
The news of my eldest brother's death two years ago shocked us all. The day my father opened the door to find two men in uniform carrying a flag, Bannock understood what had happened. It had hit him hardest- Mason and our father were best friends. I was away at the culinary school two hours out of Blue Mountain when I got the call, and I rushed home, not believing a word he said. Reese, on the other hand, grabbed his keys and drove off into the mountains for a few days, needing to be alone. We understood, at least, my father and I did. Mara did not come out of her bedroom. It wasn't until that evening when she finally walked out with her nose in the air and eyes red, mouth in a hard line and headed to her study to make phone calls. We gathered in the church a week later for Mason's funeral. My mother and father then threw themselves into working harder at the bakery. My father especially, which must have been the cause of the heart attack he died from last summer. The day I watched his casket get lowered into the ground was one of the worst days of my life. The bakery was his heart and soul. I could not imagine walking into the shop without him waving me over to help him make the raisin bread he loved so much. He protected my brothers and I from our mother whenever he could. I felt helpless, like a small child afraid that Mara would come after me again.
By then my mother's hands were getting worse and worse. Finally, after Reese and I's graduation, she handed over the bakery to us. "Peeta," Mara had said, signing the paperwork at the lawyer's office with a shaking hand. "By the Grace of God, don't you dare ruin this like you ruined everything else." The way she looked at me was filled with rage and loathing. I grabbed the forms and walked out of the office. Reese was the only one to convince her to move into the assisted living facility outside of town, since we were too busy with the demands from the bakery and, quite honestly, had no desire to help her any more.
"I'm so sorry, Peeta. I was devastated when I heard about Mason, and then your father, oh, that was tough. Bannock was so kind. He had raised three fine young men." Dr. Jackson shook her head sadly. She opened the door and looked back up at me, and gave me a small smile. "I'll get your prescription ready, Peeta. Do tell Reese I said hello." I nod and she disappeared to leave me to change. I grab my jeans and carefully pull it over the prosthesis, and then my other leg. I hop off the examining table and bend over, slipping my prosthetic foot into my shoe first. Folding the paper robe neatly, I exit the room and make my way to the front door.
It's five o'clock when I finally arrive back at the bakery. I pull into the alley and park next to Rue's bright red Volkswagen Beetle behind the old brick building. The fast paced music filling my car vibrated the seats and steering wheel as I remained seated, tapping along and enjoying the song. I glance over at the small paper sack sitting in the passenger seat and snatch it, tearing it open. Inside was a brightly colored orange bottle filled with tiny, circular morphling pills. I pop the bottle open and take one as directed, dry swallowing the bitter tasting pill. Sighing, I turn off my iPod and engine and open the car door. I pull out my prosthesis slowly, the pain getting worse as the day went on. I slide out, careful not to hit Rue's 'precious baby' with my door. Why'd you park so close, idiot? I thought grumpily. The closer it got to Reese's date with Katniss, the more agitated and nervous I got. As if it's your date. Quit acting as if it is. The thought of seeing her again sent a shiver down my spine. I make my way around the car and pop open the trunk. Grabbing the groceries in both hands, I let it shut itself and trudge up the back stairs leading into the kitchen. I kick the door with my good foot, hoping Reese or Rue were back there and could hear me struggling to open the door. Rue's face appears through the screen door and props it open.
"Thanks," I say gratefully as I pass her. I place the bags on one of the tables and begin to take out each item one by one. Rue places her hand on mine, stopping me. I look up and see her smile warmly.
"Let me help you, Peeta," she says, grabbing the produce and setting them in a bowl to rinse. "You've had a long day. Reese told me your leg was acting up again."
"Hey, thank you, Rue," I say gladly, reaching under the table to find a cutting board. I glance over at the petite 20 year old standing near the sink, gently rinsing the asparagus in her tiny hands. Her purple employee t-shirt looked well against her pretty hazelnut complexion, I notice.
"You look good in purple," I comment, rubbing my special dill and lemon pepper seasoning into the chicken. I slice thin slits along the top of the chicken and poke more of the seasoning mixture inside. Rue walks over and sets the bowl of freshly washed spinach, romaine lettuce and asparagus next to the cutting board. She bumps her small hips against mine and grins.
"Thank you, Peeta. You are ever so much the gentleman," she says and swats my forearm playfully. Rue's kind and graceful demeanor brought tranquility to the bakery, something Reese and I definitely needed at times when we were butting heads or being too rowdy. She was the little sister we never had, having known her from the religious home schooling community we group up in when we were younger. Hiring her was one of the best decisions we've made since running the business ourselves.
"Where's Reese?" I have not heard my brother's booming voice since I walked in. Rue rolled her golden eyes. "He dipped out early. I comment on how slow it had gotten and he disappeared. He must be getting ready for his date," she says, walking towards the front of the store. I drop the chicken on the counter with a loud slap. Rue raises an eyebrow. I shake my head dismissively and turned to start the kitchen grill as she went disappeared to help a customer.
"I'll help you close once I finish back here," I call out. What a dick move, Reese, I think to myself, placing a hand over the grill to check its warmth. It was such a typical thing of him to do. "Quit thinking with your dick and think with your brain," I mutter angrily, gently placing the four chicken breasts on the grill. Reese left me to finish decorating that birthday order- eighty fucking cupcakes - plus prep the kitchen for tomorrow's breads. I'm going to be here all night, I think annoyingly. Glancing down at my leg, I silently thank Dr. Jackson for the morphling.
I walk towards the fridge to grab a carton of strawberries and the ingredients for raspberry cream tartlets as I hear the comforting sound of the chicken sizzling on the electric grill. I reach into my back pocket for my iPod and place it inside the dock Rue gave me for my birthday last year. I pick a random radio station and let the music fill the room as I work. Background noise always helps me cool down after a Reese-induced annoyance and adds to the comfort cooking can bring me. After flipping the chicken breasts over, I begin to chop at the lettuce and the stems off the spinach leaves. I toss them in a large bowl before quickly mincing the large walnuts to add on top as a garnish. I munch on strawberries as I work, careful not to eat them all and mix the sliced ones in with the greens. Course one, check. I place the bowl in the fridge to chill and go back and check on my chicken. Now golden brown on both sides, I turn them over to create the perfect row of grill marks before plating them and setting them in a warmer. Next, I quickly prepare the wild rice as the asparagus steams on the corner of the stove. The poppy seed dressing still needs to be made. I rush around the kitchen, pulling spices and oils and other ingredients from the cupboards in the small area I dedicated for my non-bread related adventures in cooking. Whisking the ingredients in a bowl, my mind wanders again to Katniss- how sexy she would look helping me bake countless treats of her choosing, wiping flour off her cute nose and tasting the sweet flavors of her mouth. Time is inching closer until she arrives with Reese, and I grow restless as the minutes pass by. Will he tell her that I was the one who cooked for her? Knowing him, there was a fifty-fifty chance of that actually happening. You never know with Reese.
Plating the chicken over the wild rice carefully, I slide a few spears of asparagus onto the plates, wiping drops of juice from the chicken off the edge of the plate, giving it a clean cut look. I place those in the warmer and begin preparing the dessert. I hear Rue walk into the kitchen from behind as I stir in cream and sugar.
"Reese sent me a text and said they are on their way and asked if I could move a table and a couple chairs to the middle of the store," she scoffs, texting back a reply. "He said, 'make it look fancy'." I roll my eyes and turn to her, bringing the bowl with me as I peek into the front of the bakery. The customers have all gone home, the stores sign has been switched from 'open' to 'close' and the floors have been mopped and a majority of the breads put away. I give her a look.
"I told you I'd help you clean up," I say, feeling guilty for not keeping track of time and a little pissed off at Reese. She shrugs and flings the rag she's holding in the laundry bin by the backdoor. "It's okay, Peet. You're busy back here slaving away for Reese, it's only fair. You owe me one," Rue winks.
"Actually…" I go to the warmer and pull out two plates of the main course I had set out for Rue and I. She grins and claps her hands together eagerly. "I don't!" I smile, placing the plate on the table in the middle of the kitchen in front of her.
"Oh my goodness," she says, bending slightly to inhale the dill and lemon pepper aromas escaping from the chicken. She looks at the door to the front and back to the plate and groans. "I want nothing more than to tear into this right now but I better do as King Reese demands." With a sigh, she exits the kitchen and I return to my duty station, now kneading left over pie dough to make the base of the tartlets. She's almost here, I think to myself absentmindedly. I shiver nervously. I finally get to see her closer than when I saw her across the busy farmers market. I get to see her in my bakery, eating my food. Yeah, but with your brother. I wave that thought away and pour the cream mixture into the dough covered ramekin and set them in the fridge. Nevertheless, I get to see her again, and that's enough to keep the negative thoughts away.
Rue comes back into the kitchen and we sit together to eat. We munch on the chicken silently, waiting for Reese to barge in at any moment. The minutes tick by painfully slow. I keep my eyes fixated on the kitchen door and my ears focused on the tiny bell of the front door of the bakery, signaling their arrival. Finally, after it seems like days, I hear the soft chiming of the bell and rise from my stool. I wipe my mouth with the small kitchen towel hanging over my shoulder and head out of the kitchen, careful not to walk too fast in fear that Rue would think I was up to something. I just have to see- Oh…
Katniss Everdeen stood in the doorway, shyly tucking a strand of her wavy, raven colored hair behind her ear as she listens to Reese point out different items in the bakery. I stop behind the counter and suddenly feel rooted to the wooden floor, totally and utterly fixated on the girl in front of me. Her hair was wrapped around her head in an intricate crown of braids and a long, thin gold chain hung around her neck, settling between her small, perky breasts. She wore a loose, forest green blouse over black tights and dark brown riding boots. She hugged an old, brown leather jacket close to her as she nodded along to whatever my brother was saying. I wouldn't know, because everything became silent as soon as her grey eyes found mine. I suck in a quick breath as a shiver ran up my spine.
"Oh, Katniss! This is my brother, Peeta!" I hear Reese say distantly as they cross the room. I feel myself reach out to shake her hand, our eyes never breaking contact. I feel a shock run through me as soon as I feel her small hand in mine, her grip surprisingly firm.
"Hello, Peeta."
Two words out of her mouth, and I'm hooked.
Fuck.
Thank you all for waiting so patiently! I'll try to update as soon as I can. Also, if you wanted to know, the song Peeta was jamming out to in his car was 'Notice Me' by Balance and Composure, haha, since that was the song I was listening to when I was writing that scene. If you guys have any questions or would like to review, you can hit me up on here or on my tumblr ( ). Thanks again!