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His hands begin to roam over my skin in what is definitely not a tentative manner.
That thought brings me to a halt. There is a reason why Peeta isn't as nervous as I am, a reason why he isn't tentative or inexperienced. He's done this before. And then the image of Lace is in my head and that turns my excitement into something much less pleasant.
Peeta's eyes go to mine when he feels my body turn rigid.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Should we stop?"
"No, I just…" My nose scrunches a little and I bite my bottom lip. "This is the first for me. I hate that it's not the first for you."
I feel Peeta's hand on my cheek and I open my eyes to meet his.
"Do you think you can settle for being my last?" he asks.
"I can do that" I say hoarsely, relaxing as the jealousy starts to be replaced by the thrill of knowing that the most wonderful boy I have ever known can be mine for the rest of my life.
Afterward I'm more content than I knew I was capable of being. One thought keeps coming to my mind but it's too trite for me to share with him.
But for tonight the thought remains crude and unpolished, in its original new-born state, floating around in my mind.
“I wish I could be your last everything.”
From “The Chance You Didn’t Take” by Ronja. (abbreviated)
“His last everything,” is my last coherent thought as I drift into a blissful, dreamless sleep. But when I wake the following morning, I don’t have the same confidence that Peeta simply telling me so has made me his last anything.
I’m sure Lace thought he was her last and look how that turned out. For that matter, I thought I was his last and look how that turned out.
Peeta has done all he can to convince me that he’s not going anywhere, but the knowledge that he loved Lace, loved her enough to want to marry her, in fact, haunts me. There was some truth to Lace’s words when she said to me, “When have you brought him anything but misery?” Even Haymitch didn’t disagree that Lace made him happy.
And here’s me – burn scars, nightmares, small breasts, plain black hair, a surly disposition and a killer. I can’t quite shake the idea that one day he’s going to realise he made the wrong decision when he chose me over her. Will I ever feel good enough? Will I ever have the same trust I had in Peeta’s love again? Will I ever stop measuring myself against Lace and find myself wanting?
If he’d married Lace, he could have at least one child by now and he’d have the wife and family he’d wanted. Yet despite all that he chose to be with me. Buoyed by that thought, I am happy. But a moment later I’m miserable again because I don’t want Peeta to have given up anything to be with me. Or that it was even a choice to begin with.
I realise this thinking is getting me nowhere and could eventually corrode our relationship if I don’t turn it around. I need to do something – either change it if I can or accept it. I resolve to do both.
My first opportunity comes a few days later when Max and I go into the woods to collect pinecones. The cones are used for school projects and collecting them has become a yearly ritual. Max chatters away as we pile them into burlap sacks. I make listening noises where appropriate. I have something to ask him, and nervousness has tied my tongue. Max isn’t ideal for the topic of conversation I have planned, but there is no one else and he does have experience in this kind of thing. What I fear most is that he will laugh.
“Um, Max,” I hesitate. “I have a couple of things to ask you, if that’s OK.”
Max straightens up and tosses another cone in the sack. “Sure, go ahead.”
I start with the easy question. “It’s about my future at the school. I’ve been thinking about it lately and I really do enjoy teaching. But I’m concerned how relevant my classes will stay now that professional teachers are moving into the district. I left school at sixteen, so I don’t have much education. I was wondering how you get qualified. To be a teacher, that is.”
Max shrugs. “It’s not hard. There’s no set standard in Panem. It’s been left up the Districts and in many cases teachers have had no formal qualifications. But that could change now that we have half-way decent government. I don’t think your job is under threat but looking towards the future, it can’t hurt to have a qualification under your belt. What were you good at, besides killing small creatures and being generally unpleasant?”
I scowl at him. “I kill big creatures too if they annoy me, so you’d better watch it. I guess I was good at maths, maybe science.”
“Perfect. You already have a head start in biology. You could do a course by correspondence. Milo can help if you need it. We can book you online.”
I must have looked blank because he continues, “Online. Using a computer. That box like thing that’s just been installed in the office. The outlying districts have internet access now. We can register you for a correspondence course and you’ll get your lessons in the mail. “
“OK, that sounds perfect. Thanks.”
“So, what was the second thing you wanted to ask.”
“Oh, yes.” I drop my gaze to the ground and kick at pine needles to hide my blush. “Um, it’s about sex.”
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Sex. Look, if you’re going to laugh, just do it now. That way I’ll know not to continue.”
Max pretends to be hurt. “As if I would be so insensitive. I thought you’d know me better by now.”
“I do know you. That’s the problem. But there’s no one else I can ask.”
“Not even Peeta?”
“Especially not him. It’s about him. Us, actually.”
I chance a quick look at Max but to my surprise his face is serious, and I have hope that I can have a fruitful conversation with him.
“Go ahead. I won’t laugh. Promise, hand on heart, “he replies, as he places his hand across his chest.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. “Peeta and I have just started being . . . intimate. And I’m worried that I may not be very good at it. So, I thought you may be able to give me some advice,” I finish in a rush.
Max stares at me, incredulous. “Hold on. You’ve just started, and he’s been back, how long?”
I’m immediately on the defensive. “I knew you’d be like this. Just forget I asked.”
Max puts up his hands. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to get some context. If you want my advice, I’ll need to ask questions. And you were the one to come to me, remember?”
Appeased, I nod my head. What he says is true. If I want his help, I’d have to push past my embarrassment. “Peeta and I decided to wait until we were both sure we were committed to each other. We had a lot to work through. Trust issues, and such. But now, well, Peeta is experienced and I’m not. And I worry that I don’t measure up.”
“Right. But you’re not inexperienced. You and Peeta have been. . . intimate before. Why the worry now?”
Like most people familiar with the Games, Max thinks that Peeta and I had been lovers in every sense of the word, and I’ve said nothing to make him believe otherwise. Max is in for a surprise.
“We never were together before. Not like that, anyway. The pregnancy was a ruse to get sympathy from the audience in the hope that the Games might be stopped. It didn’t work, obviously. The miscarriage was also made up – to explain why I wasn’t pregnant anymore. “
“So you were a virgin until recently?”
“Yes.”
I close my eyes, in anticipation of a loud guffaw of laughter. To my relief, it doesn’t come.
“And that’s a problem? How?”
I burst out, “Isn’t it obvious? Peeta has been used to someone far more experienced than me. When we’re together I can’t get the thought out of my mind that he’s somehow disappointed - that I should be doing more. But I don’t know what.”
“Has he complained?”
“No, but Peeta wouldn’t. He’d say I was good, even if I really wasn’t, if it would spare my feelings. He and Lace used to have these inside jokes. I didn’t know what they meant at the time, but I do now. What if he wants me to do that? I don’t have the first clue how to do it.”
“What joke was that?”
“It was about stiff jaws.”
“Oh.” Max rubs his hand across his forehead before he continues. “Look, most men love to be a woman’s first lover. Believe me, Peeta doesn’t care that you have no experience. It only takes practice. It will mean much more to him that you haven’t been with anyone but him.”
“Maybe it would have meant more to me if he hadn’t been with anyone but me. Why should it be any different for women?”
“You have a point there. Look, you’re just going to have get over it. He’s got baggage, so what? We all have. If it’s not a sexual past, it’s something else. At least he hasn’t tried to kill you. Oh wait, he has. If you can get past that, you can get past anything. In any case, Lace may have been terrible in the sack. Gigglers often are. I’ve had a few myself, and they were awful, always laughing at inappropriate moments.”
I smile inwardly at the sudden image of one of Max’s giggling lovers bursting into an uncontrolled fit when Max dropped his trousers. I decide to keep it to myself.
“Katniss, if you’re still worried, why don’t you get yourself a book on the subject.”
“There’re books about it? Where do you get them?”
“Bookshops. The library might have some.”
I shake my head. District 12 is still small. What if word got out that Katniss Everdeen had bought a book on how to be good at sex? What if Lace heard of it? Horror! And the library was out for obvious reasons. Peeta works there.
“You could order one online,” he suggests.
“You can do that?”
“Sure. You can order almost anything online. We can order it when we book your correspondence course. The education of Katniss Everdeen. What could be a worthier project?”
“Can we do it tomorrow? Before anyone gets in. I don’t want anyone to know about it.”
We tie up the last of the sacks and commence the short hike back. As we take leave of each other, I remember to say to him, “Thanks for the talk, Max. And thanks for not laughing.”
“No worries, Kitty Kat. I’ve been saving it for when I get home.”
______________________________________________________________
“I don’t see any problem, Miss Everdeen. We’ll have our architect draw up plans to your specification and once everything is to your liking, we can start almost immediately.”
“That’s great, Mr Brady. I want this finished before winter sets in, if that’s possible. So, the sooner we get the process moving, the better.”
“We’ll do our best. I’ll be in contact once we have the first draft done, probably in a few days.”
“Thank you. I’ll hear from you soon then.”
Once out of the door, I do a quick scan of the street. I want this to be as secret as possible, for as long as possible. The street is clear, and I commence my walk down the main thoroughfare. It’s the commercial part of town and shops and businesses are busy with customers at this time of the day.
I scuttle past Lace’s shop. We avoid each other as much as possible. I’ve given up hope for any kind of amnesty. The best I get from Lace is pretence that I’m not there. However, it seems I’m safe today as there’s a closed sign on the front door and there appears to be no one inside. My eye lands on the shop sign above. The beautiful sign Peeta painted for her has been replaced with something not nearly as imaginative. I wouldn’t mind betting the pattern book he made for her has suffered a similar fate.
Three doors along there’s a confectionary store. I peer in to admire the artful displays of boxed chocolates and candies of every description. Prim would have loved it. Suddenly two strong male arms engulf me from behind in a bear hug and a kiss is planted on the side of my neck. I get the fright of my life and Peeta comes within a second of having his instep stomped on.
“Peeta, you scared me.”
“What? Who else would it be? Don’t tell me I have a rival.”
“No but do that again and you might have.”
Peeta answers me with a quick hard kiss. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
“Oh, just odds and ends. Window shopping mostly. What about you?”
“Katniss Everdeen, window shopper. That’s new.” Peeta points to an office supply store across the street. “I’ve been ordering office furniture for the library. But now, I’m finished for the day. Want to join me for an ice-cream?”
“I think you must be made of ice-cream by now. But sure, I’ll love one. Might as well get some calories in before we sit down to Haymitch’s cooking tonight. Who knows what we’ll get.”
“Now, Katniss, don’t be harsh. His cooking has improved. I think his beef bourguignon actually had beef in it last time.”
“Well, we know it had the full complement of wine.”
The ice-cream parlour is packed when we arrive. Its easily the most popular addition to all the new services and amenities that’s been available in District 12 since the war ended.
“Peeta, you grab a table. I’ll get the ice-creams. Soft serve?”
Peeta nods and heads in the direction of a free table. I join the queue. Usually, I hate queues, but it gives me ample time to decide which flavour I’ll have. Should I go for a tried and tested favourite such as rum and raisin or try something new such as butter pecan?
A short time later, with an ice-cream in each hand, I search out Peeta and make my way towards him. I’m immediately struck by his doleful expression. He was happy five minutes ago, what could have happened to change his mood so rapidly? I take a seat opposite and hand him his ice-cream. He smiles his thanks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and there’s something about the way he keeps his gaze forward that makes me suspicious. I rake the surrounding area for clues, and there it is.
Just two tables away, is Lace. She has someone with her, a friend from her home district who I recognise from the pre-wedding dinner. Sateen Bobbin, I think her name is. At Lace’s feet lies her big slobbering lump of a dog. Lace’s head turns in my direction as if she senses she’s being observed.
For a moment, we lock eyes and then quickly turn away. Neither of us wants to be caught looking. She appears to be as uncomfortable as Peeta. However, Lace’s discomfiture has an air of grievance about it and Peeta’s is one of remorse and guilt. To make matters worse, it seems to attract the interest of the occupants of a nearby table who watch and whisper. No doubt they remember the big scandal of two years ago when Lace Bomul was jilted by Peeta Mellark. Peeta attempts some light-hearted conversation that would fool anyone but me. My heart breaks for him.
Suddenly, I see what the problem is. I’ve wasted precious time and emotions feeling resentful of Peeta’s reluctance to be seen out in public with me if Lace might be there. I’ve attributed it to lingering affection for Lace, or more consideration of her over me. But it’s really about him. Peeta has a great need to be liked and it devastates him when he’s not. I’ve never cared much about what people think of me, but Peeta does. I push my chair from the table.
“Do you mind if we eat these on the way home? I’ve just remembered I have a lesson to prepare for tomorrow and I’d like to do it before dinner.”
Peeta doesn’t have to be asked twice. As we walk, I wonder whether I should say something about the scene we’ve just left. Eventually I decide to speak up.
“It was awkward back there. Lace, I mean.”
Peeta shrugs his shoulders miserably. “Yeah. I guess it’s what I deserve, though. I wouldn’t forgive me either.”
“Don’t you? I think you would. And I think you should. You’re carrying guilt for things that belong at Snow’s door, not yours. None of it would have happened if not for the hijacking.”
I pause for a moment to let that sink in before I express what really bothers me.
“And it’s not like Lace didn’t play a part in this too,” I continue. “I don’t doubt she loved you, but she also knew you had lost most of your memories and that you were in a mentally fragile state. You weren’t fit to marry anyone, but she accepted anyway. She took a risk, and she lost. It burns me up that she pins all the blame on you and takes none for herself.”
I steel myself in expectation of a barrage of denial from Peeta. He’s had nothing negative to say about Lace, yet he’s criticised my part in this whole sorry mess. I hadn’t realised how much I resent it until now.
But to my surprise, no denials are forthcoming. Peeta merely shakes his head. “I can’t blame others for all of it. There were some things, some decisions that were all me. I was scared, when all’s said and done. Shit scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of being alone. Of not being loved. Of never being loved again. Scared of falling in love with you and not having you love me back.”
I don’t respond immediately. This isn’t what he told me when he returned from the Capitol, and I take a moment to mull it over.
“I thought you loved Lace. That’s what you told me. You loved her and then became confused when you started to love me again.”
“Both are true. I did love her but there was so much mixed in with that, that it’s hard to separate what was real and what wasn’t. I think I tried to create a narrative for myself, because as hard as it to follow a false one, it’s much easier than not having one at all. But underneath I still had the same fears and desires pulling at me. It’s just that had no idea where to put them. And then Lace came along and she so obviously liked me, and I guess it’s what I needed at the time. There was a moment. . .” Peeta hesitates, as if he’s uncertain whether he should continue.
“What? What moment?” I demand. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what comes next, but I must know. There have been many times when I’ve asked myself what chances I didn’t take and could have done differently.
“A moment when I teetered on the edge. A crossroad, I guess.” Peeta swallows and I can see it’s difficult for him to go on. “It was at the mayor’s party. I was with Lace, but you looked so beautiful in your Cinna dress and memories had started to return. At the time, you seemed angry and annoyed with me and I didn’t know why. Lace told me I should give you space, but it didn’t seem to help, and I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do anyway.”
At this, I can’t help pursing my lips in anger. I long suspected Lace of subtly undermining me and now it’s confirmed.
Peeta continues. “But that night you smiled at me, and it seemed like we were back to normal. It’s hard to describe my state of mind at the time, but the closest I can get is that it was like there was a memory just out of my reach. I wanted to chase it, but then you waved me away like I was being dismissed again and I felt wherever these memories were leading me, they weren’t taking me to a place I wanted to go. But I also had these feelings that had to go somewhere, and Lace was there. I don’t know who pulled who down to the kitchens. And then I saw you, so shocked and disgusted by what I was doing with Lace, and I knew that if there had been a chance, it was gone now. Any feelings of attraction, I stifled from then on, or projected onto Lace. I think it was after that I became truly serious about her. “
I recall that moment only too well. I wish I could forget it. Peeta was all over Lace, his lips on hers, hand on her breast, one of Lace’s legs wrapped around his thighs as he ground into her centre. It forms part of my insecurity about sex, for while Peeta is passionate with me, there’s none of that wild frenzy about it. I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing, only that Lace has brought something out in him that I haven’t.
“I was shocked, but not disgusted. That night. . .” I stop to formulate my thoughts. There was more to it than what happened that night. “It started before that. I was angry and upset over the pattern book you made for Lace.”
Peeta nods. “I know it upset you, but I couldn’t fathom why. Now looking back, it does mark the time when you withdrew from me for a while. I thought it was because I was crowding you and you found it annoying.”
“That’s what Lace told you, I presume?” Acid had crept into my voice and when I shoot a glance at Peeta, and I can tell by his expression that I’m right. “No, it was nothing like that. You talk of self-preservation, of not wanting to be hurt. Well, it was the same for me. We’d worked on my father’s plant book together when I was laid up with an injured foot. I think I started to fall in love with you over that book. It was such a normal thing to do, and everything we had done together before that had been far from normal. It was the first time I could relax and simply enjoy us being together. It was a special time for me, so when you made a similar book for Lace, I just lost it. I wanted to save myself from more hurt, and I think I channelled it into anger. It wasn’t fair to you, but it was a way for me to cope at the time. And anyway, you had Lace.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I think what makes me angry with myself the most is that I pride myself on my ability to read people, but I missed so many cues. Dr Aurelius says we interpret according to our own standpoint, but it was never a problem for me before.”
I laugh ruefully to lighten the mood a little. “We both missed cues, but my excuse is that at least it’s my forte.” Peeta smiles but I can tell he’s not convinced. “Anyway, for the record, I wasn’t disgusted. Just shocked and very hurt. I ran home in my bare feet and cried until I had no tears left.” I add plaintively, “I never did get my shoes back.”
This time Peeta laughs. “I owe you a pair of shoes then.” His voice turns serious. “I wish I’d known. It’s an awful thing to say, but I became serious about Lace because I couldn’t have you. And it’s not like I didn’t love her, or we couldn’t have had a happy life, it’s just that she has one fatal flaw. She isn’t you.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes. The gates of Victors Village loom closer. I think of Gale and how it would have been if we had ended up together. I think we would have been happy for a while. I certainly had more in common with him than I do with Peeta. Peeta and I have hardly anything in common when I think on it, but our personalities work well together, nonetheless. Gale and I would have argued a lot. Our temperaments were too similar not to.
I can’t imagine Peeta and Lace fighting. But that doesn’t mean there wouldn’t have been resentments or areas of unhappiness. And while Peeta says they could have been happy; my hunch says otherwise. They just hadn’t reached the point where the newness had rubbed off and the boredom of being too much alike had settled in. Or perhaps it had, and Peeta simply hasn’t acknowledged it yet.
I’ve learned that Peeta is still in the process of gaining an understanding of those lost years. I’ll never know if Gale couldn’t have been more than a friend, or it simply turned out that way because I had met Peeta. But I had met Peeta, and that had changed everything.
Suddenly it all seemed clear to me. Maybe it wasn’t the correct or only answer, but it was one I could live with. Lace was to Peeta what Gale was to me. Peeta had ruined Gale for me, and I had ruined Lace for Peeta. We were still the star-crossed lovers, just a little more star- crossed than before. But there is one thing that still bothers me.
“How come you’ve never pulled me away from a public gathering to kiss and grope in a dark hallway?”
Peeta’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I respect you too much,” he declares, as if the answer is obvious. Seconds later, he seems less sure that he’s given the right answer because he asks, “Why do you ask? Do you want me to?”
I shrug my shoulders and try to appear nonchalant. “Not really. I just wondered.”
“It’s because I haven’t had impure thoughts that I don’t know what to do with over a girl who’s not my girlfriend. But, if it’s important to you, next time we’re at a public engagement, I promise to push you into a dark corner so I can get my hand up your skirt and have my wicked way with you.”
I try to look disapproving, but it’s hard to keep the pleased smile from my face. “There’s no need for that,” I say primly. “You can wait until we get home.”
As if on cue, we arrive at the path that leads to my front door. Peeta gathers me to him in a hug.
“I know you still worry about Lace. But don’t. Whatever the future holds, you’re the one I want by my side. Always.”
______________________________________________________________
Peeta and I arrive at Haymitch’s door at the same time. He’s brought dessert – apple pie, I think. I can see his mood has improved and he’s back to his usual cheerful self. Peeta has a remarkable ability to bounce back – a trait no doubt honed from his difficult childhood when he had to pretend that everything was well at home. In time honoured tradition, we don’t knock but barge straight in. Haymitch rarely answers his doorbell, anyway.
The house isn’t quite as disgusting as it usually is. It seems reasonably clean, even though it's cluttered with books, clothes, discarded bottles and heaven knows what else. We call out to him and remove some newspapers from a sofa to sit down. He answers back from the kitchen and a few minutes later emerges wearing an apron. It’s an incongruous touch, a nod to neatness, and completely at odds with the mess around him. But odder still is the Cheshire grin plastered on his face. He smirks at me, and then at Peeta.
“What?” Peeta and I call in unison.
“Nothing,” he says, although the smirk remains. I guess we’ll hear what the joke is later.
Haymitch has cooked spaghetti bolognaise and it’s quite tasty.
“Your own sauce?” asks Peeta.
“Of course,” says Haymitch, affronted by the very suggestion. “I don’t believe in taking shortcuts when it comes to a good spag bol. It takes the best sourced ingredients you can find combined with long, slow simmering. A good splash of cabernet sauvignon is what elevates it to the next level. Or a merlot, if you don’t have that.”
“Well, it’s certainly delicious. You must give me the recipe.”
“Hm, so how is it going with you kids? Still having fun?” The smirk has returned.
“Yes,” replies Peeta warily. “Why do you ask?”
Haymitch rises from his chair and returns with a package. It’s been opened at one end and an address is clearly visible on top. It reads, John Smith, 5 Victors Village, District 12. Oh no, oh no! It’s the book I ordered. I deliberately gave a false name and Haymitch’s address so that it wouldn’t be traced to me.
One of the many disadvantages of having a famous name is that information like this is manna to tabloid newspapers. I can picture the headlines, “Star Crossed Lovers Need Sexing Up” or “Peeta’s Pecker Not Good Enough.” Plutarch would be at my door to demand an interview for one of his lifestyle programs. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Haymitch usually doesn’t empty his mailbox until it becomes a fire hazard. I thought it would be a simple task to retrieve it before he did. It must have been delivered today while I was in town and Haymitch, for once, collected his mail.
I try to keep my face impassive. Maybe I can bluff this out. Haymitch reaches in and pulls out the contents and hands it to Peeta. I’m too afraid to look. I know what he’ll see on the front cover. “Human Sexual Response” by Dr Claudia Augustus. Peeta turns it over in puzzlement. He reads out, “Men with Big Dicks and the Women Who Love Them.”
Haymitch explodes in a paroxysm of laughter. Max! He must have changed my order. I didn’t know how to pay, and he said he’d take care of it and that I could reimburse him later. I will kill him when I see him.
Peeta opens the book, and I can just make out an image of an enormous phallus with a woman’s hand around it.
“Which of you two does this book belong to?” gasps Haymitch. He just manages to get the words out between fits of laughter. “We’re the only ones in the entire village, so if it’s not for me, it must be one of you.”
Peeta grins and says, “Certainly not me, and Katniss wouldn’t want such a thing. I think your friends are playing a joke on you. Maybe someone from the council.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything so I just nod. I’ve stuck a big fake smile on my face. I hope no one questions it. The idea that the joke may be on Haymitch sobers him up a bit.
Peeta points out the name. “Don’t you think if it was one of us, we’d have come up with something more imaginative than “John Smith”? Besides, Katniss already has one. A man with a big dick, I mean.”
I turn beet-red, but the explanation seems to satisfy Haymitch. He grunts in disappointment. “Well, it was good while it lasted. I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages. Not since Sweetheart slipped on goose droppings and landed in the fish pond.”
At last I find my voice. “That wasn’t funny. If it had been a child, they could have drowned. That pond should be declared an environmental hazard. If you’re not going to maintain it, you should cover it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe one day.”
Haymitch takes the book from Peeta and tosses it in the general direction of the bookcase. It lands behind a pile of clothes. The rest of the evening is an anticlimax. For Haymitch, anyway.
I go into the kitchen to collect Peeta’s pie dish just before we leave. On the kitchen bench is an empty jar of pasta sauce. When I re-enter the living room, Haymitch is pouring himself another drink and Peeta has buttoned up his jacket, all ready to go.
“An interesting evening,” observes Peeta as we walk away.
“Very”, I say with a grin. I feel extraordinarily relaxed after such a close call. If a fishpond has given Haymitch so much mileage at my expense, I can’t imagine what a book about gigantic penises would do. “Tea at my house?”
While the kettle boils, I spoon tea into a teapot and set out two mugs. Peeta sits at the kitchen table while I work. How very domestic we are, I think to myself. Almost like a married couple. The kettle boils and I fill the teapot to the brim and then carry teapot and mugs to the table. I almost drop both, for there’s Peeta with a very Haymitch-like smirk holding “Men with Big Dicks and the Women Who Love Them” in his hand.
“Here’s your book, Katniss. I managed to slip it under my jacket when Haymitch wasn’t looking. It would be a shame if you didn’t get to see it.”
I set down the tea things with a clatter. “What are you talking about? It’s not mine.”
“Yes, it is. Your face always gives you away. Why do you want a book about big dicks? Isn’t mine big enough?”
Peeta’s face is a picture of amusement. I take refuge in anger. I don’t like being mocked. I especially don’t like being mocked about sex. It’s condescending and I’m tired of it. Peeta, and Max too, has this stupid idea that I’m “pure”. If only they could see what goes on in my head sometimes.
“I don’t want a book about big dicks, OK?”
Peeta can’t contain his laughter any longer. Apparently, Katniss Everdeen saying “dicks” is hilariously funny.
“Come on, Katniss. I know it’s yours. ‘Fess up.”
“I didn’t order that book. The company sent the wrong one.” I think it’s wise to leave out Max’s involvement in this.
“But you did want to keep it secret, because you wouldn’t have used a fake name and address otherwise. What book did you order? It wasn’t about hunting.”
He’s not going to let this go. I have no choice but to tell the truth. Either way I am humiliated, but a book on lovemaking techniques is marginally less embarrassing than big dicks. My eyes wander around the room, anywhere but on him.
“It was a book called, “Human Sexual Response.” I just wanted to be better at it. For you. I know I don’t have the experience you might be used to. I thought a book on the subject might help.”
There’s a moment of silence. In my peripheral vision, I see his hand outstretched towards me. “Come here.”
When I don’t respond my hand is seized and I’m pulled down onto his lap. At least I don’t have to look at him from this position.
“I’ve wanted to make love to you since I was old enough to fantasise about such things. And when it happened it was the most amazing experience of my life. And it continues to be amazing because it’s you. OK?”
Mollified, I nod my head and relax against him. Peeta reaches out for the big dick book and opens it at a photograph of a penis that must be at least a foot long. “And if you feel inadequate, imagine how I must feel after seeing this whopper.”
I snatch the book out of his hands and go to play hit him with it. It ends in a kissing session and by the time we think of the tea, it’s quite cold.
________________________________________________________
The next day I receive mail that I’m not embarrassed about. The first part of my correspondence course arrives and I’m eager to start. It basically consists of instructions, exercises to do, and a test that I must complete and send in to be graded. When it’s time to be assessed, I’m to sit a formal exam under the supervision of a Panem registered teacher and I know Mr Matson is one. It doesn’t look too hard, and while I might need to consult Milo on a couple of things, I’m confident I can do this.
My other exciting news is that Mr Brady got back to me earlier than expected. He has the plans ready for me to check and, if there’s no changes that need to be made, the building work could start by as early as next week.
A few days later, I’m deep into the mysteries of algebra when I hear the uneven tread of Peeta’s footsteps. “I thought you might like a break from studying. And some cheese buns.”
A plate of my favourite baked goods is placed in front of me, and I immediately tuck in.
“Yum, just what I needed. I don’t remember doing all this algebra stuff at school. Is it because I wasn’t paying attention or because it has nothing to do with coal mining?”
Peeta puts the kettle on for tea and then grabs a bun for himself.
“Probably the former. I think it’s used in some capacity in mining, although not in the actual digging.”
“I wish I had paid more attention then. It’s tricky. I might have to ask Milo about it.”
“Hmm. Katniss, what have all these tradespeople been doing around your house? At least, I assume they’re tradespeople with all the measuring and such.”
I look up from my sums. I knew this question would come and I have an answer ready.
“Oh, I thought I’d have some renovations done. The house could do with some updating. These houses must be, what, 80, 85 years old? And I have money accumulated from the Victor’s pension so I might as well invest it in my property.”
Peeta leans back into his chair and says nothing. I can guess what he’s thinking. He’s thinking of his depleted bank account and money spent on an expensive wedding that didn’t happen, and long stays in the Capitol for treatment with Dr Aurelius and then for a malfunctioning prosthetic.
“Seems like a good idea,” he says eventually. “Is there a lot to be done?”
“It will be quite extensive. Upstairs and down. Wet areas mostly and some work on the roof. The tiles and guttering need replacing. Also heating and air conditioning throughout. It’s going to be very noisy, I’m afraid. Not to mention inconvenient with tradespeople everywhere. I thought I might book myself into a hotel for the duration.”
“Katniss, there’s no need for that. You can move in with me. We practically live in each other’s homes anyway.”
I reach across to give him a kiss. That’s exactly what I wanted. And if I’m across from my house I can both oversee proceedings and make sure Peeta stays out of it.
“Thanks. I love you. The work starts on Monday. I’ll move in on Sunday. If that’s OK with you, of course”
“Of course. I’ll get the guest room ready.”
I scowl at him.
“For Buttercup,” he adds. “You’ll be bunking in with me.”
______________________________________________________________
Two months later, the work on my house is almost completed. True to his word, Mr Brady, has everything running smoothly to schedule and it won’t be long before I can move back in. I check on progress every day, but I wait until Peeta is occupied outside the village when I do.
I’ve told him I want a “big reveal” and he won’t get to see it until it’s finished. That goes for Haymitch too. I can barely contain my excitement, but the more excited I get, the glummer Peeta becomes. I think I understand. Living together has been wonderful. If this has been an experiment into how suited we are to share our lives together, it has been a resounding success.
It’s not that there aren’t minor irritations on occasion – there are, but they are quickly dealt with. Our differences, which are many, complement each other. We’re like two pieces of juxtaposing jigsaw puzzle pieces that aren’t the same shape, but nonetheless fit together perfectly.
Peeta has been hinting, quite heavily, that it should be a permanent arrangement. But it’s clear that I’m not renovating a house to not use it, and I haven’t given any sign that he will be too. Peeta seems resigned to the fact that we’ll continue to live apart when my house is finished but I can tell he’s disappointed.
But tonight, I feel not so much excited as very relaxed and free of my usual inhibitions. I don’t know whether it’s the sultry weather or the two glasses of wine at dinner that’s the cause. But as I exit the bathroom after a warm shower with my short satin nightgown gliding sensuously against my skin, I feel like the most dangerous of predators.
And then I spy my prey unawares. He’s seated on the bed innocently removing his prosthetic. His broad muscled chest is bare, his only garment is loose fitting shorts. I stand in front of him. He looks up, puzzled.
With a hand on each shoulder, I push him down onto the bed and with one smooth motion yank down his shorts. His penis springs up, semi-hard already. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I am determined. I drop to my knees, take a firm grasp and lower my mouth. I hear a startled gasp and then a moan of pleasure. I use his reactions to guide me as I pump, swirl and suck.
I hear, “Katniss, I’m about to come” and a hand gently tries to push me away. But I’m relentless. I know what’s about to happen and it doesn’t faze me in the least. I’m the girl who could eat anything Greasy Sae dished up. He comes with a series of violent shudders and it’s only then that I release him. He stares at me with a mixture of awe and delight.
“Wow. Just wow. I’ve never had. . . that was amazing. You’re amazing.”
I sit back on my haunches and smile with pride. I did it. But what did he say? Did he say “I’ve never had? Had Lace never done that? No, she couldn’t have. I was Peeta’s first!
Suddenly I’m pulled on to the bed, I’m flat on my back and my nightgown is ruched around my armpits. I was naked underneath and I try to cover myself with the quilt. But my knees are seized and pulled wide apart and then his head is between my thighs and he’s staring directly between them, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable.
“Your turn.”
I go to push his head away but the moment his tongue makes contact I forget to be shy. I forget everything except the wonderful sensations that threaten to engulf at any second. He’s tentative at first and then gains in confidence until he seems to enjoy it as much as me. In some distant part of my mind, I register that this is a first for him too. My orgasm is swift and powerful, and I open my eyes just long enough to see the triumph on Peeta’s face.
He then raises himself and comes forward to kiss me on the lips. I taste myself on him and I like it. I eagerly wrap my legs around his back to invite him in. As we move together in unison, it’s like the best homecoming conceivable.
After, he kisses me tenderly and, wrapped in each other’s arms and without one word said, we sleep.
Next morning, I wake to the uncomfortable sensation of a full bladder and something heavy pressing against it. Peeta is lying on his side, his head on my shoulder and an arm draped over my hip. He’s fast asleep. I carefully remove his arm so as not to disturb him. He grunts a little and then settles on to his back.
Satisfied he hasn’t woken; I hurry to the bathroom to relieve myself. At the washbasin mirror, I take in my dishevelled appearance. My braid has come undone during the night and my hair is a long, tangled mess. I try to see if there’s anything different in my face, but it’s the same Katniss Everdeen I see in the mirror every day.
It’s strange that it doesn’t show, this newfound confidence I have. Max was right – to a point. Sex is just practice, but it also involves a little risk taking and willingness to venture outside one’s comfort zone.
That joke about stiff jaws will never bother me again. Sore cheeks, more like. And to think I had surpassed Lace in the bedroom. Or, at least, in the oral sex department. It occurred to me that what I imagined wasn’t nearly as bad as the reality. I thought of them as having unbridled sex around the clock but maybe it wasn’t so.
When I think on it, Lace came across as affectionate rather than sexual with her cheek caresses and lingering looks; just the thing to snare an affection needy Peeta. Perhaps they had what Max calls “vanilla” sex. Well, Peeta is going to get more than soft serve from me. He’s going to get every flavour in the ice-cream parlour.
When I go back into the bedroom, Peeta is still on his back and sound asleep. There is something a little different though. There’s a definite bulge under the sheets where his groin is. I know this is an occurrence that young men commonly have while they sleep. In fact, I was aware of it when Peeta and I slept together on the train. Peeta did his best to hide it, and I did my best to ignore it. But today, I think I’ll do something about it.
I pull my nightgown over my head and let it fall to the floor. No more nakedness issues from me. Very carefully, I pull the sheet away and Peeta’s erection springs free in all its glory. Kneeling beside him on the bed, I dangle my hair over it and slowly move my head to and fro so that it gently caresses his dick. (Hooray, I said dick. Or is cock better? Never mind, dick will do for now.) He moans and his dick twitches. I continue my onslaught, but it gets uncomfortable sitting back on my haunches, so I straddle him backwards, up on my knees, my head over his groin, hair softly swaying.
Without warning, a finger runs the length of my slit and now it’s me who’s under assault. Tiny circles are drawn at the top of it, and my legs threaten to buckle as an orgasm builds. I don’t think I can stay upright so I swiftly turn around, grasp his dick and slowly lower myself onto it. I dare to look at Peeta’s face and keep my eyes locked on his as I grind and rock against him. I notice that if I squeeze my inside muscles, the sensations are more intense.
Peeta likes it too, if the increased upward thrusts of his pelvis are an indication. Peeta puts his thumb where his finger had been, and I soon climax in great rippling waves. I barely have time to process it before Peeta performs one of his wrestling moves and I’m on my back and he’s on top. In a few strong thrusts Peeta comes too. He collapses on to my chest and then rolls off to lie close to my side, up on one elbow.
He looks down on me with a bemused expression. “What have you done with pure Katniss Everdeen?” he asks.
I smile smugly. “She never existed. Wanton Katniss Everdeen was just waiting to get out. She fooled everyone. Even me.”
“She certainly fooled me. I hope I can keep up.”
I reach up to push away a stray curl. “Don’t worry, you will.”
_____________________________________________________
Peeta and I stand before my newly painted front door. It’s time for the “big reveal”.
“I don’t know why this had to be a big secret,” he grumbles.
“You’ll see.” I turn the doorknob and enter. Peeta follows me in. The front rooms are essentially unchanged except for fresh paint and new light fittings. It’s the kitchen I want him to see. It’s been enlarged and completely overhauled. The appliances are state of the art with four ovens, including the same kind Peeta had specially installed in his own kitchen. There’s even a small room off it called a butler’s pantry that Mr Brady said was the latest thing and a boon to keen cooks. It sounded pretentious to me, but if it’s the latest thing, then I want Peeta to have it.
Peeta runs his fingers along the marble top of the island bench (ideal for pastry according to Mr Brady). “Impressive, “is all he has to say.
We move to the rear of the house. The porch has been widened and extended outward. It should be great for entertaining or simply to take in the sunset. I point out the spot where I plan to install a swimming pool. And then we briefly survey the mud room. That’s for me. I wanted a place to change out of my muddy boots and store my hunting equipment.
We go upstairs. Like the front downstairs rooms, it’s mostly a matter of fresh paint. The bathrooms have been renovated though. I made sure that they were easy for someone with a disability to use, without it being obvious that’s what it was designed for.
The bedroom that overlooks the back garden is what I’m most nervous about showing him. It was Prim’s room, untouched since her death, but I’m sure she would approve of its new use. The carpet has been replaced with bare polished boards and the built-in robes have been modified to include shelves and drawers. A skylight floods the room with natural light. And if it isn’t obvious what the room’s purpose is, the large easel surrounded by canvases of varying sizes should leave no room for doubt.
Peeta hasn’t said anything. This flummoxes me. I was expecting admiration, or surprise, or something. But then it occurs to me that he’s waiting for me to speak first. Suddenly, I’m afraid. What if he doesn’t like it, or he thinks I’m terribly presumptuous. It’s not like I asked him about any of this.
“I thought, perhaps, that this could be our home. That we could live together, all the time. I should have asked you first, I guess. You might have preferred your own house. But this is where the primroses are planted, and you know how cats hate to move. You don’t mind, do you?”
Peeta shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Katniss.”
My stomach sinks. “But why? I thought you liked us being together. If there’s anything you don’t like, we can change it.”
“The house is perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s just that I have to think of my reputation. I can’t just move in with you. This isn’t the Capitol where unmarried cohabiting couples are common. There’s nothing else for it. You’ll have to marry me first.”
I’m speechless with surprise. I scan his face looking for any sign that this is joke. But while his expression is good humoured and kind like always, he’s also deadly serious.
“Ah, um, is that a proposal?”
Peeta’s arms go around me. “Most definitely.”
“Are you sure?” After the disaster of his last engagement, I was certain it would be a long time before Peeta contemplated marriage again.
“Sure, I’m sure. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was six years old.”
“And you won’t move in with me until I do?”
“No.”
I rest my forehead against his chest to think about it. Marriage has never been a priority for me. Indeed, at sixteen I wanted nothing to do with it. But, if I’m honest with myself, isn’t it something I saw myself doing eventually at some vague, shadowy time in the future? Rather like the room I recently thought would make an ideal nursery. My mind suddenly clears, and the decision is easy. Whether I marry Peeta now or several months from now, I know it would have happened anyway.
“Yes.”
“Did you just agree to marry me?” A big smile splits Peeta’s face.
“I did.”
Peeta leans forward to kiss me, but I put up hand to stop him. “On one condition. I don’t want any fuss with wedding dresses, or wedding receptions or any of that palaver. “
“You get no argument from me.” And then his lips are on mine, and we seal the deal with a kiss.
“I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve you,” Peeta tells me when our lips eventually part.
There is only one response to that.
“I know.”
______________________________________________________________
At nine am on a beautiful spring day, Peeta and I arrive at the Justice Building to register our marriage. After signing the requisite forms, we pay the fee, and the matter is done. Then we go home.
I had a bonanza hunt the day before and the wild turkeys are roasting nicely in the new ovens. Peeta has prepared an assortment of side dishes but the piece de resistance is the wedding cake. It was my only concession to a formal wedding, and I can’t deny that Peeta has done a magnificent job on it.
At approximately 12 pm, our guests start to arrive. Haymitch is first and heads straight for the liquid refreshments. He says it’s never too soon to start toasting the happy couple.
Effie arrives right on time and insists on a tour of the house. She enthuses over the improvements and congratulates me on having the latest “must have”. I think she refers to the butler’s pantry, but I’m soon surprised to discover that it’s the mud room that has earned her approval. Apparently, anyone who is anyone in the Capitol is either having one built onto their home or converting an existing room for the purpose. You can trust the Capitol to make a “must-have” out of something they have no real use for.
The Matsons arrive together. Max has a new girlfriend. She’s a giggler so I hope for the sake of Max’s sex life that he was wrong about them. Max, who keeps me informed of the gossip around town that I seem to miss, tells me that Lace was seen licking ice-cream off the face of the new tailor in town. The tailor was enthralled it seems, although Max says he’d rather have Lace’s dog licking ice-cream off him than Lace. I think that’s a bit harsh, but I can’t complain that Max is a loyal friend who always takes my side. I’m happy for Lace though. Peeta will be too.
Thom and Bristol, Peeta’s co-workers at the library, are here with their partners. And running just a little late is Delly with her fiancé, Davis. Delly wants to return to District 12 to live but is having trouble finding a house. Peeta and I swap glances. We know of a house that’s available. I know how much Peeta misses his childhood friend, and, for myself, I like Delly. She has the open friendliness of Lace but without being cloying. Best of all, she has no designs on Peeta.
But there’s a special guest who is yet to arrive. The lateness is not unexpected as the train service from District 4 is notoriously unreliable. It’s almost 1pm when she enters the home she hasn’t seen in almost five years. The years haven’t been kind to her, there’s been too many deaths, too much hardship, but she looks well, nonetheless. It’s taken a great deal of courage to come. She feared her depression could be triggered by reminders of the past, but she was reassured that so much had changed, it wasn’t likely.
My mother and I hold each for a long moment. We haven’t had the closest mother-daughter relationship, but we still share a deep bond and I’m very happy to have her with me today.
Later, our guests retire to their homes. Or, in the case of those who don’t live nearby, comfortably ensconced in Peeta’s former home across the street. That leaves Peeta and me alone to enjoy our first evening together as husband and wife. We sit on the porch to watch the setting sun. On the kitchen bench is a fruit and nut loaf, freshly baked this morning. Soon we’ll go indoors, light a fire, toast the bread and feed it to each other.
But now, in the quiet and stillness of the evening, an overwhelming sadness takes hold. The day has been so full that I had little time to think of the beloved sister who wasn’t here to share this day with me. Peeta holds me close. He knows without words. I’m reminded of our time in the cave when I lay in his arms in our shared sleeping bag when I had never felt so safe and protected. Then, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, but today I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
“I love you, Peeta.” Peeta presses a kiss to my temple.
“I love you, too. Let’s go inside. We have a toasting to go to.”