Chapter 5
We haven't talked about it.
It seems like it is a topic not meant for us to discuss, and asking seems to me like an invasion of his privacy. He has a right to some privacy, the same which was taken away the first time we were reaped for the games. Since then, our lives have been in the public eye, and it's only recently that we've been left to our own devices.
I, for one, do not miss the glamour days.
We may not eat lamb stew and other such delicacies. We may not dress in finery, and may not live like kings, but we are free to do as we please. Well. Mostly. At least it's a good balance between the Capitol and District 13, where everything was rules, and how to dress, and what to do, and what to eat and how much... now at least I get to go hunting, Haymitch gets to drink, and Peeta gets to bake as much as he wants.
His cakes are so popular that orders come in from other districts, and when shipments come, full of things for us, they leave again with the fruits of Peeta's labour. It keeps him busy in the mornings, baking. He does provide bread for the district, at very good prices, and he lives on that. I keep myself with my hunting, and we both basically support Haymitch, although he does get some money from his geese once in a while. If he remembers what he's doing.
In the afternoons, Peeta comes over and we work on the book. There are still many things we want to include, and now with Haymitch contributing, the book is growing steadily. It's one of my treasures.
My treasures. I keep them in a drawer in my room, my unlikely treasures: my mockingjay pin, if only because it reminds me of Madge and Cinna; the locket with pictures of my mother, Prim and Gale; the spile, which for some reason I still have; and the pearl Peeta gave me. I hardly ever look at my treasures, but there they are, close to my heart.
At night Peeta always comes back to me. He has been sleeping in my bed for some months now, and this arrangement suits us both. Whenever I wake in nightmare-induced hysterics, he's there to hold me and calm me down. When he, in turn, wakes up in nightmares, he can reassure himself that I haven't disappeared. I do not know why he fears losing me so. I am not worth so much.
He has been a great support though, and in small ways has helped me out of the burning depression that I feel. His most radical act was to bring primroses to my house. He planted them all around without my knowledge, until one day I saw them poking out of the earth. I knew at once it was his doing, and while I wanted to punch the living lights out of him for reminding me of her in that way, I couldn't. I understood why he had done it, and now I tend to those flowers myself. Buttercup likes walking among them. He, too, still feels the loss of Prim.
What I did do, though, was plant something else among the primroses. I planted dandelions. I need them as much as I need the primroses, to remind me that I need to go on, for Prim, for my mother, who wouldn't be able to stand it if I died too.
x-x-x
Peeta is due in any minute. I find myself getting ready to bed looking out of the window, trying to make out his silhouette in the night as he approaches, but I see nothing. I let my clothes drop to the floor and head for a shower. I spend a few minutes there, letting the warm water calm my sore muscles from the earlier hunt.
When I come back into my room, wrapped in a towel, Peeta is sitting on my bed, removing his shoes. He looks up at me and smiles tiredly. He smells of flour and warm bread.
"You were baking at this hour?" I ask. He does sometimes, but not very often.
"Yeah, I brought some bread to the workers putting up the factory. Thought they'd be hungry."
"Were they?"
"By the way in which they slapped my back, I suppose they were."
We prepare for bed then in silence. His night clothes are here, the one thing that never leaves. They are the proof that, despite his keeping his own house and spending part of the day there, the roof over his head is really here. It's an arrangement we both need, one I'm not too sure my mother approves of. I've told her about it, when she asks me how my nightmares are. She knows Peeta spends every night here, but she doesn't ask what we do.
It's not like we do anything.
It's like routine, really. We sleep next to one another. We've found ways in which to share the bed so that both are comfortable, and it works. We don't have much contact overall, unless there are nightmares, his or mine, for then he is there, his arms around me.
"Oh," he says as he removes his trousers, "I almost forgot! There was a letter downstairs, from your mother."
He hands me the envelope, and I sit next to him again to open it. The letter is thick, and I wonder just how much she wrote. I only find a few words, though. I smile as I read them.
"You'll like this," I tell Peeta, and start reading out loud. "My dear Katniss, I hope that when this letter reaches you, you will be in good health. I am happy to announce you the great news! Annie gave birth to a healthy boy two days ago. They are both doing very well. She's naming him Finnick, after his father, but all she calls him at the moment is Finn. She has asked me to include a picture of him for you both (yes, she means Peeta and you), and asks for it to be shown to Haymitch. All my love to you, and warmest greetings to Peeta. Your loving mother." I then take the picture out of the envelope, and we both look at the tiny baby.
"Looks like he'll be a strong swimmer," Peeta says, smiling at the picture. "Like his father."
"We should put it in the book tomorrow," I say. "We can make a page especially for him. We can put the photograph and then you can paint marine motives around it, like you did with their wedding cake."
"That's an excellent idea."
And so it is that we go to bed in a strangely happy condition. Yes, we feel the loss of Finnick, who was a great friend and whose death was horrible and senseless. But his hope lives on, now in Annie and their son Finn.
x-x-x
There are no nightmares, but I find myself tightly wrapped in Peeta's arms. At first I am all alert, wondering if something is wrong, if someone's trying to break into the house or something, but now. It's all quiet except for Peeta's ragged breathing. He's clutching me so hard I wonder if he's having an attack, but no, I can feel the tears on my neck, the tears obviously falling down his cheeks. My left arm manages to move back a bit and hold on to his thigh. He now knows I'm awake.
"It's over," I tell him, my hand pressing down on his thigh, trying to comfort him as he comforts me. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."
Whatever it was, it has made him miserable, and he is reluctant to let me go. Since there's nothing I can think of to do, I just let him rock himself into calmness. It takes him time, but at last his grip loosens, and I can move freely again. But I don't. I stay as I am for I can his lips on my neck. He's not necessarily kissing me, his lips are just there, moving slightly as his emotions ebb.
"Peeta," I say when he stops shivering.
"Sorry," he whispers, but doesn't let go.
"It's okay." A question burns in my lips, more so when his lips actually do kiss my neck. "What was it this time?" It's not the question I want to ask, but that's the best I can do for now.
"The usual..." he is evasive, but not convincing.
"It's not the usual," I tell him, turning to look at him. "Something was different today." His eyes peer into mine, and I see the desperation. He is silently asking me not to ask this of him. I can see he's still scared and shaken, although his body has stopped shivering, and his breathing has calmed. "Please. It helps me when I talk about it."
"Katniss, I can't..."
"Please."
I can tell he doesn't want to tell me, but that something in him is breaking. Finally he sighs, presses his lips to mine briefly, surprising me, and then blurts it all out.
"I killed you." The pain is evident in his eyes. "In my nightmare... I was having an attack and... I didn't manage to control myself... you didn't run fast enough and... I killed you with my own hands. I just sat there, with your blood everywhere, and I knew how terrible it was, and that I could never go back. You have no idea the relief I felt when I woke up and there you were and..." he kisses me again, just for a second. "I'm sorry."
"It was a dream," I say, pulling him close to me, rocking him myself now. "You did not kill me, I'm okay. You are okay, too."
"What if it happens? What if I...?"
"Peeta, you've had countless opportunities to kill me, and you haven't. After all this time, I don't think you're going to do it." He nods in my arms, and I know this is the moment to ask. Whatever else, we are at a turning point. Whatever I ask now, surely he will answer truthfully. "Why, Peeta? Why do you keep having these nightmares? Why are you so afraid of losing me?"
He was not expecting that question, and I can see how it affects him. He's looking at me as if it were obvious, but I need to know. I need to hear it from his lips. He leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he's all seriousness.
"Because you're all I've got left."