Peeta
Shit, I think to myself. I stare down at the now useless bread batter. The consistency is completely wrong and I'll have to start over. I'm not going to have time to make enough loaves before my prep team comes in a few short hours.
I toss the bad batter into the garbage and I try to remember how I managed to mess it up in the first place. Maybe I added an extra egg. Or too much flour. The possibilities are endless, really, because I have no recollection of even starting this loaf.
I close my eyes and run my hands over my face. Maybe tonight I'll be able to get some sleep. Just three straight hours. That's all I need. Even as I hope, I know it's useless. I haven't sleep since leaving the arena. I can't. I know it's not insomnia because I'm constantly tired and fall asleep quite easily. The problem is I'm afraid to fall sleep. Afraid of what sleep usually brings. Every time I surrender to unconsciousness, I jolt awake soon after, sweating and convinced I'm in the arena, clutching Katniss' dead body to my chest.
I can't escape them, the dreams. Therefore, instead of sleeping I must find some way to occupy myself until dawn. Sometimes I paint, but seeing as I've run out of materials, I'll have to wait until I after I return from the Victory Tour to continue with that 'hobby'. Lack of painting supplies is a good thing, though. Right now, at least. I need to finish these extra loaves of bread before I leave tomorrow so I can bring them to the Hob.
If I don't have my painting to calm me, at least I have my baking. I tend to lose myself in it for hours, unaware of my surroundings and the passing time. But then I'll realize hours have passed and I have dozens of loaves of bread with no one to eat them and nowhere to put them.
That's when I first decided to go the Hob to give them away. I'm not stupid, of course. If Katniss is any representation of people from the Seam, those who usually frequent the Hob, trying to give away bread wouldn't be an easy task. But it gave me something to think about other than heartbreak and anxiety.
I remember quite clearly the first day I went.
I'm not sure what time the Hob opens so I go in the middle of the day. I know the general location because of the conversations I used to overhear in the schoolyard. Most of those conversations were about what happened behind the slagheap, but I knew the Hob was nearby.
I see an old warehouse with blacked out windows and peeling paint. It's quite an eyesore and I can't imagine anyone who would willingly explore the area so I know this must be where the black market is located. Hesitantly, I go around back and find what look's like an entrance. I walk into the Hob and am at first overwhelmed. There are at least 30 different stalls, all selling banned goods. I see an old man organizing bottles of liquor and know that is where Haymitch must be a regular costumer. I look around and see other various stalls, some selling fish and meat, others selling fabric and different kinds of trinkets. I have know idea where to start. There aren't many people here, most likely because they are all working the mines.
I see an old woman in the corner of the market, ladling a unpleasant-looking concoction into dirty bowls. She seems to be quiet popular, though, because the few people who are in the Hob at this hour are at her stall. I wait until they leave before I make my move. Once I see her last customer depart, I heave my bag, full of bread, higher onto my shoulder and walk as confidently as I can in her direction.
"I have a problem," I state. This woman seems to have a 'take no prisoners' kind of attitude. I have a feeling my usual 'softer' introductions won't work on her.
"Sorry 'bout that handsome, but I don't think there's anythin' I can do," she glances at me quickly, dismissing me with a glare. I won't give up that easily.
"But there is. You see, I've had a rough couple of months and can't sleep at night, so to pass the time I bake bread. A lot of it."
The woman studies me. Her eyes look grey but I can't be sure because of the filmy layer that covers them. I know she can't see me properly but she must recognize me from the televisions placed strategically around 12. The Hunger Games are mandatory viewing, after all. Besides, what other blonde-haired, blue-eyed merchant kid is going to stroll into the Hob on a weekday morning.
"And I can't eat it all by myself," I continue. "I know there are people who come through here who could use an extra loaf or two," I explain slowly, careful to phrase my words correctly. Thanks to Katniss' explanation of 'owing' I know to be wary of how I articulate my argument.
"Yeah well I'm not one of them, boy," she says as she goes back to her bowl of nasty looking soup. I can take a hint but I've come this far and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer.
"I never assumed you were. But don't pretend you aren't aware that there are starving children out there. In the Seam, even in Town," I implore her.
I see her turn around and look at a small child who I had previously mistaken for a pile of rags. The girl can't be more than seven years old and she looks at me sadly. Her face is thin. Too thin, and I can tell she is hungry. I can't help but experience a form of intense déjà vu and there is a tugging in my chest at the memory. I turn my attention back to the old woman.
"I'm not asking for anything and I don't expect anything in return. Truly. Please, can you give these to the people you think are deserving? I would do it myself but I think that they would trust you more than they would me." I have nothing else to say, no other way to make myself believable, so I just stare this old woman down.
"I know a few," she says. I take the bag off my shoulder and hand her the five loaves of bread I had brought with me. I didn't want to bring more, feeling it would have been overzealous. She takes them wordlessly. 'Victory', I think to myself.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell her.
I've returned to the Hob every morning since, armed with loaves of bread that I baked in the dead of night because sleep wasn't and isn't an option.
There are ways I can remedy the situation. I could become dependent on sleep syrup. I could always become like Haymitch and pass out drunk every night of my life. Or I could become like those morphling addicts I heard about during my training before the Games. I could become a shell of person easily, but I don't want to. If the loaves of bread I bring to the Hob everyday bring salvage to at least one more person, I can't bring myself to stop. After all, I now know the affect a loaf of bread can have on a hungry person.
I look up at the shelf above the refrigerator. On it sits a jar of peanut butter, a delicious caramel colored paste that goes great with bread. I automatically think of Katniss. Yesterday we were baking. Well, I was baking and she was watching me. I had told her to quickly close her eyes. She protested of course, but I had told her to just trust me for once. That seemed to silence her for a moment so I had spread the peanut butter over a piece of warm sourdough bread and watched as Katniss ate the entire thing in less than a minute, her eyes closed the entire time. I remember the way she chewed the treat, her smile growing with each bite. When she was done she opened her eyes, looked up at me and smiled gloriously. It was the first time I can remember her smiling that openly in front of me since returning from the Games. I'll have to remember to ask for peanut butter on the Victory Tour, I think to myself.
I sigh. That's the reason I can't disappear into the dangerous world of alcohol and drugs. Small moments like that. That girl across the street who I am still hopelessly in love with makes me want to wake up in the morning and keep living.
I think about Katniss constantly. I remember in vivid detail when she told me she didn't love me on the train back from the Capitol and I wallowed like a pathetic fool. It was Haymitch, of course, who pulled me out of my depressed state. I needed that simple reminder that Katniss and I need to keep up the act for our own safety. That same day she came to me in the night, telling me she missed me and wanted to remain friends. I knew why she was there, of course. Haymitch must have talked to her too. I didn't care though. Even having her in my life again made me sleep relatively better at night. I'll take it, I remember thinking to myself.
Being around Katniss is bittersweet. She is a constant reminder of the fact that I don't have her. Sometimes when we are baking I believe I'm getting through to her, cracking through her rock solid emotional armor. But then, she leaves and I have to remind myself to not fall so deep. It's useless though. I've been a goner since day one. I briefly wonder what the Victory Tour will be like before I push the thought from my mind. I don't like to think about it too much. I know the act will have to be in full swing and part of me thinks I won't be able to do it. I can't even hug her without feeling heartbroken. Another part of me knows I have to. An even smaller part of me knows I won't be able to stay away.
Suddenly I hear a frantic knocking on the front door and I tear my eyes away from the jar of peanut butter.
"Peeta! Please, Peeta! Open the door!" Prim's shouting is startling and I run to the front door, throwing it open, preparing myself for a gruesome scene.
Prim is intact but completely hysterical. She isn't wearing shoes and she's wearing a thin nightgown. She is taking in large gulps of air through her sobs and I'm suddenly terrified.
"What's wrong?" I take Prim by the shoulders and gently shake her. "Prim, what is it?" my voice growing more frantic with each word.
"Katniss—" she starts and it turns out that's all I need. I don't hear the rest of Prim's sentence because I'm out of the door and running towards Katniss' house. I hear Prim's strangled sobs and I know she's close behind me.
"I think it's a nightmare but I don't know, it's never been this bad," she explains through her tears as I sprint up the steps of Katniss' porch. I can hear Katniss' screams from outside. I fling open her front door, bound up the stairs, and, following Katniss' screams, run into the first room I find.
Katniss is in her bed, twisting and thrashing around. Her eyes are shut closed tightly and she is releasing gut-wrenching shrieks from somewhere deep in her throat. I spot Katniss' mother trying to console her but it's clearly been fruitless. I look around wildly, unsure of what I should do.
"We can't wake her up," Prim sobs.
I can't take my eyes off of Katniss. She looks like she's being tortured and I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I'm frozen in place.
"Just try, Peeta, please?" Prim grabs my hand, pleading.
I rip my gaze from Katniss' contorted body and stare at Prim, wide-eyed. If Prim couldn't get her to wake up I'm not sure anyone can.
"You don't know the affect you have on her, please!" she begs. I'm baffled by Prim's words. Isn't it the other way around?
"Peeta, please?" she whispers.
I swallow the lump in my throat and I walk over the side of the bed where Mrs. Everdeen is trying to hold Katniss still. She has managed to restrain her arms, which are no longer flying around wildly. Katniss' neck is strained to the side. It looks like she is in physical pain. I've never seen her like this. Even in the Games she never looked this broken.
Slowly, I kneel down and hesitantly touch her face. Katniss screams even louder and I yank my hand back, as if I were electrocuted. I look up at Prim, who is still by the door. She nods her head, encouraging me. "Just try Peeta."
I look at Katniss who is twisting her head around, continuing to shriek. It's like one of my nightmares has come to life. I take a deep breath and despite my deepening fear, I gently take Katniss' arms from Mrs. Everdeen, who glances at me and then backs away.
"Katniss," I say her name with conviction. "Katniss, you're okay, Katniss." She seems to minutely calm at the sound of my voice, her screams dying down. Encouraged by her reaction, I continue to talk.
"Katniss, you're alright. It's not real, okay? It's not real," I repeat. She moans loudly, it's a heartbreaking sound. I study her face. Tears are now leaking out of her closed eyes. Her screams have died down but she still thrashes around, like she's trying to escape her own body.
She yells something unintelligible and I continue to speak to her, more softly this time. "Katniss, wake up. It's not real. Wake up," I repeat to her. Suddenly Katniss opens her eyes and looks around the room wildly. I take my hands off of her and watch her carefully.
Her eyes meet mine and for a moment we just stare at each other. Her grey eyes are blood-shot and her hair is wild. She breathes heavily, exhausted by her nightmare. We stare at one another, completely unaware of the other two people in the room. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.
"It wasn't real," I whisper and with that she starts to cry, sobs wracking her small body.
I can't stand it anymore. I'm too far away. This whole time I've been too far away. She refuses to let me in and I won't even try, afraid I might get hurt. Enough, I think to myself. I stand up from my kneeling position and sit on the side of her bed, scooping Katniss into my arms and hugging her against my chest. I'm surprised when Katniss throws her arms around me and buries her head into the crook of my neck. I hold her tightly, afraid to let go.
I look up at Prim who is staring at me in awe, the tears on her cheeks starting to dry.
"I'm sorry," Katniss says through her sobs and I switch my gaze back to her. My chest constricts.
"No, please. Don't be sorry, just calm down, we're all here and safe," I whisper into her hair. I continue to whisper comforting words as I hold her tightly to me, afraid she might disappear into her nightmare again. Slowly, after what seems like hours, Katniss sobs stop, replaced by silent tears that run down her cheeks like tiny streams. I look up to see Prim and Mrs. Everdeen watching the two of us.
"Thank you," Prim tells me, smiling sadly. I glance at Mrs. Everdeen, who is looking at Katniss and me intensely. I wonder how she feels about this. I barely know Mrs. Everdeen. Before tonight, I'd never actually met her and now I'm in her daughter's bed. If this were a different situation I would be mortified. She doesn't look angry, though. Just very sad. I watch her and Prim exit the room but before Mrs. Everdeen leaves she looks back at me, tears trailing down her face.
Slowly Katniss stops crying and she releases a shuttering sigh against my chest, which is now wet, my thin shirt covered in her tears. Her breaths become shallower and far apart and I know she is drifting off. Katniss is warm in my arms, her head resting on my chest, right above my heart. Her arms begin to droop from where she was holding on to me before.
Carefully, I lie Katniss down on her bed. I should go but I know, deep down, I won't be able to. Instead I pull her closely to me. Our heads rest on the same pillow, noses almost touching. I'm surprised when Katniss opens her eyes. We stare at each other for a long time. I can see the remaining tears that cling to her eyelashes. Her face is red and blotchy and she has never looked more beautiful.
I'm not sure what to say so I just place my hand on her cheek. To my surprise she doesn't shrug away. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept in days. I take a deep breath, unable to take my eyes off of her.
"I don't sleep either," I whisper.
Katniss blinks and looks back at me. Slowly, she lifts her hand and places it on my face, mirroring my own position.
I finally close my eyes, unable to keep them open. It must be after 3 in the morning and I'm so tired. I fall asleep with Katniss' hand on my face and sleep, really sleep, for the first time in months.
When I wake up I briefly forget where I am. It's a strange feeling, being well rested. Like I've slept for days without a single dream.
Katniss is sound asleep, having crawled even closer to me in the middle of the night. Her body is flush against mine, her hair tickling my nose.
I wish I could stay in this bed forever, Katniss curled up against me, her soft breathing lulling me back to sleep. But I know she will likely freak out if she wakes up and sees me so close. We've agreed to be friends, but friends don't hold each other throughout the night. Do they? Friends surely don't wake up with a very obvious hard on in the other friend's bed. I wonder how I can successfully navigate this situation. I friend would wait for the other to wake, they wouldn't leave the other alone. Especially not after last night. That's it. That's what I'll do.
The proximity is too much, though. Her hair smells incredible and she is so warm. I can see a sliver of skin from where her nightshirt has risen up. A friend wouldn't be having the thoughts you're having now, Mellark, I think to myself. I know I should put some distance between us.
Very slowly, I try to inch away from Katniss but it proves to be quite difficult as she has her arms wrapped tightly around my torso. Gingerly, I pry myself loose and roll away from her. I sit up and look at her. Here eyes are still closed but she frowns, her arms searching the place where I once was.
Still drowsy, she opens her eyes and stares at me, a quizzical look on her beautiful face. I can't help but smile. Her cheeks turn a bright pink color and she switches her gaze to the yellow quilt covering her bed.
"Good morning," I say softly.
"Good morning," she whispers hoarsely, her voice still sore from last night's screaming. She rises from her lying position, and sits on the bed, still studying the yellow quilt.
"Are you leaving?" she asks. She seems sad, like she expects me to bolt after last night. She casts her big gray eyes on me and I know I'm not going anywhere.
"Not unless you want me to," I respond. Please don't make me go, I plead inwardly.
She pauses, studying her fingers. "I don't want you to leave." In my mind I do a happy dance. Small steps, Mellark, small steps.
The room is silent again. Both of us looking for a way to bring up last night's events.
"How did you sleep?" I ask her.
"Well. Really well, actually," she responds and her cheeks turn another shade of pink. She looks like she is struggling to say something else. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind.
I crawl over to her and put my hand under her chin, bringing her face into the morning light so I can properly look at it. There are heavy bags under her eyes, which are beginning to brim with tears. I pull her to me again, crushing her to my chest. Friends would do that, wouldn't they? Comfort the other?
"Peeta." The word is strangled. She is trying her hardest not to cry again and it's heartrending.
"Shh. I'm not going anywhere I promise," I whisper into her hair.
After a few moments Katniss pulls back and looks up at me.
"Thank you," she says.
"I would do it again. In a heartbeat," I answer. Because I'm in love with you. Because I can't live without you.
Abruptly she pulls away and I can feel my expression drop.
"How did you find me?" she asks, genuinely curious. I forgot she wasn't awake for that part. At least her unshed tears seemed to have disappeared.
"Prim came to my house. She was upset and she said you were having a bad nightmare," I tell her simply. I don't go into details, knowing Katniss wouldn't like it.
"You shouldn't have seen that," she tells me with more conviction.
"Why?"
"Because I was pathetic," she states, disgusted with herself.
"You are not pathetic," I tell her forcefully. She still isn't looking at me. "I have them too you know," I tell her quietly. She glances at me, a look of relief on her face. It suddenly switches back to her impassive mask. Be patient, Mellark.
"Yeah well you don't wake up the entire neighborhood and need to be held all night," she murmurs, bright red. I wish you were there when I wake up, though, I think. Friends definitely don't say that. Instead I try to inquire more about the dream.
"Will you tell me what happened? Prim said it's never that bad."
Katniss pauses, looking out the window, the morning light casting shadows on her face. After a few moments she speaks.
"Snow came here. Yesterday."
I feel sick. How did I not know? Damn my catatonic baking! I'm furious and afraid at the same time, a lethal combination.
"What? Why didn't you tell me? I would've come to you. I would've—" My tirade is interrupted by Katniss.
"I didn't know he would be here. At my house, I mean. And before I knew it he was gone." I think she's trying to comfort me but it doesn't work. I look at Katniss and she turns away, focusing on the yellow quilt again.
"Why did he come?" I ask her, softly. I'm scared to know the answer.
She pauses before she speaks again, like she is thinking about the question herself. Finally she settles on an answer.
"Why didn't he come would probably be a better question."
Classic Katniss. Evading the question. I look at her expectantly and she sighs.
"He came to warn me to never hunt again. He came to tell me to tell Gale to never hunt again or else there would be punishments." She pauses again, collecting herself.
"He came about the act. He doesn't buy it and he said I'm not believable." She looks at me, a strange expression on her face. She doesn't continue and I'm about to speak when Katniss carries on in a whisper.
"He said if I don't keep up the act, Prim will be reaped for the Quarter Quell."
I understand her fear now. I understand where her nightmare came from. I want to hug her again but she is withdrawn, avoiding my eyes. She instead gazes out the window at the rising sun.
"Prim will be fine, Katniss. We will keep up the act and that will satisfy them, right? Everyone will be alright," I insist. I don't believe my own words, though. I'm beginning to feel dizzy. I have a feeling this entire situation is out of our control.
I think Katniss understands that as well. She continues to look out the window, nodding along with me. I think I see her eyes begin to water again.
I switch the subject. "Did you warn Gale?"
"Yes. I went to his house in the Seam last night after Snow left. I don't think he'll do it anymore. Hunting, I mean."
Even after Katniss' affirmation that Gale is just a friend I can't help the wave of jealousy that washes over me. I shouldn't be jealous, though. I should just be furious at myself. For not talking to Katniss before we were reaped. Maybe if I had tried harder we wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe there would be no 'act' to begin with. Maybe it would be real.
I swallow and look at Katniss, her mouth in her signature frown. I want to hold her but I know she will object. Friends, Mellark. Remember? Nonetheless I feel the pull. My fingers itch. I want to touch her face. To smooth out the wrinkle above her nose that means she thinking something over.
"Listen to me. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let anything happen to Prim. Gale is smart, he will find another way to get food." It's the only comfort I can offer in this moment. My words and my reason.
She looks at me, her frown dissipating and her wrinkle becoming less pronounced. I look back at her intensely, silently trying to communicate how I feel. I see her cheeks grow pink and she switches her gaze to the window again.
"It's almost eight. You're family is probably worried."
I know she's trying to get me to leave so I start to get off the bed. The funny thing is my family doesn't even know where I am.
"I doubt they're worried," I mumble.
"Why?" Katniss says, looking over at me again. I stare back at her, she's only known love from her family, even in her mother's depression. She won't understand but I explain anyway.
"I live alone. My family lives above the bakery still." She furrows her brow, confused, so I continue.
"My family isn't close like yours, Katniss. My brothers work at the bakery. They're happy to see me, of course, but they don't know how to act around me anymore. My father loves me in his own way… but its like I'm damaged goods. Useless. I make them uncomfortable. They don't know how to treat me. I think my mother would have been happier if I just died in the arena. Better for everyone probably."
It would have been better, wouldn't it? Katniss would have been the lone victor. No "berries incident". No star-crossed lovers. No act.
I'm surprised when Katniss moves to kneel beside me on the bed. She grabs my face, a little roughly and forces me to look at her, eyes blazing.
"No. You needed to survive," she says, almost angrily. She continues to speak, a hint of panic in her voice. "I don't know what would have happened to me if I left you. Do you understand, me? I can't…" She is struggling for the correct words to say. "I… I would have disappeared. I would have become a ghost of a person," she says.
"You needed to survive," she says softly, imploring me with her eyes. Oddly, I believe her.
"Ok," I whisper. We stare at each other a few more seconds before she hastily removes her hands from my face and backs away. There she goes again, I think. Every time I make a crack in her damn armor she builds it up again.
"I probably should go. Our prep teams will be here any minute. They'd probably explode if they saw us in here together." I smile to myself, imagining Effie walking in on Katniss and me in bed together.
I climb off the bed and stretch, my body stiff from sleep. The feeling isn't unwelcome, though, I slept incredibly, even if it was only for a few hours. I look over at Katniss. She's gotten out of bed as well and is looking out the window, her face unreadable.
"See you soon, Katniss," I tell her.
She looks at me, her brow set in a straight line. I walk toward the door but don't get very far. Katniss grabs my hand and pulls me into a tight hug.
"Thank you, Peeta. For everything," she says, her words thick with emotion. I hug her back, not wanting to let go. Afraid of releasing her and watching her climb back up into her emotional fortress. It's exhausting. It's maddening. It's hopeless and either way I know I will keep coming back.
I pull away from her, looking down into her grey eyes.
"Always," I promise.