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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life to Live

Hi, so now we come to the end. The final two chapters. Thanks to everyone who’s been following this story. It can be read on AO3 too. My name is Kris22 there. As always, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” available on AO3 and Fanfiction. And thanks to Loueze for her encouragement and support. Chapter 37 By the time the television crew was due to arrive, Peeta and I were as convincingly in love as two people could possibly be. Of course, it was helped a great deal by the fact that we actually were. Even so, we were hardly looking forward to our private lives becoming public again and cameras following us around as we went about our daily routine. We worried about how intrusive it might be. Cressida had promised it would be tasteful, but the Capitol idea of tasteful can be very different from the districts. I was afraid that it might be like that show I once saw on television about a houseful of people under constant surveillance. They couldn’t even shower in privacy. Would it be like that for Peeta and me? Would they follow us into the bedroom? Expect us to perform? Our one consolation was that we’d be left alone once filming had ended and we vowed to ourselves that we’d do nothing newsworthy for the rest of our lives. The day came. The house had been cleaned and tidied. Everything was where it was supposed to be to reflect a couple who lived together as romantic partners. Buttercup was bathed and freshly groomed. I had the scratches to prove it. Peeta, always considerate, had baked an assortment of breads for the crew, although I told him he shouldn’t bother. At 7 am everything was in readiness. 10 am came and went. And then 11 am. At 2 pm we were still waiting. At 4 pm we wondered if we’d got our dates wrong. It was 6 pm when Haymitch finally got around to telling us. They weren’t coming. At all. The video Remus took had violated victor media protection. I had been filmed without my consent, wasn’t engaged in illegal activity and hadn’t voided my own protection by taking on a public role or seeking publicity. Plutarch knew this but gambled that in our ignorance, we could be coerced into co-operating. And once filming had started, our media protection was automatically revoked, since we had clearly consented to it. It took only one phone call from Haymitch to President Paylor to have it sorted. I suppose it’s of some consolation that Plutarch was severely reprimanded and threatened with dismissal. And that he was also out of pocket for the purchase of the video and pre-production costs. As for Haymitch, I couldn’t decide whether to thank him or kill him. He had certainly saved us from our lives being turned into a media circus for a second time but he’d let us have the worry of it for a whole week. Peeta calmed me down and reminded me that it had brought us together. Haymitch’s defense was that he was sick to death of our crap and wanted an end to it. He thought that a week of living together would get us sort out our differences and he was proven right. I argued that it would have happened anyway, although I had to concede probably not as quickly. With that in mind, I decided to let him live. The year rolls around. Peeta doesn’t move back into his house. It was never discussed; it was simply taken for granted. We keep busy. Peeta still works at the bakery as a specialist cake decorator. He’s a partner now. The sign above the new premises reads “Carter and Mellark Bakery and Patisserie.” I teach at the school and on weekends I hunt. Marcus wrote to ask if I was interested in culling pest species such as wild dog and feral pig. I jumped at it. It seems you can be a hunter and a conservationist. Haymitch works at the council and raises geese, which he does a pretty good job of considering he’s inebriated most of the time. We attend two weddings and one toasting. Arthur and Lace don’t wait long before they tie the knot, or to be more accurate, thread the needle. Predictably, it was the source of much hilarity for Max, who was also invited. At least he refrained from making jokes until after the ceremony. I enjoyed catching up with Sateen and her husband Roy. They have a little boy. They called him Felt. Poor kid. The second wedding was Octavia and Thom’s. Octavia made a beautiful bride with her rich auburn hair and fresh complexion. Venia’s fear that their past as prep team to the Games would jeopardize their position in 12 proved needless. Everyone knew who they were. They’d seen them on television. Flavius’s bright orange hair and Venia’s facial tattoos made them easily recognizable. But people had moved on. They were tired of holding onto resentments – especially for three harmless beauty therapists whose former “victim” still willingly availed herself of their services. The toasting was ours. One day, we just did it. There was no planning, no prior understanding that we’d have one. It was the middle of winter. We were snowed in and confined to the house. Peeta got a roaring fire going and we picnicked in front of it using odds and ends from the pantry. We had some stale bread to use up and toasted it by the fire. He’d hold the toasting fork with a piece of bread to the flames and offer it to me when it was done. The significance of it entered our heads at the very same moment. It was just a look followed by a kiss. Nothing needed to be said. One day we might make it official, but for us we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us. Johanna won the election for District 7 mayor. She’s kept very busy but we talk on the telephone regularly. She’s coming to visit 12 for a few days next month. Doubtless she’ll be as disruptive as ever. But sometimes we can use a little stirring up. That’s what Johanna says anyway. She takes full credit for getting Peeta and me back together and I can’t say she’s entirely wrong. And we had a visit from my mother! I had her possessions shipped to her home in District 4 and it seemed to have jolted something inside her, because soon after she was making plans to travel here. It was a short visit. She was nervous about coming here, of the memories it could evoke. But aside from the Village, there’s nothing left of the old Twelve. The debris from the bombs has long since been cleared away, new buildings have replaced the old, and the grass grows long and thick over the meadow. We had a long talk about her reasons for not joining me in Twelve after I’d been released from the Capitol. She feared being pulled down into a depression along with me. I understood. When you’re in the grip of it, you can see no way out. My mother, having recovered once, was deathly afraid that she wouldn’t recover a second time. And since misery feeds on misery, she would likely have only made mine worse. Peeta is somewhere in the house repairing the painting of the primrose he did for me. I don’t visit Prim in her room anymore except for that one time I when I wanted to tell her about my toasting with Peeta. She wasn’t there. She hasn’t been for a long time. It was then I realized that Prim doesn’t reside in any particular place. She’s with me every time I think of her. I took down the primrose painting from the top of the dresser. It belongs somewhere where I will see it every day. I had an idea for a book, similar to my family’s plant book. It’s to preserve the happy memories of the people we’ve lost. Lady licking Prim’s cheek, what Cinna could do with a length of silk. In my best handwriting, I carefully record all the details it would be a crime to forget and accompany it with a photo if we have one, or a sketch or painting by Peeta. There are photos of Finnick strewn across the dining table as I try to make my mind up on which one to use - a publicity shot that shows off Finnick’s sea-green eyes or a photo taken of himself and Annie at their wedding. “Katniss, I was looking for some kind of adhesive tape to fix the painting and I found this letter in one of the drawers in the study. It was addressed to me, so I opened it.” I look up, wondering what Peeta’s talking about. He holds the painting in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He leans the painting up against a wall and then pulls out one of the dining room chairs to sit across from me. He lays the letter down in front of him. I immediately recognize the handwriting on it as my own. It’s the first letter I wrote to him after the mayor’s party before I thought better of it and wrote a second. But not before putting it in an envelope and stuffing it in a drawer. I’d forgotten all about it. I try to snatch the letter away but he swiftly puts it out of my reach. “Dear Peeta,” he reads. “I’m writing to you because – ““You don’t have to read it. I know what’s in it,” I say. “Give it back.” I make another grab for it but he’s too fast. “. . . because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.” He stops reading and hands me the letter. I take it from him, refold it, and slip it beneath the memory book, hoping against hope, that this will prevent any more mention of it. “Did you really want to break off all contact with me?” he asks, frowning. “I didn’t think it ever got that bad. When? Why?” I sigh. Why didn’t I throw the damn letter out? “It was after the mayor’s party. I was very upset when I wrote it. And then I had second thoughts and wrote you another. That’s the one I slipped under your door. I’d forgotten about this one.” He gives his head a shake. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened that night. Not between us, anyway. Did someone say something? Was it Max?” His lips thin in anger. “That – “ “No,” I say quickly. “It was nothing Max did.” I let out a breath, and plough forward. “It was something you did. You and Lace. It was when you sneaked off to have sex.” There’s a moment of stunned silence. “What?” “You know what I mean. I saw it all. Well, not all, but I did see the two of disappear through those swinging double doors only the staff used. And when you came back, Lace’s hair was all mussed. And if you didn’t have sex exactly, it was something close. That was really tacky, Peeta. Civilized people have more decorum than to do that. Civilized people wait until they get home. Civilized people – “ “Katniss, we didn’t sneak off for sex. Cass invited me to see the kitchens once the dessert course was over. That’s where we went.” Oh. I guess that’s a reasonable explanation. But that dream had been so vivid. “Then why was Lace’s hair messed up?” “Was it? I don’t know. I don’t remember anything different about her. We went to see the kitchen, Cass showed us around, and then we came out. Nothing else happened.” “But it was sticking out,” I insist. I know what I saw. The scene plays again in my head. I was at the bar with Haymitch and Max, sampling shots of whisky and getting drunker and more agitated by the minute. Agonizing over what they could be doing. Kissing, fondling each other, maybe even fucking. “And then you didn’t even look to see if I was still there when you came back,” I add in a small pitiful voice. It sounds so pathetic, saying it aloud. It’s a trivial reason for cutting someone out of your life. Just because they didn’t look for you when they came into a room. But after everything, that’s what tipped it over for me. What finally made me give up hope and decide to end it. He reaches across the table to take one of my hands. “Katniss, look at me.” I turn my face away, and he gives my hand a tug. I reluctantly meet his gaze. His eyes look earnestly into mine. “I can’t explain the hair, okay? But I can tell you what I do remember about that night.” He pauses, as if waiting for my approval before he proceeds. I shrug. “Go ahead.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds. “You, looking so beautiful in your Cinna dress. And me, assailed by memories of other entrances and other gowns. Being dragged around by Lace from one boring conversation to another, unable to resist looking around to see what you were doing. And Max, who didn’t leave your side for a minute unless it was to get you another drink. I was jealous of him without knowing why but attributed it to a fear of losing your friendship.” He pauses and adds, “At the time, you didn’t seem very happy with me.”I feel a twinge of remorse. He’s right. I was often moody and distant with him. The tape viewings weren’t going as I wanted and I’d recently learned of a pattern book he was making for Lace, similar to my family’s plant book. “You seemed to be having such a good time together, at dinner and on the dance floor. So, when we came back into the ballroom, I just didn’t want to be reminded of it. I kept my head down and headed for the nearest group of people. And then I did my best not to think about you. I’m sorry. I hurt you and used Lace to hide from my feelings. But that’s the truth, awful as it is.” But not nearly as awful as what I’d convinced myself of. I don’t know what to say. I feel so foolish. So much anger and pain for something that existed only in my imagination. And I’d also assumed that Peeta’s willingness to help me with the Marcus thing was due, in some part, to either empathy or guilt for having being in a similar situation himself. “No, I’m the awful one for jumping to conclusions. I thought the worst. You’d never be so crass as to do something like that. I owe you an apology. I should never – “ “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, interrupting me before I can go further. “In fact, the opposite is true. You wouldn’t have thought it if I hadn’t given you reason to.” He reaches across for the memory book and flips through the pages we’ve done so far. My father. Peeta’s father. Boggs. It stops on Rue. Peeta has drawn her poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. There’s a reason why I asked him to portray her like this. It’s how I want to remember her. You can’t change the past, but you can bring the best of it into the future. “Let’s make a deal. Only good memories for us from now on. Like this book you’re working on.” He walks over to where I’m sitting to pull me out of my chair. “Now come show me where you want this painting hung.” I take him into the living room. It’s the room we use most and where I’ll see it every day. As I decide where to place it exactly, Peeta comes to stand at my back to hug me from behind. I lean back against his broad chest and luxuriate in the strong arms that encircle me. My dandelion in the spring. The lullaby that Prim liked as a baby comes to mind. Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them trueHere is the place where I love you. “I was thinking over the mantle? Or maybe on the far wall . . .” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 38 Lace’s story: what happened on the night of the mayor’s party. It wasn’t fair! This was supposed to have been her night. She had been looking forward to it for weeks ever since Peeta casually mentioned it on one of their date nights. The mayor’s inauguration party was to be the biggest social event in District 12 in living memory. All the important and influential people in the district would be there. For ambitious Lace, it was invaluable in terms of creating contacts and securing the kind of clientele that could afford to buy her evening wear, a design niche she wanted to develop. Besides, she dearly loved a party and she hadn’t been to one in ages. The last one had been the district party where she had met Peeta for the first time. He didn’t remember it though. That was fortunate since she had come to District 12 for a new life and a new identity and didn’t want her past in District 8 compromising it in any way. Since she was to be her best advertisement, she put a great deal of thought and effort into her gown. She hadn’t much money saved but she splurged the lot on pale yellow satin and then spent many hours making it up. The final touch was a trip to the salon to have her hair colored and styled. It was an extravagance, keeping up the hair color. But she loved it and it formed something of a disguise as it was subtly different from the typical ash brown of the natives of her home district. As she entered the ballroom, Lace felt she was at the beginning of an exciting new phase. After a slow start, her business had gained momentum and she was making a steady income. A few family members had also made the move to 12 which added to her sense of security. But best of all, was the man on whose arm she clung. How did she get so lucky? Peeta Mellark! Her teenage crush. The romantic heartthrob whose posters had adorned her bedroom wall. The boy she had married in her dreams every night. What a fortuitus twist of fate it had been that day when he came into her shop to have a coat made. A flirtation had led to a date at a restaurant and then another, until she could now, without exaggeration, call him her boyfriend! True, he wasn’t quite what she had expected. He seemed a bit aimless, and he liked activities she had outgrown, like hanging out at the ice-cream parlor and the swimming pool, but he was Peeta Mellark! And he really was so sweet and considerate with his little romantic gestures and compliments to her beauty. He told her she was a wonder. And the more she kissed and flattered and stroked, the more wonderful she became. It was a mutual admiration society that she was more than happy to live in. The one blot on her happiness was Katniss Everdeen. Lace had mixed feelings about meeting her. Katniss was intimidating. Her reputation as romantic heroine, fearless symbol of the Rebellion, skillful warrior and (privately thought by most of the populace) savior from another Snow, preceded her. But most intimidating of all was her relationship with Peeta. He talked about her all the time. Not in a romantic sense, it was true, but it was clear she occupied a great deal of his thoughts. The Games had been mandatory viewing and Lace, like everyone in Panem, had watched Peeta gaze at Katniss with love in his eyes. But Peeta had an explanation for that. It had been an illusion. He thought he had been in love with her, but it turned out that he was in love with his idea of her, rather than who she really is. But now he thought of her as very good friend with whom he shared an unbreakable bond. As for Katniss, well, she had never loved him. It had all been an act on her part. That should have been reassuring. And it was. Sort of. But Peeta had lost many of his memories and what was left was distorted, so how could he be certain? But what gave her most pause wasn’t Peeta. It was Katniss. It was clear at the first meeting that Katniss didn’t like her. Katniss wasn’t rude, but she was cool, even giving her the once over when they were first introduced. And when Lace and Peeta discussed a housewarming gift from the two of them for Lace’s brother, a shadow passed over Katniss’s face. It was subtle but unmistakable. Katniss wasn’t as disinterested in Peeta as Peeta made out. That’s why Lace gatecrashed the tape viewings. If there was anything going on, she wanted to know about it. She didn’t trust Katniss one inch. Unfortunately, the second of the tapes triggered the memory of a traumatic incident for Lace and she reacted hysterically. Peeta asked her not to attend anymore and she had no choice but to do as he said. However, despite Peeta watching video tape of hugs and kisses and romantic slow dancing at Capitol parties, nothing changed between herself and Peeta. If Peeta had ever loved Katniss, it appeared that he no longer did. Even Leevy’s revelations in the salon that day didn’t worry her for long. So what if the star-crossed lovers had been real? It still aligned with Peeta’s version. What had happened in the Games and during the tours was before Peeta had realized his true feelings for Katniss. And she’d already guessed that Katniss was in love with him. The party was everything Lace had dreamed of. So elegant. The women in evening gowns, the men in dinner suits. Waiters with silver trays laden with flutes of sparkling champagne. The tables resplendent with starched white tablecloths and napkins and gleaming cutlery. She turned to Peeta to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said. “You really are the best boyfriend.” He brushed her lips with his and gave her a fond smile. “Only because I have the best girlfriend,” he replied. She beamed and squeezed his arm. She could hardly recall a happier moment. And then Katniss Everdeen arrived. Lace’s practiced eye immediately recognized her gown as haute couture. Cinna, probably. Deep blue, the bodice studded thickly with diamonds – were they real? – with a strapless sweetheart neckline and more diamonds scattered on the skirt. It dazzled and Katniss dazzled with it. Luxuriant dark hair cascading down her back in loose curls. Smooth olive skin, fine features and those surprising eyes. Silvery gray, the colour of storm clouds. She had a man for each arm. The school teacher Max Matson, who all the girls agreed was very good looking if you could get past his personality, and – it couldn’t be – Arthur! Lace’s friend who adored her since they were children together. She knew he was coming tonight but not with her! She felt the arm beneath her fingers stiffen and her glance swiftly turned to his face. Peeta appeared stunned, his mouth gaping slightly. There was admiration, certainly, but also something darker and more sinister. Recognition. A memory, perhaps several, had resurfaced. Lace’s happiness dimmed as if a cloud had passed across the sun. But she rallied, pulling Peeta quickly along to greet the new mayor and his wife who were momentarily on their own. Lace was in her element. She was a natural networker. She loved to interact with people and was always searching for opportunities. Peeta seemed a little distracted though. Looking around, not quite keeping up with the conversation. She followed his gaze, and it led directly to Katniss Everdeen, who, no surprise, was looking directly at him. They both looked quickly away, but that was of no comfort. It was clear that they were on each other’s mind. Meanwhile, she was pleased to observe, Arthur had detached himself from Katniss and was busy working the room too. Now there was a man with get-up-and-go. He didn’t let his natural reserve get in the way of achieving his ambitions. Lace waved him over and he changed direction to come to her side. Soon they were talking business, a fascinating subject for them both. She didn’t notice how restless Peeta was during the exchange. Dinner was announced and everyone made their way to their allocated seats. Unfortunately, theirs was a dull table and not even Lace’s pearly laugh could liven it up. A burst of laughter from nearby grabbed her attention. Arthur and Haymitch seemed to be at the center of it. It caught Peeta’s attention too. He seemed envious, it appeared to Lace. But whether it was over the entertaining company or because Katniss was seated there too, she couldn’t tell. After the food had been served, people resumed their mingling, moving from table to table. Peeta wanted to talk to Katniss. Ordinarily, Lace wouldn’t feel particularly threatened by this. Over the preceding weeks, Peeta had confided to her that Katniss seemed uninterested in spending time with him unless it was watching the tapes. And even then, she often seemed angry with him. Lace immediately guessed the situation. Katniss had grown frustrated with Peeta. He hadn’t responded as she’d hoped and she was distancing herself as a form of self-protection. As long as this status quo was maintained, Lace felt safe. But after tonight, she wasn’t sure of anything. Lace demurred. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. Katniss appeared occupied and hadn’t he told her that she didn’t seem keen on his company lately? It was best to leave her alone. But Peeta said that they should, that it would look odd if they didn’t. So, when Max headed off in the direction of the bar, leaving Katniss on her own, Lace reluctantly let Peeta lead her to where Katniss sat. It was an awkward conversation. Lace embarrassed herself with her ignorance on what it meant to be a victor at the district parties and having to face the families of the dead tributes. Worse, she let it slip that she had been to a district party. Her story was that she’d been a factory worker in 8. Factory workers weren’t allowed to attend district parties. Fortunately, Peeta didn’t pick up on it, but Katniss appeared to sense that something was amiss. There was an awkward pause. Peeta broke the silence. “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he said to Lace, pretending to be annoyed. She had intended to stay at Peeta’s side, but perhaps it would be better to leave before she dug herself a deeper hole. “Okay, okay,” she said, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted. I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” There, that would show Katniss who’s really in charge and hopefully plant a seed that Peeta wasn’t exactly happy in her company either. She stroked his hand and kissed his cheek, enjoying her Svengali-like effect, knowing that his eyes would follow her as she walked away. She went to the ladies’ room as she said she would and did the usual things women do there. She wanted to get the timing right and was gratified to see Peeta waiting for her at their table when she returned. The dancing started up soon after and Lace pulled Peeta to his feet. She loved to dance. Peeta didn’t. His prosthetic leg made it a chore rather than a pleasure and he had faint memories of dancing at Capitol parties. But he wanted to be a good boyfriend, so up he got, and shuffled dutifully around the dancefloor with her. But then Katniss and Max came into view. Max had Katniss pulled tightly against him and he swung her around in a series of fancy turns, almost lifting her off her feet. They were making fools of themselves, thought Lace. That’s no way to behave at a formal event. So undignified! So tasteless! She turned to Peeta, expecting him to be as unimpressed as she, but his face was hard, giving away nothing. Suddenly, he put his head close to hers and whispered words in her ear. She nodded and followed him through the double swinging doors the staff used to bring food from the kitchen. It had been pre-arranged. Peeta had told her about it. Cass from the bakery was to show Peeta around the kitchens. He had never seen a commercial kitchen before. While he marveled at the long row of ovens, the walk-in freezer, the huge storage room, Lace could barely stifle her yawns. So boring, and it was fricking cold in there after the warmth of the ballroom. But she stuck a smile on her face and did her best to appear interested but she was hardly in the mood to hear about the merits of blast chillers when her heart was breaking. Somehow, she had to widen the gulf between Katniss and Peeta. She had to ensure that any fledgling signs of a possible reunion between them was snuffed out before it could begin. And then she had an idea. Just as they were about to re-enter the ballroom, Lace ruffled her carefully styled hair and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away some of the lipstick, smearing it a little. Let Katniss believe that she and Peeta had snuck away for some canoodling in a dark corner. Isn’t that what Peeta and Katniss did as star-crossed lovers? Sneaking off to be alone when they were at fancy events? It was in a fan magazine she’d read, anyway. With a bit of luck, Katniss’s mind would go straight there. She scanned the room and saw Katniss by the bar with Max and Haymitch. The hour was growing late and the crowd had thinned but there was a group of merry young people standing around nearby. She started to lead Peeta in their direction, but he seemed to have the same idea and led her. And when his arm went around her waist and he pressed a fond kiss to the crown of her head, relief flooded through her. Everything was as it should be. She turned in his arms slightly to look over his shoulder and managed to catch a glimpse of Katniss’s stricken but resolute face, just before her hasty exit with a startled Max close behind her. Satisfied, she leaned her head against Peeta’s shoulder and he squeezed her waist. She had worried over nothing. It was inevitable that as Peeta regained his memories they’d be focused on Katniss. They were, after all, the memories that Snow had meddled with. It didn’t mean that Peeta was wrong when he said his feelings for her had been an illusion. The real proof of who he loved was in who he chose to be with. And that was her, Lace Bomul from District 8.

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life to Live

Hi, here’s the latest chapter. Almost at the end. This is also on A03 and will be easier to read. I’m Kris22 over there. I’d link if I knew how. As always thanks for Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”. You can read it on AO3 and FanFiction. Chapter 36 “. . . and so Blake’s wedding was called off. And in the meantime, Celia’s been attending a therapy support group for sex addiction. They think it’s caused by a fear of emotional intimacy or something like that. I guess it’s because she’s been hurt. You know, by Blake. And that’s all I know. I haven’t watched it in a while.” “And who’s that guy?” Peeta asks. He’s referring to a man in overalls and a straw hat crouched in a field of what looks like withered lettuces. He appears to be examining the soil. “That’s Celia’s father, Mulch Chastely.” The camera zooms in and ominous music builds. His hands are stained with a black, greasy substance. “Oil!” he screams, as the music reaches a crescendo. He shakes his fist at the heavens. “The Knights will pay for this barbarous act! You’re a dead man, Rigger Knight!” Then it segues to Rigger Knight who is seated on the porch of the Knight family home as if in wait. Across his lap is a firearm. It looks like a bazooka. The scene ends with Mulch Chastely selecting a pitchfork from his arsenal of agricultural tools and marching with grim determination in the direction of the Knight property. Peeta bursts out laughing. I can’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it either. “I told you it was stupid,” I say.

Next, we’re in a large room, mostly empty except for a circle of nine chairs spaced at regular intervals. People start to trickle in and each of them takes a seat. Celia is among them, wearing denim trousers and a blue sweater, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looks tired and dejected. Last to arrive is a gaudily dressed middle-aged woman with bright yellow hair carrying a clipboard. She’s accompanied by a younger man in expensive sports clothes. When he sees Celia an expression of deep longing passes over his face. Celia doesn’t look up. The woman with the yellow hair starts the discussion. “Good afternoon, everyone. We’re in for a big, big session! We have new a member joining us. I know you’ll make him welcome. Blake, would you please introduce yourself and share with the group what’s brought you here today.”

Celia starts at the name and her eyes widen with shock. As Blake speaks, his gaze never leaves her face.

“My name is Blake Knight and I am an addict. My addiction is Celia Chastley. I was a goner from the moment I first laid eyes on her in her family’s orchard when were eleven years old. She became my best friend, my confidant, the object of my adolescent masturbatory fantasies and my great love. I didn’t understand you then, Celia, when you broke my heart when we were sixteen. That you were sacrificing your happiness for mine. That you recognized the impossibility of our situation when I did not. I shut my eyes and tried to forget you in the arms of another but I was deceiving myself. I was a coward – too afraid to confront the reality of my undying love for you. Please forgive me. Give me a chance and I will prove my constancy and devotion. To hell with our families. To hell with everything. Our love is the only thing that matters in this crazy world. Even now, as my father waits for yours to fall into his trap so he can shoot him dead and plead self-defense, our love will endure. Will you, Celia? Please say yes. I love you so much.” The other members of the group are transfixed, eyes darting between Celia and Blake in mounting expectation. Celia’s eyes are awash with tears. She lurches to her feet and throws herself into his arms. “Oh, Blake!” she cries, “If I have only one life to live, I want it to be with you.” They kiss. The group stands and cheers. It then goes to a commercial break for romantic getaways in District 4. I look at Peeta. He looks at me. It’s as if we’re each looking to the other for how to react. It was funny. So why aren’t we laughing? Plutarch’s words ring heavily in my ears, “You and Peeta are Celia and Blake.” “We’re really not like that, are we? “I ask. “I mean it’s so . . . dumb.” “No, not quite us, but there are a few things in common. What Blake said to Celia is pretty much what I’ve been trying to say to you.” “Oh.” I say nonplussed. Is that what he’s been doing? “Um . . . which parts?” Peeta shifts closer to me on the sofa so that our thighs are touching. “Adolescent masturbatory fantasies.” I pull back, frowning, hot words ready on my lips.

He nudges my shoulder with his. “It’s a joke. Well, actually not quite a joke. You did feature in them quite a lot. But I was Blake. Going around with my eyes shut, too scared to open them in case I remembered how much I love you and then to find out that you didn’t love me back.” “You love me?” I don’t dare look at him. It’s been an impossibility for such a long time, I can scarcely believe it. He was engaged to marry another woman not so very long ago. How can this have happened so quickly? “Since when?” I ask dubiously. If he was expecting a more positive reaction, he doesn’t show it. He takes one of my hands in both of his. “Since I was five years old and you stood up in music assembly to sing the valley song.” I attempt to pull my hand back but he keeps it in a firm grip. He can’t just whitewash the past two years like that. Lace happened. “Then what has Lace been about then? She was just a figment of my imagination?” “No. She was more like a figment of my imagination. I don’t want to discount what I had with her. She’s been a good friend and I’ll always be grateful but a lot of what I felt for her wasn’t real. I’ve gone over this with Dr Aurelius, to make sense of it. She was a coping mechanism in the same way my reluctance to deal with my past was also a coping mechanism. I could give her the feelings I didn’t think you wanted. So, she was sort of you, in a way. I didn’t exactly have a high opinion of myself then either and she didn’t hold back on telling me how wonderful she thought I was. I think I just wanted to make myself feel better.”

Sort of like a rebound then. I want to believe him, I really do. He’s turned to sit sideways, our knees touching, his face close to mine. I look at him beneath my lashes. He’s watching me carefully, with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Everything that I’m feeling. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. Be honest. “I’m scared. What if what you’re feeling now isn’t real either?’ “I’m scared too. Scared you’ll reject me and there’ll never be another chance. Katniss, I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” I turn away momentarily to collect my thoughts. As I do, the television screen comes into my field of vision. Rigger Knight fires the bazooka at Mulch Chastely. It misses his head by inches and zooms past to hit one of the oil rigs in the distance. It explodes into flames and sets off a chain reaction until every one of the oil rigs is a massive ball of fire and thick black smoke. Mulch’s face is a picture of glee until the billowing smoke is picked up by the wind and headed over the border towards his prized apple orchard. The drama hasn’t ended for Celia and Blake. And I know it hasn’t for Peeta and me either. We still have things to work through. And there’s also the television special and whatever fallout there might be. But at least we can do it together.

I let out a breath. “Okay.” “Is that yes?” “Yes,” I answer, more firmly this time. We both lean in and meet somewhere in the middle. A slow, getting-to-know-you-all-over-again kiss. Soft, tender, shy. This is real. Not a daydream, not the reliving of a cherished memory, but real. In between kisses he tells me he loves me. And when I get the chance, I tell him I love him too. Somehow, I end up lying on the couch with him half on top of me. The kisses have long ceased to satisfy either of us. My t-shirt and bra are hitched around my neck, the nipples wet from where he’s sucked on them, and there’s something iron-hard pressing into my lower belly. “I think we should have an early night,” he murmurs into my ear. “I think you’re right.” Our first time together should definitely not be on the couch. The television is still blaring and I grapple for the remote to turn it off but not before catching a glimpse of Celia and Blake writhing like eels on a bed with red satin sheets. We make our way upstairs and down the hall without touching but immediately upon entering the bedroom we fall on each other and start peeling off each other’s clothes. There’s a struggle pulling off my slim-fitting trousers and he grumbles that I shouldn’t have changed out of my dress. I fall backwards onto the bed and then, with a final tug, my trousers with underwear still inside them, are sent flying. I close my eyes and put out my arms hungry to feel his warmth and weight along the full length of my body. But instead, my foot is lifted high into the air and kisses trailed down my leg until he gets to the juncture of my thighs. The first brush of his tongue is a jolt of electricity, the final one a lightning bolt. “Oh,” I say, when I eventually come down. I hold out my arms and he’s inside me, filling a space so completely, so perfectly, I didn’t know there had been a void until now. Nothing has ever felt so right. When we fall, it’s within seconds of each other. We share a slow, lazy kiss before he rolls onto his back and I nestle into the cradle of his arms. My head rests against his chest, the strong and steady beat of his heart in my ear, and it feels like home. I wake before he does. He’s on his back, his face relaxed in sleep. I rise up on one elbow to watch him. The long lashes resting against his cheeks, the curve of his lips. It seems such a miracle that he’s here, in my bed, and that he loves me. I was convinced he was lost to me forever. That by this time, he’d be in his own bed, in his own house, with Lace beside him as his wife. And I would be . . . Well, I don’t know where I’d be. I don’t think I could have stood living across from them for very long. So probably searching for someplace else to live like I once planned to. Certainly not having dinners with them, or having Lace drop by for neighborly chats. I still don’t really know why the wedding was called off. That they both lied is the only explanation I’ve been given. Lied about what? I should ask him. And other questions I have too.

I put out my hand to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead and it’s seized and brought to his lips. “How long have you been awake?” “Not long. I didn’t want to interrupt. Do I pass?” “With flying colors,” I say, and lean down to give him a kiss. His arms go around me and I’m rolled onto my back. The kiss goes on for a long time.

“We should start getting ready for work,” I say, although I make no effort to get up. “Not yet,” he says. And he says it again when we take a shower together. There’s no sign of Haymitch at breakfast. Probably slept in after the excitement of last night’s episode of “One Life to Live.” But we figure that now that we’re genuinely in love, no one needs to tell us how to act. So, we walk into town together as we’re inclined to do anyway, and then meet for lunch again at the park near the school as it’s conveniently situated for both of us. Haymitch is nowhere to be seen at dinnertime either. We delay eating for half an hour in case he turns up but after checking first to see if he’s home – the lights at his house are on – we conclude that he’s decided to leave us alone from now on, and start eating. And delicious it is too. Roast pork with crackling to die for. I guess I’m just a carnivore at heart. Following dinner, we sit down to watch some television. One channel is covering the mayoral elections in 7. Johanna is well ahead in the count and early predictions are that she’ll win by a landslide. Then Peeta flicks between cooking shows. I don’t care what we watch. I lie back on the sofa with my head on the armrest and my feet in Peeta’s lap. I love having my feet and calves rubbed so much, I think it’s almost as good as sex. Later, in bed, I decide that it’s not even close. I am blissed-out, and still tingling from our love-making. I stretch voluptuously, like a cat, bury my face into his neck and sigh, perfectly content. His free hand plays with my hair, gently combing out the tangles. If I could freeze the moment, I would. So, I guess it makes it an odd time to ask the questions I want answers to. But on the other hand, maybe there’ll never be a better.

“Peeta, can I ask you some things?” “Sure.” “Why did you and Lace break up? Was it because she lied about her background?” His hand stills for a moment before going back to my hair. “No, it wasn’t that. I mean, I was disappointed she hadn’t told me herself and angry that everyone seemed to know before I did, but it’s not what broke us up. You remember when I said that what I felt for Lace wasn’t real?” I nod against his chest. “I’d been having doubts for a while – almost soon after we got engaged actually – but after that night I couldn’t ignore it any longer. It was seeing you with Marcus that did it. It wasn’t the first time I’d been jealous. I was jealous over Max, even Arthur, but I’d put it down to being possessive over a friend. But Marcus – it was Gale all over again. He was so obviously in to you and you seemed to like him too. And he loved nature, as you do, and you went into the woods together, and he had both his legs and wasn’t a mental nutcase. And then to see you walk away with him, with his arm around you, upset over something I had done, when I’m the one who should protect you . . .

“As for Lace, I’d almost forgotten she was there. And when I did get around to remembering, she was sobbing her heart out to Arthur. She’d seemed to have forgotten about me too.” There’s another pause and a snort of irritation. “And that Max! “ “What about Max?” I ask warily.

“It was like he was selling tickets to a sideshow. Shrugging his shoulders and gesturing to anyone watching. I don’t know how you tolerate him.” “It has it’s challenges,” I say carefully. “But he does have his good points. They’re just not immediately apparent.” And isn’t that the truth. I recall our first encounters and how much he annoyed me. Still does.

I think I’m starting to get an understanding of Peeta’s relationship with Lace having gone through something similar with Marcus. Desperately in need of affirmation. To feel worthy of love and acceptance. And something, anything, to dull the pain of rejection – either real or imagined – in the arms of another. At least I can take comfort in that there were no hurt feelings when it ended for Marcus and me. “What about Lace?” I ask. “How did she take it?” Peeta gives a short laugh. “She was as relieved to be out of it as I was. While I’d been projecting an image on to her, she’d been doing the same to me. In her case, the celebrity she’d seen and fallen in love with on television. And then she said she realized that she had feelings for Arthur. I doubt she’d admit it, but I think Johanna’s flirting that night had a lot to do with it.” I smile to myself imagining Johanna’s satisfaction that her scheme had worked. She’s pretty people-smart, when you think on it. A useful attribute for a politician to have. “But you didn’t break up straight away.” Peeta was still wearing the ring Lace had given him the day he called around to apologise for yelling at me and to give me cookies. “That’s because neither of us wanted to be the first to tell the other they’d made a mistake. But once it was said, it all came tumbling out. Whatever we once had was gone except maybe friendship and a few superficial things we had in common. A marriage wouldn’t have lasted long.”

Another thing that Johanna had got right. Trying too hard, she called it. It makes sense in retrospect. As doubts surfaced, so would efforts to alleviate it in the form of frequent and overt shows of affection and more money thrown at the wedding, as if a lavish display of either could cover the deepening cracks. One thing puzzles me, though. “Why were you so upset when it ended, then? Johanna told me about the flashbacks.” “I was upset over a lot of things. All that money wasted, feeling like a fool for letting it get that far, but mostly I was upset over you. I thought I had ruined any chance I might have had. And I had no one to blame but myself.” I feel a stirring of guilt. There was someone else to blame. And that was me. I ran hot and cold, giving mixed messages of my own. I could have been more open with him. Risked rejection, see where it led. Because I couldn’t really be certain of anything until I did. And I was the one who put it into his head that Lace was his girlfriend. And that he should marry her. I open my mouth to contradict him but Peeta starts speaking again. “You and Marcus were so cozy that night at the pub, holding hands on the way into town and then making plans for a weekend in the woods together. I just couldn’t get it out of my head, imagining what the two of you were up to. That’s what triggered the attacks. It was jealousy, pure and simple. The same emotion the Capitol worked on to get me to hate you. And after they were brought under control, there was still despair and self-loathing to contend with. How could I have been so blind and stupid?” “I – “

“And then having to watch those tapes. I didn’t want to. I knew the “to be watched with Katniss” label could only have meant two things. It was either confirmation that you’d never loved me, or confirmation that you had, which actually would have been worse, since I’d messed things up so spectacularly.” My mind goes back to that day. Peeta at the door, looking harried and nervous. That speech about us trying for friendship. It’s obvious to me now that he made it because he thought that’s what I wanted. His careful examination of any nuances that would give at least some hope that he was wrong. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’ve messed up too. You’ve no idea. I don’t know why you just didn’t leave me to my fate after seeing that video of Marcus and me. I wouldn’t have blamed you. Wanted you to, actually. Weren’t you . . . you know, disgusted?” He pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head. “No. Why should I be, after what I’ve done?” My body stiffens at the implication. That’s right. He’s been in the same situation, only he was lucky enough not to be caught. He’s talking about what he got up to with Lace. The Mayor’s party. When he fucked Miss Facelicker up against a wall. Hot jealousy surges through my veins and it takes all my self-control to squash it down. It’s hardly reasonable is it, for me to feel this way? Not when I practically did the same thing. “Weren’t you even jealous?” I ask. That would make me feel a little better if he had. “Katniss, all that concerned me was that you were in trouble and how I could help.” His arms tighten around me. “I want to protect you, keep you safe. And in some way, begin to make up for the poor job I’ve done of it lately. I just wanted you back. There was simply no room for a petty emotion like jealousy.” Instantly, I’m ashamed of myself. Peeta has always been better than all of us. “You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him.” They were Haymitch’s words, and so true. “Besides,” says Peeta, “You didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself. And who would? Being pounded into against a hard surface like that.” Not jealous, huh? So that’s what he was doing when he kept watching that tape over and over. He was actually studying my facial expressions and taking comfort that I didn’t seem to be having a good time. As if Lace would have enjoyed being whisked into a dark corner on an important night of her life to have her new gown pushed up around her waist and thrust repeatedly into against a hard wall. But I say nothing. At some point you do have to put aside the negativity and move forward or you might as well give it up right now.

But one more question. I’ll always wonder about it if I don’t ask. “Would it have made any difference if I’d told you how I feel about you? You know, when you were going out with Lace? Or before?” There’s a long silence. I wait nervously for the answer. Please say it wouldn’t. Please say it wouldn’t. “It might have. I don’t know. I guess it would have depended on the timing. My mind was so stuck on the impossibility of you loving me, that I might not have heard it. Or not believed it if I had. But it could have changed the trajectory and ended my relationship with Lace sooner.”

Haymitch kept nagging me to. I should have listened to him. Taken that risk and kept on trying until Peeta understood. But then, how could I have known? And when would have been the right moment? Sometime before the marriage proposal, it seems. But not before he’d slept with her and banned me from using his guest room at night. And wasn’t it these two things that had crossed a line for me? There was no going back for us after that. It had changed our relationship irrevocably and we had to come back as two different people. That’s what Arthur said about Celia and Blake. And there was something Max had said too. That if they did get back together, they’d need to bring the same level of experience to it. Celia had to, at least, try another relationship, otherwise Blake would always be the one who’d broken faith and she’d be the one who hadn’t spread her wings while she had the chance. Marcus had to happen. I can’t regret that. Not only because it would betray what we had, but because I would always wonder what it’s like to be with someone not Peeta, when he’s been with someone not me, and possibly resented him for it. “I did tell you this one time. That I love you, I mean. It was when you started to get serious about Lace. We were sitting on your back porch and we got to talking about her. I kept coming up with reasons for why you should be careful of her but what I really wanted was for you to stop seeing her and to notice me. And then I decided to just come straight out and tell you how I felt. But you misunderstood my meaning and said I was like your family and what you needed from me was to accept her. That’s why I never said it again. It hurt so much to hear it the first time, that I didn’t want to risk hearing it again when there was no sign that you’d changed your mind. But I should have. Kept trying. Maybe – “ Peeta doesn’t let me finish. “And maybe I should have faced my demons instead of running from them. And maybe I should have asked about the blanks in my memories instead of filling the spaces with what I thought I knew. And maybe I should have told you of my feelings for you once I became aware of them. And maybe I should have ended my relationship with Lace when I started having doubts. I think if we added up all the ‘maybes’ they’d be mostly on my side. I don’t blame you for any of what happened. It all started with me.” I shake my head. “That’s not true. It started with Snow. That’s where the real blame lies.” We lapse into silence for a few moments. “I wish . . .” I begin. He brushes a tendril of hair from my forehead. “What do you wish?”

I sigh deeply. “That it could have been different. That there’d been no Lace. Or a Marcus. That when you came back from the Capitol there was only the two of us, growing back together. It seems to me that’s the way it was meant to be but somehow it got all messed up.” “Yeah, me too. But we’re together now. That’s what matters.” “I would have liked, at least, for us to have had our first time with each other. I feel like we’ve missed out on something special. We should have . . . before. You know, before we went into the Quell.” There’s a long pause. “Didn’t we?” “No.” “Well, I just thought . . . are you sure?” “Peeta, I would remember something like that. We didn’t. Why would you think that?” “I don’t know. I just thought we did. I remember make-up and showering or something and it was in your room.” “That would have been the night before we went into the arena. After the interviews. But all we did was sleep.” “Oh. I guess I must have imagined it then. There are still memories I can’t be sure of but this one seemed so real.” I pull his face down to mine. “This is what’s real.” I give him a long kiss and then settle back into the crook of his arm. But before I drift off to sleep, my thoughts go to that night before the Quell. I recall pulling Peeta into my room and a state between wakefulness and sleep. But between times is a complete blank. I don’t remember showering for instance. Or Peeta showering. Or of us getting into bed. But we must have. Without thinking, I press my hand to my left temple. Right on the spot where Johanna hit me with the coil of wire. There’s no pain anymore, but the memories swirl just as they did then as I try to sort out what is true and what is false. Maybe . . . maybe, it happened? Peeta and I were very familiar with each other with those kisses on the beach for people who had, up until then, only shared chaste kisses. And it didn’t hurt at all that first time with Marcus. But I just don’t see how I could forget. I roll over onto my other side and Peeta rolls with me, cradling my back. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and dream of seventeen-year-old Katniss and Peeta and their very first time.

Addendum. The following excerpt was discovered among notes made by Katniss Everdeen for her memoir on the Hunger Games and her role in the Rebellion. For reasons unknown, it was not included in the final draft. Historians have speculated that the omission could be due to a number of factors: that it lacked relevance to the central theme of war and oppression, that it was too personal in nature, or because the prose resembles that of a particularly bad romance novel. It is also notable for the difference in point of view narrative from first person to third person. Various theories have been put forward. Does this suggest the introduction of a fantasy element, that this is what author would have liked to have occurred? Or is it due to prudishness on the author’s part? As a teenager, Katniss Everdeen had a reputation for purity. Her memoirs, written when she was in her mid to late thirties, take on the language and tone of the adolescent she was at the time the action takes place. Could this be teenage Katniss distancing herself from her burgeoning sexuality? Evidence to support this is her account of the famous “kisses on the beach” which, in her memoir, was confined to prolonged kissing but in actuality was more akin to heavy petting. In addition, is her tendency to cloak feelings of sexual arousal behind euphemisms such as “that thing,” “a stirring inside my chest,” and kisses that don’t satisfy.

Contentious, but also worthy of consideration, is hijacked Peeta Mellark’s insinuation that more happened on those “nights on the train” than Katniss Everdeen admitted to. Was the accusation simply an attempt to embarrass her in front of her friends, or was this the resurfacing of a genuine memory? Eminent psychiatrist Dr Lucius Aurelius, a descendant of Dr Gaius Aurelius, the same psychiatrist who treated Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, proposed that Mellark had confused adolescent masturbatory fantasies with reality as a form of wish fulfillment. At the time, he had great difficulty discerning the real from the not real. However, it should be noted, that this recollection, no matter how nebulous, is given greater credence by Everdeen’s own telling of this one event. From “Catching Fire” the second volume of the trilogy “The Hunger Games.” The omitted passages are in italics. We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the make-up and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. She showers first and while he is in the bathroom, she searches for something he can change into. “This might fit,” she says, holding up a voluminous nightgown with a ruffled high neck. “It won’t fit across the shoulders,” he replies. “Maybe a robe?” She retrieves her discarded robe from the floor and hands it to him. Aside from being too tight around the arms, the front edges don’t come together. “Perhaps you could wear it backwards,” she suggests. “Like a hospital gown.” “That could work,” he says with a wry smile, “Except my backside will be hanging out. I’ll just wear the towel and hope it stays put during the night.”

“It won’t. Look, I’ve seen you almost naked before and you didn’t care about me seeing you then. Don’t wear anything. I don’t mind. I’ll even sleep naked too so it doesn’t seem so strange. I often sleep with nothing on anyway,” she says with a nonchalance she’s far from feeling. She hasn’t forgotten the naked Johanna in the lift or his laughter at her reaction and her so-called “purity”. She’ll show him she’s neither pure nor has a problem with nakedness, either his or her own. She starts to lift the hem of her nightgown but drops it again. “I’ll just turn the lights out,” she says. They get into bed. She lays her head against his chest as she always does and his arms go around her. But the skin-on-skin contact evokes sensations previously not felt before. Her breasts are flattened against his side and she’s conscious of her bare pubis, recently divested of its hair, pressed against his hip. The sensation builds and demands some kind of release. In an attempt to alleviate it, she moves onto her back, and as she does, she inadvertently lowers her arm and it brushes against the tip of something long and hard.

He gasps and tries to twist away from her. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean – “ “It’s all right,” she says quickly. “That happens to boys, doesn’t it? I’m not offended, really.” She had known about, and ignored, other times in bed together when his body had acted without his permission. And this time, with her lying naked next to him, she would have been more offended if his body hadn’t reacted. “Please stay,” she says. “I need you to hold me. I don’t care about that.” He lies back down and she lays her head on his chest but it’s impossible to relax. All her senses are heightened and she’s acutely aware of a corresponding tension in his body. How are they to sleep? And they so need to sleep, tonight of all nights. Who knows when they’ll be able to sleep next? Maybe if they. . .? She agonizes over it, uncertain of what to do. Her experience at this kind of thing is almost non-existent. The most she’d ever done is kissing, and the most she’d ever felt before is a stirring inside her chest. And then to make the first move? She knows it will have to be her because she’s certain that he won’t. He doesn’t even kiss her unless there’s a camera or someone around to witness it. She can guess why. It’s because he’s not sure of her. He doesn’t want what happened before to happen again. Very gradually, she lowers her arm again, over his ribs, over his taut abdomen. There’s an intake of breath and she can feel the rigidity of his muscles. Lower goes the arm until it glances against that thing again. With almost certain death in the arena perhaps only hours away, this might be her last chance to engage with one. She gathers her courage and puts out a timorous hand to encircle its girth and is amazed at how soft it is over the steel. He moans but makes no attempt to take her hand away. She’s unsure how to proceed and moves her hand gently up and down the shaft. She doesn’t want to hurt him. He puts out a hand to encircle hers, tightens her grip and gives a firm tug. He takes his hand away and, taking his cue, discovers that the tighter and faster she employs her hand, the more intensely he reacts to it, until there’s a series of shudders and a viscous liquid spurts out over her hand. She discretely wipes it on the sheet. “Thank you,” he says, and kisses her softly on the lips. Then, shyly, “Would it be okay if I touched you?” “Yes,” she breathes. She moves onto her back and opens her limbs. Reverently, he starts at her shoulder, trailing his fingers down to her ribs, skirting her breast, and then back up, cupping it fully, thumb brushing against the nipple. A pulse beats insistently between her legs and she shivers.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“Mm,” she murmurs. She parts her legs a little more in anticipation, willing him to take his exploration there next. But he takes his time, skimming the curve of her waist and then her hip and inner thigh, perhaps hesitant, perhaps teasing. Either way it gives rise to the most exquisite torture. Please, please, she silently begs. And then his fingertips softly trace the line of her sex, pressing deeper between the slippery folds, finding first a cavity into which he inserts a gentle finger, and then higher up, encountering a hard little nub that elicits the most intense of sensory delights. “Oh,” she cries, and with that small word she eloquently conveys the place where he should focus his attention. With the lightest touch, he strokes and circles, keenly attune to how her body reacts to him. He covers her mouth with his own as she hurtles towards the pinnacle, and with one delicate flick of his finger, she tumbles down, down, down into an abyss of the purest pleasure. “That was amazing,” she says between kisses and he smiles against her mouth. He’s half lying across her, and she becomes aware of that long hard thing again. It’s seemingly sprung back to life. She takes it in her hand feeling its weight and length, and thinks, “This should be inside me.” She turns towards him and guides him between her legs. He needs no further encouragement. Lying fully over her now, he presses his hardness at her entrance and she tenses at the unfamiliar intrusion. “You need to relax,” he tells her. She nods and turns her attention to loosening her muscles and more of him glides in. There’s a kind of burning, but not too unpleasant. A final push and he’s all the way in. He moves slowly at first, but then, seemingly overcome with passion, and with a few vigorous thrusts, he finds his release and collapses on top of her, panting against her neck. She kisses his brow and brushes back his damp hair.

“Sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t – “ “It’s okay. There’ll be . . .” she starts to say but then stops. By this time tomorrow, one or both of them could be dead and there will be no other times. She begins again. “I’m glad I did it. And with you.” He kisses her and moves onto his back. His arm is around her shoulders and she rests her head against his chest. “I love you,” he says. She doesn’t say it back. It doesn’t seem the right time, somehow. But she takes his hand and kisses it. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” I answer.

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life to Live

Here’s the latest chapter. Thanks to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.” It can be found on A03 as this can too (under Kris22). Thanks for reading. Chapter 35 I wake to bright sunshine and the citrusy perfume of evening primrose wafting in from the open window. Such a lovely dream I had last night. I was following Prim through the woods and the further she took me, the happier I became, even though we never arrived at any place. But then I remember my current predicament and my spirits plummet again. I turn to face Peeta, expecting to see him, but he’s not here. The only sign that he was in my bed last night is the impression his head made on the pillow close to my own. Somehow, we both seemed to have gravitated to the middle of the bed during the night. From downstairs I hear movement and two voices in conversation. That could only be Peeta and Haymitch. No one else would be in the Village and in my house at this hour. The clock by the bed tells me I have an hour before it’s time to leave for work. I use most of it to shower and dress. I don’t want to face either of them just yet. They’ll only talk strategy. Haymitch seems to have relished getting back into his old mentor role which is odd, because he hated it when he actually was one. As for Peeta, I haven’t seen him like this since the Quarter Quell when he had us all training like careers. There’s the same energy and focus. It’s as if he’s determined to get me home a third time. Only this time his reasons are . . . well, I don’t know what his reasons are but it is good to see him back to his old self. I should make an effort to stop being so sulky and disagreeable around him. It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me anymore and he is doing me a huge favor at risk to himself. As soon as I see the food laid out on the table, I wish I had come down earlier. Peeta has cooked my favorite breakfast of sausages, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice and hot chocolate. I tuck in, ignoring Haymitch’s scowl. It’s my house. I’ll come down when I want to. “We keep to the schedule as planned,” says Haymitch. “And it goes without saying – “ “Stay in love,” Peeta and I say in unison. “And don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Haymitch adds. “That’s what the public is used to seeing from you. This isn’t an old settled relationship. Or a continuation of one. It’s brand new. You want to avoid any talk that this has been going on behind Lace’s back and it’s why the wedding was called off. After the cameras are gone, you still have to live amongst these people. No one likes a cheater.” “It won’t be a problem,” says Peeta, as he starts to clear away the dishes. I grab the plate with the potatoes before he takes it. “It actually works out well. Lace was worried that people might think the same of her and Arthur if their relationship became public too soon. But if she and I both have partners, they’re far less likely to think that one of us had cheated on the other. I’ll let her know sometime today that Katniss and I are together.” I bet that will shock her. After all his talk of me being an illusion, he’d better have a convincing excuse for why he’s changed his mind. But at least I know that he’s aware that Lace is with Arthur now. What’s most surprising though, is that he doesn’t seem upset about it. And they’re still talking to each other. On Haymitch’s advice, we take the most public route into work so as to be seen by the maximum number of people. That takes us through the main street past Lace’s shop. I catch a glimpse of her through the window sorting through fabrics. She has her back to us. The shop next door is vacant but there’s carpentry in progress, probably for new fittings for Arthur when he moves in. We turn down a side street and pass by Arthur’s shop. He’s opened early as usual. I don’t see him but I know he’ll be hard at work, saving for that factory he plans to own one day. The salon is closed at this hour but I spy Flavius at the front desk, head down, consulting the appointment book. He raises his head as we walk by. I move closer to Peeta and rise on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before giving Flavius a wave. The news will be all over town by the end of the day. We meet for lunch at the small park adjacent to the school. It’s a hot day but the old oak tree provides plentiful shade. We eschew the bench seat and sit on the grass because it looks more romantic that way. I kick off my shoes to cool my feet and smooth out the folds of my dress. It’s the sunset dress that Peeta likes. It just happened to be the first thing on hand when I reached into my closet this morning. Peeta has brought us food from the bakery. He holds out in each hand a white paper bag with the Carter logo on it. “Beef or chicken?” “Um . . . beef,” I say. Peeta hands me one of the bags and keeps the other. It’s not a pie but a sandwich with layers of thinly sliced roast beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato and some kind of sauce. I take my first bite and moan appreciatively. This might just overtake cheese buns for me. “Since when did the bakery sell sandwiches?” I ask. “Since last week. And coffee and other beverages too. It’s an experiment, to see how well it does. In the Capitol, the bakery also functioned as a café, with indoor seating. It will mean moving to larger premises but it might be needed anyway. Did I tell you we’re getting cake orders from as far away as the Capitol now? The one I did for Cressida’s wedding seems to have started it.” “That’s great, Peeta,” I say, genuinely happy for him. But then a terrible thought occurs to me. Cass told me that Peeta could get work anywhere. What if he leaves 12 for the Capitol for bigger opportunities? I’m suddenly consumed with fear. I don’t want him to go. “I’ve also been offered a fourth share partnership in the business too, along with Julius, Cass and Cornelia,” he adds, his face alight with enthusiasm. “They want to keep you,” I say. “Probably,” he concedes. “But there’s more to it than that. We’re more than just coworkers. I feel disloyal saying this and no one could ever replace them, but in a way, it’s like having my brothers back. And Cornelia is the woman one of them might have married. Does that sound bad?” “Not at all,” I say, thinking of Johanna and how she’s like a sister to me. Loved ones can’t be replaced but it doesn’t mean your circle can’t expand to include others. “I suppose you won’t be opening a bakery of your own any time soon then? Wasn’t that one of the plans you made with Lace?” Peeta gives a short, self-depreciating laugh. “That was never going to happen. Responsible for running a bakery? Ugh! I like what I’m doing now, decorating cakes and leaving the management side of it to others. I think we just chose what we thought the other expected of us, not what we actually wanted for ourselves. Lace would never have been happy giving up her shop to work from home. She’s worked too hard for it. And five kids? At this stage of my life, I’m not even sure about one.” “Really?” I ask. That was the only part of it that made any sense to me – that Peeta would want a large family. “I thought you’d like to have children.” From the school grounds nearby, I can hear the shrieks and laughter of children at play. It wasn’t long ago that the mere thought of having to teach Peeta and Lace’s children had filled me with dread. I was sure that if it was Peeta’s choice, they’d have had them straight off. “One day, perhaps,” he says. “But I want to be in a better place than I am right now. You know, with the attacks and everything. And we’re only twenty. There’s plenty of time.” Twenty-one. Lace is twenty-one. “You?” he asks. “Oh, um, the same as you, I guess,” I say, surprised to have the question turned back on me. “I’ll think about it when the time comes. But for the moment, no. I want to see how things turn out. With the new government, I mean. Whether the peace lasts.” I want to be certain the Games will never return before I’m be ready to bring children into the world. “I meant more general that that,” he says. “How do you see your future? What do you want to do?” I take a moment to think about it. My future isn’t something I’ve given much thought to other than in terms of what I can’t do because of my confinement. But it dawns on me that even if had the choice to live wherever I wanted, I’d still choose Twelve. It’s my home and the people and places I love are here. “Keep on teaching, I suppose, and finish getting my qualifications. Mr Matson suggested I could teach archery to the older students. So maybe I’ll do that. I doubt there’ll be much hunting once the woods officially become national park so it seems a good compromise. I can continue to use my skills and pass them on at the same time.” “Sounds perfect,” says Peeta, smiling at me. We go back to eating our lunch. I see a few people walking past on the opposite side of the road but foot traffic around here is thin and sporadic. It’s an out-of-the-way place to be seen but Haymitch’s rationale is that we can’t just frequent the popular places because that would cause suspicion in itself. We have to appear as a normal courting couple doing what a normal courting couple would do. Picnicking in a sequestered park is apparently one of them. But there’s at least one onlooker. A squirrel, perched on one of the lower branches watches expectantly. He seems used to people as he doesn’t show any fear. And probably used to being fed by them too. I break off a piece of crust and throw it a short distance away. He doesn’t hesitate. He scampers down the tree, grabs his prize, and scurries back up. I catch Peeta observing me, a look of amusement on his face. “What?” I demand. He had better not be laughing at me. “It’s just seeing a new side of you, that’s all. You know, relaxed. One time, that squirrel would have ended up with one of your arrows through its eye. But now you share your lunch with it. I like it. It means you’re in a better place now. Not so concerned with survival.” Humph! The last time I heard anyone talk about me and survival was in the basement of a dingy little shop in the Capitol that sold fur underwear. “Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.” Gale said it, and Peeta didn’t refute it. The same resentment I felt then wells up in me. There it is again, the implication that any finer feelings are subservient to my need to survive. Not love, or desire, or compatibility, or even just throwing a crust of bread to a squirrel. I didn’t get to defend myself then, but I will now. “That’s a horrible thing to say.” Peeta’s eyebrows shoot up in a surprise. “I hate that people think that of me – that I’ll put my own wellbeing ahead of anything else. If I’ve tried so hard to survive, it’s because I had people depending on me. What would have happened to Prim, or my mother, if I hadn’t been around to make sure there was food on the table? Prim would have ended up in the Community Home and that meant as good as dead. I’ll do anything for the people I love. Die for them if need be. I would die for you. I –“ I stop short, remembering all of a sudden that I’m supposed to keep those feelings hidden. Heat rises in my face. “I mean – “And then it’s Peeta who cuts me short. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. Really kisses me, not the closed mouth playacting kind, but softly, insistently, plying my mouth open with his own. For a few seconds I’m stunned into inaction. But then I feel that thing. That thing that happened in the cave and on the beach. And I put my arms around his neck and kiss him back hungrily, greedy for more. He pulls me closer and we sort of meld together, the points of his body picking out the counter-points of my own and I moan somewhere deep in my throat. I forget we’re in a public space and only a short distance from a school. Nothing exists but Peeta and me and when I feel his hand slip between my thighs under the cover of my dress, lightly as if seeking permission, my legs fall apart in open invitation and I will it to go higher, to that place that wants him so badly.

His fingertips barely make contact when from some faraway place the pulsating ring of a school bell sounds. With great reluctance, I am dragged back into the present and reality returns with a thud. I pull away, confused. What just happened? Why did he do that? My head whips around looking for the audience he’s playing to, but there’s no one about.

“Don’t. Don’t let’s pretend when there’s no one around,” I say, getting quickly to my feet. It’s not . . . we shouldn’t do it. It’s how lines get blurred.” And people get hurt. People being me. I shove my feet into my shoes. “I have to go. Class is about to start. Thanks for lunch.”

I don’t wait for a response from Peeta. I race off, leaving him to dispose of the remains of our lunch, a look of bewildered concern on his face. The kiss leaves me shaken and it takes a concerted effort to concentrate on my work. That was so close. Too close. How am I going to get through this without breaking down? There’s at least three weeks to go. This week before the television crew arrives, the following when they set up, and after that a week of filming. I don’t know how Peeta did it. All that kissing and hugging on the Victory Tour. And the nights on the train. And then when we shared a bed in the Capitol just before the Quell. It must have been torture. As it will be for me tonight, and every other night until this is over.

Luckily, Peeta and I don’t finish work at the same time so I’m spared walking home with him. As I’m home first, I set the table and prepare the food for dinner, allowing extra in case Haymitch turns up, which he probably will. And then I go into the living room and take a book from the shelf. I hope reading will be a distraction because I just can’t get that kiss out of my mind. It’s a book on conservation that Marcus left behind, and it’s as dry as you’d imagine but it does nothing to lessen the wetness between my legs. I am so aroused; I’m fit to burst. There’s only one solution. I slip my hand under my dress to take care of it myself, and I’m just on the verge when I hear the front door open. It’s Peeta.

I quickly open the book and pretend to be immersed in it.

“Good book?” Peeta asks, as he comes into the room. He takes the seat opposite and reads the title from the cover. “’Wetland Techniques.” I suppose we could all benefit by brushing up on our wetland technique. Maybe I should read it after you.” “

Maybe,” I say noncommittedly, and lower my eyes back to the page. I hope he’ll take the hint that I’m not in a sociable mood and go away.

There’s a long pause. “Katniss, I think we should talk about what happened at the park.”

I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. If Peeta has a flaw it’s that he likes to talk about things that shouldn’t be talked about. It would be better for both of us if we pretended it didn’t happen.

“Things got a little carried away, that’s all,” I say. “It was bound to happen with us forced into this situation again. We just have to be more careful next time.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, frowning. “I think it’s best, don’t you? If we’re to get through this, we need to set boundaries. After all, we have to go back to living normally after this. We have to stay friends.” I try to sound convincing but there’s a faint tremor in my voice. I stare down at my book to avoid looking at him.

“All right, Katniss,” he says tiredly. He rises from the chair. “I’ll get dinner started then. Haymitch should be here soon.”

After he leaves the room, I let out my breath. I don’t think he believed me but maybe that’s not important. We only have to preserve the veneer. But he makes it so hard. Always wanting to open wounds instead of just leaving them alone. I’ll just have to stay on my guard and make sure to keep him at a safe distance. Obviously, Peeta isn’t averse to having sex with me if what happened at the park is any indication. But then, I was practically begging him. I know you don’t have to be in love to have sex. And if sex is all I wanted from Peeta, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I know, I just know, that if we went down that path, the floodgates would open and I’d be as helpless as ever and in an even worse place than I am now. Nothing will have changed. I’d still be in love with someone who isn’t in love with me.

While Peeta makes dinner, I take a shower. A cold one. And change out of the sunset dress into something that makes me feel less vulnerable – tight-fitting trousers and a t-shirt. I’d wear a chastity belt if I had one because I don’t really trust myself. I wait until Haymitch arrives before I go downstairs. The less alone time I have with Peeta, the better.

Unfortunately, Haymitch doesn’t stay for very long after we’ve eaten. I was hoping that he and Peeta would get the chess board out again so I could avoid interacting with him.

“It’s Monday,” I tell Peeta, when he comments on Haymitch’s early departure. “He wants to be home to watch “One Life to Live.” He’s something of an addict.” I dry the last of the dishes and put it away while Peeta makes tea.

“That’s the show Plutarch talked about, isn’t it?” he asks. “Yeah, that’s the one. It’s the most rubbishy, most stupid thing ever. I was insulted when he compared us to Celia and Blake. Idiots, both of them.”

“I can’t really comment. I’ve never watched it,” he says, as he pours tea into two mugs.

I sniff derisively. “Well, you haven’t missed anything. I can’t think why Haymitch likes it.”

“Let’s find out.” “What? You actually want to watch it?”

“Yeah. I do. You can explain the plot so far.”

He picks up one of the mugs and I take the other. “That will take about two seconds.” Nonetheless, I follow him into the living room and sit down beside him on the sofa. I guess there are worse things to do than watching television together, even if it is “One Life to Live.” At least it’s a distraction and we won’t have to talk much. My gaze flickers over to Peeta. I’m acutely aware of him. His well-muscled thigh only inches from my own. The fine blond hair on his strong capable hands. Hands that can lift heavy sacks of flour yet wield a paintbrush with the most delicate precision. Hands that were on me only hours earlier. A throbbing starts between my legs at the thought of it. I cross one leg over the other to alleviate the sensation but then quickly uncross them. The movement makes the crotch seam of my trousers rub against me in a most stimulating way. I should have worn a dress.

With a click of the remote control, the opening credits of “One Life to Live” appear on the screen. I swallow hard and force myself to focus. “Well, Celia and Blake are from neighboring districts . . . “

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life to Live

Here’s the latest! Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.” It can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction. Chapter 34 The next morning I call in on Haymitch. He’ll have to be told before the television crew arrives. We might be able to get away with pretending to the rest of 12 that Peeta and I are back together, but not Haymitch. I can imagine what he’s going to say. Probably something about why no one lets me make the plans. And he’ll be right. How stupid of me to risk exposure like that. What was I thinking? Going into the woods with my famous lover and Plutarch’s own production team. If I’d listened to my gut and stayed home, it never would have happened. And now I’m back to owing Peeta. I guess I should be grateful, and I am. He doesn’t have to do this and he is saving Marcus and me from becoming a national laughing stock. But still, I hate owing. And how will I ever repay him? I find Haymitch sprawled on his living room sofa, snoring heavily and with a bottle clutched in one hand and a knife in the other. He’s been on his usual weekend bender by the look of it. That would explain his absence when Plutarch arrived. It would take the noise of ten hovercrafts landing to rouse him from it and even that’s doubtful. Before I wake him, I go into the kitchen to make him some strong coffee. He’s going to need it. It’s a pigsty in there. Dirty dishes piled in the sink; moths fluttering from the pantry; blackened saucepans on the stove; the floor so sticky it makes sucking noises when you walk across it. But after a bit of rummaging, I find the coffee pot, fill it with water and ground coffee and set it on the stove to brew. Then I return to Haymitch and find that Peeta is there too. He sets a freshly baked loaf of bread on the table.

“I saw you leave your house,” he explains at my questioning look. “I think we should tell him together.” I nod in agreement. He’s right. For good or ill, we’re in this together now.

Peeta gingerly attempts to prise the knife from Haymitch’s hand but without success. His fingers seem t “I have a better idea.” I go back into the kitchen and return with a basin of cold water. “Stand back,” I warn. I dump the water over Haymitch’s head and spring out of the way. He comes to, gasping, swiping at the air with his knife. He casts bleary eyes in our direction.

“Oh, it’s you two,” he says, as if we’re the biggest drag on his life. He runs a hand over his head and peers down at his shirt. “Why am I wet?” “Never mind that,” I say. “I – that is, Peeta and I, have something to tell you. We need your help.” Haymitch groans and reaches for his bottle. “I need a drink first.” He goes to take a swig but the bottle is empty. Disgusted, he throws it to join the pile of discarded food containers and other assorted rubbish by the window. “So, what is it?” His eyes dart between Peeta and me. “More boy trouble?” “That’s enough, Haymitch,” says Peeta. I shoot him a grateful look. He saved me the bother. If we have to work together, this show of mutual accord is a good start. “This is serious. Katniss, I think you should be the one.” Right. I guess the story does start with me. I tell Haymitch everything. My relationship with Marcus. Being secretly filmed. Plutarch’s visit and his conditions for not leaking the video. And then Peeta’s willingness to help me out. To save time, I hand him the paper Cressida gave me. “This is what they want us to do – to prepare.”

Haymitch takes it over to the window to read. Not that he can get very close with the rubbish piled beneath it. After a few moments, he lifts his head to stare out the window. He appears to be considering something. “Here,” he says, as he returns the paper to me. “You should get started on it. You’ve a lot to do before the cameras arrive.” I swap puzzled glances with Peeta. That’s it? No recriminations for getting myself into this mess? No anger that the media will be swarming all over the Village and disturb his peace? We start to leave but Haymitch’s voice calls us back. “Have you decided on the house?” “Um, mine.” I turn to Peeta. “Buttercup,” I say as way of explanation. He gives a nod. I don’t think he cares either way. It’s only temporary. “You need to move all your things over to Katniss’s, then,” Haymitch tells Peeta. “A couple living together don’t split their possessions between two residences with hers in one house, and his in the other. And they should be where you’d expect to find them. You don’t want any nosey crew member poking around and finding your clothes in the guest room instead of sharing closet space with Katniss’s. Even the slightest suspicion that it’s an act has to be avoided. The next person who gets hold of anything incriminating won’t go to Plutarch but to another media outlet. And then you’ll both be exposed as frauds.” This just keeps getting worse. We can’t trust anybody with the truth. Not even the people who work for Plutarch who’ll be producing this travesty. We have to fool not only the TV audience, but everyone around us. Any slip-up and we could end up as social pariahs accused of a cynical attempt to cash in on our former fame. The only consolation is that Plutarch has as much to lose as we have, so at least we don’t have to worry about any leak coming from him. I take a look at Peeta. He must be regretting the impulse that had him volunteer for this, but there’s no hint of doubt in his expression. In fact, it’s the most energized I’ve seen him in a long time. “I’ll get on it right away,” says Peeta. “Apart from clothes, that really leaves only art materials and maybe some specialist baking equipment. They’ll expect to see both.” Yes, Peeta is known Panem-wide for this painting and baking. And since most of our household goods are duplicated in both households, that cuts out the need for Peeta to take anything other than personal effects. Haymitch continues. “You also need to be seen in the town so that it’s established in people’s minds that you’re together before the television crew arrives. Everything a couple does, you must do. That includes eating together and sleeping together. Starting from now. It has to be second nature if you’re to pull this off. You know how intrusive the camera can be.”

I remember. But share a bed? That’s going way too far. Who’s going to know if we share a bed or not? “Do we really need to sleep together? It seems to me that – “ Haymitch doesn’t even let me finish. “Which shouldn’t be a problem. You’ve done it before, haven’t you? And you were play acting at being a couple then too.” Yeah, but that was different. We’re adults now, not frightened teenagers seeking comfort. Besides, I’m not sure how I feel about being so close to him all night. Not with the way things stand and in a situation that many would consider decidedly sexual. “It will be all right, Katniss. I promise not to try anything,” says Peeta, with an infuriating smirk. I scowl at him, embarrassed at his insinuation that I have sex on my mind, which I do, but it’s not the point. “You won’t unless you want to lose a hand. Maybe I’ll borrow Haymitch’s knife – “ “Stop it. Both of you,” admonishes Haymitch. “You’re supposed to be in love, remember? Start acting like it.” I back down because he’s right, of course. But in this moment, I almost wish I had taken the alternative option. Especially as Haymitch and Peeta continue to make plans without consultation from me. This is what started the whole star-crossed lovers thing in the first place. The two of them making decisions that affect me. They’d argue that it’s for my benefit, but still. “Since I’m apparently not needed, I’ll get started on making room for Peeta’s things at my house,” I say tersely before I stomp out the door. I’m rewarded by a look of astonishment from both of them. Maybe now they’ll get the hint. Fortunately, there’s not a great deal to do from my end. The master bedroom has a huge walk-in closet and I barely use a quarter of it. Once I’ve cleared some space in the bathroom, I’m finished in that part of the house. Peeta will need somewhere to put his art equipment, of course, and it will be expected that he’d have a proper studio. I guess we could use my mother’s bedroom. Her home is 4 now and in the unlikely event she comes to visit she can stay in the guest room. I pack all her things into boxes. Maybe I’ll ship them to her in 4. It would serve as a sort of symbolic rejection of her in return for hers of me. I know it’s not fair but I don’t feel like being fair. I want to lash out at something or someone and my mother right now is a safe target. After that, there’s nothing left for me to do but to help carry Peeta’s things from his house to mine. I show him his new studio. He’s happy with it. He says the light is good. The bedroom furniture we’ll store at his house. It won’t look odd if it’s discovered since it’s likely that’s what we would have done with it if Peeta really had moved into my house. By early afternoon most of the moving-in is done. Haymitch suggests our next priority is to be seen in the town together behaving like a couple in the early days of courtship – which we would be if there was anything real about this. Peeta holds my hand as we walk. There’s no one about. The only people who use the road from the Village into the town are us victors but you can never be sure that somebody isn’t watching. I’ve learned that the hard way. There hasn’t been a lot of conversation between us that hasn’t centered around moving in. Peeta seems to sense that I’m not happy with him and has mostly left me to sulk in peace. But as we near the town he attempts to draw me out of my bad mood with some light-hearted talk to which I respond with yes or no answers or none at all. “What are you so angry about?” Peeta asks. “Is it because I teased you about the bed sharing? I’m sorry. I thought you’d laugh about it.” “No,” I say, even though it is part of it. “It’s a lot of things. But I’m mostly just sick of you and Haymitch making decisions that affect me without first asking if I’m okay with it. Like with the star-crossed lovers thing and the fake pregnancy. You don’t like it when Haymitch and I keep things from you. I don’t see how this is any different.” “You’re right. It’s not. I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. If it involves you, you should be asked first. I promise not to do it again. Okay?” “Okay,” I say, mollified. “Let me make it up to you. How about I buy you an ice-cream?” Ice-cream? I’m not sure about ice-cream. The ice-cream parlor was Peeta and Lace’s favourite hang-out. I also don’t have good memories of the last time he bought me one. It was right before he told me I can’t use his guest room at night anymore. But it is the best place in town to be seen, and it’s consistent in people’s minds with Peeta’s courtship habits. I guess I can tolerate it just this once. “Okay, but I’m not licking ice-cream off your face,” I say. “I should hope not. That’s disgusting. Especially in public.” “You liked it well enough when Lace did it,” I point out. “She didn’t lick it off. Sometimes she’d kiss it off. Not that it’s much better.” “Then why did you let her?” He shrugs. “I guess I liked the attention.” It seems a dumb reason to me. He must have been pretty desperate for it if that’s the case. The ice-cream parlor is as crowded as I’ve ever seen it. The store is packed with customers and all the outside tables are taken. “Maybe we could go sit in the football field and eat our ice-cream there,” suggests Peeta. “No!” I burst out before I can stop myself. That’s where he took me to eat our ice-creams that other time. “I mean, we’re here to be seen, aren’t we? No one will see us in the middle of a football field. We’ll find a table. Look, there’s some people leaving now.” I almost drag Peeta along in my hurry to secure the table. “I’ll mind the table while you get the ice-cream.” “What flavours do you want?” “Surprise me. Nothing coffee flavoured though.” Peeta leans down to give me a light kiss on the lips. Oh right, the romance thing. I smile up at him with what I hope is a suitably soppy expression. “Miss you already,” I say. “Miss you more,” he says in return and gives me another kiss. “Just go,” I say laughing and I give him a push. He threads his way through the tables and enters the store. I do a quick sweep of my surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. And that’s when I see him. Max, a couple of tables away. Staring straight at me, a mixture of incredulity and amusement on his face. He’s with Saffy from the bakery and another couple I don’t recognize. I give a small wave in acknowledgment. That’s a mistake, because after a few words to his companions, he heads towards me and takes the seat opposite. “I didn’t give you permission to sit here,” I say. “Don’t need it. It’s a public space. So, you and psycho boy, huh? When did that happen? Wasn’t he supposed to be married by now?” “It’s new and the wedding was called off, as you well know. And don’t call him psycho boy.” Of all people it had to be Max. Talk about being plunged into the deep end. He’ll be the hardest to convince. A natural skeptic and with an uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking before I do. If I can persuade him, then I can persuade anyone. “Rather sudden, isn’t it?” “No, not really. Peeta and I have known each other for a long time. It was more like picking up from where we left off, now that other distractions are out of the way.” “Other distractions being Lace, I presume?” “Lace was a . . . an aberration.” There, that’s a good way of putting it. “A symptom of what the hijacking did to him. But thankfully he’s now fully recovered. As for me, well, I never really fell out of love with him. So, when he asked me to give him another chance, I said yes. And I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d go so far as to say we’re as much in love as ever. Maybe even more so.” “Hmm. Well, I’m happy for you. But can I ask you one question?” He doesn’t wait for an answer but leans over the table, arms crossed in front of him. “Why?” “What do you mean why?” I ask, irritated. “Is it so impossible that he could be in love with me?” “Not him with you. You with him. Have you forgotten what this man has put you through? Not only has he tried to kill you but he’s been parading a girlfriend in front of you for months. And now you’re letting him back in? It’s crazy.”

“I’ve told you before. There are some things that Peeta can’t be held responsible for and trying to kill me is one of them. As to the rest, well, there’s things you don’t know. He’s taking a chance with me too. All I know is that I love him and I have to go where my heart takes me. Whatever happens, happens. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m strong enough to take it.” Max gives me a searching look. “Well, if you’re – “ “Everything okay?” asks Peeta. He puts down a dish of three scoops of ice-cream in front of me. He’s bought himself a cone but not the usual soft serve. Strawberry, I think. “Everything’s fine,” I say, with a reassuring smile. “Max just dropped by to say hello. He’s not staying.” Max thankfully takes the hint. “Yeah, I should be getting back. My date will be getting restless without me.” Max pushes his chair back from the table. “See you at work tomorrow, Katniss.” I watch him rejoin his group. As dubious as he is about my reasons for being with Peeta, I don’t think he doubts that my love for him is real.

Peeta is also watching. “Saffy is Max’s date?” He seems surprised. “Yeah, appears so.” The other couple are cozied up together so it’s not one of them. “Why? Is something wrong?” “Not really. It’s just that Saffy told me she likes girls.” Oh. Poor Max. Saffy flirts with everyone. He probably got the wrong idea and she accepted his invitation as a friend. Max doesn’t seem to have much luck when it comes to romance. Which reminds me. “Want a taste?” I ask Peeta, offering him a spoonful of my ice-cream. “Do you remember in the cave when I fed you broth and mashed berries?” “I do. One spoon equals one kiss if I recall.” “I don’t remember that part. But I always insist on paying my debts.” I put my face forward to be kissed. Peeta cheats and takes two. Over his shoulder, I see the people at the next table watching with interest and then turn to each other to gossip among themselves. At least people are talking about us. As with Max, I don’t expect that everyone will approve. Some will say I’m a fool for taking him back. Others, who don’t know that Lace is with Arthur now, might blame me for Peeta and Lace’s breakup. And yet others, and I’m hoping they’re the majority, will sigh and romantically declare that order has at last been restored to the universe. But whatever they think, as long as they believe that Peeta and I are genuinely together, that’s all that matters.

I go back to eating my ice-cream. It really is delicious. Chocolate, honeycomb, and butter pecan. “Katniss, can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” “Sure. Go ahead.” The butter pecan is amazing. “How serious was it with Marcus?” My spoon freezes half-way to my lips, so surprised I am by the question. Why is he asking me this now? We’re supposed to be projecting romance, not talking about former lovers. But then, why shouldn’t he be thinking about it? It’s because of my indiscretion with Marcus that we’re here in the first place recreating the star-crossed lovers routine. He deserves an honest answer. I think about Marcus and the short time we had together. It wasn’t a great love affair but for a little while it did reach the heights of one – for me, anyway. There’s no heartbreak or any sense of loss now that it’s ended, but the memories are sweet. A rebound, Johanna called it. But I don’t think that really sums up what Marcus was to me. He was . . . a haven. That’s it. A haven. A place in which to shelter and gather strength. And I think Marcus would like that. How apt for a man whose life mission is to create safe spaces for nature to thrive. I so like the notion that I can’t help smiling. And then I become aware that Peeta is watching me, a look of consternation on his face and I realise that I haven’t yet answered him. I take a breath. “Well, we had a lot in common and I liked him a lot. He helped me and he made me feel good about myself again after . . . you know, everything.” I see Peeta wince slightly at the “everything” although it wasn’t my intention to make him feel bad. “It was intense for a while but we never could have lasted.” No, not with me stuck in 12 and Marcus’s job that takes him all over Panem. “So, to answer your question as to whether it was serious or not, I guess the answer is, not very. Does all that make sense to you?”

“Yeah, it does,” he says, thoughtfully. “It makes perfect sense.” For some reason, this rubs me the wrong way. How would he know? Oh, yes that’s right. It’s how he viewed his relationship with me. Something that seemed all- consuming at the time but, as it turned out, not serious at all. An illusion, in fact. “I don’t have to ask how it was with you and Lace. I mean, marriage. You don’t get more serious than that.” I try to keep my tone light, but there’s a bitter edge to it.

His brow furrows in confusion. “What? No, Lace is who I meant. That’s who I wasn’t serious about.” “Peeta, don’t do that. I saw it all, remember? You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I was reconciled to it months ago.” I push the dish of ice-cream from me. It’s half-melted anyway in the hot sun. “Do you think we can go now? I think we’ve been seen long enough.” I don’t wait for an answer but get up off my chair and start walking. Peeta has no choice but to follow. “Katniss, wait up. People are looking.” He takes my hand and I don’t pull it away. I might be upset with him but we still have to look as if we’re smitten with each other. I even manage a fond smile that I hope doesn’t look too much like a grimace. As soon as we’re out of earshot, Peeta tries again. “This is something we need to talk about.” “We don’t, actually,” I say, wearily. “Look, isn’t there enough to deal with right now? Just drop it. Please.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then seems to think better of it. I don’t want to talk about his relationship with Lace. It’s still too raw. And how can I trust Peeta to know his own mind, anyway? He’d told Lace that I was the one he wasn’t really serious about. So now Lace is the one? Peeta can’t keep re-writing history like that. We spend the remainder of the walk back to the Village mostly in silence. Any attempt by Peeta to make conversation is wet-blanketed by me. I know I’m being moody and difficult when Peeta is going out of his way to help me but I just can’t seem to shake it off. This is much harder than I expected. I’m beginning to understand what it was like for Peeta during the Victory Tour, when he was the one in love and I wasn’t. Hugs and kisses, so cherished when it comes from someone you love and who loves you back, is torture when you know that the person you love is putting on an act. Something is not better than nothing. An honest nothing is far preferable. Haymitch joins us for dinner. I don’t know if Peeta invited him or Haymitch invited himself but it provides a welcome buffer between Peeta and me. We tell him about our visit to the ice-cream parlor and make plans for tomorrow before we move on to general conversation. After we’ve eaten and cleared up, Haymitch and Peeta set up the chess board. They try to engage me and I watch them for a little while but eventually I move into the sitting room to watch television. I feel left out of whatever understanding there seems to be between them. Maybe it’s because I’m not an equal in this. They’re the heroes coming to the rescue and I’m just the idiot who needs rescuing. I flick mindlessly through the channels until I come to a news program. It’s covering the mayoral elections in 7. Johanna’s only real competition is this vile looking man with a ridiculous comb-over who is funded by the logging companies. Referring to Johanna, he says he likes his heroes not to be captured. It doesn’t go down well. He’s lucky Johanna isn’t there too. He’d be dead for sure. When it’s time to retire for the night, we politely take turns using the bathroom and then get into bed. It’s a large bed so there’s plenty of space between us if we keep to the edges which I’m determined to do.

So ends the first day of the new adventures of the star-crossed lovers.

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life To Live

Hi, to anyone still around. Here’s the next chapter, also available on AO3. There will be another chapter next week. Thanks as always to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”

Chapter 32

Before I knock on Peeta’s door I go over my checklist. Focus on my objective to help Peeta find himself. Be prepared for Peeta’s questions and answer them honestly. If he asks if I was in love with him, I’ll answer yes because that is the truth. And if he asks if I’m still in love with him – well, that would be a problem, but I doubt it will happen. Peeta won’t ask. Still, I hesitate. I was so confident when I agreed to it, but now every instinct tells me to turn tail and run. What if he does ask? What do I say? Do I lie? Because I don’t think I can. Not convincingly, anyway. I’ll just have to trust that Peeta is of the same mind. After all, it doesn’t advantage either of us to bring it out into the open. And he’s sure to be sensitive to my situation having gone through it himself. In those months of ignoring each other before the Victory Tour, he surely would have wished he hadn’t been so open with his feelings. How much easier it would have been for him if he could have laughed it off as part of the strategy. And of course, I know Peeta would never do anything that could embarrass me. Gathering my courage, I rap sharply on the door. It takes a while for Peeta to answer it. I must have caught him in the middle of doing something because he looks a little flustered. He’s casually dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes. I’m similarly dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top. Maybe we had the same thing in mind for our wardrobe choice. What you’d wear hanging around your house with an old friend on a hot afternoon and didn’t care what you looked like. My eyes do a brief sweep of the living room before I enter. It’s the usual setup of a two-seater sofa in front of the television and lounge chairs on either side. I gaze longingly at the single chairs and I’m tempted to dive for one of them but since that could look as if I have something to fear I reluctantly take a seat on the sofa.

Peeta sits down beside me. The coffee table already has been laid out with refreshments. A pot of tea and two cups. A pitcher of iced water and two glasses. A platter of cheese, fruit and crackers. A plate of iced cookies. “Who else is coming?” I ask. There seems to be an excessive amount of food. He coughs nervously. “Um, no one. I just thought, maybe, that if you have the time, we could watch the tapes all at once. There’s not that many of them.” He indicates a small stack by the television. There are three tapes – four if there’s one already in the video player. “Sure,” I say. I’m as anxious to get this out of the way as he is. Max won’t mind if I turn up late or not at all. Our meetings at the pub have never been more than a casual arrangement. I slip off my sandals and pull my knees up to my chest in my defensive position but then put them down again when I see Peeta staring at my bare legs. Maybe he doesn’t like feet on his furniture. My feet are clean though. I had a shower when I got back from the woods where I’d spent most of the day. I hoped the stillness and tranquility of the place would help get me in the right headspace for the coming ordeal. The effect doesn’t seem to have lasted. My nerves feel all jangled and on edge. Peeta doesn’t look any better. “Tea?” asks Peeta. “Thanks.” Tea slops into the saucer as he hands it to me. I can’t tell whether it’s him or me and I put the cup back down on the coffee table. “It needs to cool,” I tell him. I shift my gaze to the television. “Do you think we should get started?” I want this over with. “Yes, of course.” Peeta picks up the remote, points it at the television but then lowers it again.

“Katniss, before we go any further, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I’ve acted since I came back to 12. Now that I seem to have most of my memories back and can see more clearly, I realize how insensitive and confusing my behavior must have been and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sticking with me despite it all. It’s only because of you that I found the motivation to find my way back to myself. So, I want to thank you and also apologize for any offence I’ve caused. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta’s behavior has been insensitive – even appearing at times as if he deliberately wanted to hurt me. But I can’t hold what the hijacking was responsible for against him. It wasn’t really Peeta in the same way that his trying to kill me wasn’t really him either. And I think, maybe, that in some ways I owe him an apology. At the very least, I can’t claim credit for sticking with him. Not all the time anyway and it had to be on my terms. My behavior would likely have seemed just as insensitive and confusing to him as his was to me. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. None of it is your fault. But I don’t want to go on like this, ignoring each other and then trying to act as if nothing’s wrong when other people are around. So I thought if I could stop being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends.” Friends. It’s what I expected, but somehow it still hurts. Peeta’s not hard to read. He’s letting me know, in the nicest way possible, the rules for how we’ll approach this. We’re to be friends and whatever is on those tapes will be interpreted as such. Typical of Peeta, he’s even taking on the blame for the awkwardness between us, claiming himself as the wounded party when we both know it’s my injured feelings that are the cause of it. But perhaps the worst of it, or the best of it – I can’t decide which, is that Peeta sounds like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say. Perceptive, unassuming, kind, wanting to put others at ease. Nothing could break me faster. My Peeta is back. And he doesn’t love me anymore. I blink back tears. “Okay.” “Is that all right?” he asks, his voice edged with concern. I manage a wobbly smile. “Of course, it is. I’m just glad we’re friends again, that’s all. I’ve missed it.”

Peeta gives me a relieved smile in return and turns back to the television. “Yeah. Me too.” He clicks on the remote and we’re transported into dense jungle. Hot, steamy, oppressive. Finnick, Mags, Peeta and I form a single line as we slowly tramp our way through thick vegetation. Peeta is in front slashing at vines with his knife. I see the ripple hanging in mid-air that signifies a force field and I start to call out a warning. Peeta’s knife makes contact and he’s slung backwards to the ground, lifeless. I steal a glance at the Peeta on the sofa. I see no recognition on his face at all. This is new to him then. I turn my attention back to the television and try to prepare for how I should react to what’s about to happen.

The onscreen me screams his name and attempts to revive him by shaking him and slapping his face. Finnick calmly pushes me aside and checks Peeta over before pinching his nostrils shut. When I try to stop him, he shoves me violently against a tree. I reach for my bow but stay my hand when I realize what Finnick is doing. Just when all hope seems lost Peeta gives a small cough. I hurl myself at him, brushing his hair from his forehead, tears streaming down my face. And then I start to sob, great heaving sobs that I’m powerless to stop. Finnick blames baby hormones and I glare at him. But instead of returning it with sarcasm, his glance travels between Peeta and me, his expression puzzled. And that’s when the image on the television freezes. On Finnick’s baffled face. I turn to Peeta wondering why he stopped the tape and see the same bewildered look on his face that was on Finnick’s. For one horrifying moment, I’m afraid he’s going to comment on the hysterical way I reacted. He’s supposed to ignore stuff like that. But then it dawns on me that he’s just seen himself die. That’s why he looks so shocked. It would unsettle anyone. “It was the forcefield,” I explain hurriedly. “I only knew it was there at the last second because I’d seen one in the training room. Beetee and Wiress pointed it out to me. There’s an irregularity – a chink in the armor they called it. It looks like a sort of wave hanging in mid-air. Not all over, just the odd patch. We later used it to cook food by throwing it at it.” I know I’m rambling but the way Peeta is looking at me is disconcerting. It’s as if he’s trying to figure something out about me. Perhaps it’s made old doubts resurface of the time I tried to kill him when he and the careers had me treed. I suppose it could look as if I tried to stop Finnick from saving his life. “It’s just as well Finnick was there. I didn’t know what he was doing at first. I thought he might have been trying to finish you off when he put his hand over your nose. But then I recognized it as a technique I’ve seen my mother use a couple of times when a person’s heart stops. If you can get to them fast enough you can sometimes get it started again. “ I grab the remote from the coffee table and un-pause the tape before Peeta can say anything. His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he turns his focus back onto the screen. I hope this hasn’t reawakened his distrust of me. The tape continues with Finnick and me disagreeing over whether Peeta should get moving or rest. My nose is still running like crazy from all the crying I’d done. Mags rips hanging moss from a tree for me to use as a handkerchief to mop up all the snot. “So embarrassing,” I tell the Peeta beside me. If he wasn’t attracted to me before, this should clinch it. The tape ends with me noticing the locket with the mockingjay engraved on it around his neck. “Well, that’s about it,” I say. “It’s pretty self-explanatory. You get zapped by the forcefield and Finnick saves you. No lasting damage. How about we move onto the next tape?” I’m already out of my seat. I seize a tape at random, remove the one in the player, and insert the new one. I hope this one is less incriminating. It’s worse. It’s Snow’s execution. If Peeta’s distrust of me is re-emerging then this will send it soaring into the stratosphere. How can you feel secure around someone whose job it is to kill one president but then suddenly decides to kill another? Such a person could turn around and kill you next. And it’s not implausible as far as Peeta is concerned. I’ve pointed an arrow at him twice with intent to kill – the first time in the Games when he pulled out a knife, the second in a Capitol sewer. Both times were in anticipation of him killing me but Peeta might not remember that. Indeed, looking at him now, body tense, apprehension etched on his face, that’s probably what’s going through his mind right now. Memories must be triggered if he knows enough to be nervous about it. He looks down at the faint double crescent scar on his hand and runs the thumb of the other hand across it. He’s remembering . . . something. I don’t think it’s good. I shift my attention back to the television screen. I need to focus. This must be the footage that was broadcast across Panem going by the way the camera picks out the VIPs in the audience. The voice-over from Claudius Templesmith has been edited out but the noise from the crowd can still be heard. I guess Dr Aurelius wants Peeta to hear only my version of events. The execution takes place in the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion. It doesn’t allow for a large audience – this was clearly intended as a television event – but what is there is packed in tightly. The remainder had spilt over into the City Circle and down the side streets. Guards and officials take their places. And then rebel leaders and victors. The victors have been given a prominent position at ground level close to where I’m to stand. Peeta is between Johanna and Beetee looking slightly dazed. Loud cheers welcome President Coin as she appears on the balcony and takes up her position. It doesn’t afford Coin the best view as she can’t look her enemy in the face before he dies, but more dramatic from a staging perspective to have the triumphant leader directly above the defeated one in a single camera shot. That’s what Plutarch would have told her. But Coin would surely have felt vulnerable with a loose cannon like me in front of her, armed, and within easy shooting range. Vulnerable enough to invent a scenario to test my loyalty? Well, there’s no sense in going over my theories of why things happened as they did. This is about Peeta’s experience in this particular moment. He’s just come out of the victor’s meeting believing that I wanted another Games. Who knows what was going through his mind? That I’m indeed the monster that Snow made him believe? I emerge after Coin takes her seat and then Snow is marched out and secured to a post. The camera is in a close-up of his face. There’s no remorse or fear. Only amusement. I aim at the rose pinned to his chest, shift my arrow upwards and release the string. Coin topples to the ground. Dead. What happens next took mere seconds but this has been edited to include as much detail as possible. There are images of Coin’s lifeless body, landed face down on the paving. People rush to her aid and turn her onto her back. A red rose blooms on her breast to contrast with the white rose on Snow’s. Her eyes are wide open, her expression one of surprise. Snow is literally choking with laughter, blood frothing from his mouth. Guards surge towards me. I whisper something indecipherable and raise one arm and twist my head to reach it. Peeta is suddenly in the frame. He grabs my upper arm and my teeth clamp down, drawing blood. I lift my head and yell something at him. There’s too much noise from the crowd to make out my words. It’s the same with Peeta’s desperate response. He’s pulled from me and a scrap of fabric can be seen clutched in his hand. I’m lifted off the ground over the crush of people, frantically struggling. I open my mouth and scream. The audio picks up the single word. Gale! Gale! The tape ends when I’m carried into the mansion and disappear from sight. Very slowly, Peeta reaches for the remote control and turns off the television. We both sit in silence to digest what we had just seen. I expect to be evicted from his home shortly. Siding with Coin over another Games, shooting the leader who was instrumental in defeating our arch-enemy Coriolanus Snow – the man who had Peeta tortured and ordered the bombing that killed his family. And then biting his hand so hard when he tried to save me that he still bears the scars. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?” I venture when the silence grows too long. “Yeah. I’ve watched this tape before. With Haymitch. He explained most of it and told me what preceded it. You know, the meeting with Coin.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives his head a shake. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I actually voted to exterminate the entire Capitol citizenry. That was the choice offered, wasn’t it? A single Games or kill the lot of them?” “Yes. But you weren’t the only one. Even Beetee missed it.” I don’t tell him that he influenced the other’s choice by voting first under the presumption that it was a simple choice of Games or no Games. He feels bad enough already. “But if you’ve seen this tape already and you’ve discussed it with Haymitch, why would Dr Aurelius want you to watch it again with me?” Peeta’s face turns red. “There was a question Haymitch couldn’t answer and it was bothering me. He told me I’d have to ask you.” Oh. “You mean what we said to each other?” That’s the only part of it I can think of that Haymitch may not know. “No, I remembered that. And why I stopped you from taking the nightlock pill. It was just . . .” He stops, takes a breath, and ends in a rush. “Why did you call out for Gale? After everything you’ve said about him not being your boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense.” I’m so startled I’m momentarily lost for words. With all that was on that tape, has that question actually been preying on him? “It’s because we had a pact. If either of us was caught by the enemy, we’d kill each other first so they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking us alive.” “You wanted him to shoot you?” “Yes. He didn’t, obviously. And I couldn’t shoot him when he was captured by peacekeepers. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends we turned out to be.” Peeta’s face clears and even breaks out in a smile. “I’m glad he didn’t.” I laugh. “Yeah. Me too.” I feel the tension ebb from my muscles a little. A much-needed respite from all the drama so far. “Shall we watch the next one?” It’s our first Games. My head is bandaged which means this happened after I’d gone to the feast for Peeta’s medicine. Heavy rain can be heard from outside the cave and Peeta and I have no choice but to remain where we are, our hunger pangs worsening by the hour. Peeta wonders what we’d have to do to get Haymitch to send us some food. This reminds me to ramp up the romance angle. I take Peeta by the hand and playfully suggest that a lot of resources had been used on the sleep syrup that helped me knock him out. I think I can guess what Dr Aurelius had in mind with this tape. It’s the first kiss from Peeta that had me wanting another. He thinks it will lead to a discussion that not all my romantic responses were faked and that my attraction to him had started early in our relationship. This one is easy. Even if Peeta doesn’t believe it was faked, it won’t be hard for him to pretend that it was. I lean back into the sofa, feeling relaxed for the first time since I got here. Peeta doesn’t seem anxious about it either. I imagine that I’m one of the many thousands of people who watched it on TV. I know most bought into the romance as genuine – especially in the Capitol. In the Districts, the romance was secondary to our perceived rebellion against the Capitol. I later learned that I didn’t fool Snow and my fellow victors who saw through the act. Yet somehow, they missed this. It was perhaps the only kiss that Peeta and I shared in those first Games when I wasn’t acting. I watch the girl falter over her words. The boy wants her to go on, his face alight with budding hope. The feeble excuse she makes. The boy leaning in. The soft explorative kiss growing more confident, gaining heat. The girl’s hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Her eyes closed and lips slightly pursed in readiness for more kissing. The boy’s concern over her head wound. And her disappointment when that second kiss manifests as a mere peck on the nose. Yet despite all that, it doesn’t scream out as being significantly different from the many other kisses we shared. It’s in the subtleties. You’d have to be watching carefully to see it. I turn to Peeta, confident that the last thing he’ll want to do is to scrutinize it too closely. But he’s watching the screen intently, his brows drawn together in concentration. I have a very bad feeling about this. Please, please, don’t go there. This is not how it’s supposed to work. “You weren’t acting.” He looks to me for confirmation. Be honest. I want to ignore that little voice. Tell it to go away. I can see the yawning chasm of a slippery slope opening up. If he wants to talk about how I felt about him then it could lead to how I feel about him now. But then I remember how Peeta was at the dinner and what he had intimated to me earlier. Friendship is the game going forward. He’s as anxious to avoid any talk of my present feelings for him as I am. An honest discussion of the past can’t hurt. It’s a necessary part of Peeta finding himself. “No,” I say simply. “Can you tell me what was going through your mind?” “Well, it made me think of what it would be like if you had died and that made me realize that I didn’t want to lose you, that’s all.” “And the kiss?” “I liked it. I wanted to keep going.” I pause, pondering the wisdom of how much I should reveal and then quickly make the decision to put it all out there. This is our final session. After today, we don’t ever need to talk about it again. I won’t be telling Peeta anything he doesn’t already know or has guessed, anyway. “Look Peeta, most of what happened in the Games was an act, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you or wasn’t attracted. I thought you were acting too, and quite frankly, there was a lot going on, I mean there were people who wanted to kill us – to be thinking of romance. And then on the train back to 12, I got to thinking about how being a victor would fit with my old life and it was kind of overwhelming. I didn’t know what to feel about anything. But I did miss you and wished we could have stayed friends.” I put a faint emphasis on the word “friends.” Peeta will appreciate that. It puts us back in a safe place after all this talk of attraction and kissing. “Friends,” repeats Peeta. He seems to retreat into a far-away place before he rouses himself. “Your favorite color is green. Mine is orange. Right?” “That’s right,” I say smiling. “It’s what we talked about at the start of the Victory Tour when we decided to make a try of being friends.” I make sure to stress “friends.”

Peeta suddenly rises from the sofa. “I just need to take a break for a minute.” While I wait, I change the tapes over. It’s the last one and I have an awful feeling about it. It’s sure to be the kisses on the beach. I doubt that Dr Aurelius would have left it to Haymitch and Johanna as I’m the only one who can say what was really going on. I suppose I’ll have to be honest. Say, yes Peeta, I did like kissing you and no, nothing was faked. But as long as he doesn’t ask how I feel about him now, we’ll be all right.

I question the value of having to talk about it in any case. It’s not as if the conclusion hasn’t already been decided. Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on the present. Our purpose is to construct a wall of pretence so that we can be a family with Haymitch and stand to be in each other’s company. We’re fooling ourselves that we can be friends though. We won’t be. Not really. No wonder Peeta has to leave the room. The hypocrisy must be killing him. I take a sip of tea, now grown cold, and start to nibble on a cracker before putting it down again. I have no appetite and nor, it seems, does Peeta. The food is almost untouched, so intent we’ve been on getting through these tapes as fast as possible. Peeta returns, pale but composed. “Let’s finish it,” he says. Finish it. My heart clenches at the implication. The end of Katniss and Peeta, star-crossed lovers of District 12. I press the play button on the remote and the tape begins.

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life to Live

Hi, sorry for the delay if you’re following this story on Tumblr. The chapters that have been put on AO3 have at last caught up with the chapters here. New chapters will go up weekly from hence on. You might find it easier to read on AO3 though. I’d link if I knew how. I’m Kris22 over there.

As always thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn‘t Take” available on AO3 and FanFiction. Chapter 30 “Marcus presents well on TV, doesn’t he? You wouldn’t guess how much he hates it.” My hand stills as I focus on the screen and Buttercup nudges his head beneath my palm in protest. I absently go back to scratching him behind the ears and his chest rumbles in contentment. “Yeah, well, you soon learn to fake it,” replies Johanna from the other end of the sofa. “You should know that better than anyone.” “Yeah,” I say. Fake or not fake, real or not real, on television who can tell the difference? “That’s where Gale and I used to meet to go hunting,” I tell her. Cressida had Marcus stand with his back to the valley, using the mountains in the distance as backdrop. The sun was directly behind him and it shone through his golden-brown hair and set it aflame as if it were a halo. Man-on-fire, I can almost hear Cinna say. He’s the darling of the media now. I don’t envy him. I nervously wait for the moment Cressida interrupted the interview to ask me how I feel about a national park but it’s like it didn’t happen. It’s been edited so seamlessly that no one would guess there’d been a break in the dialogue between Marcus and herself. True to her word, there’s not even the slightest glimpse or mention of me anywhere. And nothing either in the separate feature she did on District 12 that had aired immediately before.

I let out my breath in a long exhale and feel the tension ebb from my muscles. I imagine Marcus in District 13 having the same reaction. We felt sure that if there were any compromising footage it would come out either before the interview was broadcast or during. And apart from that . . . um . . . incident in the woods, what else could they have on us? Only that Marcus was a guest in my house but that was a very reasonable arrangement given the circumstances. Otherwise, it was all very circumspect. No public displays of affection, no chaining naked to trees, no fights with logging companies. Only Johanna knew the extent of our relationship, and I doubt she’d have told anyone. Peeta’s engagement to Lace would have made a juicy story, but thankfully he’s protected, having done nothing to attract publicity to himself – either through his own actions or through association with another. “Looks like you’ve dodged a bullet,” says Johanna. She reaches for the remote to switch off the television and then settles back onto the sofa. A plate of Peeta-made cookies is on the coffee table delicately iced in Peeta’s signature style. She takes one and scrapes off the icing with her teeth. Johanna likes the icing best. If you let her, you’d end up with a plate of cookies that look as if mice had been at them. “It would seem so,” I reply. I wish I could feel more certain, but if I’ve learned anything from my experiences is that life seldom is. In fact, feeling safe almost guarantees that you’re not. I forget to stroke Buttercup again, and tired of my erratic attention, he decides it’s time to move on. He drops to the floor and ambles over to his favorite lounge chair, tail swishing. He leaves behind a layer of cat hair on my dark green trousers. “I told you nothing would happen,” says Johanna. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the fantasy they’d put so much effort into perpetuating, would they? I stand naked against a tree for a good cause and the media goes berserk. You get caught shagging against a tree with the current golden boy and then nothing.” “You know that’s not true,” I say, exasperated that she still thinks like this. “Maybe at one time, when it would have made the Capitol look stupid if the truth came out, but not now. They’ve had no compunction giving Marcus bad publicity in the past so I can’t see why it would be different just because I’m involved. We were mistaken about what we heard that’s all, and then we let paranoia take over.”

I’d agonized over whether I should tell Marcus about Remus and the knowing look he gave me when I returned to camp. In the end, I decided that he should have all the information just in case he needed to be prepared. That was a mistake. Between Cressida’s return to the Capitol the following day and Marcus’s for District 13 a week later, our waking hours were spent alternating between optimism that we had nothing to worry about and then dread that we had everything to worry about. Marcus was petrified that another scandal would put his mission in jeopardy. As there’s no official mandate from the central government to establish national parks, he depends on the goodwill and co-operation of individual districts and a negative association with me – any association with me, actually – could have that support withdrawn. Especially in 13 where my name is anathema. For me, it was the terror of a media onslaught, that what had happened before could happen again – my private life no longer private but entertainment to be analyzed and exploited. That the careful re-building of my life as plain Katniss Everdeen would all come to naught. That it might impact on Peeta, who’s only just now finding himself after what Snow did to him. We had our first ever real argument. I told him it was his fault for breaking his own rule and luring me into a clandestine meeting with him for sex. And he said it was my fault for . . . he couldn’t quite articulate why it was my fault but it had something to do with being Katniss Everdeen. It seems if I’d been a nobody we could have fucked in the main street (his words) and while it would likely have had us arrested in 12 it wouldn’t have merited even the smallest mention in the Capitol. Because, you know, we’re just ignorant hayseeds and they are so much more sophisticated than we are and they have no morals (my words). Oh, and he wasn’t exactly a nobody either. In fact, that was the problem. We did calm down and apologize to each other and had make-up sex, which was nice, but it wasn’t how I imagined we’d be spending our final days together – tense, fearful, with each blaming the other for our predicament. It wasn’t until the night before he departed for 13 that we came to a mutual understanding. Neither of us were at fault. We were victims of our celebrity – a celebrity that neither of us had sought. Mine was thrust upon me, and his was a regrettable consequence of his life’s work. But I did tell him he was partly to blame. If he had been fifty, pot-bellied and bald instead of young, handsome and with eyes the color of maple-syrup that could melt any women’s heart, he wouldn’t attract a fraction of the media attention that he does. And then he told me that if I had been a scraggy, wrinkled old bat instead of young and nubile with eyes like silver moons and hair evocative of midnight, all the Games prowess in the world couldn’t have made me the cultural icon I’d become. We were just too good looking for own good. And then we laughed and had sex – playful, affectionate, I-want-to-remember-this-forever sex.

But the worry was still there when we lay in each other’s arms that night, and the next morning when we said our goodbyes. It was a bitter-sweet ending to what had been an unforgettable interlude but as I watched him pass through the Village gates for the last time, rucksack piled high, long legs in hiking boots striding purposely towards the next wilderness to be saved, I was struck by the rightness of it. It was how it was always going to end; how it always should have ended. Johanna tosses a denuded cookie back onto the plate and picks up a fresh one. She ignores the pained look I send her way. “Would you have gone with him?” she asks. “If you could?” I brush cat hairs from my trousers to give me a few seconds to think about it. I’d honestly never considered it since I can’t leave 12. But there was a time when I could have happily left everything behind and followed him around the country, hiking mountain trails and making love at every opportunity. It was at the concrete house by the lake, the morning after we’d made love for the first time and there weren’t enough superlatives in the world to describe how wonderful I thought he was, although now I find it hard to determine exactly what I did feel for him.

“No,” I say eventually. “Even if didn’t mean being in the public eye again, I still wouldn’t. We don’t want the same things.” I hesitate, wondering if I should say anything, but then blurt it out. “I don’t think I’m normal.” I brace for the sarcastic response I’m sure to get, but to my relief it doesn’t come. “None of us are,” she says grimly. “You don’t go through what we have and come out normal at the end of it.” She’s silent for a moment, but then rouses herself. “But if you want me to comment further, you’ll have to be more specific,” she adds. I sigh. I don’t know to explain it to myself, let alone to someone else. “Well, it’s about how I felt about Marcus. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago when I would have done almost anything for him. He made me feel so . . . so . . . “ “Turned on?” she smirks. I feel my face grow hot. I should have known the real Johanna couldn’t be too far from the surface. “Yes, but more than that. Wanted. Desirable. And we had so much in common too. But when he left, I didn’t feel much of anything. I should have been devastated, shouldn’t I?” “Rebound.”

“What?” “It was a rebound. It’s when you haven’t got over one relationship and you dive straight into another. Marcus gave you the validation that Peeta didn’t. It’s not so complicated. Pretty simple, in fact. Happens all the time.” “It does?” “Yep. It goes like this. You feel like shit because you’re still hung-up on your ex so you’re looking for a distraction – something or someone to make you feel better. So along comes Marcus who is clearly attracted and you transfer the feelings you don’t think Peeta wants on to him. Only it doesn’t last because it’s not based on anything real.” But some things were real. I really did like him, felt a connection with him, even. And I liked the sex, but maybe that’s just a physical thing. I haven’t been with enough men to know if it’s different when it’s with someone you truly love. “A rebound is bad then?” I ask. “Depends,” she says. She takes another cookie from the plate. “Has it made you feel better or worse? And then there’s the person on the other end of it. It’s generally considered not fair to them. But, if you had to pick the ideal man to have a rebound with, you couldn’t have done better than Marcus. I told you at the beginning– one track mind. Nothing competes with saving the forests for him.” Gale. He was like that. The cause is more important than any relationship. As soon as Gale heard about the uprisings in the Districts, he no longer wanted to escape with me into the woods when just minutes before, he’d been so keen. But Peeta, he would have gone with me, even though he knew it was a bad idea. “He told me he doesn’t keep girlfriends for very long. I guess that’s why,” I say. He’d also have figured out what a liability I’d be to him. And I certainly wouldn’t want the kind of life a relationship with him would entail. That final week had been an eyeopener for us both. But at least it ended well, all things considered. I put out my hand for a cookie but change my mind when I can’t find one that hasn’t had the icing scraped off.

“You’re disgusting,” I tell her. But I can’t keep from laughing. It’s part amusement, part relief. No repercussions from that lapse of judgement in the woods and an explanation that makes sense to me about my feelings for Marcus. I feel a sudden rush of affection for the woman who’s helped me through this – and more besides. Once I compared her to an older sister who really hates you. I guess I have to revise it to an older sister who sometimes seems to hate you but really doesn’t, and you can always depend on to have your back. “I’m going to miss you,” I say. “Yeah, I know,” Johanna replies casually as if she were picking lint off a sweater. “But my reason for coming here in the first place was to help Marcus out and he’s gone. Peeta doesn’t need me anymore either. So even if I hadn’t been asked to, it still would have been time for me to go home.” “You’re going to be great mayor.” “Thanks, but I’m not mayor quite yet. I have to be elected first. It’s the way it’s done now.” Before the war, District mayors were appointed by the Capitol but now all governing roles are decided by vote. It’s the republic Plutarch had talked about, just like in the history books. The people elect their own representatives. “You’ll get it,” I say confidently. “They love you in 7. They wouldn’t have asked you to run, otherwise.” Who’d have guessed that Johanna would be destined to be Mayor of District 7, but when you think about it, it’s the perfect fit. She’ll bring passion, commitment and integrity to the role. And essential for a career in politics, a thick skin. “So, have you thought about what you’d like to do on your last night here and to celebrate your candidacy?” I ask. “How about drinks first at the pub and then dinner at that restaurant you like or maybe see a movie. Or we could do all three. Anything you like. “ “Anything I like?” she asks ominously. Images of pub crawls, strippers and naked sprints through the streets flash through my mind. “What I’d like is dinner with just the four of us. You, me, Peeta and Haymitch.” I groan. This is far, far worse. “You more than anyone know the circumstances – “ “I don’t care,” she says flatly. “Ever since I got here, I’ve been stuck between the two of you. Haymitch has too. Why don’t you think of other people for a change and how it affects them? You and Peeta are Haymitch’s family! What do you think it’s been like for him?” “He hasn’t said anything,” I say, on the defensive. “How can I know if – “

“It should be fucking obvious! How brainless can you get?” She gives me a look filled with contempt. I guess she’s back to being the older sister who hates you. I hadn’t considered it from Haymitch’s perspective. He’d have missed the dinners, I suppose, but it’s not as if they could continue forever. They were only intended to help us establish a routine. And besides, it was Peeta who showed the first signs of breaking from them. “It’s not like I started it.” As I say it, I realize how false that is. I was the one who put a complete stop to the dinners and made things awkward between Peeta and me. All because I couldn’t handle him being with Lace. “I don’t care who started it,” she says, but less angrily than before. “It’s time for it to stop. Is this how you’re going to live the rest of your lives? Forever trying to avoid being in the same place at the same time? You’re neighbors, for fuck’s sake. You’ve been in two Games and a war together. You don’t throw away a bond like that because he fucked another woman when his brain was mush. And now that you’ve fucked another man, you’re even. There’s nothing standing in your way now. So, what’s stopping you? It can’t be Lace. She’s gone.” Gone, but not forgotten. Not by me, and not by Peeta either. But Johanna does have a point. If Haymitch is a kind of father figure to us both, then that makes us his children. And having two children who don’t get along and won’t join in any family activities if the other is there too, can’t have been easy. For my own part, it has been a strain avoiding Peeta when we live so close, work similar hours, and have Haymitch in common. But it hasn’t been just me. Peeta stopped seeking me out like he used to when he found out that I’m in love him. Nothing about our situation has changed, Lace or no Lace. He stays away from me because he knows that I’m in love him and he feels bad that he can’t love me back. And I stay away from him because I know that he knows, and feel humiliated that he does. But if . . . “You’re right,” I say. “It is ridiculous. You make the arrangements and I’ll be there.” “And now that Marcus is out of the picture – “

She stops suddenly, confused. “You will?” “Yes. In fact, I can hardly wait. It’ll be fun.” I rise from the sofa to gather the cups and the plate of ruined cookies to signal that the visit is over. Johanna looks stunned as if she can’t believe how easy that victory was. She was probably all primed to go into battle and then it failed to materialize. How disappointing that must be.

“Oh, Johanna!” I call out cheerily just as she’s about to walk out the door. I’ve just remembered something Haymitch told me. “Maybe we should let Peeta do the cooking. He likes to do it. He’d always take over when we had our dinners.” If I have to do this thing, I at least want the food to be good. “Sure,” she says, still dazed. And then she’s gone. I wonder if Peeta has already agreed to it, or that she still has the job of guilting him into it too. I decide that it doesn’t matter either way. Peeta will be motivated by the same reasoning as me. The present situation can’t continue. It’s funny, in the way that’s weird rather than amusing, that mine and Peeta’s situation is now reversed. In the days following the Games and before we embarked on the Victory Tour, he avoided me for pretty much the same reasons I avoid him now. And, in turn, I avoided him for the same reason he avoids me. It’s the discomfort of being around someone whose feelings you don’t return. But there’s one crucial difference. Peeta had hope. I know that now from what Haymitch told Peeta before the prep teams arrived. He could afford to wear his heart on his sleeve knowing that there was a good chance that if I was given the space I needed, it was only a matter of time before I felt the same way. I have no hope. Therefore, my strategy will have to be different. This is about survival, not about capturing Peeta’s heart.

Peeta will have to believe that whatever I felt for him, I no longer do. That’s the only way we can be at ease with each other. I may never stop loving him, but I know how to bury my feelings so that they don’t show. I’ve had plenty of practice at it. After my father died. When I was reaped. When he started going out with Lace. I can do this. I can put on a show. I don’t even have to be good at it. In the Games, Peeta was convinced I was in love him because he wanted to believe it. So now I do the opposite and he’ll believe because he wants to believe. And if he can’t do that, he’ll pretend. We’re both very good at pretending. Chapter 31 Venia purses her lips at the state of my nails. “There’s not much I can do with these apart from a polish. If you want artificial nails, you’ll have to come back when Octavia’s here.” “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I mostly just wanted my hair trimmed.” The shape Flavius had cut into my hair has nearly all grown out. Working at the school during the week, and out in the woods with Marcus on the weekends hadn’t left much time for trips to the beauty salon. I ask, “Where’s Octavia? Not sick, I hope.”

It’s unusual not to see Octavia at her station, her auburn head bent over her task. Since Venia re-united with her coworkers, each has settled into their former specialties as beauty therapists. Flavius is hair and makeup. Octavia is the nail expert. And Venia is skin treatments and waxing. “She left work early,” smirks Flavius. “She has a date.” Venia collects a few tools from the nail station and returns to my side. While Flavius cuts, Venia smooths and buffs. It reminds me of my days as a tribute when all three of them would be working on various body parts at the same time. “We weren’t busy, anyway,” says Venia. “You’re the last customer for the day.” I know. That’s the reason I chose to come at this time. I didn’t want to take the chance of running into Lace when she’s having her roots done. “Anyone I know?” I ask. “Possibly,” replies Venia. “He’s from 12. Thom something. Bick? Hick?” “Hickory?” “That’s it. Hickory. Octavia’s had crushes before but she’s got it really bad this time. I caught her looking through wedding catalogues.” Venia pauses mid-buff. “I’m worried for her.” “How come?” Thom is a nice guy. He was a friend of Gale’s who helped with the clean-up of 12 and gave me a ride home in his cart when I was too weak to walk home. That was the day Peeta came back. “Because of . . . you know, of what we did before the war.” I don’t miss Venia’s use of “we”. If Octavia is accused of being a facilitator of the Games, they all are.

“But doesn’t Thom already know? He was in 13 at the same time as you.” All the survivors from District 12 actually. But Venia shakes her head. “Octavia didn’t know Thom then. We didn’t mix very much with the people there. We thought it safer to keep to ourselves. Especially after the bread.” I suppose being shackled to a wall and beaten for simply taking an extra portion of bread wouldn’t exactly endear the populace to you.

I try to reassure them. “You do know that I’d vouch for you if it ever came out? And tell them how you helped prepare me for the rebellion propos and Snow’s execution?” “I know you would. And maybe we’re worrying over nothing. But we risked a lot coming here and 12’s our home now. Flavius has met someone too – he’s from the Capitol, so that’s not a concern but if we had to leave . . . And Lucia is settled in school and has made friends and Cicero has a good job at the medicine factory . . .” And so Venia goes on. Flavius chimes in too. He tells me they’re set to take on two apprentices and once the tailor has moved out, they want to expand the salon –

“What? Arthur’s leaving?” This is the first I’ve heard of it. But maybe that’s not so surprising. I haven’t seen much of Arthur lately. It’s been only been Max, Johanna and me at pub nights. Arthur is obviously spending his Saturday nights elsewhere. “Oh, he’s not going far,” says Venia. “Just to another store on the main street. He says it’s better situated for passing trade and with the dressmaking shop next door it will likely bring more business to them both.” “I don’t think more business is the only thing those two want from each other,” says Flavius with a suggestive wink. “Flavius!” chides Venia, but she can’t conceal a smile. “It’s true, though. We misplaced the stone we use for sharpening scissors and Octavia went to ask Arthur if we could borrow his. But no one was there even though the door was open. So, she went through to the back, thinking that’s where he’d be, and she caught them red-handed, kissing, and his hand was up her skirt. Octavia forgot all about the stone.” The two of them collapse into giggles. “We didn’t think he had it in him,” says Venia, when she’s able to speak. Neither did I. I can’t laugh about it though. Peeta will be devastated when he hears that Lace has moved on. And so soon after their break-up too. But as badly as I feel for Peeta, I also can’t help feeling happy for Arthur. If there was ever a man who deserves reward for long devotion, it’s him. I only hope that Lace proves worthy of it. One thing I do know is that Peeta isn’t going to hear of it from me. I’m done being involved in his love life. It’s brought me nothing but trouble ever since he made that confession to Caesar Flickerman years before. My only objective is to get over him if I can and make sure that he thinks I have. And that makes this dinner tonight so important. It will set the stage for our relationship going forward. We’ll be friends. Not necessarily close friends. But at least friends who can enjoy social occasions together and feel comfortable in each other’s company. Johanna wants us to dress up so I guess that means I’ll have to wear a cocktail dress. I have one already in my closet. It’s the emerald green dress I wore to the party in 8. But it’s long sleeved and in a heavy fabric and that makes it too hot for this time of the year. I’ll have to go down to the basement where most of the Cinna clothes are stored. There’s a whole rack of cocktail dresses to choose from. But what do you wear when you want to show that you’ve made an effort, but don’t want to appear as if you’ve set out attract anyone in particular – and by anyone, I mean Peeta.

I begin by eliminating colours that are evocative of sunsets or flames. That takes care of anything orange, red or yellow. And then anything that Lace might choose. If Lace is Peeta’s idea of feminine allure then I should make sure to do the opposite. Therefore, no pastels, ruffles and especially any kind of lace. No. No. No, I think as I reject one dress after another. And then I find it. The perfect dress. And so different from the girlish or jeweled frocks that Cinna usually dressed me in that it’s almost as if he knew that one day, I might have a need for a dress such as this. It’s in unrelieved black. Simple and unadorned in slinky silk jersey. I really like it, but Peeta, who loves colour, probably won’t and it’s sure to send a message that I didn’t dress to please him. I accessorize it with black high-heeled sandals and silver and jet earrings. The dress comes to just above the knee with a deep halter neck. It’s impossible to wear a bra without it showing, so I leave it off. I turn around to check how it looks in the mirror from the rear. The clinging fabric does set off my best asset, but since it’s a dinner and I’ll be sitting on it, no one will see it. The burn scars, although much improved from the skin treatments, are still noticeable on my back. I decide to draw attention to it by putting my hair up in a kind of messy bun. This will contrast with Lace’s unblemished skin and immaculate hair and will surely show Peeta that I don’t care at all about being attractive to him. I arrive at Peeta’s door at the same time as Haymitch. He’s wearing a dinner suit, but his white shirt has already untucked from the waistband and his tie isn’t around his neck but dangling from his breast pocket. His eyebrows rise as he takes in my appearance and his lips curve in a sardonic smile. If I needed any confirmation of how incongruous I look in this get-up, I just got it. Johanna answers the door, elegant in a wine-red fitted dress with matching shoes. She appears to have paid a visit to the salon too, because her hair is now a uniform color and has been restyled to lie flat against her skull and frame her face instead of the usual red-tipped spikes sticking up all over her head. “I like your new look,” I tell her. “Yeah, it’s more conservative than I usually go for but I figure I have to start looking the part of mayor sooner or later. But what about you? What have you done with Katniss Everdeen?” I smile and shrug. I’m unsure if not looking like myself is a compliment or not. Peeta stops short when he sees me, his mouth gaping, but he collects himself quickly. “You look beautiful,” he says.

“Thanks,” I murmur. He sounds sincere but I know how easily Peeta can fake it. “You look good too.” And he does, in a cream suit designed by Portia. We move into the dining room. Johanna’s gone to a lot of trouble. I can almost imagine we’re at one of those fancy restaurants in the Capitol. Fresh flowers, dim lighting, the furniture polished to a high sheen. The table is resplendently laid out with the finest dinnerware and gold cutlery. These came with the house. I have them too but I’ve yet to use them. I wonder if Peeta recognizes the pattern on the plates as the same as those that accompanied our feast in the cave. Johanna and Haymitch take seats at opposite ends of the table. That leaves Peeta and me to sit across from each other.

White wine is poured into cut-crystal glasses and starched linen napkins are laid across laps. I wait for either Johanna or Peeta to start bringing in the food but they stay seated. How are we to eat if the food never leaves the kitchen? I eye the woven gold basket filled with soft rolls in the center of the table. Is that all we get? Just then, Cass enters the room carrying a large silver tray. “Good evening,” he says, as places a bowl of soup in front of each of us. “I hope you brought your appetites with you. Don’t forget to save room for dessert.” And then he’s gone. Presumably back to the kitchen. “What was that?” I say to no one in particular. “Cass is doing all the cooking tonight. He’s a qualified chef. He can cook all sorts of things - not just pastries and desserts,” says Johanna. “Yes, I know that. But what’s he doing here?” Peeta answers. “Johanna thought it would be nice to have a professional do the cooking so we could relax and enjoy ourselves.” Right. I just wish Johanna’s idea of relaxation was drinks at the pub, or a barbeque in the backyard. Any place where I didn’t risk locking eyes with Peeta at any minute. We can scarcely look at each other. Every time his eyes chance to meet mine, they flit away. It’s like being back at school. We’re doing a very poor job of acting at ease with each other so far. I’m a lousy actress at the best of times but I expected better of Peeta. Clearly the knowledge that I’m in love with him freaks him out to the extent that he’s forgotten all his acting skills. The food is a welcome diversion and I tuck in. The soup is creamy pumpkin sprinkled with slivered nuts and little black seeds. Sublime. I recognize it as one of the soups at the Capitol feast. It’s followed by those delicious little roasted birds filled with orange sauce. Then fish swimming in a green sauce flecked with herbs. And then, oh, I don’t believe it! Lamb stew with dried plums! On a bed of wild rice!

That makes me think of our feast in the cave, of course. It’s even served on the same patterned plates. My eyes instinctively search out Peeta’s. Do you remember it? You must, surely. How excited we were when that parachute arrived. How careful we were to eat only small portions so we wouldn’t be sick after so many days of hunger. And then how we whiled away the time until we could eat again – snuggled together in the sleeping bag, my head on your shoulder, your arms wrapped around me, imagining our life together if we survived the Games. You, me and Haymitch, you said. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales. You must remember it!

But Peeta doesn’t look my way. His gaze flickers between Johanna and Haymitch without it ever landing on me even though we’re sitting directly across from each other. And he laughs just a little too loudly at Johanna’s poor taste joke about prunes and how we’ll all shit well tomorrow. He remembers our feast in the cave, all right! I’m certain of it. He just doesn’t want me to know that he does. To spare me the humiliation, probably. I want to kick myself. Gawping at him like a love-sick idiot – practically begging him to remember one of our most intimate moments together. At least Peeta has his wits about him, not letting on that the stew holds any particular significance.

I quietly return to my stew. It’s not as good as I remember it and I can only manage a few mouthfuls. Saving room for dessert, I tell Johanna, when she comments. Unfortunately, there’s a long break between this course and the next. I suppose Cass wants our stomachs to have a rest before he brings out the dessert which is sure to be spectacular. But it makes the pressure to appear congenial and unaffected by Peeta’s presence that much harder when I don’t have the food to distract me.

Since I got here, Peeta hadn’t spoken a great deal, and me even less. The conversation has been carried mostly by Johanna and Haymitch. She’s been picking his brain about the challenges of town planning and the provision of services such as garbage collection and road maintenance. Johanna had better get this job for mayor. She already acts as if it’s hers. That’s why it’s a surprise when the focus of attention turns to me. I’d been occupied twisting my crystal glass around by the stem watching the colours change across its facets. Anything to keep my mind off the person sitting opposite me. “You’ll step in, won’t you, Katniss?” Johanna asks. My head jerks up. “Hmm? What – “ “She doesn’t have to,” says Peeta quickly. “Step in for what?” I ask, directing my question to Johanna. “To watch the tapes with Peeta.” says Johanna. Before I can respond Peeta interjects again. “There’s no need to bother Katniss. I’ll be fine with Haymitch.” “You won’t,” says Haymitch. “The tapes labeled ‘to be watched with Katniss’ are all that’s left. It’s probably why the content has become repetitive lately. Aurelius has obviously run out of material I can help you with.” “You need to watch all the tapes,” Johanna adds. “You don’t know what memories are missing until you do.” “Katniss has already done her share. I’ll be fine watching on my own,” says Peeta. Johanna shakes her head. “You know that’s not how it works. You need someone to put it into context. Besides, the tapes were her idea to begin with. She should see it through.” Peeta turns to me for the first time. “There’s really no need.” He’s almost pleading with me. I really want to accept his offer to not watch the tapes with him. I know he’s giving me an escape but if I go along with it, it gives the impression that I’m afraid and that’s not good either. It has to appear as if I have nothing to hide. Which I don’t. Except the part that I’m still in love with him, of course. I can see where he’s coming from. After my slip-up with the stew, he’s worried that if I’m compelled to watch the tapes with him, I’m sure to give myself away. He’s protecting me from myself. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent and I promise myself I will defeat his plan. Johanna is right. I should finish what I started. Remember that my primary objective was for Peeta to find himself. And if those tapes hold the final pieces, then I’m determined that he shall have them. I will watch those tapes, no matter how bad they are, and he will never guess from my reaction that I still carry a torch for him. It’s the only way we’ll ever be able to act normally around each other. “I’m happy to help,” I say. “Same time and place?” All eyes are on him. He’s trapped and he knows it. Peeta’s nod is almost imperceptible. What a timely moment for Cass to bring out the dessert. It’s a tower of pastries filled with different flavored custards, welded together with chocolate and studded with raspberries and sugared violets surrounded by an immense web of delicate spun sugar. There’s enough for at least a dozen or more people. But the best thing about it is that its position in the center of the table effectively blocks out my view of Peeta. So, Dr Aurelius has sent tapes that he wants Peeta to specifically watch with me. I wonder if I was ever going to be told about them. Probably not if it had been left up to Peeta. He’s obviously anxious about what’s on them. That makes me think that he has most, if not all, of his memories back. Enough, at least, to guess at how I feel about him. It seems that the tapes have progressed from those which showed me either indifferent or acting a part to when I began to return his feelings. And the irony is that it’s made not a scrap of difference. I’m glad now that Dr Aurelius sent the compromising tapes first. I had never stood a chance with him, even without Lace.

Cass comes out to clear away the dessert plates and the remains of that pastry thing. He frowns at how little impact we made on it. But it really was huge. To make him feel better, I ask if he can wrap it up for me to share around the staff room tomorrow. Max will probably make some joke about chocolate covered balls and phallic symbols. We finish with tea for Peeta and me and coffee for Johanna and Haymitch. Haymitch takes from his pocket a silver flask and pours a generous slug of whatever’s in it into his cup.

The dinner finally comes to an end. I pull Johanna aside before I go, ostensibly to say goodbye to her. I won’t see her tomorrow. The train for 7 leaves very early and Peeta has offered to walk her to the train station.

“The whole night was a setup, wasn’t it? To get me to watch the tapes with Peeta again?”

She doesn’t bother denying it. “Yep. Someone had to give the two of you a nudge in the right direction.” She gives me one of her stern big sister looks. “Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,” I say. She doesn’t have to know that I have something completely different in mind to her.

I hug her goodbye and wish her luck. I don’t know when we’ll meet again. Not with me stuck in 12 and Johanna busy being mayor but maybe she’ll find time in her schedule to visit at some point.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she calls out as I leave. Where have I heard that expression before? Ah yes, Plutarch. They were the last words he spoke to me before he left the hovercraft that brought me back to 12. Thankfully, even after that scare with Marcus, that’s exactly how it’s stayed.

“Never,” I call back. No one could ever be the little sister that Prim was. But maybe I’ve gained a pretty good substitute for an older one.

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kriscme · 3 years

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One Life To Live Sorry for not thinking of this sooner. To readers who are following “One Life To Live” I’m still working on this fic. The story now appears on A03 in weekly installments while I write the concluding chapters. Thanks for following my story. You will get an ending to it. Kris.

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kriscme · 4 years

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One Life To Live

Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”. You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box. I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.” “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black. “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle. “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much. And then Anton. And Cecil. And 11’s wrestling team. They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish. Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory. Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake? Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.” I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.” The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out. The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless. “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.” I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs. “What do you think? She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that. My worry must show in my face. “Why do you ask? You haven’t done something stupid, have you?” When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up. “Like you did such a good job of it. If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back. Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides. Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite. I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again. “How is Peeta?” I ask. “Have you talked to him?” A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke. I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door. I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes. Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it. He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why. I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him. Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window. Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast. In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest. Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning. Have the ants do it. “Saw him the day before yesterday. Had dinner after watching the tape. Johanna cooked. I wish she’d let Peeta do it. He’s a much better cook, but she insisted. She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves. But he’s fine, all things considered. Just very down. Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression. Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in. My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them. It’s irrational,of course. I’m the one who distanced myself. And I was busy this weekend anyway. But I do miss it. All of us together. “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me. Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.” That could explain why I haven’t seen him. Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid. The camera crew are everywhere. I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine. Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist. “He showed interest in one of them. The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves. I think back to that day. Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch. I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came. It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time. To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly. Peeta barely looked at me. When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats. Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow. There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway. And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it. The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?” I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both. “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea. That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself. How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”

It fits. On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.

“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch. “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him. That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up. And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there. That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games. About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love. “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant. He knew before I did. Finnick too. I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known. That’s all.” Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle. “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him. There’s some logic to it. I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up. And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible. And it’s not like there’s any other ideas. I should run it past Aurelius. See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say. “At the very least, it can’t hurt.” The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though. Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her. Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there. I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that. Because the “stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about. “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him. “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard. She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK. Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it. No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself. You were just doing a job. That’s where Johanna went wrong. She was trying to attract publicity. And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it. They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage. So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.” Haymitch regards me with amusement. “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red. “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart. It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head. And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing. I judge it to be a good time to leave. I wander around the Village for a little while. I want to talk to Johanna. She’d understand. But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it. Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success. How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week. She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school. Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms. Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course. When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind. “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews. In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake. But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day. I was hesitant to go. I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible. But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it. And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded. Marcus led the way. Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview. The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them. From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time. “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs. I got the impression that these woods are very special to you. What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me. I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes. Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions. Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook. From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus. Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine. Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation. The woods have been my sanctuary. Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.” Startled, my head jerked towards the sound. Cressida was beside me. Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus. She must have hung back and waited for me. I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida. In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day. If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way. Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did. At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing. And then there’s Johanna. Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered. There, honest but not too revealing. Nothing that Cressida could take much from. I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words. “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way. I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more. “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together. I’m happy for you both. Truly.” Her face cleared. “That’s what Gale said. But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say. I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily. I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been. I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were. I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here. Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood? If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it. The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.” Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit. “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know. You and Peeta. You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response. How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?” At least we’re spared media attention. That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on. “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating. It represents so many things to people. How love and hope endure. Rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them. I need to take a toilet break. Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree. Why did she have to tell me that? It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too. And I’m so tired of people and their expectations. Peeta and I represent nothing. Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people. I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others. When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux. We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation. An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine. Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida. Messalina was occupied with her notebook. The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew. I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything. He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview. I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done. I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us. So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other. And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them. Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house. One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly. I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world. Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots. He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door. I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag. It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside. It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean. The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within. Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot. “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus. “Ok,” I replied, intrigued. There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us. Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring. It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source. It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature. The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught. And then I waited . . . and waited. I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.

“What’s this about? Aren’t we supposed – “ I began. His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss. It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances. But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs. It had to go. While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast. My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare. The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers. He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion. And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted. My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry. Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot. Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine. It felt so, so good. I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever. That is, until he started pounding his hips into me. The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust. It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too. Marcus enjoyed himself though. I could tell from his breathing that he was close. But then it happened. A loud snap. It was unmistakable. We both heard it. Even Marcus, occupied as he was. Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound. But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus. He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground. Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost. Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order. I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back. Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag. The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring. But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light. On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work. But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.

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kriscme · 4 years

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One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter. As always thanks to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fantic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which can be read on AO3 and FanFiction Chapter 29 “Peeta! Peeta! Wait!” I shout. He stops and turns. I break into a run to arrive at his side breathless. “Hi” I pant. “Do you mind if I walk with you?” A brief shake of the head. “No, it’s OK.” And then he turns his eyes back to the road. “I . . . um . . .” Oh, just get this over with. “I was sorry to hear about you and Lace. If there’s anything I can do. You know, if you want to talk. Or anything.” “Thanks. But there’s nothing anyone can do. And I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s OK.” “Of course,” I say, deflated. “Whatever you want.” Already I regret the impulse that had me tearing out the village gates and down the road after him. All of yesterday I was trying to build up the courage to go see him. To offer support, or friendship, or a shoulder to cry on; whatever Peeta wanted that I could provide. But it just seemed wrong somehow, after so many weeks of avoiding any visits to his home, to turn up unexpectedly, and at such a time, to say what, exactly? So, when I saw him from my sitting room window, heading towards town, I saw the perfect opening. We both had to walk to work. It was part of our normal day. I abandoned my tea and toast, stuffed feet into shoes, arms into a jacket, grabbed my pack by the door and sped after him. But now I see the flaw in my plan. If I had gone to his home, I could have said, “well, if you need anything, just ask,” and then left having done all that I can. But what do I do now? He doesn’t want me around, that’s clear. But if I make my excuses and leave, then it appears as if I don’t really care, and that’s the last thing I want him to think. But it soon becomes obvious that I’m going to have to make some kind of conversation or suffer dead silence for the remainder of the walk. Talk is Peeta’s talent, not mine, but I can tell by the set of his jaw and the way he keeps his eyes straight ahead that it’s not going to come from him. “You’ll never guess who’s in 12,” I say with an attempt at brightness. “Cressida. Johanna told me. She’s here to report on the new national park. And she ordered a wedding cake from the bakery.” “Oh.” Damn Johanna. That’s all I had. “Well, Johanna doesn’t know who she’s marrying. It’s – “ “Katniss, I don’t care. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m just not in the mood. Not for anything. Do you mind?” Mind what? Not talking? Is it me? Is that what he’s not in the mood for? Is he asking me to leave? I look to his face for clues. It’s hard and set, his gaze fixed on something in the middle distance. He’s shut me out. I haven’t felt this from Peeta since we returned from our first Games when he’d barely look at me. I try to be sympathetic, to understand that he’s in very dark place right now but the sting of rejection hits hard. It’s not my fault they broke up. Why is he taking it out on me? “No, of course not,” I say stiffly. “I’ll just run ahead then.”

I put about 200 meters between us before I slow down to a walk. Anger gives way to remorse. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I made it about me when it’s Peeta who’s had his heart broken. The last thing he’ll want to hear is talk about weddings. But it’s done now and there’s no taking it back. He won’t appreciate it if I go back to apologize and put myself in his company again. The best I can do for him is to leave him be until he’s ready. But at least he’s back at work, and that’s a good thing. And it only took three days. It took Lace one. I know, because I checked. As much as I dislike her, I was glad to see she hasn’t been brought so low that she’s unable to work. But I suppose there’s rent to pay and customer orders waiting. Same for Peeta with those cake orders. You carry on. You go through the motions until life has meaning again. That was the advice Dr Aurelius gave me in those early days. And it does work. But I did want to talk to him about Cressida and what her presence here means to us. And perhaps more pressingly, what to do with Johanna. Because while she’s been bustling around trying to help the two of us, she’s possibly the one most in need of help. Marcus didn’t return home alone that night. He brought a guest. And while he busied himself in the kitchen making dinner, Cressida and I had the chance to catch up. Fortunately, I didn’t have to explain the current situation with Peeta and me. It didn’t take long for this experienced television director to ferret out most of the facts from the local inhabitants. Marcus seems to have contributed too. At least, insomuch as the part I’ve played in the development of this new national park. The fact that he presently resides in my house would also have told her something. I was right that the government has forbidden any media intrusion into the lives of Victors, unless that Victor has forfeited that right by seeking it out. Even Plutarch Heavensbee, now Director of Communications, has to abide by this rule. Cressida told me he wanted to send a TV crew to my house to launch a new singing program before Paylor put a stop to it. I dimly recalled being asked if I’d like to perform for a TV show he had planned. That was on the hovercraft that brought Haymitch and me back to 12. “Panem’s Got Talent?” I asked. “The one that has representatives from each district?” “That’s it,” said Cressida. “He wanted you to be a mentor.” Mentor? Is he kidding? Plutarch has really no idea. “I should warn you,” said Cressida delicately, “that your association with Marcus could expose you to unwanted publicity if it’s assumed you’ve taken on a public role. And any publicity that you attract will also expose Peeta to the same risk. I’m afraid there’s no separating the two of you. Not with your history.” “Is that what happened to Johanna? She told me how she’s been screwed by the media.” I didn’t add “and by you” but my tone implied it.

“What has she told you?” she asked warily. “That you did a TV special on her that made her look like a fool.” Johanna didn’t actually say that, but that was the consequence. A pretentious title, the naked interview, the mocking comments on social media that followed. “You know better than most what Johanna’s gone through. She didn’t deserve that.” Cressida glanced over at the door. Noise could be heard from the kitchen. Satisfied, she leaned closer to me and said in a hushed voice, “Johanna got what she wanted. The TV special was her idea. She chose the name, the content, and how she’d be interviewed. I thought it was a bad idea from the beginning but Marcus said to indulge her, so I did. The trash we ended up with wasn’t intended to see the light of day, but Johanna went over my head to ask Plutarch when it would be aired. A week later as it turned out, in prime time. It was the highest rating show for the time slot, even beating “One Life to Live” that ran at the same time. Didn’t anyone here see it?” Hundreds, if not thousands, probably. But no one I know. No, that’s not right. Lace did. That’s how she knew where to hit Johanna exactly where it hurts that night at the pub. “We watch “One Life to Live.” I mean, Haymitch does. And I don’t watch much television. I guess that’s why we missed it.” Cressida continued, “it caused a frenzy on social media and Marcus’s opponents had a field day. Johanna didn’t seem to care but Marcus certainly did.” “Why does he put up with her if she’s so much trouble?” “For the same reasons anyone puts up with her. We know what’s she suffered, and how much this country owes her. She’s also oddly likeable, despite being a pain in the butt most of the time. And she was an enormous help to Marcus in 7 in rallying public support against the logging companies. He also feels responsible, since he was the one who said to go ahead with the interview. But he couldn’t have known Plutarch would get hold of it. I’m mostly to blame. I shouldn’t have agreed to do it, or at least made sure the tape was destroyed immediately after. I know what Plutarch’s like. Anything for ratings. Even exploiting a sick woman isn’t too low for him.” “You think Johanna’s sick?” Cressida sighed. “Sick might not be the right word. But she has problems. I think she struggles to find her identity now that the Games and the war are over. It’s probably why she became so intensely involved with the conservation movement in 7. She needs to feel relevant. It was a very difficult situation for Marcus. On one hand, he was grateful for her support but on the other hand she invited ridicule every time she stripped off in public and chained herself to a tree.”

Marcus must have freaked out when he learned that Johanna had followed him to 12. But she’s been no trouble. I suppose it’s partly because people are generally supportive of a national park here and she’s had nothing to do. She’s also found a new cause to fill her time – Peeta and me. “She hasn’t done anything like that since she’s been here,” I said. I don’t count the exposed cleavage for Arthur’s benefit as “stripping off.” “Are you sure about that?” No. I don’t see Johanna all that much considering she’s only across the road from me. Just visits within the confines of the Village and outings to the pub on Saturday nights. “What has she done?” Cressida proceeded to tell me about a recent incident at the ice-cream parlor. Johanna had treated herself to the four-scoop special – four scoops of ice-cream piled on top of one another in a cone. While she was seated at a table all four scoops of the melting ice-cream tumbled down her front and into her lap. “She took off her dress and all she had under it was a G-string. And since that was wet, it came off too. One of my crew heard it from the proprietor of the dress-making shop in the main street. She was there when it happened. And then Johanna caused further scandal when she asked if anyone wanted to lick it off.” I snorted in disbelief. Max, with his ear for gossip, would surely have heard about it and then told me. Besides, Johanna never wears dresses, preferring either trousers or shorts. “It’s not true,” I told Cressida. “The owner of the dress-making shop is Peeta’s ex-fiancé. She hates Johanna.” I guess the opportunity to get back at Johanna proved too tempting for Lace. What’s most concerning though is that Cressida found it plausible. Marcus came in at the moment to announce that dinner was ready and there was no more talk of Johanna. Over a meal of nut loaf and salad, Cressida told of us her forthcoming wedding. I murmured the usual congratulations. She hesitated when she named the groom. She could have saved herself the worry. I don’t care who Gale marries. They are well-suited, actually. Cressida’s in the television industry and Gale, with his fancy new job, makes frequent appearances on it. It’s how their relationship blossomed, with Cressida behind the camera and Gale in front of it in a series of interviews she directed. I learned that he’s still based in 2 and he has something to do with the planning of a new military base to replace the one he helped destroy in the war. Cressida went into some detail about it, but I wasn’t really listening. I was trying to match the boy I had known with this new incarnation of himself. That boy had raged against the Capitol and laughed at their ridiculous fashions. And now he’s almost one of them and about to marry a bald woman with a tattooed head. To be accurate, a half bald woman. Cressida has grown her hair on one side: long, blond and falling over one eye. A more disturbing topic of conversation was the end of Marcus’s work here in 12. A team will arrive later in the year to lay down tracks and erect viewing platforms, signs and other structures but Marcus will have long gone by then. I said little while he and Cressida talked of his plans in 13. Marcus shot me an inquiring look a couple of times but I kept my face blank. I knew the day was coming but I’ve put off thinking about it. What’s the point? I can’t leave 12 and Marcus has an important job to do that takes him to places where I can’t follow. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder to see where Peeta is. I walk faster than he does and I expect to see that he’s a long way behind but instead I find that he’s gained considerable ground on me. My feet must have slowed and I quicken my stride until we’re at a comfortable distance again. If all I can do for him is to give him space, then I’m determined that he shall have it. He doesn’t need my clumsy attempts at sympathy or distraction right now. Or even worse, my awkward silences. And, to be honest, there’s another more selfish reason. I don’t know how I should act around him. It’s just easier to keep away. In any case, Johanna was wrong to urge me to see him so soon. It’s been only a few days. An ex-lover, even if he doesn’t remember how it felt to love her, can only be a painful reminder of what he’s lost. But at least he knows now that I am here for him when he’s ready. And in the meantime, Johanna will take good care of him. What Cressida told me should make me anxious but it’s actually done the opposite. They’ll help each other. Peeta needs a sympathetic ear and not to be alone in that big house of his. And Johanna needs something to occupy her time now that a reunion between Peeta and me is no longer possible. Johanna’s problems will likely start when Peeta has recovered and she no longer has a reason to stay in 12. And then what?

What does a victor do when the fighting is over and all that’s left is yourself? You could return to your family, but Johanna doesn’t have one. Snow had them killed. You could reunite with your lover but Johanna didn’t have one of those either. Too risky. A lover gave Snow something to hold over you. Or you could return to what once defined you, maybe not as a permanent solution, but as a starting point at least. For me, it was hunting. For Peeta, baking. For Haymitch, drinking. For Beetee, science. For Enobaria, celebrity. For Annie, whose life was Finnick, his son to care for. And Johanna goes back to what? Chopping wood? I can’t imagine any satisfaction from that. I don’t really know Johanna that well. I know she can kill viciously. I don’t hold it against her. To survive, you do what you have to. And like Peeta and me, she would have been told to put on a show. Only for Johanna it was helpless weakling turned ruthless killer in the blink of an eye rather than tragic star-crossed lovers. I didn’t like her when we first met. Even now, I feel irritated just thinking about it. That time in the elevator when she stepped out of her costume to expose her naked body to Peeta and me. And then how Peeta reacted to it. Laughing at me. You’re so pure, Katniss. For a split second, I’m tempted to turn around and run back to tell him what pure Katniss got up to last night. But then, just as quickly, resentment gives way to dejection. He wouldn’t care. Probably just give me a strange look and continue walking.

Anyway, it’s Johanna I should be thinking about. Why does it always have to come back to Peeta with me? It’s over, Everdeen. Move on. Although it is hard to keep my mind off him when he’s behind me and I’m trying to keep my distance. Another fleeting glance over my shoulder. He’s gained again. I quicken my pace in response. Either Peeta walks faster than he used to, or I’ve slowed down. So, Johanna. In spite of our mutual dislike, we formed something of a bond in 13, united as we were in our determination to bring down Snow and we became allies, if not actual friends. But our plan to infiltrate the Capitol together came to naught when Johanna failed her final exam in combat training. Her fear of water was what did it. She feared it so much, she avoided showering and made do with an ineffectual wipe with a damp cloth. Dirt accumulated under her nails and I wondered if people from 7 bathed.

She looks clean enough to me now though which makes me think she must have been treated for it since. I guess if all Johanna does, after everything she’s endured, is a willingness to take off her clothes at the slightest excuse, then she’s come out of it pretty well. It’s her natural inhibition about nakedness taken to an extreme with a dash of attention seeking thrown in. Well, more than a dash. A huge dollop, actually. But at least she does it for a good cause, dubious in value as it may seem to others. She just needs another way to express herself. Something more socially acceptable. And there was something else that Cressida hinted at. A purpose. A reason to get out of bed in the morning. We all need that. What I do know about her is that she loves her home district. I recall the bundle of pine needles I made for her. “Smells like home,” she said, her eyes full with tears. And something else. A conversation we had in 13. Of Johanna admitting to being jealous of me. I told her, “You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would’ve had to feed you lines.” And her answer, “True. But no one likes me.” But she’s wrong about that. Johanna is immensely popular with the citizens of 7. I bet no one fed her lines when she was fighting the logging companies. Along with loyalty, courage, dedication to a cause, a willingness to work hard and a hide as tough as an elephant’s, there must be something Johanna is suited for.

By the time I reach the school, Peeta has already turned down a side street to the bakery. He’ll probably get straight onto the cake orders. He’s found therapy in his work before and I hope he does again. I know it will be a hard slog. How do you recover from a love you’ll never have again? I wish I had the answer.

When it’s time to go home, I make sure that Peeta’s not in sight first. But I need not worry. He got home well before me. I know because at my front door is a white bakery box from Carter’s. I lift the lid and inside is a small cake lavishly frosted with katniss and primrose flowers. Tucked into the side is an envelope. I wait until I’m inside the house to open it. I expect to find a written apology as the cake is obviously a peace offering. But there’s no letter. I tip the contents into my hand. It’s a locket on a chain. The same locket he gave me in the Quell.

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kriscme · 4 years

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One Life To Live

Hi Readers, sorry for the longer interval that usual. It took me awhile to work out where to go from here. The hazard of not working to a plan. Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.” You can read it on AO3 and Fanfiction. Chapter 28 The following morning, I set out for work as usual. All is quiet in the Village. Peeta would still be sleeping off the effects of sleep syrup but there’s no sign of Johanna or Haymitch. I modify my usual route to the school and walk down the main street, curious to see if Lace is working today. She doesn’t open this early, but she can usually be seen behind her shop window bustling about, either sewing or sorting through fabrics. Today there’s no sign of her. Even more oddly, the tailor’s shop is closed. Arthur starts early and finishes late, eager for as much business as possible to fund that factory he intends to own one day. The bakery is open though. Cass and Saffy are serving behind the counter. Saffy replaced Sateen after she quit her job to marry Roy. Her full name is Sapphire and she’s aptly named with dark blue eyes and pale blond hair. She’s someone I might have been jealous of if Peeta hadn’t already been with Lace. Very pretty, she flirts with everyone, male and female alike. Peeta told me she had been training as a career before the war put an end to the Games. Her favored weapon was the bow although she admits that she was only middling good at best. But if Glimmer – also from 1 – had made it through on good looks and charm, then why not her? It’s the early morning rush and there’s quite a few people ahead of me. While I wait, I take the opportunity to examine the contents of the display counters. Bee stings must still be popular as they take up an entire shelf. Below them are apple pastries and jelly slices. Chocolate eclairs and fruit tarts, cupcakes and . . . yes, iced cookies, each decorated with a floral motif. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. In one corner of the bakery is a large glass case displaying a dazzling array of celebration cakes. “Amazing, aren’t they?” says Cass behind me. I look around and see that the other customers have left and there’s only me, Cass and Saffy, who is occupied packing loaves of bread onto shelves. “We’re really lucky to have found him. He could get work anywhere, if he wanted.” He points to the central cake, a large multi-tiered wedding cake decorated with an intricate vine design in gold. The pattern and the shape of the leaves stirs a memory, and I wonder if it had for Peeta too. “We even got an order for one just like it to be shipped to the Capitol.” “The Capitol? Wow! That’s a long way to come for a wedding cake. How did they know to look here?” Cass chuckles. “She actually came in for the beestings. She recognized us from our bakery in the Capitol. But when she saw that cake, she just had to have it. It was the strangest thing. The tattoo on her head was an exact match with the vine decoration on the cake.” “Oh, that is strange. Did she say why she was in 12? We don’t usually get tourists here.” “She didn’t say. But the beestings was a treat for her crew, I know that much. Construction, maybe? There’s a lot of that going on.” “Yeah, probably.” Despite my efforts to keep my voice even, I can’t help a sense of urgency creeping in. “Did she ask to speak to Peeta? You know, to talk about the cake?” “No. She didn’t ask who iced it.” Cass’s brow pinches in worry. “Is there something wrong?” “Of course not,” I quickly assure him. “Just curious, that’s all. I thought she might have wondered how the cake and her tattoo happen to match. But it’s probably a standard design. Peeta likely saw it somewhere from his days in the Capitol.” His face relaxes into a smile. “Well, there was plenty to choose from, fashions changed so fast. None as popular as your Mockingjay symbol though.” “Yeah, it did seem to be everywhere. Although I bet there’s a lot of people who regret they got a tattoo of it,” I say with a laugh. I search for a change of subject. I really don’t want to revisit those days. “Do you have any cheese buns ready?” “A batch is due out of the oven now. Just wait a minute and I’ll get them,” he says, and disappears into the rear of the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked cheese buns would normally have me salivating, but all I can think of is the woman who ordered that cake. Cressida! What’s she doing in 12? The last I heard, she and Pollux had been sent to the Districts to cover the wreckage of the war. This was not long after the Capitol had fallen, Coin was in charge, Snow awaiting trial, and I was in hospital being treated for burns. Maybe she’s here to do a story on District 12’s recovery. That would make sense. I just hope Peeta and I aren’t the subject. Paylor would certainly put a stop to it if we were, wouldn’t she? She didn’t want me attracting any attention when I was in 8, after all. I think as far as the government is concerned; we outlived our usefulness long ago. Nowadays we’re more of an embarrassment. The lunatic who went berserk and kicked a fellow combatant into a pod to his death, and the lunatic who executed the wrong president. I think, if the government have its way, we’ll never be heard of again. No ill will, just please quietly fade into the sunset. Max sheds no further light on the Cressida mystery. When asked if I’d missed anything while I was away, he only commented on Arthur’s uncharacteristic behavior at the pub on the Saturday night. Max describes him as an odd mixture of concern and excitement. “Like he was happy about something, but felt bad that he was happy about it. He didn’t stick around for long. Said he had personal issues to attend to.” Lace, probably. That could explain why his shop wasn’t open as usual. Arthur wouldn’t, would he? Spend the night with her? To give comfort, or maybe something more? Maybe he’s heeding his own advice: be adaptable, be open to possibilities. “Lace and Peeta broke up,” I say, and wait for Max’s stunned reaction. To my surprise I don’t get one. Not beyond a raise of eyebrows and a sardonic laugh, that is. “Did they now? Well, you could see that coming.” “How?” I ask, disbelieving. It’s so typical of Max to claim credit for knowing something after the fact. Peeta and Lace were never anything less than a devoted couple. No one could have seen it coming. I get a disbelieving look in return. “You must have been too preoccupied with making plans for your weekend in the woods with Nature Man. Because while their hands might have been all over each other their eyes weren’t. His were on you and hers were on Arthur. I was surprised Lace held out for as long as she did. If looks could kill, Johanna would have been dead a dozen times over.” Max finishes collating the work sheets on the table and sets to work stapling them together. “So, what’s between them? Obviously, they’re more than just acquaintances if he knew her secret before Psycho Boy did.” “They knew each other in 8. They’re related through marriage,” is all I say. I doubt if Arthur would appreciate me giving away more than that. Certainly not that he’s had a crush on Lace since childhood. “And stop calling people names. It’s immature. And unnecessary.” “But I like calling people names. It’s fun. You’re just jealous I haven’t one for you yet. How about The Scowler? Yes, that fits,” he says, grinning at me. I try to wipe the scowl off my face but give up. Max gives me so much to scowl at. “And now the big question is, who will she choose? Nature Man or Psycho Boy? It should be no contest but there’s no accounting for some women’s tastes.” “There is no choice,” I snap. “And mind your own business.” I plonk my still half-full cup of tea in the sink and stomp out of the staff room before remembering that I’ve just committed the grave offense of not washing my cup and placing it back on the self. Maybe I can get back in time later to do it before Mrs. Matson sees it. But I’m not going back in there right now. Not while he’s in there, no matter the consequences. That man annoys me so much. And the most annoying thing about him is that he can see right through me. Because if I’m honest with myself, the thought had occurred to me too. Which is really, really dumb. The situation bears no relationship whatsoever to the choice I had between Gale and Peeta. Because then there really was a choice. Two boys who were in love with me compared to one man who isn’t, and another I can’t say. But somehow, I sense that there’s still a choice to be made. I don’t know how, or why. Just that at one point, I’ll have to make one. If Max can be trusted with anything, it’s to spread information in the fastest time possible. By lunchtime everyone knows. I get a few looks, especially from the newest members of staff. I suppose I’d better get used to it. People will speculate and assume the way is clear now for Peeta and me. In their minds, anything other than a star-crossed lovers union is unthinkable, an aberration that shouldn’t be tolerated. It’s unfortunate for them that they’re going to be disappointed a second time. I walk home the way I came, down the main street. Lace’s shop is still closed, but Arthur is open for business. I watch him through the window as I walk past. Arthur has really only one expression, but it manifests in varying degrees according to his mood and the situation. Today it’s serious light, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Johanna calls by soon after I arrive home. Marcus isn’t here so I lead her into the sitting room where we can talk openly in comfort. “How is he?” I ask as soon as we’re seated. “Better. There haven’t been any more flashbacks, at least. I think the long sleep broke the cycle. Not that I’ve seen much of him. He kept to his room most of the day, except when he came down to talk to Aurelius on the phone.” “And?” Neither of us pretend that Johanna hadn’t listened in. We’re both shameless. Johanna for eavesdropping and me for asking her to repeat it. But justified, we tell ourselves, because we care about his welfare. Johanna’s forehead crinkles in concentration. “Well, I only heard Peeta’s side of it, of course. And it was muffled at times. But he talked about the flashbacks. That’s how I know they’ve stopped. And then about the break-up. I got the impression he must have already talked to Aurelius about the possibility, because he didn’t explain why they broke up, just that they had, and he felt badly about it. And then, all of a sudden, he started to cry. He kept saying over and over that his life was ruined and he’ll never find a love like that again and that it was his own fault.” It’s a knife to the heart. I know Peeta doesn’t love me anymore but he has some awareness that he once did, and that it was, by his own account, overwhelming in its intensity. But Lace has supplanted me in that too. She’s the love that can never be surpassed. But something doesn’t quite make sense. Why break-up with her if he feels that way? She was the one who had to be forgiven. Peeta did nothing wrong. But then I remember what Peeta told Johanna when she asked him why they had broken-up. He said they’d both lied. Could Lace have initiated the break-up? That whatever Peeta had lied about was a deal breaker for her? And then I think about Arthur and his closed shop this morning and the little smile on his face when I saw him later in the day. That’s more than relief for a disaster averted. He’s had encouragement. From Lace. Poor Peeta. Poor, poor Peeta. Everything about her he adored – her laughter, her bright personality, her ambition. He even liked that slobbering dog of hers. And after everything he’s suffered. The Games, losing his leg, his torture at Snow’s hands. And the loss of his entire family in the bombing too. He had no one except Haymitch and me – a drunk and a depressed recluse, as battle scarred and broken as he. And then he meets Lace. The ray of light in the darkness. And the amount of money he spent on that wedding! To please her, to show her and the world how much he loves her. And now, oh, how could she? “It was heartbreaking. I just wanted to leap out and tell him that little bitch isn’t worth it. But I couldn’t, you know.” No, not without revealing yourself. “But he calmed down eventually. He talked about going the Capitol for treatment but I think Aurelius persuaded him to stay here. And that’s about it. Except to talk again tomorrow. Oh, and Peeta promised to think about returning to work as soon as possible and to get out and see people. And to continue to work on his memories.” That’s similar to the advice Dr Aurelius gave me when I told I was in love with Peeta. To work on myself, to find my direction. “No, that’s not quite right,” Johanna adds. “I left out an important detail. He promised to work on his memories with her. I guess Aurelius appreciated my input. And he did make a lot more progress once I took over. Sorry, Katniss, but he did.” I nod wearily. It hurts, but it’s true. All I managed to do was confirm what he had already convinced himself of. A disaster from start to finish. “Are you going to see him?” asks Johanna. “I think it will help him to know that he still has friends.” I want to say no. But I know that if the positions were reversed Peeta would put aside his own hurt feelings and support me any way he can. “Yes, in a day or two maybe. I want to give him time to adjust first.” It’s a lame response but Johanna seems to accept it. If I were Peeta I could leave a bag of cookies or cheese buns at his front door as a convenient way of conveying support without having to actually engage. But I can’t think of anything I can give him that he’d want so I’ll have to face him. I can’t delay it forever. I tell Johanna about the cake with the vine design and the woman who ordered one just like it. And of my suspicions of who this woman might be. “Yeah, that’d be Cressida. She’s been covering an ongoing story about Marcus and the national parks. She comes around this time, just as Marcus is almost finished wrapping things up. Although, in 7, she was almost there from the start. You know, because of all the trouble we had with the logging companies. I don’t know if you saw it, but she did a special feature on me. It was called “Johanna Mason – Environmental Activist. Her Life After the Games.” It was sensationalist rubbish really. They kept on showing footage of me chained naked to a tree. Even asked if I’d do the interview like that. I did, but I want to be clear, it was their idea, not mine. And they tried to fabricate a love affair between me and Marcus too. Marcus hated it. Especially when memes appeared on social media transposing me naked against the tree with him next to me with his hands in various places.” “But why?” I’m aghast. This is dreadful news. If they did that to Johanna, what would they do to Marcus and me? Or to Peeta and Lace? Or to Peeta and me? This is juicy fodder for the tabloid media. “I thought they wanted us to lay low. To just blend in and be ordinary people again.” Johanna looks at me askance. “Well, maybe you and Peeta. But not for the rest of us. Beetee writes for a science magazine and does frequent guest appearances on “Cool Science” and Enobaria has her own reality show. “Keeping Up with the Barbarian,” or something like that. Annie likes to keep a low profile though.” “Does Marcus know she’s here?” I barely whisper the words. Johanna shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe not if she’s just arrived. But he would have known she’d be here eventually. Marcus doesn’t like it, but he relies on the publicity. And when he goes to 13 next – “ “13?” “Well, yes. He’s doing all the Districts. You know that. And 13’s practically virgin territory. That’s one advantage in living underground I suppose, nothing on top gets damaged. He’ll want to move quickly to preserve the area most in need of conservation before developers make any more inroads. I don’t envy him though. That’s one place I never want to see again.” Me neither. There’re no good memories for me in 13. And they hate me there. I killed their president. Johanna leaves shortly after, but not before extracting from me an assurance that I’ll visit Peeta soon. I have about an hour before Marcus arrives home. Enough time to use his computer to do some research. I find the memes Johanna talked about. One has Marcus with one hand at Johanna’s crotch and the other inside his trousers, pumping away. I search Beetee’s name and find links to articles he’s written and his TV appearances. There’s very little about his personal life other than he still lives in his home district of 3 and has investments in an electrical company. Enobaria attracts the most publicity. As well as her reality show, she’s a regular on the celebrity circuit, her trademark pointed teeth bared for maximum effect. On Annie, there’s been no media reports since the War ended. And there’s none for Haymitch, Peeta and me either. I can understand why Peeta and I have been left alone. At least, I thought I did. Haymitch and Annie would be fair game though. Annie, slightly mad Annie, Victor and the widow of the handsome and seductive Finnick Odair, himself a Victor, the most notorious womaniser in Panem turned war hero. Surely the birth of their son would have garnered some attention. And Haymitch is a news story too. A popular Victor and a prominent player in the Rebellion, you’d think they’d be some public curiosity about where he ended up. But nothing. Either there’s been no interest or it’s being squelched. It dawns on me that maybe the lack of media attention isn’t just because we’re a national embarrassment. It’s because we’re being protected. Enobaria, Beetee and Johanna have chosen to be in the public eye, and they must take the bad with the good. But not Annie, Haymitch, Peeta and I. We’ve lived quiet lives, eschewing the lime-light. I let out a long breath, not realizing that I’ve been holding it. We’re safe then. Cressida will do her news story about Marcus and the new national park and then leave. Peeta and I have nothing to worry about. A door opens and shuts and there’s footsteps in the hall. I close the computer and replace everything as it was. Marcus is home.

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kriscme · 4 years

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One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter. Thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which you can read on AO3 and FanFiction. Chapter 27 The gates of Victor’s Village looms closer with every step. I wish I could grab Marcus by the hand and run back into the woods. To live in the concrete house by the lake, just the two of us, and live on wild greens, berries and katniss roots. To make love long into the night, and then bring out our sleeping mats as we did last night, to lie beneath clear skies to watch for shooting stars. Marcus would point out the constellations – big bear, little bear, lynx – and I’d say they look nothing like them, and then we’d take our sleeping mats back into the concrete house to sleep in each other’s arms until the morning light. And we’d live it over, and over again, so I’d never have to face what lies beyond those gates. It’s not long to the wedding and I dread the thought of it, but I have to go. If I don’t, there’ll be talk. Flavius keeps me abreast of all the gossip. The relationship between Peeta and Lace isn’t popular, and this wedding is seen by many as the ultimate betrayal, so invested were people in our romance. I don’t know if Peeta is aware of it; he seems to live in a fantasy world sometimes. But Lace surely would. To protect him, I have to appear as if I’m fine with it. And that means fronting up to the wedding, all smiles and best wishes for the happy couple. But I’m far from confident that I can pull it off. And there’s after. Living across the road from them. Knowing that Lace occupies his bed every night. His happiness, her smugness. The pain of interacting with him. What are we now, anyway? Not friends anymore, not really. Acquaintances? Fellow veterans? And they intend having children too. Five of them. It will likely be straight off, if Peeta has his way. And when they’re old enough they’ll go to school. The school I work at. And be in my classroom. I’ll never be free of them, even if I do move out of the Village. Not only would I need to change houses. I would need to change jobs. Maybe even change Districts. As we pass through the gates, I can’t help but drag my feet. Marcus turns his head to peer questioningly at my face. I pick up my pace to catch up with him. We’re nearly at my house. “I’m just tired,” I tell him. “And hungry.” “You’re a woman of immense appetites, Katniss Everdeen,” he says, pulling me towards him to give me a quick, hard kiss. “And whose fault is that?” I retort. “If you weren’t so good at cooking and – “ “Fucking?” asks a disembodied voice. A female shape emerges from the shadows of my porch. It’s Johanna. She appears to have been waiting for us. “You’re late,” she accuses. “You said you’d be back around mid-afternoon.” I scowl at her. I know what I said, but I don’t like her tone. I’m not obliged to be back at a certain time to please her. Besides, what’s she even doing here? It’s not like I invited her over and wasn’t here when she arrived. “We came back a different way. It took longer,” I say curtly. That’s all the explanation I want to give, but Marcus, perhaps to diffuse the tension, steps in to give Johanna a brief welcoming hug. “Katniss had something to show me. Would you believe an oak with a circumference of over 23 feet? At least three hundred years old.” “That’s nothing,” says Johanna dismissively. “In 7 we have trees much bigger and older than that.” “Is there anything we can help you with?” I break in. I’m not in the mood for a contest over which district has the biggest trees. All I want is to offload this heavy pack, have a bite to eat and then go to bed. “I need to speak with you. That’s if you can spare the time,” she replies, her voice edged with sarcasm. What is her problem? She hasn’t been this hostile towards me since the Quell. I turn to Marcus in exasperation. He takes the hint and moves towards the door. “Why don’t I see what I can scrounge up for supper? Will you be joining us, Jo?” I can see the struggle in her face. This is food and Johanna will rarely pass on an invitation. “No thanks,” she says, and I can see it’s hurting. “I shouldn’t stay away for too long.” After Marcus closes the door behind him, I hoist my pack from my shoulders and drop it to the floor. My feet are tired and I sit down on the top step, motioning for Johanna to do the same but she remains standing, arms crossed in front of her. Before I can even open my mouth, she lets me have it. “Are you with Marcus now?” she demands. “None of –,” I begin, but then think better of it. I don’t want to add fuel to whatever fire is bugging Johanna. I start again. “I don’t know. Maybe.” And that’s the truth. I’m not so naïve to believe that a weekend of sex makes us boyfriend and girlfriend. Nothing’s been said about feelings, or our future. “But you’re fucking him?” Johanna persists. It’s more a statement than a question. “We’ve had sex, if that’s any of your business,” I say stiffly. “Of course, it’s my business. It became my business when you involved me in this whole sorry saga with Peeta.” My irritation with her rises another notch. It was her idea to get involved, not mine. “Not that you shouldn’t fuck him,” she continues. “Peeta’s had his fun, so why can’t you? Heck, I’d even say fuck the entire district; you don’t owe him anything. But it doesn’t help, you know. Not when I’ve been working my arse off to get the two of you back together. But today I really could have used your help. With Peeta having flashbacks every five minutes and Haymitch next to useless. Aurelius says it’s the stress but – “ “Wait! Slow down. I can’t make head or tail of what you’re on about.” I shake my head in confusion. “What stress? And why isn’t Lace taking care of him? It should be her responsibility, not yours. I don’t –” “They broke up.” It takes a few seconds to sink in. And when it does, all I can do is stare at Johanna thunderstruck. “But why?” I eventually get out. “Is it because she lied?” Johanna shrugs. “I asked him that. He said they both lied.” She comes to sit down beside me on the porch step, having calmed down a little. “When he came home last night, he didn’t seem too bad, just really flat, like he had nothing left. But this morning, he started having those flashbacks he gets where he has to clutch the back of a chair or something. I went to Haymitch for help but he chose last night, of all nights, to go on a bender. I couldn’t get one sensible word out of him.” “Sometimes a jug of cold water thrown over him helps,” I say absently, still stunned over the news of Peeta and Lace’s breakup. Despite myself, a kernel of hope takes root in my heart. Could the breakup have been over me, even just a little bit? But then just as quickly, I squash it down flat, stomp it back down into the earth, and bury it deep. Fool! When will you learn? My gaze settles on his house across the street, only a very short distance away, and I wish I could be there with him. I feel bad that I wasn’t, but I know I wouldn’t have been wanted even if I had. He has enough to deal with without adding his current awkwardness with me to the mix. How can you feel right accepting comfort for heartbreak, when the very person who’s doing the comforting is heartbroken over you? I’m very grateful that Johanna is taking care of him, but I can’t help feeling jealous too. She gets to be the one to protect him, when it used to be me. Johanna’s voice snaps me back to attention. “So, I got on the phone to Aurelius and told him what happened. He said emotional stress exacerbates his condition and to increase his meds. Which I did, but he still kept on having them. A couple of hours ago I slipped some sleep syrup into his tea, so he could get some rest, and he’s now sleeping it off. I don’t want to be gone too long on the chance he wakes up. Although I did give him a big dose.” If it was the same as I gave him in our first Games, he’ll be out until at least noon tomorrow. “How did you get him to drink it? He would have noticed the sweetness. He doesn’t take sugar in his tea.” “I think he wanted to be knocked out,” says Johanna. “He was exhausted.” “Do you know who broke it off?” I ask. It seems to me that it must have been Lace since he’s taken it so hard. “No. I couldn’t get him to talk much.” She lets out a breath and shakes her head. “What a mess! The reception will have to be cancelled, though I doubt he’ll get his money back at such short notice. And what he’s spent on clothes for himself and the wedding party.” That’s news to me. Surely Peeta wasn’t paying to outfit the entire wedding party. Who was to be in it, anyway? And then it dawns on me. Of course, friends and family of Lace. “At least there’s one blessing, Lace’s relatives are still in 8 so he hadn’t yet paid for hotel rooms for them all. He’d booked the best rooms for them too.” Johanna rolls her eyes at this. I narrow mine. That bitch! And after I had warned her not to encourage Peeta’s extravagant spending on this wedding. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” I ask. “He’s already gone through so much.” “Yeah, I think so,” she answers. “He’s had a lucky escape if you ask me, although it might take a while for him to see it that way. That relationship always seemed off to me – like they were trying too hard. I would have given it a year if they’d married. Eighteen months, tops.” “Maybe,” I say uncommittedly. I don’t know if I agree. What I do know is that Peeta would have given it everything he had to make it work. And if a mutual love of swimming pools and dining out at restaurants is a good foundation for a marriage, then they had it. They both wanted kids too and that’s something I can’t promise him. Peeta would be a wonderful father. If anyone is to be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. “So, is it serious between you and Marcus? Because you might have a shot with Peeta now,” says Johanna. “No!” I burst out, and Johanna’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the ferocity of my response. “I don’t have any chance with Peeta, none at all, so you can give that game up right now. He knows how I feel about him. He guessed from something Haymitch told him and he’s been avoiding me since. And I’m tired, Jo. Tired of getting my hopes up and then having them dashed. I’ve spent the past year trying to remind him what we were to each other, and failed. But the simple truth is that, if he loved me, he wouldn’t have got with Lace in the first place. I’m not . . . I just don’t want to go there anymore. I’ve had enough. ” “Wow! That was extreme,” Johanna says, shooting me an incredulous look. “I thought the mission was to help Peeta find himself. Which would also include regaining his attraction to you. I assume then that you’ve given up?” “Not given up. Faced reality.” I say.

“Humph!” snorts Johanna, unconvinced. “Well, it’s your call but before I let it go for good, I want to tell you a theory I’ve been working on. Just don’t say anything until I’ve finished.” “Alright, go ahead,” I say wearily, scrubbing at my forehead. Johanna will do what she wants to anyway. “Well,” she starts, with the air of someone telling a story to a small child, “it involves this man – let’s call him Peeta – who had his mind shattered into a million pieces by an evil troll – we’ll call him Snow – and when his mind was put back together again, some of the pieces were in the wrong place. And his love for his teenage crush – Katniss, we’ll call her – had gone AWOL and had been replaced with a conviction that she had never loved him, and never could. And then along comes this other woman – known as Lace, although it’s not her real name – and even though she’s a giggling idiot, she knows how to pander to his ego - which is in the toilet, by the way - with lavish displays of admiration and affection. “But then one day, he wakes up, and realizes that what he loved about Lace, was really his own needs reflected back at him. And also that she was a lying deceitful bitch. At the same time, he’s come to realise that it’s Katniss he really loves, but he thinks that not only has he ruined any chance he might have had with her by being with Lace, she’s now with another man, who not only likes the things she likes, but has two legs, no burn scars and isn’t a mental mess. So, to be fair to Lace, he breaks it off with her, and to be fair to Katniss, he leaves her alone to live her life. But then, the whole situation becomes too much for him and it brings on flashbacks, one after another, in rapid succession. It’s fortunate that a loyal, resourceful, amazingly intelligent friend is there to give aid. She then tries to talk sense into Katniss, which, as usual, is a waste of time. But she tries anyway, hopeful that one day, something might get through to that brainless head of hers.” “That last part was completely unnecessary,” I say. There’s no gain in rising to Johanna’s barbs, any more than there is to Max’s teasing. They really are alike. Maybe that’s why they fight. As for her theory, it does have some plausibility, but it’s still mostly wild speculation. “Is there something you know that I don’t?” I ask. “Or did you make that up?” Johanna shrugs. “I made it up. But you have to admit it makes sense.” I roll my eyes at her. “For you, maybe.” We sit in silence for a few moments until Johanna slaps her thighs and gets to her feet. “I should get going now, just in case. I don’t want him waking up to an empty house. Oh, and Katniss, if you’re going to fuck Marcus, you should do something about birth control. Sex has consequences, you know.” “Yes, I do know that. My mother is a healer, if you recall. I know how to take care of myself.” What I don’t tell her is that in 13, all female military recruits were given five-year contraceptive implants before they were sent into action. Johanna wouldn’t know this because she failed the final test having succumbed to her phobia of water, a consequence of her torture in the Capitol. Something I’m sure Johanna wouldn’t like to be reminded of. Before she leaves, she says, “I’ll keep you posted, and I think you should visit once things settle down a bit. He needs to know he’s not alone.” I nod because it’s easier than arguing. I’m pretty sure that Peeta won’t want to see me. It might even bring on another flashback. I watch Johanna walk over to Peeta’s house and close the door behind her. And then I open the door of my own house to where Marcus is waiting. He’s set out a platter of cheeses, pickles, carrot sticks, crackers and fruit. And some kind of spread that he made from a can of chickpeas he found in the pantry. There’s also a plate of Peeta’s cookies and a pot of tea. “Peeta again?” asks Marcus. He pours out two mugs of tea and sets one in front of me. “How did you guess?” I hope we weren’t speaking so loudly that it could heard from inside the house. The dining table is not far from a window. My face reddens at the thought, especially since there was talk about Marcus and fucking. “Because whenever you and Johanna have one of your private talks out there on the porch, it’s about him. I hope everything’s alright.” He makes a plate of food for himself while he’s speaking, his expression unreadable. I get the impression that he’s well and truly over Peeta Mellark. I come straight out with it. Word is going to get out anyway. “Peeta and Lace have split up. The wedding’s off. Peeta is . . .” I pause here. I don’t want to give too much of Peeta’s mental state away. People, Marcus included, already think he’s unstable. “Peeta’s very upset about it,” I end up saying. His hands still for a moment, poised as he cuts a slice of cheese to add to his plate. “That’s . . . unfortunate. I suppose it had something to do with the incident at the pub last week?” “I’m not sure. Probably.” I don’t really know, but Johanna said something about both of them lying, so I think it’s safe to assume. “Johanna wasn’t very clear about it.” I take a cracker from the platter and nibble on it. My appetite seems to have dried up for some inexplicable reason. Something is wrong, and I don’t know what it is. The air almost crackles with it. “How do you feel about it?” he asks, eyes intent on mine. I don’t answer immediately, unsure of the motive behind his question. Is he asking my opinion on the break-up – whether I think it was good thing, or a bad thing? Or is he asking how it’s affected me emotionally? I decide the first option is the safer of the two.

“It’s sad. They seemed very compatible. But I guess if you don’t have trust in a marriage, then it’s unlikely to work in the long run, so perhaps it’s for the best.” I shrug my shoulders slightly to simulate indifference and sip my tea. “It’s hard for me to comment exactly, without knowing the details,” I add. “The devil’s in the details,” he says, almost distractedly. “But you’re right about trust. No relationship can be successful without it.” And then he returns to his food, and nothing more is said about it. But something’s not quite right. The only thing I can attribute it to is the news of Peeta and Lace’s cancelled wedding. Perhaps he thinks our relationship is at risk now, when nothing could be further from the truth. There’s no chance that Peeta and I will get back together. Lace out of the picture won’t change that. Later that night, after a quick shower, I pull from my closet a filmy negligee the colour of apricots. It was part of the wardrobe Cinna designed for my wedding to Peeta. I never got the chance to wear it, nor the matching nightgown, so light that it’s almost transparent. I trail the gauzy fabric through my fingers, noting how fragile it is. It would be so easy to rip from neckline to hem, that it makes me wonder if that’s its intended purpose. My mind can’t help but imagine how Peeta would have reacted to seeing me in it. Or how he would react if I showed up at his house right now, with only this sheer, flimsy garment to cover my naked body. Probably it would send him into a flashback that he’d never come back from. I take a critical look at myself in the full-length mirror. The soft orange complements my olive skin and my hair, freed from its braid, ripples down my back in silky waves. My body is slender and small breasted, but still feminine, the waist curved and the hips rounded. My nipples stand out in hard peaks against the gossamer thin fabric and the dark triangle of my pubic hair is clearly visible. I turn my back to peer over my shoulder. My best asset, my “derriere”, as Effie would call it, is high and round. The burn scars, most prevalent on my back, are barely noticeable now, thanks to the skin treatments, except for a few spots where the skin looks slightly melted. Not too bad, Everdeen. Not too bad at all. My feet are silent on the carpeted floor to the guest room. I rap lightly on the door and he tells me to come in. He’s toweling himself dry but he stops the instant he lays eyes on me. And when the towel drops to the floor, forgotten, I see that I’ve achieved the exact response I was hoping for. The love-making this night is wild and uninhibited. It dawns on me that Marcus had been holding back, perhaps in deference to my virgin status, but now that’s abandoned. My theory about the nightgown proves correct. Marcus rips it right down the middle and then slips it off my shoulders in one movement, taking the robe with it. I didn’t know that humans could make love like animals, with the male thrusting from behind. I’d always assumed it was face to face like the illustration in the tattered text book we were provided with in the meagre sex education classes at school. But I love it, so animalistic and exciting, the way he pounds into me, his hands holding my hips firmly in place. The way I can’t help but arch my back to welcome him in with every thrust. But after our passion is spent, my thoughts return again to Peeta. How he’s feeling, how helpless I am to help. I try hard to recreate the magic of the concrete house by the lake, where I could lie in Marcus’s arms, warm and snug and drift into a dreamless sleep. Because I know instinctively, that the nightmares will return tonight, as bad as ever. If only Peeta had never come back to 12. He would have got the treatment he still desperately needed if he had stayed in the Capitol. He wouldn’t have met Lace, and she him. And as for me, I was resigned to the fact that I had lost him and I know now that I would have recovered from my depression eventually. His return simply sparked a false hope that I’ve been battling ever since. So here I lie, in the arms of a man who is as close to perfect as you can get, and my head is full of Peeta Mellark.

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