Blooming in the Spring

Chapter 7

By the time we break away from each other's tight embrace, the sun has begun to rise and soft light pours into the living room where we sit beside one another. 

We pull apart slowly, Peeta's soft gaze studying my face. I try to read his expression but it's difficult because I think he's doing the same thing. His brows are raised ever so slightly, his breathing soft and steady, and his eyes wide. His eyes. Pools of ocean blue, sparkling in the light of the sunrise. And filled with something, something that I think might look like love. Or at least some sort of attachment or warmth. He must see this reflected back in my own eyes because he gingerly kisses the bridge of my nose and says he will go get breakfast prepared for us. 

He lets his hand rest on my cheek for an extra second before he disappears into the kitchen and I feel the ghost of his touch linger on my face. 

Peeta returns shortly, a platter of bread and bowls of porridge with the berries I gathered from the woods the other day in hand. Though we normally dine at the table, today we eat our meal together on the couch--so close together that our shoulders brush. When we're finished, I help him clean up and then we return to the living room to continue our usual daily activities. 

We don't talk about the kiss or what it might mean or what might happen now. Normally, I think my head would be buzzing with anxiety but something about this feels right. I feel safe. And there's something else, too. I think for the first time since I've really known Peeta, I don't feel like I'm running out of time. Like I don't have to worry that the next second I see him just might be my last. Like I don't have to figure everything out right now. For the first time, I feel like we can just be. It's a kind of peace I'm not sure I've ever known. 

Peeta begins to draw in his sketchbook and though I pretend to be reading, I watch him. It's so amazing to me, watching him draw or paint. He gets so focused and he makes it look easy. One afternoon, I remember he tried to teach me some of his basic painting techniques but I was no good at it. While his canvas depicted a beautiful garden with flowers of every color, mine turned into a greenish-brown blob. Definitely not easy.

I get lost in watching him work and he's so focused he doesn't even seem to notice and suddenly we've been sitting this way for nearly an hour. I turn away to look at the time on an old grandfather clock in the corner and when I return my gaze, I notice his pencil strokes slow and he blinks more and breathes heavier like he's fighting away an unwanted distraction. For a moment I think that he's just trying to figure out what details to sketch out next but his eyes are moving back and forth from the page like he's suddenly on alert. 

I'm about to say something, to ask if he's alright when his gaze breaks from the page in front of him.

"I have to go," he says abruptly, his voice filled with fear. 

"What?" I ask, setting aside the book I wasn't really reading anyways.

"I'm not. . ." he stammers and trails off, lost in a daze.

"Peeta?" I ask, reaching out carefully to him. 

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sensation of my touch, the sketchbook falling to the floor. There is a moment of dread and I think I understand what's happening. This is what Dr. Aurelius called a flashback. He told me that while Peeta made great progress in the Capitol, there would be times that would be more difficult for him to hang on. That some moments he might grow confused again. Panicked, fearful. Maybe even angry. Like a nightmare, only he wouldn't be asleep. 

Since being home, Peeta hasn't actually had one of these flashbacks. I thought maybe Aurelius was wrong. That Peeta did make a full recovery. That we could finally move past what we've been through. Until now, I suppose.