Broken Wings

Chapter 36

The silence the follows is full of my sniffing and agitated breath. I don't know what to do, the balls really in his court, but he just stands there. Taking this as my cue to leave, I let out a shaky breath and stand to leave. I'm taking my first step towards my bag, when my hand is caught holding me in place. I my eyes follow the path up the masculine arm until his head and I realise the reason for his silence. For the first time ever, I have made Peeta Mellark, the artist of words, speechless. He just stares at me with glowering eyes full of shock, his mouth in a line as if stuck between hanging open and scowling. After a while I can't hold his gaze anymore, and I drop mine with shame. Before I know it, I'm pulled forward into him and he holds me tightly. The sensation of his arms around me breaks my calm and I feel silent tears fall from my eyes, as I breath him in. I don't know what I should do, I consider bolting but I'm rooted to the spot and for once I feel like that would make things worse. Before my thoughts spiral out of control, I feel him heaves a breath and ask with the exhale, "since when?"

"Probably in the Quell," I say in a hushed whisper, "but I only knew the night I broke my arm." I don't elaborate, he knows that I'm referring to by that night. That was the night he kissed me for the first time since the Capital. His silence tells me he isn't doubt thinking about it. "Why did you tell me?" He whispers with a little despair. I take this as a moment to gather myself and hold him back, tighter, and not just around his middle. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my forehead in the cook of it. "Haymitch said that I should have, but you know I don't listen. I think my fears of losing you were to strong."

"But you've told me now, and look," he says pulling away from me just enough to hold my puffy gaze. "I'm still here." I sigh and tell him the other reason, because it seems to be the night of truth for me. "I guess a little part of me was still scared you'd be... disturbed, by my feelings." He laughs a little at that, I even smile a little.

"What on earth would give you that impression?" My smile drops, as does my arms and gaze. "That night after I told you and Johanna about the snare. I just... you and I had that exact conversation, and I was so deeply sad. Sad about the memories of my father, sad about you not talking to me and... sad that what I told you was true." I look at him now and let him see the pain in my eyes, "you didn't even deny it. And it remains true to this moment." I look down again when his scowl from earlier returns. I feel him caressing my cheeks as he tries to sooth me. "Is that why you thought I'd be disappointed?"

"No, it was the nightmares after that." I tell him about that dream, about his disgust at my actions and admission. All to which he shakes his head and forms a thin line of his lips. The o my thing he asks when I'm done is, "that's why you looked like you were going to cry when I handed you your shoes?" I nod. Now he knows, now I know, but still don't understand a couple things on his part. Like why he was so short on the phone? why did he stop talking to me? Looking at him now, standing there in deep thought, I begin to wonder when he even started to love me. he once told me that it was the first day of school, but that was before the high jacking. It was certainly not straight away, he wanted me dead at first. So when was it? My wonderings are interrupted by his unexpected voice. "what are you thinking?" he looks slightly worried, but only slightly and only because I have spent years reading him. Not thinking I blurt out "Why do you love me?" his worry comes out even more as he stops trying to hide it and his eyebrows knit together. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I think and restart.

"I know that the high jacking was exaggerated, but it at least knocked me off that pedestal you always put me on." I desperately try and word this right because the look of worry isn't waning in the way I want it to. "I mean, when you were younger, you saw me as... I don't know exactly, but better than I was." He huffs, shoves his hands in his pockets and bites his lips in an annoyed manner, but nods for me to continue.

"But you were wiped clean and well... what changed? How could you love someone who is so broken, and stubborn, and scared, and hurtful, and..." I'm cut off by his hand over my mouth and a slightly amused look in his eye. I'm struck with a sudden case of paralysation as I just stare wide eyed at the young man in front of me, and I realise that he has had a haircut while in the Capital, just a trim to neaten up a bit, but cut just the same. Still having the warm hand on my mouth and another on the back of my head, I run my fingers through his hair on an impulse. He smiles a little to himself before grabbing my hands and saying, "Come, I'll show you."

He leads me to what is the study in my house, but for him it's his art studio. I follow a little apprehensively because, this has been the one room in the house that I have not entered except for once. Peeta has kept this room private, and I have respected that. Ever since that day when I showed him his art room months ago, he has never shared his paintings with me. he still paints, I just don't know what and whenever I asked him about it he would wave it off like it didn't matter. Even now coming to the door he slows his pace and stops when his hand is on the doorknob. "Look, there are things behind this door that I am ashamed of because they are the reality of what I have seen. But im going to show you anyway, because I hope it can demonstrate what I'm about to tell you." I look down and nod, starting to wonder what horrors might be hiding on the other side of the door. Peeta sighs, lets go of my hand, almost begrudgingly and opens the door to the now dark room. Since the sky outside is cloudy the night is black, making my first sense not that of smell. The smell of paint hits my nose while Peeta turns on the light, causing my eyes to contract quickly.

When the sensation of sudden light wears off, I see that the room has changed since I last saw it. The desk that would stand in front of the large window to the right of the door has been moved against. In its place there is an easel and stool, while the object its self is being used to hold paints, brushes, paper and numerous art supplies. Next to the desk I see a standing fan that must have been used in the heat of summer. Other than a small couch next to the door the room is void of furniture, instead canvas after are lined along the two side walls. Some big, some small. Some covered by cloths, some not. Some paintings hung on the walls, some in piles, some paintings are still on less sturdy easels not quite finished. On the opposite side of the room to us is the fireplace, and even though it hasn't been needed until now, it is clear that hasn't been completely dormant either. The air relates that this room is somewhere for Peeta's emotions to take over. A safe place where he can be calmed, like me and my woods.

Gently I'm guided to the back of the room where the fireplace sits. When I look to my left, I see only the paintings I have seen before. The paintings of the bakery and of me on my bed with the plant book and a damaged foot sit proudly at the front, as if being displayed as a child's most priced toys. Motioning behind me I look questioningly to Peeta where to go, because I don't want to push my welcome into such a special place to him. But Peeta doesn't see my signal because he is so nervous his hands are shaking a little. Resting my hand on his arm as I sign of reassurance, I make him look at me. When he lifts his head I see his eyes are watering, my face softens further along with my heart before I notion once again asking if he wants me to turn to face the other wall. He pats my hand a little and then removes it while clearing his thought and pulling himself together. he nods and slowly I turn around, where I find a pile of painting leaning on the wall that are covered by a cloth. Apprehensively I pull the cloth off and my heart instantly sinks to my stomach.