My feet are frozen in place as the lift taking me to the surface rises. After a few seconds of pitch black darkness I emerge into sunlight and am temporarily blinded.

I look around. Trees, a field, a lake…. And right there in front of me is the cornucopia. Around the mouth of it weapons, food, medical supplies…. Everything needed to survive. And if I can just survive this blood bath I can protect her.

I look around for her frantically, but at first all I can see are faceless and nameless other tributes, until… there. I spy her. A shaft of sunlight spills down around her, illuminating her as if she is some heavenly being. The countdown nears 10 and I finally catch her eye. I don't want her near this violence and chaos. I need her safely away. I shake my head slightly at her to indicate my meaning. A claxon wails and we are released. I run as fast as I possibly can towards the utter carnage, grabbing what I can, and I notice something strange.

The other tributes…. They are all the same person. A woman, dressed in Capitol attire with short, spiked hair and long, sharp, golden talons. In the split second I am distracted by this strange fact one of them leaps at me. She lands on top of me, knocking me to the ground. She attacks in flurry of movement; her long claws rip me open, but before she can do any fatal damage she falls over dead. An arrow has pierced her throat. It is Katniss. She ignored my warning and now she has come to save me. Two more tributes attack me, their yellow eyes gleaming with malevolence, their long nails flashing in the sun. They manage just one strike each before they too drop down dead, arrows piercing straight through them. And then she is there. My saviour. She stands over me, loaded bow and arrow in hand and I reach my bloodied hand out to her so that she might save me. She looks down at me and smiles, but it is a cruel, cold, pitiless smile devoid of all humour and charm. She pulls back the string on her bow, an arrow pointing directly towards my heart and without a second thought she releases it.

I sit straight up in bed, covered in a layer of cold sweat. My breathing is shallow and ragged and I am shaking.

It is still dark outside. I have no idea what the time could be; the light indicates it is the dead of night. There is not even the cold grey light of pre-dawn. Just darkness.

Over the past month since we returned from the Capitol my nightmares have been becoming progressively more visceral and more vivid. I actually have to check that my chest hasn't been ripped open, that I don't have an arrow sticking out of my body. I lean out of my bedroom window and gulp down as much fresh air as I can, and with every inhalation the images that are swimming before my eyes become less focused.

I will never get back to sleep now. Moving as quietly as my artificial leg will allow I creep downstairs and head towards the study. I need to paint. I need to get these images out of my head where they will no longer plague me.

I sequester myself away, light a few lamps, set up an easel and get to work with an initial sketch. Katniss, the wind whipping her hair, sunlight behind her, pointing an arrow straight towards the viewer. I trace the drawn outline of her face with my finger. Even at her most dangerous she is still the most beautiful woman I have seen. I kiss the tips of my fingers and touch them to her drawn lips.

Although there have still been many nights that she has come to me to escape her nightmares, since our return from the Capitol I have put myself under a sort of self imposed exile from her. It feels like she is safer if I distance myself from her. I know this is ridiculous thinking, seeing as the Capitol believes our lies of being happy together, but I cannot help but think of the letter that Briar left with me. I go over it every day in my head, and I relive the evening to try and recall some detail but I cannot remember anything at all, almost as if those hours have been taken from me. Was I drugged, perhaps? The thought has occurred to me that this is all just some kind of mind game, a power play that she gets off on, knowing how terrified it must make people. Well congratulations, Briar. If that was your mission consider it a success.

I hear movement upstairs. Dad waking up to get an early start on today's bread. I hear him walking downstairs; he must have noticed the light coming from the study because moments later he knocks lightly on the door before opening it. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

I shake my head. He steps inside to look at what I've been doing and immediately he spies the portrait. He smiles a sad smile and says, "She does care for you, you know. Give her time."

"I don't know if time will help. Maybe a life outside of Panem would. Is there anything else though? Other people?"

"Of course there is! There are countries out there where the grass is blue and the sky is green, where cheese grows on bushes, and the rivers are the sweetest wine you can imagine, and the loaves grow on trees, and no one has to work or ever go hungry!" I laugh a little. Dad used to tell us these fairy stories of other lands when we were little. Mum hated it – such talk was technically illegal but it always made me wonder… Panem didn't go on forever, surely there was something out beyond the oceans to the west and east, something beyond the impenetrable mountains to the north or the swathes of desert to the south….

"Seriously though, dad…. Do you think there're any other people out there? Outside Panem?"

The smile has gone from his face. "I don't know son. Maybe."

"Then why don't they help us?"

He pauses before answering. "Maybe they're even worse off than us? Or maybe they've written us off as a hopeless case, hoping we'll just destroy ourselves. Maybe they just don't know we're here. Pointless speculating." He stands and turns his back on me. "I'll be in the kitchen if you feel like helping," he finishes abruptly.

In three days it will be the Reaping. Over the last month I have noticed the mood in the District deteriorate more than usual in the run up to the Reaping. It used to be that we would only wonder which children we would be losing each year. Now every single face in the crowd has the potential to be drawn. Mum has barely been seen over the last few days, and now it seems even dad is feeling the pressure more than usual.

I look at the unfinished portrait of Katniss. I have to speak to her today.

I paint for several more hours, until it is late morning and I can't bear to be away from her for another second. I usually have some pretence or other for a visit but not today. Today I just need the comfort of a friend, of someone who will understand the way I am feeling, the nightmares, the anxiety and fear….

I step outside. It is a warm day but overcast and humid so the very air itself feels heavy on my shoulders. I feel like I am already covered in a sheen of sweat by the time I reach Katniss's home.

I stand outside for a few moments, working up the courage to knock on her door. Before I am able to she opens it, as if she was heading out already. The sight of her nearly floors me. Her reflexes are excellent and she takes my sudden appearance in her stride, although I must be visibly shaken as she steps outside and says in a voice of genuine concern, "What's wrong?"

It takes a moment to find my voice. "I'm not coping," is all I manage to say.

She nods her understanding. "Me neither," she replies. "I was just coming to find you. Is anyone home at yours?" I shake my head. "Let's go then."

Minutes later we are in my kitchen, as I make tea for us both. "I can't bear it anymore, Peeta," she says. "I can't bear not knowing, I can't bear not being able to help, I can't bear feeling like we're constantly being watched."

"I know." There is so much more that I want to add to her statement, the dubious fears and anxieties that have been plaguing me since that last morning we were in the Capitol but I cannot find the words to form them.

Katniss continues. "And… I keep thinking about….about what happened to you. Peeta, promise me you won't let it happen to me?"

I am silent. It's a promise I can't keep, and she knows it. Tears fall silently down her face. "I'm sorry," I say, kneeling down by her, taking her hand in mine. "I wish I could."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I wanted to. I tried."

"I know." I stand up, help her to her feet and wrap her in my arms. We stand together in peaceful silence a while.

"Was it….you know….was it your first time?" I nod. "Not how you'd pictured it'd be, I guess?"

"Not by a long shot," I agree quietly.

She repositions herself in my arms so that her head rests just under my chin, the side of her face leaning in to my chest. "How did you picture it?" she asks. My muscles tense and I find I am speechless. She pulls away, clearly suddenly embarrassed about asking such a personal question. "I'm sorry!" she exclaims, horrified at herself. "I didn't mean to pry!"

"It's ok," I say and pull her back in towards me, but I don't elaborate further.

She is silent a few moments longer. "I just hate the idea of it being forced on me. My first time. I want it to be my choice, not someone else's. Mine."

My heart almost stops beating. One of her hands has come up to touch my chest. She's tracing small circles on my chest through my shirt, just an inch or so above my nipple. When my heart restarts I am surprised she can't see it pounding through my skin. I stay perfectly still, not wanting to say or do anything that would break this magical spell.

"I know you can't stop them taking me, Peeta. But you can stop them forcing my first time on me."

My mouth is completely dry as she reaches up to me, puts her arms around my neck and kisses my lips. I am in such a daze that it takes time for me to respond but when I do it is with all the passion and longing I can muster.

She frantically pulls at my shirt, untucking it so she can place her hands directly on my skin. I can hardly breathe as her fingers brush lightly over my nipples, my stomach, my back…. I pull away from her briefly, just long enough to gasp, "Not here." I take her hand and lead her upstairs, beyond desperate to touch her, and to have her touch me.

I close my bedroom door behind me and turn to her. "Are you sure?" I ask. She nods and grabs the front of my shirt dragging me towards the bed. She pushes me down and straddles my lap, all the time kissing me, while she unbuttons my shirt. My erection is straining against my trousers and as Katniss grinds in to me I moan in pleasure.

I want to touch her skin, to see everything, but despite the situation I feel nervous; I don't want her to reject me. I lick my dry lips and hold my hand out towards her body, unsure if she wants my touch. She smiles and lifts her shirt above her head, discarding it on the floor. She's perfect. She's more than perfect. In my wildest fantasies she is perfect, but seeing her in the flesh….she puts the dream version to shame. She takes my hands and places them over her bare breasts. I cup them gently as if any extra pressure would cause them to break. They are small, soft, exquisitely round and I feel her nipples, slightly hardened through arousal grazing my palms. I could hold them forever and never get bored.

She winds her hands in to my hair and pulls me closer to her. I lie back on the bed, bringing her with me, enjoying feeling her weight on top of me.

I lower my hands to her hips, and I am desperate to pleasure her. I push her off me, pick her up and lay her down. I sit up next to her and undo her belt, then gently lower her trousers. I look down at the goddess next to me, and it takes all my resolve to not tear the rest of my own clothes off and enter her here and now.

Instead I gently push open her legs and lower myself so I can kiss her intimately. I flutter my tongue over her and I am rewarded with her whispering my name. She grips on to the bedclothes and begs me not to stop and I am more than happy to oblige. She rocks her hips steadily in time with my ministrations and within minutes her back arches and she has grabbed a pillow to scream in to, and I am certain she must be at her most sensitive but I am more turned on than I have ever been and I don't want to stop. She squirms away from me, smiling and breathless and begs me to stop just for a moment.

But I don't want to stop, and I know she doesn't want me to either. She recovers enough to whisper, "I want you."

I strip as quickly as I can and position myself over her. I whisper to her once again, "Are you sure?" She touches my face and kisses me gently. I take a deep breath and slowly push against her until I am buried in her.

Nothing could have prepared me for how exquisite this feels. She wraps her legs around my waist and responds to every single movement.

We move and think as one being, nothing exists outside of our union, nothing else could possibly matter. She is so incredibly tight around me, so hot and tight and wet…. I have to slow down; I don't want this to be over too soon. I pull out for a moment and she moans that she wants me back inside her. I kiss both of her perfect breasts, return my attention to her lips and enter her once again.

I never want this feeling to end. All the pain, all the fear, all the anxiety is gone. But I know it has to come to an end some time. "Katniss…." I whisper to her. I can feel I'm getting close; the tension is building inside me. "Oh, Katniss…."

"Stop," she whispers to me. I am sure she must have said, "Don't stop." In my heightened excitement I didn't hear her properly. I go even deeper, take slower, longer strokes. "Peeta, stop. Please."

I didn't mishear that. I stop, and look at her in utter disbelief. "But…."

"Peeta, please. I can't get pregnant. I just can't." She pushes me off of her. My mind is reeling. I need this. I need her. I need to be inside her, almost as much as I need water or oxygen. She is my tether to life and she's cutting it away. "You know I can't."

"But…. There has to be something you can take? To stop it? Please, Katniss…."

"No, Peeta. I'm sorry."

She's being serious. I'm aching from denied release, my breathing is shallow and every nerve in my body is fire. Why did she come here? Was it just to lose her virginity on her own terms? Surely she wouldn't be so cruel?

I need to climax. I'll go insane if I don't get some kind of release right now. I can't bring myself to look at her. I stand up, and walk to the bathroom without even a second glance at her. I lock the door and turn on the shower. "Peeta!" I hear her calling through the bathroom door, "Peeta, let me in!" I ignore her. "Peeta, please!"

I step into the warm shower and take myself in my hands. I cannot make myself feel as good as being inside Katniss felt, but I need something. Katniss is still banging on the door, calling my name, imploring me to open the door. I'm having difficulty focusing. "Peeta, please, let me talk!"

Despite my best efforts I'm losing my erection. I bang my fist on the wall in sheer frustration, cracking one of the ceramic tiles. I see my face reflected in the broken tile, flushed with a mix of lust and anger. I turn the temperature on the shower right down to try and bring myself back to normality. Outside Katniss is still rattling the door and trying to gain entry. I can't ignore her forever. I step out of the shower, cover myself with a towel and unlock the door. She has wrapped a blanket around her and she looks tearful. "Peeta, this isn't what I wanted."

"Really? Funny, that. This isn't what I wanted either, Katniss. You made me feel cheap. Used."

"I should have been upfront, I'm so sorry, Peeta. I….yes, I used you. I'm sorry. I didn't want them steal that part of me, and-"

"And you knew you could just come round here and throw yourself at me, and I'd oblige?"

"It's not like that. You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand? How can you possibly claim to know what I understand, Katniss? You think what happened hasn't affected me?"

She is silent. I am seething with rage and hurt and humiliation. She has made me feel more like a whore than the person who paid for my body did.

I hear a small intake of breath, then she speaks quietly. "You're right. Peeta, I've been so scared. I thought you wanted me, and I thought I'd die if my first time was….forced on me. But I wanted to make you happy too. I still can. Please let me make you happy."

Images flash through my mind; some real, some fantasy, some nightmarish. Katniss underneath me, her lips parted and begging me to be inside her, Katniss, on her knees in front of me, her hands stroking the backs of my legs as she wraps her mouth around me, Baxwall, threatening violence if I don't fuck her correctly, and a parade of faceless women all demanding meaningless sex from me. But above all else I see Katniss, cold, calculating, exploiting my weaknesses, using me for her own selfish ends.

"Just leave," I say, devoid of emotion.

I stay in the bathroom until I hear her gather her clothes and hear the click of the front door. I am hollow, I am tainted, the Capitol's puppet whore. Back in my room I look with disgust at the evidence of our tryst; my clothes discarded on the floor, the bedsheets crumpled. I redress, tidy away the attestation to our congress and descend to the study where I am greeted by the portrait of Katniss. My heart skips a beat as her devastating beauty stares out at me. I walk over to it, touch her lips once again and without a second thought put my fist through the canvas. My heart is as broken as surely as if it had been pierced by an arrow.

A/N – Someone mentioned in a review that Katniss was a bitch for nearly leaving Peeta behind to have to deal with the aftermath. I agree. I love Peeta & Katniss as a couple, but I always thought Katniss was incredibly self-serving and quite manipulative. Things will work out for them. But things are gonna get worse before they get better for our favourite couple ;)

Might be a little longer until I can get the next chapter written. The Reaping is coming up...