Part Three

Chapter Six

Peeta's old room is a bizarre mix of childhood things and adult necessities. When he moved back here after the accident, he brought with him some practical things like a walker and cane, a few small pieces of equipment to help with rehabilitation exercises and endless pairs of sweats. No kidding, there are stacks of them in the corner—easy on, easy off.

The shelves over his desk are like a timeline of his life: books, trophies, photos, mementos and boyhood memories. He was always smiling, always sunny in spite of what was happening on the inside. No one knew. How is it that no one guessed what was going on? Then again, I didn't know the real extent of it, either.

On the lowest shelf is "The Missing Piece," one of his favorite Shel Silverstein books. I flip through the pages, reading, "One time it seemed to have found the perfect piece, but it didn't hold it tightly enough and lost it. Another time it held too tightly and it broke. So on and on it rolled, having adventures, falling into holes and bumping into stone walls." Gently, I shut the book and return it to its place.

I reach into the small drawer of his nightstand and look for the sketchbook he used to keep there, grabbing it when I locate it. I open the book and softly run my fingers over the sketches I've seen thousands of times. More often than not, Peeta drew me as he saw me: happy, laughing, introspective, pensive. He always said that he didn't need pictures because he could draw me based on any number of interactions, creating what he considered to be "the real Katniss." He's always been like that: arguing all sides of a story, insisting that we are more than a single moment in time, blending personality traits and colors into a "collage of the human spirit." Peeta sees all angles, every potential.

The door creaks open slowly and I look up, surprised to see Rye peering in. He offers me a sympathetic smile and quietly murmurs, "Katniss, I called Prim to come get you. She'll be here any minute." Offering his hand, Peeta's brother helps me off the bed and we quietly make our way to the bedroom door.

I pull back. "What about Peeta?"

"I think it's best if you just go. This whole thing is a long time coming, Katniss."

"Rye, I can't just leave him—."

"It'll be okay. You don't have to talk to Mom and you don't need to hear any more of this. I'm so sorry you heard any of it to begin with." His hand hovers above the doorknob. "Peeta needs to deal with this alone. They won't even see you leave."

I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. Did Peeta ask him to call Prim? Did he really want me to leave?

I feel like I'm in a stupor as I follow Rye quietly out of the room. I hover in the hallway for a moment before walking toward the living room and standing there, out of sight. They must still be in the dining room, though I don't hear any voices at the moment. Rye says nothing but gently places his hand on my shoulder.

All I want is Peeta.

Please look at me. Please help me. Please remind me.

Thank god he does.

"That's enough," Peeta murmurs.

But it's never enough with Mrs. Mellark. "No, you listen to me, young man! That girl is trouble and always has been. God knows what you could have been if you hadn't gotten messed up with her. Trash! She's trash! She. Is. Trash."

Rye sighs and squeezes my shoulder. I look up and tears trickle down.

"I said that's enough!"

"No, Peeta, it's not. You know I love you, but—."

I'm startled and jump when I hear his fists slam against the table. "Bullshit! Bullshit you love me!" His chair slides back against the tile floor just as the doorbell rings. Rye walks to the door and opens it, revealing a very upset-looking Prim. Join the club, baby sister. I take steps toward her—enough to be in the sightline of the dining room—and glance back at World War III. Peeta's head turns in my direction and he's simultaneously raging, confused and relieved, clearly snapped out of whatever was holding him under his mother's stronghold.

"Katniss?"

Rye interjects before I can answer. "I called Prim to take Katniss home. She doesn't need to be here for this—."

He looks at me with fear in his eyes—I choose you, please don't forget that—before shaking his head and coming back to me. "When are you guys going to fucking listen to me?! I need her, okay? I'm my best self when I'm with her. And that may never be enough for you, but it's enough for her. I love her! She's my family!"

Mrs. Mellark raises her hand to slap Peeta but her husband grabs her wrist and restrains her. "Molly!"

Prim gasps and I cover my mouth with my hand. Peeta stands there for a moment, transfixed by the action he must know so well. He eventually gives her a sad smile and simply says, "We're done. Never again."

He moves from the dining room and walks over to me, taking his palms and framing my face. "Never again." His thumbs wipe away the tear tracks and he says, "Okay?"

"Okay."

Prim squeaks, "Um, should I—?"

Peeta takes my hand and puts an arm around Prim, ushering us both out of the Mellark home for what is quite possibly the last time. I look back and see his whole family standing there: one stoic, one incensed and one resigned. Rye gives me a small wave goodbye. Once outside, Peeta quietly thanks my sister for coming out and asks if we can follow her back to the house. She agrees, letting us know that Mom's working the night shift again.

He opens my door and helps me inside; I'm not sure if it is the shock of the evening or the unseasonably cold breeze that causes me to shake, but I can't seem to gain control of my limbs and my muscles spasm, my body trembles. It physically hurts.

Peeta walks to the driver side, gets in and immediately starts the car, driving away without a word or look back. His hand finds mine and grasps it, squeezing while glancing over at me nervously. "Almost there, Katniss. Almost there." It's as though Peeta's gained clarity but I'm in a fog.

The streets are dark but lamps throw circles of light every 50 feet or so. I look up and each light creates a distorted starburst through my tears. Peeta turns the heater on, hoping that I'll warm up and stop shuddering. Eventually he pulls up to the house, quickly helping me out of the car and bringing me inside.

"Peeta, why is she—?" Prim sounds scared and small.

"She'll be alright. Could you make a little coffee or something?" He sits me on the couch and removes my shoes and socks, rubbing my feet and pleading with me without saying a word.

"Should I call our mom?"

"No, just give her a minute to come around." He kneads my calves and then rubs my biceps briskly in the hopes of relaxing the muscles. "Come on Katniss, relax. Let go."

I close my eyes and try to process what happened this evening. Haymitch was right when he said that I'd have the kitchen sink thrown at me. Had it not been attached to the wall, Mrs. Mellark might have literally thrown it at me. With the exception of that moment months ago when I thought I had lost Peeta for good, I had never in my life felt the way I did tonight: worthless, hopeless, despondent. Back then, I could at least pinpoint where I went wrong. There was a source, cause and effect. But now, the lines are fuzzy and they don't all point at me. Sure, a few run parallel, but they'd been on a collision course long before I was even on the map.

I open my eyes and look into Peeta's. Understanding floods my senses: he chose me. I don't have to be something he regrets. I can choose, too.

"Peeta, I'll be your family now."

He smiles, relief painted on his face. "For a second there I thought you had forgotten. But yes, you're stuck with me. I'm hoping that's okay."

I pull him to me and hear "ooof" before he whispers, "I take that as a 'yes'."

We lay there, the odd tremors gradually subsiding while Peeta strokes my hair. Prim appears with mugs of tea, murmuring, "I thought chamomile would be better." Sitting up slowly, I reach for a mug and Peeta takes the other. Prim grabs a third from the kitchen and joins us, tentatively asking, "What happened?"

Peeta rehashes some of the vague details of the evening, just enough to help Prim understand. I can't "un-hear" some things and she certainly doesn't need to be dragged into the same boat. When he's finished explaining and Prim starts with questions, I quietly ask if we can stop talking about it. It's enough for tonight. They both nod.

By the time we've finished our tea, my body is so sore that I need to be helped up from where I'm sitting. Prim makes me promise to call her tomorrow and Peeta and I again head out to the car. The drive back to the hotel is nothing like the one we took earlier this evening. For as much as we were put through the ringer, there's a distinct calm, the kind you experience when you come to terms with a decision. The kind of calm that comes with a resolution.

"Never again."

…

Peeta flips the 'do not disturb' sign, shuts the door and locks it, then walks to the bathroom and turns on the shower. I close the drapes before removing my clothes and he does the same without an ounce of lust or desire. Just quiet.

In the shower, I face him and he faces me. My arms wind around his waist, his come around my shoulders. I press my head to his chest, he rests his on the top of my own.

Peeta's heartbeat is strong and sure; I try to match my breathing to his. Eventually his hands come to my face, gently sweeping my hair back in order to look into my eyes. He leans in and kisses me.

I turn to shut the water off and we towel dry, pulling on pajamas. We turn off our phones, unplug the clock radio and flip the light switch, crawling into bed with heavy sighs. Peeta reaches for me and I go to him, hooking a leg over his and resting my head in my nook. I place my hand over his heart, feeling the pulse that anchors me.

Author's Notes: emarina, you know the drill. You're a great beta, but an even more amazing friend. To Sara the Reviewer, it drives me nuts that I can't reply to your reviews and thank you for being awesomesauce!