It's the day before the Reaping and instead of really letting myself think about it, I'm at my kitchen table, flipping through the tribute tapes I requested from Effie. Actually, I asked Prim to call because I knew that if I called Effie, I would either hang up or start to cry, both of which would yield nothing.
They didn't arrive until this morning. My plan is to analyze them with Peeta, to look at the strengths and weaknesses of all the chosen Victors and put together Peeta's offense and defense off of what we can deduce from these tapes. It's a lot to do in a day, which is why I forced Peeta up so early. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him pushing the eggs Mother made us around his plate.
"It's my birthday today," Peeta says. I stop chewing the piece of bread I stuffed in my mouth and look at him, completely dumbstruck.
"Oh, Peeta! Happy birthday!" Prim replies excitedly. "Katniss what are you doing for Peeta's birthday?" Prim looks at me expectantly and I swallow the piece of bread with difficulty because it's become somewhat lodged in my throat.
"I didn't know it was his birthday," I say, looking at Peeta. I can't decide if I should be angry or guilty. I try to remember if Peeta ever told me his birthday on the nights in the train during the Tour.
"That's because I didn't tell her," Peeta explains and looks at me with a sheepish half-smile.
"Oh, Katniss. You have to something for his birthday," Prim pleads with large doe eyes. It's obvious that Prim's method of coping with the announcement is to act overly supportive of Peeta in anything he does. I've been a horrible sister these past few weeks. I've been moody and weepy and completely distant, focusing all my attention on Peeta, which I know Prim understands but it still doesn't help me feel better. I can't help but feel that I haven't done enough for either of them, Prim or Peeta. Like I'm forgetting something important.
I look back to Peeta, who, encouraged by Prim, is grinning widely. Suddenly I'm very irritated, wondering why the hell he didn't tell me this. I'm trying to figure out a correct way to handle this new situation but I more or less end up stumbling over my words.
"But, we have the videos and…we need to strategize," I sputter, not sure of how to react or steer the conversation. Birthdays have always been a curse for me so I have difficulty being enthusiastic about them. "Why didn't you tell me?" I'm watching Peeta carefully and his smile disappears, replaced with a worrisome frown.
"Because I knew you would react the same way you're acting now," he says frustratedly. "Katniss, the Reaping's tomorrow. I've done the training for 4 weeks straight. I've listened to you. I've done everything you've told me to do. Today, I want…no, I need to do what I want to do."
"Yeah, well what's that?" I snap back. I can imagine him baking more bread for the Hob all day and then falling asleep at the table waiting for one last loaf to come out of the oven. The day will be a complete waste.
"I have something planned," Peeta says quietly.
"You've been planning something?" I half shout, on the verge of becoming hysterical. He's been planning something, knowing he wouldn't be training today? On some level I know I'm being ridiculous. But I can't imagine not training today, knowing that he's leaving tomorrow. Every second counts, at this point.
Peeta, in an effort to cool my anger, places his hand on my cheek and forces me to look at him, something I've been avoiding because the power he has over me with that stare is too much.
"Please," he says softly, imploring me with those blue eyes and completely ignoring the fact that my Mother and Prim are in the room. "It's my last day."
I slump in my chair and look back at him. He's been so good about training, never complaining, despite the awful amount of things I've been making him do. And it is his last day. I guess he deserves to spend it the way he wants, no matter how upset it makes me.
"You have to promise to watch the tribute tapes on the train, then. You have to—" I insist but he interrupts me.
"I will," he says quickly and when he sees the doubt in my eyes he repeats himself. "I will."
I stare up at him. He always repeats himself when he wants me to know he's telling the truth, when he wants to get his point across, so I know he will watch those tapes. But I can't help but feel slightly annoyed, in a desperate kind of way, knowing how I feel it's my responsibility to keep him alive.
"Okay," I respond and then he kisses me softly on the lips, a thank you. And even though my Mother and Prim are here, I don't pull away. Because it's his last day.
I have no idea what Peeta has planned because it's not like we can do much. It's freezing cold outside and the fencing that surrounds the District 12 border is turned on so we can't sneak into the woods, if that were even a possibility.
I stand in his kitchen as he gathers things from under cabinets and inside the refrigerator.
"Are we going on a picnic?" I ask sarcastically. I'm still not comfortable with the idea of completely throwing the day away and I'm acting like a brat but Peeta doesn't seem to care or notice.
"Sort of," he replies, not turning around and instead, focusing on the bits of food he's putting into a bag. I sigh and lean against the wall, waiting for him to take me wherever he has so secretly planned.
After Peeta has placed a variety of things into a bag, still a mystery because I was too busy moping to pay attention, he leads me upstairs and grabs a blanket from his bedroom before coming back to me in the hall.
"Good idea, it's cold," I deadpan.
"We're not going outside," he responds and he pulls down a hatch from the ceiling I hadn't noticed existed. A latter unfolds itself. "There's an attic up here. It's small but there's a giant window and you can see basically the whole District."
"Really?" I ask, forgetting my anger. Our houses in the Victor's Village are already so large compared to what I used to have that I didn't even think that maybe there was a third floor. Peeta gestures for me to climb up.
The attic is small. It's slightly drafty and filled with wooden beams but there is an enormous window, floor to sloped ceiling, and I go to look through it. The Victor's Village is situated on a hill, and from this third story vantage point we can see almost the entirety of District 12. I even spot the Hob and the entrance to the mines.
"When did you find out about this?" I ask, turning around. Peeta is setting the blanket down on the wooden floor.
"When we first moved in I noticed the third story window. So I went and found it," he answers simply. "You have one too, you know."
There is a third story window in all of the houses in the Victor's Village but I hadn't really thought too much about them. I don't want to bring up my terrible observation skills, especially in light of his 'birthday' announcement, so instead I redirect the conversation.
"So what are you gonna do with me up here?" I ask, before realizing the double meaning. It wouldn't surprise me if Peeta tried to kiss me the entire day and I don't think I would stop him.
"Absolutely nothing," he says while sitting down on the blanket and leaning against one of the beams.
"What?" I ask. He gestures for me to come sit down with him and I begrudgingly do so.
"I want to do absolutely nothing with you today. Is that okay?" He asks. I look up at him and he's staring down at me. I can't place his expression. I sigh and I try to put myself in Peeta's shoes. If I were leaving tomorrow to go compete in my second Hunger Games, I don't think I would want to do anything today either. It's comical how quickly my anger evaporates.
"Okay," I confirm.
The day passes and Peeta and I talk about unimportant things. We stare out the giant window and watch the world go by. Our world, at least.
It reminds me of our time on the train during the Victory Tour. He tells me little stories of when he was younger and I try very hard not to cry. He's not bringing up anything traumatic but I can't help but think that this is it. This day is for certain; we are here. But the days following are not. And I don't know what to do about it.
"It happened really fast," Peeta murmurs.
I'm lying down, head in his lap, playing with his fingers. Peeta's free hand is tangled in my hair, which he somehow freed from its braid.
"What?" I ask. My mind is slow and wandering because of our late lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches, hot chocolate and cheese buns. It made me smile, the little, inconsequential things he remembers. My favorites, not his. I should have found time to make him Banana Bread.
"You and me," he clarifies. "I'm sorry it happened so fast." His tone has changed. Throughout the day he talked animatedly and it reminded me so much of the old Peeta that I think I smiled a few times. Now he's back to melancholy Peeta and my frown stays put.
I'm not sure what he means, though, so I switch my eyes from the window to look at his face. He's been fixed on me the whole time.
"What do you mean, 'you're sorry'," I whisper.
"Well I guess it didn't really happen that fast, for me at least. I've had a massive crush on you since I was five years old. And eleven years later..." he trails off. "It's just, it's been six months since I first met you, really met you," he says, trailing a finger down my cheek. "It shouldn't be like this."
His words make me think about something that's completely slipped my mind. Our relationship does seem rushed. I've only known Peeta, really known him, for six months? It doesn't seem possible. I've thought about him, in some way or another, ever since he threw me that bread.
"We're just so young," he almost whispers but the way his eyes look right now could suggest he's lived a thousand lives. He's right. It shouldn't be like this and we are so young. We shouldn't have to be having this discussion. This is what elderly couples talk about during their last days. Not teenagers. I can't figure out what to say back to him so I grab his hand and trace his fingers, biting the inside of my cheek.
"I dreamed of spending my whole life with you," he says wistfully, and my eyes shoot back to his. He's still watching me, almost as if he's scared that if he looks away, I'll disappear. "I wanted to marry you. One day."
I don't know how to respond to this. I've never wanted to marry anyone and, even during my time with Peeta, these few months, it never crossed my mind. I was preoccupied during the Victory Tour and then we arrived back to 12 but immediately started preparing for the Quarter Quell. Marriage seems such a stupid thing to think about when your life is on the line but I know by the way Peeta is looking at me it's very important.
But I don't want to marry anyone. At least I didn't. And now that Peeta says this, I start to rethink everything. Not completely, but enough to question my previous believes.
But marriage means children.
"Marriage means children," I say stupidly. Peeta looks out the window again and his hand moves back to my hair.
"I wanted children, too," he whispers. It's clear this is why he brought me up here. To talk to someone, confess things he maybe hasn't told anyone before. I don't let go of his hand but I can't look away from his face.
"Not now, obviously" he adds. "But later on. When I was older." The way he is talking in the past tense makes my heart twist in my chest but I'm too confused to do anything about it.
"I don't want children," I state because apparently I'm only one for declaratory remarks right now.
"Why?" Peeta asks, genuinely surprised. I almost get angry with him for asking me but then realize we've never talked about this together. Gale's the one I talked to about my fear of children and babies. Peeta should know, too.
"Because what if they were Reaped?" I barely whisper and Peeta looks down at me. His thumb brushes my lips and he seems to be in deep thought.
"I guess you're right," he says sadly. "But what if it were different? No Games? No Capitol?" he asks quietly. I wonder if there are recording devices up here but I'm not overly concerned. After all, who would climb the wobbly drop down ladder into this drafty, unfurnished area?
"But it's not different," I respond stubbornly. Peeta's eyes don't leave my face.
"It can be," he responds so quietly I almost don't hear him. He doesn't say anything for a while but I stare at him anyway. "You'd be a great mother."
At this, I snort. I have no idea how to act around babies and pregnant women make me uneasy.
"I highly doubt that," I say.
"You've been a mother to Prim," he says softly. I stare up at him and swallow the lump in my throat. I refuse to think about myself as a mother because it scares me too much. Instead I think about Peeta as a father.
"You will be a great father, Peeta," I say, emphasizes the future. And he will be. I can see him spoiling his beautiful little blonde children with cookies, teaching them how to paint. Patient and kind. I can feel the tears slide down my cheeks. He deserves that and I wonder why the hell I'm with him. Why the hell he's the one going. It should be me.
"You're the only person I wanted to marry. There was no one else for me," he says. It's like he's speaking in unconnected sentences, not really taking into account my way of diverting the conversation. He needs to say these things to me.
I close my eyes and will the tears to stop. Peeta would be an amazing father and an incredible husband. Any girl would be lucky to have him. I struggle to find something to say but come up empty. He's the only one for me, too. There won't be anyone else because Peeta and I are far too intertwined. I'm not scared of the commitment but I can't marry him.
"This has been the best six months of my life," Peeta says quietly.
"It can be more," I urge, suddenly sitting up, angry that he keeps talking about the future as if there isn't one. And suddenly, I want a future with Peeta. Not marriage or children but a future because I can't think of one without him. "You can come back, I don't understand why you keep talking like you can't. I don't understand why you've already given up!"
I've tried not to think about it that much because I've been so immersed in training. I was so focused on getting him back to me that I didn't really think about what would happen after I had him. I want more days like this, sitting around and doing nothing. I want everyday to be like this. We can deal with marriage and children later, just as long as he comes back.
"Think about it Katniss," Peeta says, hands cupping my face, pleading me with those big, blue eyes. It's what he's been trying to do, little by little, this past month. He's been trying to make me accept the fact that he won't come back.
"I have thought about it. About what Haymitch said and about what you keep telling me." My words are angry but desperate. "And that idea doesn't scare me, Peeta, because I've dealt with fear and impossible odds before. Remember?"
He's staring at me, brow furrowed, searching for a logical retort but he can't seem to find one.
"What scares me is that you've give up," I continue, more softly and I don't realize how sad I've become. He's the rock. He's the optimistic, positive one. I've tried to be that person and failed.
"Because for me, you have always been the hope that keeps me going. The bread from when we were kids. The dandelion. The…"I trail off, realizing I haven't explained those things to him. Not really. Not their importance. Peeta doesn't question my words, no matter how nonsensical they must be. He only gazes at me as I continue talking.
"Did you know that bread you threw me when we were little gave me the will to live?" I ask him. He's silent, mouth in a straight line. "That next day after school I looked over at you and you had this terrible welt on your cheek from where your mother hit you," I explain, touching the spot with my fingers and his eyes close briefly.
"I wanted to say something but chickened out. And when I looked down I saw this yellow dandelion. It shouldn't have been there, it was too early for them, too cold," I say, not looking at his eyes but instead at my fingers, where they remain on his now healed cheek. "But it was there anyway and that…it gave me hope. Because even if it seemed impossible it wasn't." I conclude, not really sure I made any sense, yet Peeta's hanging on every word. I meet his eyes again.
"You're letting me down," I say quietly, finally coming to terms with the way I feel towards him in this moment, these past few weeks. It's a completely unfair statement, I realize. It's selfish of me to blame him when he's in his current position. In fact, if the situation were reversed, I know I would be doing the same for him. But something inside of me knows that telling him the truth is what needs to be done.
I don't know what to say anymore and I'm tired of talking, my mind filled with marriage and babies and futures without Peeta. I move my hand away from his face but Peeta just shifts closer to me.
"I didn't know," he says. "I just…I wanted you to be prepared if…"
"If you die?" I ask bluntly because now I'm just sick of this. "How can I possibly be prepared? What would you do? If our places were switched? Would you be prepared if I died?"
This silences him and I can see him start to understand.
"I didn't know that. About the dandelion," he says quietly, changing subjects.
It so Peeta to be able to sum up my complicated mess of feelings in that one word. Dandelion. It's part of why I love him. But then my traitor mind shuttles me in a direction I've been avoiding. A life where Peeta doesn't survive. I think about his stupid way to simplify everything with one word and how I'll miss it. Terribly. The tears burn behind my eyes and Peeta runs his thumb underneath them. I grab onto his hand and rest my forehead against his, noses touching. His breath on my face is comforting and I inhale his smell: sugar-vanilla-Peeta.
"Just…" I whisper. I'm grasping at straws now and I don't care. "Please promise me you'll try to come back home." If he can't promise his return, at least he can promise to try. I think I'm crying again but that's all I really ever do when Peeta and I have these discussions, with tomorrow's Reaping looming heavily over us.
"Please," I ask him, voice watery. "You have to promise you won't give up."
I'm leaning heavily into him now, my strength all but gone. I've tried everything. My hand travels down his chest and splays across his heart, feeling the steady beat underneath my fingers. I feel awful that I don't want to marry him. Spend my life with him? Any alternative doesn't seem right. But marriage is still something my stubborn mind won't look past. I can't. And I hate it because it would make him so happy.
It happened really fast.
Maybe if we had more time, I would be able to give him more. But tomorrow barreled toward us far to quickly and I'm left feeling like I failed him.
"I promise," he breathes and I pull back to look at him. He hasn't promised me anything since the announcement, never wanting to break the trust we rely so heavily upon. This promise means something.
"I promise," he repeats and I know he means it. I move to kiss him but he stops me.
"You need to promise me something, then," he says, grabbing my hand. "If I die…" I begin to speak but he silences me with a finger to my lips. "If I die, you need to keep living."
I stare at him and I can feel my face falling. I know when he says 'living' he doesn't mean 'staying alive.' He wants me to move on. Peeta pulls me close and I can feel his breathe in my ear, deadly quiet.
"Don't let me die in vain. If there is a rebellion, Katniss, follow it through. Make my life worth something."
It's worth everything, I want to say.
I'm brought back to Haymitch's living room.
And I think they're hoping his death will be the end of you too, sweetheart. Not your life, maybe, but your spirit. Kill two birds with one stone.
I know above all things that I can't let Snow win. And if Peeta dies, and Snow expects me to 'die' along with him, by principle alone I won't. I will fight until Snow is all but a bloody pulp on the ground and the Capitol is brought down to ashes. But after that is done, I'm not sure I'd be able to fight for anything else. I respond anyway.
"I promise."
We didn't leave the attic until after sun set. I know it's his favorite time and he held me close as we watched the sun disappear behind the mountains in the distance. We never recovered the casual air of conversation from before.
Peeta explained that he needed to see his family before tomorrow and at this point, I think I understand as much as his relationship with them that I ever will. He's explained it to me once before, months ago after my first terrible nightmare. His new, precarious relationship with his family. It's too late to question it further and I'm positive that doing so will only upset him.
I shower quickly and hesitate at my dresser before I go to his house. I slip the blue sea glass into the pocket of my pants and head over. I don't knock on his front door and don't even call out to him once I arrive. I walk straight up to his bedroom. The shower is running so I sit on the edge of his bed and wait for him to come out. When he does he's wearing boxer shorts and his hair is soaking wet.
He's surprised to see me here so soon, obviously, and almost slips on the bathroom tiles.
"Make yourself at home, I guess," he jokes. I try not to stare at his chest and stomach but it's painfully difficult. All the extra exercise I've made him do has clearly paid off; the muscles of his stomach are hard and prominent and my fingers itch to touch them.
"Keep staring and you'll make me blush," he jokes again so I turn up to look at him. His eyes are sadder than his joking tone lets on.
"I have something for you," I explain, pulling the sea glass from my pocket and standing up to meet him. He stares at the glass in my hand before responding.
"I gave that to you. Are you re-gifting?" Peeta asks, slightly more hurt than his tone lets on.
"You can have a token in the arena," I explain, looking up into his eyes. "I want you to take this." I hold out the sea glass in my palm and Peeta's hand covers my own, clasps it, really.
"No," he says. I start to ask 'why' but Peeta cuts me off. "I want you to have it, it was a gift," he asserts with more force than necessary. I'm surprised by his sudden vigor and I meet his eyes again. "You need to keep this."
"Why?" I ask.
"I need you to have something that reminds you of me," he says in a rushed whisper and he closes his eyes. "Just in case."
I swallow thickly.
"But what will you have to remind you of me?" I ask, voice shaky.
"Everything," he responds with heartbreaking honesty. "Everything reminds me of you. You're all I have."
And it's these. These little things he says that have the ability to knock me to my knees. The back of my throat burns with the effort to keep my tears at bay but it's no use.
"Please don't cry," he says, voice small and I try to obey his request but fail miserably.
"How can I not?" I ask him truthfully, voice wavering on the edge. He doesn't seem to have an answer to that and I don't have anything else to offer so I kiss him. And then he's kissing me back. Peeta takes the sea glass from my hands and I hear him put it on the nightstand next to his bed but I'm too busy running my fingers over his stomach, memorizing the feel of it, hot and damp from his shower, trying to forget everything.
Peeta's kisses are deep and meaningful and I try to respond in the like but his hands are at the edge of my shirt.
"We should match," he says, breathing heavily, and I don't object when he pulls the shirt over my head. I didn't bother wearing a bra, knowing what would happen, what I want to happen. I didn't bother with underwear either. He doesn't know that.
His eyebrows go up at the sight of my chest and for a moment he just stares.
"You're beautiful," he tells me before kissing me again. "I never told you enough," he whispers against my lips. I pretend I don't notice his use of the past tense and kiss him back, feeling his hands move over my chest, teasing my nipples and I bite down on his lip slightly in response.
"You're…" I try to say. Beautiful? No—handsome? Amazing? I love you? My thought is lost when his mouth moves to my neck. His lips ghost over the skin of my throat and he sucks hard where my neck meets my shoulder. I rake my fingernails over his back and shoulders and he half hums, half groans into my skin before pulling away and staring at me.
I touch his face, not knowing what to say, but knowing I want to say so much.
It happened really fast.
We weren't given enough time. All I want is more time.
I push him towards the bed instead. I don't really know what I'm doing when I start to pull off his boxers. They snag on his prosthetic again and for a moment I stare at it.
"Take it off," I demand but Peeta is lost in the moment, seemingly surprised I've already removed all of his clothes, and looks at me stupidly so I do it myself.
"No," he says but it's too late. "I don't—" he begins but I interrupt him.
"I want it just us tonight," I say and then start to kiss him again before he can stop me. I straddle his waist and get lost in our kisses again. Peeta's good with his tongue and as if to emphasize the point, he starts to lick his way down my neck and litter hot, wet kisses all over my breasts. I knot my fingers in his hair and sink lower into his lap, feeling him hard against me.
I sigh and he groans and I start to move over him. I think back to the first time this happened, on his couch after the Victory Tour party at Mayor Undersee's house. It hasn't been that long since then.
It happened really fast. We weren't given enough time.
"Katniss," he says. Peeta's breathing is labored, face against my stomach now, and I grip his hair harder. At this point, I'm sure I'll get off by doing this alone but Peeta stills me. I look down at him and his eyes are clouded over with what I can really only guess is some sort of lust.
My pause gives him the opportunity to roll me over so he's hovering above me. He kisses me again and I lock my legs around his waist again.
"No," he says into my mouth and he unbuttons my paints and slides them off my legs but falters when he doesn't find underwear.
"Oh…" he breathes and pulls back, looks at me, eyes clearing, trying to rationalize like he always does. We're both naked.
"You…I really…" he stutters. "We don't have to do anything," he forces out. My hands are still in his hair so I untangle them and trace his cheek with my finger, thinking hard. Sex. It's something I've steered away from, always. But sex isn't nearly as scary as marriage or children, and considering I've been given the shot, children aren't possibility.
Sex isn't nearly as scary as losing Peeta.
"I swear, Katniss," he says, pulling away but I grip his shoulders, meet his eyes and will him not to move. We weren't given enough time. Or maybe I was using it up badly. Maybe I was doing the wrong things. If we had more time maybe we would have talked about sex and marriage and babies and I feel like I completely screwed up everything. I don't even understand why I'm nervous about sex with Peeta anymore.
I love him.
He loves me.
They gave me the shot.
I can't get pregnant.
I love him.
He loves me.
I won't have a baby.
It's impossible.
I love him.
He loves me.
"I love you," I tell him, still unmoving. We're locked in a strange embrace and we haven't moved for at least two solid minutes.
"And I love you," he responds. "But it's not worth the risk. I wouldn't know what to do it you got…if something…" he trails and I just stare back at him.
"They gave me a shot. It can't happen. For another two months," I whisper, eyes wide, unblinking. Peeta pulls back even more.
"You look terrified. I won't do that to you," he says softly, sadly, and finally pulling away completely.
"I'm terrified because I love you so damn much!" I say in a rush and he stills, surprised. "I'm scared I messed everything up! I don't know how to say 'goodbye' to you." On the last word my voice creaks like a rusty hinge.
Can't he see this is my regret? This is my fear? That's why it will be so hard? That we might not have another time like this? That I've tried so hard to not love him that it just made me realize how much I do? And how much it doesn't make sense that I love him but I do? And that it's happened so fast, like he said, but it happened nonetheless?
I close my eyes and the tears come again but Peeta kisses them away this time, moving my tangled hair away from my face.
"I want this," I breathe. And then it hits me how stupid I was before for regretting the kissing and the 'I love you's. My regret would have been tenfold if I didn't share them with him. And I know that it will be even greater if I don't do this. I need to.
"I want you," I say.
Peeta pulls away and stares at me a long time. I'm no longer wide-eyed and scared but determined and Peeta must sense it.
"Are you sure?" he asks breathless. He wants this as much, if not more, than I do. I can feel him against my hip, hard. I nod and he moves over me again, kissing me deeply. I still don't understand how he can communicate so much with one kiss. I try but fear I can't. One of his hands remains knotted in my hair and the other, traces my breast, pulls my nipple, moves down between my legs, and rubs me gently.
All I can do is moan and arch my back. I reach down for him, fingers tracing his tip, before I grip him tightly. "I'm sure," I say into his ear and he huffs a loud breath.
He positions himself between my legs and pulls back, staring into my eyes, concern clouded over with want.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers.
"You won't," I respond and I place my hands on his hips for emphasis, encouraging.
His eyes don't leave mine and I feel him at my entrance. I stop breathing, and focus on his eyes, the intense blue, as he pushes inside of me, slowly, until I gasp and he stills.
"I'm sorry," he breathes but I shake my head.
"No. Go," I exhale and the look in my eyes must push him on until he fills me completely. We're sweating and my legs lay limp at my sides, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Peeta's head drops to my chest.
"Oh God," he murmurs into my collarbone.
It doesn't hurt. At least not how I suspected it would. It's more of an overwhelming pressure and filling than anything else and the more I focus on him, the better if feels. Peeta rocks us slightly and the feeling is unlike anything I can really describe.
He moves slowly and the pressure starts to build. I nod and release a kind of throaty mewl. Peeta pants heavily into my collarbone and rocks again. I bring my legs around him and lock them around his waist because it seems like the right thing to do.
It's awkward and Peeta has to compensate for his bad leg but I don't care. Rocking becomes thrusting and once I get the hang of it, I move my body to meet his. This pleasure is so much more than any other, much more intense, and our thrusts become deeper with each passing second.
He's unable to form words and instead kisses me hard and sloppily. His arms brace my head and I really can't do anything more than grip his shoulders more and more tightly, nails digging into his skin.
"Peeta." His name leaves my lips without me really knowing when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. When he hears it, he makes a sound in the back of his throat. His lips move to my ear and he tries to speak.
"I'll…I'm going to…" he tried to warn. I don't get to hear what he was going to say because he stiffens inside of me, sighing something unintelligible into my ear, before he slumps over me.
I breathe heavily and with trembling hands, run my fingers through his still damp hair. His back is slick with sweat and I trace shapes onto the skin.
"I meant for it to be longer," he says apologetically. "You're just too much." And I actually laugh a little.
He peels himself off me and kisses me again. Hands moving straight down my body and between my legs, which is welcome because the throbbing ache is almost unbearable.
"I didn't make you…" he says sadly, before he starts to rub, and I cry out. His mouth finds mine and we share scattered, fevered kisses, his curling fingers inside me, until I spasm around them.
He lies heavily on top of me and I try to catch my breath. Weirdly, in this moment, I remembered I haven't told him.
"Happy Birthday."
At this he laughs. Loudly and happily. Like tomorrow isn't happening.
"Yes it is, thank you," he says smiling and I touch the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you," he says again. "For everything. I never told you but you're incredible. Really, you are." He closes his eyes and sighs, placing his head on my chest.
"I'm going to miss you so much," he says into my skin. I breathe deeply for a few moments.
"I want a future with you," I whisper, thinking about how I want to redeem myself for not wanting marriage. That just because I don't want to marry doesn't mean I don't want him. That we weren't given enough time.
Peeta releases a shaky breath.
"Well it's a good thing I promised to try," he says. He means it to come out more lightly than it does though, and the statement sits heavily around us.
We lie, pressed tightly together, and when Peeta thinks I'm asleep I feel him start to cry, his chest heaving silently. I feel my throat and chest become wet with tears and my arms move to hug him close, never letting go.
The light of the early morning is what wakes me and when I stir, Peeta's fingers find mine.
I turn to him and see that he's staring off into space.
"They'll be here soon," he says quietly and, as if on cue, I hear a loud knock on the door. I think back to how I should have locked the door behind me last night.
We weren't given enough time, I think again. The thought a bitter syrup that coats my throat. I'm still naked, so is he, and the room smells strongly of sex. I don't care. Peeta gets up, pulls his boxers on and tosses me my clothes, which I hastily put on.
Once I'm dressed, Peeta opens the door and his prep team walks in but stops immediately when they see me.
One woman, dressed in hot pink, begins to weep uncontrollably when she sees me sitting on the bed. Another man, with eerily pale skin, ushers her out of the room.
"I'm sorry, she's…we're all so…upset," the third woman finishes. She has short platinum hair and enormous lips. She looks shaken but continues on.
"Katniss, your prep team is at your house, we thought—" she says but I cut her off.
"I'm staying here." I can feel Peeta looking at me but my eyes don't leave this strange woman. "I'm staying here. If they want to dress me or do my hair, they're going to have to come here."
Peeta is silent and I grab his hand.
"I'm not leaving you yet," I whisper.
My stubbornness is something that no one anticipated so the styling proves to be difficult. I grasp Peeta's hand very tightly all throughout his transformation, which doesn't take long considering there isn't much for his prep team to do. Strangely, they don't put him a fancy suit, but instead a pair of khakis and a white shirt. I don't realize they're recreating our Reaping outfits from last year until Cinna dresses me in my mother's original blue dress, the one I thought I lost.
"Why?" I ask him, as Peeta sits in the corner and watches as my mother braids my hair intricately. Cinna doesn't say in response, just gives me a meaningful look.
There is a car waiting in the Victor's Village but Peeta says he wants to walk so I join him. There are no leaves in the trees and the sky is a dirty gray. Our feet make crunching sounds on the gravel and I can see my breath. Peeta glances at the mutt flowers, red and flourishing, and once we reach the main road he pulls me close.
"Just be a wall, now," he whispers. "Don't give them anything."
I search his eyes for a moment. The time for tears was yesterday. That was his 'goodbye'. That's what he 'wanted...no needed' to do. I will have to be emotionless now, no matter how upset I am. Even if my insides are boiling, my heart breaking, I can't let anyone see. He will do the same. He already is.
I nod in agreement and we walk, hand in hand, down the street, passing the dress shop, the florist, the bakery, and right before we reach the main square he pulls me toward him and hugs me hard and quick.
"I love you," he whispers into my ear. "Always." He pulls away too fast and I can't say it back because I don't trust my voice to not break and I don't trust my eyes to stay dry.
He leads me into the main square and we don't speak. I know there are things I want to tell him. I haven't said enough. But I must be a wall so instead I grip his hand and let him lead me to the stage.
It's cold and Haymitch is already there, dead sober. His eyes don't leave Peeta and we sit down together on an uncomfortable set of chairs, hands still clasped tightly together. I stare out into the crowd. There aren't any sections for the different age groups today because this Reaping is different. I know Prim and Mother are here, Gale too.
I only have eyes for Peeta.
His hair is brushed back and his jaw is set in a straight line. He's not smiling and his eyes are distant. I touch his cheek and he turns to me. I know his gaze. I wore it six months ago. He's emotionless. A brick wall. He won't give them anything.
And he's terrified.
I hear Effie's footsteps clacking down the hall of the Justice Building and she steps out in a whirl of color. Her hair isn't green any more; it's grey, streaked with blue. She goes straight to the podium and addresses everyone immediately. I'm thrown off by the urgency of it all.
"Welcome, District 12, to the Reaping for the Third Quarter Quell, the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. As you all know, this year is quite special, as the Gamemakers have handpicked whom they will be sending to compete in this year's arena. It is an honor and a privilege, to be chosen," Effie's voice is strong and she pauses meaningfully in all the right places. Only Haymitch, Peeta and I have the ability to really detect that something is off about her. Her natural verve seems too forced.
"Only one remaining Victor will be Reaped," she continues, "and the Capitol has chosen the District 12 Victor to be Peeta Mellark. Please come forward, Peeta." Effie turns around and the look in her eyes is alarming because I've never seen it before in her: apologetic.
Peeta stands and walks forward, my hand left hovering in the hair from where he let go. I drag it back to my lap and train my eyes on him as he stands next to Effie.
"Let us all have a round of applause for Peeta Mellark," she says and I'm not surprised when she's met with silence. And I'm not surprised when District 12 lifts their three fingers to their mouths and then up in the air. It means thanks. It means admiration. It means 'goodbye' to someone you love.
And stand and do it too, but Peeta is taken by the arm and led directly into the Justice Building. Before he disappears he looks at me and I see his wall break for a second, the sadness leaking out. I almost stumble. The door slams and I look to Haymitch, then at Effie.
"There are no 'goodbyes' this time, Katniss. I'm sorry," she whispers before she follows after him. I stand there for a few seconds before I start to run in the direction of the train station.
That can't be it, I think as I sprint down the stage and through the crowds of people that fill the square. The cold air stings my lungs as I go and the shops in Town are a blur in my periphery. In the back of my mind, I'm glad I trained with Peeta or else I don't think I could make it to the train to see him.
And I do. Just in time because Peeta is getting out of the car and being prodded along by Peacekeepers straight towards the open door of the train.
"Peeta!" I shout but the sound is lost in the whirr of the engine so I run faster, until I'm only a few yards away.
"Peeta!" I shout again and he turns around, alarmed at the sound of my desperate voice. He looks shocked, then relieved. I push pass the surprised Peacekeepers and throw my arms around Peeta, burying my face into his neck, trying to catch my breath. He pulls back and holds my face in his hands, eyes burning.
"Remember your promise," he tells me.
"Remember yours," I respond and the Peacekeepers are pulling him towards the train door but I grab his arm.
"Miss, you're going to need to let go," says the larger of the two. He doesn't want to resort to violence. None of us do. I look around, panicked, and see that a small crowd has accumulated. I feel the pop and snap of photographs being taken.
"Katniss, go," Peeta whispers. I switch my eyes back to him and see his hardened expression.
Just be a wall. Don't give them anything.
Screw them.
I launch myself forward and press my lips to his, one last time.
"I love you. Always," I whisper against them and then the Peacekeepers drag him away. My hands go searching after him but he's already at the train door and the larger Peacekeeper is holding me back. I try to look around him but only catch Peeta's shirt before the door closes behind him with a metallic clink.
I stand stock-still as the train begins to pull away and watch as he is taken away.