In The Blowing Ashes

Chapter 8

Katniss

"So let me get this strait," I say holding up the long, dark, green backless dress. "You want me to put this on and literally paint me so you can take pictures?"

"Yeah," Peeta says getting out his pallet.

"Can I ask why?" I say.

"Because I want to show you how beautiful you are," he says. "Even with your scars."

"Even if I was beautiful at one time, these scars make me ugly," I say.

"That is why I'm going to prove you wrong," he says. I just sit there, turning the dress in my hand. "Come on Katniss. Humor me."

"Fine," I say. "It's not like we have much else to do. I've nearly overstocked the fridge with meat and we have way to many cookies around here." It's true. We've found our ways to cope from day to day. I hunt nearly every morning and Peeta constantly bakes. It takes our minds off everything, doing the things we love. Even if that means that since Peeta has practically moved into my house, we have an over abundance of food sitting in my kitchen. Let's just say, I'm starting to feel like I'm getting fat off squirrels, cookies, and cheese buns.

I slip into the bathroom and carefully slip on the long silken material. I frown at myself in the mirror. I've never been very comfortable showing really anything and this dress shows off a lot. But its not like I'm going anywhere and I don't really care about Peeta seeing. I cross my arms over my chest and sigh as I walk out and back into my bedroom. Peeta smiles as I sit down.

"Can I put your hair up?" he asks.

"You can try," I say and I feel his weight shift on the bed as he reaches for my brush and comes back to my hair. He carefully takes the tangles from my hair and braids half of it swooping over so my curls cascade down my shoulder. I feel his fingers graze over my shoulder and I look back at him. I see his eyes traveling across my back, never meeting mine.

"They're worse than you thought aren't they," I say.

"No," he says. "There are just a lot more than I expected."

"That's what happens when they give you fake skin that tears like tissue paper," I say. "Especially when they lock you in a room for I don't know how long without stitching you up. Especially when all you want to do is bleed out but you only scab over."

"That doesn't matter now," he says. "In time, they'll fade and you won't even see them unless you look closely. Especially with your complexion. I can see some of them are even starting to fade already."

"Just do whatever you want to do Peeta," I say. "I can't sit like this forever."

"Okay," he says. I turn back forward. I shiver as I feel him lightly begin to paint in gentle strokes. It kind of tickles. "What's wrong?"

"It tickles a little," I say. I try to turn and look at what he's doing and he turns my head back forward.

"Don't look," he says. "Its a surprise."

"How much longer?" I ask.

"Maybe an hour," he says.

"You can't be serious!" I say.

"II'll try to be quick," he says. "But good things come to those who wait."

"How is being covered in paint a good thing?" I ask.

"Just wait and see Kat," he says. He gently places his hand on my shoulder as he continues to paint the scars on my back, turning them from bad memories into something beautiful. I try to guess what it is, but I can't. But I know that he's probably right. I'll like it in the end.

After what seems like much longer than an hour, the paintbrush leaves my spine for the last time.

"Alright," Peeta says. "I think I'm done. And before you look, I'm sorry if it stains but if it does, I promise it won't last more than a week."

"It's okay," I say. "It's not like anyone but you would possibly see it anyway. Not that you're gonna get a good glimpse of it after today."

"Well then I think I should get to enjoy it while I can," he says.

"Can I see it?" I ask.

"Sure," he says and I get up and walk over to the full length mirror and turn around to look over my shoulder. I gasp and am absolutely shocked by the image that spreads across my shoulders and down my spine. Peeta looks at me nervously through the mirror. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," I say. My scars have become the branches of a large black silhouette of a tree. Behind it glows a sunset that swirls with oranges, reds, pinks, and golds. The tree has no leaves and it's branches are jagged from the path of my scars, but the bright, bold colors underneath makes it beautiful. Exactly as Peeta says he sees me. "I can't believe you did this. Its amazing."

"Just like you," he says. He goes to my dresser and picks up the camera off it.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Taking pictures like you agreed to," he says and I frown as the camera flashes and he snaps a picture. "Can you smile?"

"No," I say. "I can't."

"Please Katniss," he says. I roll me eyes before flashing him a smile as he takes a picture. Little did I know, one picture became five and five became ten and before I knew it, I had taken at least twenty five pictures for him, all with different poses and expressions.

"Thanks," he says as I flop down into my stomach on the bed.

"What were these for anyway?" I ask him. "Your own personal enjoyment, Lover Boy?"

"They're actually for you," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because every time you call yourself ugly, I can show you something to prove you aren't with out you blaming it on my drawing skills," I say.

"If that's what you think you need to tell me," I say. "I'm gonna go wash up now if you don't need me anymore."

"That's fine," he says. I kiss his cheek and walk out of the room, smiling softly to myself. Because in the first time in a very long time, I really do feel beautiful.