You guys are amazing. Your reviews keep me going and brighten my smile so much. Thank you!
I do not own the Hunger Games.
After Peeta's asleep, she tiptoes downstairs for a glass of water. She's exhausted, confused by what just happened. Jealousy brings something out in her, something out in him, that she's not sure they're quite able to handle. She's the girl on fire, an inferno that she has no basis for controlling. But he's the calm one, the decent one, the only Victor who was ever a truly good person. So why isn't he the one…calling for a ceasefire? Because while she loves his skin on hers, his lips all over her, she's not sure about sex. She doesn't want to deny him anything, but…and she loves him. And he loves her, that's a given. But…they're so young. Children, really. But they're not, haven't been children in a long time. Their childhoods are over.
It's the first time in a very long time that Katniss genuinely misses her mother. She wants to call her, ask about this, because there is no one to give her advice or guidance. The idea of going to Haymitch is laughable. But her mother couldn't face the ashes and the ghosts. Her mother doesn't need her, doesn't even want her. So how can she call and ask about…this? She never talked about boys with her mother. She never really talked about anything important. And giving herself to Peeta this way, admitting to him that she loves him…She sighs, finishes her water.
What she really needs to do is figure out what she wants. Because while she's incredibly good at being wanted, she's not very good at doing the wanting herself. She wants him, sure, but it's nothing compared to the inferno raging in him, equal parts love and lust and…something else, something she's never seen in anyone else. No one loved Haymitch like her loved her. In fact, she's sure that no one loves anyone as much as he loves her. That's what's kept them alive, all this time, really. Not her ferocity or courage or allure, but Peeta's quiet, relentless love.
She sighs, again, and heads into the studio, pulling the sheet off of his paintings of her. She's determined to sit here, go through them one by one, and begin to understand what it is he sees in her, why he loves her. Because, in their honest moments, they both know she's not particularly pretty and she's quite a piece of work.
She starts at the beginning: a portrait of her as a child, with the two braids in the red dress. There's a bird perched on the window, cocking its head as if listening to her. And the next one: Katniss lying in the cave, a small smile on her face. There's love and devotion in every brush stroke, but it doesn't bring her any closer to understanding. It's the next painting that does that. Because the next painting is of Prim.
Not Prim as a child, the little girl Peeta saw every day at school. No, this is not the little girl whose name was called at the Reaping. This is her sister as a young woman, the girl who risked her life to bring medicine to children, the girl who Katniss loved more than anyone. Prim is lying on her back in the lake…but Prim never went to the lake, was never taught to swim, and she's confused before she realizes that Peeta wouldn't know about the lake either. No, he's merely painted her in a lake to effectively put out the flames that ended her life. Katniss feels tears on her cheeks, but she can't remember feeling this happy since Prim died. This is how she wants to picture her little sister: not calling to her, blood on her hands, shirttail untucked the moment before she explodes into flames, but lying on her back, smiling, at peace in still waters with no Games and no rebellion to worry about. This is how she'll picture Prim from now on: as a young woman at rest, perhaps too early, but at rest nonetheless.
"Shit!" She hears his voice before he touches her, pulling her away from the painting. "Katniss, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for you to see that, I know it must upset you, I meant to put it with the paintings from the Games and I forgot because I was distracted by all the people…" He's staring at her in alarm, can't seem to read the expression on her face.
"Please, please, say something?" She can't, though: can't tell him that this hasn't upset her, merely given her the most amazing gift. Almost as good as his love. She has no words, was never good with words anyways, so she kisses him. He kisses back tentatively, still expecting the backlash: anger, tears, frustration…
"You gave me back my little sister," she whispers. "She's not…she's not on fire anymore."
Peeta looks at her, gently cups her face.
"She's not," he agrees. "She's happy now, wherever she is."
She kisses him hard, passionately, and her mind is made up without her really even having to consider it. She wants him, all of him, right now. She doesn't want to wait to figure out if she needs him or if he needs her, if they could survive without each other or not. For now, that isn't what she needs to know. She needs to know that she is in the arms of the only man who could bring Prim back to her, the only person who truly understands what losing Prim meant. No one else could ever ease this pain.
He responds to her with enthusiasm, lifting her up, and she wraps her legs around him as he carries her up the stairs, lays her down gently on her bed. He is tentative, as he takes off her clothes, waiting for her to pull away. She's given him good reason for this, she supposes, but there will be no pulling away tonight. She can't remember the last time she wanted something physically and emotionally at the same time, but she wants this, wants him in her body and her heart, and she plans on keeping him there for a long time.
Reviews make me smile.