The Hunger Games - I'm Still Burning

Chapter 7

"Katniss get your butt out of bed, we need to be gone in half an hour."

Two freezing cold hands grab hold of my ankles and yank me downwards. I stumble through the sheets, landing in a dazed heap on the floor. I stare at Peeta's face through my bleary eyes, wondering if I might be dreaming. Deciding I'm too tired to be awake at this time anyway, I roll onto my side and resume a sleeping position.

"No no no." Cold hands. On my face, prying my eyes open. "You need to wake up, not go back to sleep."

I groan and bat him away.

Cold hands. Making me jump when they appear under my t-shirt on the bare skin of my back.

"Did you deliberately make your hands cold for this purpose?" I ask exasperatedly.

"Yeah I've been holding them under the cold tap for last five minutes because I know how difficult it is to get you out of bed!" he says. He's not even sorry for it.

I start to smile in spite of myself.

"Remind me why I have to get up this early again?" I ask.

"Because you said you would help me host the children's party in the bakery," he says. He leans down and presses his forehead against mine and I shiver.

"Why is your face so cold? Did you run that under the tap too?" I say, putting my hand in his face and pushing it away.

He laughs and runs his tongue over my palm, causing me to draw it back in disgust.

"You're a vile human being," I state, rubbing his saliva off on to my pyjama bottoms.

"But you love me so it's okay," he says, grinning with the satisfaction of knowing he's right.

I roll my eyes and hold my arms out, waiting for him to help me up off of the floor. He does it so effortlessly, like I weigh next to nothing.

"And I don't remember saying I would help with the children's party, I just remember you saying I was helping but I never said yes," I say, reverting back to the topic from moments ago. "Children whinge and scream and cry."

"They're not that much different from you then really."

He dodges, avoiding the slap I aim to his arm.

"Don't they have parents to watch them instead?" I ask.

"Yes and a couple are staying but I said that I would be happy to watch them all while the rest of them had a break. It's only for a few hours," he says.

"And how are we supposed to entertain a bunch of hyperactive kids for a few hours?" I ask, clearly not looking forward to doing this.

"Why don't you let me worry about that and you just worry about getting yourself ready in time," he says. He kisses me on the nose and then swivels my body round and pushes it in the direction of the bathroom.

I'm ready and waiting by the front door twenty minutes later. Peeta, however, is not.

"Peeta you made me get out of bed for this and now you're the one making us late!" I shout up the stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he calls back. He emerges from his art room with a big box full of supplies.

"You better not be ditching me to go and paint a picture with all that," I say.

"No it's for them to paint with," he says.

I take the box off his hands when he reaches the bottom step, bucking a little from how heavy it is. I hold it for him while he puts on his shoes. Then we're out and walking through the streets of District 12.

Halfway through Autumn and the leaves lay out as a blanket before us. Ambers, browns yellows, crunching under our feet. I kick piles of them up in the air, watching each and every leaf land before moving on.

"I think you'll fit in more with the kids than you think," Peeta says, eyeing my actions. He trudges along, the box having a major impact on his speed.

I laugh and fall into step behind him. I reach down, pick up a handful of leaves and throw them over his head. He stops short with his eyes shut and lets the leaves tumble over him. When they've all landed, he shakes out his hair and turns to fix me with a stern glare. Or it would be a stern glare if there wasn't a smile trying to break out of it.

"Real mature, Katniss," he says. The pitch of his voice is raised oddly, giving away how much he wants to laugh.

When I say nothing, he continues to walk. Stubborn as I am though, I am determined to get a rise out of him. I scoop up another handful of leaves and throw them over him again. This time I can't contain my giggle.

"Right," he says. He puts the box down and clears his throat. Then he turns and lunges for me, grabbing me round the waist and wrestling me to the ground.

"No!" I scream.

He begins to grab his own handful of leaves and piles them on top of me. I wriggle underneath him, shaking them off but he is relentless. It seems there is an endless supply of leaves to be taken. My laughter makes it impossible for the leaves not to miss my mouth either. I spit them back out at him with every chance I get. Through the brief moments that my eyes aren't covered, I can see Peeta's face beaming down at me. He's loving this.

I soon give up trying to fight him and make myself as still as I can. His movements slow, becoming more and more hesitant. When I'm sure that I'll catch him completely off guard, I sit up suddenly.

The idea to push him down into the leaves quickly goes out the window thanks to my clumsy hand-eye co-ordination. My hands whiz past him, just grazing his jacket, resulting in a full frontal head collision. Our heads smack loudly together, sending us both careening backwards with the leaves cascading around us.

"Ouch," we both moan in union.

I can hear the titters from people passing by as I lay too dumbstruck to move. Peeta makes it easy to forget that we're not always alone sometimes. I sluggishly try to sit up, clutching my head in my hands. I look over and see that Peeta holds himself in the same stance. When he pulls away his hand, a red mark prominently stands out.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asks, laughing. He takes in the audience we've acquired, nodding and waving at them like it's the most normal thing in the world to be sat in a pile of leaves in the middle of the street.

"Do you even know those people?" I ask, grabbing his waving hand, stopping him from making a fool of himself.

"Nope, just being friendly," he says, lifting his free hand to wave instead.

I grab that too, giggling at his collective calmness. "They're going to think we're crazy."

"Well..." he points to us and area we're currently sat in, "they have plenty reason to think that just by looking at us and what we're doing right now."

I laugh and pull myself up on to my feet.

"Quick before they get us shipped off to a mental institute," I say, offering my arm out to him.

He looks at it, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm not sure I want to take that; your touch leads to fatalities."

I flinch, as though he just slapped me. Words that I know weren't used to hurt me but still hit a sore spot all the same. My touch led to a lot of fatalities. More than I could ever count. I retract my arm and feel my face close down. Confusion sets in Peeta's features before the sudden realisation of what he just said sinks in.

"No, Katniss I didn't mean it like that-"

I block out the rest of his sentence, turning away from him. I stalk back towards the box, his footsteps not far behind.

"Katniss-" he starts.

"Don't, Peeta," I cut him off. I know he didn't mean it but it's painful to be reminded of the truth after all this time.

He sighs and bends over to pick up the box.

"Come on, we're going to be really late now."

We walk the rest of the way in silence.