I do not own any of the character I am using in this fanfiction. They belong to Suzanne Collins. Her writing makes me want to be both kind and brave, and so I try to write Peeta's version of Catching Fire. Oh, and English isn't my mother tongue so I apologize for every grammatical error and typos. Follows and Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!
Part 1 : The Spark
1
I roll the dough on the flour dusted table, then carefully dust my own hands. The kitchen is warm but my fingers are cold, the sign of anxiety creeping in me. Two of five ovens are burning, the whole place smells like caramelized sugar and butter. Not very far from where I stand, there are piles of dishes undone. Underneath me, floors are unclean. This place never change. The kitchen has already look like this since I'm old enough to help. I'm standing in front of a big metal table where we roll and knead the dough, across me is a dining table where the whole family eats. On the walls above the table is a beaten calendar with stains of dried batter on each corner. I eye the date. Today is the day.
My whole family are resting. I'm tired to the bone but I cannot sleep. My mother allowed me to use my time in a beneficial way. By now I've make more breads than usual. More breads mean more money. That's the logic.
As the sun begins to shine through the window, I feel more stress than I ever had since I came back. My arms are aching. I have some burns in both of my hands that still sting. I don't even bother to put an oinment on them.
"You should go home," I hear my father speaks from the dining table. Now there's a soft smell of coffee in the air. "No, I'll finish this one first," I reply, still kneading the dough. My knuckle feels numb, but I keep going. The heat radiating from the oven doesn't help with my body temperature.
Suddenly, I feel a steady pressure on my left shoulder. I stop kneading the dough. My father looks at me in the eyes and rubs my arms. He's never been the kind of man with much to talk about. I know what he wants so I go to the sink to wash my hands, remove the stained and burned apron and pick my jacket behind the door. I go to the mirror beside the calendar to comb my hair neatly and I bid him good bye.
"Peeta?" I hear him calling me as my hand has reached the door. I look toward him.
"For your friends," he says handing me a basket of breads. They smell fresh and buttery. I nod politely. "Thank you."
As I open the back door of the bakery, the cold air touches my face gently. Snow is falling delicately and the sun is up in the sky, faintly shining. My whole body shivers and I wrinkle my nose to the stench of the pigs. I walk over the light snow on the street, making my way through the merchant area toward the Victor Village.
"You're up early," I hear a familiar voice greets me from across the street. I turn my head towards the voice. It's Prim. She looks beautiful in a red winter coat made of leather. From a distance I could tell that she's wearing her gloves. I wish I have mine.
"You too," I reply, walking towards her.
"Big day, huh?" she asks. The wind blows lightly and during the same time, scent of rose permeates my nose. I nod and manage to come up with what I hope is an excited smile. We get close since I move in to Victor Village and her cat occasionally make its appearance in my doorway. "Is that for us?" she asked while looking at my basket.
"Yes, want some?" I ask her. She says no silently. When the wind blow lightly, her braided hair is dancing in the air and my freezing fingers are getting numb. More than before.
"Have you talk to her?" she asks again.
"No." She rolls her eyes and suddenly trying to kick the dirt. She tried very hard to talk me into talking to Katniss. I made no progress on it. Really. What am I supposed to say? Prim opens her mouth wanting to talk again, then she changes her mind.
"But I made friend with her lovely sister," I add.
She shots me a look and then we both laugh. It is a very good laugh, although it doesn't have the same effect it used to. A laughter usually would make me happy and relaxed but instead there are black flickers forming in my sight. I guess lack of sleep does that to people.
"See you around then," she says.
I nod in answer. She waves good bye and walks herself to the school. On the way to my house I drop in her house to deliver some of the baked goods. This has been the part of my routine since the last Hunger Games. Going to the bakery 5 days a week, distributing breads to Haymitch and Katniss, painting whatever it is my mind and sleep when I get too tired. Lovely isn't it?
Yesterday Effie called to tell me that they'll be coming at noon. Katniss must have been informed too because in a glance, her house looks nicer, neater. I walk to Haymitch's house to deliver the bread. I sigh a little, forming a thin layer of my breath in the air. It's snowing and I don't want to get sick.
When I get inside she's already here. I can tell because there's small flood here and there. I hear her saying my name from the dining room. "You should ask Peeta," she said.
"Asked me what?" I reply. She looks startled. Haymitch is all wet and the room is a total mess. He's still clutching the knife.
"Ask you to wake me without giving me pneunomia," he says. I put the bread carefully on the table and cut it. I glance towards Katniss for a while, thinking if I should or should not talk to her. I weigh down the thoughts briefly. I have to talk to her eventually.
"Would you like a piece?" I ask her. This is the first time I look straight into her eyes since the last games, but she's avoiding mine. Have I told you, that her eyes have the most beautiful color I've ever seen?
"No, I ate at the hob, but thank you," she replies politely. We're both stiff and unnatural.
"You're welcome," I say. I notice Haymitch is partly dry now. He squints his eyes and abruptly look to the other way when I caught him looking at me.
"Brr, you two have got a lot of warming up to do before the show."
We do. We need to work on whatever this is. Months have gone without talking to each other. We did not even acknowledge each other's existence. I was too heart broken and self conscious to start a proper conversation and she was in a state I know nothing about. Things are blurry because when I told her to tell me if she works it out, she never did work it out. Maybe she forgot. I never know if any of the hugs and kisses are artificial. Sometimes I feel like it is forced, but there are also time when I feel her sincerity. There was a time when I thought it is real.
It wasn't.
I hear her leaving the house and start to inhale deeply.
"Have you been holding your breath?" Haymitch asks. I shake my head, disagreeing. He looks at me in disbelief, then shaking his own head.
"What a fool," he says, leaving me in his dining room with all the mess they made.