Fancy

Chapter 7

Peeta

"Son of a Bitch!" " Katniss squeals when I'm about done outlining the wolf's head she insisted on me putting on her ribs. I just shake my head.

"I'm sorry it hurts, but I did try to tell you," I say and she shoots me a look.

"I know that!" she says. "But just because I knew it would hurt doesn't mean I don't feel the pain. I think I should be aloud to complain."

"You're doing good," I say. "Most people need a little alcohol before they get their ribs and they still don't sit near as still as you are."

"The stiller I am, the less time I'll have to lay here, which means the less time I'll have to feel that needle digging into me," she says matter-of-factly and I nod as I start to shade in some of the details of her tattoo.

"What made you decide to make me do this?" I ask.

"I always wondered what it'd be like to get one," she says. "And I figured since you did them, you probably wouldn't mess it up for me. I really liked the scratch so I decided, why not wear it?"

"So you really did think too much about this?" I say and she laughs.

"No, not really," she says. "But maybe it will be a funny story to tell," she stops suddenly as though not sure how to say what she wants to say next, "somebody special someday."

"You had to think a while on that huh?" I say and she rolls her eyes.

"Well I'm not gonna be one of those creepy girlfriends who says every little memory we have together would become a great story for our kids someday," she replies. "I'm not even twenty and you just turned twenty last month. I feel like that may be a little early to start planing out our lives together."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because we are still kids Peeta," she says. "I'm a stripper. That isn't a good thing to be."

"You know that doesn't bother me," I lie and she shakes her head.

"I know it does," she says. "It may not matter to you, but you are bothered by the fact that I make my money swinging from a pole, dancing to eighties rock anthems."

"Well, yeah," I say. "It does. But I know you. I know you don't actually enjoy that."

"But I do," she says.

"You do?" I ask and she nods.

"I do," she says. "I don't like the fact that I do it for strangers for money, but dancing like that, practically nude, it makes me feel good. I actually really like the dancing part. Plus, I guess it's good practice."

"Good practice for what?" I ask her and she gives me a cunning grin. The look in her eyes tells me exactly what she's thinking about.

"And," she continues. "Being around all those other girls, I've learned about things that you can't even imagine. If you knew what they've taught me how to do, I don't think you'd ever be able to look at me the same way." She bites her finger at the end as I shade in a particularly sensitive part of her tattoo.

"Oh," I say, kind of surprised by her easy way of talking like this. She almost talks like she plans on doing this all very soon. Like she knows what she's doing and wants it. Like she's done this all before.

"What?" she asks.

"I didn't know you were so experienced," I say and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes at me.

"Only with dildos and bananas," she says laughing. "If we did get to that point, you'd be my first."

"You're still a?" I ask and she nods.

"You really think I'd do anything like that with someone within a year of what happened to me?" she says. "After what happened with Gale, I was traumatized. I was deathly terrified of any guy that looked at me. I only started working at the Tracker because I was so desperate for cash. You're the first man I've trusted in a very, very long time Peeta." We're both silent after that, just the buzz of the tattoo needle and a radio making any sound in the parlor. Katniss watches me closely as I put the finishing touches into the fierce looking wolf who has made his appearance on her side. He's black and grey, with white and blue accents and blue grey eyes. I lift my needle away and carefully wipe up the little spots of blood from where the needle dug in a little too hard.

"You're all done," I say and she pulls away from me as she stands up. She walks over to the mirror and lifts her arm to see it clearly.

"Oh Peeta," she says. "Its perfect."

"You're sure?" I ask and she nods.

"Yes," she says and then turns away from the mirror. "I love it. Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me tomorrow when it's swollen and sore," I say and she shakes her head.

"I knew that going into this. I've heard enough of those girls complain about their tramp stamps," she says laughing. "And I also know how to wash it and everything. I'll be okay. Like I said, I can take it."

"It suits you," I admit as I get the bandages and start to wrap her up. "Your personality at least." She smiles.

"Do you have any?" she asks, her sparkly blue shadowed eyes curious. I hand her her shirt and she slips it over her head.

"Yeah," I say. "I got one on my eighteenth birthday." She sits back down on the bench and picks at her manicured nails.

"What is it?" she asks and I wonder if I should really tell her. When I hesitate, she gets this stupid smirk on her face. "Is it like really cliche? Is that why you kept asking me if I was sure about mine?"

"No," I say. "I thought about mine for a really long time. It's just, I liked you for a really long time and I don't know how you'll react to what I got."

"What is it?" she asks and I roll up my right sleeve to reveal the Mockingjay pin she got from her father tattooed on my shoulder. She stands up and walks towards me. Her slender fingers reach out and touch it and she smiles.

"You got this for me," she says quietly. "I was so blind to you for all that time and you got my Mockingjay tattooed into your skin."

"It was pretty foolish huh?" I say and she just shakes her head.

"Maybe a little," she says. "But it was also very sweet. Especially since it represents our bond. The pin was originally from your aunt." I shrug that off and turn to her as she gathers her things.

"I think maybe we should go upstairs now so you can get some rest," I say and she nods.

"Maybe a shower first but that is fine by me," she says and she follows me to the back door that leads to the stairs to my apartment, turning out the light as she passes it.