WHO: Peeta Mellark and Annabelle WHAT: Getting the hell out of dodge before he does or says something stupid. WHEN: Thursday morning WHERE: In the first floor hall moving out to the beach WARNINGS: TBD, probably, but Peeta picked blue, so...do with that what you will. STATUS: Incomplete
The previous week which had thrown Katniss and Prim into completely different forms, apparently at a whim, had been trying. It was hard to look someone in the face and treat them like one's girlfriend when they looked nothing like her, sounded nothing like her, and genuinely made one a little uncomfortable because the feelings were just...not there when he felt like they should be. It wasn't easy to pretend to still feel attracted to Katniss when she looked like anyone other than her. It was difficult to keep holding her when she woke up from a nightmare looking like an entirely different person. It felt wrong. She looked wrong, she smelled wrong, she sounded wrong, she felt wrong; she wasn't Katniss when it happened, as far as all of Peeta's senses could tell and even though she insisted she was in there, it still felt like betrayal all the same. So, when Katniss made it through the night without shifting into the shape of an entirely different woman, Peeta was relieved.
He'd chosen a card last night just like everyone else, he supposed, in the house. Blue was the least obnoxious color in the bunch, so he'd picked it, groaned at the overly flamboyant display of apparent celebration at his choice, and had gone on about his business. At first, it hadn't really occurred to him what was going on; how he was being changed. Although, he guessed, when the house had its hands on the puppet strings, he usually didn't realize it. He hadn't realized, for example, right away that he'd been staring at Katniss's chest when she wasn't looking and struggling not to do the very same when she was. He remembered what she looked like under the clothes; he wished they didn't have half a million roommates so that maybe he'd ever have a chance at seeing her like that again.
After a while, his eyes roamed. He'd never noticed how pretty Annie was. Yeah, she was crazy and yeah, she was Finnick's, but that didn't mean Peeta couldn't appreciate the aesthetics of her, did it? He wouldn't do anything about it, right? It was just looking and there was nothing wrong with looking. Right? Probably. ...well, maybe when one was looking at her, admiring the curves of her hips whenever she moved from one part of the room to another or that of her chest when the angle permitted, just looking wasn't as all right.
But when Prim had raged over some stupid thing the next morning and, instead of being appalled or annoyed at her for acting like the baby she was insisting she wasn't — even if she did have a point about the cramped room — Peeta had to shift himself to avoid anyone noticing a physical response to Prim's ridiculous outburst, Peeta decided it was time to get out of the room. Fast.
He mumbled something about wanting to sketch, snatched up his art supplies and a bottle of water, kissed his girlfriend and left the room quickly. He kept his head down, he did not spare Annie or Prim another look. At this rate, he didn't even trust himself looking back at Finnick, if he was honest.
Holding the sketch pad in front of himself, Peeta made his way toward the stairwell and down it, then down the first floor hall, heading for the back door to go to the beach. That was always a good way to calm himself down. He might not like the water and he probably never would, but the sound of the waves were calming and the act of sketching the undeniable beauty of the ocean and the island in the distance always helped Peeta focus. He just hoped no one else was out there and that he didn't meet anyone along the way. That sketch pad was the only thing hiding the physical manifestation of what a terrible person he was right now; of his shame. Seeing someone else right now wouldn't be ideal. In fact, it would be downright awful. He couldn't seem to get near to the back door fast enough.