Peeta isn't at dinner. Neither is Haymitch. I eat in silence as Effie tries to coax some conversation out of me but it's completely useless. I move the food around my plate to make it look like I've eaten something. It makes me feel incredibly guilty knowing that so many people are starving and yet I won't eat this food. I sip water without looking up from my plate. I don't know when Effie leaves but once she is gone I get up from the table and head down the hallway intent on talking to Peeta.
I didn't follow him onto the train after his well-deserved outburst feeling that my presence would only really incite more anger or pain in him. I remember turning to Haymitch, looking for something, anything, I could do to make the situation better. He just told me I'd 'better fix this' before he followed Peeta onto the train.
The activities for the rest of the day were canceled due to the unforeseen "riot" that took place so I spent the day in my compartment on the train alternating between pacing around the room and walking halfway down the hallway to Peeta only to chicken out and run back to my compartment.
Peeta usually isn't one for melodramatics so I thought he would be at dinner. The fact that he wasn't makes me even more worried, even though to be honest I'm not exactly sure why. Why am I worried about this? Because he's your friend, I think to myself. You've been a horrible friend.
When I reach Peeta's door, I immediately want to turn around and hide in my room again but I gather my courage and knock, timidly waiting for him to open the door only to surely throw it back in my face.
When he finally opens it I pull the peanut butter sandwich I had taken from of the dining compartment out of my pocket. I don't think he's eaten since breakfast so I know he must be hungry. This is my opening move. What a cowardly icebreaker.
Peeta doesn't take the sandwich but instead wordlessly allows me to enter his room, closing the door behind us. He crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to say something. His eyes are bloodshot and red around the rims. It looks like he's been crying.
"You should eat this. You must be hungry." I offer him the sandwich lamely, refusing eye contact and knowing that he could have made a better one himself.
"Not really," he says quietly.
"Yeah, me neither."
I place the sandwich on his nightstand anyway. Maybe he will eat it later. I look back up at him. Everything about his body language reminds me of the time I visited his house in the Victor's Village all those weeks ago. It's the same situation isn't it? I guess history repeats itself after all.
"Peeta, I'm so sorry," I say quietly, finally looking at him.
He stares back at me, his anger has vanished and been replaced with sadness. I swallow thickly, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don't want to drift apart again. In fact, I won't allow it. I'm too stubborn to let him slip through my fingers. I may not have many friends, but I value the ones I do, right?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No more lies. No more pretending. Prim comes to me again. I see her roll her eyes at me telling me to "just tell him the truth!"
And that's what I decide to do.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything but I promise, from here on out, I will not keep anything from you." I stare directly at him, trying to make myself as clear as I can because I truly mean what I say. I see his eyes shift to the window. He won't look at me.
"I will tell you everything. Now. Just give me a chance." My voice has become slightly desperate and my hands start to shake again, a tendency that has become more and more frequent.
Peeta switches his gaze back to me. He looks more sad than angry and more tired than anything else.
"Katniss, I don't know if I'm strong enough to give you any more chances," he says quietly.
He looks at me again, broken. Like he's already given up. This terrifies me and my hands start to shake furiously. We've worked so hard and come so far trying to develop some semblance of a friendship. Well I guess he's worked hard while I've just gone along with everything. I'm as useless as ever, aren't I?
I don't know what to say so I do the only thing I can think of. I throw my arms around Peeta's neck and hug him as tightly as I can, ignoring my shaking hands. Ignoring how much I hate displays of affection.
If I don't let go he can't run from me, can he? He can't hide. And he's warm…
His body stiffens for only a moment before he returns the hug with equal force. I feel him let out a shaky breath. After a few minutes he speaks.
"I shouldn't have said those things," he whispers into my hair.
"I deserved it," I respond.
I can feel him shake his head.
"I don't know what I can do anymore. To make you trust me," he says wearily.
"Peeta," I whisper as I pull away slightly so I can look at him.
"I do trust you. More than anyone and I think that scares me the most."
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. They are the absolute truth and I realize, as I speak them, there is no going back. No matter how hard it is I can't hide from Peeta anymore. I stare back into his eyes, wondering how I could possibly not trust him and it's terrifying.
"Why?" Peeta asks softly. That's a good question; one I would like the answer to myself.
"I don't know."
We sit cross-legged on his bed and I tell him everything, starting with the uprisings. I tell him in more detail about Snow's threats to Gale and Prim. Now that the floodgates are open, it all comes quite easily and I don't have to think much. I don't worry too much about the recording devices I know are planted in this room. Snow knows what I am telling Peeta so I can't possibly get in trouble for that. I was told to tell Peeta this after all, right?
"There's something else," I tell him while looking down at my fingers.
Peeta, distracted by my trembling hands, had decided to take hold of them at some point during the conversation. And that's fine, I think. We're friends. Friends can hold hands.
But I never hold hands with Gale… I ignore that.
Peeta has been tense for most of the discussion, which I don't find to be that unusual. My response to Snow's information was bad, to say the least. Peeta doesn't ask questions but I know he must have things to say. He must know he will have to wait to tell me when we are away from invisible Capitol ears.
"What?" he asks, concerned.
"It's about you. Snow said something to me about you."
"What did he say?"
I look up at him, those blue eyes silently imploring me and I know I have to tell him, despite the fact that I don't want to. I don't want him to worry about this because it will never happen. I won't let it happen.
"Do you know Finnick Odair?" I start out, deciding to ease my way into the hard part.
"The Victor? Yeah. Why?" He asks cautiously.
"Do you know what he does?" It's a strange question and I can tell Peeta thinks so too by the way his expression changes.
"Not really. I don't really know that much about him. He always goes to those Capitol events. I think I saw him during our Victory celebration after the Games. He was talking to some Capitol lady."
"Snow hinted at me that Finnick is being prostituted around the Capitol to the highest paying customers." The words taste like spoiled milk as they leave my mouth and I try to contain my voice, knowing the Capitol is listening.
I glance at Peeta, who looks like he's been slapped.
"Are you serious?" His voice is barely audible.
"Yes."
I pause, searching Peeta's face for any clue of how he's handling this. The next part is the most difficult to swallow.
"Snow said that if I don't…act well enough…that if I don't play my part of the star-crossed lovers well enough…he would do the same to you."
Peeta stares at me, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape.
"But I won't let that happen. I can do this. I won't let them take you away," I say quickly, trying to reassure both him and myself.
Peeta's face turns white and his hands leave mine. He looks out the window at the now dark District 11 train station and runs his hands through his hair nervously.
"I don't know what to say," he states. And then, astonishingly, he starts to laugh.
I stare at him in shock, watching him laugh and laugh and laugh and I don't know what to do or say.
"I always know what to say, don't I? For once I'm speechless!" He says between laughs. It's making me nervous. He has to stop or the Capitol could misconstrue his laughing as a sign of disrespect.
"Please don't laugh," I tell him, my voice desperate and choked. As his eyes meet mine his laughing dies down.
"You're right. That's not funny," he agrees. Peeta has clasped his hands together and he studies them carefully. I watch him as his brow furrows, his eyes never leaving his hands.
"So Snow is using me against you."
I nod. I'm sorry, Peeta.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, looking at me.
"Don't. We've already discussed this. No more apologizing." My voice is hard and what I hope is convincing.
Peeta slumps his shoulders and drops his head into his hands. If this isn't easy for me I can't imagine what it's like for him. I watch Peeta carefully. He's tired. I can tell by the way he speaks. By the way he moves. By the way he's not arguing, relenting to me.
"But Peeta I won't let it happen to you. I can do it. I can play the part." I grab his hands, hoping to convey that my message is sincere but realize soon after that I did it more so because I missed the feel of them in my own. Ridiculous, I think.
"You can?"
I nod vigorously. I can. I can do it.
"You don't know how." His words annoy me but they're true.
"Well I've never tried, have I?" I retort and then I stiffen, thinking of Prim's words. If Peeta senses my change in demeanor he doesn't bring it up.
"I can teach you some tricks, if you want," he says.
"Tricks?" What kind of tricks can he teach me? I'm not a dog that's supposed to jump through hoops. It's not like I'm supposed to go and perform magic.
"Yes. To help you, you know…act like you love me." He looks down at our hands and I want to take them back.
"Yeah. Ok. What are they?"
Peeta stares at our hands for a few moments before he looks at me and starts to speak.
"Well first you need to find something about me. Something that makes you happy. Maybe happy memories or thoughts." I can see Peeta begin to blush but he presses on. "Then just think about that when you're with me in front of the cameras. You'll be happy. People in love are happy, right? At least when they're with each other."
He doesn't look very happy but his suggestion is all I have to work with.
"Happy memories. I guess that will work," I confirm.
Peeta looks exhausted, like he might fall asleep while speaking to me. I'm sure he wants to go to bed but is too polite to ask me to leave.
"I'm tired. I'm going to try to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Peeta returns his gaze to the window.
"It's been a tough day, hasn't it."
I nod. That's an understatement. People were killed and Peeta probably feels responsible. My blood goes cold when I realize I should feel responsible as well. What have we done?
Peeta gets up and walks me to the door. Before I open it to leave I feel his hand on my shoulder and I turn around.
"I'm sorry, by the way. For acting the way I did. I was just tired of being treated like a second thought."
I'm sure he doesn't mean to make me feel worse but I do anyway.
"I know," I whisper. "You will never be a second thought again. Not to me."
I don't think he ever was to begin with, only that I was just too stupid to acknowledge that Peeta means more to me than I think. Why else would I be so concerned about losing him? I can see Prim doing cartwheels in my head. Because he's my friend. I'm not in love with him, Prim. I'll never be in love with anyone.
"I'll be better tomorrow. I'll be back to myself. Today just took a lot out of me," Peeta tells me.
Despite my better judgment, I bring my hand up to Peeta's face and run my fingers over the bags under his eyes. He sighs and closes them.
"You're not selfish," he murmurs. "I said you were selfish and you're not." I forgot that was one of the names he called me.
"I think I am," I confess in a low voice.
"You're not," he tells me with conviction. I'm selfish in different ways. Ways you don't know.
I move my fingers from under his eyes and push the hair off his forehead. I wonder why his Prep team didn't trim his bangs.
"I know you don't love me, Katniss. I don't expect you to love me and whatever happens…just know that I'm grateful that you tried...whatever it is that's happening. You tried to help. That's what friends do, right? We're friends."
But we're more than friends, aren't we? I comes to me simply. I don't think anyone can survive the Hunger Games with another person and come out as 'just friends.' It's like we're tethered together now. If I'm pulled in one direction Peeta will follow and I know it goes the other way as well. I will follow him.
'Friends' won't work for me. That's not what we are. But what are we?
I study Peeta's face. His straight nose that's littered with freckles. His strong jaw that sets when I touch his face, like I'm doing now. His lips that haven't produced a smile since this morning. The shaggy blond hair that falls over his sad blue eyes. I wish they weren't so sad.
I've never really looked at him before, have I? I touch his cheek and for the first time since the cave I want to kiss him. But I can't. I won't. Because I don't love him and that wouldn't be fair.
Instead, to both his and my complete shock, I kiss him softly on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary. When I pull away, Peeta's eyes are open and questioning.
"Good friends. That's what we are." I confirm.
Peeta smiles and I'm happy because he looks more like himself when he smiles.
"Oh, so good friends can do that?" he asks, amused.
"I think so." But my mind is screaming yes and no at the same time. Can good friends give each other kisses on the cheek? Well… maybe not your typical 'good friends'. But we're not typical people.
"Well if that's the case, let me return the favor."
Peeta pecks me quickly on the cheek and I can feel the place where his lips touched me burn, my blush radiating from the spot. And I hate that I'm blushing. Before I do or say anything stupid I go back to my compartment.
Maybe, secretly, I'll add this to my list of happy memories.
My life on Tour becomes a routine. The first day in each District, Peeta and I address the people followed by a question and answer session with the press, which I don't understand because all the questions are the same and all of our answers are the same. Yes, Peeta and I are enjoying our time together. Yes, we are enjoying our time on Tour. Yes, we are looking forward to mentoring. Why the Capitol feels the need to include one of these in each District is beyond my comprehension. Haymitch warned us that once we get to the Capitol, Caesar will be asking more 'pressing' questions and that we should be prepared.
On the second day we tour the District. It was the grain fields in 11, which were particularly difficult for me because all I could think of was Rue. The livestock farms in District 10 and the grain processing factories in 9. We see a lot of factories, in Districts 8, 6, 5, 3 and 2. My favorite Tours are in 7 and 4. District 7 is basically a monstrous forest and it reminds me of the woods outside 12. We tour the lumberyards but I don't like them. The skeletons of the once beautiful trees make me depressed. District 4 is warm and surrounded by crystalline water. We tour the fishing marinas. I want to swim in the water but I know I'm not allowed. I don't like the warehouses we visit in District 1. They remind me too much of the Capitol.
On the third day there is a party in each District Mayor's house. We have to talk to a lot of people who I'm sure don't like us very much.
For each District, Cinna and my prep team make me look lovely and dress me in clothing that slightly reflects each District while also maintaining my own "aura", as Cinna had put it. Peeta is always dressed in similar clothes.
Haymitch is never sober and only makes public appearances when Effie forces him to. He makes snappy comments to Peeta and me at mealtimes and likes to ruffle Effie's feathers. He doesn't need to warn us about the Capitol. Peeta and I are already aware.
The photographers take a lot of pictures of us and I have to be on my best behavior at all times, which hasn't proven to be that difficult. I've compiled a mental list of things I like about Peeta- happy memories and happy thoughts to help me. With my acting. At least that's what I tell myself.
I like the way he rolls his eyes at Effie when she's not looking. I like when Peeta imitates Haymitch. I like the way his eyes light up when he talks about baking. I like the way his breath feels against my ear when he whispers something to me. I like when he wears short-sleeved shirts and I can see his arms. I like his laugh and his smile and his eyes and the way his hand feels in mine.
I like when he kisses me.
But there is no kissing between us without the cameras, and it's better that way. I become confused when I kiss him. I find I'm never the one to pull away. I want to keep doing it. I hate that I want to keep doing it. The kisses we share in front of the cameras are mostly brief and chaste but they are sweet. Sometimes, when the photographers can't be satisfied with those kisses, they become longer and more lingering and I forget where I am.
I like kissing Peeta and that scares me.
Somewhere in between Districts 9 and 10 Peeta and I started to sit with each other in the living room compartment of the train when we couldn't sleep at night. Around 1 or 2 a.m. I'll leave my compartment to find Peeta waiting for me on the couch or in a chair. The night's easier when you're not alone. We sit and talk, and he makes me laugh, until around 5 or 6 when we go back to our own compartments where we pretend to sleep.
It's my favorite part of the Tour.
I learn things about Peeta I had never known. I learn that Peeta's favorite thing to bake is banana bread but he can't do it a lot because bananas are very expensive and hard to come by. Peeta's least favorite things to bake are sugar cookies because he ate too many one time and had a terrible stomachache for days. Peeta's brothers are Barley (the oldest and much too like his mother) and Rye (two years older than Peeta and his favorite.)
I learned that Peeta's favorite color is orange. 'Not an ugly orange' as Peeta had put it, but a muted orange. 'Like the sunset,' he had said while smiling. Peeta once brought home a wounded bird he found outside the bakery and tried to nurse it back to health but it died. He said he buried it in the yard when no one was looking. I laughed at that because Peeta is exactly like Prim; he would be a terrible hunter.
Peeta told me he paints. I asked to see some of the paintings but he said most of them aren't very nice. I still want to see them.
I tell him things about me that I don't think are very interesting but Peeta finds fascinating. He wanted to know my favorite color (green) and my favorite thing to hunt (deer). He wanted to know my favorite baked item "for future reference" he had told me. I laughed and told him the cheese buns in the window always looked really good but I could never afford them.
I tell him stories about Prim. I tell him how she once convinced Rory Hawthorne that Lady only eats four-leafed clovers. Poor Rory had started a collection of at least 10 before Prim told him it was a joke. Peeta thought that was funny. I don't tell Peeta about hunting with Gale. I don't tell him about my father. I don't tell anyone about my father.
Our midnight conversations are a nice distraction from the more serious aspects of the Tour. Every time we go to a new District I'm reminded of my promise to Snow and the looming threat of potential uprisings. Peeta's speeches are always generic and Capitol-friendly and I pretend to be the idiot love-struck girl who is too stupid to spark a rebellion. We are particularly careful in District 8, which like District 11, already rioted once.
I start sleeping in Peeta's bed on the second night in District 8. He wasn't waiting for me in the living room compartment like he usually did at night. I didn't think much of it at first. Maybe he had fallen asleep or lost himself in his painting. I walked down the hall to his room anyway and stay by his door. I knew I should have probably just given up and gone back to my own compartment but I couldn't. I wanted to leave but couldn't muster up the strength. I had grown accustomed to Peeta's presence and didn't want to spend the night alone again. I knew that if Peeta didn't come out that night I would probably just have fallen asleep outside his door.
After about an hour I was beginning to drift off, my head leaning against Peeta's door, when I heard a loud thud on the other side of it. In my half-conscious state, I threw it open to see Peeta lying on the floor next to his bed, fists clenched and neck strained. He was having a nightmare.
I stayed with him that night, whispering comforting words to him the same way he did for me. Stroking his hair and hugging him the same way he did for me. And he's so warm. I couldn't lift him onto the bed so I lay on the floor with him, his head in my lap, until he woke up. Peeta doesn't scream or thrash like I do when he has nightmares so it's hard to tell he's having one until he wakes up, breathing heavily and searching for me. It pains me to know I can't pull him out of it the way he can for me. I'm useless, as always.
Our Victory Tour is almost over and in a few hours we will be in the Capitol. In a few hours I know I will be scared and nervous because this is what it all leads up to, right? The Capitol is the most important stop and I know Snow will want to talk to me. But right now, with Peeta, in his bed, I'm okay. A few months ago that thought would have made me laugh. But somehow it makes sense. And it's not scary, really. At least when he's next to me and warm and smells the way he does. When he can wake me up from my nightmares and, like a good friend, doesn't question anything.
It's very early and I'm awake before he is. His arms are wrapped tightly around me. They always end up that way. I snuggle closer to him, my head on his shoulder, my hand resting on the place above his heart. He's warm. In the dark of the early morning, I press my nose into his t-shirt, blatantly inhaling as much of the sugar-vanilla-Peeta smell as I can before he wakes up and realizes what's happening. Peeta remains on his baker's schedule, waking early and almost all of the time before I do. I've only woken up one other time before Peeta has and that was that first morning. The morning after his nightmare. I close my eyes, my arms wrapped around him, nose in his shirt, and remember.
Propped up on my elbow, I study Peeta's face. The little wrinkle above his eyes has disappeared and the corners of his mouth are twisted up in a slight smile. I bring my free hand and brush away the hair that covers his eyes.
He looks so peaceful.
My hand trails down his face and stop at his jaw and I pretend that I don't want to kiss him there.
"Good morning," he says sleepily.
I start and move to pull my hand away but he grabs my wrist, keeping me there.
"Good morning," I respond.
Peeta closes his eyes, most likely basking in this peaceful and quiet moment. We don't have many of them. After a while he sits up and faces me. His expression has changed.
"You didn't have to stay. I'm sorry," he says without meeting my eyes, like he's ashamed of himself.
"I had someone help me through the night too, once," I reply quietly. Peeta doesn't know how to respond so he says nothing.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask.
"Of course. Once the nightmare was over I slept wonderfully," he replies, still avoiding my eyes.
"Peeta."
At the sound of his name he finally looks at me.
"I sleep better when you're with me," I confess and I'm surprised by my own bluntness. Where is this coming from?
"I sleep better when I'm with you," he responds, not at all thrown by my uncharacteristic candor.
That night I go to Peeta's room and he isn't surprised to see me.
"Hi," he says, amused. He must have just taken a shower because his hair is soaking and he has a towel in one hand. There are small droplets of water that trail down his face, hanging precariously once they reach his jaw. I swallow loudly.
"I don't want to be tired anymore," I tell him. I'm skirting around the issue. Maybe he will just ask me and I won't have to deal with it. I stare at him and he stares back, smiling widely. He is going to make me suffer, isn't he?
"Are you tired?" I ask him.
"All the time. I can't sleep well without you," he tells me truthfully and I hide my smile because he's given me an easy in.
"Well, maybe…"
I'm struggling. I was never the one who was good with words and now I feel stupid for coming here.
"Maybe, if you wanted, we could just sleep together." I suggest in a small voice. "In the same bed. Just sleep. In the same bed." I sound like a complete moron and want to take back my words but Peeta just smiles beautifully while I stumble over my words.
"You want to sleep together?" Peeta asks me, his voice serious.
I nod, watching his eyes for signs of what he may be thinking.
"Yes," he says. I need more of a confirmation, though, so he elaborates. "I want to share a bed with you. To sleep."
I'm relieved and embarrassed that this is happening and Peeta must sense my discomfort because he tugs on my braid and does his best Effie impersonation.
"But what will our dear friend Effie Trinket think of this?"
"I don't care," I scowl and follow him into his compartment.
Once we're in bed and all the lights are turned off and I can't see Peeta's face I snuggle close to him, hating this weakness. He envelops me in his arms and sighs deeply. I place my head on his chest carefully and listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat until it becomes slow and even.
"Thank you, Peeta," I whisper, half hoping he is asleep. For a few seconds I think he is. But then I feel his arms flex tighter around me and he speaks.
"It's what we do, right? Good friends."
I've slept in his compartment ever since. Octavia was confused when I refused her coffee that first morning and it was a memory I added to the list.
There are days, though, when I become overwhelmed and confused and spend hours in the bathroom, trying to sort through my feelings. Good friends. Just good friends, I say, trying to reassure myself while I sit in the bathtub until my skin prunes or brush my teeth until my gums bleed. Peeta doesn't ask why I'm late to his room on those days but he knows something's off. He doesn't tease me or bring up the Tour. But once the lights are off and we're under the covers, he crushes me to him and I get lost in his smell and allow his heartbeat to lull me to sleep.