I heard Katniss downstairs as soon as I woke. Or maybe it was her voice that woke me. The room spun briefly as I sat up in bed, and I had to wait for the feeling to pass before reaching for a shirt from the floor to pull on. I felt around with my feet for a pair of pants, standing carefully to pull them on. It took a few moments to be sure I was steady enough on my feet to walk. I moved down the hall toward the stairs, steeling myself for the trip down them. I tripped halfway down the last time I even bothered trying—two days ago—and doing that in front of her would hurt more than the fall itself.
"Hey, Peeta," she smiled at me as I reached the bottom step. I tried to return it, but hers was too unguarded and too easy. I knew mine was falling short. Dad was sitting at the worktable with a cake on the stand in front of him. I sat down across from the two of them and watched him work, trying to wrestle down the panic in my chest at the very idea of it. I knew that I could do what he was doing. Hell, I knew that I was probably a little better at some of it. I knew my basket weave was more consistent. I knew my flowers were more delicate, but I couldn't remember the feel of doing it. I couldn't even imagine picking up one of those bags to try.
"Would you mind if I left you alone with these two idiots to close up on your own?" Dad asked Katniss. She smirked, turning away from the order she was boxing up to look at him.
"Go get some sleep," she said, moving the box to the counter beside the finished cake. "We'll be fine. Right, Peet?" I looked up, caught off guard by her addressing me with that as if I had anything to do with the bakery anymore. Dad was looking at me with a soft, sad smile, and I nodded, holding his gaze as long as I could stomach. He moved toward the storefront, saying goodnight to Rye before going upstairs to bed. He was exhausted, all the time, and it was my fault. It wasn't just Mom they were making up for, it was me, too. Two people down, and Katniss needed more training before she would be enough to keep up with everything. "Hey."
I looked up, raising my eyebrows. Katniss had her hand on the table in front of me, looking directly at me. It made my breath catch in my throat. I pressed my lips together, raising my eyebrows, and waited for her to go on.
"Help me with the prep for tomorrow," she said. I wasn't quite sure if I heard her right. She couldn't be serious. The one time I'd done anything in this kitchen—those cupcakes we made that Sunday—I'd done nothing but embarrass myself. I couldn't even remember to light the ovens. "I'll measure it all out, and you mix it together. It'll go faster with two." She touched my shoulder as she moved past me into the storage room, pulling out the containers and ingredients she'd need. Rye slid into the doorway as she returned, crossing his arms over his chest and watching. An audience. Perfect.
Katniss led me through it, all but holding my hand without being too overt about any of it. She pulled out the recipes, though I knew she didn't need them anymore, laying them on the table within my reach. One by one, she passed me the ingredients in the order they were listed on the page. It felt almost familiar, and knowing that this had once been second nature to me was maddening.
"Hey," Katniss leaned close to me, resting her hand on my shoulder. She lowered her voice. "Are you okay?"
"I'm—fine." I glanced back toward the storefront. Rye was gone, and I drew in a breath, laying both my hands on the table. Trying to ground myself.
"We finished it, you know," she smiled at me, and I looked up at the containers on the table. She bumped her shoulder against mine, moving to cover them and carry them back into the storage room. "I told you it would go faster with two."
"As do many things," Rye grinned, spinning the keys to the front around his fingers as he crossed the kitchen to sit across from me. I rolled my eyes. I had trouble wrapping my head around a lot of things now, but Rye's double entendres were too constant to be on the list. "We're closed up, kiddos. What's left?"
"You can clean up," Katniss dropped down to sit next to me. The stool was closer than I realized, and I could feel her body heat alongside me. "Since I did everything else."
"Oh yeah, I bet you worked real hard back here," Rye smirked, getting up from the table and shooting her a look before turning to the sink full of dishes. "What did you do, box up some cookies? Make Peeta do your prep work?"
"You know damn well what I did, asshole." Katniss rolled her eyes before turning to me. "How the hell did you put up with him for fifteen years without murdering him?" She gestured toward Rye and I laughed.
"It w-wasn't easy," I said. She laughed, and it never failed to make me smile, the squint of her eyes, flash of her teeth. She elbowed me.
"Like you were a fucking treat your whole life." Rye gave me a look, cutting his eyes toward Katniss briefly.
"I'm sure he was a far sight better than you," Katniss raised an eyebrow, and I looked away. I could feel a flush creeping into my cheeks, and I didn't want her to see it. I reached up to comb my fingers through my hair and hide behind my hand in the process when I realized I'd forgotten my damn hat. And that I'd turned my head far enough for her to see that stupid scar. The last bits of the scab still hadn't fallen away, and there was a wide patch of bare skin where it had been. I snapped my vision down toward the table, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye. She had been staring. And it hurt. "Thanks for your help."
I looked over at her. Her voice was soft, her expression genuine, and everything about her was too, too beautiful. The muscles in my neck tightened, jerking my chin to the side, and I rubbed at my jaw, turning away from her before she saw the twitching in my cheek and around my eye that inevitably followed. Of course. I couldn't even find a response for her, though I knew I should have been giving one. I felt her hand on my arm and looked up at her. She was still smiling at me. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep my arm still and not jerk away from the touch. She was the only one who did that just for the sake of doing it. The only one who didn't make me feel like I was being pitied when she smiled at me. I wished I could have found a way to say any of that, or to thank her for any of it. Instead I just offered a weak excuse for a smile and stared down at her hand.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" Katniss asked softly. I nodded. I could feel Rye watching us. I didn't need to look up at him. Katniss slid her hand across my shoulders, pulling at me gently. I closed my eyes, trying not to think about how close she was, or the softness of her. I let her guide me off of the stool and shrugged away from her to make my way to the stairs. She didn't need to see me any weaker than I already looked.
Katniss followed behind me, her hand gently hovering at my shoulder blades when I faltered at the top of the stairs. I led her to my bedroom, snatching my hat off the nightstand before I dropped down onto the bed. I pulled it on, smoothing it down over the back of my head. Katniss smiled and sat down next to me.
"You don't have to wear that around me," she said, gesturing to the hat. "I didn't mean to stare earlier. I just can't believe that scab hasn't come off yet."
"M-me neither," I chewed my lip, touching the hat nervously. "Whenever, um. A n-new piece—falls off-" I stopped, squeezing my eyes closed, hating the stupid fucking stutter. I took a breath, trying to relax before pushing on. "There's st-still stitches—in there. That your m-mom has to take out."
"Seriously?" she asked, her lip curling. I nodded, her expression pulling a smile to my face. "Let me see it."
"What?" I looked over at her.
"Please?" she smiled, raising her eyebrows. I stared at her for a minute, trying to figure out whether or not she was joking. Or if she just wanted to poke fun at me. I hesitated before reaching for the hat and tugging it off. I leaned forward, turning my face to the side and resting my elbows on my knees. After a moment I felt her fingers brush over my hair and on to the bare skin around the wound. Just barely grazing the scab. I flinched, and she snatched her fingers away. "Sorry. It's hot. That's weird. Does it still hurt?" I shrugged, rolling the hat in my hands.
"I g-get—headaches a lot," I said. One was just starting, creeping up from the base of my skull and working its way through my brain. I rubbed my hand over my eyes, trying to ease it. She'd leave when it got bad. She seemed too able to pick up on it without me even needing to say so. I didn't quite want her to go. I also didn't want to keep fucking up this chance to be close to her that I'd been waiting for for years. Why would I even think she'd have an interest in me?
"Are you okay?" Katniss asked. I sighed. I couldn't quite bring myself to lie to her. "I'll let you get some sleep, okay?" She set her hand on my arm, her thumb rubbing over my skin. I nodded, closing my eyes and hoping she'd be out of the room before I lost my battle against the tears I felt rising. The mattress shifted as she stood, and the door clicked closed a moment later. I threw my hat to the floor, shoving open the window and leaning over the dresser to suck in the cold night air. Why would I think she'd feel anything but pity? Why wouldn't she want to get out of here as quickly as possible?
I forced my breathing to slow, combing my fingers into my hair. I tried the exercise Mrs. Everdeen kept talking me through, relaxing my body one piece at a time to smooth out the tension. It didn't do much for my racing thoughts. The back door opened. I knew it was Katniss leaving, and my body immediately seized up again.
"Hey, get back here," Rye snapped. "I was trying to fucking talk to you."
"I need to get home, Rye," Katniss huffed. "What?"
"I know you heard me, are you going to make me repeat myself?" he said.
"I don't get what your problem is," Katniss snapped. "I am his friend. I enjoy being his friend." I straightened up, staring out the window. Any romantic notions I might have had were far beyond reach, that was clear. But was she serious? Did she actually consider us friends? Actually enjoy our friendship?
"I'm watching you," he said. That should have sounded like a threat, but I could tell he was on the verge of laughter. I couldn't wrap my head around it. "Every day. Every. Day."
"You're fucking creepy," she said, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'm leaving."
"Have a lovely walk home, you belligerent pain in the ass," Rye said as I heard Katniss' footsteps on the stairs.
"Fuck you, Rye," Katniss called over her shoulder. I stepped back away from the window when she moved into view in the backyard, watching her until she disappeared from view down the alley. I sat down at the edge of the bed, looking down at the space where she'd been sitting, where she had sat so many times recently. What would I have done a couple of months ago if she'd been sitting there? How often had I thought about having her up here, alone, in my bed? How often did I still think about it? And I let her lean close to me, touch me, and leave. Without even a word.
I lowered myself down onto the bed, draping my arm over my face. That headache was taking a stronger hold, and the effort of going into the kitchen to get a glass of water to choke down the pills for it was beyond what I wanted to handle. I drifted instead, waiting futilely for it to pass. I listened to footsteps on the back stairs, the door opening and closing beneath my window, Delly's squeals and Rye's low, throaty chuckle.
We grew apart years ago when Delly started growing out of the brief tomboy phase that had brought us so close together to begin with. She got quiet, and I never really understood why. By the time she started acting like herself again our friendship was never as easy as it had been. It didn't help that Rye had already begun his less than subtle pursuit of her. He started that the summer she grew boobs.
My jealousy had nothing to do with either of them personally. I hadn't even felt it until after—well, after what happened—and that took a while to set in. They were in the thick of something I didn't think I'd get. At all. Ever. And all it took was one hard blow to the back of my head to take away any chance at ever having something normal.
The back door opened again. I dropped my arm to my side and stared at the ceiling. This was the same every night she turned up. She'd get giggly, try to leave and half heartedly resist his persuasions to stay. Half the time they ended up messing around right on that damn porch.
"Rye," Delly giggled. I heard her whimper and then the smack of their lips. "I said I'm going home."
"You didn't mean it," Rye said, and I rolled onto my side, folding my pillow around my head to block out the high, soft noises Delly kept making. After a while the bedroom door opened, and I let go of the pillow, rolling onto my back as Rye dropped onto his bed on the other side of the room. "Still awake?" I turned my head to look at him, cocking an eyebrow. "You did not hear any of that. Cut the shit." I sighed, rolling away and tugging the blankets up. Rye went quiet, letting out a breath. "Sorry."
"D-don't," I said. Rye didn't apologize for any of it before. He probably would have been louder about it, too. He'd gotten careful and quiet and polite with me, the latter being the weirdest part, and I couldn't stand it. Just another reminder that I was different. I'd rather he be the same asshole he always had been.
"Hey," he said, and I turned to look at him. "I gotta ask you something."
"W-what," I pushed out. He looked over at the open window, frowning at it for a moment before standing to push it closed.
"What do you think about Katniss?" He dropped back down, yanking his shoes off and tossing them to the floor. "I mean, I know what you think of her." He jerked his fist in front of his lap. I curled my lip and turned away from him. He sighed, pausing for a moment. "I'm sorry, Peet." That stupid apology, making everything worse. "I meant, ah. What do you think about her being around so much?"
"It's f-fine," I closed my eyes, listening as Rye settled himself in bed.
"That's not really an answer, you know," he finally said. I sighed, opening my eyes to stare at the wall. I didn't know how to narrow down anything I thought about it to one statement I could actually say out loud.
"I j-just um—wish it were d-different," I said quietly. The statement was met with silence. After a moment I heard the mattress springs creak as he turned away. I picked at a crack in the wall, chipping the paint with my fingernail, letting the chips fall to the floor behind my bed. When Rye's breathing evened out I pushed myself up, opening the window again before laying back down.
I woke in what felt like a puddle of sweat with sunlight streaming through the closed window. Rye snoring loud enough to shake the floorboards. I eased myself out of bed as carefully as possible; my head was pounding, my mouth was painfully dry. I moved out to the kitchen.
"Peet?" Dad leaned in from the living room, frowning at me. "What are you doing up?" I looked back toward the bedroom. Right on cue, Rye snorted in his sleep. Dad chuckled, shaking his head and going into the bedroom. I heard a slap, followed by a yelp out of Rye. "Get up, get to work. I already let you sleep in."
"Fuck," Rye groaned, yawning loudly and earning another slap. "Okay! Okay." Dad reappeared in the doorway, smirking at me. I returned it for a moment before pulling down a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. I stared out the window, forcing the water down and waiting for the sounds of the two of them to filter downstairs before moving back to bed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. I felt like I hadn't even slept, and the glass of water did very little to help any of the awful feelings I had when I woke up. My shirt was still soaked with sweat. I pulled it off, dropping it to the floor and pushing off my pants before laying down.
I dreamt about Katniss again. About having her here and not having a damn thing wrong with me when I did. I can't remember what I did, how I spoke to her, or whatever that whole, healthy version of me did in that dream to win her over, but it worked. What I did remember was the feel of her against me. I remembered leaning into her and the feel of her skin. I'd felt her close to me while awake, though I knew it was innocent. I knew she was just being kind, sympathetic, caring—I'd felt her body on mine, and it didn't take much to translate the warmth and softness of it into what I wished it could have been.
I listened for a moment to the sounds from downstairs, tracking their routine and making sure I'd have privacy. It wasn't as easy as it was before—unpredictable, inconsistent, though I certainly had no issues wanting it. I was rock hard when I nudged my boxers down, and I pressed my tongue between my lips as I curled my hand around my cock.
In my dream Katniss was under me. Nervous and hesitant. I'd been the confident one, leading her through it, peeling away her clothes and kissing away the barest hints at reluctance she'd shown. She had wrapped her legs around me, drew me into her, and all I'd heard were those gentle, breathy moans and gasps that I sometimes heard drifting up from the kitchen late at night. They were sexier; my mind filling in the lower, throatier register of Katniss' voice. I wanted to hear her say my name like that, and the thought of it pushed me closer.
I imagined her mouth against mine, the feel of her breasts in my hands and the way her hair would look splayed out over my pillow. I imagined turning her around, entering her from behind and the way she'd push back against me. Imagined laying back as she lowered herself onto me. I nearly gave up on it, cycling through the images in my head, with nothing tipping me over, when I thought of the way she looked me in the eye last night and felt her fingers in my hair again. I came with a soft grunt, dribbling over my hand and—that was it. Barely even felt it.
I jammed my hand between the bed and the wall, pulling out the towel I kept stuffed there and cleaned myself off before shoving it back, even more miserable than I woke up. Not just miserable, but guilty now, too. Because the next time Mrs. Everdeen grilled me with those humiliating questions about every single bodily function I had, when she got to the questions about that, I'd never be able to get it out of my head that it was her daughter I was jerking off to.
When I couldn't stand being alone with myself any longer I dressed and made my way downstairs. I couldn't keep track of days any more, and it took me a few minutes to figure out why, exactly, Rye was home. Saturday. It was Saturday. In the same minute I realized that, there was a knock at the back door.
That would be Katniss, of course, here to trade with Dad, and I still had too much floating through my head to handle facing her. The knock came again. There were customers out front, keeping Dad occupied, and Rye just looked over at me, holding up his dough-covered hands. I sighed, pushing away from my seat at the table and going to the back door.
"Hey," Katniss smiled when I opened the door, her expression brightening. She seemed happy to see me, and I could barely even hold her gaze.
"Hi," I tried smiling back, but it died as soon as I caught sight of Gale leaning against the porch railing.
"Hey, buddy." He walked over to the door, clapping his arm against my shoulder. I pressed my eyes closed. Great. This asshole again. "How you doin'?"
"F-f-fine," I said, trying to hide the stutter behind an intake of breath and looking over at Katniss. She gave me a brief apologetic look before pressing her lips together to hide a smile and looking down. I stepped back to let the two of them in. "D-dad's out front."
"We can wait," Katniss said and smiled at me over her shoulder as the two of them went into the kitchen. I followed behind, lowering myself back onto my stool. "No rush. At least, not for me. Gale might be kind of eager to get out of here."
"Oh?" Rye glanced over his shoulder, a smirk plastered across his face. "Time for your annual bath?"
"Blow me, Mellark," Gale snapped. I smirked, looking down at my lap and tugging the sleeves of my shirt down over my knuckles.
"No thanks," Rye turned back to his work. "Wouldn't want your girlfriend getting jealous."
"And that's his next stop." Katniss sat down beside me, but not before pulling the stool a little closer to me. "Mayor and his wife are on a little trip to the Capitol this weekend." I glanced down as her knee bumped against mine when she leaned forward against the table before looking up at her. She bumped her knee against me again, on purpose this time.
"And you're still propositioning me? Damn, Hawthorne, calm the fuck down," Rye said. Katniss pressed her knuckles against her mouth, hiding a smile.
"Eat a dick," Gale snapped.
"There he goes again!" Rye turned around, pointing at Gale and looking over at Katniss. "Will you get this fucking Seam slut under control?" Gale rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. Katniss just laughed. I watched her, and I couldn't help but smile myself. She was beautiful when she laughed.
"Enough," Dad walked in from the storefront, shooting Rye a look. "You scare off my favorite meal and we're going to have a problem."
"They're all from me today, anyway," Katniss said, lifting her game bag over her shoulder and sliding it across the table to my father. "Since someone didn't reset our snares last night after checking the line."
I stared down at the table, chewing on my lip and letting the rest of the conversation buzz around me. Saturdays used to go differently. With Mom around, the two of them rarely, if ever, actually came inside. Now that they did it just felt like work to try to keep up with the conversation. Gale's presence made me feel even more uncomfortable. That stupid patronizing tone he kept using with me, like I was a fucking child, made my skin crawl.
"Hey," Katniss set her hand on my shoulder, startling me out of my stupor. I looked up at her. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, okay?" I nodded. "You all right?" I nodded again, which was a complete lie. All I wanted to do was go back upstairs and fall back to sleep. She smiled at me, sliding her hand across my shoulders as she got up to leave. As soon as the two of them were out the back door I went upstairs.
By the time I woke I could hear Katniss and Rye bickering downstairs. I stared at the ceiling, trying to will myself to get up, go downstairs and see her. If I didn't that would more than likely end with her making a trip upstairs to look for me, and I wanted to face that even less. There were days when having her walk up with me and sit to talk were more than welcome. Today wasn't one of them. A gentle knock came at the door and I pushed myself up, rubbing my hand over my eyes.
"Just me, Peet," Dad said, opening the door just enough to lean in. "You need anything?"
"I'm o-okay," I smiled briefly and he nodded. He hovered for a moment, chewing his lip and nodding.
"Okay," his brow furrowed as he looked at me, then dropped his gaze before ducking out and closing the door. He didn't seem to know what to do around me anymore. Mrs. Everdeen said it was guilt, and when he avoided me it was because he was ashamed of what happened. That he blamed himself. That sounded ridiculous to me. None of it was his fault. He wasn't even there when it happened. When I'd pointed that out she had just said that it didn't matter, and that even though I was the only one physically injured, I wasn't the only one hurt that day.
I eased myself out of bed, listening to the sounds in the house and trying to prepare myself for whatever I'd face downstairs. Katniss and Rye had gone quiet, and I couldn't quite tell where Dad was. I sat and rubbed my wrist. Even though the fracture had healed the pain still came back, sometimes worse than others. The ache was starting to settle in, and I shook my hand as I got up, trying to rid myself of the feeling.
Dad sat on the couch, dozing with his feet up on the coffee table. He jerked awake as I walked past, blinking at me for a moment before sitting back and smiling at me as I moved downstairs. Rye nodded to me, pulling a tray of bread from one of the ovens and sliding it onto the table. Katniss was out front, and I had yet to actually see that in action. Rye had poked at her lack of people skills more than once, and I wanted to see what he was talking about.
I didn't recognize whoever it was. Though the smile and wave they gave me while Katniss was bagging their order told me I should have. I returned it, hoping my lack of recognition didn't show. Katniss was polite, if a little short, and I wondered if she had improved, or if he was just exaggerating all along. I slipped back into the kitchen as she rang up the order, keeping one hand out to maintain my balance on my way to sit at the table.
Most of the afternoon slipped by too easily. I couldn't find it in me to focus on any of the things Katniss or Rye had to say. I just tried to time a smile or a nod the best I could when they seemed to be addressing me directly. Their conversation, the noises in the kitchen, and the voices of customers out front blended together so completely I couldn't sort out which was which. As the customers dwindled and their pace began to slow I finally found a way out of the fog.
"Where are you going?" Katniss asked, frowning at Rye as he hung his apron by the back door.
"To Delly's," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's dead, and it's going to stay dead until you close. You can handle it, sugar tits." He pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them to her. Katniss caught them easily, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the book we were looking through on the table.
"You're brother is a pain in the ass," she said to me before Rye was even out the back door.
"Y-yeah, he is," I said, watching the way her fingers curled carefully around the pages as she turned them. "It's um—k-kind of nice th-though. When you're here. He's um. He's more like h-himself."
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning toward me.
"It's-" I shook my head, looking away. That was usually enough to get Dad to drop a subject, and sometimes even Rye, but it didn't do anything to thwart her. "He's d-different around me now—everyone is."
"I'm not," she said.
"You w-weren't ar-around-"
"I was here every Saturday," she pointed at me. "Sometimes more often. And I've been exactly the same."
"That's—it's d-different," I said as I scratched my forehead, working my fingers up under the edge of my hat. She didn't know me before, not really, and she barely knew me now. She had been exactly the same because aside from a hello when I was actually home when she turned up to trade, her interaction with me had been limited to me as—whatever that injury turned me into. "It's the worst with Dad." She just looked at me and waited for me to go on, but I couldn't put the words in the right order.
"I overheard him talking with my mom a few days ago," she said. She flipped the book closed, running her fingers along the edge of the cover. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned before speaking again. "He said he should have done something about your mom years ago. And that he won't ever forgive himself for letting her do any of the things she did."
I could feel my face getting hot and pressed my lips together to hide their shaking. No one ever talked about it, but it wasn't exactly a secret. Not when both Rye and I kept turning up with bruises, and sometimes scratches and burns to go with them. Even Phyl had a scar or two to show for it. That didn't make it any easier to know that everyone knew. Especially Katniss.
"Shit, Peeta, I'm sorry." I felt her hand slide across my shoulders as she stood to move closer to me. "I shouldn't have said anything. Really, I'm sorry. Please don't cry."
I hadn't even realized I was—not until she said that, and I jerked my chin down, tears falling onto my hands when I did. I didn't want to do this, not in front of Katniss—not in front of anyone—but I couldn't hold it back now. There was too much behind it. Too much I couldn't get a handle on. Just the sheer fact that I couldn't vocalize any of it making it all so much worse. Katniss put her arms around me, and gently pressed my head down onto her shoulder. It felt too good, too comforting, and I hesitantly slipped my arm around her waist. I swear I felt her smile when I did.
Days slipped by without me even really noticing sometimes. Others dragged on painfully slow. I'd lay in bed, wander around upstairs and drift down to the bakery when I felt able to handle the stairs. I had nothing to fill my time anymore. Holding a pencil made the ache in my wrist flare up, and even if that didn't happen I couldn't keep my hands steady enough to draw. I'd tossed my sketchbook under my bed weeks ago, tired of seeing it sitting on the nightstand and knowing the drawing I'd begun that morning would never be finished. I could only read for short stretches, and it left me with throbbing headaches.
I usually ended up in the kitchen, especially on days when Rye was in school. It kept Dad from making constant trips upstairs to check on me and leaving the bakery unattended. He'd talk to me, though I didn't always pay attention. Sometimes I couldn't. I don't know if he even noticed, but if he did he didn't seem to mind. When he wasn't busy with work he'd sit with me, talk, slip food in front of me that I rarely ate. I sat picking at a slice of raisin bread, listening to Dad talk with a customer out front. The conversation was stilted, awkward. Most were now, and they'd gotten worse after the divorce. The bell over the door rang as whoever it was left and I heard him sigh, followed by a soft thunk against the counter. The door opened again, the bell jingling softly.
"Hey, Grampa." It was Darla, Phyl's wife, more than likely with their son in tow.
"That will never get old," Dad said, sounding more than a little relieved. I looked toward the storefront as I heard the low doors at the end of the counter swing open. The two of them met in the doorway, and Dad had his hands outstretched toward the baby. "Hello there, Little Me."
"I see how it is," Darla smiled, letting Dad take the baby—named after him, of course—out of her arms. Both she and Phyl had said more than once that no one even bothered greeting either of them anymore because all of the attention went straight to Little Twain. Dad did nothing but prove them right whenever either of them turned up. "Hi, Peeta." She smiled at me, crossing the kitchen and pulling me into a hug.
"Hi." I curled my arm loosely around her back for a moment before she pulled away and sat down beside me.
"And what are the two of you up to today?" Dad asked, tickling Little Twain's sides and drawing high, happy gurgles out of him.
"I had to make a trip to the grocer next door," she said, smiling at the two of them. "I thought I'd check on my boys first." Darla nudged me with her elbow before turning her attention toward me. "How are you feeling today?" I just shrugged and looked down at the table, running my thumbnail against a crack in the grain.
"Have the two of you seen Lilith lately?" Dad asked, his voice softening. Phyl was Mom's favorite, and what little affection she had to offer went to him. He was also just like her. The same way I was—before what happened, anyway—just like Dad. Darla nodded, her expression tightening. "How is she doing?" Darla widened her eyes, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead before she shook her head and let out a humorless chuckle.
"Spare yourself the grief, Twain," she said, folding her arms against the edge of the table. "She did this to herself."
"She didn't just do it to herself," Dad said quietly. Not so quietly I couldn't hear it. And I didn't want to sit next to Darla and listen to things like that. I pushed away from the table, heading up the stairs as quickly as my lack of coordination would allow.
I laid down on my bed, pressing my hands over my eyes and listening to the low murmur of their voices drifting up through the floor. Just another dramatic change in everyone's lives that I'd brought about. I didn't know what the public opinion was of all this—for the most part I'd been shielded from it—but I certainly knew that there was one. There was always an opinion, and I honestly couldn't think of a single divorce I'd actually known of happening. That had to have sent a shockwave through the gossip in town.
After a while things went quiet downstairs. I curled onto my side, tugging the blankets over myself and hoping to just sleep through the rest of the day. And most of tomorrow, if at all possible. It felt like I had only just barely nodded off when Dad knocked on the door, dragging me out of sleep before opening it.
"We're going out to the Everdeens today," he said softly. "Come down once you're ready. Rye just got home."
"O-okay." I sat up, rubbing my hand over my face and back through my hair. I'd forgotten about it. Somehow. Even though it was the same day every week. It had been twice a week for a little while, until the weather turned bitter. To be perfectly honest, I was looking forward to the first snowfall, when I wouldn't have to make the trip out there. It wasn't much better to have Mrs. Everdeen descend on the bakery and make me feel uncomfortable and out of place in the one place I shouldn't.
I dressed and made my way downstairs, acknowledging Rye's brief hello with a nod. Dad came in from the storefront, dropping a bag of food on the table before going into the mudroom. He stepped back into the kitchen, passing me my coat before pulling on his own.
"I don't mind taking him," Rye said, leaning against the worktable and folding his arms over his chest.
"I know you don't," Dad cocked an eyebrow, buttoning his coat. I fished my mittens out of the pocket, trying not to smirk. The last time Rye brought me over there he didn't get home until after I did. "That's why you're staying here and getting some damn work done. And if the Millers' order isn't in the ovens by the time I get back we're going to have a problem."
"Fine," Rye rolled his eyes, turning back to his work. Dad winked at me, nodding toward the door and lifting the bag of food off of the table.
"I don't know how the hell he thinks he gets away with anything when it's my best friend's daughter he sneaks around with," Dad said as he shook his head and waited at the bottom of the steps for me. I chuckled, carefully making my way to the wheelchair before taking the bag of food from him to hold in my lap. It probably didn't help that Delly told her parents absolutely everything and always had. There couldn't be a whole hell of a lot that her father didn't share with mine.
The trip out to the Everdeens was a solid two miles from home, and Dad talked through much of it. I only half listened, slouching down in the chair, staring off into the distance, hating every single time we passed by someone's house and I could feel them looking out at us. When we arrived Dad took the bag from my lap. I got up from the chair, climbing up the steps carefully—going up them was far easier than going back down—and waited for Dad by the door. He folded the chair, carrying it up with one hand and setting it down to knock on the door. I felt him rub his hand across my back and closed my eyes against it. Mrs. Everdeen opened the door a moment later, saving the moment from getting any more awkward.
"Gentlemen," she smiled at us, stepping back and opening the door wider. "How is everything?"
"Hello, Lavender." Dad returned her smile, nodding for me to step in ahead of him. "We're doing fine, all things considered." I went into the house. The acrid, wild smell of the fire burning in the hearth hit me hard every time I came here. The fire at home smelled warmer and more comforting. It was the coal dust out here, I'd been told. This neighborhood was close to one of the inactive mines, but the inactivity hadn't done anything to stop the dust that settled over everything. Dad wheeled the chair in behind me, lining it up against the wall before setting the bag of food down on the table. "Things good out here?"
"Much better than they've been," she said, folding her arms around herself and pressing her lips together in a tight smile. "Thank you for that." Dad reached out and touched her elbow. I sighed and looked away. If either of them thought they were being subtle they were sorely mistaken. "Katniss is out hunting. She said she'd be back to take you home, though." I glanced at her and nodded, pulling off my mittens.
"I'll see you in a bit, Peet," Dad said. I turned toward him, not quite looking up, and nodded. "And I'll see you tomorrow?" I could hear the smile in his voice and had to force myself not to roll my eyes.
"I'll be over after lunch," she said. I jammed my mittens into the pocket of my coat before sliding it off my shoulders to hang on one of the hooks by the door. Mrs. Everdeen stood by the open door, watching my father leave with a faint smile on her face. She closed the door and turned to me. "You look exhausted."
"Y-yeah," I said. She gestured to the living room and I moved to sit on the couch, the room spinning for a moment when I lowered myself onto the cushions.
"I thought we'd get the worst of it over with first," she said as she sat down, lifting one of her notebooks from the stack on the coffee table and flipping it open. "And don't worry, Prim is with friends today. It's just you and me. And your friend, there." She pointed to the back of the couch, where Prim's cat perched, leaning toward me with his nose twitching. Buttercup moved closer, jumping over my shoulder and into my lap.
"Hey b-buddy," I smirked as Buttercup flattened his ears back at the greeting. Even he knew how stupid that sounded. I scratched along his spine.
"Would you like a pet?" Mrs. Everdeen asked. I looked up, raising my eyebrows. "It might do you some good. There's plenty of kittens to be had in the spring."
"Yeah, a c-cat in the b-bakery," I said sarcastically, looking down at Buttercup as he curled up in my lap, laying his head down on top of my hand. Every time I stopped scratching his chin he nipped lightly at my fingers.
"Something else then," she smiled. I shrugged. Mrs. Everdeen sat in silence for a moment, watching me. I knew what was coming, and I didn't want anything to do with it. The longer she waited the better. Maybe Katniss or Prim would turn up early again and cut off the conversation completely. "Still overheating?"
"Y-yeah," I said. I was constantly hot, even with the weather as cold as it had been. I couldn't sleep without the window open and the cold air blowing into the room. It drove Rye crazy. He complained about the cold all the time. If I was asleep, he'd shut the window. When I inevitably woke up drenched in sweat I'd open it again. Back and forth. Every night.
"How are your headaches? Any worse? Any better?" She made a few notes before looking back up at me.
"They're—um. Longer. Sometimes."
"Are they more intense?" Mrs. Everdeen furrowed her brow, flipping back a few pages in her notebook and scanning her writing.
"N-not really," I watched her, wondering what that meant. How concerned I should be about it. "S-sometimes, I guess."
"Are you still taking the morphling for them?" She flipped back to the current page. The medications I took came from Dr. Lawrence. Mrs. Everdeen had told Dad she was trying to figure out less expensive alternatives. Something I'm sure I wasn't supposed to hear. He didn't want me knowing just how much of a financial burden I'd become.
"Sometimes." I pressed my lips together, focusing on the cat and the feel of his fur under my fingers. I heard her pen fall against the page, and I didn't have to look up to know what look that was earning me.
"These medications only help you if you actually take them, you know," she said. I nodded. I knew that. I also knew how much I hated those little plastic bottles, the chalky pills inside of them and the effort it took to choke them down. "I have some ideas for alternative treatments, but we'll have to wait until things start growing in the spring. I'm going to guess your appetite is still poor as well?" I nodded. "And your sex drive?"
I froze, tightening my jaw and staring down at the cat. I tried not to think about Katniss and tried even harder to just wish these questions away. It would be humiliating from anyone. It was a little worse from her.
"Peeta-"
"It's—fine," I squeezed out.
"If you don't go into more detail you know I have to ask," she said. I just looked away, setting my jaw. "Are you able to achieve an erection?" I nodded. "Maintain it?" I closed my eyes, nodding again. "And you've said your orgasms are disappointing, is that still true?" I bit hard on the inside of my lip, nodding again. "Would you mind being a little more specific about what you mean by that?"
"I-" I shook my head, taking in a breath and looking anywhere and everywhere in the room but at her. She wasn't moving on though, not faltering in the least. Just looking at me and waiting for her damn answer. "It just—happens. I mean. It doesn't feel—b-bad. But—not very g-good either."
"It's a very common side effect, I hope you understand that," Mrs. Everdeen said, her voice impossibly soft and patient. "Both your injury and the combination of medications you take daily cause that more often than not. The same thing goes for your constipation. I'm guessing that's still an issue?"
"Y-yes." I frowned, hating the vaguely amused tone in that last question. Mrs. Everdeen sighed, her attention focused on her notebook.
"I am hoping to find a way to change all of this, Peeta. I can't imagine any of it is making you feel very good about yourself," she frowned, writing entirely too many notes about that for my liking. "Which, speaking of, how are you feeling about all of this?" She stopped writing and set her pen down to look up at me. I took in a breath, trying to search for an answer in my head and coming up empty. What could I possibly say to that? Where could I even start?
"I'm, um," I frowned, thrown off by where she ended her questioning. There was usually more. I had been hoping something would just come out when I started talking, that something would surface without having to think about it, the way it always used to. Nothing came. Mrs. Everdeen just waited. Buttercup reached for my hand with his paw, pulling it back toward him to scratch at his chin again. "I'm lonely. There's—people there. M-my dad. Brothers. D-Darla. And—Katniss. I see you. But n-no one's really—no one g-gets-" I stopped, pressing my lips together and closing my eyes. I couldn't find what I wanted to say. How to express what I meant.
"This room could be full of people and you'd still feel alone," she said softly. "Because no one else has been where you are." I looked up at her. That was exactly it. I nodded, and I could feel tears rising. I just hoped I could keep them under control.
"And everyone is s-so—c-c-careful." I took a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly and trying to swallow back the stutter. "I think that I'd—feel less d-different and lonely if—they w-were the same as before too."
"Have you said this to anyone else?" she asked, picking up her pen. I sighed, slouching down a little more and shaking my head. How could I say that to anyone? To my father, while he stressed about keeping up with the bakery, about me and about the divorce. To Rye, who struggled to carry on any sort of real conversation with me at all now? Phyl, when I was still kind of wondering if he was on mom's side of everything? Darla, who spent too much time and energy doting on us and taking care of the house in Mom's absence? Or maybe to my friends who haven't bothered turning up since it happened. "They won't know unless you tell them." I chewed my lip, looking up at her before turning my attention back to Buttercup. "Peeta? Have you given any more thought to going back to school?"
"N-no," I frowned. There was far too much attached to that I didn't want to deal with right now. Too many people, too much of a change, too much stress. Things I had done my whole life without a second thought seemed like a wall I'd never be able to climb over.
"I want you to be on board with that," she said, her voice soft and constant and patient. "It's important you are. If we're going to return you to some semblance of normalcy-"
"I will n-never have normal," I snapped, cutting her off. The outburst surprised even me, and I regretted it immediately. She was trying to help and truly did not have to put as much time into helping me as she did. I pulled my hat off, rubbing my hand through my hair and looking away.
"You'll never have what your normal used to be," Mrs Everdeen said softly. "You'll have a new one. I want to make sure it's one that you can be happy with."
I couldn't think of a way to be happy with anything going on with me. She talked me through exercises for my arm, trying to strengthen my wrist and forearm enough to support an injury that would never truly heal. That would, in all likelihood, hurt for the rest of my life. She suggested ways to talk to my family about how I felt, none of which sounded very plausible to me. By the time Katniss arrived I was more than ready to leave.
"We were having a nice winter until about a week ago," she huffed, dropping down on the couch beside me after warming her hands by the fire for a few moments. She smelled like cold, clean air, and her braid was loose and wispy. She rubbed her hands together. "It got too damn cold too fast." Katniss looked over at me, smiling a little. "I'll take you home once I warm up a little." I nodded, unable to quite trust myself to get any words out clearly. She studied me for a moment, and I could see the thoughtful look on her face out of the corner of my eye. "Rough day?"
"Y-yeah," I said as I chewed the inside of my lip.
"Can I help?" she asked, her voice softening. I looked toward her, unable to lift my eyes to meet hers, focusing on her hands in her lap instead. I shook my head. Even if I could bring myself to ask her, of all people, for help, I wouldn't even know where to begin asking. She bumped her shoulder against mine. "How about if I get you home?"
"Okay." I offered a weak smile. She shooed the cat from my lap, earning herself an indignant meow in response, and offered her hand to help me get up. Once I was on my feet she didn't let go at first, just smiled down at our hands before squeezing gently and letting her fingers slide away from mine. I couldn't even will myself to talk to her during the walk home. I kept my eyes on the ground ahead of us, trying to ignore how awkward and awful I felt.
"Dad, it's fucking pointless." Rye's voice was clearly audible as soon as we were on the porch. Katniss cocked an eyebrow at me, clearly wondering what the hell he was talking about. I didn't have an answer for her.
"It's not pointless, it's your education." Dad's answer became clearer as we moved inside. I glanced at him as I hung my coat in the mudroom. "It's also not up for discussion."
"Wh-what's going on?" I asked.
"Dad's being a fascist," Rye snapped, dropping the dirty trays into the sink a little too forcefully before turning on the water.
"Your brother wants to drop out," Dad folded his arms across his chest, frowning at Rye's back. "He has half the school year to go before he graduates, and he's gotten it into his head that giving up on it is a better idea."
"And why the fuck isn't it?" Rye tossed the scrub brush in his hand into the sink. "What am I going to do when I get out of there? Work here. What am I going to learn in four months that could possibly make me a better baker? A little more about coal that I'm never going to fucking mine? The grand fuckin' history of Panem we all memorized before we were twelve?"
"Will you please stop swearing so much," Dad sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.
"Will you please stop being such an idiot about this," Rye snapped. "We need it to keep this place running. You can't keep doing it all day by yourself." I looked at Dad, at the set of his jaw, and knew that Rye was telling the truth. It was hard enough before, after Phyl got his own job working for the District and wasn't around to help out. The four of us kept it going, and now it was just down to the two of them and Katniss, and it wasn't enough. I felt myself starting to panic at the thought. Knowing all that was because of me. What I really wanted was to turn right around and walk out the door and just keep walking until my mind and heart stopped racing but I couldn't. I made for the stairs instead, and I didn't even realize until I was in the kitchen, leaning over the sink and splashing water over my face, that Katniss had followed me. She rubbed her hand over my back, and I dropped my head even lower, trying to hide my face.
"Is that the sort of thing you've had to deal with that's got you feeling so shitty?" she asked. I nodded. Not quite that, specifically, but the reminders that I wasn't the same, that I couldn't function the same, that I was a wholly different person that I didn't even particularly like. I couldn't find a way to say any of that. I glanced up at the bottles on the ledge by the sink, deciding an extra to get me to sleep wouldn't be such a bad thing. Katniss dropped her hand from my back as I straightened up and reached for the small container tucked between the bottles that had the mix of pills I had to take for the night already sorted into it, added an extra dose of diazepam, and downed them with a scoop of water cupped in my hand from the tap.
"You c-can go," I said, looking out of the window over the sink. I could see her reflection in the glass, standing beside me and watching me carefully. It hurt. "I'm just—going to g-go to bed."
"Then come on." She touched my wrist lightly, nodding toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. I looked at her, too shocked to argue as she curled her fingers around my wrist and led me to the bedroom. What was she planning on doing, exactly? She stopped just inside the bedroom door, turning around to face me. "Listen, it might not mean much coming from me, but I think you need to hear it. You're beating the shit out of yourself about of all this but nobody blames you for any of it. You didn't do anything wrong. No one thinks you did." She paused, and I just looked at her. If she was waiting for a response I didn't have one to give her. "Beating yourself up over it does nothing but hurt you. Although it doesn't really help the people who care about you to watch it, either."
I had no idea what to even say to that. Katniss just stood there for a moment, searching my face. I nodded and looked down, hoping that would be enough for her.
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" she said, her voice quiet, and I nodded again. She left a moment later, quietly closing the door behind her, and I just dropped down onto my bed without even changing out of my clothes.
Thank you guys for all the kind reviews and messages. It's very humbling to see so many people enjoying this story. Find my sexy, charming coauthor and I on tumblr! (he's yourpeetaisshowing, I'm alonglineofbread)