Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 35 - The Third Quarter Quell

I wake up to a sudden jolt of pain shooting through my body as the nurse presses on my heel. She pokes and prods, asking if it hurts when she applies pressure to it. It does, like a sharp stab into my skin. I can feel every bruise and ache in my body as I lay there. I'm ordered to a week of bed rest and I don't object because I'm too exhausted to even sit up. I let my dad bring me breakfast and tuck a quilt around my body. But I can't help but worry about how everything is going to turn out. I think about Bonnie and Twill and their plans to escape to District 13. I think about the pile of wedding dresses sitting untouched downstairs. I think about Thread, wondering if he'll figure out how I made it back inside the fence and arrest me. The funny thing is, he could arrest me right based on the fact that I've fished illegally. But it's not like I can do it legally like I could in District 4.

I wonder if Snow is in contact with Thread. It's unlikely that Snow ever acknowledged that Cray existed, but Thread? Since Peeta and I are such public problems, Snow has likely given specific orders to either eliminate us or make our lives as miserable as possible. But why does it seem like everyone is so focused on getting me out of the picture as opposed to Peeta? Is there something more at play that I'm not aware of?

I'm unsure, but it seems that both Snow and Thread are in agreement when it comes to keeping me locked up within the fence of District 12. My father was brought here as a means of control, a tool that could be used against me. I love being able to see him again, but I know his being here is just a constant reminder that if I step out of line again, they can easily take away what they have just given me. Even if I were to devise an escape plan— maybe using a rope to scale the tree branch above the fence— I know there's no way I could do it now. Not when there are people here who need me to stay and fight.

For the next few days, I am on edge, easily startled by any sudden noises or knocks at the door. I'm expecting Peacekeepers to arrest me, but when they never come, I eventually start to relax. I'm further reassured when Peeta tells me that certain sections of the fence's power have been turned off as crews work on securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must think I managed to slip through the small gap despite the current running through it. It's nice to see that for once, Peacekeepers are focused on something other than their usual abuse.

Peeta has visited me every day since being confined to my bed, bringing treats from his bakery that he wants me to try first before he sells them. The first day he brought soft buns with gooey cheese baked into the top. Then came some kind of tart filled with berries and goat cheese. Each day brings a different creation, and I've yet to dislike anything I've eaten. He often pulls up a chair beside my bed and we talk while I enjoy whatever it is he's brought me. Our conversations range from life back in my old district to our fears about the mentoring role we've been thrust into for the upcoming Games. As uncertain as things are right now, these moments spent with Peeta bring a sense of normalcy and comfort, but I can't help feeling unsure about what it all means.

He begins bringing a notebook, its pages worn and creased from use. It must be getting worse. His thoughts. Especially because we can't go anywhere without the fear of being seen or heard. For a few moments, he's quiet, his gaze fixed on the blank page before him. He picks up his pencil and we continue conversation. I become fixated on his hands, so steady and gentle as they create the outline of a flower. A flower that holds significance for me, given to me on the very first day we met. Suddenly, he looks up at me and I startle, feeling as though I have been caught peering into his private world. Maybe I was. But he simply smiles and says, "You know, I think this is the first time we've been able to do something normal together."

"Yeah," I say. The word normal sounds foreign to me. It's never been in our vocabulary. Our entire relationship has been shaped by the Games— tainted by them in some way. Normalcy was never a part of it. "It's nice for a change."