ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

18

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 18

Katniss

Sunlight creeps through the window with teasing fingers and tickles my cheek with warmth. My eyelids flutter open and I blink into the new light of a new day, feeling better rested than I have felt in almost a year. I do not recall having a single nightmare; not one disturbance or phantom haunted my dreams last night. It is surreal, this inner peace.

Based on the way in which the sun peeks into the room in the corner of the window, I judge that it is well past noon. The sensible part of me chastises myself for being so careless as to sleep in so late. I could have gone hunting twice by now. Prim and my mother are probably worried sick about me.

The other part of me is too comfortable to care. I selfishly remind myself that I deserve to enjoy the feeling of an afternoon sun on my face. Who knows how many lazy mornings I have left? A serene smile spreads from ear to ear as I cozy up to the warm body beside me.

Wait, warm body?

In my sleep, my memory must have taken the liberty to temporarily erase the details of last night. One look at him is all it takes, however, to recall what transpired between the two of us. All at once, I remember the previous nights' events: talking to Peeta, crying to Peeta, kissing Peeta, touching Peeta, uttering his name in ways that cause a rosy red flush to settle over my cheeks.

My eyes fly back open, smile long gone as I scramble to sit up. Peeta stirs, and as he moves, the jacket that he must have placed over us after I had fallen asleep moves with him, revealing a particular part of his body that spikes my temperature once again. With trembling fingers, I grab the jacket and throw it back over him, realizing that I have now exposed myself in the process.

As if I am in the woods, I quietly lurk around the room in search of my garments, occasionally tossing a glance over my shoulder at Peeta. Nearly all of my belongings are located in a messy pile just several yards away, reminding me of how little time we wasted to discard it all. I choose the corner of the basement that is secluded in shade to dress, cursing myself as I do so. Every button I fasten on my blouse is a reminder of how it came off in the first place.

I should feel ashamed. Pre-marital sex between teenagers, although frequently practiced by my carefree peers, was largely frowned upon in our District. My mother-not sane enough to remember to wake Prim and I for school but cognizant enough to remember her old-fashioned principles- made that fact very clear to me when I began hunting with Gale. I would scoff at her remarks to be careful around Gale. My need for survival came first. I had no time to even begin to think about engaging in such childish foolery, not when there were mouths to feed and lives to save. I swore that I would never become allied with those giggling, blushing girls who followed boys behind the Slag Heap and would return making a big fuss about their mismatched clothes and blossoming love bites.

Last night, I joined that club. No amount of overheard gossip can prepare you for that initial, indescribable hurt of being connected with another person in such an intimate way. No girls' anecdotes can prepare you for the rush of pleasure that follows shortly after, or for the suspended moment in time where everything else in the world disappears and it is just you, him, and this heated passion.

Right around reaping time, especially, the school courtyard has a history of turning into a breeding ground. The motives behind it all seem to make sense, now that i have jumped ship. The gravity of the situation-trapped in adolescence, lacking this particular adult experience, and not knowing if the opportunity will pass by should they be reaped-is too much for the average hormonal teenager without the additional strife of a starving family to has to bear.