The Hunger games - I'm still breathing (Everlark)

Chapter 23

I barely make it to the toilet in time before the alcohol in my stomach makes a re-appearance the next morning. It feels like acid burning through my throat and nose, even my eyes feel like they are on fire. I hear Peeta come into the bathroom behind me and consider telling him to get out because really, this can't be a very pretty sight for him. I say nothing though, deciding that I don't care. He's seen me looking much worse than this before and besides, the mouthful of bile makes it difficult to talk.

The damp cloth he presses to my forehead does little to soothe the pounding inside of it but it does seem to calm the heat radiating from me. He holds my matted hair back for me until we are certain that there can't be anything left in me to vomit out.

"Just so you know, I feel no sympathy for you right now," Peeta says, turning on the shower.

I glare at him and give him a sarcastic thumbs up.

"Although Haymitch should never have let you have a drink in the first place seeing how fragile you were," he mutters, helping me get to my feet.

Oh yeah, Haymitch. Make things right for Haymitch. 

"It wasn't..." I clear my throat, cringing at the ache that winds through it. "It wasn't Haymitch's fault, he wasn't really drunk yesterday. I was drinking from his bottles when he wasn't looking, he had no idea until it was too late," I say, looking anywhere but at Peeta. Only he can tell when I am lying.

"Really?" he asks, unconvinced.

I direct my attention to the running water in the shower and nod my head.

"Well then, I really don't have any sympathy for you. You know what alcohol does to people, Katniss," he sighs.

"I know, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." That's an understatement and a half. I wasn't thinking at all. I didn't want to think, I wanted to forget. I see what a toll my 'forgetting' has taken on Peeta though. The bags are dark under his eyes, my screaming fits are most likely to blame for this. If my nightmares are waking me up, they're waking him up too.

"I really am sorry, I ruined your whole day," I try again, my eyes becoming blurry behind the wall of built up tears waiting to fall.

"You didn't ruin the day, you just went through a little rough patch. No one was judging you for getting that little girl mixed up with Prim in the bakery, a lot of people actually asked me if you were okay when I went back inside," he says, cupping my face. My blinking eyes cause the dam of tears to burst. Peeta catches every single tear with his thumb and wipes them away.

"I love you and I really want to kiss you right now, but you smell and probably taste like sick so I'm going to wait till you've had a shower," he smiles down at me.

  "You're a jerk!" I laugh through my tears, shoving him away from me.

"I'll make some breakfast while you get yourself to smell a bit better and then maybe I'll let you kiss me," he smirks at me as he leaves the room. I roll my eyes at the back of the door. It's amazing really how he can get me to go from crying to smiling in a matter of seconds.

I stand under the running water, counting on my fingers the amount of times I have let Peeta down. I tricked him in the first games into thinking that I loved him. I pulled out the berries, instantly branding him a rebel alongside me. I couldn't save him in the Quarter Quell, he was tortured and hijacked because of me. I soon run out of fingers and have to start counting on my toes. Amongst all the mayhem that I caused for him, I can't recall a single time that he ever let me down. He didn't then and he still hasn't now. I, however, can't seem to stop hurting him in some way. Why does he stay with me?

I gurgle the water in the back of my throat, getting rid of any remnants of alcohol still holing up there. I don't bother drying myself when I am done; just slip my dressing gown on to my still dripping body.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the 3-foot mirror standing in the corner of the room. My face is puffy and flushed an awful red colour. My hair hangs limply in wet tendrils. A wave of nausea hits hard. What does he see in me? I'm an ugly person, inside and out. I trace the bumpy scar that runs along my arm where Johanna cut my tracker out. I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't even hear Peeta come into the room.

  His hand stops my own from provoking the old scar any more.

"These scars remind us of the ordeals we've been through and how we've pulled through to the other side, Katniss. They hurt a lot at the time but they slowly heal and even though they are always there, the pain of carrying them gets easier to bare."

I nod silently as his hands take over and fumble gently over all my scars running down my arm. After a while, he gets up and picks up the hairbrush lying on my desk. He returns to the bed, placing himself behind me, and carefully begins to brush my hair.  I close my eyes and allow the feeling of comfort to course through me. Having my hair brushed was one of my favourite things to have done as a child. Maybe it's still my favourite thing. Peeta does too much for me, I don't deserve this.

"Why do you love me, Peeta?" I ask him, quietly. He stops mid-brush and I twist around to face him. His blue eyes flicker up and down slightly, searching my face for the reasoning behind the question.

"You already know the answer to that, Katniss. You saved me, you keep saving me. I could list a thousand other reasons but that would take all day," he says, smiling at me.

"I let you down all the time though," I say, starting to cry again.

"You don't let me down. You're bad days don't let me down, Katniss, if anything they make me love you and want to be there for you even more," he says.

He pulls me in for a hug but I move my head in to kiss him. I want to feel something, anything other than this feeling of helplessness. My kiss is deep and begs for more. I roll on to my back, pulling Peeta along with me. My hands run along his back under his t-shirt. His hold my waist, gradually moving up and getting lost in my hair. It's when I go to lift his t-shirt that he freezes and moves away from me.

"Not now, Katniss," he says, staring at the ceiling.

"What, why?" I ask, hating how evident the hurt is in my voice.

"Because you're vulnerable and hung over and it won't make you feel any better at the minute," he says, leaning up on his elbows and looking down at me. He strokes my hair that's splaying out on the pillow.

I know he's right, sleeping with him now would be the equivalent of drinking with Haymitch yesterday. Just another way to get out of my own head. I can't cheapen anything with Peeta like that, what we have is too special. Embarrassed, I roll over on to my side, facing the opposite way to Peeta.

"Hey don't be mad at me," he says sadly, wrapping an arm around me.

"I'm not, I...I shouldn't have done that sorry. You really love me?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"More than anything," he says, kissing my neck. "Especially when you're not smelling like sick, I love you even more then."

"Shut up!" I laugh, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

This is how we remain the rest of the day, catching up on some much needed sleep in each others arms, in the most innocent way possible.