6. Living a Lie

       I really didn’t fare any better the second time I fell back asleep. There was no nightmare, but there was no dream either. All I remembered was seeing nothing but black, a dreamless sleep. It was sort of a step up from a nightmare, because I never saw anything.

Sometimes it’s better to see nothing at all than something you’d never want to see.

            I was the first to rise in the morning. Peeta had his back to me, lightly snoring. He looked so peaceful. I gave a tiny smile. At least he could have good dreams compared to me, because to him, Katniss was still with him, and everything was right in his world when really, not everything in his world was right.

Of course, in reality, Katniss was in the hands of the Capitol and here I was, taking her place to protect Peeta from himself. I really wanted to play Katniss well, because Peeta seemed like too sweet a guy to get caught up in what Gale and I were currently throwing ourselves into. He had survived two Hunger Games and a battle against the Capitol; it was time Peeta deserved a long break from any dangerous situations involving lives at stake.

            I slipped off the bed and went into the kitchen. My stomach rumbled immediately. I knew for a fact I wasn’t going to wait for Peeta to make me food. That gave me an idea. Since he probably cooked for Katniss all the time, why not cook for him? I honestly didn’t consider myself a good cook, but I felt like I owed it to Peeta to take it easy today and let me do all the work.

            With that mindset, I took to the refrigerator, carefully scanning to see what I could possibly make. There were all kinds of things I could make, but I wanted to make something that sounded good and would be easy to make. A lot of stuff I knew I couldn’t make, so finding something easy to do was limited.

            I finally thought that making an omelet would be easiest, so I grabbed all I’d need: eggs (obviously), some cheese, and a few peppers and spices. The spices and whatnot would be for Peeta’s omelet, not mine.

            Since my breakfast was simpler to make, I fried that up first in a pan. The sizzling was music to my ears, the smell was intoxicating. If it weren’t for the fact that it was scorching hot and still cooking, I would have eaten the omelet right then and there. Once I thought it looked good enough, I slid it onto a plate, let it cool, and went to work on Peeta’s omelet.

            I hummed a random tune as I cooked. I was so focused and used to hearing the sizzling of the omelet that I didn’t hear Peeta come behind me. I jumped a little bit when he coiled his arms around me, resting his chin on my left shoulder.

            “You finally got up,” I sang.

            “I could smell the food from the bedroom,” he explained. “Since when do you want to try and cook? I thought it was always me that had to do that.”

            “Not today. You’ve done it for me every day, I’m in the mood to try and do the same for you every now and again.” I shrugged.

            “You really are trying your hardest to feel better, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “First showing an eagerness about painting, and now here you are cooking breakfast.”

            “Don’t forget making lunch and dinner. You’re not going to cook at all today.”

            “I think I can live with that,” he considered. “You weren’t up at five in the morning drawing again?”

            “No, I left the sketch pad right where you did last night. I haven’t touched it yet, but I probably will later.”

            “Just don’t take all day drawing; I want to eventually paint another good picture of you again maybe today.”

            “You must’ve been proud of the one you did yesterday if you want to do another today.”

            “Well since you won’t let me do the cooking at all today, I might as well paint.” He kissed my shoulder, an involuntary shiver escaped me.

Hey, he’s not your boyfriend, I reminded myself. The affection is for Katniss, not you. Don’t fall for him. It was becoming difficult not to, Peeta was just too good of a guy not to get attracted to, whether by his looks or his personality.

            I tried to focus back on the omelet, but Peeta was distracting me by peppering kisses along my neck. My body told me it felt nice, but my brain told me it was anything but.

            “Peeta, your omelet isn’t going to get done any faster if you keep distracting me like this,” I whimpered.

            “Sorry,” he whispered, kissing my ear. Okay, you really need to let go of me, because you are doing the opposite of what I want to do.

            I never said he had to leave me alone, just that he couldn’t distract me. Him holding me didn’t bother me, but I did feel like I was being judged because he watched me—or at least, I thought he did. About five long minutes passed, and finally I got his omelet done.

            “Smells good,” he mused, pecking me on the cheek. I went bright red. I made no sense. Sure, I gave out shivers went he kissed my shoulder, I got distracted when he kissed my neck, yet when it’s a simple kiss on the cheek, I went bright red.

 Maybe I was already falling for him hard, I just wasn’t acknowledging it. Actually, I didn’t want to, because that would lead to trouble. Ha, like going through with being Katniss wasn’t trouble enough already.

            I didn’t know about Peeta, but honestly, I thought I did a decent job with my omelet. I guess I did his pretty good too, because we ate in silence.

I went to do the dishes, but Peeta felt kind of left out, so he helped. Yeah, that wasn’t such a smart idea.

            The sink was full of water, soap, and bubbles. I was cleaning my plate when water splashed me in the face. I gave a squeak of surprise and shook my wet head, shooting a glare at Peeta. He acted all innocent, looking as if he was washing his dish, whistling. I rolled my eyes playfully and shoved a bunch of water at him. He spat out the soapy water, causing a war to erupt between us.

            We tried our hardest not to get into each other’s eyes with the water. We had made such a mess that we didn’t realize the floor was slippery. Peeta slipped, taking me down with him. I landed harshly on the floor, Peeta squishing me. I laughed.

            “It’s been a while since I heard you genuinely laugh,” he mused, towering over me. “I missed that a lot.”

            “Well, you helped bring it out,” I crooned. Peeta shook his soggy head, shooting drops at my face. I made a face and wiped them off.

            “I think I like this new you a little bit more.”

            “What was wrong with the old me?” I panicked. He didn’t know the real old me, because he thought I was Katniss. The old real me was still how I was now.

            “Nothing,” he said quickly.

            “Peeta.”

            “Yeah?”

            “I think we made a mess.” I giggled. My back was soaked in water and a bit sore from crashing onto the floor. I felt like I needed a shower, but I felt like I just took one with all the water and soap layering me. I carefully propped myself up on my elbows.

            Peeta kissed my nose, and without even knowing it, I giggled shrilly. I really needed to gain control of myself, because I was becoming disgusted with myself. Well, it is the first time I’ve been kissed by a guy, I considered.

            Yes, but this is fake to you because this isn’t meant for you, my brain argued with me. Peeta thinks he’s kissing Katniss, not Katrina. He doesn’t even know what Katrina looks like.

            He does because he’s looking at her, he just doesn’t know it. I was beginning to sound insane. Arguing with myself usually never solved any problems. I was better off arguing with an actual person than myself.

A different expression crossed Peeta’s face. It didn’t look very good. He looked…uncomfortable, like he was about to be in some kind of pain.

            “Peeta?” I asked quietly. One of his arms flew to his stomach.

            “I think you may want to move out of my way,” he said quickly.

            Peeta staggered to his feet, skittering out of the kitchen. I was left on the kitchen floor, soaked and speechless. I heard a disgusting sound coming from the bedroom, or more like the bathroom. Peeta was puking.

I went pale. Great, I groaned. The one time I wanted to do something nice for somebody, and I ended up making them sick.

            I slowly got on my feet and dragged myself into the bedroom to find the bathroom door shut completely, a hurling Peeta on the other side of the door.

            “Peeta?” I called, pressing my ear to the bathroom door. “Is everything okay in there?” I got no answer. “Can I come in?”

            “Do you want to risk your breakfast?”

            “I will if it means I’m helping you out,” I said.

            “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The door is unlocked.”

            Peeta was hung over the toilet, his head practically eaten by it. I couldn’t pull his hair back like I would anybody else since he was a guy and his hair wasn’t very long. Instead, I knelt beside him, rubbing his back, showing my support. Odds are if I checked the contents—which I was debating on, most likely I wouldn’t—I would find my omelet in the toilet.

I really hoped I didn’t give Peeta food poisoning, I would never forgive myself.

            We stayed in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before Peeta finally called it quits on the barfing. He sat up, inhaling deeply.

            “Do you think you’re done?” I asked.

            “I should be.”

            I dared myself to look into the toilet. Sure enough, there was my omelet. “Are you going to be okay?”

            “I don’t know.”

             “You might want to take it easy today, Peeta.”

            “But—”

            “Do you want to have another episode of this?” I pointed to the toilet.

            “Not really.”

            “Then just be in bed for a while. It’ll help, and I’ll get you anything you want, okay?”

            “If you say so.” He tried to kiss me, but I pushed against him.

            “Before you even think about trying to kiss me, you might want to wash your mouth out, or at least brush,” I said.

            “Fair point.”

            While Peeta was rinsing his mouth, I went back to the kitchen to investigate. I looked at everything. The eggs definitely had to be fine, because I didn’t feel ill as quickly as he did. I checked the expiration date. The eggs were fine.

Wait a minute. The spices…

            I searched for the bag they were put in. I looked at the expiration date. I found the source of the problem. The spices were expired two months ago. Yuck.

Now I felt naïve, because I didn’t bother to check to see if everything was still good. This was why I would never be a good cook; I’d end up getting everyone sick because I didn’t check the dates.

            I came back into the bedroom to see that Peeta obeyed me and stuck himself in bed.

            “I’m to blame for the vomit,” I said.

            “What?” he said groggily.

            “After today, never let me cook ever again.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “The spices in your omelet were expired, I didn’t notice until now. I’m sorry.”

            “Eh, it’s not like you poisoned me.” He shrugged. “It’s just some bad food. I’ll be better by tomorrow, you watch.”

            “Well, until then, you aren’t doing much, got it?”

*      *      *

            I felt like I was taking care of a sick child. It wasn’t that Peeta whined or anything, but I felt like I was just constantly doing something. While he rested, I ended up cleaning the slippery mess in the kitchen which took two hours. I had changed into dry clothes after that, and made sure to make us both lunches that were not expired.

            Peeta never took my services to use for every little thing he needed, which I was glad for.  I didn’t think he would take advantage of me anyway, I couldn’t see it.

He was still able to walk around and whatnot, but I always stuck by him in case things went wrong again. I gave him some lenience by letting him move out of the bedroom. While watching over him, I drew, but most of the time, it was just scribble. I was more focused on making sure Peeta was okay than perfecting my drawing skills.

            It was about four o’clock now. The sun would be setting in a few hours; I would have to make dinner in another two hours. Or most likely Peeta would volunteer to do so; he could trust me with lunch, not dinner. At this point, I didn’t care, because he could go back to cooking.

            “How’re you feeling?” I asked Peeta as I sat at his head by the couch he was sprawled out on.

            “Better. I kept lunch down, so that’s a good sign,” he reported. “Do you want me to make dinner?”

            “Do you feel up to it?” I looked up at him.

            “Yeah, I think I do.”

            “Then dinner’s on you, I don’t want to try and cook again.”

            “Yeah, then we’d both end up sick.” He chuckled dryly. “I feel kind of bad that you have to take care of me like this.”

            “You shouldn’t. We’re together, remember?”

            “How about I make dinner now? I’m kind of hungry.”

            “Whatever you want.” I grinned.

            I took Peeta’s place on the couch, sketch pad on my lap, pencil tucked behind my ear. I stared at the blank paper, wondering what I could try and draw. I had my legs crossed, one foot moving constantly in a rhythm, like it was following the beat of a song.

            So far day two wasn’t bad. True, I accidentally made Peeta temporarily ill, but he bounced right back. It was just a little stomach problem after all, nothing major.

The best part about this was he still had no suspicions. Maybe being more of myself was keeping Peeta’s suspicions down to none. I didn’t need to be an actress; I just needed to be myself at this point. If it was working now, I saw no reason why it wouldn’t for the next few days.

            I was grateful that Peeta had decided to make dinner, because I didn’t want to risk giving us both stomach aches. He went through it already once today, he didn’t need to suffer again. I didn’t want to either; I just hated the feeling of being ill or in pain.

We didn’t engage in a water fight again like we had earlier this morning. I didn’t feel like mopping up water again like last time, and if I had to, Peeta would be joining me. The only reason he got out of that was because I got him sick. I still felt guilty for it, but he seemed to forgive me.

            When night had fallen, we retreated to the bedroom like last time. This seemed to be a comfortable spot for us both. I wasn’t going to try and draw anything tonight; I just didn’t feel up to it. I actually felt up to just talking and being around Peeta. The boy already changed me a bit, because I wasn’t used to being around him. I had been around my family and Gale’s ever since I could remember. This was a whole new experience for me.

            “What are you thinking about?” I asked him. I was propped up on one elbow as Peeta lay beside me. With my other hand I combed through his hair. He didn’t seem to mind at all. Neither did I.

            “I look like I’m thinking about something?” he asked.

            “Well, you can’t be thinking about nothing.” I laughed. “C’mon, what is it? You can tell me.”

            “Don’t hate me for saying this, but—I’m worried about you.” His eyes were cautious.

            “Worried about me?” I snorted. “Why?”

            “I don’t know. This whole behavior thing…it’s out of your character.”

            Damn it. Day two is going downhill once again, I hissed. I could not show that I was panicking, Peeta would definitely notice.

            “Do you think there are things I’m not telling you?” Well, I know the answer to that: yes, there are things that I’m not telling him. Those are things he doesn’t need to know.

            “I know there are. And I know you won’t tell me them because you don’t feel comfortable enough to talk about them.” He fiddled with my hand that once stroked his hair. “You know you can tell me anything, right? You know that you can trust me?”

            “Of course,” I said. “Look, I’m trying my hardest not to hold back, but some things…I can’t say just yet. In time, I probably will tell you them, just…not now.”

            “I think you’re right,” he mused. “Katniss?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Can I ask you something a bit…personal?”

            “It depends on what it is,” I said carefully.

Peeta looked abashed. “It’s about…where you see us in the future.”

            “Okay…”

            “How opposed are you to getting married soon?”

            I gulped. How come I didn’t see this coming? I should have known Peeta was so in love with Katniss that he would ask her this soon, only I wished that he really asked her instead of me.

            “Define ‘soon’.”

            “Within the next few years.”

            “I get the feeling you’re having thoughts about this as we speak.”

            “Well, I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anyone but you,” he cooed. Oh God, you are telling the wrong person this, Peeta, I whimpered. But he didn’t know that. He was convinced he was talking to Katniss, not me. “I don’t think I can see myself with anyone but you.”

My heart ached. It would be a shame if Katniss wasn’t alive, because poor Peeta would never get to marry the girl he fell in love with since he was little. I knew for a fact I was not going to pretend to be Katniss for that, I was already being her for this. What fun would that be if we were both living a lie, one that I knew of and Peeta would maybe realize later on after we got married?

This broke my heart, it really did, because all these things were for Katniss, not me.

“Can I ask you another question?” he probed.

            “Shoot.”

            “It’s sort of a follow-up to the previous question.” He took a minute to find the right words. “How opposed are you to having kids?”

            “Uh…” That was a bomb thrown on me. I had to think of an answer that didn’t sound anything like me. “One step at a time here, Peeta.” Well, that sounds partially like me.

            “I’m not saying now.”

            “I know. But, honestly, it’d have to be a long while from now. I don’t think I’d want to have kids raised in this world.”

            “But there aren’t any Hunger Games, so we wouldn’t lose them.”

            “Yes, but, Peeta, we’re just recovering from a rebellion. We need to make sure there are a few good solid years where everything is peaceful before even considering bringing children into this world.” That sounded like something Katniss would say.

            I fake yawned. I didn’t want to go through with this any longer. I wanted to sleep, or at least nap long enough to where Gale would be tapping on the window near the door so I could meet with him.

            “Is tomorrow going to be another painting day?” I asked tiredly as I snuggled into the sheets.

            “Yup, so you better think of a pose while you sleep,” Peeta suggested. Yeah, I’ll try to past the nightmare I’ll probably have tonight and past all the worries I’m battling at the moment.

Peeta shut off the light and hovered over me. An arm lolled over my side, and a hand held my face, stroking my cheek with a thumb. “I love you.”

            Curses rang in my head. Are you kidding me? This was definitely a low blow to me, and to Peeta. I stared at him, blank. It seemed like time passed quickly, when really it was only moments that I was silent. Go on; say it, no matter how much it hurts. Someone gets hurt either way: either you tell him and hurt yourself, or you refuse to and you hurt him. Do not hurt him now!

            “I love you too,” I whispered lowly. That was a shot to my heart and a shot to Peeta’s.

Peeta kissed my forehead and rested his chin on my head. I squinted my eyes tight so I wouldn’t let the tears threatening to leak from my eyes escape.

 It may have been all good in Peeta’s world, but I was in a living hell right now. 

**You can just feel the hurt...the deception...Will it be enough to make Katrina crack? Could Peeta be falling in love with "Katniss"? Could "Katniss" be falling for him?**