I bet on losing dogs
I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place
By the ring.
My fingers tap a nonsensical pattern on the side of the window, I'm sure I'm irritating every stuck-up doctor in this room but I don't care, they can't shout at or chastise the girl with the bruises around her neck. The girl who, no doubt, looks more like a thin ghost of a person than a sixteen-year-old.
"Why isn't he waking up?" Haymitch asks. It's still a shock to see him sober, to see his coal, Seam eyes unclouded. Sober Haymitch is sharp, and not quite as willing to mock me as drunk Haymitch is, and I'm starting to get really sick of the way his eyes keep darting to me from across the room. I don't want his sympathy.
"He will wake up any moment now. It's just taking longer since we had to increase the dosage of the relaxer after his last episode," the doctor answers, not once looking up from his clipboard, scratching at his stubble as he writes down some more medical mumbo-jumbo.
I'm not supposed to be here, there's no doubt that several people would freak out if they knew that Haymitch had lied about Coin authorising this visit.
But I needed to see him again, maybe because I thought that the rabid dog that had greeted me with it's hands around my neck had just been all a bad dream, and my sunshine boy, the boy who smelt like bread and looked like summer, was going to be in here, ready to mock me for falling for this horrendous new prank.
Got you good, didn't I sweetheart? He would say, and he would grin at me and I would scowl at him, just like it was supposed to be.
But as I watch him through the one-sided glass, I realise just how naive a hope that was, there was no prank, there is no sunshine boy anymore. There is just this… thing. Even in his sleep, he looks different, gaunt and somehow still angry as he lies on his back, shackles tight at his sides.
It's been over a week since he had choked me, but the bruises are still here. And the feeling of his clammy hands squeezing the life out of me lingers on my skin. I suddenly forgot why I had requested this at all, why would I want to see that thing? This isn't my Peeta.
"Haymitch I think this is a—"
My sentence is interrupted by a flurry of activity as Peeta wakes up, sitting up abruptly in the bed, his wails louder than I have ever heard them to be.
"Let me out! She's going to kill you all!" the rabid dog screams, banging its wrists on the shackles. It's strange, I think to myself. For something to look exactly like my beautiful Peeta, but be so utterly different.
"I think he's talking about you sweetheart," Haymitch quips dryly, stepping out of the way so that a doctor can open the door to calm Peeta.
I don't have it within me to bother with a snide remark back, my eyes fixated on how the doctor approaches him like he's a wild horse to be tamed, her arms raised in defence as she shushes him, her crackly voice sounding through the speakers in the room.
"It's okay Peeta, everything's okay," the doctor soothes, pressing a finger to Peeta's wrist. She's holding a syringe behind her back, just in case the rabid dog bites.
"Nothings okay if she's here. Katniss is going to hurt us, the Capitol sent her to hurt us!"
His voice is like venom, spitting out the words. His blue eyes are dark, unhinged. His voice, something that could spin out stories like silk — is now used only to tell everybody what he thinks of me, and I can't stand it.
"Girl, are you okay?" Haymitch asks, and suddenly he is next to me, startling me immensely.
I jump and step a few paces back, not unlike a wild animal myself.
"He sounds the same," I say, my voice cracking. Technically I'm supposed to still be on vocal rest but I've given that up. I don't know why this is what I say, but I am startled by the fact he sounds like he always has, his usual distinctive boyish drawl which used to be reserved for joking is now used to scream obscenities about me.
Haymitch just nods, not bothering to stand any closer. He drags a shaky hand through his long dark hair, looking like he wants to say something I'm not going to like.
"Maybe today isn't—"
"I need to talk to him," I reiterate, my gaze unwavering on his face. Haymitch looks somewhat yellow, and I realise probably for the first time in years, he has shaved neatly and without cutting himself.
"Just… just prepare yourself."
I don't want to have to prepare myself. I want to be able to walk into a room and open my eyes and see those light, cerulean ones staring back at me. I want to be able to walk into that room and see Peeta's easy smile, I want him to open his arms and tease me for not brushing my hair. I want him to laugh with me over how silly the clothes are and how bland the food is.
"You have five minutes, Soldier Everdeen," the woman tells me, placing the syringe back on the table. She had managed to calm him down with her words enough so that I could see him. I don't know whether to be grateful or not.
"Stand three paces back, and try not to talk about anything too taxing," the male doctor adds, finally drawing his ruddy eyes from the clipboard.
I don't acknowledge their instructions, but I look to Haymitch for a moment, seeing my own worry reflected in his eyes. Slowly, he gives me a nod and I let my hand grip the door, opening it and entering the room.
The lights are bright, twinged with green. It smells like antibacterial spray and mint. No wonder Peeta can't sleep here, there's not a single window for him to crack open. He can never sleep well if the window isn't open.
"You," the rabid dog spits, his dark eyes trained on me. He is oddly still, but his eyes are entirely focused on my movements. It's all so unlike how he used to watch me, he used to look at me like I was something to be admired. Now I am watched like an enemy.
I remain silent as I walk in, suddenly self-conscious of my ill-fitting District Thirteen uniform, my knotted hair and my shallow skin. I have never felt insecure around Peeta before — his eyes used to strengthen me, but now they make me want to hide under a table.
"Can I ask you something, Mutt?" He asks, calculating and sly.
"Only if I can do the same," I answer, my hands are restless, and I want to badly bite my nails down to the quick, I want to do anything but stand here.
"Why would I ever be in love with ameaslything like you?" The dog asks, a brow raised at me. His curls are flat, almost mousy brown with sweat. I wonder for a moment if they are cleaning them properly, the way he likes to — by lathering the soap up and letting the conditioner soak in.
"I don't know — but you were," I answer, determined not to cry, determined not to blink. This fact, I am confident in, Peeta used to love me. I wanted to close my eyes and relive the memory, but the rabid dog speaks. drawing my attention.
"I was?" he repeats, drifting off in a line of thought, his eyes turning glassy. My eyes flicker to his leg, why haven't they removed his prosthetic? Don't they know that he sleeps better with it off?
"Ask me your question then," he spits out suddenly, exasperated by me already. I shift from foot to foot.
"Do you remember… everything?" I ask, my voice trembling.
I can't say what truly I mean here, not with the nosy doctors craning their necks as we speak. I'm beginning to think they are no better than the Capitolites, watching me and Peeta perform, their attention glued to our every move.
Peeta looks puzzled, his sceptical brows dropping as he scans my face. I blush deeply, the heat on my cheeks obvious to anyone looking, and his face softens. It only lasts a moment, less than a millisecond, but I see it, the true blue of his eyes.
"You're talking about how we fucked on the train, aren't you, Mutt?" An evil, cunning grin takes over his bruised face.
I wince, not from embarrassment but from the clinical way he's talking about our nights together. Those nights that were meant only for us, nights spent desperate, afraid, and so in love.
"You are, you're talking about how you fucked me, deep and good. And then proceeded to ignore me in the daytime. Of course I remember those, Mutt. Those are the memories they didn't want me to forget," he clarifies, loving the way I am frozen to my spot, a stray tear escaping from my eye.
My throat closes, and the shame burns from within. Somewhat from my embarrassment of him saying this in front of Haymitch, but also from the fact he said it exactly how it was, that's what I did, I fucked him and then acted like it didn't happen.
"Thanks for your time, Soldier Mellark," I say dryly, wiping the tears and squaring my shoulders, walking out of the room.
"Mutt! Enemy! Someone stop her before she kills us all!"
His screams are somewhat muted once I shut the door to the room, everybody's eyes fixated on me as I lean against the door, my face emotionless.
Haymitch approaches me, his own face long and much too serious.
I step away from the door as I watch the doctor from earlier prepare her syringe. I almost wish she would stab me instead, maybe knocking me out for a few hours would help me try and convince myself that this whole terrible interaction was just a dream.
"C'mon, let's get you back to your room," Haymitch says, his voice stern as he takes my shoulders, guiding me out of the doctor's room. I'm crying, and they are silent fat tears. I hate crying, especially in front of this new severe, sober Haymitch.
"I knew we shouldn't have done that," Haymitch mutters under his breath as he walks me through the long corridors, the tears won't stop, no matter how many times I wipe them away they return, fatter and wetter than ever.
Other than the occasional sniffle, I am silent on the way back to my room. I want to scream.
I want to punch, kick and wail, and I really wish that Haymitch had some moonshine on him right now.
It hits me all at once, the fact that he will never be the same.
I will never see my boy with the bread again. I will never be able to tell him how much I love him. I will never be able to let him know how sorry I am for never being brave enough to tell him that before.
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。• *。
He's leaning over me, his arms pinned on either side of my shoulders. His eyes are closed but I want to see open them so badly.
"Peeta, what are you thinking?" I ask, my voice is quiet and I'm panting.
Peeta chuckles and groans slightly, "I'm thinking about anything else right now, so thatthisdoesn't end too prematurely."
He exaggerates his point as he fully deepens inside of me, and my eyes pop out of my head. This is the second time we've done this, and I'm still not used to the way he feels as he fills me.
I can't help but grin as I watch Peeta's face melt into that of pure pleasure. I lean over and kiss his forearm that rests beside me, his chest is glistening with sweat and if I could, I would lick every last drop off with my tongue.
"Katniss oh my… Sorry sweetheart, it's just that you're s-so tight," Peeta moans, dropping his forehead and resting it against my own. I laugh and kiss his sweaty cheek, the skin salty and tempting.
"Are you hurting?" He asks, pulling away and looking into my eyes. Last night I had bled all over Peeta's bed, meaning that we had to sneak over to my chamber half-naked in the middle of the night so we could sleep. I was selfishly glad in that moment that Avoxes couldn't speak, because we were screwed if they could tell anyone what we were up to.
"No, it's okay, you can move," I say, the burning has subsided somewhat, and I'm amazed that Peeta has been able to keep himself so still, when I can tell all he wants to do is move.
He considers me for a moment before moving, checking my eyes to see if I'm telling the truth. The feeling of him filling me over and over again is unlike anything else I've ever felt, and It's significantly better tonight.
Peeta's moans are low and plentiful, and I close my ears and commit these sounds to memory, mainly for when we're back in the Victors Village, so that I can add to my repertoire of Peeta-related thoughts whenever I'm alone and touching myself.
"So good Peeta, faster," I panted, gripping his back and trailing my manicured fingers over it. I wish I could mark him, but there would be too many questions from both of our prep teams, so I am cautious not to make a single identifiable scratch.
The pace quickens and my stomach burns, that familiar building sensation is a lot stronger than the night before, and I manage to match Peeta's pace, crashing my hips with his, wanting to feel some friction on that little nub between my legs.
It's perfect as we move, with just my high-pitched, involuntary moans and his grunts filling the room. And all I can think about is how I never want this to end.
I'm building up to my release when Peeta stiffens, and his body shakes, I feel that burst of heat as he fills me.
"Fuck. Sorry Katniss," he moans loudly as he comes, sinking on top of me and breathing in deeply. He lasted about twice the amount of time compared to the night before, and I had truly enjoyed it, so all I could do was kiss the top of his head and bury my fingers in his soft curls, whispering sweet nothings as he comes down from his high.
"That's okay baby," I whispered, a nickname so tender that I would ever only dare to use it in moments such as these. Moments where it seem as if the world was just made up of Peeta and I.
"My baby," I repeat as Peeta slumps against me, softening inside of me and humming as I push his sweaty hair out of his face.
After a few minutes, Peeta finds the strength to move over, pulling out of me as he does so. I throb slightly at the loss of him, but I turn over immediately, watching his face in the glow of the moonlight from the window beside my bed.
Outside the window was just a blur of trees as the train whizzes by, and I mourn the loss of our bliss for a moment as I remember that we were destined to be pretend lovers for the rest of our lives.
Peeta leans on his side, looking at me as I think. The touch of his hand on my shoulder is enough to bring me away from my thoughts of President Snow, blood and the feeling of dread.
"Are you okay? I'm sorry you didn't…" Peeta says, his voice is small and even though the room was dark, I could tell that he was blushing.
"That's okay, I still enjoyed it," I said, a blush of my own springing to my cheeks. How could I ever break this boy's heart? How could I ever tell him that I can't love him?
Who knows what Snow would do to him if he knew that what I feel for Peeta is real.
So when I snuggle further into Peeta's chest, I hear him sigh contentedly. I pretend not to hear it when he kisses the top of my head, and whispers in my ear;
"I love you, Katniss Everdeen."
.。• *。 。.。• *。 。.。• *。
"Fine," I say, "Send me to Two."
I march away from Plutarch, from everyone in this godforsaken place, because they don't understand. I can't be here. I can't be in a place where the boy I love doesn't know me, doesn't love me back.
I'm weak. I bet on Peeta, I bet that he would be the same boy as he was in the Quell. I bet that he would return from the Capitol and take me in his arms and fuck me and love me and call me his. I'm just an idiot girl who bet on the wrong, rabid dog.
So I need to get out of here, and I need to go to District Two.
Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down
I'll be there on their side
I'm losing by their side…