Thanks again to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy this one!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, any characters or settings represented in the following story. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.
The wretched screeching is unbearable. That loathsome cat taunts me from across the lawn. It's bad enough it's rejected the idea of living with me but now it must throw it in my face verbosely. Having reached my threshold for annoyance I decide to kill two birds with one stone. I find Buttercup sitting on Haymitch's stoop. He's been living with him for months.
"What are you doing, you stupid cat?" I ask him. He lets out a deep groan of disgust at my presence. "Well?" I ask again. I'm talking to a cat. Worse, I'm waiting for a response. I hop up the stairs and bang on the door calling Haymitch's name.
No answer. I open the unlocked door and walk through the house calling for him. I finally find him sitting on a bench in the backyard, clutching a full bottle of clear liquor.
"What are you doing? I was calling you." I sit next to him.
"Last bottle right here," he waves the liquor in my direction, "for a while, anyway. I'm holding off as long as I can."
"Want to share?" I ask, halfheartedly.
"What's the matter, sweetheart? Married life bringing you down?" he asks, with a boisterous laugh. My cheeks enflame with fury at his insensitive comment. I don't know why his disrespect still gets to me but it does. Though, in this case, I may be irritated by the fact that he's right.
"Can I talk to you about something?" I ask.
"Shoot," he says.
"Why didn't you ever get married?" I ask him. He starts to get up immediately, I grab at his arm but he pulls away. "Wait," I beg.
"Nope. Not going there," he returns, trying to break free from my grip.
"Wait!" I say again. "Stupid question, I'm sorry. Please. Sit." He gives me a stern look meant to intimidate me but instead I stifle a laugh. He finally sits back down. "What I meant was, and please don't run away at this because it's important to me… did you ever want to have kids?"
This gets his attention. He stops sulking and catches my eyes with amused understanding. "Why don't you just cut to the chase? This isn't about me, it's about you and how Peeta wants kids. More importantly how you don't."
My silence tells him he's right.
"Why do you get yourself so worked up over nothing?" he accuses me.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, taken aback by his reproach.
"I'm talking about you creating these insufferable situations just so you can feel… alive or whatever it is you are pretending to be. If you are desperate enough to come over and talk to me then that means you've been obsessing over this. Probably for a while now, too. Stop getting all worked up over nothing."
Infuriating. That is what he is. I speak very slowly so as not to offend him, I'm livid but I want to hear this. "What. Do. You. Mean?"
"What. I. Mean. Is," he mimics me and I clench my fist, wanting to punch him in the face. "On the scale of life you're practically a zygote. You're young, Katniss. You have years and years and more years to think about this. You think you know everything right now. You think you know yourself. Well I have news for you: you don't! So stop getting all worked up over this. Just because you don't want a kid now doesn't mean you won't want one in ten years. Trust me, sweetheart, you don't know shit about shit."
I stare back at him, fuming. "It's not that simple," I tell him, articulating each word to control the rage in my voice.
"It is. It always is," he brushes off my concerns with growing annoyance in his voice.
"No, it isn't…" I say, my guilt and regret crushing my rage.
"Oh, come on, Katniss. I'm sick of this. Why can't you just enjoy your life? I know everything didn't turn out the way we wanted but in the end you got Peeta. He's alive. He loves you. You're free. Why don't you focus on that for a change instead of feeling sorry for yourself all the time?"
"It's not me I feel bad for," I tell him, he waits for me continue as impatiently as humanly possible. "I feel bad for Peeta. He doesn't understand why I'm so persistent about the condoms."
Haymitch laughs so abruptly and so loudly that I jump up from my seat. I watch him disbelieving. One minute he is annoyed with me, the next he's laughing at me. I don't know why I bother ever trying to talk to him. "Is that what's got you so upset?" he asks, in between guffaws. He doesn't wait for me to respond. "Katniss," he says, gaining his composure, "Listen to me and listen good. Whether Peeta wants ten kids with you or none at all, he's going to complain about the condoms. He will always complain about the condoms. Any man will always complain about the condoms. Always. Are you hearing me? Always."
"What do you mean?" I demand.
"Men hate condoms! They're uncomfortable. It ruins everything. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."
"What a minute," I tell him trying to grasp this new information. "You're telling me that Peeta isn't upset because I'm avoiding get pregnant, but he's upset because it's … uncomfortable?"
"You got it, kid," he gets up and moves past me, "now let's go crack open this bottle."
"Wait," I call out to him but he's already through the doors to the kitchen. Maybe Peeta does get that look in his eye because he thinks they are uncomfortable but that doesn't change the fact that I'm lying to him. I follow after Haymitch. He's sitting at the dining room table with two one ounce glasses in front of him.
"Want to play a game?" he asks.
"I'm not done talking to you," I tell him.
"Sit," he motions with his hand, "You play. I'll talk." I sigh, irritated but accept.
"Fine," I sit. "Maybe you're right about it being uncomfortable but I'm still lying to him. He still thinks I'm going to change my mind."
"How do you know you won't?" he asks, as he fishes in his pocket for something.
"I just do. I feel very strongly about this."
"I told you once already, Katniss, you don't know what you want. Just let it go," he says, I start to object but he cuts me off. "Either let it go or say something to him. One or the other. But I don't want to hear it anymore. Here we go," he says diverting his attention to a coin he has pulled out of his pocket. "The name of the game is Quarters –"
I cut him off, "Why 'Quarters'?"
"Because a quarter was the value of the coin that was used when this game was invented. Now what you do is – "
"That's a stupid name for a game," I interrupt again.
"Damn it, Katniss. Do you want to play or not?"
"Not," I tell him. I head for the front door leaving him alone to drown his day away. To my surprise Peeta is just bounding up the steps to find me.
"Hey, there," he says, cheerfully. He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me slightly, pressing his lips to mine. "I was looking for you. Heading home?" he asks, not setting me down. I'm not ready to deal with him right now. Not when Haymitch has given me so much to think about.
Am I being ridiculous? Should I just tell Peeta the truth? The joy on Peetas face to see me even though we were together just a few hours before tells me now is not the time. I don't want to ruin his good mood. Plus, I'm not sure how to approach the issue yet.
"Come on," I tell him, "Haymitch wants to play a game with us." I drag him back inside and to the table where Haymitch has just poured himself a drink. "I found him," I say to Haymitch. I raise my eyebrows just enough to warn him to play along. "Let's play." He seems genuinely happy to have company.
He doesn't skip a beat.
"What you want to do is take the coin and bounce it off the table like this," the coin hits the table and arches perfectly to land in the one ounce glass in front of Peeta. "I make it in your cup, you drink. I miss, I drink. Got it?"
"Why would we want to play this? We're going to get really, really drunk," Peeta says. The question is directed toward me but I ignore it.
"Got it, let's do it," I say, fishing the coin out of Peetas glass. I bounce the coin off the table and it lands in Haymitch's full glass. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief though I can sense his appreciation for the challenge. I smirk. "I'm a hunter, Haymitch. I don't miss my mark." His coin lands in Peetas cup. Peeta starts to protest but Haymitch tells him to stop whining. He examines the contents of the glass before finally downing it all in one swig. He coughs violently and dry heaves before setting the glass back down in front of him. Peetas coin misses my cup and he has to drink again, repeating the same process as before.
I gun for Haymitch getting him six times. He gets me and Peeta both three times but Peeta hasn't made a single shot and I've lost count of how many shots he's had. The way he's resting his head on the table tells me he's had enough. My head starts to spin too. I've never drank this much this fast before. Or ever. Something tells me my body can't handle it.
"Peeta," I say, running my fingers in his hair to get his attention, "Peeta, let's go home." Haymitch balks in his victory while I help Peeta stand and we lean on each other to get our footing. "Not cool, Haymitch," I berate before we step into the cool air. I never should have gone back in there.
Somehow we manage to make it up the stairs and to our bedroom before collapsing into each other's arms. The room is spinning, faster by the minute, and the sun is just barely setting outside our window. We're going to miss dinner. We're going to miss vent. This makes me smile.
"Katniss," Peeta asks, startling me. I thought he was already sleeping. "Why did you want to do that?"
"Do what?" I ask. I take deep breaths willing the nausea to go away. I try to close my eyes but it makes the spinning worse.
"Drink. That was a bad idea," he says.
"You're right. I underestimated your abilities," I tell him through deep breaths, sitting up. "You're terrible." I pull my shirt over my head. I'm sweating but the air hitting my skin instantly makes me shiver. "You're the worst," I mumble, as I drag myself off the bed.
I walk slowly so as not to fall over and make it into the bathroom where I splash water on my face. I can't focus on my face in the mirror because there are two of me being reflected. Suddenly the sensation of standing upright propels vomit from me. But I haven't eaten in hours so its straight liquor that flies out of my mouth and into the sink. It burns nearly as much coming up as it did going down. After I've expelled the poison from my body my stomach still hurls bile to punish me. After that is expunged I am left weak, my body is perspiring uncontrollably and I feel as though I could quite literally fall over and sleep on this very spot.
I stumble through the doorframe but Peeta is nowhere to be found. I call his name but get no answer. Just as I'm about to go into the hall to search for him I see his shoes sticking out from the side of the bed, next to the wall.
"Peeta," I call out loudly. He's got his forearm over his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"It's better on the floor. Come here," he holds his hand out to me, without taking his arm off of his eyes. I squeeze myself into the space between his body and the wall. He's right. The hard floor makes the room spin less.
"I'm sorry," I tell him as I've settled against his body. "That was a bad idea. But I have to say, throwing up helps. You should go try."
"No," he says with finality. I mean to protest but sleep crushes me immediately.
I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly. My head is pounding and the smell of the liquor is still seeping from my pores despite having already showered but not a single nightmare. I slept the whole night through. Peeta has already started baking which surprises me. He didn't even throw up. The liquor just permeated in him all night. The idea of this is repugnant and I choke on my unsettled stomach. I focus on eating the bread he has laid out for me. Food is a must right now. I eat slowly and carefully. Making sure each bite stays down.
He takes the seat opposite me. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are a little bloodshot but he seems to be holding up quite well.
"What was that yesterday?" he asks. "Something must be really bothering you if you'd resort to drinking with Haymitch."
"I'm fine," I dismiss his concerns.
"Don't lie to me, Katniss," he says firmly.
Every inch of my body hurts. The muscles in my torso and my back are sore, my legs are sore, I have a bruise on my arm I don't remember getting. My stomach is wrecked. Each beat of my heart makes the blood in my temples throb and this only adds to my headache. The last thing I want to talk about right now is how I feel so guilty for lying to him that I'd subject my body to Haymitch and his poison.
"Katniss," Peeta says, leaning closer. "Tell me." He takes my hand in his and the warmth of his hands from just being in the oven is intoxicating. I stroke my fingers within his palm and the rhythm of such ebbs the incessant pounding in my head. His blue eyes, though cloudy, are vibrant with a very real look of concern. I'm baffled by his ability to still look at me this way when I hurt him again and again.
"Peeta…" I start. I haven't thought this through enough to be having this conversation. I don't know how to word this without offending him. I can't hurt him anymore. I start slowly. "Why do you hate the condoms so much?"
His eyes move away from mine and I can see him trying to find the origin of this question. He gives up. "What?"
"You hate them. I know you do," I say. I wait for him to agree. Or to protest. Anything. But he doesn't respond. "I just want to know why you hate them."
"Katniss, what is this all about?" he asks. I can sense his growing frustration.
"Please, Peeta. Please just answer the question."
"It's not a big deal," he says, deflecting.
"No. Don't do that. I want a real answer."
He lets out a sigh and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His hand tries to wiggle away from mine but I hold onto it tightly. Something in my eyes must tell him that I am serious because he finally answers. "It's just so…unnatural. I don't want to feel a piece of rubber wrapped around me. I want you." He moves his hand up to my face and softly caresses my check. "I want your warmth…I want to feel the moisture that your body produces because it wants me…not a condom."
I should stop now but I hate the look of doubt that Peeta is watching me with.
"I hate them for that too," I tell him honestly. I take deep breath. "But Peeta, we have to wear them…"
"I know, Katniss. That's why I haven't mentioned it."
"No, you don't' understand," I fidget with his fingers in mine, "I don't want to get pregnant."
"I know that," he smiles, trying to reassure me.
"No, Peeta. Listen to me." I squeeze his hand in mine. "I don't want to get pregnant… Ever."
The final word hangs in the air between us and sucks all of the oxygen out of the room. When he finally responds he doesn't let go of my hand and speaks with confidence, convincing himself that I have misspoken.
"Katniss, we talked about this. You said you'd have an open mind. I know you don't want to get pregnant now but that could still change."
"It won't, Peeta."
"No," he says sharply, "You said that you thought you could change your mind someday. Those were your words." I can see him fighting a panic that is rising somewhere deep beyond a place that I know.
I want to run away. I want to be far, far away from his accusatory eyes. He pleads with me in silence to confirm his memory of my words but I can't. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. The growing silence only intensifies his apparent alarm at the way in which this conversation has shifted. There's only one thing left to say.
"I lied," I tell him, steady and poised, leaving him no room to object. I want to look away from the immediate grief that has surfaced in the blue eyes that I love so much but I'm paralyzed by the pain that I just have caused.
"What else have you lied about?" he recovers, his voice full of painful disdain.
"Nothing, Peeta," I answer quickly. But it's too late. His hand is pulled from mine though I clutch to it with all that I have. His eyes are hard and I begin to worry if I am going to trigger some horrible mutated memory of myself. I brace myself for the very worst of what the Capital has done to him but he recovers more calmly than I deserve.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, on the edge of breaking.
"I don't mean to do anything," I tell him in a voice so small that I barely recognize it.
"But you are. You're not even giving us a chance at a normal life. Why? You think that what we have here isn't good enough? That I'm not good enough? You think I can't protect you? That I couldn't protect our child?" His accusations fly at me so fast that I hardly know where to start. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asks before I have a chance to respond.
"I-I don't want to lie to you," I tell him, stumbling over my words.
"Anymore, you mean. You don't want to lie to me anymore." He leaves the table and heads for the door. When I call out his name he ignores me and is out of the house before I have a chance to catch up to him.
My head pounds nearly twice as hard as it had earlier and I am thankful. I deserve all the pain that I have coming to me.