Once upon a time three everlarkers (myself, @burkygirl and @peetabreadgirl ) came together to run a blog where we, along with a group of amazing co-writers, created stories based on choices that our beloved readers made - a choose your own adventure story for grown-ups. Who like smut.
And it was a heck of a lot of fun.
Lots of agonizing over just the right set of circumstances to tantalize the readers, lots of debate from those readers over which choice was the best... just a lot of fun.
Everlark your own adventure produced three incredible stories before the blogrunners backed away for a break that extended a lot longer than we imagined.
But now there are a new crop of everlark readers and a whole bunch of really amazing new writers (as well as most of our incredible group of original writers). So, I’m writing today to gauge interest in a 4th round.
For those who weren’t around for the initial run, or who don’t remember it, our FAQ is here, and you can read the three amazing stories here:
Camp Mockingjay
Mockingjay Manor
Powder Keg
(or on the blog if you’d like to see how the voting happened...)
Let me know if you think this is something that you’d be interested in resurrecting, and please feel free to discuss with the class ;) And if anything is unclear or if you want more information, I’m only an ask away.
Merry Christmas everlarkers (or for those of you who don’t celebrate Christmas - Happy Monday!) Welcome back to the adventure we’re all everlarking together! Fallen behind in the story? Here are the previous chapters:
Last week, our cinnamon bun and his huntress spend some cheese bun time rebuilding their friendship and the trust between them. But at the end of Katniss’s medical leave you, everlarkers, voted in the narrowest margin possible for her to keep her reemerging romantic feelings to herself. Quelle horreur!! What’s going to happen now? Are everlark doomed to dwell in the friendzone forever? To answer your questions (maybe), @xerxia31 takes the helm for this Yuletide chapter of Powder Keg. Grab your wassail and settle in for the continuation of our saga. And remember, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, December the 27th. Vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…
When the alarm goes off, I’ve slept no more than three hours and all of them fitful. I tossed and turned nearly all night, my mind full of Peeta, frightened by how quickly all of the warm and curious feelings from three years ago have come back.
A hundred times in the dark, I decided I’d tell him how I feel. A hundred and one times, I talked myself out of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so conflicted. My life, or at least my life since my childhood was cut short, has been a straight line of survival, one single path with no deviations, each day moving forward, the only goal staying alive, and keeping Prim and my mom alive.
But my life is different now. My mother is working, and though it’s early, it seems like this one might stick. She seems more grounded, more present, and if not happy, at least content. Stable. And Prim has grown and flourished, turned into a wonderful, strong, independent young woman who doesn’t need me to protect her anymore. For the first time in my adult life, I have a little bit of space to think about my own needs. My own heart.
A pillow smacking me in the face, followed by a bout of girlish giggles, has me rethinking my assessment of my sister. “Come on, Katniss,” Prim laughs, climbing into bed with me. “It’s time to get up. Your ride will be here soon.” I roll my eyes at her inflection, she’s as subtle as a truck.
“I know,” I groan, but I snuggle up next to her anyway, enjoying the comfort of a quiet morning with my favourite person in the world. “What do you want for Christmas, Little Duck?” The big day is less than two weeks away; I haven’t done any shopping yet, too engrossed in working and, honestly, in Peeta.
“I want my sister to be happy,” she says, tugging on my bed-headed braid. I shake my head, but hug her hard. “And maybe a ticket to the Mockingjays concert?” she says into my collar, and I laugh.
o-o-o
The drive through sleepy, snowy Panem to the medical centre is quiet. Peeta showed up at my house just before noon, bearing cheese buns and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Part of me wonders if he’s as sad as I am about the impending end of our carpooling arrangement. But I’m too much of a coward to ask.
The doctor fits me with a brace to give my knee just a little extra support, then clears me to resume normal activity. It’s what I want, what I’ve wanted the past three weeks. But when I tell Peeta, who waited for me in the waiting room, I can’t even muster up a smile. Neither can he.
Back in his truck, Kelly Clarkson crooning her grown up Christmas wish through the crackly speakers, Peeta exhales loudly. “Since neither of us have to work today,” he says, “do you maybe want to test out that knee?”
My heart thumps wildly for five, ten, fifteen seconds before I clue in that he means go for a few runs down the ski hills. My stomach flops with the strangest mix of fear and anticipation to be back on my skis, and disappointment that Peeta didn’t have something else in mind. As if sensing my hesitation, he glances sideways at me. “You have to get back on the slopes as soon as possible, before the fear takes hold. Isn’t that what you told me once?”
I did tell him that, in what feels like another lifetime, when he was recovering from a badly twisted ankle. And he trusted me then, even though he was afraid. Trusted that I would be by his side, that I wouldn’t make him face it alone. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay, sure.” He smiles, just a little, then pilots his big truck up the highway, towards the lodge.
It’s still early when we arrive, there are a few people on the slopes, but not the crowd we’ll have later this afternoon. Peeta parks the truck, and scampers around to open my door before I can wave him off, even offering me a hand for the climb down. And while I don’t really need his help anymore, I take his hand, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his palm against my own.
My gear and his are still tucked into our respective lockers, we kit up quietly, then head out. Though I know I’m fine, can feel snug neoprene safeguarding my knee, I can’t help but be nervous. “Why don’t we start with Victory Tour,” Peeta says softly, nodding towards the green-level run that’s popular with recreational skiers. Its wide, lazy turns gently undulate down the mountain. It’s pretty, but not too challenging.
We share a chair, and I fidget as we begin our ascent, but Peeta grabs my gloved hand, and that simple act born of friendship and compassion calms me. I'm so glad to have him in my life again. As I clutch his hand tightly I realize that no matter what else I feel for Peeta, this is enough. Just having his friendship is enough.
Standing at the top, gazing out over the sparkling white valley below, it’s like being five years old again. Like the first time my dad stood me at the top of the bunny hill, the unknown spreading before me, infinite possibilities, if only I was brave enough to reach for them. And now I need to be brave again. “I’ll be with you the whole way,” Peeta says. With a deep breath, I plant my poles in the snow and push.
The first couple of turns are slow, tentative, as I get used to the feeling of moving again. But muscle memory kicks in fast, and before I know it, I’m flying down the mountain, laughing as loose snow peppers my face. Exhilarated. Alive.
I skid to a stop at the bottom, spraying snow in a graceful arc with my skis, still laughing as I pull off my helmet and tip my face up to the winter sky. True to his word, Peeta is right there with me, beaming. “You did it,” he laughs, pulling off his helmet. “It’s like you haven’t missed a single day.”
I look up at Peeta, his handsome face is sporting the first real smile I’ve seen all day. I’m practically euphoric, breathing heavily, chest heaving as the adrenaline and sense of achievement embolden me. And I decide I can be brave one more time.
He leans in at the same time as I reach for him, our lips meet in a kiss that’s nearly three years overdue. A kiss that tastes like affection and jubilation and maybe even a little bit of anger. He moans against my lips, low and guttural, gloved hand gripping the back of my neck, tilting my head authoritatively. There’s no hesitation in this kiss, no gentle discovery. His tongue plunders my mouth, demanding, taking. And I meet him stroke for stroke, greedy for the taste of him after so long.
We kiss and kiss, completely oblivious to our surroundings, to the cold that freezes sweaty tendrils of my hair into icicles, to the other skiers who zip by. Lost in each other, making up for all of the time we’ve wasted. It’s only when some stupid teenager calls out to us to get a room that we reluctantly break the kiss. But Peeta doesn’t let me go, instead he pulls me in as tightly as our skis and gear allow, pressing kisses to my cheek, my cold ear, my temple.
I wish I could freeze this moment, and live in it forever. But I’m starting to shiver, standing still in the wind and with my helmet lying in the snow. Peeta too is trembling. “I have dreamed of doing that for so long, Katniss,” he whispers, hot puffs of air lifting goosebumps on my skin. With one last squeeze, he pulls away and reaches for my helmet and his own. “Once more?” he asks, his voice a little gruffer than usual, and I raise a partially frozen eyebrow at him. He laughs, a real, free, joyful laugh, the first I’ve heard in years. “Come on, Everdeen,” he says, still chuckling. “Let’s see how you do on the double diamonds.”
We ski for hours, sometimes racing, sometime carving patterns together. On the cold chairlift rides back up, he wraps his arm around me and we talk, really talk, catching up on three years of friendship. We don’t kiss again, don’t talk about dating or relationships or anything scary like that. Which is good, because my determination that right now we should only be working on making our friendship stronger is fading fast.
When the slope lights flicker on at three-thirty I’m shocked. Time has always passed quickly, effortlessly when I’m on the hills. And apparently also when I’m with Peeta. “Ready to go in?” he asks. “I think I’m done for the day.” He grabs my hand and makes a show of towing me towards the lodge while I laugh. And he keeps holding my hand, even as we ditch our skis and helmets.
We’re still holding hands when we walk into the staff lounge. Johanna is curled up in one of the shabby cast-off chairs, she glances over at our arrival, and I squirm, waiting for some smart-ass remark about our entwined hands. But I don’t get one. “You medically cleared, Everdeen?” she asks, and I nod. “Halle-freaking-lujah,” she says. “I have a buttload of tourists coming in from Topeka tomorrow.” She sighs. “None of them have even seen a mountain before. They’re going to be keeping you all busy for six solid days.”
Peeta and I look at each other, and matching grins crawl across our faces. Six fully booked days of private lessons? That’ll make a huge dent in the earnings I missed out on. It couldn’t come at a better time. I’m just about the suggest a celebratory hot chocolate when Johanna continues. “Staff Christmas party is tomorrow night.” The lodge’s annual employee Christmas gathering, the very same one where everything Peeta and I had been building towards three years ago fell apart. The timing is ironic. “I put you down as bringing cinnamon buns, Mellark,” Johanna says, oblivious to my discomfort.
Or maybe not so oblivious. “Better be the good ones.” She climbs out of her chair, sauntering towards us and making a big production of licking her lips and rubbing her stomach, before turning to me. “Everyone wants his buns,” she says, and the intentional double entendre is not lost on me. I pull my hand out of Peeta’s and wrap my arms around myself. “You coming too, Brainless? I didn't see your name on the sign up board.”
And just like that, all of the pain of three years ago comes rushing back full force, along with every old insecurity. The slamming of the staff room door cuts off Johanna’s cackling, replacing it with a tense silence. “I’ve never done anything with Johanna,” Peeta says beside me, barely a whisper. I nod at my ski boots. I’m sure he hasn’t, Jo loves to torment me, to tease me about being too straight-laced and hard to swallow, that’s all her little show was about. But it doesn’t stop the unease. His reputation as a player is, after all, well-earned, and hard to forget. “Katniss? Please look at me.”
I do, and his expression nearly guts me. It’s the same defeated expression he wore in the cave, the same one I used to see when his mother would pick on him. “I know you said you wanted to be just friends,” he whispers. “And I promised myself that I wouldn't push you. But you have to know, I’ve never gotten over you. I want…” He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. When he reopens them, they’re so full of pain that I can’t look away. “I want to erase the past three years. I know,” he shakes his head. “I know it’s not possible. But maybe…” he trails off again, as if his silver tongue has failed him completely.
The need to comfort him rises up again, and this time I don’t push it away. When I squeeze his arm, he lifts his gaze, pinning me with a look of earnest intensity. “I want a do-over, Katniss. Come with me to the party. Let me fix what I fucked up three years ago.”
I have no doubt he’s completely sincere, I can see the fear and determination warring in his expression. I’m terrified too. Three years ago, we found ourselves in exactly the same situation, and we both got burned. We’re older now, wiser, maybe even a little braver. But we can’t actually go back in time.
What do I do? Go to the party with Peeta, trust that he’s not the player he seems to be, open my heart up knowing that if it doesn’t work out I’ll be shattered? Or play it safe, go Christmas shopping for Prim instead of to the party, and keep working on building a solid friendship with Peeta for now?
Last week found our darlings rescued from old Hans cave and Katniss transported for medical care. More revelations ensued, and you, everlarkers, voted for her to accept Peeta’s offer to rebuild their friendship on a foundation of honesty and trust.
This week, the lovely and talented @notanislander continues our adventure. As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, December the 20th. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go… grab your favourite warm beverage and settle in for our weekly trip to Mt. Mockingjay…
Trust. It's something that doesn't come easily to me. When my father died, my mother went into a severe depression, something she struggles with to this day. In my head, I know she is doing the best she can, but in my heart, I am still that ten- or eleven-year-old girl wishing her mother would talk to her, even look at her.
It’s something I didn’t have with Peeta three years ago. If I had trusted him, I might have given him a chance to explain the situation. I might have stopped to listen when he told me about Bristel’s brother. But I didn’t. I did what I always do - I ran. I thought it was easier to keep my heart locked up tight and I almost convinced myself of that too. Right up until the cave. That’s when I realized something. My life has been a shadow since I walked away from Peeta three years ago. Sure I had Prim, and I had Gale, but what else did I have? A life? No. A future to look forward to? No. I just existed.
I’m sentenced to a week of “bed rest” by both my mother and the Emergency Room doctor. Peeta behaves so nicely. Every morning, he stops by our house on his way to the ski lodge with fresh baked cheese buns in hand. I’m surprised he remembers how much I love them, and they taste just as good as ever.
He carries me downstairs everyday, but never stays too long since he needs to get to work. He comes by in the evenings too, freshly showered and so happy to help my mother out with any small thing. He even helps Prim with her English term paper on To Kill a Mockingbird. And he always saves time to just talk with me. Sometimes he’ll bring his sketchbook over and we’ll sit quietly while he makes sketches of the resort, my house, trees, whatever he’s thinking about. “It helps calm me down after a full day at the lodge,” he tells me. “I like people, but sometimes it gets a bit much, you know? So this helps refocus me.” We might even watch a movie on Netflix, and then, just before he heads home, he carries me up to my room.
By the end of the week, I’m going stir-crazy. I need to get out, start making money again. No matter how my mother argues, I know we need the money and being off for a week just before the holidays certainly isn’t helping our situation, which was dire to begin with.
“Katniss, stop!” my mother chastises. “I have an interview at the drop-in clinic tomorrow. They need another nurse and I think this will be a good fit.” My mother’s eternal optimism is tempered only by my eternal pessimism, which were both brought about by her depression. I know full well what can happen if my mother gets too much bad news, so I am always prepared for the worst. Luckily, it seems Prim is oblivious to it all.
“Katniss,” she whispers later, when we are alone in our shared room, “This job is going to workout for mom. I really think it is.” It seems Prim has inherited the sunny side as well.
“I hope so little duck. Because missing this week without pay is not helping one bit.” I snap back; angry at myself, angry at the Lodge, angry at pretty much everyone.
Everyone, that is, except Peeta, which is both a change and a revelation to me all at once. I’ve been so angry with him for three years, that to not be angry now takes me aback. Why am I not angry at him? In some ways, my anger would be justified. I mean, he did distract me and cause me to fall. Didn’t he? Or did I imagine that? I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of a lot, to be honest.
Having barely survived the torturous week of bed rest, I am finally able to be back at the lodge. When Peeta heard I was going back to work, he insisted that he would pick me up every morning and drive me back home in the evenings. I told him he didn’t need to, that my mother could do it, but he just smiled and told me it was no problem. So I gave up and accepted his kindness. “Isn’t this nice? Just you and me in the truck? Kind of like old times!” he says with a smile.
“Yeah, old times,” I smile back, hoping he isn’t thinking of how those ‘old times’ ended up. I am hoping for a very different ending this time around.
I’ve almost come to accept the fact that I’ll be working in the snack bar all winter to make up for the lost wages I was getting as a ski instructor. I wasn’t a great instructor, but at least I was earning something more than minimum wage. I am trying really hard to not feel sorry for myself right now, but it isn’t easy.
I look out the window and watch Peeta and Gale work with the group of elementary students, the very ones who caused me to sprain my knee in the first place. Their teacher, Madge, is flirting with Gale, which is intriguing because I thought she had a thing for Peeta. “Hmmm, watching from the window might not be such a bad thing altogether,” I say quietly to myself.
I’m lost in speculation when Johanna says from behind me, “What’s so interesting out there, Brainless?”
“Geez Jo!” I jump at her voice, and take a big breath to calm down. “Not much. Unless you count that teacher, Madge, who was flirting with Peeta, but now seems to have turned her attention full on to Gale.” I tell her, a bit of conspiracy in my tone.
“Oh really? Do tell?” Jo does love to have her own bit of gossip, especially when it involves instructors and clients. “She’s just his type too,” she says knowingly. “Look at him smile at her. I smell a bit of a romance blooming!”
We share a laugh at Gale’s expense, knowing full well that the look on Gale’s face means exactly what Jo is insinuating. He loves the attention he’s getting from Ms. Undersee as much as Ms. Undersee loves giving it.
It comes as no surprise then, that as the kids are getting back on the bus after their final lesson, I spy Gale tapping what I assume is his number into Madge’s phone. It does come as a surprise when I see Peeta laughing at Gale as the bus pulls away and they begin to make their way to the lodge. Gale good naturedly punches Peeta in the arm. When did these two become such good friends? A lot seems to have happened since I was off. Should I be worried? Somehow I think I should.
“Katniss!” Gale bellows, coming into the snack bar. “It’s good to see you up and about! Care for a race later on today?”
I look at him, dumbfounded. “Huh?”
“Oh, now you’re backing off,” he taunts. “How many times have you told me you could beat me skiing down the mountain, even if you had a broken leg? Now’s your chance to test that theory!”
Gale seems too happy. He and that Madge lady are definitely getting together. “Oh, I’d do it, but you’d lose and then you’d go home crying to your mommy. She’d call up my mom for picking on you, and then I’d get in trouble for skiing on this knee,” I tell him with a grin. “Or would you call up Ms. Undersee to complain instead?”
That gets him. He narrows his eyes at me and scowls, “Who told you?”
“Uh, uh, uh! A girl never reveals her sources. But tell me Gale, was Peeta jealous? Because she was flirting awfully hard with him until YOU came along!” I laugh.
“Hey Everdeen! Leave me out of this!” Peeta calls, stomping into the lodge and making his way to the snack counter. “I don’t know what you said, but I heard my name, and I know from that tone of voice it wasn’t anything good!”
The lodge patrons are taking in all of this good natured ribbing and I can see their smiles. It’s then I realize that people enjoy seeing and being a part of a team that genuinely like each other. I guess it really is contagious.
“Ms. Everdeen!” I look down to see Maggie, one of the younger children I taught before my accident. “May I have another hot chocolate? Here’s the money for it!”
“Sure, Miss Maggie,” I smile.
As I prepare her drink, she says, “I can’t wait until you’re back teaching skiing again. You were my favorite instructor! You never made me do the hard stuff until I was ready!”
I’m not sure how to respond to this. I look to Peeta, who is watching the entire exchange. He just smiles at me. The young girl’s mother comes up behind her and says, “We do miss you Katniss. You are the only instructor Maggie talks about,” and she hands me a $20 bill. “Keep the change, Katniss. You deserve it.” And she and Maggie walk away, leaving me with my mouth open.
“Better close your mouth before the flies get in,” Jo says to me. Then she heads back into the office, laughing all the way.
The days go by, and it seems like no time has passed when I have my three week follow-up appointment. Peeta offers to take me in, since my mother now has full-time work at the clinic. “I would take the time off,” she says, but Peeta interrupts her.
“It’s no problem for me, Mrs. Everdeen. I already have the day off, and Katniss and I would be spending it together anyway.”
Which is true. We do seem to spend everyday together. And most evenings too.
My mother concedes, and after Peeta goes home that night she makes sure to stop in my room. “Katniss, I really like that boy. I hope you do too, because I would hate to see both of you so heartbroken again.”
“I do like him, Mom,” I say with a shy smile. I don’t know if I’ve ever talked boys with my mother. I think I should feel awkward, but I am glad to have a chance to talk this whole thing through with someone. “But we’re just friends right now. We’re working on making our friendship stronger.”
“That’s good dear, but I can tell by the way he looks at you that he thinks of you as much more than that.” I blush at this, but don’t interrupt her. “Don’t waste your life waiting for me and Prim, OK? Take a chance on love. I may not be the best example, but it really is worth it. I wouldn’t trade the years I had with your father for anything. Please think about this,” she advises me. And I do.
I fall asleep to thoughts of Peeta - not Peeta my friend, but Peeta my lover. I have pushed these types of ideas out of my mind for three years. Now, I am openly inviting them in again. And just like that, it hits me. I love Peeta Mellark. I love him. He’s coming to pick me up to take me to the doctor tomorrow, and I am pretty sure the doctor is going to give me a clean bill of health. Which means I can drive my own car again. I won’t be as shut in as I was. Peeta won’t need to stop by and see me anymore. He won’t have an excuse. I’ll be driving myself to and from Mt. Mockingjay every day.
So what do I do? Do I take that risk to tell Peeta my feelings? Or do I hold them in, hoping he speaks first? What if my mother is wrong? What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me? Or what if he does, but thinks I don’t, so he stops coming by or stopping to see me? Do I tell him or not? What do I do?
Welcome back to the adventure we’re all everlarking together! Fallen behind in the story? Here are the previous chapters: Chapter 1 /// Chapter 2 /// Chapter 3 /// Chapter 4
In last week’s installment of Powder Keg, Katniss and Peeta were forced to work together to tame a bunch of bratty fourth graders. But of course, all did not go according to plan, and now they find themselves at the top of the mountain with an injured (and very ticked off) Katniss and a storm blowing in. You, everlarkers, voted for our dynamic duo to take refuge in a nearby cave. What happens next? Hold on tight, kids, because the next gripping chapter was penned by the always amazing @appleblossomgirl0305 and it’s a doozy.
As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, December (how is it December already??) the 6th. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go… grab your favourite warm beverage and settle in for our weekly trip to Mt. Mockingjay...
The walk to Old Hans cave is the longest hundred yards of my life.
Peeta, no doubt relishing seeing me defenseless and utterly pathetic, immediately slings an arm around my waist. I’m surprised to see the hurt in his eyes as I push him away. I wish his misery brought me pleasure or at least the satisfaction that he deserves all of the pain I can inflict, but instead the sadness clouding those sky-blue eyes makes my heart ache. But I turn away, refusing to waste any energy on his feelings, he certainly didn’t care about mine, that night three years ago, or really anytime since.
I try to hop, leaning on my ski pole for support, but once we’ve left the groomed part of the hill, the snow is too soft to facilitate jumping. I switch to a modified lurch-leg drag, but even the small transfer of weight makes my knee scream. I’m seriously contemplating crawling when Peeta's arm wraps around me, his large hand grasping my hip firmly lest I try to shake him off. Before I can protest again, Peeta barks out, "Shit, Katniss, just pretend I'm a crutch. At the rate you're going we'll freeze to death before we get to the cave.”
As much as I desperately want to spit back that he’s welcome to go on ahead if he can’t handle a little snow storm, the wind is starting to kick up and the icy snow is coming down at a hard angle and I know he’s right. My perspiration has started to cool and I can feel the cold, damp hair freezing against the back of my neck.
With my curt nod, he half drags, half carries me to the mouth of the cave. The last few yards to the cave opening are rocky. Peeta drops the skis, hoists me up into his arms bridal-style and carries me into the shelter. I feel my face flush and I’ve never been so happy to be wearing a ski mask. Despite my embarrassment, it feels amazing to have my weight off my throbbing knee, and if I’m being honest, it also feels oddly thrilling to be held so close to him, to feel the warmth of his neck on the skin of my wrist where my arm is slung over around his shoulder. I’ve fought long and hard to keep my feelings for Peeta confined to a narrow spectrum that runs from hatred to indifference with healthy stops along the way at annoyance, resentment and dislike. Maybe the pain has worn me down, weakened my resolve, but for just a moment, I fantasize about surrendering to his comfort, pulling up my ski mask and nestling my face into that place between his neck and shoulder where I know from experience he smells like heaven.
He sets me down with such exaggerated gentleness, I almost laugh, but the pain as I put my foot down makes me wince. His answering grimace as he pulls up his mask almost looks like sympathy.
Disappearing back into the snow, he returns a few minutes later with our skis and tells me he radioed Jo to let her know we’d made it to the cave and would need medical evacuation when the storm allowed.
I know I should thank him, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I nod in acknowledgement and stare out at the snow, falling thick and wet. When he sits a couple of feet from me, he shoots me a sheepish look, then asks, “How’s your knee feeling?”
“It hurts,” I say curtly. “You know how sprains are.” I trail off, remembering a time from before when he had twisted his ankle. The pain of remembering what it felt like to be close to him, to have shared my life with him, twists in my gut, making it difficult to believe I’m looking at the same person. “Look, maybe it’s better if we just don’t talk, alright?”
“Right, I’m a dick even when I’m trying to be nice.” He shakes his head ruefully. "Fine, I'll just wait over here. You can go on acting like I don't exist."
"Classic," I snort softly under my breath.
I want to just sit here and ignore him, I really do. But there's this look he gets when he stops smiling, when he stops being “on”, this hollow, lonely look like all of his dimpled-smile, golden-tongued, easy confidence isn't enough. He's got it now as he stares out at the swirling snow and I feel that need that only he's ever made me feel. That need to comfort him, consume him, to crack myself open and offer him everything I have. And it pisses me off. So when he glances back over at me, all wounded-looking, I snap.
"How dare you look at me like that?"
"Like what?! Please, Katniss, tell me what I'm doing wrong now.” Though I’m pretty sure he means it sarcastically, there’s so much raw pain in his voice, I can’t be sure.
"Like that," I gesture wildly at his face. “Like you're the one who has a right to be pissed."
"I'm not pissed. I just don't understand what happened. Why you hate me."
I physically recoil, he’s got to be screwing with me. Fuck him. He knows what he did. I'm not falling for his baffled innocence routine. I was vulnerable for him once and he stomped on my heart. Never again. It costs too much for me to show him that particular scar. "You can't be serious. Though I have no doubt that you're a self-delusional ass, you can't be that clueless."
His color’s high, his blue eyes flashing dangerously as he turns to face me fully. "Look, you can rewrite history however you want to, but you kissed me." He holds up a hand to stop me from speaking, but I'm so indignantly furious that I haven't come up with any words yet. "I'm not saying I didn't want to kiss you. I’d wanted to kiss you forever. Being with you-- I hadn't been able to think straight for weeks. But I was too afraid to screw up something so important, so I'd chickened out. Repeatedly."
I’m so caught off guard by his honesty, I snap my mouth closed. I’ve tried to forget the palpable energy between us on those nights we'd sat in my driveway, cocooned in each other's company. I'd never felt so alive without a pair of skis strapped to my feet. I can feel the heat rise in my body as I remember the exquisite excitement of being so close to someone to someone that I was crazy about, desperate for, made breathless by, of us building towards something as unbelievable (or impossible) as love. My chest actually aches as I recall his arm around Bristel, the dismissive little wave he'd given me.
"I'm surprised you remember anything since it obviously meant so little to you."
He rubs his face hard, leaving his cheeks even rosier, his curls sticking up from his forehead. "What are you even talking about, Katniss? That kiss meant everything to me. I told you that a million times! You blew me off!"
"What? How?" I demanded, "How exactly did you tell me that? By cuddling up with Bristel less than twenty-four hours later? By barely acknowledging me? By acting like an indifferent prick for the past three years?" I’m breathing hard, my hands balled into fists wanting desperately to hurt him as much as he'd hurt me. But fists can’t inflict that kind of pain.
"Cuddling with-? Are you serious? She was telling me about her brother's leukemia diagnosis. What was I gonna to do, ask her to hold that thought while I said hello my new maybe girlfriend?"
Wait a minute, that sounds strangely plausible. Bristel had left the lodge soon after that party due to some sort of family emergency.
"I had been dying to see you all day. You walk in, stunning in that crimson sweater and I had to work my ass off to stay focused on what Bristel was saying. And then you were gone. You and Hawthorne." He shoots me a glance brimming with accusation.
"Don't be stupid, Gale just needed a ride home. It was you that..." My voice trails off. Is it possible that he hadn’t blown me off exactly like I thought?
"I texted you like fifty times that night. I called, I emailed, I even wrote you a goddamned letter. You wouldn't talk to me."
Crap, that sounds just about right too. "Well, I blocked your number. Deleted your emails. I never got the letter. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want to hear your excuses. I trusted you and you hurt me!" I shout.
"Well, then I guess we're even." His expression twists into something between a smirk and a grimace.
But this can’t all just be a mistake, can it? I've spent three years nurturing this grudge. I've watched Peeta flirt relentlessly with all of the women that swoon over his golden beauty. Besides, it doesn't really matter, we actually hate each other now.
“You could have talked to me if you really wanted,” I say, my mind still reeling with all this information that contradicts my carefully tended grudge. “Besides, how do you explain that you flirt with anything in a tight sweater?” I sound petulant, but I don’t care.
“First off, Hawthorne told me, in no uncertain terms, to leave you the hell alone. Second, just because you broke my heart, I’m supposed to live like a monk for the rest of my life? You broke my heart, not my dick.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of player, which is completely unfair. I’ve dated, but I haven’t had a girlfriend since-,” he looks away and clears his throat before continuing in a quieter voice. “The way things ended between us messed me up. I’ve been chasing the feeling of being with you since that night. Nothing’s ever come close.” I can’t help staring at him in shock. “What?" he demands. The bitterness hangs in the frigid air between us, nearly visible as the white puffs of our breath. His confession is already sapping the heat from my anger.
"N-n-nothing," I stammer through my violent shivering. Without my indignant fury, it feels like my body heat is being sucked into the rock beneath me. I want to pull my knees up to my chin and zip them inside my jacket, but my injured knee won't bend like that. But I'm so cold that my muscles are starting to lock up, making everything hurt.
"Jesus, Katniss, your lips are turning blue. This is ridiculous." He looks angry, but I know it's frustration at my intractability. I've seen that look on every friend and family member's face at some point. “You can hate me all you want, but we need to warm you up.”
I can't help but wonder how many people have taken refuge in this cave over the millennia. I imagine my ancestors staring out of this very cave opening, wreathed with icicles, grateful for the shelter and refuge from the elements. How many of them would have turned down an opportunity for warmth, for survival out of spite? My refusal of Peeta's offer of body heat suddenly seems ridiculous, reckless even.
"Fine," I say through chattering teeth, unable to look directly at him. "You're right."
Without a moment of hesitation, he walks over to where I sit shivering. He says softly, "Good to know you have a bit of sense under all that stubbornness." He stands there for a moment and as I glance up, readying myself for an argument, the "do you need a written invitation?" quip already on the tip of my tongue, he surprises me by taking off his jacket. Then, as I stare in open-mouthed confusion, he strips off his fleece liner jacket, until he stands before me in a silk thermal so thin I can see the outline of each muscle and both peaked nipples. I swallow hard, noticing that he’s more defined than I remember. Too soon, he’s zipping his ski jacket back up.
Laying the fleece down next to me on the rock slab, he sits down on it and gently, but without hesitation, he pulls me into his lap. The relief is incredible as I stop hemorrhaging heat, but I still can't stop the shuddering. He sighs dramatically behind me and nudges me forward while he unzips his jacket before pulling me back against his chest. I can feel the warmth against the back of my neck and I want more. I take a deep breath and steel myself before quickly unzipping my jacket and whipping it off. The icy air is like knives through the holes in my wool sweater, until I push myself back flush against him and zip his jacket around both of us. The warmth is immediate, spreading along my limbs like melted butter. It’s like slipping into a sweater warm from the dryer. I groan in pleasure and Peeta breathes in a sharply through his nose. I turn to look up at him, sure I've hurt him, but it isn't pain I see in his eyes when ours meet. He looks predatory, pupils blown as he licks his lips. My body responds instinctively, pushing back against him as he wraps both arms around me.
"It's like climbing inside an oven," I murmur, needing to diffuse the tension. We're pressed so tightly together, I feel his responding chuckle vibrate through my chest, then ricochet through my entire body. And while it doesn't really change anything, I feel some of the hardness around my heart soften a bit.
I spread my jacket over our legs and we just sit breathing together for a while, staring out at the steadily falling snow, until Jo’s crackly voice comes over the radio to tell us that rescue is on the way.
His voice is scarcely louder than a whisper and spoken so close to my ear that I feel the warmth of his breath and shiver for reasons other than the cold. “Katniss, do you think we could just start over? If I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends?” he says.
Before I find my voice to give an answer, we hear the the crunch of snow and the sound of voices from just outside the cave. Our evac is here. Realizing that I’m sitting on Peeta’s lap, I panic. I need to get out of this position before our friends and coworkers see us all cuddled up together. Then again, Jo does want us to get along better, to work as a team. Should I extricate myself and face our colleagues on my own two feet or risk the embarrassment of being found snuggling with my arch nemesis, knowing word will get back to Jo?
Welcome back to the adventure we’re all everlarking together! Fallen behind in the story? Here are the previous chapters: Chapter 1 /// Chapter 2 /// Chapter 3 /// Chapter 4 /// Chapter 5
Last week, injured and trapped by a storm, our heroine took refuge with her nemesis in a cave... and found out that their past might not be exactly as she remembers. You voted for her to let down her guard a little and risk her coworkers ridicule by staying snuggled up with Peeta. What happens next? The incredible @javistg continues the story...
I take a deep breath and tell myself it doesn’t really matter who sees me here. I’m trapped in place by Peeta’s jacket, and my leg isn’t cooperating much. Even if I wanted to stand, I probably wouldn’t be able to do it without aggravating my injury.
A moment later, two tall men with identical white and red parkas and matching hazel eyes burst through the cave’s entrance.
“Hey, guys, what’s the problem?” Castor, one of our rescuers, asks.
“It’s her knee,” Peeta answers, unzipping his jacket and setting me free.
Pollux, the second paramedic —who is the spitting image of the first— kneels in front of us and twists me to the side so he can inspect my leg. His gentle fingers press and prod around my knee, feeling for any swelling or broken bones.
The icy wind from the cave envelops me, and I begin to shiver.
Peeta wraps his arms around me once more, and I lean into him trying to soak up as much of his warmth as I can without moving my leg.
“It might be dislocated,” Pollux says, “it’s hard to tell through your clothes, but I don’t want to expose you to the cold too much. I’m just going to wrap it with an ice pack to help with the swelling and immobilize it. We’ll give you a full diagnosis back at the clinic.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I clench my hands into tight fists on my lap to keep from crying. Dislocated! That would mean the end of my winter job. What am I going to do now?
As if hearing my thoughts, Peeta tightens his hold on me burrowing his face into the crook of my neck. The gesture soothes me, and I begin to relax once more.
The two brothers get to work quickly, wrapping a long splint around my leg. When they’re done, Castor offers me his hands and, with a pull, helps me to my feet.
Peeta stands up behind me, quickly grabbing my jacket and draping it over my shoulders. “Alright, you ride with Pollux. Castor and I will take your gear and meet you back at the clinic,” he instructs.
I nod. A part of me wishes Peeta could come with me. Despite everything that’s happened between us, I still trust him to keep me safe, but there’s no point in saying anything, there isn’t enough room in the snow trac for the two of us with my outstretched leg. We’ll go faster if he rides on the snowmobile with Castor.
XXXXX
Sprained ligament. At least 3 weeks rest. The doctor’s words bounce around in my skull.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
I took this job because I needed the extra money. I thought it would be an easy, fun way to have a little more for the holidays and maybe even save up for next year. But this injury just put a stop to all that. I don’t need a cast, and I can still move around somewhat, but I won’t be able to ski anymore.
It’s time to face the music, say goodbye to the slopes and hello to the snack bar. Ugh!
I sigh, melting into the mattress of the gurney I’m on, as I wait for the painkillers the doctor gave me to work their magic.
Suddenly, the door swings open and a glowering Gale walks in.
My stomach drops. Despite my best efforts to give my friend a day off, he still ended up here.
“You Ok, Catnip?” he asks, voice surprisingly gentle.
Still too numb to speak, I nod.
“Wait till I get my hands on the little shit,” he mutters through clenched teeth.
My ears perk up. “What are you going on about?”
“Mellark!” he spits. “He should have been watching out for you out there, not endangering you!”
Instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest. I know Gale’s only being protective of me, like an older brother who worries over my wellbeing; but, for some reason, his words rub me the wrong way.
“I’m not a child, Gale!” I snap. “I know how to take care of myself. Peeta didn’t do anything wrong, we were racing downhill, and I got distracted, that’s all.”
He keeps quiet, but I can still see fire raging behind his eyes. “What were you doing out there with him, anyway? I thought you hated his guts.”
“I do,” I say, but there’s a lot less bite to my tone.
I still haven’t had a chance to process my conversation with Peeta, too much has happened in the last few hours, but my head hasn’t stopped spinning, second-guessing the choices I made over the past three years of my life.
I shake my head, Gale doesn’t need to know this. “I was doing my job,” I explain. “We had a group of children earlier in the day, and one of them got lost. Peeta and I were looking for him. When Johanna told us he’d been found we decided to race back down.”
“Are you sure he didn’t push you, or—,”
I raise my hand to make him stop. “Yes, I’m sure. Peeta’s not like that, Gale. He might be a douche who throws himself at anything that moves, but he wouldn’t do anything to endanger me. We’ve gone down those slopes hundreds of times, I know I can trust him when we’re out on the mountain.”
Gale crosses his arms and sets his jaw. I can tell he’s not entirely convinced, but he probably doesn’t want to get into a fight with me just now. I’m lying on a stretcher with a bandaged leg, after all.
Maybe it’s the certainty I feel in the words I just said, or the memory of all those happy days I spent in the snow with Peeta, but the next words fall from my lips before I can stop myself. “Can I ask you something?”
Gale nods.
“Did you ever tell Peeta to leave me alone?”
Gale’s eyes register surprise. I see his shoulders slump as he releases the air from his lungs. “I did,” he admits.
“Why?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
He reaches over to brush a gentle finger over my forehead. “You never told me what happened between you two, but you were so… broken, Catnip. I couldn’t stand to see you like that.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender and sweet. “I knew I didn’t have a chance with you, but I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore.”
My chest tightens. No one asked Gale to interfere. If anything, his actions only made my problems worse —Peeta might have been more insistent if Gale hadn’t scared him away— but his heart was in the right place. I can’t really fault him for trying to protect me.
“I thought he was with Bristel,” I quietly admit. I think it’s the first time I’ve actually said the words out loud.
Gale’s jaw drops open. “Back then?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He narrows his eyes. I can see his mind working, quickly sorting through the memories. “Wasn’t her brother like, really sick?”
“Yeah.” I feel like the biggest fool in history. Why didn’t I piece this together back then? How could I just cut Peeta off without giving him a chance to explain? Our romance might have been new, but we had been friends for a long time. We deserved better.
“I thought she was dating Darius,” Gale mutters, still reminiscing about the past.
I shrug, but I know he’s right. Darius was away visiting his family —he always does this time of year— but I’m pretty sure they were already together back then. As far as I know, they still are. I close my eyes. I don’t want to talk about Bristel anymore.
Gale knows me well enough to take the hint. “Ok,” he starts, completely changing the subject. “I’m going to head out to the main office to talk to Johanna. That teacher is bringing her kids back tomorrow, and we need to figure out who’s going to take care of them. I’ll be back when I’m done to take you home. Is there anything you need?”
I shake my head.
When I open my eyes, I find him looking back at me, gray eyes heavy with worry. “Thanks, Gale,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to come out here on your day off.”
He waves my words away. “Nonsense, Catnip. That’s what friends are for, right? We need to look out for each other.”
XXXXX
The sound of heavy footfalls startles me awake. I open my eyes and turn to find Peeta standing by my side. Blue eyes soft and worried under the fluorescent light.
“Hey!” he says, reaching out to grab my hand. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I say, voice hoarse with sleep. “It’s only a sprain, all I need is rest and meds.” Looking around the bare ER, I ask, “Was I asleep very long?”
“I don’t think so. I saw Gale heading out a few minutes ago.”
I frown, sleep doesn’t come easily to me. These meds are powerful stuff.
“I left all your gear next to your cubby,” he explains.
“Thanks. I won’t be needing any of it soon, though,” I grumble.
Peeta’s warm thumb begins tracing soft circles over my hand. “I’m sorry, Katniss.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a race. I fell. It happens sometimes.”
“I know,” he says nodding, “but still…”
We stay silent for a moment, his hand moving over mine as he looks at my leg.
He’s pale and tired. I can see the fatigue in his deep blue eyes.
I just want to wrap my arms around him and reassure him, tell him that I’m ok and that everything will be fine.
I don’t know if it’s the medicine making me loopy, or the fact that he’s taken such good care of me since I fell down, but I wrap my free hand over his wrist and squeeze lightly. “I never answered your question,” I whisper.
Startled blue eyes meet mine.
“Back in the cave,” I clarify, “you asked me something.”
It takes him an instant to process what I’m saying, but when he does, he merely nods.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Peeta’s face relaxes into a smile. “You want to be friends?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
His eyes light up. “Under one condition, though.”
I scowl. I don’t know if he’s in any position to ask for anything.
Undeterred by my reaction, Peeta goes on, “Full honesty this time. That´s all I ask. No more walking away or ignoring each other if we have a problem.” He looks straight at me, pinning me in place with the candor of his request. “I don’t think I could handle any more misunderstandings,” he adds.
The pain in his words floors me. The truth is that my feelings for Peeta, good and bad, have always been too intense, and I don’t think I could handle something like that either —I’ve barely managed to pull myself together after our fall out three years ago.
My mind screams for me to back away and nip this in the bud, to quit before I end up getting hurt once more, but the rest of me wants to be with Peeta again; to experience the joy I’ve only known when I’m with him.
What should I do? Accept his terms and start a new friendship with him or say no and push him away once and for all.
Welcome back, everlarkers! Last week’s gripping installment of Powder Keg found our heroine, Katniss, reluctantly sharing ski school duties with Peeta, her nemesis. And though she might have found a loophole to get out of spending the entire day with him you, everlarkers, kiboshed that idea and voted for them to work together.
What happens next? Does Katniss shove our cinnamon bun off the chairlift? Are the slopes not the only thing frozen at Mt. Mockingjay? Let’s find out! This week’s chapter was written by the lovely and talented @thegirlfromoverthepond
As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, November the 29th. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…
I should have called Gale. I would have made up for ruining his day off by giving him half of my days off. I would even have taken over teaching the old lady from the Capitol, the one he desperately wants to get rid of. I should have. But it’s too late now.
We’ve been on the bunny hill for two hours, and it’s obvious I can’t teach to save my life. I’ve always known that I don’t have much patience for little kids. I just didn’t need Peeta to be the one shoving it down my throat.
How he can handle twenty-two kids and their overly handsy teacher practically on his own is beyond me. All I’ve done is fetch the tennis balls that the kids drop on orange cones to practice their balance, or help the ones that fall get back up on their skis. Hell, the most exciting interaction I’ve had with any of them is when they were lining up to ride the magic carpet up the hill and some of the boys were whining about how they were too big for it.
They fell off, of course.
And where I would have gone with “I told you so”, Peeta was all, “Third time’s the charm!” He even offered them candy from who knows where.
I can’t wait to get out of here, to go home, pour myself a glass or five of wine, and forget about this day.
“This is not at all how I envisioned the end of the afternoon,” Peeta screams against the howling wind at the top of Mt. Mockingjay.
“Me neither!” I yell back, looking around for tracks in the blowing snow. Where would a fearless, obnoxious little brat decide to ski on his own?
Because, of course, one of the kids took off, escaped the bunny hill, which is why we find ourselves on the top of the mountain, ready to go off-piste to look for him. Having both grown up on these slopes, Jo figured we’d know all of the spots a naughty nine-year-old might hide. She’s right, of course, but I’d been hoping to be gone now, home, in front of the fire, forgetting about this wretched long day.
Peeta glances back over his shoulder, to the North, and makes a concerned face. I follow his line of sight and sure enough, there’s a very dark, very threatening gray cloud over Panem Peak. In two hours, or probably less, it will be over us, and bring a nasty snowstorm with it.
“There’s a storm coming!” I yell at Peeta, before pulling my ski mask on.
“Always stating the obvious, Everdeen. We need to find Elgish before it hits us!”
“What?” I must have misheard.
“We have to-”
“Not that, Mellark! What’s the kid’s name?”
“Elgish something?” He shrugs, as if he doesn’t know more. “But look who’s talking…” He points at his chest with his gloved hand. I appreciate that he’s bringing attention to his own strange name, instead of mine.
Our radios start to screech, and Jo’s voice echoes in the cold air. “Brainless? Bread boy? Do you copy?”
She’s so funny, Johanna with her nicknames.
“Roger, Jo, it’s Peeta. We’re about to head down the east slope of Mount MJ to try and find the kid.”
“Well, save yourselves. Thom found him. He was bribing Sae for a hot chocolate.”
“What?” We both shout at our radios. We’ve been looking for the kid for a solid hour and a half now, taking every shortcut and roped-off route we could think of.
“Yeah. You two need to come in now. And quickly. Panem Peak signals a snowstorm is coming.”
“Roger that, Control. We’re heading down,” Peeta says, before turning his radio off. We both heave a sigh of relief.
“Fancy a race, Everdeen?” I can feel his smirk. I really can. And I really, really shouldn’t answer him, or take any bait he gives me.
But I’m weak, especially where he’s concerned. I should hate him with all my being, but my being has apparently other ideas. I can’t help remembering all of the times we raced these slopes when we were younger. Before.
We’re standing at the top of my favourite run, the double diamond Powder Keg. Sixteen hundred vertical feet of tight twists and stomach-swooping plunges. And at this time of the evening, after a full day of people on the slope, it glitters with ice. It’ll be breathtakingly fast.
“You never were able to keep up with me on skis. Now that you’re a boarder, it won’t even be a challenge for me to beat you.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Sure. See you down there, Loser.”
I don’t wait for him to put on his mask, or check his gloves. I just want to go down the slope, ski it now that it’s free of kids and tourists, I just want to enjoy the feel of the snow under my skis, I just want to feel the wind on the little uncovered bit of my face, so cold yet so good. I just want to feel my hair dancing in the first flakes of snow, small dots of white in my dark mane.
I just want to forget the problems waiting for me down there. Just be Katniss, skier, and nothing else.
“Dammit Katniss!”
Of course, I’m not alone. I sigh, as I cut to the right, I glance back over my shoulder at the orange helmet just above me.
“What, Mellark? Afraid to lose?” I taunt.
“Katniss!!!” I hear him scream and then - blackness.
My leg hurts. That’s all I know when I open my eyes to the grey-white sky above me.
It’s snowing a lot more heavily now. Fat flakes are falling on the ground, covering it with a layer that will be a pleasure to ride tomorrow. My skis are by my head, planted firmly upright in the snow, along with Peeta’s, our poles laced together at the top.
But he is nowhere to be seen.
“Damn!” I hear Peeta’s voice from behind me. I sit up, turning towards his voice, and frown. My knee really hurts, and that’s never a good sign.
I try to stand up, being careful not to put weight on my left leg but even still it hurts, and my head is spinning too. I can’t believe I fell. I never fall when I ski. Never. He distracted me on purpose, all to win the race.
“You!!” I point at him. “Happy now? You’re going to win!” All of the frustration of the day, week, year bubbles over. I’m furious at him.
“Win? What?” Peeta looks at me as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.
“You- you distracted me, and I banged up my leg, all so you’d be the first one down and-”
I shift my weight, gesturing at him, and my knee decides to let go at that precise moment. I feel myself falling, again, see the snow rushing up… when something stops me. Two strong arms catch me, then haul me upright. I refuse to look up at Peeta. I know my eyes are filling with tears, and that if I see pity in his I will break down.
“Sit down.” Peeta carefully lowers me back to the ground before he continues talking. I don’t look at him, slumping forward, avoiding his concerned blue gaze. “I’m going to feel your leg, check for swelling.”
The mandatory first aid training all instructors take comes back to me. Swelling… meaning a potential fracture. I can’t have a fracture now, it would mean the end of my season and no pay.
I nod slightly, but apparently enough for Peeta to take off his gloves and start feeling through my ski pants for any broken bones. His hands are gentle and precise, checking my leg before moving to the knee. As soon as I feel his fingers on the joint, the pain makes me straighten, and I find myself face to face with my archnemesis. The very one who just happened to make me fall.
Twice.
I can’t hold them back anymore. The tears fall free, dripping down my cheeks. Maybe I’ve held them in for too long. For three years.
I find myself drawn into a warm embrace, into the once-familiar smell of cinnamon, into the warmth of once-tasted skin that my body still yearns to feel.
“Shh,” is all I can hear. My hands clutch his vest, as if it is the only thing they could possibly hang onto. After a moment, I try to pull away, not wanting to remember. But a warm arm encircles me, preventing me from escaping.
“You’ve got me right where you want me,” I mutter. “You’ve got me broken.”
“I never wanted to see you broken, Katniss. I don’t understand why you hate me so much… I thought…” he hesitates before ending in a whisper. “I thought we had something, you and me… and then… you shut me out.”
I straighten up at his words, pushing him away. His arms fall uselessly to his sides. I shut him out? He must be kidding!
Peeta looks around at the rapidly escalating storm. Already, it’s getting difficult to see the trail markers, and the slope lights don’t reach this high. “We can’t stay here, Katniss. Do you think you can ski down to the lodge with my help?” he asks, eyeing my leg doubtfully. “Or we could try to walk up to Old Hans’ cave and wait for the ski patrol?”
Though I haven’t poked around in there for years, I know the cave is nearby, no more than a hundred yards. But if we head there, we’ll be stuck there until the storm quiets. There’s no way that Johanna will send the ski patrol up here in a storm. But if we go slowly enough, and he helps, I just might be able to make it down the hill on my own skis before the worst of the weather hits.
Happy Monday, Everlarkers! Last week’s episode of EYOA’s Powder Keg left our Katniss with a dilemma - call in Grumpy Gale on his day off, or spend an entire day with archnemesis Peeta, who somehow broke her heart.
You chose for Katniss to throw caution to the wind and spend the day with Peeta. What happens next? Our own @burkygirl continues the drama (hang on to your hats, kids, this one’s a doozy!)
As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, November the 22nd. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…
The door to the staff room slams behind me as I storm away. I have got to get some fresh air. I need to be alone for 10 seconds or I’m going to scream. Fucking Johanna. She might as well have stuffed us into a get-along shirt like a couple of bratty kids. And what kind of choice is that anyway? As if I’m going to drag Gale up here on his day off to deal with a bunch of kids just because Dickwad is doing a tap dance on my very last nerve. That's not fair to Gale. He works two jobs to help his mom take care of his brothers and sisters and this is the only day he gets to sleep in. And anyway, I definitely don't need him running up here and trying to save me.
The cold air slices through my lungs the minute I step outside. I close my eyes and breathe deeply; each sharp, frosty inhale forcing the red haze just a little bit farther away. When I’m calm, I go back inside and find Peeta in the staff room packing up his gear to go home for the day.
“What are you doing?”
His expression is flat, emotionless as he methodically packs his bag. “What does it look like? I’m obviously not going to get any work here today. I might as well go home and help Dad at the bakery if I’m going to work for free.”
My attempt at another calming breath comes out like an impatient huff instead. “We have a class, like, any minute.”
His eyes snap to mine. “You didn’t call Hawthorne?”
I throw myself in a scruffy armchair that must have gotten dragged in here when it was no longer presentable for the guest area. “No. I am not going to do that to Gale on his day off. Just stay away from me, Mellark, and it’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to do that if we’re supposed to work together all day.” Peeta runs his fingers through his hair until it’s standing on end. “I just don’t get why we can’t be friends, Katniss. We used to be, or at least, I thought we were. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to hate my guts.”
“Are you kidding me right now? You completely humiliated me and you don’t even remember it?”
He leans against his locker with a puzzled grimace painted on his features. “No. Elaborate.”
I don’t - I can’t - answer that. Three years later, the wound is still too raw. I’ll cry or kill him. Neither option is acceptable so I jump out of my chair and go back outside to wait for the kids.
The worst, most painful part of all of this is that he can't even recall what he did to me.
Three years ago, I thought Peeta and I were well on our way to being a couple.
Nearly every morning, he’d greet me on the slopes, his eyes as bright and blue as the sky behind him. We’d spend the day carving up the slopes, skiing in and out of each other’s turns just like he did today. We drank hot chocolate in the lodge while we warmed our toes by the fire, Peeta’s arm thrown over my shoulders. I’d laugh at his corny jokes and tell stories about the time I spent here with my dad. Some nights, we’d stay for night skiing and we’d fly down the mountain together, the snow beneath us a sparkling carpet of sugar as we whooshed along under the glow of the lights. Then Peeta would drive me home and we’d listen to classic rock as we bumped down the mountain.
Gale tried to warn me about him. He said I was reading too much into Peeta’s friendly gestures, that he was a player and I needed to be careful. Gale had been hinting at wanting to be more than friends with me for awhile, so I just brushed it off. I told him he didn’t know Peeta, that he wouldn’t do that to me.
A few days before Christmas, Peeta and I were lingering in the warmth of his truck, listening to tunes and reliving the best parts of our day when he turned toward me and his crooked smile grew serious.
“You’re a really great girl, Katniss,” he said, and then his gaze flicked away. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his thumb drummed on the steering wheel.
“Thanks,” I managed to choke out. “I like hanging out with you too.” The drumming stopped and Peeta reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My pulse skittered as his fingers trailed along my jaw. I stirred in my seat, my body yearning to close the space between us. As if of a will of its own, my chin lifted and I admired the way the dashboard lights made him look like he’d been sculpted from marble.
His lips were firm and warm when they met mine and my body melted beneath them. His fingers threaded through my hair tugging me closer and I gasped in response, giving him the chance to capture my bottom lip between his own. My hands flew up to his shoulders, enjoying their strength and revelling in the warmth of his presence and the spicy goodness of his cologne. He tasted of chocolate and cinnamon and it made me greedy for more. I welcomed his tongue as it slipped past my lips, sliding against mine, twisting around it before flicking across the roof of my mouth and backing away, forcing me to chase it into the warm darkness of its cave where I plundered its depths.
A light flickered on the front porch of the house and Peeta dragged his lips away, framing my face in his hands and lowering his forehead against mine.
“I think someone is sending us a signal,” he panted. “I should let you go inside.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Peeta pressed his lips against my forehead and then climbed out of his truck. While he got my skis out of the back, I pulled the rest of my gear from the cab. He carried my skis to the door and then a shy smile crossed his face. “Did you hear about the party in the dorms at the lodge tomorrow night? The instructors have been inviting some of the guests our age. Are you going?”
I’d heard about it. Gale had asked me to go with him. I’d said no. Parties weren’t exactly my scene, especially with the out of town ski instructors, but with Peeta at my side, it might be worth my time.
“Yeah, I think so.”
His smile turned to a grin and he bent down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you then,” then he turned back to his truck, his hands stuffed into his pockets. I went inside and, ignoring the questioning looks from my mother, headed straight to my room.
When I arrived at the party the next night, it was in full swing. The air was filled with smoke and the clinking of bottles as people relaxed to the music. I scanned the room for faces I knew. Johanna, not yet a manager, was wrapped around a hulking blonde instructor named Gloss. A guy named Finnick had his head in the lap of a shy girl whose name, I think, was Annie. Gale was scowling in a corner, his beer clutched in his fist. And in the middle of it all was Peeta, his arm wrapped around another girl our age named Bristel who was snuggled up beside him. A wave of emotions crashed over me, extinguishing any flame I might have been tending for Peeta. It was a potent brew, a blend of humiliation and disappointment. Tears threatened and I bit down on my lip so that I didn’t give them both a piece of my mind.
I stood there, waiting for him to notice my arrival. When his gaze fell upon me, he gave me a wave and returned to his conversation with her. I’d been dismissed. Clearly, the night before had just been a lark, something to do because he was bored. He was a jerk. An ass. A party-barge-sized douche.
My thoughts were swirling so fast I heard nothing as I walked out, starting back for my mother’s car that I’d borrowed for the evening. As I sat in the dark trying not to cry, I heard a tap at the window. Gale needed a ride home. I told him to get in and we drove back to town in silence.
I never spoke to Peeta after that night and to this day, Gale has never so much as offered me an “I told you so.”
My dismay when I heard Peeta and I would be both hanging around the instructor’s lounge this winter was almost too much to bear. I was going to have to deal with him everyday, just to have a shot at this sweet job that is double what anything else pays in town. And now we have to spend all day teaching a bunch of nine-year-olds to ski? My life sucks sweaty balls.
The bus rumbles up the road and I can see the kids bouncing up and down in their seats. The door opens wide and they all pile out, jabbering away at the top of their lungs.
A young teacher is the last to disembark. She makes her way to me and shakes my hand with a smile.
“I’m Madge Undersee,” she says, “and this is my class. As you can see, we’re very excited.”
“Katniss,” I tell her. “Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay.”
“And I’m Peeta,” says my nemesis, who has appeared beside me, and I watch as Madge falls under his spell. She giggles. Giggles! It’s disgusting.
“We’re your instructors for the day.” He turns to me. “Shall we get started?”
At my nod, Madge claps her hands and calls out to her students who soon fall into silence.
When they are quiet, I speak up, unwilling to let Peeta establish himself as the leader for the day.
“Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay,” I say to the wriggling masses. “I’m Katniss and this is Peeta. We’re going to get you on skis in a bit, but first we have to go over some rules. These are for your safety and-”
And just like that, they’ve tuned me out and returned to talking to each other. A sharp, “Class!” from their teacher brings them back in line.
Peeta holds up his orange helmet. “This is your brain bucket,” he calls out and the kids laugh. “You put it on before you put on your skis and you don’t take it off until you take your skis off. Got it?”
Twenty-two heads nod.
“Peeta and I are your teachers today,” I tell them. “No one leaves the bunny hill until we say you’re ready.” A couple of boys in the back of the crowd roll their eyes.
Beside me, Peeta clears his throat. “But we know you all can do it and even if you don’t get down a big hill today you’ll learn enough today that you might be able to do it next time.”
Ugh. He’s so good at this stuff. It makes me crazy. I’m the one who’s been practically raising a kid since I was one myself and with a cheesy grin and a bad joke, he's won them over.
It’s a bit like the way my dad used to handle his students, which annoys me further.
“Are we allowed to have snowboards?” pipes up one of the eye rollers.
I look to the teacher who gives a slight nod. The potential for a clear division of labour emerges.
So now I’ve got a choice to make. I can divide them up, boarders and skiers, and cross my fingers that they won’t all choose boards just to hang out with Peeta, or we can go with them to get their equipment and test them together.
One option means Peeta and I each have a separate class to teach today, lowering the risk of a blow-up. It also means I run the risk of having his success compared to mine, again, when I’m already in serious jeopardy of losing this job.
Happy Monday, everlarkers! Last week introduced us to ski!instructors Katniss and Peeta, and all of the gang at Mt. Mockingjay Lodge. When we last looked in, our cinnamon bun was offering Katniss some of the cash he earned when he stole away her private lesson. You voted to have her refuse the offer (understandably so, I think!) So what’s in store for our gang this week? Let’s see, shall we? This week’s installment of Powder Keg was written by @xerxia31.
As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, November the 15th. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go...
The wad of cash in Peeta’s hand is so tempting. I have no doubt that Glimmer is a good tipper, probably even more so with Peeta than she would have been with me. And I really need that money.
As if he can sense my indecision, a hint of a smile lifts the corners of his lips, lights his eyes. For the briefest of moments, it’s as if I’m looking back through time, to that golden-haired boy with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. The one who stole my heart.
The one who tore it to shreds.
Anger wells up inside me, stamping out the flicker of pain and humiliation that remembering that day has allowed to surface. Obscenities sit on the tip of my tongue, begging to be unleashed at him. “No,” I say instead, adding a tight “thank you,” when I catch Wiress frowning at me from her fry station. Peeta’s expression hardens.
“Take the damn money, Everdeen,” he hisses. “You earned it. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Yeah, well you always were the superior one, weren’t you?” Peeta recoils, as if I’ve actually shoved him instead of just envisioning it.
A group of rowdy thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds bursts through the cafeteria door, all laughter and good-natured hijinks. Morning ski school must be over. A perfect distraction from the hurt on Peeta’s face. I head back behind the counter, ready to start dishing out meals to the skiers, and when I finally look up, Peeta is gone.
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The sun is still a solid forty minutes away from cresting the mountain when I pull my Jeep into the parking lot. Most of the instructors at Mt. Mockingjay stay in the staff dormitories, but I'm a local, having lived all of my life in Panem, just ten minutes down the mountain. No point in paying for lodging here when my childhood home is so close, though I've heard there are some crazy parties in the dorms after hours.
Stepping into my bindings in the blue-grey predawn is like coming home. My father had me on skis when I was barely old enough to walk. His seasonal job at this very resort opened the world of carving and shredding to our family, who otherwise could never have afforded it. My skis and boots were always bought at the end of the season, former rentals too dinged up to appeal to the tourists anymore, my lift passes purchased at the employee rate. But on the runs, I was never that poor kid from the Seam. My dad used to say Mt. Mockingjay was the great equalizer. This was his favourite place in the world, and it’s mine too.
Just enough snow fell overnight to frost the hills in a perfect layer of powder and I’m anxious to get up there and be the first to slice through it. I slide my key into the chairlift controls and fire up the engine. This is the smallest of the resort’s five chairlifts. I’d rather use the main lift, the one that services the two double diamond runs, but it’s a stupid idea to ride that behemoth alone. Instead, I make the four minute and thirty-seven second ascent to stand at the top of the single diamond Arena run.
My breath catches in my throat; from up here the mountain is a smooth blue-white canvas, faintly glittering in the slope lights, begging to be brushed by my skis. Though my first instinct is to race down as fast as I can, kicking up a spray of diamond-bright sparkles as I plow through the fresh snow, I instead carve through the powder, executing one flawless turn after another, concentrating on my technique, my father’s voice in my ears directing each perfect arc.
And when I reach the bottom, exhilaration and adrenaline spiking in my veins, I turn back to check out the pattern I’ve sculpted into the hill. Disappointment floods my veins as I realize that someone else is up there already, disrupting my curves. But as I watch, it quickly becomes apparent that the other skier is taking pains to mirror my line, almost exactly. Their turns are not as precise, but there’s a casual elegance in the careful line they’ve chosen. As they descend, a double helix emerges from the tracks in a way that has to be intentional, even artistic. I’m just reaching into my jacket for my phone, to take a picture of how cool it looks, when I notice that the other skier is wearing an orange helmet.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the word hanging in a silver cloud before slowly dissipating. There’s only one person in this place who’d be caught dead in safety-cone-orange headgear. I can’t escape that asshole for even one stupid morning.
Peeta Mellark has done everything in his power to make my first week here miserable. When he’s not actively stealing my clients right off the hill, he’s sabotaging my schedule. Just yesterday, he cheated me out of what would have been a high-tipping private lesson. I’m certain it was my name written beside Seneca Crane on the big board, but he swapped his own name in and took off with the older guy in his Armani snowsuit before I even noticed, leaving me instead with some punk kid named Marvel who was much more interested in his helmet cam than in learning.
And when I pointed that out to Jo, she just shrugged and said that the base rate was the same whether the lesson was with Mister Snowsuit-worth-more-than-my-car, or the disinterested brat. Which it is, but while Marvel’s dad only tipped twenty bucks, I’m certain Peeta got more than that from the guy he snatched away from me.
The entire week has been him dicking me around, then acting huffy when I call him on it. A whole week of us trading barbs. I swear I’m going to snap soon.
I scowl, watching Peeta traverse the rest of the run. He’s on skis today, I’d almost forgotten that he used to ski, before he switched to boarding with all of the other cool kids in his clique. I know the moment he catches sight of me watching him, because he stiffens and nearly loses an edge, flailing just a bit. But he recovers quickly, barrelling towards me, spraying me in snow as he stops just feet away. Jerk.
He pulls off his helmet just as the thin winter sun finally crests the mountain top, crowning him in golden light, like he’s in some kind of damned shampoo commercial, then he flashes that arrogant smirk at me, the one that gets him all of the prime lesson slots while the rest of us peck at the dregs. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says, insincerity practically dripping from the words.
“What are you doing here?” I grumble. He gestures at his skis and raises an eyebrow.
“Same as you, it appears,” he laughs. I roll my eyes. “You want to share a chair back up?”
“No thanks, I’m done here,” I say, and ski away. I really wanted to get in a few fast, carefree runs before the day’s duties begin, but I’m not sharing a chair with him. And if I got on before or after, I have no doubt he’d stop the lift and leave me stranded, just for the pleasure of screwing me over yet again.
I can hear him calling after me, but I don’t turn back. “Dammit Katniss, wait,” he puffs as I shove the tip of my pole into my bindings with more force than is really necessary to release them. He’s chased after me, for some reason. I stack my skis in the rack beside the lodge entrance and yank the door open roughly. “The hill is big enough for both of us.”
“Forget it,” I bark, noticing too late that we’re no longer alone. A few early bird guests are already sitting by the big stone fireplace.
“Katniss!” He’s still following me, clattering awkwardly through the lodge even as he greets the guests sitting there by name. I roll my eyes. Suck up. I weave down the corridor that connects the main guest lounge with the staff area, Peeta huffing behind me.
He manages to catch up when I struggle for a moment to punch in the door code. “Why are you so stubborn?” he practically bellows as I finally push open the door. Several heads whip around to gawk at us, other instructors and staff members getting ready for their days. My ears burn, but I still don’t acknowledge him, stomping instead over to the huge whiteboard that outlines the day’s lessons.
Every square next to my name has been wiped clean. “What the hell, Peeta?” I whip around to face him, hands on my hips and fire in my eyes. “This the reason you got here early? Just to screw me out of a day’s pay?” My voice cracks pathetically on the last word. I really need a full roster of lessons if I’m going to earn enough for Prim to have a Christmas this year, not to mention keeping the lights on at my mother’s house.
“I had nothing to do with this,” he snaps, almost distractedly, as he walks over to the board. It’s only then that I realize the normally overflowing boxes next to his name are also blank. “What the--?”
“Oh good, you’re both here and still alive.” It’s far too early for Johanna’s acerbic tone. Peeta and I turn in tandem to glare at her, talking over each other in an attempt to accuse each other in the latest round of schedule manipulation. “Can it, both of you,” she barks.
“Jo, I can’t afford to spend another day in the snack bar,” I hiss, not wanting Peeta to hear how desperate I am for the higher pay that comes with teaching.
“You’re not in the snack bar today,” she says. “We have a school trip coming in. You’re leading it.” I feel a little better, there are no tips for teaching school groups, but I’ll at least get the full instructor wage for my time, instead of minimum. But then Jo looks over my shoulder. “Both of you.”
“No,” Peeta says before I can even spit the word out myself. “No, Jo, not today. I had five private lessons lined up today!”
“And now you don’t,” she smirks. “I gave them to Bristel.” A fiery flush sweeps up Peeta’s neck and his jaw clenches. It’s kind of fascinating. “You two are going to take the field trip kids, and you’re going to get over whatever this crap is between you.” I’m two seconds away from stomping off. I definitely didn’t sign up for this. As if she can hear my thoughts, Jo glares at me. “I have fielded seven complaints about the two of you already.” She waves her finger between us. “Seven! It’s only been a week!”
“None of that is my fault!” I try to defend myself, but Johanna cuts me off.
“Brainless, I’ve cut you a ton of slack because you’re by far the best skier here. But you’re at the end of the rope. You need to figure this out.” My heart sinks; I’ve never been fired from a job before, not once. And to be let go from Mt. Mockingjay… well I’d never be able to ski here again, never be able to look any of these people in the eye again. Suitably chastened, I stare down at my ski boots.
“And you,” Jo says, turning her attention to Peeta. “You think you’re safe just because the snow bunnies cream themselves when you unzip your parka?” I sneak a peek at Peeta, whose entire face is bright red now. “They’re not the ones managing this place. I am. And I haven’t forgotten that you still haven’t passed your level two certification.” My head snaps up at that, just as Peeta’s face falls. He isn’t even level two certified? He shouldn’t be teaching private lessons at all!
“Jo, I can’t work with him,” I plead. It’s true, we’ll kill each other. She tips her head back and lets out a mighty groan.
“You know what, Brainless, fine. Hawthorne’s scheduled to be off today. Call him in if you have to. You choose. Gale or Peeta.” She levels me with a glare. “Twenty-two fourth graders. Bus will be here at eight sharp. Make sure they’re all kitted and on the bunny hill by nine,” Jo says as she walks away. “The rest of you, get to work,” she calls to the group of other instructors, who scramble to appear as if they hadn’t been watching our entire dress-down.
I let out a deep breath as beside me Peeta does the same. I glance up at him. He doesn’t look pissed anymore. He almost looks… sad. Resigned. He turns his gaze to mine, expectantly, waiting to be dismissed. To lose an entire day’s pay.
What do I do? Bring Gale in on his morning off to teach with me, even though he’s likely to be pissed about it. Or see if Peeta and I can call a truce, if only just for the day?
