Twisted Perfection ~ Everlark

The hob.

Katniss' PoV:
3 months later.
I wake up to not only the beaming sunlight, but to Peeta's body enclosed around mine. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around my frail body. The world around me melted away as I squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.

I never want moments like this to end. Nearly every night now when I have a nightmare, he's there beside me. Holding me. Via many of his useless justifications, Peeta finally agreed to come and live in the spare bedroom of many in my house. I can't stand the hollow hallways and knowing if the creaks and cracks are buttercup or someone coming to do damage. I don't know why I still imagine that someone is going to come charging through my house, and wants to hurt me. I guess it's because I'm the lucky one as many would probably comprehend because I escaped the horrors of war. A big house, more money than I need, no hijacked brain. But in reality, only one person knows that the deaths of thousands will no doubtingly haunt me for the rest of my life. The death of Prim. That one person is Peeta. Because no matter how I feel, he makes me feel like there's hope. Like life is worth clinging onto. 

"Morning." He says. I am almost shook by his words, as I expected him to still be soundly asleep.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask.
"I'm ok. Do you want some breakfast?" He asks me quietly.

"No thanks. I'm not hungry." I say quietly. I'm never hungry. I now see eating as a chore. I feel it's gluttony for me. If I'm greedy, I'm simply taking away food that others could have. I see it as a metaphor for me taking away lives. I've lost count of how many people I've killed or have been killed because of me. But I don't tell anyone.

I don't tell anyone because I'm already a burden. A don't want to add to Peeta's plate of worries. He has enough to cope with. So instead, I stay muted.

"Are you sure? You look a bit pale." He says, sounding concerned.

"Peeta, I'm fine." I say, maybe more sternly than I'd like to sound.

"Ok." He says, sounding disappointed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just tired." I say lying.

All I receive from Peeta is a sad smile as he heads downstairs. That's one of the reasons why he can relate to people and make them feel loved in a way they never have. It's because he's sensitive. The slightest thing could bother him. So many times I've asked him to come hunting with me, but I know he can't bare to see the arrow pierce through the animal.

I wrap my robe around my fragile body and walk down the stairs. Through the kitchen I see Peeta staring into the fridge. 

"What are you going to cook?" I ask him. 

"Well, unless you know a recipe that involves a plant of parsley and one bottle of milk, I suggest we go into town and get some food." He suggests, chuckling slightly. He looks at me intently. I catch his awareness of me. 

"What?" I ask in curiosity. 

"I just like living here, that's all." He says. However, I know he's lying. Why would he look intently at me, to just compliment my company and not something else? 

We get ready to go to the hob. 

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"We've got everything we need. Did you want anything else?" I ask him, walking through the exit of the hob. People still trade here. In fact, more than ever. Although people are not floating in money, the population in 12 has grown ever since the war ended 10 months ago. I guess families can supply for their young ones, meaning more children. And there isn't that repetitive and continuous fear of your child being killed in the games. I talked to Greasy Sae for a while, after she gave us both a mug of soup. She's still the same. Warm-hearted, gentle. Reminds me of someone. 

"Has the art store been rebuilt yet?" Peeta asks, as we walk into the centre of 12. I ponder my mind and I honestly cannot recall the last time I saw the building standing. But then again, no one in my family ever drew or was arty for that matter. 

"I don't know." I say. "Why don't we go and have a look?" I suggest to Peeta, to which he just nods his head with a small smile. 

We walk down the street with the more sophisticated shops on, to find the art store. Just a few minutes away is where the bakery would have been. However, there were rumours of it being rebuilt again. If Peeta felt ready enough, I would love him to take it on to give him an interest. 

He goes into the shop and purchases a few bottles of paint, a set of brushes and 3 large but manageable canvases. 

"That was a random purchase." I say to him, as we head home. 

"I want to start painting again. I know my mind will never be exactly the same again, but painting lets me chose what I want to do. It is one of the few things that relaxes me still." He says, looking at me in a state of content. I knew what he meant. Yes, I wasn't a painter, but finding something that could relax you after all these years of war, was so wondrous and delightful, especially for people like me and Peeta who had been through more than the average person. I found relaxation in hunting, the pearl Peeta gave me and quite frankly Peeta. 

"What other things relax you?" I ask, knowing that I'm prying slightly. He sighs, then smiles. It's almost like he's talking to himself. 

"You." He says, a few moments later. I feel a crimson red start to appear across my cheeks in embarrassment. 

We both smile. I place my head down, hoping that the ground will sweep away the colour from my cheeks. 

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I unpack the food and Peeta unpacks his painting supplies. I can just see his mood accelerate at the prospect of opening new brushes and paint bottles. He mirrors the innocent, excited and happy feelings of a child when they open a present. It's this part of Peeta I accidently fall for. The innocent side of him. 

"I'm going to go set up my things." He says, walking through to the study carrying his bag of supplies. I nod and smile at him. For me, the study is a cold room. The only light it receives from the sun is midday. But the rest of the time, it's dark. It reminds me of when Snow came and told me to convince Panem, but more importantly him, that I was in love with Peeta. I had to force something that wasn't real. But now, I can only imagine. How can I pretend  to love him? I don't know if I could just come out with the words of 'I love him', but one day they will roll off of my tongue and I won't even care.

I hope to the very few who are reading this, that you enjoyed that chapter! The next chapter will be full of every emotion and is jam-packed with detail! It will be a very exciting chapter! Anyways, thank you to the very few who are kindly and lovingly reading 'twisted perfection'. xoxo Annie