A/N: edited 27/12/14

TW: mentions of abortion.

Chapter 8: Atonement

Katniss

Peeta disappears, leaving me standing with Gale and Prim.

"Come on, Prim. Let's go." I say softly, pushing her up the porch steps.

Gale's still standing there, fuming. "Aren't you gonna explain anything?" he spits, his eyes fiery.

"No." My reply is short, leaving Gale with probably more questions than he started off with.

"You have to explain, Catnip. You can't leave us without any answers," he says. I shut the front door with a finalising bang, refusing to answer him, to face him at this moment. But he's right. I'm going to have to tell him. Everyone will know. Everyone will know that I'm the Seam scum-turned-slut; the girl who got pregnant at sixteen and ruined a Merchant's life.

My breathing is shaky as I stand before my sister.

"Please, Katniss. Tell me what's wrong." She pleads.

"Nothing's wrong. I whisper, pulling my jacket around my stomach. I look down, my heat thudding erratically. There is a baby inside me. Half of me, half of Peeta. God knows how he'd feel if he knew he was to be father. Maybe it's a good thing that he doesn't know.

I keep replaying a selection of scenarios over and over in my head. In one, Peeta finally remembers the night we shared, and is disgusted. I can see myself walking – no, waddling – down the streets, my belly so big I can't see my toes. The stares of people burning into me, etching the words 'slut' and 'whore' onto my forehead, a permanent reminder of what I am.

The other scenario is something I never, ever want to happen. One where Gale becomes involved, and takes on the role of father to the child growing in my stomach to protect the both of us. He'd fall into place and be by my side, and Peeta may continue his never having known that he ever had a child. But with that comes the fact that Gale wouldn't know who the father truly was, unless they were born with Peeta's features, and time allowed for suspicions to be confirmed.

Contrary to the fact that these are simply illusions conjured up in my mind, a smidgen of truth remains in this second situation. We've been best friends for years. Gale is mine. I am his. Most people would be right to only think that us getting married and starting a family is the next step in our relationship, and we could – could – get away with it. Those who truly know me know that this is not the case. I never want to get married. I never wanted children. And look how well that worked out for me.

"I know it isn't your time of the month, either," Prim says. She narrows her eyes. "So something must be up." I stand there, staring at my little sister and thinking about how wise and brave she is while so young. She's going to be an Aunt. I fight back tears.

"I was thinking about Dad," I mumble. Prim will believe this. She knows that the pain of his death is still as fresh and sharp as a shard of glass in my heart.

"Oh Katniss. I'm sorry," Prim says, walking forward and wrapping her bony arms around my waist. "I didn't think. Gale will feel awful."

"None of you could've known."

"What about Peeta? Did he-"

"No, he didn't."

"Did you tell him?"

"I haven't and I'm not going to," I say. "He doesn't need to worry about anything else."

"You should go and have a nap, Katniss. You look exhausted," Prim advises, ever the apothecary's daughter. I nod in defeat and escape into the bedroom, locking the door tightly behind me before collapsing onto the lumpy mattress and letting all my feelings out.

Prim can undoubtedly hear my broken sobs, but not once does she knock on the door and ask if she can help. I'm grateful for it. Fishing the pregnancy test out of my jacket pocket, I stare at it for what seem hours, unblinking. When Mom arrives home I can hear Prim whispering frantically through the thin walls of our home.

I bury my face into my pillow. Mom will be so disappointed. Years of holding a grudge against her for abandoning us after Dad died and now I'm the one who's truly messed up. "She's upset about Dad." Prim explains softly. I roll over and listen to them speaking. "You should've seen her. Peeta was here and he didn't know why she upset. But she's usually so unfazed."

"Peeta Mellark?" Mom asks. "Why him?"

"He said that he wanted to see if Katniss was alright. They're partners in the Games."

There's silence afterwards and I stare at the ceiling, watching a spider dance over the leaky boards and disappear through a crack in the wall. My eyes are red raw from crying, my throat is dry. But instead of feeling like I can't cry any more, I feel like more tears are building up, waiting for the smallest of things to come along and upset me so more tears can fall.

I think of my father, the scent of him long gone from his jacket, and try to imagine what he would do. He'd demand to know how I could've been so stupid and I would have to live with the consequences knowing I'd let him down. If he had lived, if he hadn't been lost deep down underground in the dark, maybe I never would've even gone to that damn party in the first place.

Warm, salty tears slide down my cheeks again, and I cry myself out until I'm calmer. I sit up and wipe my eyes and snotty nose. This is not going to get me anywhere. And Katniss Everdeen doesn't cry.

Like it or not, I'm pregnant. In a few months' time, my stomach will swell and everyone will know. To makes matters worse, my small frame will exaggerate my pregnant tummy. Prim will know. Mom will know. Gale and his family will know. Everyone will know.

Of course people will assume that the child is Gale's. Gale, of course will say it's his, but will bombard me with questions that I'll never be able to answer. Will he care for he or she like his own? I beg that he will if that is what fate leads me to. I know what it's like to grow up without a father and that would be the last thing I'd wish on this person growing inside of me.

A chill rolls down my spine at a sudden, subconscious thought that echoes in the back of my mind.

I could get rid of this baby before it becomes an even bigger problem in my life. I can't afford to feed anymore mouths, and pregnancy would only slow me down at a time when game is already hard to come by. Winter is approaching and I'm not ready. This baby will hinder me and my family, and, in the physical state I'm in, it's likely that I could miscarry in the woods or from malnutrition.

I've heard the tales of young woman who have fallen pregnant and brewed remedies to stop the process. Few have visited the clinic downtown to have an abortion by someone better trained. Pennyroyal is often used. It's normally taken to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy – but the risk of the mother's death is high. Pennyroyal is highly toxic. If not brewed correctly, it will lead to certain death. Only the people skilled in the area of medicine know how to correctly make this potion up, and it's a sad truth that girls in this district often end up dying in the process of trying to induce a miscarriage, when all they were trying to do was save themselves and others.

Just my luck being the daughter of the only local apothecary.

If I could get my hands on some Pennyroyal, perhaps snatched from my mother's own medical supplies or at the Hob under the guise of stocking up, I could solve this problem. I would never have a child and everyone's lives would go on as normal. This is something I have to do for the sake of everyone else. My actions will ripple out and effect so many others. It'll be a debt I'll never be able to repay.

Scrubbing my shaking hands over my face, I take a deep breath, climb off the bed, and unlock the door. Creaking it open just a crack, I poke my head out and listen. I can hear Prim playing with Buttercup and Lady outside, her musical laughter joined by the sound of the bell around Lady's neck. The sound of Mom's knitting needles click from the living room.

"Mom?" I call. The clicking stops. "Mom?" I call again, a little louder.

"Katniss?"

"Can you please come here?" The sound of the rocking chair Dad built for Mom creaking alerts me that my mother is coming towards me. Once she's over the threshold of our room I hastily slam the door shut and slide the lock into place.

"What are you-" she asks with wide eyes as I pace back and forth.

"I need your help." I interrupt her, grasping her arm and pulling her down so she sits on the end of the bed.

"Well, what is it?" she says, folding her hands over her lap. For once, my mother looks genuinely concerned as she stares up at me, brow knitted together. Suddenly I feel like I'm going to be sick. I bite my lip and take several deep breaths, trying to convince myself that I can do this. I can tell my mother. I need to do this so I can save my life and Peeta's.

"I think I'm, well, I know I'm…" I swallow, pacing up and down, my braid thumping against my back. I can do this. I have to do this. "I'm pregnant." I whisper.

"W-what?" Mom stutters, her mouth hanging open.

"It was one time and I-I'm sorry. I know I should've been careful, a-and that this will ruin our lives b-but I just don't know what to d-do and…" I blurt out, tears overflowing onto my cheeks, my hands trembling.

"Oh, Katniss," Mom says, her voice filled with sadness and pity as she stands and pulls me to her, rubbing her hand over my back in a soothing gesture, murmuring reassurances into my ear.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I wail, gripping at my mother's waist like a small child frightened by a thunderstorm. "I wasn't thinking straight and now I don't know what to do!"

"Shush… shush child," she soothes. She lets me cry into her blouse and says nothing, knowing that it's better to stay silent. It's a full ten minutes before I can calm down enough to attempt to slow my breathing. Fishing the pregnancy test I bought from the apothecary out of my jacket, I hand it to my mother. She examines it, the frown on her face deepening when she sees the pink plus sign.

"Where you did you get this from?" she asks quietly.

"I used the money from the emergency jar to buy it from the apothecary," I reply. Mom puts a finger under my chin, bringing my face up so I have to meet her gaze. "Mom, I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologising," she says softly.

"But-"

She holds her hand up to stop me from talking. "When did you find out?"

"Today."

"Do you know when this child was conceived?" Mom continues, her manner professional like the doctor she truly is. I squirm under her gaze, pulling away with red cheeks.

"The night of the party at the Whester's house," I say. "I was drunk." Mom purses her lips disapprovingly.

"So he took advantage of you?"

"No! No. He was as drunk as I was." I stammer. Peeta deserves to have his integrity intact. I look up at Mom only to be met with narrowed eyes.

"We need to speak to Mr Whesters," she sighs. "So he knows that his son is part of this."

"Bron isn't the father…" I say. Mom raises her eyebrows.

"Oh." I fidget, twisting my hands in my lap. "It's someone else."

"Is it Gale?"

"What? No!" I splutter. "No, we're just friends!"

"Who is the father then?"

"I don't want to tell you," I say, looking down in my lap. I can't tell her. That would give everything away and the news would undoubtedly reach Peeta before long, or his mother would catch wind of it and beat him within an inch of his life. Over the past few weeks I've really feel like I can talk to Peeta and perhaps even class him as a friend. He's so kind and meaningful and has a bright future ahead of him unlike me, and I'm not going to scupper his chances at being happy by weighing him down with a child out of wedlock and a poor Seam girl.

Mom is obviously offened and angry. She has every right to be; I'm her eldest, the one who took on the role of provider aged eleven and has continued to do so for all this time, and now I'm the one who's let her down. She has to understand that I care about this baby's father and don't want him to get hurt. "Katniss, I'm your mother!" she cries, her brow furrowing.

I fold my arms over my chest. "I'm not going to tell you."

"What did he say?" Mom says, exasperated that I'm not allowing her much information.

"What?"

"You haven't told the Dad, have you?" Mom says, shocked, pulling at the frayed edge of the blanket we're sitting on. I shake my head. "You have to tell him, Katniss."

"No! I don't! This is my body. My baby. He never has to know," I exclaim, fresh tears beginning to form.

"And what happens when you give birth to this baby? When they grow to resemble them? What will you do then?!"

"Nothing, Mom! He doesn't need to know."

"Katniss!" Mom hisses, grabbing me by the shoulders with her bony hands and shaking me as if she could knock some sense into my head. "Listen to me," I duck my head. "I know that you may want to deal with this by yourself, but you cannot possibly do that. This boy – man – is as responsible for this child as you are. You must tell him."

"Why? It'll just ruin his life." I say, thinking of Peeta and the way his mother treats him.

"It's as much his child as yours."

"And that's why I need your help," I whisper. "I need you to help me get rid of it." Mom's eyes widen and she brings a hand to her mouth.

"Katniss… No. I can't. You… you're my own daughter-"

"So you have even more of a reason to help," I snap. Mom stays silent. I look down at my knees.

"Please, sleep on this," she finally says, her voice wobbling slightly. "Think very carefully. This is a life. Another human being inside you. Half of you. Half of him."

Half of him.

I choke back the urge to cry again and squeeze my eyes shut. As much as I want to ignore the fact, my mother is right. The thing… inside of me is also Peeta. Peeta, who has never been horrible to me. He's always been kind. Putting him through something like becoming a father at the tender age of sixteen would ruin everything.

"No. I've made my decision," I say firmly. "I know Pennyroyal is used. And that you're the only one who can make it properly." Mom takes a deep breath.

"Katniss… please, don't."

"It's this or I'll do it myself."

"When your father died, I was pregnant too – just like Hazelle. I was only a couple of months or so along, I wasn't even certain, but with the stress of your father I had a miscarriage," Mom confesses, her eyes locked on a place behind my head, her mind in a difference time.

"If you're telling me this to make me feel guilty-"

"I just want you to know that I felt bad – that it was my fault that I lost our baby. Your father never knew," Mom shakes her head, looking back at me, tears brimming in her eyes. I wonder if she's ever told anyone before now.

"I still feel guilty to this very day, but not just because I lost the child, but because I never told your father. I was scared. Scared that we wouldn't be able to afford another baby. And then, it was too late. Both of them were gone," she pauses, wiping at her eyes. "It's something I'll take to my grave, Katniss. You can't just brush it off, no matter how strong you are."

"Mom…" I protest.

"So please. Think about this. You will do more harm than good if you go through with this."

I look right in the eyes and school my face into an unreadable mask. "I'm doing it. Just please brew the Pennyroyal so I can get this over with."

Silently, Mom stands and leaves the room, her shoulders hunched over. Just thirty seconds later Prim come bursts into the room, braids flying behind her and her cheeks red from being outside.

"What did you say to her?" she gasps. "I came inside from playing with Buttercup and Lady and Mom rushed past me looking like she'd seen a ghost."

"We were just talking about Dad."

"Why did she look in such a hurry then?"

"I don't know."

She narrows her eyes, looking so much like Mom as she observes me. "You've been crying."

"I'm fine," I snap. "Please stay in here, Prim."

Along with Mom's instructions, she does just that, watching us in frustration. She's been in bed for two hours when Mom walks up to the kitchen table and places a small glass vial in front of me. I bring my head up from my arms and watch as she sits down in front of me, folding her hands over her lap, her back straight and rigid against the back of the chair.

"You need to take it all, and then stay off school for the next week or so," she says.

"Thank you," I reply, a curious numbness washing over me. I take the vial, turning it and watching the Pennyroyal inside. This is the means to an end. To an end that will be better for everyone involved. I'm halfway to the door when Mom speaks.

"Will you ever tell him?" she asks, looking frail and broken beneath the oil lamp above the kitchen table. I down on my lip until I taste blood and steel myself.

"No."

"Will you ever tell anyone?"

"No. Is that all?" I wait for an answer, knowing that I'm being unnecessarily cruel when all she's trying to do is help me through this.

"Give it some time. I beg of you," she persists. I turn away, unable to face her with the words ready on the edge of my tongue.

"You can't atone through your daughter."

I leave Mom in the kitchen to process what I've just said and lock myself in the bathroom. Placing the small bottle of amber liquid on the edge of the sink, I stand in front of the cracked mirror and stare at myself.

This girl reflected back at me is not the Katniss Everdeen I have known all my life. This Katniss Everdeen is a scared little girl who is trying to stop bad things from happening to other people by making sacrifices of her own. The real Katniss Everdeen; the sixteen-year-old who has lived in District 12 all her life, is strong.

Taking the bottle, I pull the cork out and close my eyes.

I can do this.

As I bring the rim of the bottle closer to my lips, I can smell the minty scent of the liquid contained in the moulded glass and am hit with a memory. A memory of Peeta's kisses and the subtle taste of mint that came with him, evidence of the toothpaste he must have used earlier that evening. Fear strikes me like lightening, turning my mind inside out, and suddenly all I can think about it Peeta. Peeta with is golden hair and too-long eyelashes and lopsided smile and sky-blue eyes and infectious laughter.

Where is he now? What is he doing? What is he thinking?

I can imagine him in the bakery kitchen, rolling out dough, preparing icing, finishing up for the day. His eyes bluer than any of the Merchant eyes I've ever seen. His smile so kind that everyone feels like the sun is shining down on them when he gives them his attention. His heart is so big that he is able to care for everyone he comes across. He takes after his father. I wonder what part of his mother he has inside of him.

I bring the bottle to my lips, my blood pounding in my ears.

No.

I can't do this.

I throw the bottle away as if it's on fire, watching the glass smash and the precious Pennyroyal dribble down the plughole. I scrub my hands until they're red and wash my mouth out with water, ensuring that there is nothing left behind on my lips. This is Peeta's flesh and blood. I would never been able to kill Peeta, so how can I kill his child? The answer is so clear that I feel my knees going weak. I can't.

Peeta

My hands remain clenched in tight fists all the way home. I can't stand the eldest Hawthorne sometimes. The way he looks at his beloved Catnip makes me sick. He looks at her like he owns her – that no one else can touch her, or look her way or even think about her. Sure, it could be love, but I doubt she could ever feel the same way. I beg that she doesn't feel that way.

Mom isn't home when I finally arrive, late for my shift and still fuming from my meeting with Gale.

"Where have you been?" Dad asks when I enter the kitchen and hang up my jacket with more force than necessary, hearing a seam rip somewhere from where I've slammed it down on the hook so harshly. "What's wrong?"

I stand at the sink and scrub my hands. "It's nothing."

"I heard you were in the Seam," my father continues, pulling a tray of cookies from an oven as he speaks. "Something do with Katniss, maybe?"

"She was feeling ill so I went to see if she was alright. And then Hawthorne came over and went all high and mighty," I spit, tying my apron around my waist too tight and having to close my eyes and calm myself down when my fumbling fingers can't undo the knot the first time.

"What do you mean by 'high and mighty'?"

"He just – he's just so obsessive!" I say, anger coursing through me. "Fuck! He thinks that we're all the same and acts like he owns her and I can't stand it. The way he looks at her. It's like he's undressing her with his eyes and she's none the wiser. Everyone can see it, Dad," I say, my chest heaving with my ragged breathing. Dad continues working, calm and collected as he listens to me ranting. "Everyone can see how desperate he is except for her."

"Peet, take off your apron and go and calm down," he says, shooting me a sympathetic smile. "You can't work like this."

"No," I say, deflating slightly. "I'm fine. I'm just overreacting."

"Peeta," he says, more firmly this time. "It's okay. Everyone needs to let out their emotions sometimes and you can't just push all of that down. It'll come out later on and be even worse."

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. He's right. Even with years and years of practice, my anger is making me impossible to work with right now. I'll ruin any dough I'm tasked with making and my anger will affect the customers no matter how well I try to hide it. "I'm gonna go out on the punch bag," I mutter. "I need to get my anger out on something another than Hawthorne's face."

"That's more like it," Dad says, patting me on the back as I pass him.

I climb the stairs and change into faded black sweatpants and a grey tank, before pulling my tape from the top drawer of my wardrobe. Although my brothers and I are kind of famed throughout District Twelve for wrestling, we are also keen boxers. Mom used to think that boxing is a Seam thing and refused to let us do it, but when we told her that boxing would help when we were wrestling, she was sold. Now the bag hangs outside from a hook driven into the solid brick wall. It's been patched up so many times that there is more duct tape than leather but it does the job. Rye has been the primary user, but I've been coming out here more than I would like to admit.

Winding the tape around my wrist, round my thumb, over my knuckles and between my fingers on both hands, I flex my fingers and roll my neck and shoulders as I step outside into the cold autumn air. My bare skin prickles, but I know that soon enough I will be sweating so there's no need for a hoodie.

Yanking the rain cover off the punch bag, I bring my fists up to my face, place one foot in front of the other and swing my arm around to hit the bag. It makes a satisfying 'thunk' sound and sways with the force of my punch, but it feels good.

If only this was Hawthorne and not a bag filled with sand.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead pretty quickly, but I keep punching the bag, my chest rising and falling, my jaw locked, feeling the tension flow out of my body like water released from a damn.

"And who are you imagining that to be?" A high-pitched voice shrills from behind me. I throw one last hit and catch the bag as it flies through the air. Peering into the gloom now that the sun has dipped behind the mountains, I spy Valerie leaning against the pig pen. How long has she been there, watching me?

"W-what?" I ask, my breathing laboured.

"You're attacking that bag as if it's your mortal enemy," she explains, stepping closer and smiling, revealing a row of white teeth that glint in the light of the bakery kitchen.

"Maybe not my mortal enemy, but an enemy of sorts," I tell her.

"Bad day?"

"You could say that."

Valerie walks closer, drawing shapes in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. "Peeta?"

"Yeah?" I say, unraveling the tape from my hands.

"You know that I'm always here for you, right? You can come to me if you're feeling stressed… or upset… or angry. I'm up for anything, actually."

"Oh… err, thanks?" I offer, furrowing my brow. Valerie giggles and steps forward, practically cornering me in between the wall of the bakery and the punch bag.

"Because I know that I can rely on you," she continues, twirling her hair around her finger. At this distance I can see how dry it is, like straw. Nothing like Katniss' who has hair like silk. "And that being stuck with that Seam girl all the time must be really frustrating."

"Who? Katniss?" I stammer, feeling uncomfortable as Valerie places a hand on my chest. "She's cool. I like her."

"Sure. Sure you do, baker boy," she murmurs, tweaking the collar of my shirt. "But I know what you'd like even better."

"Valerie, I really don't think-"

"Shh… Don't say anything."

"I'm not-"

My words are cut off when she presses her lips to mine, smothering my protests. Her fingers crawl under my shirt and over my abdomen, icy cold against my heated skin. I flounder, my hands hovering in mid-air, unsure of what I should do. I don't want to kiss her, or feel her hands on my body.

"Stop, Valerie. Stop," I say, pushing her away. She stumbles, but regains her balance and fluffs her hair up, her bright red lips stretched over her teeth in a wide smile.

"Don't say you didn't love it," she smirks.

"No, I… I don't want this."

"To hell to want you think you want. I know what you want," she moves in closer again, like a dog at a bone, and looks up at me, kissing me again. I scrunch my eyes shut, tasting the chemicals in her lipstick on my tongue. I try to break away again but she proves surprisingly strong – pushing me up against the wall so that it digs uncomfortably in my back. When I attempt moving my head to the side to escape her, one hand slides down, surprisingly fast, past my sweats so she can palm me over my boxers. I flounder, gasping against her mouth as she rubs my growing erection and presses her body against mine. I'm not attracted her in anyway, but my dick has other ideas and has rendered me weak.

"You like that, huh?" she drawls between kisses. "I thought you would, big boy." She squeezes me again and I grunt, thinking of as many disgusting things as I possibly can.

"Valerie, stop, please," I choke out, but she takes me in her hand again and makes my brain turn to mush even though my heart is begging me to shove her away. Light fills the street, and not from the bakery.

"Valerie?!" a voice calls. Valerie spins around and removes her hand from my pants.

"I'm just talking to Peeta, Momma," she calls back, her voice sickeningly sweet in comparison to how she was talking to me just ten seconds ago. The door closes again and she whirls around to face me. "I'll see you later, Peeta," she says, before stalking away down the street to her own home.

I wait until she's gone before sagging against the wall. Fuck. My anger towards Hawthorne is certainly gone, but now I feel filthy. Like I've betrayed myself by allowing Valerie to do that to me. I wait until my erection is gone before going back into the kitchen. Rye stares at me, trying to figure me out.

"I didn't know you and Valerie were a thing," he says.

"She launched herself at me. I wasn't trying to do anything." I stutter.

"Well, whatever you were trying to do, little brother, I'd wipe that lipstick off your face before Mom comes down and sees," he cackles. I scrub furiously at my mouth. "She's dangerous, that one. Just like her sister."

"Thanks for the heads up." I mutter, dabbing at my mouth with a wet rag until it comes away clean.

"Anytime." Rye grins. I roll my eyes and head out to the shop front, helping my Fen run the bakery as the last of the evening stragglers buy goods to keep my mind occupied. I'm sweeping the tiled floor when the bell above the door jingles and Denny Small strides in, clunking noisily to the counter and spreading mud everywhere with each step. I scowl at him.

"You couldn't have wiped your feet before you came in here?" Fen asks, looking at me in frustration.

"My Mom needs bread," Denny demands like the petulant child he is, completely ignoring my older brother's question.

"He asked you a question," I say, gripping the broom handle tightly. He turns to me, glares and folds his arms over his chest in an effort to make himself seem more threatening, reminding me of Gale, only shorter than me instead of taller and with more acne than bare skin on his face.

"And I didn't answer. Deal with it."

"We don't serve conceited people," I continue. Denny's upper lip curls. "Oh, sorry," I say, feigning sympathy. "You don't know what conceited people means, do you?"

His eye twitches. "I do."

"You don't. It means arrogant, big-headed, though I think the word that I should have used was stupid." Denny flies across the room with amazing agility, pinning me up against the wall by the collar of my shirt.

"Call me stupid again, Mellark. I dare you," he growls, and Fen steps forward, knowing not to get involved straight away unless things get dirty.

I watch a vein in Denny's forehead and then look back to meet his gaze. "Stupid."

"You think that just because you can pick up girls whenever you want you can call me stupid?" he hisses, yanking my collar again so my head bangs into the wall. He lets me down, his sausage fingers curling into fists. He flies forward to land a punch in my stomach but I easily defend him, and Fen has pulled Denny away before he can react, pushing him back with a shove to the chest.

"Everdeen is a load of shit. Fucking her won't give you anything except a reputation for liking disease-ridden sluts."

"What did you say?" I hiss.

"Get out, now," Fen commands, opening the door and pushing Denny into the street. He shuts the door and swings the 'open' sign round to 'closed'.

"Jesus, Peet. What's up with you?" he asks. "You're usually so calm even around people like Denny."

"He just gets to me."

"And what's he talking about? You and Everdeen?"

"I don't know," I say, my jaw locked. Fen narrows his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know. I haven't done anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I reply sarcastically.

Fen raises an eyebrow. "So why is he talking about you picking up girls? You aren't getting yourself into any trouble are you?"

"I'm not 'picking up' any girls, Fen. You know I'm taken."

I'm in my bedroom sketching, my back against the headboard when there's a soft knock at my bedroom door.

"Peeta?" A gentle voice calls out. I frown, putting down my things. Mom? Why would Mom be knocking at my door? She never knocks, she just barges in, and I can't remember the last time I could describe as voice being gentle.

"Yeah?" I reply, pushing my pad and pencils away and swinging my legs over the edge of my mattress. I walk to the door and pull it open, only to find Katniss standing outside."What are you doing here?!" I ask, pulling her into my room and looking up and down the corridor. "How did you even get in?"

"It isn't that hard to just sneak past your family."

"Okay… but what are you doing here?" I ask. "Are you okay? What did Gale do after I left?"

"I can't stop thinking about the other night," Katniss says, biting her lip and smiling.

"The, uh- the other night?" I stutter, confused as to what she's talking about.

"And now, I've come back for more," she practically purrs, and then she presses her lips to mine, pushing me back against the door.

"Wait, no," I say, pushing her away, my hands on her shoulders. This is strangely similar to my encounter with Valerie just a few hours ago and I don't like it at all. "Katniss. What are you doing?"

"I'm returning the favour," she whispers, moving forward again. Inside, my mind is screaming at me, telling me to stop talking and start kissing. The girl of my dreams is in my bedroom, pushing me up against the wall, and I'm completely ignoring her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Peeta. Don't act all innocent with me. I know what you're like," she says, placing her hands on my cheeks and pulling me towards her. I comply eagerly, placing a hand on her waist and winding another in her braid. Katniss swallows my moan, and pulls me over to my bed where she lays back, pulling me down by the front of my shirt. The bed sinks under our weight and creaks in protest, but Katniss is all I can see, all I can focus on. I press open-mouthed kisses down her slender neck, focusing on the dip of her collarbone, knowing I'll leave a mark there.

The sound of the pencil tin my Dad bought for me on my tenth birthday clattering onto the floor awakes me. I lift my head from the pillow with a gasp. Shit. My head drops back down on my pillow. It was a dream. A very real dream, but it was a dream. A figment of my imagination and nothing else.

I keep having a vivid dreams like this. Dreams so real I half expect to find Katniss lying beside me without any clothes and a smile on her face. Dreams that leave me aching for release when I wake and frustrated when I find that I'm all alone in my bed, dreaming about a girl who would never allow me to get that close to her. The sense of déjà vu that accompanies these dreams is disconcerting and makes me question everything even more.

Images flash before my eyes; Katniss grasping at my jacket, pulling me down onto a bed, her bare body practically glowing and her hands burning into my sides, branding me hers and only hers, and I feel my cock twitching in my pants. The alarm clock sitting on my bedside table shows that it's 5:30 a.m. so there's no use in going back to sleep if I'm going to be woken at six. I climb out of the bed and pick up my pencils and sketchbook and gather my things to have a shower.

The hallway is dark and depressingly empty when I step out of my room and head for the bathroom.

My thoughts divert to what Denny told me last night unintentionally and my growing erection is immediately gone. Picking up girls? I strip out of my bed clothes and step into the shower. What was he talking about? I wrack my brain, trying to unravel what I've been accused of.

You'd have to be living under a rock to not know about the Merchant and Seam kids that go to the slagheap. But no one says anything. If you see and tell, it automatically means that you were at the heap too. And no one wants to admit to that no matter how widespread it is. I've never been there I doubt that Katniss ever would. As sad as it is, she's too survival-focused to do anything but provide for her mother and sister, something admirable, but that stops her from doing anything for herself. Not that going to the slagheap is the best thing you can do for yourself, but it's something – something I'm unable to put Katniss Everdeen with.

This leads me nowhere. I'm still angry at Gale and Denny and now more confused than ever about where the idea that I've slept with Katniss came from. I can only hope that for now it's just a spiteful remark designed to make me mad.