Bought Love

Chapter 5

Peeta

Katniss has been working hard to keep our little house in shape. I got a job working at the saw mill for the extremely demanding Johanna Mason. It's hard work, but the money is great. And even if she isn't a master cook, Katniss always has something warm waiting for supper when I get home.

I walk into the house and she meets me by the door to help me the my dinner bucket and coat.

"Hi," she says. "Another long day?" I nod and she kisses my cheek.

"How was your day?" I ask.

"Boring," she says.

"If you went outside more, it wouldn't be so bad," I say and she shakes her head.

"I'm tired of all the looks," she says. "I'm different than them and they don't like it." She looks over at the table where she had been making a wreath for Christmas. "They hate that I don't go to church with you, but I just, I can't take being looked at like I'm some creature who doesn't deserve to be there." I see that she's near tears and I pull her close to me. We may have been forced into all this, but I'd be lying if I said that seeing her cry like this doesn't break my heart.

"It's okay," I say. "We nearly have enough saved and we'll get the teammate for Storm soon and then you won't have to worry about them anymore because we'll be far away from here." She starts crying and I gently rub her back as she does.

"I don't understand why they can't see me like a person," she says. "I can read and write and I read from the Bible every Sunday. I dress like them and pull my hair up into these stupid knots all for what? For them to stare and whisper. Call me savage and halfbreed behind my back."

"You know I don't see you like that," I say. "And soon, we'll be going away from here."

"But how do we know for sure that out west, people aren't gonna be just as bad?" She looks at me hopelessly and I just shake my head.

"If they didn't like Indians, why would they move to the Indian Territories?" I say and she laughs.

"They would be crazy to do that," she says and I see a faint smile play on her lips. "But then again, Crowfeather always told me how foolish the white men are." She turns away from me and starts gathering up the mess she made on the table. I watch her and notice how she gently gathers the pine branches into her apron and moves them to in front of her rocking chair.

"Crowfeather, he was your father, right?" She nods, smiling sadly.

"Yes," she says. "Crowfeather was my papa." I sit down across from her and see her wipe away a silent tear.

"What was he like?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"He was the most amazing person," she says. "He was a brave warrior who made our tribe strong. He taught me to hunt. I could outshoot any brave my age and could ride a horse like every other hunter. He made me into the son he never had. But I couldn't have been happier. I wanted to be a brave. I loved him with all my heart." She looks down and holds a pine branch delicately in her fingers.

"You speak very fondly of him," I note.

"I know it's odd, but he was my best friend," she says. "I don't know what he would have thought of you. He didn't take to kindly to me getting attention from any boy." She smiles at me and laughs. "Eventually, I'm sure he would have liked you."

"Why is that?" I ask.

"You make me happy," she says. "That's all he ever wanted for me." She stands and goes over to the stove to stir the dinner I was unaware of before. A strand of hair falls in her face and I go over and tuck it behind her ear.

"Why isn't your name like that?" I ask and she gives me a look.

"Like what?" she asks.

"Like two parts," I say and she laughs.

"Katniss isn't my real name Peeta," she says and then shakes her head. "Well, it is but it isn't. What I mean is I have a name the Cherokee call me and one the pale faces call me. You know me as Katniss, but I have another name too."

"What is it?" I ask and she smiles.

"Jay Song," she says and walks past me to put dishes on the table.

"Jay Song?" I ask and she nods. "It doesn't make much sense. You don't really sing."

"At one time, it did," she says. "When I was young, I was constantly singing, like a little mockingjay following my father around, copying his every song."

"What happened?" I ask. She looks at her hands.

"My father died," she says. "And I swore I'd never sing again."

"Why not?" I ask.

"There was no point," she says. "To sing as I sang, you need to feel something. And I haven't felt anything since I sang at Crowfeather's funeral."

"You haven't sang in seven years?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"I've had no reason," she says.

"Can you do it now?" I ask and she stares at me.

"What? Sing for you?" she asks. "Won't that make me even more of an outcast? Women are better seen than heard and I'm less than that . I'm a savage halfbreed. Its remarkable that I can speak proper at all."

"You know I don't see it that way," I say and she nods.

"Yes," she says. "You've shown me nothing but kindness as long as I've known you." She turns away from me and looks out the window and it starts softly at first, but then, sweet, soulful notes are filling out house. The song is beautiful though I don't understand the words. I know that it's sad, a goodbye song, and I realize, this is the last song she sang. This is the funeral song she sang for her father. She finishes and stares at me.

"If you cannot feel, you cannot sing," she says. "I have been numb for years. But you have made me feel again. And someday, I will sing a song that is all our own."