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“Get up!” Bialy, Peeta’s oldest brother, swung open the door and ripped the blanket off of my legs. “Ew!” he shielded his eyes and backed up, acting grossed out.
“Oh, please, it’s just my thigh.” I sat up rubbing the goose skin away from my upper leg and pulled the blanket back up.
“You better hope it’s just your thigh.” Peeta’s mother, Rose, came to the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. She swung it over her shoulder and looked at Peeta, whom was still asleep.
I squeezed his knee under the blanket.
His eyes opened and shone with tiredness. “Hmm?” His gaze drifted into the room and he saw his mom and brother. He sat up quickly and rubbed his face. “What times is it?”
“Ten.” His other brother, Ficelle, walked by and into the bathroom.
Peeta sighed and slid his body out from under the blanket and swung his legs over the side. “What time am I supposed to meet Katniss?”
“An hour ago.” Rose looked at me disapprovingly.
It wasn’t my fault. She’s the one that let me stay here. If she had said no, I would be over at Haymitch’s house, drowning in liquor, starving to death. So Peeta convinced her to let me stay with them. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate it, it’s much better than staying in that filth. Just sometimes I wish she didn’t blame things on me. Such as why Peeta’s so ‘corrupt’ or why he stays up so late. It’s not my fault. He’s ‘corrupt’ because he had to kill to stay alive in the Hunger Games and he stays up so late because of the nightmares. I’ve stayed up with him until four before he finally fell asleep from a sleeping pill. Even after he fell asleep he was shuddering and twitching. I don’t think I’ve ever woken up to him not looking at the ceiling. He lays there, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He has gotten very dark circles under his eyes. They don’t seem to go away, even with layers of cover up on.
“I’ll be out soon,” he pushed Bialy out and closed the door.
“You’re breakfast is already cold.” Rose’s voice faded down the hallway.
“Why does your mother hate me?” I got off the bed and folded the blanket and put it at the end of the bed.
“She doesn’t hate you; she just hates that you aren’t her daughter.” He got out a change of clothes and took off his boxers.
“What are you talking about?”
“She used to tell us that she always wanted a daughter. Instead, she got three boys. She said she wanted the girl to be beautiful, funny, smart, kind. Like you. She just wants you to be her daughter and not her son’s girlfriend,” he pulled a comb through his hair.
“Oh.” I figured I guess it would be, I don’t know, a reason that I’d actually understand. I understand wanting a daughter thing, but not that that’s the reason she hated me.
He smiled and walked over. “I got to go. I’ll see you when I get back. Hopefully it won’t take more than a few hours. If you need me, I’ll probably be at her house.” He kissed me and looked me in the eye. “She doesn’t hate you. I promise.” He smiled again and left, grabbing his pack on the way.
“Peeta,” I called after him.
“Yeah?” the door opened again and he peeked in.
“I love you.”
“Love you, Apple.” He waved and closed the door behind him.
I sighed and sat down on the bed again. I picked up Romeo and Juliet and opened it to a random page. Act III, scene ii.
“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.”

I reread the passage over and over, trying to interpret what Shakespeare could have meant and why he wrote Juliet as saying it. I reread again and realized that it had happened right after Romeo and Juliet had secretly gotten married. It was their wedding night and Juliet wanted night to come faster so she could finally lose her virginity to Romeo. It was an innocent and modest act. After all, they were married and doing nothing wrong, except lying to their families. It was like Peeta and Katniss. Peeta once told me, before we were ‘together’, that he used to fantasize about his wedding night with Katniss. It was mostly when they were alone in the cave during the 74th Games, and on the train ride back and on the Victory Tour.
I read on and found out later that to lure Romeo home from banishment, Juliet drinks a poison to make her family think she’s dead. Romeo coms back and he finds her in the Capulet family tomb. He is saddened greatly and kills himself to be with her. A few seconds later, before Romeo is dead, Juliet wakes up and finds him bleeding to death. She watches as he dies and then is mourning his death. Love over comes her and she kills herself, too.
By the time I’m finished, it’s late afternoon. I put a hand to my stomach and wonder why I haven’t been hungry lately. I shrugged and go into the kitchen. Rose isn’t home, but the fire place is blazing. I open the cupboards to a plate with a card that has my name on it. I open the card and see Peeta’s clean handwriting: “For you. I know you love them. Peeta.” I smile inwardly and peel off the plastic on top and stuff my face with a cheese bread bite. “Thanks, Peeta.” I put a few in my pocket and put the plate back away. Grabbing my pack, I walk out the door and down to the square to the bakery.