Thanks again to everyone who's been reading, reviewing and to all of the overwhelming amount of people who have added me to their favorite author and story lists. I had no idea that I would end up writing so many chapters but now I am addicted to this story! Hope you enjoy the latest chapter. Again, your reviews are greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, any characters, or settings. These belong to Suzanne Collins.
"I am so excited, Katniss!" Plutarch shrieks on the other end of the phone. "I've just heard the fantastic news! We'll do a national special, 'The Mockingjay Gives Back!'"
Of course. I should have told the new Director of Education to keep his mouth shut. "No, we won't. I don't want any attention. I'm just looking for something to fill my days."
"Well we have to let the people know that you and Peeta are doing well." Are we doing well, I wonder. "People want to hear from you two. This country loves you!"
I can hear in his tone that he is on the verge of begging. "I'll talk to Peeta, we'll think about it," I tell him trying to appease.
"Fantastic! Now, a few technicalities: we haven't gotten the census results back from your district but as soon we do we'll know the demographics of the children and what kind of material will need to be taught."
"What do you mean demographics? I can tell you exactly how many kids are. There can't be more than seventy five families living here."
"No, no. We have to use the census. We are starting from scratch here, Katniss. We have to do it by the book. Now, go ahead and get a few lesson plans together for a couple of different grades. You'll have to submit them for review before you can start teaching," he says exuberantly.
"Teaching? I'm not going to teach."
"Well of course you are! You said you want to work in the school, on the curriculum."
"I do, but I'm not a teacher. I don't know how to teach kids."
"Trust me, there's nothing to it. You'll be fine. Be prepared to submit a few lesson plans next week. Talk to you soon." I knew this was going to be a disaster. At least it's something to keep my mind busy until Peeta decides what he wants to do with me.
He's been gone for two days. I don't know what's worse: knowing he's a few hundred yards from me and I can't see him or knowing he has every right to stay away from me. I thought after our argument he'd come right back. I was sure that despite having his heart broken he'd recover and be the kind and understanding man that I've come to depend on. Unfortunately, this has not been the case. He hasn't returned. Haymitch tells me I should give him space.
But what does he know? He's the one that got me into this in the first place. More or less. I take Plutarch's direction and work on lesson plans. Not that I know anything about teaching, curriculum or children for that matter. I don't even know where to start. I sit down at the kitchen table with freshly sharpened pencils and a stack of paper. I try to focus but the absence of Peeta is deafening. During this time of the day he'd be out building or baking or whatever else he does around town while I sit idle in our home. Today it's raining so I doubt he's building with the rest of the construction workers. No. He's probably at his old house, a few hundred yards from me. Within sight but hardly within reach.
History. What is the history of District 12? This seems like an abstract way to start. How do we even know the history that was told to us before was true? I can only deal with what I know to be factual. The new generation of children should know about the people of our district. The people who made it worth coming back for. People like Peeta. Poised. Inspiring. Or people like Darius who had the courage to stand up to the Capital's Peacekeepers. He stood up for Gale and they turned him into an Avox before he met his slow, torturous death. Darius is a hero. Gale. He put so much effort into the rebellion. His hatred for the Capital fueling his desire for destruction. Do people think of him as a hero? I can't. He's just a guy that only loved me when someone else wanted me. A guy that designed a bomb that took my little sister's life. Someone I once knew and will never know again.
I write down "District 12 Heroes" and put down Darius' name. Then Peetas. His name stifles my progress so I move to language arts. The idea comes to me instantly. Songs. All the songs my dad taught me when I was a little girl. I write them down, page after page after page. They all have their own underlying meanings. These could be taught as songs, maybe in a music class. But they should be taught as poetry. Students could learn to decipher these and understand the truth behind them.
Now math. The only person I know that is good with numbers, precise and accurate with his measurements, is the town baker. Peeta.
I can't do this. I need him here with me. Now. I'm surprised that I've lasted two days without him so far. I make my way over to his old house. Do I knock or just walk in? I decide to knock. I don't want to startle him and make it worse. I wait for him to answer so long that I wonder if he's even home when finally I hear the lock being unlatched.
Pain is written all over his face. It's more than just the grief that surfaced when I told him that I had lied. This is deeper. Sorrow. That's what it is. It's like he's been mourning the loss of something he never knew but knew he needed.
"I was wondering when you'd make your way over here," he says. He opens the door wider and motions for me to enter, "Come in."
The house is warm and the smell of fresh baked goods is drifting from the kitchen. His long sleeves are rolled up to his forearms and his hands and wrists are caked with flour. The apron he is wearing is completely covered in ingredients but the faint blue color of it makes his eyes pop. It takes all the strength I have to fight the urge to reach out and smooth his tousled hair down.
"I didn't know if you'd want to see me," I tell him. I move across the room and enter into the kitchen. I can see why he hasn't bothered coming to talk to me. There are racks and racks of freshly baked cookies, cupcakes, bread, and pastries. There's enough here for the entire town. An endless supply of baking goods is one plus to having sparked the revolution of our country. Peeta does not waste a single donation from the Capital.
"I didn't," he says. He moves back toward the heap of moist flour on his butcher block and begins kneading the dough with his knuckles. As I watch him from the corner of the kitchen my mind flies back to each accusation he flung at me three days before. I've inserted doubt into our relationship. He thinks that I'm not happy in our life here and that I don't think he is capable of protecting me or a family. I wish I could explain to him that this is not true. "Did you come to watch me bake?" he asks.
I feel the corners of my lips rise because it is genuinely pleasurable to watch him bake. "Maybe," I say. He doesn't look away from his dough or react in anyway. "I missed you."
I catch his hesitation for only a fraction of a second before he starts kneading again. I wait but it doesn't look like a response is forthcoming. I want to run into his arms and tell him that I'm sorry and tell him I think he's perfect in every way. I want to beg for his forgiveness. I want him to come home with me and promise that the two of us alone are enough for a family. But I can't find it within myself to do any of that.
He starts forming the dough into perfect circles before placing them on a sheet to bake. A timer goes off and he takes a batch of cookies from the oven and replaces it with his newly prepared rack. It's then that he finally makes his way over to the table that I am sitting at. He sits across from me. It is exactly as it was three days ago, sitting opposite each other. We might as well be on opposites sides of the planet.
"I want you to come home," I tell him when he makes no move to speak.
"I want a wife who doesn't lie to me." Ouch. That one hurt. I try to protest but he continues, "We don't always get what we want, do we?"
"Peeta. I want you to come home," I tell him again because it's the only truth I know he won't doubt.
"Why did you do it, Katniss?"
I hesitate but then answer as honestly as I can. "I was scared that you wouldn't stay with me… if I wouldn't give you what you wanted."
"That's not what I'm talking about. But that does bring up another point. You think that I would leave you because you didn't want to have kids? How many times do I have to declare my love for you before you stop doubting me?" he articulates each question so exactly that I can tell he's been going over these questions in his head over and over.
"Peeta -," I start but he cuts me off.
"You don't have to answer because your actions give me all the answers I need," he interjects. "But like I said, that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know, why did you choose to me over Gale?"
I flinch at the insinuation. Peeta thinks that I don't want kids with him because I want Gale? "There was never a choice, Peeta. How could you even think –. "
"No, there wasn't a choice was there?" he cuts me off again. "Because Gale never came back. He made the choice for you." His words slice through me with a pain that only someone I love this much can inflict. I feel betrayed by his accusation.
"It was always you that I wanted," I try to convince him as calmly as possibly. My stomach knots and I squeeze my hands together to keep them from shaking. What have I done? He's questioning every motive behind every action I have ever made. I've broken us.
"I think you're lying again." I can see in his eyes, bitter with betrayal, that he is being honest. I did question my feelings for Gale but deep down I always wanted Peeta. How do I rephrase this without sounding like a fraud?
"I did have feelings for Gale at one point. But those feelings paled in comparison to how I felt about you. How I feel about you." I reach for his hand, to my surprise, he lets me take it. Hopeful with his acceptance, I go on. "I was afraid you'd leave. I'm always afraid you'll leave. You are so much better than me. You deserve so much better than me." I can see his façade of anger fading. He knows I'm being truthful now.
"That's not true," he says, his eyes fixed on our hands.
"It is. If I wasn't horrible to you Snow never could have done what he did to you. I gave him all the ammo he needed to make you hate me. That was real, Peeta. Even you can't deny that."
His voice is low, almost a whisper, "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You don't trust me. You think there is a way that I could ever leave you."
"It's not because I don't trust you. It's me. I'm the problem here. Not you," I plead with him to believe me.
He pulls his hand from mine. I sense that he's about to make a move to leave so I stand and position my body in front of his. I place my hands on his shoulders, with no words left to say I try to hold his gaze long enough so he can see how much I need him.
He pulls my hands down slowly and rises. I want to wrap my arms around him but he doesn't give me the option. He's already pushing me to the side to tend to his baking.
"Will you come home now," I ask, as he turns his back to me.
"No," he tells me with decisiveness. "No, I won't Katniss. Because you still don't get it." He pulls his baking rack from the oven and places it with the others. It's only then he turns to look at me, to deliver the final blow. "You should go now."
The hysteria rising in my chest tells me I shouldn't go home and be alone so I detour to Haymitch's house. I don't bother knocking; I barge right in and go straight into the kitchen. I find him surprisingly alert eating a sandwich at his table. "Ever heard of knocking?" he asks, his mouth full of Peeta's bread. There's no time to answer his inconsequential question. If I don't do something to rid myself of Peeta's dismissal there's a very good chance I will turn catatonic with the colossal anguish that is slowly crushing me at this very moment.
"Do you have any more of that liquor?" I start opening and closing cabinets.
"What?" he asks. I can see he's frozen from the movement of eating and is watching me as I invade his privacy.
"You heard me." He tries to stalls my movements by standing directly in front of me. "Let's play that game again," I tell him.
"What do you think you are doing?"
"I'm just looking for your bottles," I say, trying to get around his objecting body.
"I can see that. Will you slow down, please?" He gently guides my movement away from his cabinets and eventually out of the kitchen. "Now, I don't know what's going on with you but you need to figure it out somewhere else. I'm all out of liquor and I'm a little edgy right now." Before I know it I'm being pushed out the front door. "I can't take your bad vibes today. Go."
"I can't go home," I plead with him, trying to wedge myself back into the doorframe.
"You don't have to go home. You just have to leave here." His door slams in my face and I'm left with nothing to drown the pain of Peetas rejection.
I spend the rest of the day trying to keep myself busy. I work on the lesson plans. I flip through our book and try to focus on our cumulative happy memories. I even try to paint a little. Overall, it's useless because everything in our house has been touched by Peeta. The darker the sky gets the more uneasy I become. I'm certain I can't make it through another night without him.
I lie in our bed and bury my face into his pillow trying to catch his intoxicatingly, comforting scent. His words reverberate in my mind. You still don't get it, he said. Get what? What had I said? He is better than me. That is true. He deserves better than me. That is also true, though, I would never let him go to find someone more worthy. Which only proves my point because he would have let me go if I chose Gale or anyone else. He'd want me to be happy. He loves me, I know that much. But there's no way to guarantee that he won't want to leave someday. That has to be what upset him the most. I questioned his devotion to our life here and, subsequently, his devotion to me. But how could I not? He doesn't know how he's going to feel tomorrow. Or in five years. Or ten. He has no idea what the future holds for us.
And then I comprehend completely. That's what he's been trying to get me see all along. I climb out of the bed and rush down the stairs. I don't bother putting a coat on or even shoes. The icy sheets of rain hit my face and sting my eyes. The rain is so thick I can hardly see two feet in front of me but this doesn't slow me down. I leap up Peeta's stairs and instead of knocking I go right in. The quiet is daunting. Though, it is in the middle of the night so it shouldn't surprise me that the lights are off and the house silent. I find him lying in his old bed.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asks, startling me.
I have no plan. Really, all I want to do is climb into bed with him and wrap his arms around my body. Haymitch is right. I have Peeta and we have a beautiful life here. I need to stop sabotaging myself. To remedy this, I speak without thinking. I speak into the shadows and my words flow more seamlessly than they ever have before.