Chapter Text
“Get out of here, you useless pig! I don’t want to see your face again today! Go annoy someone else with your useless existence!” She screams, waving the rolling pin at me as I am clutching my aching cheek.
I am not even really sure what I did wrong this time. Usually it is something small and unimportant, but it is never unimportant to her. Somehow the smallest mistake I make always matters somehow. Or at least she always notices.
She used to do that with Rye too and even Bran used to cower when she grew angry. But neither of them seem to have to deal with the brunt end of her anger anymore now that she has me. In a way I have always been the one she hated the most. The third boy she never wanted, the one that was supposed to be a girl.
I duck my head to avoid one of her blows before I speed down the hall and up two flights of stairs to the small attic room I share with Rye and Bran. It is small but it is also my safe space. The place where she hardly ever comes, where I can do what I want instead of what she wants.
Rye is sitting at the little desk we have, working on his homework but looking up when he hears me come in. He lets out a heavy sigh when he sees me holding my cheek.
“Let me see, Peeta.” He mutters. “What did you do this time?”
Rye is my older brother. He is seventeen and sandwiched between Bran and me. He is the one that has to help Bran take over the bakery when my parents are no longer able to keep it running. He has no real talent for baking, but he does know how to follow a recipe. He does have a head for numbers though, he has been doing the administration for the bakery for a few months now and he has never made a single mistake.
“I don’t know.” I mutter. “I was sweeping the back area and she suddenly became angry and charged at me.”
“What was it?” He asks, examining my cheek.
“Just her hand. Although I ducked the rolling pin.”
“Put a wet cloth on it for a little while, it might keep the bruise away.” He mutters, before he returns to his work.
It disappoints me a little to have him react so cold. But it is nothing more that I could have expected. Bruises are a part of our daily life. They are almost normal, we just have to deal with it.
I silently walk towards the bathroom, pulling out a towel from under the sink before I wet it and press it against the lower part of my cheek. It had been going so well. It had been a few weeks since she last hit me, it had been so long that almost all of the other bruises were gone. But now I was back at square one, back at the beginning.
I stare in the mirror for a little while when I hear a soft knock on the door.
“Peeta? Are you in there?”
“Yeah, dad. Just a moment.” I reply, turning around and unlocking the door for him to come in.
When he does come in, he doesn’t look up from the drawing in his hands.
“I really like this new design you ma-” He starts before he looks up and stops. His eyes fly over the towel I am holding before he sighs heavily, sounding disappointed. “Oh Peeta.”
“I know. I know.” I mutter. “I shouldn’t anger her. I will be more careful.”
He gives me a sad look but doesn’t say another word before his attention returns to my drawings.
“I really like this new design for the birthday cake for Cray. You think you can start working on it tomorrow after school?”
“I’ll try.” I mutter.
“Good boy.” Dad replies before he turns around and walks away.
Dad isn’t a bad person, but he is a weak one. Sometimes I think that he is afraid of mom. That he is afraid she will leave him although I think that he might be better off if she would do that. Multiple times I have hoped that he would say something to her when I showed up with another batch of bruises, but he never did.
I sigh heavily before I put the towel in the laundry bin and sneak back downstairs. I try to avoid the shop and the clients in it by going through the shack and into the backyard. It isn’t really a yard but it is where we keep our pigs.
They oink happily at me as I walk past, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Fall is starting to come in and it is starting to get cold. Not so cold I really need my jacket but also on the edge of being bearable without it. I walk past the school towards the junk hill on the opposite side of the square.
School has just started again now that the games are once again over. A boy from Nine won this year, not that it really mattered for our tributes. The boy, Jett, was only twelve and died about 30 seconds after the countdown ended. The girl, Aloy, lasted about 5 minutes longer. She was seventeen and in Rye’s year in school. They died and the games are gone for another year.
I walk towards the little hangout spot on the side of the hill. He has been coming here for the last year and he has managed to keep it a secret from Rye and our parents. He isn’t fooling me though. He always tells them he has to help Elory, the pub owner’s daughter, with schoolwork, but he doesn’t. She likes him though so she lies for him in the hopes that he will one day see her as a potential wife.
Mom likes her because she is from town, so she allows it.
They aren’t hard to spot from afar even though they have no clue that I am coming. Bran is eighteen and gay. That isn’t public knowledge because our parents would kill him but his friends know that he has a boyfriend. Mom would kill him even more if she found out it is not only a boy, but a boy from the seam. Silt is eighteen and working as a bomber in the mines ever since the games ended. It doesn’t stop them from seeing each other even though it is harder than it was when they were both still in school.
Silt notices me first as he breaks his kiss, looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and concern.
“Bran.” He mutters, placing a small peck on my brother's lips. “Your little brother.”
Bran’s head flips around to look at me as his eyes scan me from head to toe. Looking for any bruises, before his eyes fall on what must be showing on my cheek now.
“Peet?” He asks. “What happened?”
“Can we talk?” I mutter, looking at the ground, afraid that he might be angry that I even asked.
“Yeah, of course, buddy. Give me a moment.”
I watch silently as they softly talk to each other, my foot kicking a stone that is right in front of me before I hear them kiss and see Silt walk away. Bran sighs heavily before he turns around and smiles at me.
“Allright.” He mutters, putting his hand on my lower back and pushing me towards the path that leads to the fence. “What happened this time?”
“I am not sure.” I mutter. “I was just wiping the floor and suddenly she got angry.”
“Did she say anything? Give you any hint of what might have been wrong?”
“No, I don -”
“Think about it for a moment, Peet. Really think about it.”
I try to think really hard about it, going back to the moment that she lashed out at me. I even imagine the broom in my hands. I was sweeping the backroom where we store the flour and the eggs and stuff. I really paid attention to sweeping the corners because she had been mad about that before. But there is nothing. I swiped up the little piles, I even put away all of the stuff in the closet so she wouldn’t be bothered by it.
“There is nothing -” I tell him.
“What about before? What did you do before you picked up the broom?” He asks me, as he stops walking to give me room to think.
I close my eyes for a moment as I walk my way back through time. Reversing my motions of that afternoon. Before I started cleaning the backroom I cleaned the counters where we knead the dough. I made sure to clean them and dry them before I redid both and checked it after to see if they were dry. No mistake there.
Before that I came home from school. There was a batch of cinnamon buns out on the counter, the oven was unoccupied so I put them in. I put the temperature on 400 degrees and than I set the timer to 20 minu-
Fuck. That was what was wrong. That is why she had hit me. I put the timer on 20 minutes while it should have been on 18 minutes. I ruined a whole batch of expensive cinnamon buns.
“Fuck.” I mutter, but this time out loud.
“First, language.” Bran tells me, acting like my older brother. “Second, what happened?”
“I ruined the buns.” I mutter. “I put the timer on 20 minutes instead of 18.”
“That didn’t ruin them, even though they might have been a little darker than normal. They can still be sold though. She shouldn’t have been angry about that.”
“But she was.” I reply. “She called me useless and told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have been. It was just a mistake and not even one that really hurt anyone.” Bran tells me. “Besides, you are only fifteen, she can’t expect you to know everything.”
“Tell that to mom.” I mutter. “Preferably before she slaps me.”
Bran sighs heavily.
“Is that the mark on your cheek?”
I nod my head.
“I thought she did better with that. I thought you told me she hadn’t hit you in a while.”
“She hadn’t.” I sigh. “Until now.”
We walk down the path together a little while longer. Not saying a word to each other. Bran has been where I was. He saw the brunt end of her hands or even her rolling pin more than once when he was my age. But he learned to avoid it. He learned to stop making mistakes so she wouldn’t get angry anymore. I still can’t seem to fix myself into doing that.
Rye, for some reason, was even faster with gaining her favor. It was almost like she liked him more from the very beginning. Like he was her perfect son because he was smart and listened and naturally did not make a lot of mistakes.
I just seem to be unlucky and stupid. Unlucky because I am the last child and there is no younger sibling she can turn to after me and stupid because I keep making the same mistakes over and over. I keep making her mad.
When we enter the square I can feel the tension rise. Bran is walking towards the bakery but I am not sure if I am ready to face my parents yet. What will happen when I walk through that door? Mom was pretty clear that she did not want to see me.
I stop in the middle of the square, right in front of the justice building. Bran takes a couple more steps before he realizes I stopped walking and turns around to look at me.
“Come on, Peet.” Bran tells me. “She probably didn’t mean it when she told you to stay away.”
“How can you be sure?”
“She told me the exact same thing so many times, and when I came she always welcomed me back.” Bran tells me. “I will convince her that you didn’t do it on purpose, but you have to come with me.”
I hesitate for another moment, breathing in deeply a couple of times before I walk towards my oldest brother. He opens the door to the shop, that has been closed for the day, before he takes the stairs on the left towards the apartment above the bakery.
The house is small, especially for a family of five, but we manage. I hardly spend any time in the tiny living room except to eat. I usually go outside or up to our room when I have free time. Not that there is a lot of that with the amount of time we spend in the bakery.
Bran walks into the living room, mom and Rye are already at the table while dad is just putting a plate with vegetables on the table.
“Just in time, Bran.” Mom says as she watches him walk in, a tender smile on her face. The smile immediately falls when she notices me behind him. Her eyes turn dark as I want to sink back down the stairs and run out the door.
Bran sees it too, stepping in front of me to protect me.
“Mom, he didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I don’t care, Bran. I told him I did not want to see him anymore today and I meant it.” Mom says, not even looking at me.
“It was a mistake, mom! It didn’t even ruin the cinnamon buns. You know that as well as I do!”
“Bran, stop it!” Mom says, grabbing her plate and adding some potatoes on each of the four plates that are on the table. Dad walks in with a carafe of water, looking up only briefly before he focuses on the table in front of him.
“Dad? Come on! You can’t be serious.” Bran tries, but dad doesn’t even look up.
“Bran, listen to your mother.” Dad says.
Bran lets out a huff of frustration, flexing and balling his hands in anger.
“This is bu -” Bran starts before I put my hand on his lower arm which makes him look back at me.
“It’s fine, Bran. I’ll just go upstairs. I’ll be fine.” I tell him, turning around and walking away towards the stairs that lead to the attic without waiting for a reaction. I don’t want them to get mad at Bran too. There is no need for him to suffer because I made a mistake.
I speed up the attic steps, wanting to get away from the living room and my parents as fast as I can. I sit down on my bed when I enter our little room, grabbing my sketchbook from under my pillow as I sit back to lean against the wall.
Our room isn’t much and it is incredibly crowded. Bran’s bed is on one side of the room, the little desk that we have next to his pillow while Rye’s bed is right on the other side of the door. My bed, or more cot, is against the wall, my head near Bran’s foot of the bed while my feet are almost touching Rye’s.
My bed isn’t nearly as long as the ones that belong to my brother’s and it is basically a couple of planks that are attached to their beds. There wasn’t room for more so the only way for me to sleep is curled up into a ball or I might either find my feet fighting with Rye’s or my nose stuffed with Bran’s toes.
I sigh heavily before I flip open my precious sketch book. It is an expensive one that I got from dad to practice drawing. He told me that mom didn’t know but that he wanted me to practice to make the cake designs better. Mom would probably tell me that I don’t need the practice or that using the book for just simple drawings is a waste of money. But I am happy to have it.
Everytime I start drawing I flip through the pages, seeing my drawings get better and better. They are more detailed with every page you flip as almost every inch of every page is filled to make the paper last.
Most of my drawings are of people, specifically one. She is featured heavily in them. Sometimes alone, sometimes with her little sister, her friend Gale or old drawings of her and her father when he was still around. Katniss is splattered over every part of my sketch book which makes me feel a little pathetic.
It is not like she even knows who I am. I don’t even think she remembers me other than the blond baker’s kid that she passes in school. Delly and Madge tell me that she must realize I exist, but I am not so sure. She has never acknowledged my existence while I have whole sketchbooks full of her.
Mom hit me particularly hard when I burned the bread for her when I found her in the rain. It would have been even worse if she had realized I had burned it for a seam girl. It might have been the only time that I took a beating and didn’t mind it. It was worth it to help her when she looked so incredibly desperate. I only wished that I had had the decency to walk towards her instead of throwing her the bread because mom was nearby. But there is nothing I can change about that.
I sigh heavily before I flip to a new page and close my eyes to think back to that moment at school. The moment the teacher asked her in front of the class to write down an answer. I try to imagine how her hair cascaded down her shoulders and her back. I try to envision the way she was holding the piece of chalk. When I have a good image of what I want to draw, I start. Drawing carefully to make it absolutely perfect.
I only look up when I hear the door open in front of me. Bran is in the doorway, looking at me with sad eyes. He doesn’t say a word as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him before he sits down next to me on my cot. I look at him, remaining silent.
“I am sorry, Peet. I tried.”
“I know.” I reply. “It’s not your fault.”
“It isn’t yours either.” Bran tries, but I don’t really believe it.
It almost feels awkward to sit next to him because I have no clue what to talk about. He tried and I am grateful for it, but I still feel like I am somehow less than my brothers.
“Are you hungry?” Bran asks.
“A little.” I mutter, not having thought about the fact that I missed dinner.
“I can see if I can find some stale bread in the warehouse for you to eat.”
“Would you?” I ask.
“Yeah, Peet. Of course.” He replies. “I’ll go down now and see if I can find something for you to eat. There is no need for you to starve in a bakery.”
“Thanks.” I mutter.
“No problem.” He replies, before he gives me a pat on my thigh and getting up again.
When he leaves the room I go back to drawing. Putting down a few more lines before I realize that the image is lost to me and that no matter what I do I can’t get it back. Suddenly my stomach is aching for food and it distracts me so much that there is no way for me to ignore it. Putting down my sketchbook seems like the only viable option.
When Bran returns he has a small round bun with him, it is hardly the size of a decent meal, but it is something. He sits down on his own bed for a little while as I eat the bun in tiny bites, trying to drag it out in the hopes that it will feel like more than it is.
When I am done I tell Bran that I am tired and that I am going to go to bed. I quietly get dressed for bed before I get under my blanket and settle down. Bran kneels down beside my bed, kissing my forehead gently like he has done so many times before. I often think that I am getting too old for a good night’s kiss, but I can’t make myself say that.
“Sleep well, Peet.” He mutters. “Tomorrow is another day.”
“I will try to be better tomorrow.” I mutter. “I have to be to please her.”
“You are perfect as you are, Peet.” Bran replies. “Don’t let her tell you that you are not.”
“I still have to do better though.” I tell him, yawning loudly. “If I do better she won’t hit me. If I do better she might see me more like she sees you and Rye.”
“I am not sure if that will change with doing better.” Bran tells me, petting my hair. “She seems to be very set in her ways.”
“Still doesn’t hurt to try.” I reply. “So I will.”