A/N: Oh my god guys I'm so sorry this took so long! I've been totally absorbed in my other story 'Torn Between.' I'm soooooooo sorry! Please forgive me?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Nine

I clucth the mug of tea in my hands, trembling as I sit on our doorstep. I don't know how I got home after being drugged but I somehow ended up in my bed when I woke up. Effie hasn't returned yet, the house was eerily empty when I looked around. I'm going to let it rip when she returns. How dare she let them drug me! How dare she not believe me when I said I threw the rocks! Most importantly, how dare she let those monsters do such a thing to Peeta!

Seconds, mintues, hours pass as I sit on the doorstep, waiting on them to return. Time is meaningless; I don't know how long as passed as I sit. All I know is that I'm going to murder Effie for being so cruel. That woman is not my aunt.

The sky turns blue-ish grey as night falls and the shrill voice pierces through the air angrily. I look around to locate the source of the voice; my eyes falling on the bright haired woman as she appears at the top of the hill, dragging a damaged, bleeding blonde behind her. My heart clenches at the gruesome sight. Effie pays no heed to Peeta's pain as she pulls him along behind her, yelling at him for not keeping up. She drags him up the driveway and my eyes widen at the amount of blood that's trailing behind them. How many times did they whip him exactly?

"-now apologize!" Effie snaps-persumably finishing a long rant-as she pushes Peeta to the ground by my feet. He catches himself with his hands before he falls on his face. My stomach churns at the red seeping through the cloth of the shirt on his back. "Go on. Apologize," Effie says, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry . . ." she prompts, kicking him on the leg with her heeled shoe.

Peeta lifts his head to look me in the eyes-his hair falling into his eyes as he does-and my body tenses up at the intensity of his gaze. My plans to yell at Effie are long forgotten as my throat dries up in pain for him. My heart begins to ache, as if feeling the agnoy he's suffering through right now and all I want to do is gather him up in a hug and never let go.

The thought is unnerving but not unwelcome.

"I'm . . . sorry," he says, his voice cracked and strangled.

"For . . . ?" Effie prompts again.

"I'm so-sorry, for grabbing you in the square, Kat-Katniss," Peeta finishes, his arms trembling as he tries to hold himself up.

"Effie, can you leave us alone please?" I ask, tearing my gaze away from him to look at my aunt.

"Why?" Effie asks cryptically.

"Damn it Effie I want to punish him alone!" I snap. "You weren't the one who was grabbed were you?!"

"No," Effie sighs, shaking her head and walking past us to the front door. "But you really need to sort out these mood swings. One minute it's 'save the slaves!' then next moment it's 'I wanna punish him alone Effie!' If I didn't know any better I'd say you had a thing for torture!" My mouth hangs open at what she means and I go to protest but the door has already shut tight behind her.

I glare at the mahogany door for a moment before turning back to Peeta. He's still on his hands and knees but has a half smile on his face. "Please tell me you don't have a thing for torture," he jokes. I smile and hook an arm underneath his, pulling him to his feet.

"Don't worry, I don't," I reply, taking a step forward to lead him round the back to his basement. I wince as the blood stain on his back grows and he moans in pain. "Does it hurt much?"

"I'm OK," he answers. "At least I can't say I've had worse this time." I smile and lead him to the basement again as gently as I can. He's not too heavy for a boy his age which is worrying but I try not to think about it as we reach the backyard. Hopefully Effie will think I'm going to 'punish' him in the basement in private when I really have no intentions of hurting a hair on his head. I hook my foot under the doorhandle leading to the basment and yank the door open by yanking up and half lead, half carry, Peeta to down inside.

The stairs pose a problem as we climb down, the alien movement causing more and more blood to seep out of his back. The sooner I get him down on his stomach, the better. I lower him to the floor once we reach the bottom and run back up the stairs, shutting the doors and flicking the light on on my descent back down. When I reach the bottom again, I'm startled to find Peeta's blue eyes locked on me. He immediately catches on that I've caught him staring and flicks his gaze down the floor. How odd.

"Does that make it feel any better?" I ask as I sit down beside him, crossed legged. "Being on your stomach, I mean."

"Sort of," he replies, wincing as I peel his shirt back. My heart drops into my stomach at the sight of the deep lashes stratched across the skin of his back. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from gagging at the raw flesh.

My mother is a healer, she's great at treating things like this. Prim also helps a lot too, fetching her things, unfazed by any injury or illness brought to them. It's strange how much more mature my little sister is than I'am. She never argued with teachers at school and definetly never made a fuss about deep or serious wounds. Maybe I'll never learn to grow up.

"How does it look?" Peeta asks. "It's bad isn't it?"

"So-so," I lie, wishing I had the magic healing hands of my mother and sister.

"I can feel it you know," Peeta points out. "It's bad."

"You're going to be fine," I assure.

As I examine the wounds more closely I can't help shaking the thought that this could have been me. I could have been the one whipped for assaulting a PLA. But I wasn't, because he saved me.

"Why did you do it?" I ask as casually as I can manage. "Why did you save me?" Peeta's silent for a moment and I worry that maybe he won't answer. Maybe I had crossed some sort of line I didn't even know was drawn.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I just can't . . . shake the feeling that I've seen you before somewhere . . can you feel it?" The image of the blue eyes immediately comes into my mind but I shake them away.

"Not unless you were ever in District 5," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"I was," Peeta answers seriously. "When I was younger. I was born there actually. My mother owned the bakery."

"Mellark's bakery?" I ask. "I know that place. When we were kids my little sister used to drag me to the window to look at the cakes. She loved the intricate detail put into the icing of the cupcakes and always gushed about them. But one day . . . the cakes just stopped being displayed."

Peeta nods and I can't help the smile spreading across my face. "Oh my god, did you make them? They were amazing!" Peeta shrugs sheepishly at the compliment and I can see the nostalgia in his eyes. "Wait . . . is that why you got mad when I called you baker boy? Because I didn't know, I swear to god."

"I believe you," answers Peeta. "It still stung though."

"I'm sorry," I say, placing my hand ontop of his. "I didn't know."

The simple touch sends a shock through me and I'm suddenly transported to an old apple tree. The cold rain soaks me and makes me shiver as I stare at the old building infront of me. It's the bakery. Mellark's bakery. Bakeries sell bread don't they? Bread. Bread. Burnt bread. Blonde hair . . . blue eyes.

"You saved my life," I whisper, my eyes widening in realization. Peeta chuckles and shakes his head.

"I doubt they would have killed you Katniss," he says. "I'm sure Effie would have came up with some sort of excuse to protect you."

"No, not that," I say, my hand slipping into his to grip it tightly. "You saved my life. My family's life. Our lives. You gave us bread."

A frown etches onto Peeta's face in confusion and I tighten my hold on his hand.

"You're Peeta Mellark," I say. "You're the boy who saved my life."

A/N: Sorry again it took so long. I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, a million times so sorry!

Please R&R ^-^