His hand finds my lower back as if guided there by some magical force. I didn't even hear him coming, but now he's standing by my side looking pristine in his white suit. Effie wanted to dress me in a white dress to match, but it reminds me too much of the wedding dress Snow forced upon me for the Quarter Quell. And just the thought of the wedding dress releases a flood of other memories - Cinna, Peeta saying we married in secret and that I was pregnant, all us victors holding hands on stage, my mom saying I was too young to even date. So I passed on the white dress.
The bright red dress she forced me into instead is hardly any better. It's tight, form fitting, and highly uncomfortable. Everything the Girl on Fire would wear, and nothing that Katniss Everdeen would step foot into. But after my adamant protest to the white dress I relented, giving Effie a win. The shortness of breath its tightness causes and the pinching in the sides is almost worth it to get Peeta to look at me the way he is now.
At some point over the past year he's become less guarded with his looks of admiration. He never did anything to mask his feelings for me, but he didn't constantly shove them into my face either. But now that he knows - or at least I hope he knows - that I'm trying to return the feeling, he's a lot more open with his expressions, even if he seems unwilling to act on them for the time being. It's a bit daunting knowing what I have to match. But in this moment, with the way his eyes sparkle as they catch mine, it feels worth it.
"Sorry I'm late," he whispers against my ear. I'd almost forgotten that I'm furious with him for leaving me here alone for the past half hour. Everyone and their mother has walked up to shake my hand and introduce themselves to me. No one can stop commenting on how marvelous I look and how fine a job they did patching up my skin. I gritted my teeth while I silently fumed, all the while worried about where Peeta was and why he was late, though Haymitch had promised not to leave him unaccompanied.
He's standing close beside me and I can see the makeup someone has skillfully applied to his wrists to cover the bruises. Instantly, I'm ashamed for even thinking of being mad. "I hadn't even noticed," I lie.
His laugh reverberates in my ear. "You're a terrible liar." It's such a relief to hear that laugh. To see the crinkle in the corner of his eye and the turn of his mouth upwards.
"Yes, but I hear my stellar personality makes up for it." My eye twitches slightly as I say it when I spot Gale across the room. A petite brunette clings to his arm, and it looks as if he's wearing her as an accessory. I cannot help but notice that she bears a striking resemblance to me, carrying certain characteristics my mother conveniently failed to mention during our visit.
Peeta's hand slides to cup my waist, and his other hand settles on my other side. My skin burns through the thick fabric of the dress at his touch. "Stop," he warns gently. His lips brush against my earlobe. He can see the path of my eyesight, and I swear he can read the vain thoughts in my head. "Obsessing is not going to fix anything."
"I'm not obsessing," I snap immediately in my own defense. "I'm not," I insist as his eyebrow quirks up in disbelief. He doesn't know about Gale's unexpected visit to our rooms. He didn't hear what Gale and Haymitch said to each other. Let him think what he will, I decide. I'd much rather keep it that way than to explain my uneasiness.
"She does look an awful lot like you," he comments, taking in the full silhouette of her looks from across the room.
"Now you stop," I mutter under my breath.
"Come on." With a light pressure on my waist, he urges me forward toward the dance floor. A few couples are mingling around. Even fewer are actually dancing. My heels dig in to protest, but my balance is precarious at best in the four inch heels Effie jammed my aching feet into. All the agonizing sessions we had prior to my first Games are compartmentalized and filed away in my brain. I have a hard enough time just standing up straight. Dancing will be next to impossible.
"Please," Peeta begs, a slight urgency in the word. I never thought I'd hear Peeta beg to dance, though he has no shortage of talent. "If any one of these Capitol people that look even vaguely familiar approach to shake my hand... it's not going to go well. I need you to distract me."
Rarely do the words 'I need' come out of Peeta's mouth. When they do, it's serious. Dreading the scene it's sure to cause, I take his hand regardless. Tightening my hold to reassure him I am here with him, I pull him out onto the floor. He pulls me about to face him, one hand raising up to catch mine, the other remaining at my waist. I'm glad for the visual barrier to keep myself from searching the room for Gale. It's been months since I saw him last, and I just keep replaying the conversation we had over and over again. It seems so contradicting to the sight I'm witnessing now. Almost as if he brought her here just to try to get a reaction out of me.
"Relax," I tell him, though I'm more tightly wound than he is. While my shoulders are square and rigid, his are relaxed and swooping naturally. Though his posture gives an air of total calm, I can tell he's still worked up. We dance close enough that I can hear the rapid succession of his heart hammering in his chest. I hate the government for doing this to him, for insisting that we come to this event since we've missed all the others.
The War is not a time either one of us is fond of remembering, and this lavish party does nothing to change that mood. All the twinkling hanging lights in the world couldn't make us more comfortable in this room, especially not Peeta. This trip has been horrible for him, and we still have a few days left before we are supposed to leave, though I doubt anyone is going to be able to convince us to stay past the morning. The constant attention from everyone trying to catch a glimpse of the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve does not help either, nor does the fact that this is the same ballroom we danced in for the Victory Tour.
"Hey." I grip his hand tighter as I notice the widening of his eyes and his labored breathing. The last thing I want is for him to have an episode here in front of everyone. The public thinks we are the well-adjusted faces of the revolution, and I don't want them to know otherwise. No one deserves to see the anguish Peeta suffers when reality starts to collapse down around him. He doesn't want their pity and they don't deserve to see his pain.
He's already starting to slip. I pull my hands from his. The song mercifully ends and the first notes of a slower song strike the air. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him even closer. I can practically hear the whispers of delight from the people who are terrible at hiding the fact that they are watching our every move. "Stay with me," I ask softly.
His hands return to my waist where his grip tightens almost painfully. The struggle is clear on his face. It breaks my heart. There's nothing he wants more than to get out of here right now, and he knows that he can't. The frustration is clear on his face, and I know it's waging for control of his emotions as he tries to fight back the panic that comes with his episodes.
My hands slide to the sides of his neck, my thumbs stroking his cheeks. Pulling his head down to face me, our foreheads just touch. Our feet are barely moving. You could hardly call what we're doing dancing, but for the moment it's the least of my worries. I will not let him crumble in front of all these people. He will never be anything but perfect in their eyes. He is not broken, and they will not break him.
"Peeta." His eyes dilate as he hears me call his name.
"Katniss, I can't." It's almost a gasp.
"Yes, you can," I tell him firmly. I will not let him go. I cannot watch him struggle through that pain again. Seeing him in the room, the rope tied around his wrists, was already too much. This will break both of us. "Don't look at them. Look at me."
"I can't see you. All I see... all I see is... nothing. Everything."
He hasn't talked like this in ages and it terrifies me. Rocks me to my very core, because we haven't practiced this scenario before. I think about getting him out of here and just going back to our rooms, but it will only rise suspicions. Unless I set up a situation first.
My hands travel around to cup the back of his neck as I pull him down to me. Our lips barely touch at first, just a brush against each other. I force my feet to start dancing again, swaying awkwardly to the music. Peeta's legs follow suit.
His forehead rests against mine, the sides of our noses pressed together. "You are the strongest person I know," I whisper to him. "You can hold it together. Just until the end of the song. I know you can." I wait a bit, then brush my lips against his again. Gradually, I have to work it up. It's as if we're in the Games all over again. I can almost hear Haymitch's imaginary voice in my head as I try to figure out what I need to do to get food to survive.
It's ironic, really, but in some ways, this situation now feels a lot more life and death than that situation in the cave. Peeta returns the next kiss, and I'm uncertain if he's playing along or if he's in the moment. I wait for him to pull away, to remind me about our record that he's held so dear to his heart these past few months. I beg him to comply, to not make a scene. The record doesn't matter so long as my plan works. His hand slides around my back, his fingers cold as they touch the exposed skin of my lower back. With the application of light pressure, he pulls me into him completely.
The guests gathered around us no longer try to contain their silent whisperings. I hear hushed conversations all around us, twittering like mad little mockingjays. But I'm consumed in the moment as Peeta's lips play against mine. It's more than I would have done, more than is needed in the current situation, but I'm powerless to pull away. All I can think is, finally.
It's not just hunger and lust in Peeta's kiss. There's a sheer desperation to match the longing and desire. It feels as if he wants to consume me. I want to let him. My body reacts on its own accord, though I am hyper aware of the attention we are drawing. If there was no ulterior motive behind my actions, I never would have let the kiss deepen this far in public. But there is, and I do.
His tongue darts through my parted lips and I'm completely undone. My head spins. I feel dizzy, my focus drifting. It's too much, all at once, with everything surrounding us. But the passion behind Peeta's kiss, the way he pulls my body into his and presses his mouth into mine, it's centering him. I can feel it.
I let it go on for far too long. We're making a spectacle of ourselves and I'm embarrassed at just the thought. It doesn't matter if the whole country thinks we're married and that we've already had a miscarriage. I never wanted my feelings towards Peeta to be put on display again. I never wanted to act out our relationship for others, and that's exactly what this has become. A cheap façade for the masses.
Regrettably I pull away, though my body fights me with every millimeter. His breathing is still labored, though now I suspect it's for multiple reasons. "Come on," I whisper, nudging the side of his nose with mine to snap his focus. "Let's get you back to the privacy of the room."
My hand slides from his neck, catching his as I step back away from him. I can see now all the different sets of eyes gawking at us. I would blush if I weren't so preoccupied with getting Peeta out of here in one piece. He stands rooted in place and I have to give his arm a light tug to propel him into action. Let them think we are just two teenagers madly in love, off to the darkness of our bedroom.
His hand returns to my lower back, and he's almost pushing me as he guides me through the scandalized crowd towards the grand archway. We escape into the almost empty hallway, but I don't stop. I don't even slow down. If anything, my feet quicken their pace. I stumble more than once in these blasted shoes that Effie selected, having no way of knowing we'd be making a quick getaway soon after arriving.
I know the rumors are already flying through the air in the ballroom. By the morning, our lip locked faces will be plastered all over the newsfeeds throughout Panem. But as I fumble with the call button for the elevator, I let out a strangled breath as I pull Peeta inside. It will be worth it, I tell myself, to keep this other part of him a secret. Anything is worth that, I reason.
As the door to our rooms swings shut behind us, I take another deep breath in relief. When I glance up, I catch the funny look in Peeta's eyes. The one that tells me that he isn't entirely here with me in this moment. "What?" I ask as gently as I can, hoping to mask my fear and worry.
"Was that real, back there?" he asks, his forehead scrunched up in deep concentration.
My heart starts hammering for a different reason this time. I know the answer he needs to hear, but I don't know if I can truthfully give it to him. I feel myself pulled to him as if by some force of gravity, but I'm still working out what it all means. Do I love him, the way he loves me? The way he's always loved me? Or do I just seek comfort in his touch, in being able to be with someone after being by myself for so long? I don't know. I'm not even convinced it was real for him.
"Real or not real, Katniss?" he presses, his voice growing agitated. This is how it starts. This is the tipping point, where his eyes grow wild and I lose a part of him to Snow and the Capitol. No matter how hard we try, no matter how hard we fight, we can't seem to escape this part of his past. Not entirely.
"I don't know." My voice cracks as I admit it, but I can't lie to him. I won't, because it will just break him in a different way.
His hand smacks his temple and my gut twists. I reach forward, catching his hand and pulling it away before he can start in on a pattern. I've seen this before, and I can't take it tonight. "When we kiss at home and in the bakery, that's real. That's you and that's me. That's us," I promise. "What just happened out there, in front of all those people? That was still us and still our feelings. But I don't know if it was real, not the way it should be."
His hand clenches in a fist inside of mine, the muscles in his arm tightening. Dragging his hand up, I set it against my chest, now highly aware of just how low cut the neckline is. My fingers work his to pull his fist apart as I guide his palm to settle over my heart. As his fingers splay out, I hold his hand firmly in place so he can feel my heart pounding beneath it. "This is real," I tell him. "You make this happen. You do this to me. Whether I like it or not," I add with a small puff of a laugh.
"I can't stand it here," he says, his words muted and his tone flat. "Everything here reminds me of... everything. I can't breathe."
"Then don't be here. Be here, with me."
"I don't know if I can." His hand moves up to my throat and for one terrifying moment, I wonder if he's about to strangle me. This place holds terrible memories for me too, even if they happened in other districts. The root of the evil is buried deep here, and there's no escaping it.
He steps into me, his head dropping to my shoulder. His entire body sags against me. I wrap my arms around him for support.
When he starts to cry, I let gravity take us. We sink to our knees so I can bare his weight. I can't think of anything to say, so I remain silent. I want to tell him I love him. The urge is so strong and yet I can't. I still don't know what the word really means. I don't know if it would be true. It'll only comfort him if I mean it, and I'm not sure if I would.
But I want to bear the weight of his pain. I know that much. I want to take all that pain that he suffers because of me, because of what Snow did to him to get to me. I want to absorb it all and release him of everything. But I don't know how. So I hold on to him for dear life until he can stand on his own again.