This was a hard chapter for me. I think I'm getting writers block! Hopefully the next will come easier than this one did. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
Disclaimer: I don't know own the Hunger Games or any of the characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins.
"I know what you remind me of!" Haymitch belligerently belts out. He's holding his liquor in a metal flask which he keeps pulling out from his coat to sip when he thinks no one is looking. I pull my legs up to my chest and hug them, trying to keep warm, as I sit in front of the school where the construction workers, volunteers and Peeta are building. The wood for the walls have gone up and now they're prepping bricks for to line them. I sit a distance away so as not to distract him but still in a place where I can watch him at all times. "You're like a lost puppy. That's exactly what is!" he exclaims taking a swig from his flask. His wide shoulders are rolling with a laughter that I do not comprehend.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
"A lost puppy. Or better yet, like that damn cat. I think that's a better way to put it." He hiccups and takes another drink.
I was using his shoulder next to mine as a sort of body heat but clearly the unfamiliar act of physical interaction is making him crazy. I slowly scoot my body away from his. I watch Peeta work. He's cut his blonde curls off and has been wearing a much shorter hairstyle. It makes him look older and more rugged. It's beyond sexy. I smile to myself, how lucky I am to get to take him home with me every night.
Haymitch hiccups again. "You follow him around like that cat follows me around. Room to room, begging me to love it. It's pathetic."
I peer at him sideways, through the hair that's pulled around my face, looking for traces that he has fallen into some hallucinatory state of mind. I scoot a little further away.
"I see what you're doing." He moves closer to me to close the gap. "Stop. I'm too drunk to be moving. Horizontally or laterally. It's too damn cold out here."
"I think you're losing it, old man," I say, patting him on the back.
"You're the one that's losing it. What happened to you? You used to be Katniss Everdeen - The Mockingjay – Girl on Fire!" he exclaims, and starts laughing boisterously. "Now you're just Peeta's wife. Is that what you fought that war for?"
"What are you talking about?" I demand, louder than I should. I don't know why I go anywhere with him when he's been drinking. He's completely incoherent.
"I'm talking about you, sweetheart. Following Peeta around like a lost puppy, like you're heart is going to stop if you aren't with him at all times. You two have been inseparable for weeks. Don't think I haven't noticed. What I want to know is," hiccup, "what changed?"
I sigh at the predicament. I seek Haymitch out for advice and now he thinks he can ask me any question he wants. I have to give a little to get a little so I decide to give him an answer.
"I did," I say, with resolve.
"Well obviously! I can see that. I want to know, why?" he specifies.
"What does it matter? We're happy," I snap at him. He tries my patience like no one else can.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you happy. I'm just saying I never thought I'd see the day when you'd lose that lovable scowl of yours." He reaches over and pinches my cheeks with his fingers which stink of alcohol. "Oh, there it is!" he exclaims, when I squirm away from him, with an exasperated expression.
"You are a drunken old man. Leave me alone," I tell him.
I walk across the street to the new grocery storefront. There is a bench out front that I occupy frequently when Peeta is working on the school. This has become his most important project. He doesn't deny that he is anxious for me to start working. He put this project above rebuilding the bakery, arguing that he can use his old Victor house until it's ready. I don't let this bother me.
I don't let anything bother me anymore. After Peeta and I resolved our issues it's impossible for me to get upset about anything. How can I? I have nothing to be concerned with. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and the man that I love in my arms each night. The nightmares are less frequent than they were before. Peeta's too. It feels like ever since I finally let my guard to him that a weight was lifted.
Without all that pent up angst I find there is more room for simple things. Like laughter. We laugh constantly. Over the stupidest things. Like the way Buttercup insists on peeing on Haymitch's pillow. We find this hilarious. Simple things like reading. In preparation of my lesson plans the Capital sent me tons of books to study.
The first batch they sent was for the Science class. I had no idea why they thought to send me books on Quantum Theory and the General and Special Theories of Relativity. I didn't even open the books until a week after they arrived. But then one day I got bored and started sifting through them. It's fascinating. And surprising applicable.
In Quantum Mechanics, it is thought that the act of looking at something determines its state of being. But some ancient scientist named Einstein criticized this, saying, "I like to think the moon is there even if I am not looking at it." At first I just glanced over the quote. But then when I was lying in bed that night I thought about how true the words are. My mother is alive and well despite the fact that I can't see her. The more I thought about this the more at peace I became with her absence.
The Special Theory of Relativity says that perception is relative to the observer's frame of reference. So even if I have fleeting moments where I think that I am a horrible person and that Peeta could decide to leave at any moment it doesn't matter because Peeta sees me as perfect. He would never leave me. It's relative. Of course, how I'm going to teach this to children is a task I have not yet endeavored to accomplish.
I'm surprised at the perceptiveness of the old man. I suppose I have been following Peeta around like a lost puppy. I can't help it though. I want to be with him all the time. Constantly. I feel like I have years of not loving him back to make up for. He's been through this already - this head over heels stupidity. I didn't intend to want to be with him all the time. It just happened after our talk. I don't think I am the only one either. He hasn't protested my following him around. He hasn't asked for space. I think he's enjoying this new level of commitment as much as I am.
When he approaches me after his work day we stroll through the town toward our house. I note the way that I cling to him. I never did before. Maybe that's what Haymitch is talking about. I unlatch my arm from the crook of his elbow, settling on lacing my fingers with his. He doesn't notice. When we walk into the house we both get ready for art therapy. We're working on a piece together. It's a huge canvas that takes up nearly an entire wall. Let's be honest, he's working on it, I'm ruining it. Of course, we are working on this together because I refused to sit on the other side of the room – so far away from him. So I kept moving closer and closer to the point where we were on the same canvas.
Okay, maybe I am clinging then. But who cares?
We make love every night, most mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, too. It's constant. We don't use condoms anymore. We're trying a new method. The pull out method. So far, so good. Haymitch and Greasy Sae would kill us if they knew. We promised we'd get settled first before we made any big decisions. Peeta needs to get the bakery built; I have to find my place at the school. We know condoms are the best way to ensure I don't get pregnant but after everything that's happened between us it seems trivial. Sure, I don't want a baby right now. But someday I might. Our love feels too good to put a barrier between it. It's our love that consumes us to the point where we can love without worrying of the consequences. If that love makes something of the both of us then so be it.
So this night is not specifically unlike any others.
His breath is hot on my neck. The sheen of sweat on his forehead is pressed up against my cheek; I can feel the silky sheets underneath my breasts and stomach as he adjusts himself on top of me. He's breathing hard but making special consideration not to put all of his weight on me.
"Are you okay?" he asks in a gulp of air.
"Yeah," I tell him through labored breaths. "Are you?"
"I think so," he says with humor.
I don't know how we got into this position. One minute my back was cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. The next, clothes were being taken off, body parts were being caressed, we were moving and rolling, sharing lost whispers of want and need, then finally he was behind me, pressing into my body, and then it all mixed together. The movement, kissing, his lips, my moans, the words, the touches, the breaths so deep I nearly blacked out.
"Are you sure?" I ask him again.
"I don't want to move," he says, trying to catch his breath.
"Don't. Please." I lace my fingers into his above my head, and push my hips back into him. His lips find the back of my neck and he's moving again. I'm amazed at how I never knew he could be inside me this way. Position mattered. Because angles mattered. Because the angle in which he entered me mattered. And this just became my new favorite. Clearly my appreciation for it is shared.
"Katniss," he whispers hot in my ear.
"What?" I ask into the pillow.
"I have to stop…" He's gasping for air, I can feel the muscles in his arms protesting, the slickness of his naked chest sliding against my bare back tells me he's perspiring with the effort.
"Okay," I tell him. He slides off of my back and onto his stomach where he finally regains his breath. I smile into the night when I see the clock. We had been making love for an hour and he was exhausted from not moving from our accidental position.
"You're amazing," I tell him sincerely.
He smiles rolling onto his back. I want to return the favor but I'm not sure if he can take it. I prop myself up onto my elbow and find his eyes.
"Are you done?" I ask.
He laughs. "I'm not sure…give me a minute." I don't wait a minute. Instead I climb on top of him, straddling his hips. He gives an exhausted sigh of satisfaction before he grabs onto me, guiding my motion.
"You win," he whispers, his smile fading into ecstasy.
The next morning Peeta makes an unexpected announcement.
"I have surprise for you," he says.
"You do?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Tell me now," I demand.
"Nope," he returns with a smile. He picks up his plate and places it in the sink. "It'll be here this afternoon. If you could just please use it to the best of your ability and be ready when I get home."
He passes behind me, giving me a kiss on the top of my head.
"Tell me now," I say again as he's putting his coat on to head out for the day.
"Nope," he repeats himself. As he leaves I furrow my brows to express my anger but this only makes his smile of victory wider.
When the package arrives I'm dumbfounded at its contents. How was I supposed to use this?
"This is …different," I smile, uncomfortably.
"I know. But different isn't bad is it?" he asks, sipping the newly imported Capital champagne.
"No, not bad." I run my fingers over the red slinky silk fabric of my dress. Peeta really, really wanted to go dinner at Sae's new restaurant in town. The dress, his surprise, is supposed to be a gift. It feels like a punishment. Obviously, I objected. But then he seemed so excited. And he did put effort into the planning.
"It's the dress isn't it?" he asks.
"No, no. The dress is beautiful." For someone else maybe. Not me. "So, are you going to tell me why we're here?"
"I'm not allowed to take my wife to a nice dinner?"
"You're full of questions tonight. I don't like it," I tell him, crossing my arms to my chest. Partially out of annoyance. Partially trying to move his eyes up to my face from the swell of my exposed breasts. He notices and laughs.
"There is something I want to talk to you about," he admits. I knew it. "Plutarch called me." Oh, great. Plutarch has been relentless. He wants us to go to the Capital to tape a special on our lives here in 12. He thinks it would be good for the country to see that we are adjusting well to the new way of life. Plus, he is determined to announce to the world that I'm actively taking a job in the district at the school. He thinks it will inspire others to take district jobs. People are still weary of the government, let alone government jobs. All of these things have been discussed and rejected – several times.
"No," I tell him firmly.
"Wait, will you please hear me out?" he asks, reaching for my hand.
"I can't believe you. You brought me here, in public, to try to convince me to go to the Capital? Of all places? You know that I never, ever want to go back there. Ever!" I catch sideways glances from other patrons in the restaurant but I don't care. These people all think I am crazy anyway. Who cares what they think? I grab my coat off of the back of my chair and storm outside. There is snow on the ground and its freezing. Which makes me hate this stupid dress even more.
Parachutes dropping. Bombs exploding. People dying. Prim dying. Finnicks head being taken off. My arrow in Coin's chest. The room they used to imprison me during my trial. Gale.
"Katniss," Peeta calls out. He reaches for my hand but I flinch away.
"Leave me alone," I tell him. I start the walk back to our house.
"I wish you would just hear me out," he says, trailing behind me.
"No. I don't want to hear what you have to say." I stop and turn so I can see his face. "Why would you even want to go back there? How can you even stand to think about being near where they tortured you?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about," he grabs my hand, "Can we please go back inside and finish our dinner? And talk about this?"
"I'm not going back in there," I turn around and start walking again.
My shoes dip into the grainy snow making it impossible to walk straight. Peeta reaches out his hand to steady me. I take it. We walk in silence, snow crunching under our feet. It's not until we reach our porch that he speaks.
"I've been feeling better lately. But…I don't know if that's because of you," he caresses my cheek, "or because I'm actually better. We're not being careful about having sex, Katniss. Obviously we're not trying to get pregnant but we aren't doing anything, really, to prevent it. If you get pregnant, I want to be perfect for you. Healthy. Sane. What if he, or she," he corrects, "comes and I'm triggered by something. What if I'm not safe around you?"
I understand what he's saying. I've felt it to. It's like we live in a bubble. Our own world where we've convinced ourselves that everything that happened was just a bad nightmare. Unreal. I worry about seeing my mother or Annie or anyone else from my past. Gale. Will it trigger all of the horrors? And if they come back how long will it take to go away? Will I be nearly comatose? What if I have a child that needs me and I can't get out of bed?
"I think…" he struggles. "I think it would be good for us to face it again. Now. See how we're really coping," he finishes.
He has a point. I did promise I'd follow him all over the country if that's what it took to be with him. I will not make that a lie too.
"Okay," I tell him, not bothering to put up a fight. "On one condition."
"Anything," he promises.
"Haymitch has to come too," I stipulate. If I'm going to face the Capital I need my mentor.