A.N. at end !
Chapter 10
When I wake up, my hand drifts out and touches something warm and incredibly soft. I blink my eyes open and find a small figure lying next to me, curled up on her side, her dark hair spilling across the pillow like a horse's mane. Careful not to disturb her, I sit up slowly. Her arm drapes over her chest, shielding her, while the other rests beneath the pillow, cradling her head. The blanket must have slipped during the night because part of her stomach is exposed. Gently, I pull the blanket back over her, up to her shoulder, watching as her chest rises and falls with each soft breath.
Quietly, I slip out of bed and head for the bathroom, trying to shake the drowsiness. Katniss's bathroom is huge—easily the size of my entire bedroom. There are two sinks, Mr. and Mrs., a shower so large it could fit fifteen people, and rugs that feel like clouds under my feet. This kind of luxury was the reward for being a Victor, though the price was one most could never forget.
I learned during the Rebellion from one of the Victors that Snow used to sell the "desirable" ones to the highest bidder, handing them out like prizes at a grotesque carnival. He was exploited for years before Snow's regime finally crumbled. As I stand there, I can't help but think of Katniss. What would have happened to her if she hadn't brought the Capitol to its knees? She was the face of the rebellion, the star of every show and magazine. People wanted her—maybe in the same twisted ways I had seen. The thought of someone auctioning her innocence, treating her like a commodity, sends a shiver down my spine.
Was she as pure as I had initially thought, though? I start to think about last night and how she grinded me, kissed me, touched me, moaned and I cant help but think: Where the hell did she learn all that from? I had brothers growing up and when you share a room with them you hear things. Things like how a girl's pussy looked in comparison to another, what makes the squirm, positions, and what it was like to taste them. I had thought it was disgusting to put my mouth anywhere *near* that part of some ones body. At least I did until I was about 15, and I had averted my eyes from the slag heap, but only after I watched a boy crouch and stabilize a girl whos skirt was ridden up and her underwear pulled to the side, and he was putting his mouth there. A strange day dream changed their faces to mine and Katniss and from there I was hooked. Sex was always a late night topic in my bedroom with my brothers. They had lost their virginities to random girls in school and were betting on who could get the most, or who could score a certain girl. I wasn't phased by it until they mentioned Katniss's name, when I told them she was off limits. They were assholes, but one thing for sure is they respected that boundary, even if it wasn't my boundary to make. I was bound to the idea of one girl. One silver eyed creature who could kill me in an instant if I dare disrespected her. And I was not letting go of it.
I wont pretend that I haven't done anything with girls. But I definitely wasn't shy to shove a girls hand away when things got too heated – wandering hands, legs trying to pull me closer and practically put it in themselves. Some guys might have a harder time with loyalty, but I found that the older I got, the more that Katniss and I's bodies had changed, the easier it was to keep one thing to myself – even if it meant holding on to that forever.
There was one girl I worked with when I did night shift that had gotten under my skin somehow. I think it was just how well we meshed together and were so alike in many ways, including our looks that we shared. Both of us were from the Merchant side of 12, had a family owned shop, and we both had lost our families in the bombing. Her blonde hair was almost white, her blue eyes that seemed to be two deep pools you could get lost in, and her body was very petite.
One thing I learned though was that although she was very quiet at work and kept to herself, she definitely was a loud and wild one alone. I had invited her over for a movie when we weren't working. We gravitated towards one another for friend activities as it was hard to maintain friendships with people since we were night owls. We only had each other to talk to and about work or life in general, so it was nice to have someone.
We had a few drinks, so she was loopy and I was starting to get drowsy and we were on the couch watching some stupid movie I cant remember the title to. She picked it, I didn't, and when she had laughed she fell onto my lap trying to catch her breath. When she struggled to sit up I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up, leaning to help her sit, when we both started to cackle to our delirium. We locked eyes in that moment, our laughter subsiding and we leaned in and pressed our lips together. We ended up ripping clothes off and me on top of her with only my boxers as a wall between our centers. She let me go down on her prior to, and her heaving breasts and moans were intoxicating. That was, until I had a flash of someone else.
I had wiped my face and told her the alcohol had caught up to me, that that I was starting to feel sick. We dressed and I took myself off night shift the next day. From time to time I will have to give report to her but we pretend we don't know one another. Rumor has it that she had a huge crush on me, but I have never felt that way to anyone but Katniss.
I couldn't help but wonder where Katniss learned all her party tricks. Shaking the thought, I quickly raided her bathroom for an unopened toothbrush, brushed my teeth, and splashed some water on my hair to tame the mess. I wanted to look decent—hoping we could have a second round of whatever last night was. But only if she wanted to, of course.
As I made my way back to the bed, I noticed Katniss was awake, playing with a strand of her hair. The blanket was pulled up to her chest, and she wore a scowl that could kill. I paused, unsure of why she hadn't said anything yet.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," I tried, hoping to break the silence. She glanced at me sideways and looked like a deer in headlights. "Katniss?"
She pressed her lips together and gave me a quick twirling motion with her finger, signaling me to turn around. I frowned but obeyed, turning away, feeling more confused by the second. Was she feeling shy now that it was daylight, or was she regretting last night?
I heard her get up, the sound of a shirt slipping over her head and the drawer opening—likely searching for pants. She walked past me without a word and headed straight for the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her.
What just happened?
I knocked gently on the door. "Katniss?"
No response. Instead, I heard the toilet flush and the water run in the sink. When she opened the door, she bumped into me and immediately took a step back, retreating into the bathroom. Her eyes were wide, and she looked furious.
"Hey, am I missing something here?" I asked, pointing between her and the bed, my voice sharper than I intended. Katniss huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly trying to shut me out. I mirrored her, feeling irritation starting to rise in my chest as she rolled her eyes like none of this mattered.
"Katniss, what's wrong?"
"Peeta...you should go." She sighed, brushing past me like I wasn't even there. She sat on the bed, tucking one leg beneath her, fiddling with her hair again, avoiding eye contact. The blue shirt she wore clung to her body, and her frayed pajama shorts looked like they hadn't seen better days. I took two hard steps toward her, my mind racing, replaying last night over and over. Had I done something wrong? Did I say something stupid? Was I that bad? The thought hit like a punch to my gut, making my frustration flare.
"Katniss, what the hell? Did I do something?" My voice was harsher than I meant, but I didn't care. I needed an answer.
She let out a sigh, clearly irritated. "No."
"No? Then why are you shutting me out? Why are you acting like you could rip someone's head off?" My voice was louder now, anger leaking through despite myself. I couldn't understand why she was treating me like this after what we shared last night.
Her mouth opened, then shut again, as if she was struggling to say something. She wouldn't even look at me. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke, her voice clipped. "Last night... it was a mistake. You need to go."
Her words hit like a slap to the face, my frustration boiling over. "A mistake?" I repeated, not believing what I was hearing. "Katniss, are you serious right now? Why are you doing this?"
"Because I don't want anyone getting close," Katniss snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "Not now. Not ever. I can't afford to let anyone in. Not you, not anyone."
My voice wavered, the pain evident in every word. "So what was last night for then? Just a way to pass the time? A way to use me? You make me feel like I'm nothing more than a—"
"Don't you dare," Katniss cut him off, her voice trembling. "Don't you dare make this about you. I'm not using you. I'm trying to protect both of us from getting hurt. And right now, I can't handle… this."
I felt my heart plummet, my chest tightening as I raised my eyebrows, struggling to comprehend what was happening. A wave of emptiness hit me, leaving me feeling used. Used and discarded. I had opened myself up to her in a way I hadn't with anyone, and for what? Her words echoed bitterly in my mind.
You were my dandelion in the Spring.
Yeah, right. And now that she had me wrapped around her finger, I was just another way for her to get what she needed, to use me and toss me aside. I felt pathetic. Hurt. Sure, I'd had casual flings before—left girls' apartments without a second thought, or been the one who didn't get a call back—but this? This was different. This was her. The one person I'd die for, the one person I'd kill for. And instead of being honest, she let me believe I mattered, let me believe there was something real between us—only to crush me the moment she got what she wanted.
"Okay." The word came out rough, like my throat was closing in on itself, strained and hollow. I reached for my scrub pants, which were stiff with dried stains, reminding me of the messy reality of the night before. I yanked them on and grabbed my shirt from the floor, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Katniss still hadn't looked at me. She just stared out the window, refusing to face me.
I paused at the door, glancing back at her one last time. Her eyes were glassy, but not with regret. Just sadness. For a second, I wondered if there was more to it, if she felt even a fraction of the pain I did. But she stayed silent, unmoving, and that was my answer.
As I walked out her front door, I shrugged on my backpack, already thinking about the easiest way to get home without passing through town. There was no way I was about to let anyone see the stains on my pants—not after everything. I made my way toward the meadow, sticking close to the trees until I reached the edge of town. When I finally stepped inside my apartment, I stood there for a minute, trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside me. Lonely? Sad? Pissed off? Yeah, definitely that last one.
How could she do that? How could she tell me I was her reawakening, kiss me like that, get close to me, and then turn around and throw me away? I replayed her words in my head, trying to make sense of it. But none of it made sense. I rubbed my face with both hands, my frustration mounting as I tossed my clothes into the washer, the evidence of the night clinging to the fabric. I wasn't even upset about erasing it anymore. In fact, I was glad. Glad to wash away every trace of her from my lap, from my skin.
I sank onto my couch, staring at my hands as if they were foreign objects. They had held her hips while she moved, and now I wiped them off repeatedly, as if trying to scrub away the memory of her touch. As I wiped, a strange sensation began to surface in my chest—tingling, almost. It was familiar, though I hadn't felt it in nearly two months. I focused intently on the lines in my palms, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to steady myself.
Despite my efforts, my vision grew blurry, and thoughts of Katniss invaded my mind more forcefully than before. I wasn't one to let anger consume me, nor was I the type to lash out. But this—this felt different. It was not anger but something deeper, more painful. This was heartbreak. The impression of her hips was still in my hands, the weight of her on my lap still heavy, the sounds of her moans grinding on me as I begged her not to stop.
I had nurtured feelings for Katniss for years, and just when I thought we were making progress, she shut me out. The sting of her rejection felt like a fresh wound, reopening old scars I thought had healed. I was adamant that no one would hurt me like this again—not after they made me feel safe, only to push me away.
It reminded me so painfully of my childhood. I used to bring home perfect grades, A's and B's, sometimes even 100s on exams. My mother would praise me and let me choose from the glass case of fresh baked goods—a real treat. But the moment I fell short, if I missed a spot of dust or made a mistake, I would be met with harsh reprimands. The constant emotional whiplash was unbearable. I hated her.
I hate her. I hate Katniss. I hate her for confusing me, for using my feelings to get what she wanted. She's just like my mother—selfish, cruel. My mother had a coldness that could freeze a heart, and Katniss, she's the same. Just another person who pretends to care, only to rip everything away when you least expect it. She's a bitch, just like my mother.
Crash!
The sound of something smashing against the wall jolted me from my spiraling thoughts. I hadn't even realized I threw something until I saw the broken lamp on the other side of the room. I looked down at my hands, now bruised from repeatedly striking the floor or the wall. Pain began to seep through, grounding me, and it was then that I realized what was happening. My vision blurred again, my breathing came in ragged bursts, and my heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst.
"Whoa," I muttered to myself, disoriented. Had I just compared Katniss and my mother? My hatred for how both women had treated me was strong but the love I felt for both was equally as such. I'm not the type to be this angry, to swear insults towards people I love.
I had fallen to the floor, and the room seemed to tilt around me. That's when I realized what just happened: I was having a dissociation episode.
When I get upset, scared, nervous, or severely stressed, I find myself leaning into dissociation, letting the numbness envelop me and my thoughts run wild. There's a strange relief in not feeling anything, just drifting through the haze. But once I come to, which doesn't always happen right away, the reality hits me—I'm on a dangerous path of self-destruction. Pain seems to be the only thing that brings me back to myself faster, and I wonder if my subconscious knows this, pushing me to hit something, though I still don't know what it was.
I made my way to the bathroom, my movements mechanical, and turned on the cold water. As it hit my open cuts and bruised knuckles, the stinging pain was sharp and relentless. I winced, each pinching sensation a harsh reminder of how far I'd gone. Sighing deeply, I knew I needed to reach out for help. This level of violence was too much, and I couldn't ignore it any longer. I needed to call my therapist.
I sat on the edge of my bed, wrapping my hand in gauze and tape, my mind still swirling as I stared at the door where the phone was. After I finished, I walked over to the kitchen and leaned against the island counter, crossing my legs for balance and hugging myself protectively. I dialed the number slowly, trying to soothe the frustration from my earlier outburst. As I waited for the call to connect, the phone rang with an annoyingly cheerful Capitol jingle. I rolled my eyes, already dreading the fact that this song would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.
"Dr. Aurelius's office, this is Mandy, how can I help you?" A bright, overly enthusiastic voice burst through the phone so loudly I had to pull it away from my ear. My reflection in the fridge showed my irritation clearly, despite my effort to stay calm.
"Hi, this is Peeta Mellark. I need to speak with Dr. Aurelius," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel my frustration seeping through.
There was a click, and for a moment, I thought she'd hung up on me. I stared at the phone, my brows furrowing in confusion. "What the fu—"
"Hello, Peeta! How are you? Our session isn't for another two weeks. Is everything okay?" A strong, calm male voice came through the phone. I shook my head in surprise and stumbled over my words.
"Oh—ye—hi, hello. I'm okay. Well, not really. I wouldn't be calling if I was okay, but I just... um, needed some help with something that just happened."
There was rustling and soft thuds on the other end. When I'd had video calls with him, he'd lean back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk, a habit that seemed more for his own comfort than for me or his other patients. "Sure, Peeta, what's going on?"
I took a deep breath and began to explain the "episode" I'd just experienced. I glossed over the cause, simply mentioning a mishap of emotions involving a girl. I described the tingling sensation, the blurred vision, and the destruction I didn't even remember committing. "It was just... so violent. I'm not usually like that," I admitted quietly, the memory of kicking over the code cart after Darius died flickering in my mind.
I heard the familiar sound of scribbling and erasing as he took notes. I had learned to be patient with him; he was meticulous about keeping accurate records. "Well, Peeta, it sounds like you're experiencing some dissociation episodes again. This one seems to have been more intense than usual. Did you try the palm tracing technique we discussed?"
I rolled my eyes. "I couldn't exactly calm down long enough to focus on my hands."
I heard more scribbling on the other end. "Well, let's try something different. You know the five senses, right?"
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yeah, I know them."
"Good. So, when you start to feel that tingling and like you're about to lose control, I want you to say out loud one thing you can see, one thing you can hear, one thing you can taste, one thing you can smell, and one thing you can feel. If it continues, just repeat the process with different objects or smells or tastes. This technique is called Reality Grounding with the 5 senses. It helps you stay anchored in the present and forces you to see things as they are, distracting you from what you're feeling. It also helps you realize that maybe what you're experiencing isn't as overwhelming or as real as you believe it to be. Why don't we try that, and then you can tell me how it worked at our session in two weeks?"
I fiddled with the cord of the phone, contemplating his suggestion. "Okay, I'll give it a try. I just... can't afford to get that violent again. Lamps aren't exactly cheap," I said, trying to keep the mood light despite the seriousness of the situation.
"Good! Okay, anything else you need from me or something you need to talk about?" Dr. Aurelius's voice was calm and attentive as he continued scribbling notes on his end.
I sat in thought, humming slightly as I considered my next question, terrified of his answer. "Do you think I could hurt someone in that state?"
There was a pause, and I could almost hear the weight of his consideration. "Peeta, I can't predict what might happen during episodes like that. You've been through a lot, and your career is incredibly demanding. But what I do know is that you help others out of a genuine desire to make a difference. That's something we don't see too often."
I let out a small, reflective sigh. "No, it's not something you see much anymore. Maybe the Mockingjay girl, but…" I trailed off, my gaze falling to my feet.
"Ah, yes, Ms. Everdeen. I've heard she hasn't been doing too well recently. I do hope she's recovering and that she'll start responding to my calls soon. I can't keep pretending to treat her forever." Dr. Aurelius's tone was thoughtful, but I couldn't help but feel he was hinting at something more.
I considered this, realizing he might be giving me a subtle hint about my "misunderstanding" with Katniss. Perhaps this was his way of showing me that she was struggling and just as confused about life as I was. "Peeta, you're a good person. I don't believe you'd let yourself hurt anyone. If you continue to catch yourself and use the grounding techniques, I think you're on the right path. Besides, that lamp probably had it coming," he added with a hint of humor.
I snorted and nod in agreeance, we said our goodbyes and I stood in my kitchen, leaning again on the island, thinking about what was said and unsaid. Was he trying to tell me to cut her some slack? That maybe this episode was truly unwarranted because of all she's been through, too? The guilt hits me like a train, and even though I truly didn't say anything or do anything to her that could make her upset, I felt guilty for being mad at her. She didn't have guidance, she didn't know how to ground herself or breathe through her tantrums. She knew to act on her impulses, to let loose but the second she did too much to pull it back, 0 to 100 in 2 seconds was her constant motor. How could anyone live like that?
My bed was calling me after the emotional drainage I endured left and all I could feel was exhaustion pulling at my feet, so I laid down and hugged my pillow, pretending it was someone else.
Did ya'll forreal think I was gonna let them off that easy? I'm planning on this to be a 50+ chapter story LOL, we're just getting started!
I felt I needed to add the concept that Katniss is still really struggling, and because Peetas good nature, hes going to only worry about himself if it hurts the ones around him. I'm not ready for Katniss to have a full on glow up in her personality, and to be more accepting and nurturing. I mean, who is at 20 lol. I wasnt. If you're kinda irked with Peeta being with other girls, plz just remember that this is an AU story with some mixed canon concepts! I plan to write a much more canon accurate (kinda hehe) fic after this one is done.
I wanted to note that the Reality Grounding technique is a real thing, and SUPER effective to those who suffer with anxiety. A friend of mine, when we were in high school taught me this trick, because she suffered with it trusted me to help her when she needed it. I would ask her the questions and soon enough she'd be okay. I also suffer from it, even now im my mid 20's, especially due to my career (yay go nursing), so this is something I do absent mindedly when im walking around or sitting some place new!
So to those who might resonate with Peeta's episodes of dissociation, anxiety, panic attacks, and PTSD, I'm here with ya, and I promise it gets better 3
Thank you for reading : ) plz comment, like and follow !