The next morning, I wake up early. Peeta finally came to bed around three, and he's sleeping soundly beside me. His body is curled into mine. His hair is a mess from sleeping on it wet. Usually folded in a neat stack, his clothes are crumpled in a pile on the floor of my bathroom. He doesn't have any sleeping clothes in here, so he's just wearing his boxers. Everything about him is warm and soft. I look at his face, trace his jawline with my eyes. He never grows any facial hair. I think they did something before our Games, because it's been months and he's certainly old enough to grow some. I'm not sure why they don't do the same treatment on my legs, but instead they insist on covering me head-to-toe in hot wax and ripping the hair from my body like they're pulling a stubborn weed from the earth.
Peeta stirs and I feel guilty waking him up. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. If I'm awake, he won't go back to sleep, and he's barely been in bed two or three hours. He seemed rejuvenated when he came to sleep last night. He seemed better. Like he had some control again. Peeta stretches his body out and drapes an arm over my waist. I feel his breathing slow and I let him pull me back under.
Effie and Haymitch don't come get us for breakfast. Peeta has never been a late sleeper. He told me his dad wakes the boys up at five to bake for a few hours before school. This morning, though, he's out like a light. Eventually I wake again, sneak my way out of bed, and head downstairs. I smile at Haymitch and Effie, then fill a plate full of fruit and muffins before plodding back up to my room. I set the food on my nightstand and take a shower. I have no idea what we are doing today. The feast at the President's Mansion is tomorrow. According to Effie, it is the event of the year.
When I come out of the bathroom, Peeta's sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes, his legs swung over the side. "Hey," he says sleepily, a lazy smile on his mouth. "Do you know where my leg is?"
"Um," I look around the room fruitlessly, until I finally drop to my knees and spy it under the bed. I lie on my belly and pull it out. "Do you want some food?" I gesture to the plate as I hand him his leg. He snaps it into place.
"Yeah, that's great." Peeta takes some pineapple and sucks the juice from his fingers. There are certain foods we've only ever had in the Capitol. The two of us cannot get enough of citrus fruits. Back home we feel too guilty to have them, even though as Victors we are wealthy enough to have them imported. It feels greedy. It feels dirty to have limes when there are children starving to death in the Seam.
There's a soft knock on my door. Peeta throws on his paint covered clothes from last night and I answer. Effie stands in the hallway, tapping her toe. Normally she just barges in, but she waits expectantly outside, asking silently for an invitation. I swing my arm and she flutters past me.
"Agenda for today children! Katniss, you will be with your prep team for most of the day in advance of tomorrow's event at the Mansion," Effie orders, eyes on her schedule.
"All day? We've been on tour for weeks, I can't possibly need that much work," I complain. Effie looks at me as if I'm speaking gibberish before turning her attention to Peeta.
"Peeta, you have a fitting today," she states.
"With Portia?" he asks, pulling apart the muffin and popping a bite in his mouth.
"No, at the hospital," she answers matter-of-factly.
Peeta's face looks perplexed for a second, and then realization spreads across it. I'm still lost. "For my leg?" Peeta asks excitedly, and she nods. He must have told her last night. Effie certainly has her ways. Peeta jumps to his feet and kisses Effie's cheek. She pretends to hate the impropriety of his affection, but her blushing smile gives her away. Peeta rushes out of the room past her, then, as if forgetting something, leans back into the doorframe.
"Bye!" he says to me with a huge grin on his face.
"Get out of here!" I say, smiling widely before I chuck a pillow at the door. He dodges it swiftly and exits. "Thank you, Effie," I add.
"Anything for my victors!" she tweets, as if it's no big deal, and clicks out of my room. This wild-wigged woman is weaseling her way into my heart.
The one good thing about an entire day of prep is that I get to spend a lot of it with Cinna. We spend most of the morning talking about tomorrow. He gives me a rundown on who's who, and gives me talking points. Fashion trends to recognize and compliment. After a while, I realize I've never asked him about himself – his life, his family. We've spent hours on the phone together but it's usually about me. When I do, though, he gets reclusive. He changes the topic to Haymitch's sobriety. We wonder if it will last. We don't think he's cheated at all, but he's only been sober a few days. I assume the moment we are back in 12 he'll be under the table.
Cinna agrees. "Especially without Effie to keep an eye on him," he adds with a wink, flashing his gold eyeliner.
"Hey, tomorrow... Can I have gold eyes like you?" I ask.
"Of course," Cinna replies, a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
"Lay back," Octavia commands before she covers my eyes with a hot towel.
"I just want to feel like you're there with me," I say quietly.
"I'll be there," Cinna replies, grabbing my hand. But he knows what I mean. Tomorrow we see Snow. Tomorrow we find out if we've done enough. Tomorrow I know if I've saved Gale. Prim. I want him with me, even when he can't be.
My pre-prep session ends right before dinner. The food is already on the table by the time Cinna and I make it downstairs. Peeta strides in the door and his lack of a limp is immediately perceptible. At least to me anyway. When Peeta first got his leg, it took a while to get full command of it. By the time he was finally used to it, he'd had a growth spurt. Even though he could manually adjust the height slightly, it never really fit exactly right. Or so he tells me. Most of that time we weren't speaking. Now he moves like it's a part of him. He feels more whole, I can tell just by looking at him.
Dinner is unusually pleasant, given what is at stake tomorrow. It's as if we're a normal family. We've sort of begun to feel like one, anyway. My prep team tries to file out unobtrusively after they've packed their things, but I call them over and they join us for dinner. Everyone claps when dessert is served. The chef has outdone himself for our last meal. The dessert is on fire, literally, but when you cut inside there is a center of ice cream still frozen at its core. It's really magnificent, and Peeta eyes me gaping at it, mouth wide.
"I just don't understand how the ice cream doesn't melt," I say. He kisses my cheek, and it flames red under his lips. I'm okay with all the fake public displays of affection, but that kiss was real and I'm quickly straightening my napkin on my lap. He grins at me wickedly.
"I'll explain later," he whispers in my ear, and my blush only deepens. I don't think he knows the effect he has on me, because as we enter our bedroom and he closes his door behind him, I shove him back into it forcefully. I'm not being gentle tonight. It's not the time for slow, delicious kissing. My skin is on fire. Peeta reacts in kind. I am pulling and tugging until I rip his shirt over his head. I drag my fingernails down his back and he groans into me.
"What brought this on?" Peeta asks, panting slightly in a way that makes everything inside me swirl. My hands move to his head and I massage his scalp with my nails as I stroke his bottom lip with my tongue. I can feel the muscles in his stomach quivering.
"I'm on fire," I breathe, and he scoops me into his arms and carries me into the bathroom, his mouth never leaving mine. He kicks off his shoes and steps inside the shower. He's only wearing pants, but I'm still fully dressed. He turns on the faucet and the water drenches us in the sudden rain shower.
"You're still wearing your shoes," he whispers in my ear, and I feel him grin against me.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know the etiquette to standing in the shower with your clothes on," I whisper back, and we stop and look at each other. Everything is quiet and still, except for the sounds of the water hammering against our clothes and the walls. Normally when Peeta and I share an inside joke or a shared experience, it's always of something terrible that we've survived, but this isn't. We are remembering a good moment. We're building something together here.
It's absolutely terrifying.
He smiles, but my heart slams into my chest, kicking and screaming and trying to beat its way out of me. What am I doing? I am building a life with him. I'm making it so that we are so intertwined that even the thought of losing him makes my mouth dry with fear. I can't swallow. Peeta notices the shift in me and tries to meet my eyes, but I stare at my feet, my shoes drowning in the water that has yet to escape down the drain. I feel like I'm drowning. I want to escape down the drain too, run out to the river and float to the sea. Drift alone in the water. Peeta feels me pulling away from him.
"Katniss, don't do this," he whispers, pleading. My eyes finally meet his. I can feel the panic ricocheting back and forth between us like an insect stuck between two panes of glass – him begging me to stay, me telling myself to go. I swallow hard and focus on his eyes. Stay. Stay.
"I love you," I say quietly. It's not me expressing my love to him. It's stating a fact. My clothes are wet. Your eyes are blue. I'm in love with you.
"I know," he says back. I listen to the drops. I focus on the water.
"It scares me to death," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.
"I know," he replies as he moves his hands to my face. As he steps in closer.
"If I leave someday, if I run…" I lose my words. I don't know what I'm trying to say. "Come get me."
"Okay," he agrees quietly.
"I mean it. Come get me. Because this is where I'm supposed to be, okay? This is where I want to be," I press insistently. I don't trust myself. But I trust him.
"I'll come get you," he moves his mouth softly into mine.
"Because I'm supposed to be with you, okay?" I state, tears running down my cheeks.
"Because you're supposed to be with me, I got it," he repeats into my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck as tight as I can manage. "Come get me," I breathe.
"I will," he promises, wrapping his arms around me. We let the water run for a long time, standing there, holding each other. Kissing softly, finding air, finding spaces where we fit. After a while, I whisper to him what Haymitch said. I tell him about the rebellion. I tell him about my dad. I see Peeta's jaw stiffen. Snow is the reason my mom retreated. Snow is the reason Prim and I almost starved to death. Snow almost took me from him, before we even had a chance.
We agree to get through tomorrow. We'll talk on the way home.
Peeta shuts off the water and pulls me into him. The water drips slowly from our bodies as we hold each other.
"I've been thinking a lot about my dad," I say.
"I bet," he replies back.
That night I dream of nothing but explosions. I wake up screaming again and again, until finally I give up altogether. I rest my head on Peeta's chest, and we both lie there awake, wanting the night to be over, but dreading the day.