I keep my routine in check. I keep the schools, the hob, the town square, Pebbles, and the woods close to me. As long as there are students to teach and animals to kill, there is an inflow of income. I am getting much better at knitting, I am down to my last candy apple which is still sitting in the refrigerator like it's something precious, and my trees I have planted all over the district back in autumn have survived through the claws of winter. My left shoulder though, is significantly weaker; the small, round bullet wound a magnificent, weak shade of red, rough and pinched.
Old friends and acquaintances whom I have drifted away from over the years are suddenly rebuilding bridges to reach me. Effie, out of all people, called a couple of nights ago, bursting with encouragement and trendy hairstyle tips. Gale calls twice a week to ask how I'm doing, and he also makes me talk to his son, as cute as button. He keeps telling me he will let me talk to his girlfriend next time.
Word gets around very quick.
Since the unfortunate ordeal with Peeta in winter, my appetite for food has waned and deserted me. Delly saw me walking home from school one afternoon and she noticed how thin and haggard I looked. So sweet Delly has been coming over, bearing fruits and leafy vegetables to add to all the endless meat I have in stock, and she makes me watch her cook hearty meals. Sometimes I swear she mentally weighs me and then decides how much to feed me for dinner. My mother calls me as well, from time to time, leaving me messages when I happen to miss her call, and in those she usually sounds alarmed.
All of it gets mighty awkward, mainly because I can't maintain decent relationships with these people, and suddenly they are kind and are interested to know if I am in proper condition to teach again, or if I was able to keep the bag hanging on my good shoulder just fine.
But the gesture sure is lovely.
This morning I heard the birds return, lined up outside my window.
Everything is thawing from their solid state, cast in golden light, soft on the edges, however I can't help but still feel disheveled and cold on the inside. Motions are changing, except the fact that I am still in love with Peeta, and I am unphased with my decision to bear his children. He has withstood several years' worth of time waiting, helping me come into terms with myself as I tackled my personal demons, albeit fainthearted at first. I hope he lets me help him tackle his.
I let the hours burn and the days go by. I already know what it feels like to lose Peeta like this, by force, when he was captured by the Capitol during the quell. Although back then when I was younger, despite the fact that I nearly lost my mind, I had one foot out the door and I was ready to give up on him. Fight, or flee. And I was fleeing all over the place.
On the brink of springtime, as the delicate layer of ice blanketing the grass melts and turns into dew droplets along the sidewalks of Kingston Avenue, Peeta is released from prison. He stands outside the penitentiary gate, his head swiveling in all directions as if searching for something, and finally catches me looking at him from across the street. The colours of the world are waking up, bringing things back to life.
Peeta is almost unrecognizable, his blonde hair longer and untamed, curls turned into messy waves. He has neglected shaving and his face is bordered by rebellious facial hair, now sporting a thick beard. He has a little scar I've never seen before, probably from the scuffle he had with the policemen in the cemetery, when a burly cop tried to connect his fist into his chin in hopes of knocking him out. Peeta looks rough, his eyes meek and tired, and I can't help but feel some lights that used to reside there have gone out. I could sense his thoughts speeding, overlapping each other, embodied in eerie silence, avoiding my eyes as much as he can.
There is a type of uneasiness about him ever since he has re-entered his house, dropping his bag on the floor and doing a visual sweep across the room. I'm standing by the corner shelf near his TV, where a small potted plant sits, a snow globe that I gave him during the Christmas when I acquired my first teaching job, and a framed picture of the two of us. It was taken about two winters ago, during an outdoor New Years' celebration in the town square. Everybody must have left their homes and flooded the square come the eve to greet the new year. The place was packed. In the picture, there is a string of small yellow lights above us and Peeta looks sheepish, facing sideways and has me wrapped in his arms. He looks focused on me, like he is about to sweep me into a kiss, my hands clamped on to his jacket sleeves while I am fully facing the camera, caught in the middle of a laugh.
A smile sneaks into my lips at the memory and I break away from it, and turn to Peeta, who has not moved in his spot, observing me from two couches away. He gives me a half a smile while he takes off his shoes and before he picks up his bag. He is minimal with words since I picked him up from prison, and he's dodging away from conversations that I try to initiate.
"Thanks for cleaning the mess," he says, and aims for the stairs. It takes me a while to figure out that he is referring to the aftermath of his recent, and hopefully last, episode, when he artlessly trashed this living room. His heavy footing rattles the stairs alive.
"You're welcome," I tell him, my hands suddenly coming up to cross in front of me, feeling cold at how distant he feels. I shake myself off and push a little more determination into my guts. I call out to him as he takes on another step.
"Pebbles missed you a lot. She is with Delly right now, we can both pick her up later. The weather is really nice, we should go for a walk," I hear myself go off, without any brakes, breathless by the end of my sentence. "…And I missed you a whole lot more." I decide to stop there and wait as he turns around. He is in the middle of the flight of stairs looking back at me, one hand on the railing, small slit of eyes casting down on me. I curse at myself for not having a single romantic bone in my body.
"I missed you Katniss," he responds, giving me that damned half smile again, and continues stepping up and away until he disappears.
I briskly follow him, anxious and beginning to feel overwhelmed with hurt that I thought would dwindle upon reuniting with him.
I am not used to this. This is not the Peeta I know.
He is standing in front of his bathroom mirror, shirtless, and wearing his favourite black jeans. He is combing his hair back with his fingers, contemplating his beard and murmurs something about how much he is repelled by his looks. He begins to open drawers and cupboards under the sink, sticking his face in, and groans. He realizes he has looked into every corner of the drawers as he retreats, glancing at his own reflection one more time with dread. I am leaning on the doorway, tempted to prolong the disappearing blade act.
"Looking for this?" I ask him, twisting the razor in between my fingers. He is looking at me as if he is about to pounce at me. And I'm looking at the expanse of his bare chest.
"I have never been this relieved at seeing that razor in all my life," he tells me straight-faced.
I pull him to the bedroom and make him sit on his lounge chair by the door. I saunter back to the bathroom and fetch a bowl of water, a towel, and his container of shaving cream. By the time I return, he is grinning at me from ear to ear. I place the items down on the table near us.
"You hate this beard as much as I do, don't you," he asks, a realization slowly dawning upon him as I position myself over him and straddle his hips swiftly and snugly, reminding myself to behave, and I almost chuckle at seeing the streaks of surprise on his face. I have a little trouble tucking my legs between his and the wide arms of the chair, but I remain smooth. I'm looking down at him, and I could feel his muscles stiffen underneath me, frozen on contact, and he refuses to reach out and touch me.
And so I decide to grind into him just a little. An expression crosses his face and for a second it seemed like he stopped breathing.
"I don't hate it," I say, squirting shaving cream into my palm and spreading it languidly on the damp skin of his left jaw, his upper lip, and his chin. I pick up the razor blade and start running it slowly across his cheek. I reach for the towel and wipe the razor clean. I reposition the blade over his cheek and proceed with another swipe. "I think it makes you look mysterious," Something about the way the sound of small hairs being cut simultaneously tickles my ears. I watch after a rectangular piece of plastic leave smooth skin behind, as more shaving cream disappear and more of Peeta's face resurfaces.
"I don't know, Katniss, I look like a grizzly bear," he says. He seems to be entranced by something on my neck, or the inevitable cleavage this plunging neckline provides me, for all I know. I may or may not be shoving my breasts forward into his face and it may or may not be on purpose. His hand finally comes up and grips the curves of my waist and it sends electricity coming down from my neck.
"And a mysterious grizzly bear you are," I tell him, as the razor mows down another row of facial hair. I lean back and admire my shaving abilities, cleaning the razor with finality, for one last razor slide over a thin patch near his cheek bone.
The feel of his skin caressing my hips further distracts me, sending my pulse in disarray against my will, and also the speed of the razor blade rolling down his cheek, ultimately cutting into his flesh by accident. I gasp as he yelps and jolts backwards, away from my hand, and I am blurting out a number of apologies. My eyes land on the area where I cut him and blood has started gushing out, a slim trail rolling down his right cheek. Before I could react, he catches me off-guard as he grabs the wrist of my hand that was shaving him, and holds it still in mid air. He is staring at me intensely, as he slowly inches forward, his gaze dropping to my parted lips, all the reserve and reluctance in his eyes replaced by what I would like to decipher as lust. His lips linger over mine as his eyelashes brush against my cheek.
Something must have sparked in his head because he suddenly releases his grip over me and recoils backward so swiftly that I feel myself push back. I subconsciously rub my wrist at the pressure he left there. He swerves away from me and gathers himself together, swinging a leg sideways and standing up, leaving me on the lounge chair all agitated. He smells like mint and shampoo.
I emerge hastily and follow behind him, and this time, I ensure I invade all of his existing personal space.
"You told me you missed me. Prove it," I challenge him. His eyes are doing lazy loops all over me, and that is when my hand grows a brain of its own and starts to unbutton my cardigan. My white bra peeks at him and he steps forward, apprehensive, and instead of busying himself with unhooking it, he slowly lifts the fabric up and over my left shoulder. He holds his breath as he studies my scar, wordless, and I'm curious as to what he is thinking, because he is unresponsive, merely running his eyes over it.
He finally inches forward and lowers his lips to my bullet wound scar, hesitant at first, and very carefully plants a tender kiss. One of his hands slowly come up and hold the small of my back as he lingers over the blemish, the rest of his body inert from a distance. He seems petrified of me.
"Touch me, Peeta," I demand him. I squirm under his warm breath on my shoulder, and it's not enough. He moves away from my scar as he cups one side of my face and pulls me towards him, and before I am able to say another word of encouragement, his mouth is on mine. His lips and his tongue are insistent, and warm, and tantalizing, my lips parting in response to the pressure. He is kissing me with soft urgency, the pleasure making me dizzy.
His mouth now trails down my face, nipping and nibbling along my jaw line, and I shiver as he thrusts his hips into me, pressing his erection into my belly. He suddenly steps back to make space so he can reach out and take off my unbuttoned cardigan, my bra, and yanks at my pants in haste. He pauses to attend to himself and fumbles as he strips off his boxers and pants at the same time, and then moves to lift me up and place me on his bed. I lean back, perched on my elbows, looking up at his arousal, my hand coming up to fondle my breast. He watches me touch myself as his eyes darken right before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and peels them off of me.
I crawl backwards to the middle of the bed as he crawls forward, poised over my legs, his attention fixed on my damp center. I part my legs and he begins to leave soft kisses on the inside of my thighs, moving up, working towards my heat, and my eyes shut as I whimper at the sensation it leaves behind. My eyes fly open and catch a glimpse of his tongue darting out quickly to lick his lips before his mouth claims my throbbing core, his tongue parting and swirling inside my folds, making smacking noises as he tastes my wetness. I have lost any ability to utter any words that make sense, as I try to peek over my breasts, and watch as his head moves below me, and glancing further down I catch his hand wrap around his erection and stroke himself furiously. I am hypnotized by it and at the same time, feel the need to protest, because that is where I would like to envelope my hands and my tongue around as well.
He plants his arms on either side and lowers his hips. His cock throbs and nudges against my entrance and he slips into me, and he begins to move in deeper, filling me with his thick length.
"Kat-," he moans into my ear, and I answer with a noise that is a cross between a groan and a cry.
I wrap my legs around his waist, tipping my hips up so he can push deeper. He feels the shift and pumps faster, grunting as his thrusts slide me back against the mattress. He is pounding into me intensely, and I meet his rhythm with increasing, fiery pulse and I feel myself coming hard and it doesn't stop, my body shaking with tremors as he stares at me in the eyes, slamming into me wildly. I feel him swell against my walls and his hips stop rocking, emptying into me with a warm rush, his head dropping and resting on my neck, murmuring my name.
My hand brushes through his blonde hair, holding him close to me, as we try to regain our breaths in unison, and wait to come down from our high.
I keep a precise monitor on Peeta in the following days, and at the same time, give him space to carry on his normal routine and contemplate on his own.
I hear his footsteps as he is getting ready upstairs, and I am waiting for him in his living room trying to discipline Pebbles from biting at her leash. I tell her to sit and she follows my command as she keeps an eye on the stair steps. I drop her leash and leave her by the coffee table, and I walk into his kitchen. I spot half eaten meat pies with mushrooms he baked yesterday, sitting on the counter. I don't think he is eating well, but this looks like a good start. My eyes flick over to the pile of notes and torn papers on the other end of the counter, my feet automatically taking me there.
There is a huge phone directory book, addresses, random names of doctors scribbled, and small crumpled pieces of papers. There are magazines on mental health and recovery, specifically published from the Capitol. He has notes with written "Call back", "Contact tomorrow", and words that have been scratched off and I can't make out. A familiar name catches my attention on one of the notes with a long distance phone number on it scribbled below. Doctor Aurelius.
I feel like I'm prying, so I turn on my heels as soon as I hear him coming down the stairs and greeting Pebbles. I appear from the side and embrace him as he drops me a kiss on the forehead, and asks me if I'm ready to go on our stroll. He picks up Pebbles' leash and lets me through the door first.
I lavish in the smell of spring time as we walk under a baby blue sky and animated clouds. The ground is slightly wet from the drizzle of rain earlier, and I spot little buds of dandelions peeking from the grass. Peeta is manning Pebbles' leash as we walk through the streets of Twelve, has his arm slung across my shoulder, trying not to put weight on it. I am leaning over him, also keeping an arm around his waist, frequently looking up to flash him a smile as I listen to him talk about the weather, the transition of seasons, and the meat pie he tried making for the first time.
He has only reopened the bakery once since his return, and the operating hours lasted for merely three hours due to low supply of baked goods. People from across the street spot us and give us smiles as Peeta and I enjoy our walk with my dog, and I'm not sure if they are the genuine kind of smile or not, but I don't care.
We reach the willow tree and Peeta ties the leash into a low, broken branch. I pet Pebbles on the head before I proceed to climb up the tree, careful not to strain my shoulder, and Peeta staying behind to support me. I struggle as I lift myself up with my left arm, so I try to allocate all the weight pushing to my legs. I locate my favourite spot on a branch as I reach the top, waiting patiently for Peeta as he grunts his way up.
The water in the river looks cold, there is a thin layer of smoke just above the surface.
Peeta inches closer to me, ridding of the small remaining space between us, snaking an arm around my waist. We let our feet kick freely in the air.
"It must have been terrifying, realizing you're on the doors of death, wondering how to keep alive," he tells me, his chin disappearing into his jacket collar. "I feel awful about everything."
I sigh inwardly and hold his hand. "Peeta, it wasn't you who triggered the gun. If anything, you were able to fight it back, that's why my shoulder was hit instead of my heart." He is looking at me, a bit surprised.
"It was the first time I was actually aware of what was happening around me, Katniss. I watched my hands move and point the gun," he tells me with controlled exasperation. "It was something I've never experience before, and I tried to will myself to veer it off to the side and away from you until I heard the gun go off." His gaze switches to the river below us and it stays there.
"There is still a little bit of Capitol's evil left," I sadly admit. He nods and takes a deep breath.
"I've been doing research on facilities that can help me fully recover from the remnants of the chemical that activates certain targeted cells to go haywire. And I found it, I found the one," he pauses, his eyes locking again with mine, and he hesitates a little bit before he continues, "It's in District Four."
"Four?" I repeat to him.
"Yeah, Doctor Aurelius has branched off from the Capitol and has opened an establishment there, along with another hospital your mother is currently employed in," he says, sounding excited at the facility's potential. "It has high technology equipment that is not available anywhere else! Not even the Capitol." He whips out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it, showing me a photocopy of information on the innovative faculties of Aurelius Tech Inc.
"How long will you be submitted in for?" I ask selfishly, and when he tells me it could be from six months to a year, my heart drops a little.
He tilts my chin with his fingertips so I can look him in the eye.
"I need this Katniss. I need a solid guarantee that I will never hurt you again. I don't know what I would do with myself the next time something like that happens."
I tell him I understand and weakly nod at him, and lean over to nestle into his chest. I cling to him with both arms as he buries his lips into my hair, reminiscent of the dance he invited me to just underneath this same tree during one summer night.
Six in the morning finds me on the open platform of the train station. It is a bit cool, and I hug Pebbles closer to me as a gush of cool spring wind blows in between the parked train cars. Peeta is wearing the new scarf I gave him, and I made sure he packed the blanket I have slaved over and knitted for him in his large duffel bag with the rest of his clothes. He stands on the edge of the platform, his back on the train door, hunched over Pebbles as he coos over her. She sticks her tongue out and licks the tip of his nose.
He moves away from Pebbles and brings a hand up to graze my cheek before he leans in on me for a long, gentle kiss. He plucks his lips off of mine and I already miss him.
"Don't forget to keep in touch. I hope you recover well, Peeta."
"You'll wait for me?" he asks, picking up his duffel bag on the floor. He already knows the answer, but right now he wants security, he wants to hear it, and I dare not deprive him.
"Always. Only for you."
He takes a foot off the platform and up on the train, poised to leave me. He turns to look at me over his shoulder and lets his eyes dance with mine for the last time. "I love you Katniss." The train starts to grumble and rev, a message booming across the station notifying that the 6:10 AM Train to District Four is leaving on time and that the doors are closing.
He scampers to get through the door to the inside of the train that is now gradually closing in on him, and keeps his eyes on me as he grabs the nearest pole to keep himself from tumbling back and upright.
My heart starts to beat faster as the door continues to shut and makes Peeta completely disappear, keeping him away from me, taking him somewhere far away.
"I love you..." I try to yell out after the train, my legs on a mission to run after it, but the engine is in full swing and roaring out of the train station and into wide open space. I stand on the end corner of the platform and look over as the train decreases in size to a small dot on the horizon. The sun rises, diffusing orange and rose tint amongst the line of clouds overhead. And I am left behind with a pile of things I've been meaning to tell Peeta, and a kind of heaviness on my chest I am trying to ignore.