The Miner's Wife

Chapter 18: Revelations

Katniss POV

There will be nothing triumphant about the train's return to District 12 tonight. Two caskets will be in tow, the same as every year. But that's not the only reason why I've been a nervous wreck all day.

Prim joins me for lunch. Our conversation is light, and for that I'm grateful. It's not until we've finished our meal and she's gathering up her things to leave that she brings it up. Her eyes search mine. "You don't have to stay here, you know," she says quietly. "You could quit. Move back to the Seam?" Prim is still angry with Peeta. As for myself, I'm not sure how I feel.

I shake my head. "You know I can't."

"Yes, you can," she argues, growing louder. "We'll find a way. There is no excuse for treating you like he did." I wave my hand, as if I could bat her words away. "Some people might call it-" She stops short and lowers her voice before she speaks again. "Some people might call it rape, Katniss."

"It wasn't-"

"It can be a very fine line sometimes."

It's the first time either of us has used that word. I haven't even wanted to think about it. My mouth is dry. "It wasn't that. I'm not sure what it was, exactly."

"You're not sure what it was," she repeats. I shake my head. "Don't make it sound like it was your fault."

"I'm not saying it was."

She scowls in a way that most people don't even know she can. "Peeta Mellark, poor, traumatized victor, got so upset watching his Hunger Games on TV that he can't be held accountable for his actions." She laughs bitterly. "That's what you keep telling yourself, isn't it?" She's angry, her blue eyes look almost black. Peeta should be glad he's not here right now. "You have to stop making excuses for him, Katniss."

I know that Prim is right. I do have to stop making excuses for him. "Let's just see what happens when he comes home, alright?"

Prim seems unconvinced. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to talk to him about it." Prim doesn't know about the room at the end of the corridor. She doesn't know just how much Peeta and I have to discuss.

"Good. Do you want me to be here when you talk to him?" I shake my head. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Yes, of course it is."

Prim doesn't look convinced. "Just promise me that if he's drunk or high when he comes home, you won't talk to him about what happened that night until I can be present. Okay?"

I sigh, looking away, but don't answer.

"Promise me?" Prim presses.

"I promise."

I know what time the train is supposed to arrive, but I don't go to the train station. It's past the children's bedtime, which is as good an excuse as any, but even if it wasn't, and even if things weren't up in the air like they are now, I wouldn't have gone. Going to the train station to meet Peeta in public, when everyone in 12 believes me to be his whore? It's unacceptable. Like everything else I do, I suppose.

I consider going to bed early, just to put off speaking with Peeta a bit longer. But I decide it's better for this first meeting to happen when the children are asleep. We live in the same house, for now, anyway. We can't avoid each other.

It's been over than a month, and I still don't know what to say to him. It's nearly 10 when I hear heavy steps on the gravel outside the house. I don't find the words come to mind any easier as he approaches. Peeta opens the front door, and I can hear him put his suitcase down on the floor and take off his shoes. And finally, he stands in the doorway to the living room. I sit on the couch, clutching a book that I've been trying unsuccessfully to read.