Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗

-

But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”

-

I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.

Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

-

I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”

“Who said I was?” I say.

“So, you’re not going?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”

-

Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”

“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.

“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

-

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

-

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”

-

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”

“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.

“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.

-

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”

-

No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.

“I’ll go, too,” he says.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”

-

Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.

-

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

-

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

-

I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

-

Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”

“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.

-

A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”

-

“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”

“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.

-

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”

-

Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”

I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”

“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .

-

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.

“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”

-

He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

“Rent Control”-an Everlark AU

So I wrote an story based on this picture...

Enjoy!

Summary: Katniss Everdeen has found the perfect home in San Francisco—great neighborhood, an easy commute and, best of all, it’s rent controlled. There’s only one problem; the landlord will only rent to a married couple.

Enter Peeta Mellark.

 Rent Control

“No…” Katniss scrolled down the ad on Craigslist, checking out the pictures of the apartment. The place was…small. She could live with that. However, the dimly lit bathroom and the questionable safety of the building’s laundry room were enough for her to click away from the ad. “Okay, onto the next one—”

“Katniss! Your break is over!” Johanna, her boss, called out from the front. “We need you!”

Locking her phone, she slipped it into the pocket of her jeans and stepped out of the backroom. Johanna was waiting for her at the cash register, an impatient smile on her red-stained lips.

“Johanna, there’s no one here…” The clothing boutique was empty except for the two women whose feet she could see behind their fitting room doors.

“Yeah, but I need to go!” Johanna bounced to emphasize her desperation. Katniss chuckled before waving her away. “Check on them, won’t you?”

Nodding, Katniss went to the dressing room area. “How is it going, ladies? Do you need any different sizes? Anything you want to get rid of?”

“Oh, yes!” A light voice called out as a pretty, light-haired woman peeked her head out and smiled at Katniss. “I don’t think I’m really into this.” She handed Katniss the simple black shift dress. “I’m just not into such basic colors!”

“No problem,” Katniss replied. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“My husband has a work event,” the woman explained. “It’s kind of high-brow and techie as all of San Francisco seems to be. Black seemed like the obvious choice.”

“It’s formal, right?” The voice in the room to Katniss’ right responded. “I thought black would work on you.”

“I know, Alma,” the woman in front of her said. “It’s just not me though.”

“It doesn’t look great with your coloring, to be honest,” Katniss told her. “You would do well with a jewel tone.” She walked over to one of the racks close by and pulled out the dress that she had been admiring since it was delivered to the boutique. “Would you consider this?”

Katniss held out the fuchsia dress for the woman to examine. It was floor-length with flutter sleeves and a flowing skirt. The top has a modest V-neck with a gold band underneath the ribcage.

The woman clapped excitedly. “Yes! It’s perfect! Thank you…”

“Katniss,” she told the woman. “Give that a go and I’ll check back in a few minutes.”

The dress turned out to be perfect and Katniss was thrilled as she rung the woman up. The Michael Kors dress would add a little more to her commission—she needed it.

As soon as the two women left, Johanna walked over and gives Katniss a congratulatory clap on the back.

“Want to grab us some coffee?” her boss asked. “I know you want to see your friend.” Johanna waggled her perfectly penciled brows at Katniss.

“You’re too much.” Katniss grabbed the credit card from Johanna’s hand. “But I can’t afford coffee so I’ll take you up on a freebie!”

++++++

“My favorite shop girl!”

“God Peeta, you make my job sound as pathetic as it actually is,” Katniss growled. “And, that’s coming from a guy who just stands around and makes coffee.”

“But, I do it with a smile,” her friend replied with a charming grin. “Chin up. How’s the apartment hunt going?”

“It’s not. Either I’m looking at an apartment where I’m sure someone’s been murdered or it’s in a decent neighborhood but I’m practically sleeping sitting up. Fucking techies!”

“Hey, they pay for this overpriced coffee!” Peeta argued.

“But they’ve jacked up the rent…” she whined. “I’m going to have to move back home if I don’t find a place soon.” Her parents lived in her childhood home in a neighborhood south of nowhere.

“I’m right there with you,” her friend told her. “My landlord is upping the rent in three months.” Peeta handed her usuals, a vanilla latte for her and a triple espresso for Johanna. “Hopefully, this will get you through the end of your shift—on me.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Katniss said gratefully and without a thought, she leaned over the counter to press a kiss to the man’s cheek.

Before she ends up embarrassing herself even further, Katniss rushed out of the coffee shop.

Thank God, Johanna didn’t see that.

She would never hear the end of it.

++++++

It was too good to be true.

Katniss read over the ad once more: $2800—1 bedroom, 1 bathroom in gorgeous Noe Valley. Spacious living room with fireplace, in-building washer/dryer. Must agree to one-year lease for rent-controlled price as well as meet landlord’s tenant requirements.

Below the ad was the address for the building as well as the date for the open house which happened to be today of all days—which happened to be her day off! This was more than generous for rent; it was practically median rent on Treasure Island.

The doors of the MUNI lightrail opened and she stepped down quickly to get to the sidewalk. The building was a block from her stop and Katniss hurriedly rushed in the appropriate direction. Hopefully, no one had taken the unit yet, though she could imagine that this ad would bring many desperate renters to the building.

Her gaze reached the brick building and Katniss stopped abruptly to stare up. The building was beautiful; it had ivy covering one side…there were bay windows…a stained-glass front door…

“Shop girl!”

Whipping around, Katniss was surprised to see her favorite barista slowing down to meet her.

“Coffee boy…” She groaned and nodded at the building. “Don’t tell me that you’re looking at the same place!”

“It really is too good to be true,” Peeta replied good-naturedly. “It’s probably already taken.”

“The door is still open,” Katniss informed him. “…but I really need this place!”

“So do I!” His sweet cornflower-blue eyes suddenly went somber. “My roommate is moving out in two weeks. Kind of left me in a lurch.”

“Damn it.” Katniss bit her lip, her eyes again going to her hopefully soon-to-be place of residence. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt for both of us to look.”

Peeta nodded, a small smile brightening his handsome face. “Come on.” Putting an arm around her shoulders, they walked through the open door of the building. “It’s probably going to be a shithole, anyway.”

But it wasn’t.

As soon as they stepped into the foyer of the building with its marble floor and walked up to the mahogany staircase, Katniss knew that this was no ordinary building. The available apartment was on the second floor and together they ascended the stairs, reaching a white-washed hallway with a lone window at the end.

“Shit—we’re both going to like this place, aren’t we?” Peeta said, a grimace on his face.

“I guess it’s a fight to the death for it,” Katniss quipped as they walked into the open apartment.

Hardwood floors…bay windows overlooking Church Street…a gorgeous fireplace—she swept her hand over the mantle and found her fingers surprisingly dust-free. The landlord was a cleanly one; most of the places she had seen had been grimy. An open archway led into a nook where Katniss could imagine her humble IKEA table being set for Sunday breakfasts and the kitchen—neat with fairly-new appliances—had an island.

“Imagine how many loaves of bread I could bake in this oven,” Peeta murmured to himself.

“We are torturing ourselves,” she groaned.

“We’re not done yet.” Peeta took her hand and they went into the hallway adjacent to the entrance. The walls were painted white as well and they took a peek into the pristine bathroom with its clawfoot tub. “Seriously?”

“I can’t even look in the bedroom after this,” Katniss protested as her friend pulls her along.

The bedroom was immaculate; the afternoon light shone in through the wide windows and the opposite wall was a closet obviously made for someone of Carrie Bradshaw’s standards. Katniss could picture herself just lounging on her bed and catching up on her Netflix shows.

She looked to Peeta. “So, what do you think is the catch?”

He shrugged. “We might as well find out. The landlord is across the hallway.”

After a final wave to the dream apartment, they walked out just as the adjacent door opened and a disgruntled woman walked out.

The woman, impeccably dressed in her pantsuit, glared at them. “Good luck with them.”

“Ah, there’s the rub,” Katniss said to Peeta as he knocked on the door. “The landlord is a nightmare.”

“Now that’s a little harsh—” They turned to the dark-haired man before them, dressed casually in a flannel and worn jeans. “At least get to know me before hating my guts.” He widened the door for them. “Come in, come in…”

They stepped into the apartment; the sage-green walls and plush furniture immediately calmed Katniss’ senses. A record player crooned Creedence Clearwater Revival to the succulents that lined the windows.

“I’m Haymitch Abernathy,” the man said to them. “Owner of this humble abode. The wife is just grabbing more treats for potential couples.”

“Peeta Mellark.” Her friend held out his hand and Haymitch shook it firmly.

Katniss also reached out, shaking the man’s hand. “Katniss…you said couples?”

“The tenant requirement is that anyone living there must be married,” Haymitch stated. He settled down on the beige couch and reached for the glass on the apothecary coffee table. “How long have you two been hitched?”

Married?

And without thought or reason, Katniss found herself replying, “A year.”

She could practically feel Peeta’s stabbing stare.

“Hello, hello!” A familiar voice called out and they both turned to see a woman rushing over to them with a tray. The woman stopped and met her eyes. “Katniss?”

It was the Michael Kors dress…Katniss quickly pulled the memory of her holding the credit card of the woman in front of her.

“Effie…how did the dress go?” she asked congenially.

Effie beamed as she placed the tray of drinks on the coffee table, before sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Haymitch.

“It was a hit!” The woman looked between them. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

“Oh yeah…” Katniss nodded at the gob smacked man next to her. “This is my husband, Peeta…Mellark.”

She should really remember his last name.

“You two are adorable!” Effie gushed. “So young…but so were we—” She looked affectionately at her husband. “And here we are still tolerating each other.”

Haymitch smiled tenderly at his wife. “Well, you put up with me and that’s saying something.”

“Excuse me,” Peeta abruptly called out. “Out of curiosity, why just married couples?”

“We found that single renters tend to break their lease agreement within six months because they can’t afford the rent,” Effie explained. “And roommates often leave after awhile while non-married couples sometimes end up splitting up—it just becomes a mess. At least with a married couple, it’s two people who are bound by law and we can count on them being in the apartment for some time.”

“Longevity and loyalty are important to us,” Haymitch added, seriousness in his steel-eyed stare. “The people in this building are like our family. So, we’re very protective about who we let in.”

“That is definitely important,” Katniss replied. She looked to a stone-faced Peeta before beginning her appeal for the dream apartment. “We would love to be considered. Obviously, you know that I work at Johanna’s and Peeta works in the coffee house next door. We’ve been at our jobs for more than a year. We can get paystubs as proof of income—”

“I have a feeling about you two,” Effie said. She looked to her husband who nodded in agreement. “Pending the deposit and if you two agree, we would love for you to make your home here.”

++++++

“Are you insane?” As soon as they stepped out of the building, Peeta turned to her. “Why would you say we’re married?”

“I don’t know!” Katniss exclaimed. “It just happened.” She peered at him. “You’re not married already, are you?”

“No!” He burst out. “But still—you didn’t need to lie.”

“Tell me where you’re going find a place and price like that,” Katniss pointed out. “Might as well move to Treasure Island.”

They walked away from their future home. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”

“We pretend,” she told him bluntly. “And after a year when we’ve saved a little bit more money, we move out or just say we’re splitting up.”

“And, you think this is going to work?”

“It does or we’re homeless,” Katniss replied.

They walked in silence towards the lightrail island. When they reach her stop, Peeta turned to her.

“Fine. We do this,” he agreed. “One year.”

Katniss let out the sigh of relief. “Deal.” She took his hand. “You now have yourself a wife.”

Peeta chuckled quietly. “Just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“What’s your last name?”

++++++

One week later…

 “I seriously cannot believe you’re doing this,” Johanna muttered as they walk up the stairs leading up to San Francisco City Hall. “I know that you’ve had a thing for Peeta—but pretending to be married to get an apartment? That’s just wrong.”

“It’s not like that. All of us aren’t like you,” Katniss replied as she held her bag open for security before walking through the metal detector. “We didn’t get a house from a divorce.”

“I earned that house!” Johanna followed suit through the metal detector. “Do you know how many blowies I gave him before he decided that it was my fault that he couldn’t get it up? I can stick the hard end of a banana in the back of my throat and feel nothing.” The security guard chuckled as he handed Johanna her purse back. “Tell me that’s not devotion.”

“That is a little more than I needed to know about my boss.” Katniss reached into her purse and pulled out the fragile hairpiece. It had been lying in her drawer since she moved to California. “Can you help me?”

“Give it.” Johanna takes the hairpiece, clipping it on each side of Katniss’ raven waves. She arranged the lace so that it subtly brushed her cheekbones. “This is gorgeous.”

“It was my grandmother’s,” she said quietly. “Her and Gramps married during the war. It’s the one thing she left me after she died…I hate to think that it’s being used for something not real.”

Johanna placed her hands on Katniss’ shoulders, her eyes affectionately concerned.

“So, for now, pretend that this is real. Most marriages turn out to be shams, anyway—and you get a smoking-hot husband out of it.”

Katniss snorted. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

A wolf-whistle cut across the air, echoing throughout the main floor, and she turned to find Peeta in a grey suit approaching her. A tall, dark-skinned man followed behind him dressed in a navy suit.

“Mrs. Mellark…” Peeta slowed in front of her, looking over her fitted lace dress before meeting her veil-eyed gaze. “You clean up nice.”

“That’s what happens when you work in the best clothing boutique in San Francisco,” Katniss replied, her hands reaching to adjust his red tie. “You clean up nice, too.”

“That’s so cute,” the man behind Peeta said with an amused smile. “Y’all are already taking care of each other.”

“This is Cinna, my soon-to-be ex-roommate,” Peeta informed Katniss. “He’s ditching me for New York, but I don’t blame him since his cushy executive job is paying for his flat.”

“Nice to meet you,” Katniss said and shook the man’s hand. “I guess it worked out in my favor that you were leaving.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” Cinna replied. “Peeta showed me the apartment. What a sweet deal for San Francisco! I wouldn’t mind pretending to be married to this guy for such a place.”

Johanna coughed and Katniss pulled her forward. “This is Johanna, my boss and pretend MOH.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Johanna said. “And, thanks for the coffees, Peeta.”

“No problem,” Peeta replied. He looked around at the crowded floor. “Should we get on with this?”

Katniss nodded. “Right.”

Together, they walked to the wide staircase that led to the mayoral offices. It was a popular spot for ceremonies and pictures. There were already several couples taking their post-ceremony photos.

Cinna reached into his pocket, taking out a small digital camera. “Let’s get you two together.”

Awkwardly, Peeta took her hand as Katniss pressed herself against him.

“Is this alright?” she asked Cinna.

“No. You look like you’re having an edema,” Johanna said bluntly as Cinna chuckled in agreement. “Come on, make me believe that you’ve seen each other naked!”

Several couples stopped to stare at them.

“Alright!” Katniss wove her arms around Peeta’s neck as he pulled her close, his strong arms encircling her waist. Through the lace of her dress, she could feel his heart pounding and she met his sweet blues. “You okay, Mr. Mellark?”

Peeta grinned and the breath suddenly left her body. He really was a good-looking man.

She could never get someone like him in real life.

He leaned forward, their lips a breath apart. “I’m perfect…Mrs. Mellark.”

“We got it!” Cinna called out.

Johanna looked over Cinna’s shoulder at the picture on the camera’s screen, nodding in approval.

“Not bad…not bad at all.”

Together, she and Peeta sighed in relief.

They could do this…this was after all for the perfect apartment.

“We’re not done yet,” Cinna told them. “We still have a year’s worth of your marriage to document.” He smirked, looking at the photos—some good, some awkward. “These are going to look good. You better name your first fake baby after me.”

++++++

Effie had been there to meet them at their front door a week later. Haymitch couldn’t take the time off to join them as Effie informed the couple that he was stuck in meetings for the startup he was managing.

“I have no idea about those sorts of things,” she said as she held out their key. “Why don’t you give it a try? If there’s an issue, we can just hop down the block to the hardware store on the corner.”

Peeta took the key, inserting it into the bolt and turning it easily. “Looks like we’re good to go.” He opened the door and turned to Katniss. “Before we go in—”

He quickly scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, mostly out of fear of faceplanting on their new floors.

“What are you doing?”

“This is our home now,” Peeta said, giving her a winning smile. Behind them, Effie cooed. “I have to carry you over the threshold.” He leaned closer to her ear. “We’re supposed to be in love, aren’t we? Just go with it.”

Katniss nods before placing a light kiss on his lips. He started at the motion and something inside her bellowed in triumph at the thought of making him come undone.

“Well then, carry me over, Mr. Mellark. We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

Together, Peeta entered their place before placing Katniss gently back on her feet.

He winked. “I’ll start bringing in the boxes.”

Nodding, she went to open some of the bags that they were able to store in the apartment before their official move. Effie and Haymitch were generous for allowing them to do this.

“Is that your wedding photo?”

Katniss turned to see Effie behind her, her gaze on the black-and-white photo that she had just placed on the mantle.

“Yes. It was a small wedding,” she explained. “My family is all the way in Connecticut and Peeta’s family is in D.C. so they weren’t able to make it. The whole idea of getting married was very spur-of-the-moment.”

“Really?” Effie was an obvious romantic, though Katniss found it an endearing. “Oh, to be young and so spontaneous. So, how did the proposal happen?”

“Well…uh…”

Shit. They never really came up with a story.

“Katniss was staying over at my place.” Peeta placed a box on the floor in front of them. “We were having breakfast and discussing what we should do that day. She suggested that we get to the mountain of laundry in my room—and I suggested that we get married.”

A snort escaped Katniss’ lips before she could stop it.

Effie’s bright eyes went wide and she looked to Katniss. “And, what did you say?”

“I kind of just said…sure,” she answered.

“It was more of a—” Peeta gave them a half-hearted shrug that looked believably like something she would do. “—followed by a less-than-enthusiastic ‘Sure.’” He put an arm around Katniss’ shoulders. “As if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to marry me.”

“You do love me.” Her head went to his shoulder. “Surly traits and all.”

In response, Peeta placed a kiss on her temple.  “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“You two are just too good to be real!” Effie exclaimed. “I’ll leave you to finish unpacking. Also, tomorrow we’ll be having a little get-together in the backyard so you can meet the neighbors. I think you’re going to fit in here perfectly.”

She smiled at them dreamily.

I’m just going to leave you to…christen your new place. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, Effie closed the apartment door behind her.

“Did she give us permission to bone all over the apartment?”

Peeta smirked. “I’m game if you are.”

Katniss reached into an open box, throwing a cushion in his direction.

He chuckled, catching the cushion easily.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Going to her, Peeta pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Welcome home, Mrs. Mellark.”

 End of Part One…

 This, I hope, will only be a three-parter.

This was inspired by a meme about dating in the Bay Area. Also, I’ve been watching Tales of the City on Netflix.

The current average rate for an one-bedroom apartment rental in San Francisco is $3,609, while rent in the neighborhood of Noe Valley runs at about $3,206. The lowest rental rate is in Treasure Island, which is the halfway point across the Bay Bridge, and is $2,616.

Just some food for thought on how ridiculous it is to live in the Bay Area…but damn do I love living here.

Next: Meeting the neighbors

Till then, JLaLa

Too Familiar (Part 7)

Hey, all y’all! After a bit of a pause, the next installment of this story is here. Thanks to all of you who are following this story on here or AO3. For those of you reading it on tumblr, the rest of the story can be found here. I love hearing from you, so feel free to send me your thoughts. We’re nearing the end of this story, and I appreciate your support along the way.

Trigger warning: mature themes (including infidelity).

“Trust me?” Peeta asked with a wink.

 Katniss laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She nodded, and he covered her eyes with his palms as he walked her down the hall to her bedroom.

 “Keep them closed,” he murmured in her ear and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I promise it’s worth it.”

 “Baby,” she whimpered as he slid his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and caressed the skin there. “Peeta…”

 “I love you, sweetheart,” he professed with his lips against her neck. “Open your eyes.”

 They flew open just as he glanced his finger against her clit, and the sight and sensation together caused heat to rush through her. Rose petals covered the bed, and candles flickered on the flat surfaces of the room. A sheaf of papers sat in the center of the mattress, and she squinted to see what the writing said.

 “My divorce papers,” he offered quietly. “They came today.”

 “Oh. Ohhhh…” Her eyelids flickered as he stroked her. Desire pooled between her legs, but her heart sank at his words.

 “I love you, Katniss. I love you so much, and I’m finally free to be with you.” His arms tightened around her, and he cradled her to him—his chest firm against her back. “I know things haven’t gone the way either of us wanted, but I don’t want to be without you for another second.”

 “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Peeta— What are you doing?”

 His answer was to spread her lips with his fingers and rub small circles over her nub. He flicked it back and forth until her legs trembled and her breath caught in ragged puffs. She moaned as his middle finger teased her entrance, and he kissed the hollow behind her ear.

 “I love the sounds you make when you come,” he breathed into her hair. “That’s it, honey. Let me hear you.”

 “Peeta,” she whimpered. Hardly able to speak, she tossed her head against his lips and rode his hand.

 “Let go,” he begged. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 She cursed softly as she tightened and snapped. Trembling, she crumpled against him as he coaxed her release against his hand. He turned her gently and kissed her quivering lips repeatedly, silencing her with sweet reassurances. He guided her to the foot of the bed and settled her there before dropping to his knees in front of her.

 “Katniss, I love you more than anything in the world,” he declared as he pulled a velvet box from his pocket. “Will you please marry me?”

 Her head spun as the words fell from him. Her adrenaline spiked, an aftermath of her climax coupled with the sight of him in front of her with a diamond peeking from the open box. Her chest constricted, and her vision went black.

 Are you ever going to be able to trust him?

 Tears tracked down her cheeks as he slid back into focus. His smile faltered for a second as he searched her face for her answer.

 She didn’t trust herself to speak. All the heartbreak and guilt and desperate loneliness she’d suffered drained from her when she nodded. Her hand trembled as she held it out to him, and he released the breath he’d been holding in a wet sob.

 His voice was hoarse when he gasped, “Thank you.”

 She tossed the papers to the floor as she scrambled back on the bed into the piles of flower petals. Peeta settled over her and ducked his head to cover her mouth with his. They melted together as they stripped each other. Skin fused against sweaty skin, and agonized groans filled the room.

 Katniss freed her legs and spread them under him, desperate for him to fill her. He tangled his fingers in her hair as he nudged into her, entering so slowly she wondered if it was torture. Tilting her head back, she bit her lip as he withdrew and lifted her hips before angling in again.

 “Don’t kill me tonight,” she begged. “I can’t take it.”

 “You can take it,” he grunted. “You’re amazing, sweetheart.”

 He moved over her, his back muscles bunching and contracting under her palms. She clung to him, needing his warmth around her and marveling at how hard he was inside her. He drove her to the brink several times but pulled back to prolong the experience. When she feared she’d never get there, he pushed her knees backward against the mattress and rolled his hips against hers until her eyes bugged. Screaming his name, she crested and contracted around him. He stilled suddenly, and his mouth fell open. His body vibrated and then shook as he poured into her.

 They ground against each other for several more minutes, desperate to wring every sensation from their exhausted, limp limbs, but finally they collapsed in a tangled heap. He rubbed the underside of her breast lazily with his thumb, and she stroked his lower back until his muscles relaxed.

 “You’re going to marry me,” he sighed, and his mouth quirked into a grin.

 “Hell yeah, I am,” she agreed, so exhausted she slurred her words. “I’m gonna marry the fuck out of you.”

 “Soon, please.”

 “Very, very, very soon,” she promised and kissed him.

 Katniss startled awake as Peeta’s mouth closed over her left nipple. She blinked several times and then lifted her left hand. It was bare.

 Confused, she tried to figure out why and then realized she’d woken from a vivid dream. Peeta’s divorce wasn’t finalized yet. They were still waiting for the paperwork that would make it legal for them to finally be together, and they were both impatient.

 Katniss rubbed sleep from her eyes as Peeta laved her breasts and fumbled between her legs. She moaned and grunted several times, still turned on from her sex dream about him. When his breath shortened, she motioned to him to let her flip over and raised her arms to grab the headboard.

 “Your ass,” he breathed and lifted her hips.

 Katniss buried her face in the pillow and tightened her grip. It didn’t take long for him to lose it. She pushed against the headboard as he rammed into her, and then he collapsed against her, sweaty and cursing as he caught his breath.

 “Good morning,” she yawned and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “I need to go home and shower. Early meeting with Haymitch this morning.”

 Peeta kissed her shoulder and cupped her ass. “Don’t go.”

 “Babe, you cannot still be horny. We just did it, and we fucked twice last night,” she snapped.

 She didn’t bother to glance at him to see his wounded expression as she staggered to the bathroom and gathered her clothes. She knew she was being unreasonable but waking from the dream did nothing other than remind her she was still sleeping with a married man—no matter how much he was really hers in every way but what mattered legally.

 “I’m making visits today and have Elam tonight,” he called as she straightened her sweater and grabbed her purse. “See you at work tomorrow?”

 “Sure,” was her flippant response.

 Are you ever going to be able to trust him?

 Peeta must have understood because he didn’t second guess her or try to talk about it when they saw each other the next day. Or the next. Or over the month that passed before she finally got a message from him with a picture of legal documents.

 “The divorce papers,” she breathed.

 He knocked on her door only a few minutes later, and she did dirty, nasty things to him that night that made him beg and grovel. She expected a proposal for weeks, but something seemed to stop him every time he looked at her with promises of a future in his eyes. When she finally worked up the nerve to ask him if they were okay, he reassured her that he was only waiting for the right timing and that he loved her more than anything.

 Are you ever going to be able to trust him?

Katniss forced herself to turn off the doubt that echoed in her head and focus on what was before her. Unfortunately, work still posed a problem, and they decided to keep it as quiet as possible there—except they still couldn’t keep their hands off each other in the office. One day, she sat at Peeta’s desk, pretending to go over a file, but he teased her under her skirt, when Johanna approached.

 “Well, well, well. Doesn’t this look cozy?”

 Katniss grimaced at her co-worker’s comment and rolled her eyes at Peeta. He winked and turned to face their tormentor while surreptitiously moving his hand to his own lap.

 “Johanna,” he greeted her in a measured voice. “To what blessed coincidence do we owe this favor?”

 Katniss covered her mouth and stifled a chuckle. He was deliberate and calculated as he stared down her nemesis.

 “Oh, I just thought I’d swing by on the way to the old man’s office and see how my favorite couple’s doing. It’s so good to see your friendship has survived—excuse me—thrived since your separation, Mellark. I’m sure Everdeen’s just been an absolute comfort to you now that Madge isn’t around to cater to your every whim.”

 “Mason!” The three of them jerked to attention as Haymitch snapped at Johanna. “Get in here. No one needs your commentary on the boy’s marital status. It’s his business.”

 “Yes, sir,” she groused and sneered at Peeta before bumping against him as she crossed to Haymitch. “Truly, your loyalty to each other is an inspiration,” she hissed before slipping into his office.

 Katniss took a few cleansing breaths as Peeta’s eyes swept across her face. “Not even worth it to fret over her, sweetheart,” he murmured under his breath. “Wanna meet me in the stairwell in five?”

 She grinned and nodded before standing and heading back to her desk. Annie offered a half-hearted smile as she dropped into her seat and opened her email. She answered three messages before she glanced at her co-worker and announced, “Headed to get some coffee. Can I get you anything?”

 “No, that’s okay. Thanks, Katniss,” Annie answered, obviously distracted by the information in the case file that was open on her desk in front of her.

 Katniss strode purposefully down the hall and through the stairwell door. She took a flight up and ducked into the hollow at the landing between the floor where their office was located and the one above. Peeta waited there in the darkness for her and pulled her into his arms the second she appeared.

 “Longest five minutes of my life,” he said just before his mouth covered hers. He backed her against the wall and groped under skirt as she spread her knees. She unzipped his pants and freed him from his boxers. He hitched her leg over his hip and pushed into her. Biting her lip, she tucked her face into the crook of his neck and let him take her.

 “I love it when you go commando at work,” he hissed as his hips rolled against hers. “So fucking sexy.”

 “God, Peeta,” she groaned softly, “you make me so hot. Fuck me hard.”

 “Shhh,” he ordered and threw his head back. He jerked against her, his eyes closed and his mouth gaping. Pure pleasure shone on his face, and she reached down to clutch his backside in her left hand.

 “I want to do dirty things to your ass,” she growled beneath her breath, and he slammed into her so hard her head banged against the wall.

 “Tonight,” he promised and lifted her so she could only touch the floor on her tiptoes.

 She nodded and curled her fingers on her free hand into the curls at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t going to take long for her—not when they might get caught at work. Forbidden sex turned her on more than anything else, and Peeta’s purposeful thrusts made her want to scream.

 “Fucking hell, you’re so tight.”

 Two more strokes, and he spurted inside her. She ground against the base of his cock and smiled as heat rushed through her. This was better than coming—no mess, and she enjoyed the same high. Peeta kissed her harshly and tugged a tissue from his pocket. He wiped himself after pulling out and then swiped between her legs.

 “Six minutes,” she whispered. “That might be our work record.”

 “Bathroom?”

 “No, coffee break.”

 “Ah, good one.”

 She kissed him quickly and smoothed her skirt. “Your place tonight?”

 He nodded and zipped his pants. Balling up the tissue, he tucked it into his pocket and motioned for her to leave before him. When she was safely in the break room, he re-entered the office and returned to his desk.

 “Here you go,” she said sweetly as she set a mug down on Annie’s desk. “Two sugars, one cream. Just like you like it.”

 “Thanks. Want to catch a drink after work tonight? I could use some company.”

 “Everything all right?”

 Annie nodded and smiled softly. “Finnick’s out of town. Just a little lonely.”

 “Sure. I wouldn’t mind a little girl time this afternoon.”

 The rest of the workday passed quickly, and the women settled into a booth at their regular place soon after leaving the office. Katniss couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself without Peeta’s company, and she nodded in encouragement as Annie regaled her with some of her husband’s antics. She was well into her third vodka and tonic when Annie turned the conversation back on her.

 “How are things going for you?” she asked, and the kindness in her eyes was Katniss’ undoing.

 “Things are good,” she slurred slightly. “Really, really good. Can I tell you a secret?”

 “Of course.”

 “Peeta left his wife finally. She made him do couple’s therapy, but that’s over now. He filed for divorce. It’s been final for four months. Don’t tell,” she said and raised a finger to her lips. “I think it’s a secret.”

 “I don’t think it’s much of a secret. He already changed the paperwork in HR.”

 “How do you know that?”

 “I was updating my own forms, and he happened to be there at the same time. He mentioned then that he and Madge had separated, and it was only a matter of time before he was single again. Although, I doubt he will be for long.”

 “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 “So, things are going well between you two?”

 Katniss nodded and motioned to the waitress for another drink. “Better than I deserve.”

 “I think you deserve a lot, Katniss. I’m sorry things have been hard on you, but it’s clear he loves you very much. And you love him.”

 “I do. I’m a homewrecker, though. Cheers to me!” Katniss raised the glass that appeared before her and gulped down the liquid.

 “Go easy on yourself,” Annie urged. “I think you’ve been hard enough on both of you.”

 Katniss shrugged and finished her drink before begging off. She didn’t usually let herself have so much in such a short timeframe, and she wanted to make it to Peeta’s before she lost her faculties. Forgoing her normal commute, she hailed a cab and sank gratefully into the backseat. Twenty minutes later, she knocked on Peeta’s door and leaned against the wall while she waited for him to let her into his place.

 “You look hammered,” he joked when he saw her.

 “Drunk enough you can do all the things I usually say no to,” she told him and slumped into his arms. “I won’t even try to stop you.”

 “Anal beads, huh?”

 “Only if you tie me up first.”

 Her eyes widened when he guided her to the bedroom and pulled a small bundle of silks from the top drawer of his nightstand. She tugged her sweater over her head and unclasped her bra as he closed on her and crossed her wrists over her lower back. Her head spun as he lowered her to the bed. Her skirt pooled at her waist, and her immobile hands stoked an uncertain feeling that made her wet.

 His eyes sparkled as he caressed her stomach with the purple silicon anal beads. “You know, you said you wanted to do dirty things to my ass, but this works even better for me. Let’s see how many we can get in.”

 The answer was three, which was the same number of times she came over the course of the evening. Peeta’s excitement seemed to heighten as she strained against her bonds, and he fucked her senseless. As much as she knew he loved her, he wasn’t gentle or considerate as he rammed and bucked against her. She begged him for more, unwilling to forgo the passion for tenderness. In her inebriated state, she wanted to be wrung out, not cherished. She wanted to feel like what she knew she was—a whore who’d stolen another woman’s wife. He might as well treat her like one.

 She had a faint understanding that she was drunk and didn’t really believe any of those things. Deep down, she knew he loved her, and she loved him. That they both deserved to be happy. That they were in it for the long haul. That she would marry him someday and be his partner. That he would support her and she him as they made decisions that would build a life together. She knew all that, but she still fell down the hole of self-loathing as he fucked her, tugged on her hair, and spanked her so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

 When he finally forced her to straddle him, her arms still tied behind her, she could feel his cock swell inside her as the beads kept her plugged. His movements became erratic, and he pulled them free just as he climaxed. She screamed at the sensation and spurted. It hurt at the same time it felt absolutely amazing. She floated for what felt like hours before returning to his bed where they lay in rumpled sheets.

 “My arms are asleep.”

 “I’ll untie you as soon as I can move.”

 She didn’t have the energy to answer, so she nodded against his chest. She drifted in and out a few times before she felt him tug on her wrists and free her. He kissed her on the forehead as he picked her up and deposited her on the couch where he covered her with a blanket. She slept as he puttered in the other room and only woke when he asked her if she was ready to go to bed. Too exhausted to move, she grunted.

 Katniss woke the next morning with a roiling stomach. She realized she’d fallen asleep the night before without eating dinner and sodden with alcohol. Maybe that’s why it felt like the room was moving around her as she tried to sit upright. When Peeta rolled over, Katniss fought a wave of nausea and bolted for the bathroom. She emptied her stomach and then stumbled into the shower to rinse herself. When she fell back into bed with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Peeta stirred and stroked her cheek.

 “Morning, honey,” he mumbled into the pillow.

 “I think I need to call into work today,” she answered, and he peeked one eye open to look at her.

 “Sick?” When she nodded, he asked, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

 “Nah. I’ll be fine. I just need to make it home.”

 “You can stay here, you know.”

 She sank into the mattress while he got dressed for work, but she got out of bed as soon as he’d kissed her on the forehead and left. She didn’t think she could make the short walk home, so she hailed a cab and sighed in relief when she arrived at her place. Exhausted, she spent the day on the couch watching TV and napping in between messages from Peeta.

 By the time he left work, she felt fine, but Katniss still told him not to come over. She didn’t have the energy for sex, and she had a nagging feeling that wouldn’t leave her alone. She needed time to think without him distracting her.

 She was exhausted, achy, and a little unsteady. That didn’t get better before she went to bed, and she woke the next morning with an uneasy feeling. She stumbled to the bathroom and started to brush her teeth before gagging and doubling over the toilet. Retching, she prayed for relief. When it finally came, she dragged herself back to bed and called into work for the second day in a row.

 She slept throughout the day, ignoring texts from both Peeta and her sister. It was mid-afternoon when she woke from a nightmare and bolted for the bathroom again. She was on her knees when a sickening knowledge came over her.

 She was late—over a month late—and she hadn’t even realized it.

 “No, no, no, no, no,” she moaned and pounded the wall. “I can’t be pregnant. I can’t be.”

 But somehow, she knew she was. She’d missed her last period, and she could feel changes in her body that she hadn’t let herself recognize over the past few weeks. Her breasts were tender and heavy (and a little larger, if she’d allow herself to believe it); she was tired all the time; she was more emotional than normal. The early signs were there, and it wasn’t as if they’d been particularly careful since his divorce was finalized. No condoms, she’d missed a few pills, and they’d been going at it like bunnies with no consideration of pulling out or worrying about her ovulation cycle.

 She swore for several minutes, furious at herself for not realizing sooner what had happened and scared out of her mind at what the consequences could be. Would Peeta still want to be with her if she dropped this bombshell on him? Was he ready to be saddled with a wife and child again when he’d just gotten out of a miserable marriage and was still learning how to be a father to a child he didn’t live with anymore?

 Before she could panic any more than she already was, she grabbed her phone and opened the app for a home delivery service. She added toilet paper, milk, shampoo, eggs, and a home pregnancy kit before pressing the order button. Terrified, she showered and dressed before sitting on the couch and rocking back and forth until her doorbell rang.

 “Katniss?” the delivery guy asked her when she opened the door.

 She nodded and took the bags gratefully. He didn’t ask questions or comment on her agitated state, so she tipped him on the app and sent a silent prayer of thanks for bringing her what she needed to confirm her suspicions.

 A few minutes later, she looked at the wand and the plus sign that stared back at her.

 “Fucking fuck,” she gasped and promptly began to sob.

 She couldn’t stop. A lifetime passed as she bawled so hard she didn’t hear the door open or see Peeta when he peeked around the doorjamb and found her curled in a fetal position on the tiled floor of her bathroom.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked tenderly as he sank onto the floor and pulled her into his lap. “Sweetheart, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

 Katniss shook her head and trembled against him, unable to speak and terrified to open her hands and reveal what only she knew at this point.

 “Are you okay?” he asked as he ran his hands over her, desperate to figure out what had caused her behavior.

 “I-I’m so sorry,” she wailed, and he shushed her and held her against him tighter. “I’m so, so sorry, Peeta.”

 “What’s going on, Katniss? Tell me,” he begged. “Please.”

 Still unable to speak, she pulled back from him and surveyed him with watery eyes. Still holding his gaze, she uncurled her fingers and exposed her secret to the man she loved more than she knew how to say. He glanced down at her hand, and she could tell the moment he realized what was there. He froze, his face a mask of shock, and she held her breath.

 “Is that…?” She nodded, and her heart broke at his look of panic. “Holy shit!”

 “Peeta—”

 “Holy shit!”

 “Peeta…”

 He stared at her for several seconds, and she tried to come to grips with the horror of him walking out on her, of raising this child on her own, of knowing she’d almost had everything she ever wanted before losing it all.

 “You’re pregnant?” he asked, his voice choked with an emotion Katniss couldn’t quite recognize.

 She tried to answer, but a sob ripped through her. She stared at him helplessly. She’d always rolled her eyes at the word “beseeching” in stories, but now she understood. Because she was. Desperately beseeching him to stay with her.

 The silence stretched between them until finally he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. She shifted against him, and he tugged her against his chest.

 “Marry me,” he whispered. Her ears buzzed, but he repeated it again. “Marry me.”

 “Wh-what?”

 “Marry me,” he gasped. “We need to get married.”

 She whipped back and glared at him. “We need to get married?”

 “Yes! As soon as possible,” he sputtered and said it again. “Marry me!”

 Fury flooded her, and she scrambled to her feet. She glared at him on the floor in her bathroom and sneered, “How terribly romantic. A proposal to your knocked-up mistress next to the shitter. Except it’s not really a proposal, is it? You didn’t ask. You told me that’s what I need to do. Marry you right now. Should I call a minister and have him perform the ceremony right here? How about I wear the shower curtain as my wedding dress?”

 “Huh?” He didn’t seem to understand why she was so angry. He sat on the floor, completely flabbergasted as she railed against him, and she saw red.

 “Don’t you dare propose to me out of pity, you jackass,” she spat and stormed into the living room. When he followed her, she crossed to the door and opened it. “Out.”

 “Katniss—”

 “Get. Out.” Her words were clipped, but Peeta stood his ground.

 “I’m not going anywhere!” he yelled. “You’re having my baby! I want to marry you. I probably said it all wrong in there, but holy fucking shit, Katniss! You’re pregnant!”

 It took several moments for her to realize he was grinning at her. He wasn’t mad; he wasn’t upset; he was happy. She held her breath for a few seconds and then shut the door. She stumbled into his arms and collapsed against him.

 “Marry me,” he murmured against her hair.

 “Are you sure?”

 “Hell yes!”

 She buried her face in his neck and nodded. Too overcome with emotion, she couldn’t verbalize her agreement. He lifted her face to his and kissed her softly, reassuring her with his lips. They spent the rest of the evening wrapped together on the couch; talking through the next steps, making love, and planning their future.

 “I don’t want a big wedding.”

 “Sweetheart, I really think we should—”

 “Peeta, I said I don’t want a big wedding.”

 He tucked a loose curl behind her ear and kissed her temple. “I hear you, hon. I really do. I just worry you’re going to regret it later. You deserve a day celebrating you. Us. What we are together.”

 She thought about it for a several seconds, but she knew she had to stand her ground. “I want to marry you and have this baby. I don’t need a huge party. In fact, I don’t want one. I don’t want people looking at me and wondering about…stuff. I don’t want people looking at me at all.”

 “It’s not about people looking at you. It’s about us showing how much we love each other to our family and friends.”

 She stared into his eyes. The deep blue comforted her, and she smiled gently at him. He searched her face and returned the smile before leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

 “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it,” she insisted. “I just want to have a regular life with you.”

 Peeta started to speak, but he shook his head and shrugged. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not sure how I’m going to break that to my family. I guess you should meet them.”

 “Uh…”

 “God, that’s not what I meant,” he apologized. “I’m sorry. Of course, you should meet them, and it doesn’t matter what they say about us. They don’t even have to be at the wedding if you don’t want them there.”

 “And Madge,” she murmured. “At some point I’m going to need to meet her too, aren’t I?”

 He shifted uncomfortably but nodded seriously. “You should probably meet her, yes. That’s gonna be... Shit, that’s going to be awkward.”

 “I don’t exactly expect her to turn into my BFF or anything, Peeta, but I’m going to have her child’s half-sibling.”

 “Elam,” he muttered. “Elam’s going to have a brother or sister. I’m going to be a dad again. We’re having a baby.”

 Katniss grinned so widely, she feared she’d split her face. “I’d say something really cheesy here, but I’m exhausted.”

 “Do you want me to stay?”

 She intertwined her fingers with his and covered her stomach with their hands. Emotion overwhelmed her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

 “Understandable.”

 Peeta kissed her goodnight and left her alone to process. In the span of a few hours, she’d become a mother and an engaged woman. It was a lot to consider.

 The apartment grew dark around her, and she heard her sister’s question echo in the stillness.

Are you ever going to be able to trust him?

“I’ll call her in the morning,” Katniss muttered to herself and walked down the hall to her bedroom. She wasn’t used to sleeping alone, and multiple nights in a row alone made her slightly uneasy. A little bit of her loved having the entire mattress to herself, though, and she snuggled under the comforter and into her pillows.

 The next morning, she swallowed several times and gave thanks it was Saturday. She didn’t have to go to work, and she didn’t feel completely nauseous. Resting her hand on her stomach, she shivered thinking about what was hiding there that only she and Peeta knew. It was delicious to have a secret that wasn’t as taboo as their affair, but she knew she didn’t want to keep it quiet too much longer. She wasn’t going to tell the world until they were further along, but she did want to her sister to know.

  “Hey, Prim.”

 “Hey, big sister! How are you?”

 Katniss sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly through her nose. “I have some news. It’s big.”

 “What’s going on? Are you okay? Tell me.” Prim was well on her way to hysteria before Katniss could speak.

 “I’m fine, Little Duck,” she assured her younger sister, using a nickname from their childhood. “Things are fine. Better than fine, actually. Primmy, I’m— Peeta and I are going to have a baby.”

 Silence greeted her announcement, and Katniss held her breath as her sister processed the news. Prim’s quietness stretched for almost a minute before Katniss cleared her throat and prodded a response.

 “Con-congratulations, Katniss,” Prim stammered. “That’s great news.”

 “You sound less than thrilled.”

 “No!” Prim shouted, and Katniss pulled her phone back from her ear. “I’m sorry, Katniss. That’s not…that’s not what I meant at all. Of course, I’m happy for you. I mean, I’m assuming you’re happy about it, and I’m happy for you, too. Also. Totally happy for you.”

 “We’re getting married.”

 Prim released a rush of air and started babbling. “You’re getting married? He’s divorced? You’re having a baby? Oh my god! This is a lot of information to process at once.”

 Swallowing her disappointment, Katniss allowed her sister to process. She’d been doing that for a while, and she still didn’t feel like she had a grip on the situation. Still, she could have used a little more enthusiasm from the one person she thought would understand how deeply she loved Peeta and how long she’d waited to be with him.

 “I know it’s a lot,” she admitted.

 “Oh, honey… I’m so happy for you. I am.”

 “But?”

 “But…”

 Katniss heard it echo across the phone line. Are you ever going to be able to trust him?

 “I trust him, Prim. I trust him. I have to.”

 Katniss hugged a pillow to her chest and waited for the ache in her throat to dissipate. She craved her sister’s approval, but she understood why that was hard for Prim to give. She understood, but she still wanted someone to be happy for her so badly it made her heart hurt.

 “I am happy for you,” Prim finally offered, and Katniss closed her eyes against a wave of emotion.

 “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for supporting this. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

 “Oh, I know,” Prim insisted. “By the way, you have to tell Mom. I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

 Katniss cringed at the thought of trying to explain her situation to her mother. “Does she really need to know?”

 “That she’s going to be a grandmother again? Uh, yeah. I think maybe that would be something you should share with her.”

 “But, really?”

 “Katniss Everdeen! Shame on you.”

 Katniss sighed loudly, but her lips twitched as she tried not to laugh. She hadn’t thought about how to tell her mother about the baby or Peeta until Prim mentioned it. They barely talked, and she knew her mother wouldn’t be thrilled to learn how her relationship with Peeta began. Her mom hated stories of infidelity—especially after rumors about her own husband surfaced following his accidental death. No one had proven anything, but gossip haunted the family for months during their grief after the accident.

 “Well, it’s not like I’ve been an angel lately or anything,” she said wryly. “I won’t be surprised at all if Mom is ashamed of me. I’m still ashamed of myself.”

 “You’ve got to let this go at some point. You’ve beaten yourself up for years over this, and you’re still together. This may not have started how you wanted it or developed the way you hoped it would, but you two are committed to each other now.”

 “How hard was that for you to say?”

 Prim laughed without humor. “Harder than natural childbirth,” she admitted. “I just hope things are easier for you now that you’re engaged and pregnant. I hope you can finally be happy.”

 “Maybe we can.”

 Silence stretched between them again, and Katniss closed her eyes as she enjoyed their connection. She missed her family, she realized, especially her sister. Her engagement and pregnancy were both special for many reasons, but they were the steps to finally give her what she’d been missing since her father died—a family of her own.

 “I love you, big sister, but I have to go,” Prim said softly into the phone. “I’ll call you next week, if that’s okay.”

 “Love you too, Primmy. Thanks for listening.”

 Katniss sat for several minutes with the phone in her hand after they disconnected, and it was only a knock on the door that roused her from her stupor. She grabbed a robe and tied it around her waist as she hurried to the front door.

 “Who in the world?” she muttered as the knocking intensified. She opened the door to find a stunning blonde with crystal blue eyes. “Can I help you?”

 “Katniss Everdeen?” the stranger said coolly. “I’m Madge. Madge Mellark. Peeta’s ex-wife.”

Dissever My Soul From Yours (part 2)

Written by: @alliswell21

Rated: Mature  *Smut Ahead*

Warnings: Modern AU; Age Gap; Mourning; Grief Stages; Hurt and Comfort; Angst; Brief Description Of Domestic Abuse; Implied Past Child Abuse; Smut; Guilt; Canon Typical Anger Issues; Fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. All mistakes are mine.

Synopsis: Losing a loved one is hard enough, losing a child is torture. Peeta Mellark struggles to move on from the loss of his son, so he clings to the last piece of him left alive, his son’s girlfriend. Based on Prompt 106: Katniss is Rye’s girlfriend when he dies. Katniss and Peeta (Rye’s father) start to hang out to go through their grief together. [submitted by Anonymous]

Acknowledgements: Thank you Anon for this prompt, I wish I knew who you were to dedicate it to you, but I guess this way the story simple belongs to the universe :) Also thank you @kleeklutch for reading this through and helping me get my ideas straight… I truly loved your insights! lastly, thank you Everlark Fic Exchange from bring us all together! 

Other Notes: Excerpt of the lyrics to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman (Toy Story, 1995)

Excerpts and rewordings for the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe; featuring the poem “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

This fic got away from me. I had outlined it to be around 8-10K words, but this monstrosity grew up to be close to 32K… this is the second part, and when I post the story to AO3 there will be an epilogue. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I press the call button, but chicken out after the first ring and hang up tossing the phone on the couch next to me and putting a cushion on top of it for good measure.

  My childish fix doesn’t help one bit. The phone rings under the cushion all the same, because stupid smartphones are snitches. I miss the 80’s when the most technologically advanced phone was a wireless wall unit.

  “Hello?” I answer, pretending to yawn. I’m not sure what does that help.

  “Hey! Were you trying to call me?” She asks.

  There’s something about hearing her voice that makes my heart stutter. Suddenly I want to see her. Badly.

  “Rye’s headstone is ready.”

  There’s a pause on the other side of the line.

  “I’m coming over.” She says determinedly.

  I hear some shuffling, her breathing pattern fluctuating while she does who-knows-what. Then she asks if I need anything, if I’m okay. But I only make some nonverbal noises. I just want her here. I’m about to tell her I’m going to put the phone down, we can talk when she comes, but I hear the unmistakable turn of a key in my front door, and when I look up, there she is, walking into my apartment.

  Her hair is down, I’ve only ever seen it down a handful of times, but it’s the first time I feel the urge to run my fingers through it’s length. Pull on it a little. See what sounds she’ll produce if I do so.

  My groin area grows warm and tight, and for a moment I lose myself in this devious reaction to her, a primitive hunger unfurling in my core, all consuming and blinding to the rest of the world. I hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing but the scent of her. I watch her with sicken glee as she hurries towards me. I twitch excitedly when she drops in the couch next to me, willing her to just come closer.

  Yes pretty girl, come closer, put your sweet little arms around me, so I can… so I can… so I can…

  The scary voice of the mutt inside me gets fainter the longer I repeat the the last three words.

  So I can… Do what?

  So I can do what?

  “Peeta!” She squeezes my hand, breaking the cursed spell.

  I tear my hand out of hers as if her finger had burned my skin. She retracts her hand and her face turns scarlet in embarrassment, but when my eyes can’t focus on anything, her gaze fills with concern.

  “Hey, where did you go just now? Are you okay? I’m here.” She tells me soothingly, chancing a pass of her hand over my shoulder.

  I have the feeling she’s been trying to get me out of it for a while. I wish I could tell her I’m fine, but the truth is that I’m shaky.

  I don’t know what exactly just came over me. I felt like the wolf, disguised and salivating for Red Riding Hood’s tender flesh. I feel predatory. Dirty. Despicable.

  I start crying. It’s all I can do to release this darkness inside.

  I’m furious with myself when she mistakes my odd behavior as grief, and pulls me down to lay my head on her lap as the rest of my body curls into itself, because I should ask her to leave, I should tell her I may turn into a beast and devour her whole, but I refuse to deprive myself from her touch; because I’m selfish, because I’m disturbed in the head, because I’m a fucked up, lonely failure in love with his son’s girl.

  Somewhere deep down, I’ve always knew I a was goner, and I hate myself for being weak, perverted and a bad father. The worst part, I can’t make myself want to stop falling for her.

  ——-

  Rye’s headstone gets placed on his grave on a Thursday morning.

  It’s cold and windy out, though the sun is shining. I’m surprisingly calm through the whole event. It just feels like it’s the end of the story. He’s gone then, for real. Nothing will bring him back and his name glaring at me in that fucking rock is the proof.

  My father is bawling though. My mother can’t even look at the stone, it’s as if it hurts her, just glancing at it.

  The cynical part of me rejoices that finally something happened to force her show she actually gives a damn. The vindictive side of me wants to scream at her, that she’s a hypocritical bitch, she tossed me out on my ass when I told her I was raising the baby on my own.

  “If you think you’re big enough to ruin your life, then you must be big enough to be on your own.” Those words will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life.

  At the end, after everything was said and done, it turns out my mother loved Rye, doted on him even. Grandbabies have that effect on people. They make the most unfeeling individuals softer, loving, sweet. I’ll never know what that feels like, loving your child’s child. My hopes for grandchildren are buried with Rye.

  As if in autopilot, my eyes find Katniss and I stare at her, scanning her navy blue peacoat clad form from head to toe. Beautifully sculpted legs asides, I stop on her middle and stare where my grand babies should’ve bloom and be given life.

  She’s free to find someone else to fill her belly with children. Though she says she doesn’t want them, I’ve seen her interacting with my nephews, she’s amazing with kids.

  A possessive thought sinks it’s claws in my mind. Her womb should be filled with Mellarks, not some faceless schmuck threatening my legacy. But Rye’s is really dead, who’s stopping her from falling in love with someone else, marrying them, have children… be happy with a family of her own, where I have no place in.

  Now I’m angry at Rye for dying.

  He left me alone. He took my potential family with him into his grave.

  Katniss wanders off after paying her respects to Rye. Her mother and sister trail after her like a family of ducklings.

  When the three of them are together, is clear to see who the head of the Everdeen household really is.

  Prim came to the cemetery with two small bouquets. One she placed against the shiny, new headstone of one Rye Joshua Mellark, the other, I see her place in a vial on the mausoleum where ashes are put to rest.

  Something tells me that if I came snooping around, I’d catch a glimpse of Mr. Everdeen’s last resting place.

  “Bread Boy, when are you heading home?” Jo startles me, when she sidles closer on my left.

  I turn to look at her, but she’s staring at the Everdeen’s in the distance.

  “As soon as she’s done,” I gesture to the Everdeens vaguely.

  Jo frowns, so as way of plantation I inform her, “She came here with me.”

  Jo gives me a disapproving stare that I ignore. After a while she simply sighs. “That was ballsy of you. Stealing and rewording Annabel Lee.” She says in reference to a line I commissioned to be etched at the bottom of the headstone.

  She entones,

“Wingèd seraphs of Heaven   Coveted him. And this was the reason that,   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Navy seaman”

  I glare at her for a moment.

  “I thought Rye hated Poe.” She adds flicking her fingernails, and old habit of hers. It means she’s holding back.

  “He still knew it by heart.” I deadpan.

  “Because it was your favorite! You used to bored him to tears with it. How come you’re still trying to shove it down the poor kid’s throat?”

  All gloves are off now.

  “Because of her!” I point in the direction of Katniss, hissing and whispering harshly. “She loves Poe! and then he did too! I just didn’t know it until the wake. Then, she shows me some of his letters; he wrote the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read, and he was fucking amazing, Jo, the kid had a natural talent with words we never knew!” I’m so angry at Rye.

  I’m also jealous. I feel like he hid something we could’ve have in common, bond over probably, and shared it with someone else instead. I feel he kept part of him from me, and that just hurts deeply.

  I paw off an angry tear from my eye, “He credited me for his love of dark poetry.” I say bitterly. “Apparently, lying to his girlfriend about how he adored her favorite author, instead of telling her he felt indifferent about it, was what got him into her pants. I don’t know, Johanna. It was Katniss’ idea, to include Annabel Lee since it was Rye’s favorite poem according to her.”

  Johanna’s face remains hard the whole while.

  “Did it occurred to you, that maybe your son did like your pal Eddie after all? Obviously he was into emo chicks I find hard to swallow. And since when did he have to show you his love poems? You were his dad! He loved you, but he was his own person too, Peeta.” She starts to walk away from me.

  “Tell me when get your head out of your ass. I’ll be here waiting with tequila, seeing as you refuse to listen to me.” She tosses over her shoulder heading towards my dad and brothers.

  I’m mad at her too!

  On the ride back home, we’re both quiet. Our hands kept brushing against the other over the center console the entire ride.

  We stop at a restaurant, because we are not ready to go back home to face our new reality after Rye.

  My hands keeps finding her waist, the small of her back, the end of her braid. She seems content with my proximity, leaning into me, holding on to my arm when we walk, and when we’re finally seated, the touches just get bolder. At one point, my forearm rests on her knee while we play thumb war on the table with our free hands.

  The waiter wishes us to enjoy the rest of our date, and she smiles brightly at him and thanks him. We hold hands the rest of our meal, all the way to the car and all the way up to my place. She spends the night in the spare room Jo hasn’t stayed in in 7 weeks. I’ve been counting.

  We change out of our nice clothes, I miss seeing her in a dress and heels, but I like her in her yoga pants more. I’m in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt with my socks clad feet on the coffee table, watching Impractical Jokers.

  She plops sideways next me, so her whole back is resting on my right side from our hips up. My arm goes around her automatically. This closeness feels natural, right, comfortable. Domestic.

  She’s reading some book, only glancing at the tv when I’m laughing very hard. During a commercial break, she asks if I’d like a drink or a snack. I’m not used to anyone catering to me this way, but she kisses my cheek, patting my chest, and all I do is nod.

  She comes back with a bottle of Mike’s and a bowl of popcorn, the resumes her place up against my body.

  “What about you?” I ask curiously.

  “What about me?” She questions not looking up from her book, twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.

  “You don’t want a snack?” I ask her, squeezing her side a little.

  She makes a face, “We’re sharing!” She looks at me with a ‘duh’ expression that simply shuts me up.

  I chuckle a little, and pull on her braid wanting to be playful, “Why do girls sit like that all the time?”

  “Like what?” She turns her head to look at me.

  “Crisscrossed applesauce.” I point at her legs. “It doesn’t matter where you guys sit, your legs always go like a pretzel under yourselves.”

  She looks at me under her lashes for a second, and shrugs.

  “Is comfortable.”

  “How? I’ve seen girls sit on the bakery chairs that way. It looks painful as hell.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you, Peeta. I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Yeah, but… isn’t it weird that every. Single. Girl does it? Hell, Jo sits that way!”

  “Then why do you ask Johanna about it?” She snaps aggravated.

  Well, I didn’t expect this vipery response. Girls do this regarding other girls too. They get catty.

  She goes back to her book moodily. I simply hug her. Rye’s mom used to have this same reaction to Jo. A hug usually mollified her, and as Katniss starts to relax in my embrace, I think I’ve succeeded, so I also go back to watch the tv.

  “Why does Johanna hate me?” She asks casually after a while.

  I turn the volume of my show down, though her nose is firmly planted in the book I realize with a jolt is one from the box I gave her a few months ago. Girls also like to seem casual about things that truly bother them. I remember that from Rye’s mom.

  “She doesn’t hate you.” I say softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s a strong word.”

  “Could’ve fool me.” She says under her breath.

  She doesn’t say anything further, and I wait a minute longer just in case, but I go back to my show since she’s yet to stop reading.

  Ten minutes later, she adds. “I don’t like her either. So I guess we’re even.”

  The truth is that neither has to like the other. I like them both and that’s what matters, but I know for a fact that saying that will just make her angry enough to leave, and I don’t want her to leave, so I keep my mouth shut.

  She leans her head on my shoulder a few minutes later, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on the top of her head and rest my cheek on it.

  “How come you didn’t tell me this were all your books? I was bound to figure it out at some point. You’ve scribble on most of the margins. Which isn’t entirely kosher, you know. You’re defacing the books.”

  I chuckle, dropping another kiss to the crown of her head, “It wasn’t important. Sorry if my notes bothered you.”

  “I wasn’t bothered. I’m just telling you that other people would find that off putting.” She snuggles into me.

  She doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then she speaks quietly.

  “Rye told me once he felt like you were more involved in our relationship than he was. He was joking of course, but he said that he didn’t mind it as long as we kept the geeky to ourselves when he was around.” She closes the book and lowers it to her lap, her face finds the crook of my neck, but she doesn’t stay there long.

  She sits up. “You know what I thought about today?”

  I shake my head, my hand still resting on her hip, willingly her to sit back as she was.

  “I thought, that now that he’s officially gone, we don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”

  She turns to face me, her eyes are filling with tears.

  “Does that make me a bad person?”

  She doesn’t let me answer. She’s up and inside the spare bedroom in the blink of an eye. She cries the rest of the night, locked behind the door. I just sit on the floor with my back on her wall and let her say her final goodbyes.

  ———

  It’s May 8th, Katniss’ 22 birthday, and she warned me to not even think of congratulating her. She’s going to see her sister and mother this weekend, back home in Panem, but today I took the day off and left the shop in my store manager, Rue’s, capable hands.

  Rue and Katniss met a couple of years ago at the bakery and hit it off despite there being a few years age gap. They speak a language of their own those two, and though I knew of Katniss’ birthday because of Rye, it’s Rue who insists I do something low key for her.

  At 6:15 I rap on her door, and rock on the ball of my feet holding a tiny bouquet of wild onions and katniss blooms behind my back.

She scowls at me as soon as she opens the door.

  “Wipe that silly grin off your face, Peeta. I’m warning you, I don’t do birthdays.”

  “Come on!” I cajole stepping into her apartment when she stomps back in. “You don’t even know what I’m here for!”

  She just glares at me, and I smile widens. I stick the flowers and inch from her nose, unable to say any of the words I had practiced on my way down to her floor.

  Instead, I just say, “I’m taking you up!”

  She’s staring at my flowers, still not taking them from my hand, but her eyes are as big as silver dollars.

  “Where did you get these?” She asks in awe caressing a petal of a katniss flower.

  “Garden on the roof,” I say nonchalantly.

  “What? That’s impossible!”

  “Not really. There’s a bunch of the things up there. If you wanna see it, then put on some shoes and I’ll show you.” I tell her easily.

  “I’m in my pajamas!” She protests.

  “So? I think you look cute. Plus nobody goes up there anyway.”

  We’re out her door and in the elevator in a heartbeat. She’s exuding excitement and it’s contagious. When we step in the 13th floor, there’s a flight of stairs we have to climb and then we’re on the roof of the building.

  Her mouth drops open in astonishment when she sees the sea of wild flowers all over planters in every inch of the roof, and in the very middle, there’s a picnic set up.

  “Where did all this come from?” She whispers out softly. Her hand gliding over the cheerful blooms closest to her.

  “Well, technically, they all came from Panem!” I say simply.

  “How?” She faces me demanding my answers.

  “I had your sister’s boyfriend find them for a fee, and then I just transplanted them here.” I say trying to shove down the ever increasing anxiety I’m feeling. “The duck potatoes were the hardest ones to get to take… you can recreate their habitat without water.”

  Her eyes snap to me dangerously. “What kind of fee did you pay?”

  “Monetary kind.”

  “How big of a fee? Because these plants are basically weeds in the woods back home, and if Rory dared to rip you off—“

  “Katniss! Can you for once, just enjoy something nice some has done for you? let someone else worry about costs and such for once.”

  Her eyes soften. “You didn’t have to go through this trouble,” she gestures around us.

  “Just say you like the flowers, and that you’re hungry, and we’re even,” I smile at her.

  She smiles back, albeit reluctantly and nods.

  We’re both wearing crowns of dandelions she weaved for us, dipping cheese buns in hot chocolate, when she asks seriously, “How did you come up with this idea?”

  “You said you wanted to go home. And I know you’re going to say you’ll be in Panem Friday evening, but when you talked about your favorite birthday being out in the woods with your father, gathering wild onions, and katniss tubers, and mint leaves… I wanted you have that memory back, but I’m not your father, I’ve never set foot in woods in my life. I know how to tend a garden, and I figured the city needed more pretty wildflowers, like you.”

  “Peeta…” she sighs my name, and I swear I’ll never forget the effect that sound had over my body and soul. Her eyes search mine, imploringly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  I stare at her for a moment, the words that come of my mouth, escape without my consent.

  “You know why,”

  “I do?” Her voice is breathy, and dances away with the swift breeze.

  “You have, no idea the effect you can have…” my voice matches hers.

  I don’t think she meant to speak the words, since her lips barely move, but I heard them all the same, minute and ethereal, here a moment and gone the next, “kiss me?”

  And who am I to deny her anything?

  In the blink of an eye, I lean forward and pull her lower lip inside my mouth, I release soon after, to kiss her properly, and my hands move in to trap her face and pull her closer to me. Her hands take hold of my wrist and she just sighs contentedly against my mouth.

  In a matter of seconds, she’s migrated to my lap, and the kisses turn into a straight up makeout session. Things just escalate from there without any kind of brake. We are free falling, and neither of us cares.

  My lips and tongue seek her skin hungrily and she’s just too happy to oblige dipping her head back granting me access.

  Is an unseasonably warm evening, so we’re both wearing shorts, hers is a flimsy material that matches her tank top. I’m taking complete advantage of her skimpy sleep clothes, my hands caress the supple olive skin of her shapely legs all the way down to her ankles, then creep back to her hips.

  My lips are attached to her jaw, my tongue dances across her neck and collarbone. At some point, we ended up laying on the picnic blanket. I’m hovering above her.

  “Is this okay?” I whisper into her ear, nipping her lobe before sliding my hand into her hair to undo the braid.

  “Yes,” She sighs.

  I kiss her some more and she speaks raggedly against my lips.

  “Peeta. You make my heart race…”

  She takes my hand, and slips it flushed against herself from her hip, all the way to her chest, where her heart is indeed beating frantically. The palm of my hand is half on her breast and half over the spot where heart beats. Her tank rides up as she drags my hand up her body.

  I swipe my thumb over her nipple under the thin fabric of her shirt, and she arches her chest to meet the slight touch. I take it as permission to dip my hand under her top, and almost cry when I’m met with bare flesh. I push the tank top up and she raises her arms so I can pull it over her head. After tossing her shirt to the side I dive in to devour her perky, pretty breast.

  She digs her fingers into my hair, to keep my head in place. She didn’t need worry. I’m not going to stop sucking on her nipples any time soon.

  I’ve pinned her lower half to the ground with my hips, but I don’t dare move for fear that I’ll explode in my shorts. Katniss is making the most delicious noises I’ve ever heard, undulating her body against mine, and I have to give her something to stimulate her, so I bring a hand to her knee and let my hand travel slowly upwards and inward, as I suck and kiss her breasts non stop.

  I’m only aware of how big of a mistake touching her there is for me, when I find the cotton of her panties soaking wet and hot. She shouts as soon as my fingers find her.

  “Peeta… please…” she begs.

  So I slip one finger under her underwear, and find the glorious mess of her arousal, dripping wet and warm.

  “Fuck, Katniss… you’re soaked.”

  “Your. F-fault.” She meowls twisting under my weight.

  “My fault? Do I make you wet often?” I tease her slit unhurriedly.

  “Y-yessss. Ah… lot…”

  “When?”

  “I don’t. Knooow. All the tiiiiimeeeee?” I slide my finger inside her and her head rolls back.

  “Peeta… don’t… tease!”

  Her own slim hand snakes down our bodies, and palms the bulge in my shorts. Is too much, I pull away but she whines. She opens her glassy eyes, and stares me down until she’s wrestled my cock out of my shorts.

  Her grey eyes grow determined, she pulls my erection in her tight fist making me grunt with want. I push her panties aside, just as she positions the head of my cock at her entrance.

  “No more teasing!” She breathes out sternly.

  “Whatever you want, Katniss. Just answer me this question first,” I plead, and she nods. “Are you in love with me?” I hear the shakiness in my voice, the desperation, “I need to know.” I whisper into her ear, leaving a kiss in the shell.

  “Yeah,” she breathes out against my cheekbone. “Been for a while.”

  I picture in my head all the times I’ve caught her staring at me, blushing and smiling sweetly. I know in my heart she’s accepted her feelings and come to terms with them before now, I want to give her anything she wants, including my heart, if she asks for it on a platter!

  I press into her slowly to give her a chance to adjust to my girth. She gasps, and her clever dainty fingers curl around my shoulders tighter the deeper I go. She’s so wet and welcoming, her body offers no resistance whatsoever. Her walls envelop my erection like a fitted glove, accepting the intrusion with a warm, snug hug.

  She feels like heaven.

  Once I’m completely sheathed in her, all I can do is hold on to her hips for dear life while I wait for my lungs to breathe naturally. I’m scared I’m going to blow my load if I move, it’s agony trying to tell your body to calm the hell down when all I want is to get lost in the sensations.

  She seems to understand I need a minute, because one of her hands let’s go of my biceps, caress my face lovingly, then she kisses my jaw and nuzzles her nose on the side of my face.

  “We have all night, take me slowly.” She breathes into my ear.

  My forehead drops to the crook of her neck for a moment. It’s been so long since a woman has shown me affection, I want to soak it all up and live in her warmth forever. I kiss a path from her cheek to her mouth, and start moving slowly within her.

  Pulling almost all the way out, then plunging back in quickly, thrusting all the way to the hilt. The elastic of her panties rubbing on the side of my dick drives me insanely hard. Her hot breath hitches every time I enter her hightnenig the feeling.

  She barely makes any noises, her mouth forms a silent scream, I’m convinced I just expelled all the air out of her body when I slid in.

  I pick up my pace, when her feet lock around my calfs, thrusting faster and harder; that does it for her, and I swear is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  She moans my name over and over, her body seizing under mine, and her walls fluttering around me ushers my own release.

  I slump on top of her and she attacks my chin and neck with tight lip nips. She actually bites the collar of my t-shirt and pulls on it like a playful puppy.

  She giggles, and starts playing with a curl of hair that’s fallen on my eyes. My whole body shakes with her laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask her curiously cracking one eye open so I can look at her disheveled, beautiful, flushed face.

  Her hair falls wildly around her head like an inky halo. I love it. I love her.

  “Nothing really. I was just mentally calling myself a horny hoe… you felt so thick inside me, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait to see your hard dick properly? I was wondering if next time we could be completely naked? I could give it a lick if you think that’ll help…” she trails her short nails down my arm blinking her lashes innocently.

  Then, she purrs, “Can’t wait to give you head.” She has the fucking audacity to suck her bottom lip inside her mouth giving me a peek of her teeth and pink tongue.

  I’m rock hard and ready to go, just like that.

  She oomphs when I scramble off the ground pulling her up by the waist. I grab her top and shove it in her hands before picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, like a sack of flour. She squeals and kicks at first, but then she just giggles as I bound down the stairs, leaving behind the picnic to deal with later.

  Her shorts and panties are still askew from before. I run a finger down her messy slit and inform her, “You can have me naked and in your mouth in a minute. But I’m eating you out first, so brace yourself sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet!”

  ———

  I wake up to a rain of sweet, loving kisses peppered all over my face by luscious, warm lips.

  I try to trap her in my arms, but she’s sitting in a very weird position just out of my reach. She giggles pecking my eyelid.

  “I have a meeting with a professor in an hour. I have to go.”

  “Is he hot? Your professor?” I ask sleepily.

  She chuckles. “No. Professor Lattier is awfully smart and a great mentor, but I don’t find him attractive.”

  “I don’t like having competition… the brainiacs are the worst!” I lunge at her and drag her back into the bed as she yelps. “They always end up charming the pretty girls, at the end of the movies.”

  She turns in my arms laughing, until she’s laying across my body. Punctuated with lazy kisses on the lips, she assures me, “You. Have no. Competition. Anywhere!” She smiles down at me, “I happen to like the jock, wrestling champs, with hearts of gold type… like you!”

  “Good! Everything is right with world then.”

  We kiss again. Languidly.

  “I’ll bring take out for supper this evening?”

  “But I texted Rue that I wasn’t coming in today either, so I could stay in bed with you all day!” I pout. “Can’t you just meet with the professor real quick and come home right away?”

  She giggles again, and kisses me all over.

  “I think we need a little break to rest ourselves, don’t you?” She combs my hair back off my forehead. “You can have me all to yourself tonight, I have to finish my graduation project this week, otherwise…” She runs the palm of her hand down my bare chest with a wicked smirk. “That was some birthday gift!”

  She’s fast though. Before I can move to pin her under me again she hops off the bed and blows me a kiss from the door.

  “You minx!” I call after and her melodic laugh trails down the hall and dies when she leaves the apartment.

  I try to sit up, but every muscle in my body screams. My junk is chafing too. She’s probably right about that break; I can’t imagine how she feels. I took her in every conceivable position I know, and made her cum at least twice as many times.

  I lay back down and reminisce on last night’s events.

  It wasn’t all just mindless fucking, we had some quiet moments filled with meaningful conversations or just easy banter. Our age difference was never an issue last night, and although in the last few years I’ve gotten a bit of a flabby belly, she seemed to enjoy my body as much as I enjoyed hers.

  It was what I’ve always pictured a healthy, mature relationship would feel and look like. I can’t wait to be with her again, and I don’t mean in bed.

  I want to take her out on dates, or just sit sit somewhere quietly and sketch her. My mind gets away from me, planing future trips to Europe, because once, she mentioned how she’d love to travel but never had the means to since growing up she had to help support her sister Primrose.

  I’m not a millionaire, but I’m pretty loaded. I could take her anywhere in the world. I think we should start with London, so she can visit all the places she knows from literacy. I bet she’d get a kick out of Paddington Station. We could get a Sherlock Holmes and also a Harry Potter tour… she’s so well read, my Katniss!

  But the human mind is just as much a pitfall of despair, as it is a well of dreams and noble ideas.

  MY Katniss?

  She isn’t mine.

  She belongs to Rye.

  Guilt, shame and self loathing hits me like a ton of bricks.

  What have I done?

  The roiling in my stomach gets painful and I have to rush to the toilet to vomit.

  I get up, shower, avoid looking at myself in the mirror for fear of what I’ll find in my reflection.

  The out of the blue, I have to see.

  The white hair in my temples looks painfully obvious now that my hair is damp and a shade darker. My two day stubble is also sprinkled with the white fuckers, mocking me.

  Suddenly I’m questioning if any of her actions were real. Did she mean anything she said last night about liking me?

  Our age difference is so stark and jarring when she’s not around to muddle up my thinking process. I can’t think straight when she’s around. I’m not sure is my memories of her are real or not. Looking back, everything has a shiny quality to it, too hypened.

  After getting dressed, I pull the covers off the bed and switch them for clean ones. I febreze the entire bedroom, because it’s smells like sex with her, and I can’t deal with the emotions her scents stirs in me.

  But I’m jumpy. I need something to do, so I go through a box I haven’t dare touch since packing it back in winter. I’m not ready for this, but in the dark recesses of my mind, some nagging voice suspiciously similar to my mother’s says that I deserve punishment for being a weak creep.

  My hands tremble when I grab Rye’s duffle bag. He never got the chance to fully unpack.

  I’m a despicable piece of shit! Here I was planning some romantic trip with his girlfriend, when I never once asked him if he wanted to go somewhere. Granted, we did travel some when he was young, we visited most of the important landmarks all over the continental US, and when he graduated high school, before boot camp, we went with Jo to Hawaii for two weeks. He tried to look excited, but I knew he missed Katniss the whole time. I wish I had asked her mother permission to bring her with us.

  Could I’ve been that dad that condones their underaged children have sleepovers with their sweethearts? Did any parent in the world actually allow that?

  I gave my child the best life I could; why do I steal from him in death, is beyond me.

  The tears start falling freely as soon as I unzip the bag and I’m met with my boy’s scent. The first t-shirt I pull out of the duffle, I recognize as one he’s had since high school. I completely lose it.

  I bring the worn cotton to my nose and breathe my son in. I hug the shirt to my chest and scream in pain. I can’t go on for maybe an hour, and really I should just stop, find one of those hermetic storing bags, so every ounce of my Rye’s precious essence is preserved. But I need to atone for what I did. I can’t even think of it or call it by its name, but the ugly sensations twisting the pit of my stomach into a knot won’t let me have a reprieve, so I keep unpacking, and then I see it, rolled up into a sock, stuffed into a boot, a tiny black box.

  I don’t wanna open it, I don’t wanna know what’s inside, but what else could it be?

  And now I’m filled with full hot white rage. So much so I want to go find her, yell at her, tell her how much I hate her for what she’s doing to me, to Rye. To his memory, but I don’t, I just sit there and cry.

  ————-

  “Knock, knock!” Her voice is cheerful, carefree, innocent, and grating in my ears.

  Up until this point, I’ve only blamed myself for the betrayal of Rye. But now that I hear her, I realize she was an all too willing participant in this debacle,

going as far as inciting the events. She has a responsibility too in this mess.

  A small voice in the back of my mind tries to tell me that I’m just projecting my own guilt on her, that my anger is unwarranted, that she has no idea of what I’ve been stewing in my head all day, but I want to be angry, I want to lash out, I want her to feel as sad and hurt as Rye probably does right now!

  ‘It’s the grief talking’. “It’s the truth!” I argue with myself with low growls.

  She walks in the kitchen and the smell of fried rice attacks me, making my stomach churn uncomfortably.

  “Hi handsome!” She greets obviously to the storm brewing in my chest. “Did someone forget it was my turn making dinner?” She asks playfully when she sees me hard at work kneading some dough.

  “I didn’t forget. I just don’t want Chinese food” I say quietly.

  She had been unpacking bags but abruptly stops, I glance at her for the first time since she left this morning, and I punch the dough harder than is necessary.

  She’s so beautiful it’s gutting me out.

  The smile etched in her face slowly falls as the tension in the room mounts.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I bought all this food because I’ve been ravenous all day after last night. I could’ve gotten something else.” She chuckles nervously.

  I stop kneading, and take a beer from the fridge.

  “I think you better leave.” I say flatly, take a nice long drink from my bottle the whole time staring her down.

  “Are you… is this… did I miss something? what’s- what’s the matter?” She’s visibly stunned, there are around 10 little containers of take out sprawl on the counter, she eyes them wearily, but starts putting them back in the plastic bags she brought them in.

  I have to hold onto the back of a chair, just to feel in control of myself.

  I can see the concern in her eyes. I know her well enough to know she’s trying to tamp down her own emotions, she’s very wise that way. If she doesn’t understand something, she waits until she can see the whole picture.

  “I just… I can’t deal with y— ‘it’ right now.” I bow my head and squeeze the back of the chair until my circulation cuts.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Her voice is thin and broken.

  That’s when I scream at her.

  “You don’t think cheating on your dead boyfriend is enough wrongdoing?”

  She flinches at my outburst, frozen in place.

  “He bought you a fucking ring, you know, and you repay him by sleeping around?” I accuse her viciously.

  She’s panicking, but I don’t feel anything right now, other than shame and guilt, and she’s the cause of it. The floodgates of hell have been opened, I can’t stop the vile that comes out of my mouth, even though I know I’m being completely unfair.

  “My son hasn’t been in the ground five months and I’m fucking his girl raw! But you ask if you’ve done something wrong? You’re letting me, a man 18 years older than yourself, fuck, you who can barely rent a car legally! You should be mourning my son, not sleeping with me, that’s what’s wrong!”

  I take a lamp from the corner of the counter and throw it across the kitchen until it smashes on the wall besides her.

  She shrieks and slings herself the opposite way.

  She doesn’t move for a minute, huddle by the refrigerator. She looks terrified and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

  “I— Katniss—” I try.

  She shakes her head, extends her arm and gives me her palm to stop me, to keep distance between us. She grabs the bags of food trembling like a leaf from head to toe, muttering under her breath between choked whimpers something about the homeless around the corner, and how much they’ll appreciate a nice warm meal.

  Her face is a mess of tears and snot.

  I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms and apologize a million times, whispering in her ear that I didn’t mean it, that it’s not her fault, that I’m a jerk and a fuck-up just like my mother always told me I was.

  But I don’t move and inch. I’m not just an useless fuck-up, I’ve turned into a monster, an abusive mutt. I’ve turned into my mother.

  I’m paralyzed. My body doesn’t respond to my frantic commands, not even when she hightails out the kitchen.

  “Katniss?” I plead choking back a sob.

  But the front door slams after her.

  ———-

  It’s been a week since I scared Katniss away, and I feel like shit.

  I run into her in the lobby. She perks up, standing straighter, and I can’t help my wandering eyes.

  Her hair is loose today, and she’s got makeup on, she’s wearing slacks and a nice flowy blouse. I wonder where is she coming from, but instead of talking to her like a normal person, I ignore her.

  My eyes flit back towards her, then I board the elevator and we just stand face to face, staring at each other mutely. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and holding to her big girl purse as she calls it, for dear life. Neither of us move but eventually the elevator doors start closing.

  There’s a fraction of a second in which her eyebrows arch expectantly, like she’s giving me a chance to do something; her gaze searches my eyes, but I see the disappointment dulling down her usually sparkly eyes. She finally lets her eyes fall away. The last thing I see before the doors are shut, are her shoulders hunching.

  My eyes are stuck on the spot I last saw her, but in front of me is only my own reflection on the buffed steel surface of the elevator.

  I look even older.

  Is better this way. I have no business messing with a 22 year old. She can do so much better. She did so much better. She used to have Rye. Now she’s got no one because I took myself from the equation.

  The next day I come home to a neat pile of books on my coffee table that weren’t there when I left for work in the morning. On top of the books is a note hastily scribbled in Katniss’ loopy handwriting, and on top of the note, the spare key to my apartment she had never gotten around to return until now.

  My eyes prickle with unshed tears.

  She returned even the books she took the day of the wake.

  With a pang to the heart I pick up the note and stick it on the fridge, right on the place she had leaned her head to cry on, because I deserve to be reminded everyday of the things I’m not allowed to want, let alone have.

  ‘Alone’

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

  Edgar Allan Poe

  ———

  It’s been over three months since I last saw Katniss. Closed to 9 months since laying Rye to rest.

  Thanks to Rue I know Katniss graduated college last week. Her mother and sister were here for that, and she got a job her professor recommended her for. She didn’t even interviewed for it! It doesn’t surprise me. She’s so smart and clever, she is also such a hard worker.

  I was so proud of her, I think I smiled the whole time Rue was talking about Katniss’ accomplishments.

  “You should call her.” Rue says and my smile fades. “Whatever fall out you two had, it’s obvious you miss each other.”

  “No. I’m being realistic, she doesn’t need me holding her hostage to some loyalty to Rye. He’s dead, she’s not, she deserves to live her life.”

  “I understand you want her to move on, but so should you, Peeta. Loving someone is not a sin. But not fighting for that love… well, that’s just tragic. Don’t look at me like that, mister!” She sasses when I just stare at her in disbelief. “I’ve known how you felt for her for ages.

  “You think you’re so discreet? Well, it’s pretty much written all over your face. That lovesick puppy face you make when you say her name is a pretty obvious giveaway.”

  “What? you’re exaggerating.” I protest.

  Rue just cocks her head to the side, stares at me and says, “But, am I?”

  ———-

  I get a ping on my phone and I’m surprised to see it’s from her.

  17:55

Katniss: Hey! Can we talk?

  I delete the message. It’s taken me too long to get her out of my system to fall into this rabbit hole again.

  The next day, she calls, and I let it go to voicemail. She calls two more times and I let them ring until the phone goes silent. She leaves messages, but I don’t hear them before erasing them.

  She texts again two days later.

  18:33

Katniss: When will be an appropriate time 2 call U?

  28:34

Katniss: Or U can call me. I’m free anytime

  I ignore those too.

  Johanna finally comes to the city, once I tell her I cut Katniss completely off my life.

  She dusting a picture of Rye wearing his 8th grade quarterback uniform.

  “He hated football.” I say glancing at the picture. “He hated wrestling. He hated baseball. He hated art. He hated everything!”

  “He loved track and swimming.” Jo says smiling down at a picture of baby Rye eating a lemon wedge.

  “Two things Katniss is good at.” I grimace. I didn’t mean to say it aloud. But all comes back to her at the end.

  “Good riddance.” She breathes out. “I’m so relieved you’re not seeing her anymore.”

  My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. I feel like Johanna during Christmas all over again, when I didn’t want to go to Panem and she could understand why I wouldn’t just get over my sadness and join my brothers with all their living sons and have a merry holiday.

  “Why? What did Katniss ever do to you, Jo? What is it about her you hate so much? She’s a sweet, caring, smart, beautiful girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hostility!”

  Johanna is just staring at me weird.

  “WHAT? Goddamnit?” I yell.

  “You’re crying.” She says simply.

  I hadn’t notice. Having tears rolling down my face is so commonplace now, I don’t even feel them anymore.

  Johanna breathes deeply, gets up from her spot and gives me a hug. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t think is healthy for you to hang out together.”

  “I know that! You don’t think I know that? But is not the way you’re thinking. You think she’s gonna hurt me, when in reality I’m the one who hurt her. That’s the reason I let her go, because she needs to be protected from me.”

  Jo looks perturbed, and she doesn’t know half of it. So I fill her in on my doomed relationship with Katniss. The whole time, she just made faces, interjecting here and there, piecing the story together.

  “Peeta! Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her?” She asks anxiously and a little grossed out.

  When I don’t answer she says my name again in disappointment. “Were you at least safe?”  

  I refuse to answer and her face tells me just how bad I’ve fucked up as if I need her judging me, it takes her a while to look at me again, but she finally resolves that the next thing I need to do is have hot date, expensive food, and a good fuck with a lady more on my age bracket, and I’ll be good as new.

  I don’t want to date and fuck anybody other than Katniss, but I let Jo convince me that her remedy will work, because it’ll be like a rebound. I’m not sure about her logic, but I let her set me up in a date, for the next weekend.

  On Saturday night, I open my front door, and jump back startled, when I find Katniss with her knuckles poised to rap on my door.

  I frown. She’s persistent.

  And as pretty as ever, if a bit fuller looking. Johanna would have a field day talking about how round and rosy Katniss’ cheeks are.

  She’s startled too, but undeterred.

  “Hi, Peeta!” She says shyly, “Um, do you have a minute? I’ve been wanting to talk to you. It’s kind of important—“

  “Sorry, I’m late for a date.” I say stepping out of the apartment and locking the door.

  “Oh?” Her eyes flit away, I see the pain in her face, and it sucks.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime next week.”

  “Mmm, m-my lease is up actually. I’m moving back to Panem in a few days. But I have to t—“

  My phone rings, and it’s my date.

  “Sorry, I have to take this… I’ll try and catch you up?” I walk away, and see the agitation in Katniss’ gray eyes.

  “I just need a minute, just a minute,” She practically begs. But then holds back, standing in the middle of the hallway.

  I answer the call and my date tells me she’s 10 minutes away from the restaurant, so I hurry away to the elevator. When I turn around Katniss is still standing there, dejected.

  It strikes me as odd. Her eyes are always so sparkly, even during Rye’s funeral her eyes sparkled, but right now they look dull and sad.

  I’ve just walked away from the girl I once sworn didn’t want to lose. And a conflict unfolds inside me, on the one hand Rue’s telling me to fight for her, on the other, Jo keeps telling me I’m better off without her.

  Who I’m I gonna listen in the end?

  ———-

  I’m pissing drunk. I can barely hold myself up, but I do my best, until I’m in front of the door I’m looking for through slitted eyes.

  I pound on the door as savagely as the coordination of a man with this level of intoxication can muster.

  And then I start slurring loudly.

  “Kantiss! You cock-blocking, cock-blocker!

  “Kantsissss. You win goddamnit!

  “I miss you!

  “Hell, I’m fucking in love with you!

  “Kat-niiiiith!”

  I pound on the door again, “I’m yours! And I’m sorry I’ve been such a… mmm… Kat—” I slip a little.

  When I get up, I start just chanting her name.

  “Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,”

  A door two apartments down the hall flies open, revealing a bewildered Katniss in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. I sigh like a schoolboy when I see her stalk me, looking positively angry.

  “Heeeey, purty thang!” I smile dreamily at her.

  “What the hell are you doing, Peeta? You’re gonna get us in trouble!” She pulls me away from the door I’ve been hollering at.

  “Wait!” I exclaim alarmed. “Where we going? I been knockin’, and callin’ and tellin’ ya shit… you-you came out of the wrong door!” I look back at the door but still go willingly after her when she tugs on my hand.

  “Uh, sorry to break to you, Peeta, but you were about blast down the wrong door.”

  “Na-uh! You live in D12!” I inform her proud of myself.

  She glares at me. “I know! It’s been my address for a few years now. But you were screaming at D10, you’re lucky Dalton is out of town.” We are about to cross under her threshold, but she turns around sharply. “Did you drive here? How did you get home?”

  “I drove myself silly! But first I stopped at the vodka store, because you can’t get smashed without vodka!”

  “So you did this to yourself intentionally,” She rolls her eyes and pulls me inside her apartment.

  “Duuude! This is exactly like your old place! Look it, it even has the same stain of pasgetti I left on the carpet!”

  She huffs. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

  “Are we gonna… do… IT?” I whisper the last two words as if I’m saying something naughty.

  She shuffles me inside the bathroom, and frowns a little with her fists on her hips. Without turning to look at me she says in a no nonsense voice, “We are not gonna have sex, Peeta.”

  “Whyyyy?” I whine. “You’re hotter than a hapaleño! Wait, that ain’t right… ñalapeño, haranero?”

  “It’s either habanero or jalapeño. Sit down here and take off your shoes and socks.”

  “Yeah! That’s it! hañavero!” I smile goofily, doing as she commanded.

  I’m not very coordinated so she has to help, and once my feet are bare, I wiggle my toes at her.

  She bats my foot away before gesturing with her hand. “Shirt.”

  I raise my arms so she can pull of my shirt off, but it’s a button up, so she has to undo the top three buttons before pulling it over my head.

  “You didn’t tell me why you won’t let me do you?”

  ”Pants and underwear off. We’re not having sex because I’m angry at you, Peeta. Plus, you’re skunked and smell horrible.”

  “I love you!” I tell her.

  This makes her stop for a second to glare at me, before continuing.

  “I love you too. Even though you’re a jackass.” She deadpans. “Sit tight for a second, I’m gonna get the water.”

  She takes her own close off real quick and we get into the steaming shower together. She washes my body as if I was a toddler. She even bats my hands away sternly when I try to touch her breasts.

  “You have amazing boobs! I think I’m in love with your boobs.”

  “I know. Turn around and rinse off.”

  Once she declares us cleaned, she gives me a towel and I do a mediocre job drying myself. I follow her to bed. We climb naked under the covers, I’m so tired I don’t even try anything funny.

  “Marry me, Katniss. We should get married,” I stare into her face, while she settles next to me.

  She combs my hair softly, not quite smiling.

  “Ask me again when you’re sober.”

  “Willyousayyes?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hey, Katniss, have I ever tell you about Lavinia?” She shakes her head. “She has auburn hair and dark green eyes that you’d think are emeralds. She was the first girl I fucked. We fucked like bunnies. In the car, in the movie theatre, in the public library bathroom, in her folks bed, in my dad’s bakery closet. You name it, we’ve fuck there. I knocked her up. She wanted to have an abortion, I told her I’d support anything she wanted, because I was scared shitless.

  “Lavinia’s daddy was a preacher. He didn’t let her have the abortion, but she didn’t want to keep the kid. So, the day Rye was born, I fell in love for the first time, ever! I felt bad I wanted Lavinia to abort him. The child was a joy to be around. So sweet, so funny and opinionated. Lavinia only met him a couple of times. She didn’t come to his funeral because she felt guilty. Her loss. My boy had a family that doted in him, and family who adored him, and a gorgeous girl to call his own, he never really miss her as a mom.

  “But that made think. Maybe, just maybe, Rye was here on borrowed time? And then I think back on all the wonderful times we had together… he was my greatest treasure, my greatest accomplishment and my greatest love. I wish I had given him siblings. I love babies, but the right woman never came along until you showed up, and I feel terrible that I’m stealing from Rye, but I went to see him tonight instead of going on that silly date. I mean, I went to the restaurant, but one small conversation with Ms. Cashmere sweater- whatever her name is- and I knew I wasn’t gonna stay long, and she didn’t regret it either.

  “But, yeah… I went to Rye’s grave, I came clean to him. I told him how I felt for you, and I asked him to forgive me. I told him, that if you’d have me, I’d try my best to honor and cherish you as much as as he did. And I would treat you with love and respect… and then, a breeze started blowing. Sweet and fragrant and warm. It felt like he gave me his blessing, which was further confirmed when I got to my kitchen and was drinking my vodka, and in my head, I heard him reciting some words, and then he said I could borrow his poem. So, here it goes:

  “— Our love it was stronger by far than the love   Of those who were older than we—   Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above   Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

Katniss Everdeen.”

  I pause and look up at her, she has tears in her cheeks, silent ones, but not angry ones.

  “Did you see what I did there?” I ask her trying to wink. I’m still pretty drunk, but this, I’ll remember in the morning.

  She smiles sadly, “Yeah. You replaced Annabel Lee’s with mine. So clever, Peeta. Just one problem, won’t mr. Poe be angry for your plagiarism?”

  “What are you? Poetry police? Nevermore!” I shout and she finally gives me a real smile.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Nevermore!”

  “Nevermore yourself!” She chuckles, “Go to sleep, you crazy man. Who goes to the graveyard at night?”

  “I had important business with my boy.” I yawn. “Hey Katniss. I won’t forget to ask you to marry me tomorrow. I remember everything about you! So think about your answer? I’d like to know what’s in your mind. I know you don’t want babies. I’m okay with just being us two. But if you ever change your mind, that’s cool too… just think about it. Say you’ll think about it,”

  I don’t hear what she says, sleep catches up with me, but I’m okay since my beautiful Katniss Everdeen is next to me. All my nightmares nowadays are about losing her.

  ———-

  “Peeta?”

  I hear her voice coming groggily from her bedroom. I would’ve answered, if I knew where my voice had gone to.

  I hear shuffling and moving in the other room, then she pads almost silently to the living area. I hear her sighing and walking again. The bathroom door opens and she screams when she turns the light on and she sees me sitting in the tub.

  I don’t turn to face her.

  I can’t.

  My eyes are fixed in the grainy, black and white picture I snatched from the fridge door this morning after getting dressed and attempting to make some very strong coffee for myself.

  I’ve been sitting in the bathtub with my knees drawn to my chest staring at this image ever since.

  Once she recuperates from the jump scare, she walks cautiously inside, lowers the toilet lid and takes a sit. She says nothing, but feel her inquisitive eyes on me.

  All I can think to say is, “Is this what you were hounding me to talk about?” I caress the glossy picture with my thumb.

  My eyes flit to her quickly.

  Her hands are neatly clasped on her lap.

  She nods slowly. “It is.” She confirms.

  “Why didn’t you say anything last night?” I ask her holding her eyes for a short moment.

  “Your were drunk as a skunk! Your head wasn’t in a very good place, and earlier when I went to see you, you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  I release a stuttering breath. She’s right, I did dismiss her without giving her the chance to say her peace, and later I just barged in here like a mad man.

  “And… You’re keeping it?” I’m trying hard to tamp down any emotions I’m feeling, which are confusing at best.

  “I am. I really want it.” Her voice is small but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “Is this why you’re going back to Panem? What happened with that job offer here in Capitol City?” I ask nervously.

  “I turned down the job. My mama said I could come back home, she’ll cut down on her hours at the hospital to help watch the baby, while I figure what to do for a job. I could apply for few positions there, it shouldn’t be that bad. And Prim…” she hesitates grimacing. “Prim will go to medical school as planned with her scholarship and grants and the small chunk of money my father had the foresight to save all those years ago.” She shrugs, “We’re gonna make it work.”

  “So… your mother knows?” I keep running my thumbs over the sonogram.

  “Of course she knows. I had to tell someone. Who better than a highly qualified nurse practitioner who’s also my mother?” There’s a hint of reproach in her tone.

  I feel like such a tool right now. “Does she know who the daddy is?” I enunciate.

  She frowns. “I didn’t have to tell her actually. She… she kinda just knew. She wasn’t even mad, just… disappointed.” She sighs.

  “Okay. And… what about me?”

  “About you? I guess is up to yourself.”

  Then before I swallow down the words, because I know it’s a terrible, terrible, terrible stupid thing to ask, my mouth runs idiotically in the worst possible question ever. “Any chance I’m gonna be a grandpa?” I grimace right away. I know this is costing me mayor points with her, and I can’t afford that as it is.

  I’m surprised she still responds.

  “I would have to be 19 months far for this child to be your grand baby, if that was even a remote possibility.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not that I have to justify this to you, but FYI, including yourself, I’ve slept with only two people my whole life, and neither is related to the other.

  “Rye and I never had sex. We never had the chance. The night he got murdered would’ve been our first time. He wasn’t concerned with sexuality, in fact, sometimes I wonder if he was asexual or something. I guess we’ll never know. Now, can you stop with the weirdness?”

  Well, this is news.

  Katniss and Rye were serious since before he was deployed. I never actively thought about Rye having sex, it’s just too strange, disturbing and gross to think about, but it actually surprises me more to hear he and Katniss weren’t physically intimate than the opposite. Too many implications that only the two of them understand.

  The way he spoke about her,  or how he looked at her like she was the sun. I know my son was smitten. I can’t imagine him not wanting her sexually.

  But I guess, you don’t have to be physical to express love for somebody. Besides the one crazy night of passion, Katniss and I have never been romantically involved, yet we had a level of intimacy I’ve never experience before, and I’m completely smitten with her.

  “Katniss, I honestly don’t wanna know about Rye’s sexual life—“

  “You brought it up!” She snaps.

  “Sorry.” I mutter sheepishly.

  “You should be!” She’s fully scowling now, “The issue with sex with Rye was always a touchy subject for me. For the longest time, I thought that there was something wrong with me, or that he was a closeted gay guy with a girlfriend, wouldn’t had been the first sailor to do something like that.” Her legs are crossed now as well as her arms.

  I’m no body language expert, but she looks very defensive and unapproachable right now.

  “Look, my bladder’s shrunk to the size of a lima bean. I’ve been holding it all this time because I think it is important we have this conversation, Lord knows we have too much shit to deal with, we may even need professional help depending on the direction we’ll take with this, but I have to pee, badly, and I really want a break from this conversation, because you keep putting your foot in your mouth, and my patience is running thin,”

  I assent, knowing she’s right and willing to start being the man both her and the baby deserve, I climb out of the tub heavily. I pass her still sitting on the toilet, bouncing one leg impatiently and her arms still crossed over her chest.

  My mind starts wandering down the wrong path, but I force myself to bring it back and keep it on the straight and narrowed. I won’t let go of the sonogram though, and I’m not sure what am I gonna tell her, but I’m keeping it.

  Once in the living room, I don’t know what to do with myself. I keep pacing in a irregular circle, from the kitchen to the tiny two chair table that doubles as her dining room, around the couch and back to the kitchen to start my loop again. After three laps of that, I start wondering if the baby is hungry?

  I should’ve asked Katniss when was the last time she ate. I should make her breakfast! I have cheese bun ingredients upstairs. She likes those!

  I knock on the bathroom door and speak loudly. “Hey, Katniss… I’m gonna go make us something to eat. Text me if you want me to bring it down here, or we can eat up if you like.”

  “Okay,” comes her response. “I’m feeling nauseous right now, but I can eat!”

  The idea of someone saying that, for real, tickles me, but something tells me laughing out loud about it right now will be counterproductive.

  I’m almost giddy hopping on the elevator and waltzing through my apartment door. I turn on my oven, gather all my supplies, set Pandora to something cheerful; I’m feeling ska, because is that kind of morning, old school but colorful.

  30 minutes later, my buns are in the oven, and my figurative “bun in the oven” rings my doorbell.

  I sigh dreamily when I see Katniss.

  I wonder if the fact that I know she’s pregnant makes any difference in how I look at her? So I indulge myself in simply staring at her in a way I’ve never allowed myself before: unapologetically hungry.

  Her hair is wet and tightly braided, she’s got clean comfortable clothes on and is barefooted. She realizes I’m starting at her feet.

  “I just felt like it,” She says jutting her chin out at me.

  I raise both my hands in surrender. I’m not going to say anything. I’m smarter than that. Instead, I direct her to the breakfast bar where I’ve set my best china, glass and silverware. I wanted to put flowers on the table for her, but I don’t have even a measly fake one in here, so quickly I whipped up some frosting, in a few several colors, and voila!

  Flowers!

  Sugar flowers stuck to an upside down mixing bowl, but still, flowers. A whole bouquet of wildflowers, like the ones I used to have out on the roof, before everything fell apart, and I never returned to tend my garden.

  I usher her to her seat, and help her on the stool, though I know she’s perfectly capable of getting on it herself, I can’t curb the need to touch her… any part of her.

  “For you!” I plate two cheese buns on a dish I’ve pipped wild onion blooms on the edge of.

  Katniss’ eyes go wide.

  She takes one cheese bun delicately, and bites into it with relish. She closes her eyes while chewing, and after swallowing, the floodgates lift.

  I panic. I jump from my stool and round over to her, I pick her up bridal style, and carry her to the couch.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it!”

  “Nothing is wrong!” She cries loudly. “The buns are perfect.” She heaves a deep breath.

  Now I’m at a loss, wondering what triggered this episode. “Okay, but why are you crying then?” I try to be as gentle as possible.”

  “I’ve missed cheese buns! I’ve been craving them for weeks, but you were ignoring me, and I went to the bakery to buy me some, but they were out… and I was so hungry! I ate a whole large pizza all by myself, and threw it all up after… now I can’t even smell pizza, I start gagging.”

  She gives me look of misery, then asks me in a tiny voice.

  “What if the same happens with Cheese buns? What if this baby decides to hate them. They’re my favorite food ever! I don’t wanna have to start eating gluten free. I want my bread to be gluten full!”

  “That’ll be ironic, actually. I mean, It’s a baker’s baby.”

  She cries even harder after my attempt at a joke.

  “This isn’t funny, Peeta! Your baby is making me sick! She hates food!”

  “She?” I ask, Katniss isn’t even showing, but I wonder if science is advanced enough, you can tell a baby’s gender so early on.

  “It’s a She… Everdeen’s only give girls,” She grouses.

  I smirk, “Mellarks only give boys,” I smile at her. “Ask my mother, she’ll complain about it. No daughters or granddaughters for her.“

  I lean back on the couch, and she falls on my chest like a rag doll. I start rubbing circles on her back and feel her relax on top of me.

  “One thing I learned in biology when I was a kid, is that men give the gender chromosome. So maybe is a boy…”

  Then all the excitement of the news, crazy as they are gets smashed to smithereens.

  “So… I’m not looking to replace my son.” I say bluntly.

  She sits up and looks down at me wearily.

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  My arms fall off of her when she stands from my lap. I let her go, because I need my space right now.

  “What are you asking then, Katniss?” I cringe internally, I sound accusing even to myself.

  “I’m not asking you anything!”

  “Really? Because you sure as hell wanted to tell me I knocked you up, very badly!”

  She blushes violently. Her eyes are on fire.

  “Is the responsible thing to do!” She yells. “You have the right know. In the sea of irresponsible shit I’ve done in the last few months, this I wanted to do right, because I owed it to everybody: you, Rye and the baby and myself. Whatever you do with the information is totally your prerogative.”

  She’s crossed her arms again, but let’s her shoulders fall. “I was hoping you wanted to be part of the baby’s life. I know you already raised a baby from infancy and this is like starting over again, so I’ll understand if this isn’t for you—“

  I dig the heels of my hands in my eyes. And then say what’s on the tip of my tongue.

  “Let’s get married, then.”

  She frowns. “No.” She answers emphatically.

  I roll my eyes in frustration. “Why the fuck not?”

  “Because last night you were drunk as fuck, borderline alcohol poisoned, and you still managed to do a better proposal then.” She says throwing her hands in the air.

  I did propose to her last night, at least twice, and it did sound better than what I just said.

  “I don’t want you asking me to marry you, because I’m pregnant.” She deflates plucking a cheese bun from her plate, then sitting on the corner of my coffee table facing me.

  “I want the baby, though.” I stress. “I just don’t want to replace or replicate Rye.”

  “No child could ever replace another.” She says looking older than her age, not for the first time.

  Sometimes I forget Katniss is truly and old soul trapped in a young, hot body.

  “Peeta, this baby complicates many things. I’m going back to Panem because my mom wants me there until I know what I want to do about my future.” She pauses. “I’m terrified.” She confesses. “Not of the baby! I want this child so much I feel like I’ve been living a lie forever. Which is scary in a different way.” She explains.

  She takes a bite of bun and I just stare quietly. Not moving a muscle.

  “People will gossip,” I point out stupidly.

  She shrugs, “Prim’s not talking to me at the moment. She called me a hussy. What do I care if other people talk about me?” Her lip quivers.

  I’m beyond pissed off at Primrose. I don’t understand how she could’ve said something like that to her big sister who has always sacrificed for her.

  “Don’t go back to Panem then. Stay in the city.”

  She shakes her head, staring at her half eaten cheese bun. “Mama says Prim’s just in shock. She’s grieving Rye, and she’ll come around when the baby is here.” Katniss shivers.

  “But Prim was so nasty when I told them you were the father. She yelled that I went after you because I’m some kind of horrible gold digging cunt.” She breaks down. “I never thought my little sister could be so mean and angry…”

  I grab her in one swoop move and sit her back in my lap, where she belongs.

  I kiss the shell of her ear, her neck, her jaw.

  Her hands grasp my shoulders, and her mouth opens up when I kiss her lips. I feel our lives aligning again.

  “Everything is gonna be fine, sweetheart,” I tell her raining kisses on the side of her face. “We have each other.”

  She relaxes against me, letting me hold her close. She moans softly into my mouth. I bring us down from the steep road we’re taking. It’s incredible to me how fast we go from zero to banging just with a couple of kisses.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long. Sometimes I’m convinced I’ve wanted you even before Rye was taken from us. If anyone is a hussy, that’s me, not you. You’re so… pure! An angel. The only bright spot in my sad, dreary life.” I hesitate for just a moment, but I take her hands in mine, and look her straight in the eyes. “I love you, Katniss.” I say seriously.

  She blushes, but her smile is more radiant than the sun. She tries to hide it thought.

  “I know,” she mumbles, the ghost of her smile hovering. “You blurted it out a few times last night.”

  “And, you?” I ask nervously, “You love me. Real or not real?”

  “Real,” she smiles softly.

  “Marry me?” She makes an unconvinced face, so I rush, “We will go at your pace. We will do as you say. I’ll support your decisions, always.” I kiss her lips again and rest our foreheads together. “I don’t want you to go back to Panem. Will you consider moving in with me? Or at the very least renewing your lease?”

  “I told my mother I wouldn’t go back to you until we got some things worked out.”

  “You… told your mom about getting back with me? Like she knew you’d want to come back?”

  “I told mama everything. And I mean, everything! She knew you’d try to lure me back in eventually. She asked me if I’d consider it, knowing how badly things went? I said I might. I loved you enough to think about it. So… we’ll see.”

  “So. You’re saying there’s a very good chance?” I know I’m pushing it, but I need to make sure.

  She huffs. “If we do this, Peeta, I have a list of demands:” she announces business like, “I want you to seek anger and grief counseling, because I’m not a fucking statistic! I will not live with you in fear that something would trigger a hijacking episode and you’ll yell at me and destroy shit in a fit of anger. I get that you grew up watching your mother doing that exact same thing, I just want it to be clear, I won’t tolerate that behavior. You never did it to Rye, which means you can control it. So, control. It.”

  I grimace. “Katniss, I already felt like shit about the whole thing. How do you think I feel now, knowing I threw a lamp near you, and you were already pregnant?” We just stare at each other for a moment, “You want me to get help? I will! Today!”

  “Good… I’ll consider your many proposals, then”

16. Haymitch grips my wrist as if anticipating my next move, but I am as speechless as the Capitol's torturers have rendered Darius. Haymitch once told me they did something to Avoxes' tongues so they could never talk again. In my head I hear Darius's voice, playful and bright, ringing across the Hob to tease me. Not as my fellow victors make fun of me now, but because we genuinely liked each other. If Gale could see him ... I know any move I would make toward Darius, any act of recognition, would only result in punishment for him. So we just stare into each other's eyes. Darius, now a mute slave; me, now headed to death. What would we say, anyway? That we're sorry for the other's lot? That we ache for the other's pain? That we're glad we had the chance to know each other? No, Darius shouldn't be glad he knew me. If I had been there to stop Thread, he wouldn't have stepped forward to save Gale. Wouldn't be an Avox. And more specifically, wouldn't be my Avox, because President Snow has so obviously had him placed here for my benefit. I twist my wrist from Haymitch's grasp and head down to my old bedroom, locking the door behind me. I sit on the side of my bed, elbows on my knees, forehead on my fists, and watch my glowing suit in the darkness, imagining I am in my old home in District 12, huddled beside the fire. It slowly fades back to black as the power pack dies out. When Effie eventually knocks on the door to summon me to dinner, I get up and take off my suit, fold it neatly, and set it on the table with my crown. In the bathroom, I wash the dark streaks of makeup from my face. I dress in a simple shirt and pants and go down the hall to the dining room. I'm not aware of much at dinner except that Darius and the redheaded Avox girl are our servers. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and Peeta are all there, talking about the opening ceremonies, I suppose. But the only time I really feel present is when I purposely knock a dish of peas to the floor and, before anyone can stop me, crouch down to clean them up. Darius is right by me when I send the dish over, and we two are briefly side by side, obscured from view, as we scoop up the peas. For just one moment our hands meet. I can feel his skin, rough under the buttery sauce from the dish. In the tight, desperate clench of our fingers are all the words we will never be able to say. Then Effie's clucking at me from behind about how "That isn't your job, Katniss!" and he lets go. When we go in to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies, I wedge myself in between Cinna and Haymitch on the couch because I don't want to be next to Peeta. This awfulness with Darius belongs to me and Gale and maybe even Haymitch, but not to Peeta. He might've known Darius to nod hello, but Peeta wasn't Hob the way the rest of us were. Besides, I'm still angry with him for laughing at me along with the other victors, and the last thing I want is his sympathy and comfort. I haven't changed my mind about saving him in the arena, but I don't owe him more than that. As I watch the procession to the City Circle, I think how it's bad enough that they dress us all up in costumes and parade us through the streets in chariots on a regular year. Kids in costumes are silly, but aging victors, it turns out, are pitiful. A few who are on the younger side, like Johanna and Finnick, or whose bodies haven't fallen into disrepair, like Seeder and Brutus, can still manage to maintain a little dignity. But the majority, who are in the clutches of drink or morphling or illness, look grotesque in their costumes, depicting cows and trees and loaves of bread. Last year we chattered away about each contestant, but tonight there's only the occasional comment. Small wonder the crowd goes wild when Peeta and I appear, looking so young and strong and beautiful in our brilliant costumes. The very image of what tributes should be. As soon as it's over, I stand up and thank Cinna and Portia for their amazing work and head off to bed. Effie calls a reminder to meet early for breakfast to work out our training strategy, but even her voice sounds hollow. Poor Effie. She finally had a decent year in the Games with Peeta and me, and now it's all broken down into a mess that even she can't put a positive spin on. In Capitol terms, I'm guessing this counts as a true tragedy. Soon after I go to bed, there's a quiet knock on my door, but I ignore it. I don't want Peeta tonight. Especially not with Darius around. It's almost as bad as if Gale were here. Gale. How am I supposed to let him go with Darius haunting the hallways? Tongues figure prominently in my nightmares. First I watch frozen and helpless while gloved hands carry out the bloody dissection in Darius's mouth. Then I'm at a party where everyone wears masks and someone with a flicking, wet tongue, who I suppose is Finnick, stalks me, but when he catches me and pulls off his mask, it's President Snow, and his puffy lips are dripping in bloody saliva. Finally I'm back in the arena, my own tongue as dry as sandpaper, while I try to reach a pool of water that recedes every time I'm about to touch it. When I wake, I stumble to the bathroom and gulp water from the faucet until I can hold no more. I strip off my sweaty clothes and fall back into bed, naked, and somehow find sleep again. I delay going down to breakfast as long as possible the next morning because I really don't want to discuss our training strategy. What's to discuss? Every victor already knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. So Peeta and I will continue to act in love and that's that. Somehow I'm just not up to talking about it, especially with Darius standing mutely by. I take a long shower, dress slowly in the outfit Cinna has left for training, and order food from the menu in my room by speaking into a mouthpiece. In a minute, sausage, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice, and hot chocolate appear. I eat my fill, trying to drag out the minutes until ten o'clock, when we have to go down to the Training Center. By nine-thirty, Haymitch is pounding on my door, obviously fed up with me, ordering me to the dining room NOW! Still, I brush my teeth before meandering down the hall, effectively killing another five minutes. The dining room's empty except for Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flushed with drink and anger. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames - this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan - that he twists unhappily. It's a very handsome bangle, really, but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry. "You're late," he snarls at me. "Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares kept me up half the night." I mean to sound hostile, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence. Haymitch gives me a scowl, then relents. "All right, never mind. Today, in training, you've got two jobs. One, stay in love." "Obviously," I say. "And two, make some friends," says Haymitch. "No," I say. "I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and I'd rather operate with just the two of us." "That's what I said at first, but - " Peeta begins. "But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around." "Why?" I ask. "Because you're at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?" he says. "Us. And nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship," I say. "So why bother?" "Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd. That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them," says Haymitch. "You mean you want us in the Career pack this year?" I ask, unable to hide my distaste. Traditionally the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 join forces, possibly taking in a few other exceptional fighters, and hunt down the weaker competitors. "That's been our strategy, hasn't it? To train like Careers?" counters Haymitch. "And who makes up the Career pack is generally agreed upon before the Games begin. Peeta barely got in with them last year." I think of the loathing I felt when I discovered Peeta was with the Careers during the last Games. "So we're to try to get in with Finnick and Brutus - is that what you're saying?" "Not necessarily. Everyone's a victor. Make your own pack if you'd rather. Choose who you like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick's not to be ignored," says Haymitch. "Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in." Maybe he's right. Only who could I trust? Seeder maybe. But do I really want to make a pact with her, only to possibly have to kill her later? No. Still, I made a pact with Rue under the same circumstances. I tell Haymitch I'll try, even though I think I'll be pretty bad at the whole thing. Effie shows up a bit early to take us down because last year, even though we were on time, we were the last two tributes to show up. But Haymitch tells her he doesn't want her taking us down to the gym. None of the other victors will be showing up with a babysitter, and being the youngest, it's even more important we look self-reliant. So she has to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us. It's such a short ride that there's no real time for conversation, but when Peeta takes my hand, I don't pull it away. I may have ignored him last night in private, but in training we must appear as an inseparable team. Effie needn't have worried about us being the last to arrive. Only Brutus and the woman from District 2, Enobaria, are present. Enobaria looks to be about thirty and all I can remember about her is that, in hand-to-hand combat, she killed one tribute by ripping open his throat with her teeth. She became so famous for this act that, after she was a victor, she had her teeth cosmetically altered so each one ends in a sharp point like a fang and is inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol. By ten o'clock, only about half of the tributes have shown up. Atala, the woman who runs training, begins her spiel right on time, unfazed by the poor attendance. Maybe she expected it. I'm sort of relieved, because that means there are a dozen people I don't have to pretend to make friends with. Atala runs through the list of stations, which include both combat and survival skills, and releases us to train. I tell Peeta I think we'd do best to split up, thus covering more territory. When he goes off to chuck spears with Brutus and Chaff, I head over to the knot-tying station, hardly anyone ever bothers to visit it. I like the trainer and he remembers me fondly, maybe because I spent time with him last year. He's pleased when I show him I can still set the trap that leaves an enemy dangling by a leg from a tree. Clearly he took note of my snares in the arena last year and now sees me as an advanced pupil, so I ask him to review every kind of knot that might come in handy and a few that I'll probably never use. I'd be content to spend the morning alone with him, but after about an hour and a half, someone puts his arms around me from behind, his fingers easily finishing the complicated knot I've been sweating over. Of course it's Finnick, who seems to have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets, I guess. I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, and then pretends to hang himself for my amusement. Rolling my eyes, I head over to another vacant station where tributes can learn to build fires. I already make excellent fires, but I'm still pretty dependent on matches for starting them. So the trainer has me work with flint, steel, and some charred cloth. This is much harder than it looks, and even working as intently as I can, it takes me about an hour to get a fire going. I look up with a triumphant smile only to find I have company. The two tributes from District 3 are beside me, struggling to start a decent fire with matches. I think about leaving, but I really want to try using the flint again, and if I have to report back to Haymitch that I tried to make friends, these two might be a bearable choice. Both are small in stature with ashen skin and black hair. The woman, Wiress, is probably around my mother's age and speaks in a quiet, intelligent voice. But right away I notice she has a habit of dropping off her words in mid-sentence, as if she's forgotten you're there. Beetee, the man, is older and somewhat fidgety. He wears glasses but spends a lot of time looking under them. They're a little strange, but I'm pretty sure neither of them is going to try to make me uncomfortable by stripping naked. And they're from District 3. Maybe they can even confirm my suspicions of an uprising there. I glance around the Training Center. Peeta is at the center of a ribald circle of knife throwers. The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The male tribute from District 5 is vomiting wine on the sword-fighting floor. Finnick and the old woman from his district are using the archery station. Johanna Mason is naked again and oiling her skin down for a wrestling lesson. I decide to stay put. Wiress and Beetee make decent company. They seem friendly enough but don't pry. We talk about our talents; they tell me they both invent things, which makes my supposed interest in fashion seem pretty weak. Wiress brings up some sort of stitching device she's working on. "It senses the density of the fabric and selects the strength," she says, and then becomes absorbed in a bit of dry straw before she can go on. "The strength of the thread," Beetee finishes explaining. "Automatically. It rules out human error." Then he talks about his recent success creating a musical chip that's tiny enough to be concealed in a flake of glitter but can hold hours of songs. I remember Octavia talking about this during the wedding shoot, and I see a possible chance to allude to the uprising. "Oh, yeah. My prep team was all upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get hold of that," I say casually. "I guess a lot of orders from District Three were getting backed up." Beetee examines me under his glasses. "Yes. Did you have any similar backups in coal production, this year?" he asks. "No. Well, we lost a couple of weeks when they brought in a new Head Peacekeeper and his crew, but nothing major," I say. "To production, I mean. Two weeks sitting around your house doing nothing just means two weeks of being hungry for most people." I think they understand what I'm trying to say. That we've had no uprising. "Oh. That's a shame," says Wiress in a slightly disappointed voice. "I found your district very ..." She trails off, distracted by something in her head. "Interesting," fills in Beetee. "We both did." I feel bad, knowing that their district must have suffered much worse than ours. I feel I have to defend my people. "Well, there aren't very many of us in Twelve," I say. "Not that you'd know it nowadays by the size of the Peacekeeping force. But I guess we're interesting enough." As we move over to the shelter station, Wiress stops and gazes up at the stands where the Gamemakers are roaming around, eating and drinking, sometimes taking notice of us. "Look," she says, giving her head a slight nod in their direction. I look up and see Plutarch Heavensbee in the magnificent purple robe with the fur-trimmed collar that designates him as Head Gamemaker. He's eating a turkey leg. I don't see why this merits comment, but I say, "Yes, he's been promoted to Head Gamemaker this year." "No, no. There by the corner of the table. You can just ..." says Wiress. Beetee squints under his glasses. "Just make it out." I stare in that direction, perplexed. But then I see it. A patch of space about six inches square at the corner of the table seems almost to be vibrating. It's as if the air is rippling in tiny visible waves, distorting the sharp edges of the wood and a goblet of wine someone has set there. "A force field. They've set one up between the Game-makers and us. I wonder what brought that on," Beetee says. "Me, probably," I confess. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session." Beetee and Wiress look at me curiously. "I was provoked. So, do all force fields have a spot like that?" "Chink," says Wiress vaguely. "In the armor, as it were," finishes Beetee. "Ideally it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?" I want to ask them more, but lunch is announced. I look for Peeta, but he's hanging with a group of about ten other victors, so I decide just to eat with District 3. Maybe I can get Seeder to join us. When we make our way into the dining area, I see some of Peeta's gang have other ideas. They're dragging all the smaller tables to form one large table so that we all have to eat together. Now I don't know what to do. Even at school I used to avoid eating at a crowded table. Frankly, I'd probably have sat alone if Madge hadn't made a habit of joining me. I guess I'd have eaten with Gale except, being two grades apart, our lunch never fell at the same time. I take a tray and start making my way around the food-laden carts that ring the room. Peeta catches up with me at the stew. "How's it going?" "Good. Fine. I like the District Three victors," I say. "Wiress and Beetee." "Really?" he asks. "They're something of a joke to the others." "Why does that not surprise me?" I say. I think of how Peeta was always surrounded at school by a crowd of friends. It's amazing, really, that he ever took any notice of me except to think I was odd. "Johanna's nicknamed them Nuts and Volts," he says. "I think she's Nuts and he's Volts." "And so I'm stupid for thinking they might be useful. Because of something Johanna Mason said while she was oiling up her breasts for wrestling," I retort. "Actually I think the nickname's been around for years. And I didn't mean that as an insult. I'm just sharing information," he says. "Well, Wiress and Beetee are smart. They invent things. They could tell by sight that a force field had been put up between us and the Gamemakers. And if we have to have allies, I want them." I toss the ladle back in a pot of stew, splattering us both with the gravy. "What are you so angry about?" Peeta asks, wiping the gravy from his shirtfront. "Because I teased you on the elevator? I'm sorry. I thought you would just laugh about it." "Forget it," I say with a shake of my head. "It's a lot of things." "Darius," he says. "Darius. The Games. Haymitch making us team up with the others," I say. "It can just be you and me, you know," he says. "I know. But maybe Haymitch is right," I say. "Don't tell him I said so, but he usually is, where the Games are concerned." "Well, you can have final say about our allies. But right now, I'm leaning toward Chaff and Seeder," says Peeta. "I'm okay with Seeder, not Chaff," I say. "Not yet, anyway." "Come on and eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again," says Peeta. Chaff doesn't seem as bad at lunch. He's sober, and while he talks too loud and makes bad jokes a lot, most of them are at his own expense. I can see why he would be good for Haymitch, whose thoughts run so darkly. But I'm still not sure I'm ready to team up with him. I try hard to be more sociable, not just with Chaff but with the group at large. After lunch I do the edible-insect station with the District 8 tributes - Cecelia, who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who's hard of hearing and doesn't seem to know what's going on since he keeps trying to stuff poisonous bugs in his mouth. I wish I could mention meeting Twill and Bonnie in the woods, but I can't figure out how. Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother from District 1, invite me over and we make hammocks for a while. They're polite but cool, and I spend the whole time thinking about how I killed both the tributes from their district, Glimmer and Marvel, last year, and that they probably knew them and might even have been their mentors. Both my hammock and my attempt to connect with them are mediocre at best. I join Enobaria at sword training and exchange a few comments, but it's clear neither of us wants to team up. Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but mostly just to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4. Between her district accent and her garbled speech - possibly she's had a stroke - I can't make out more than one in four words. But I swear she can make a decent fishhook out of anything - a thorn, a wishbone, an earring. After a while I tune out the trainer and simply try to copy whatever Mags does. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothless smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be praise. Suddenly I remember how she volunteered to replace the young, hysterical woman in her district. It couldn't be because she thought she had any chance of winning. She did it to save the girl, just like I volunteered last year to save Prim. And I decide I want her on my team. Great. Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts for my allies. He'll love that. So I give up trying to make friends and go over to the archery range for some sanity. It's wonderful there, getting to try out all the different bows and arrows. The trainer, Tax, seeing that the standing targets offer no challenge for me, begins to launch these silly fake birds high into the air for me to hit. At first it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature. Since I'm hitting everything he throws up, he starts increasing the number of birds he sends airborne. I forget the rest of the gym and the victors and how miserable I am and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down five birds in one round, I realize it's so quiet I can hear each one hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the victors have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from envy to hatred to admiration. After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality." "They saw her shoot," says Peeta with a smile. "Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself." "You're that good?" Haymitch asks me. "So good that Brutus wants you?" I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags and District Three." "Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind." After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased some, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction. And the more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because, on the whole, I don't hate them. And some I like. And a lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I'm to save Peeta. The final day of training ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to amaze them with our skills, but I don't know what any of us might have to show them. There's a lot of kidding about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do. Shoot some arrows, I guess. Haymitch said to surprise them if we could, but I'm fresh out of ideas. As the girl from 12, I'm scheduled to go last. The dining room gets quieter and quieter as the tributes file out to go perform. It's easier to keep up the irreverent, invincible manner we've all adopted when there are more of us. As people disappear through the door, all I can think is that they have a matter of days to live. Peeta and I are finally left alone. He reaches across the table to take my hands. "Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?" I shake my head. "I can't really use them for target practice this year, with the force field up and all. Maybe make some fishhooks. What about you?" "Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something," he says. "Do some more camouflage," I suggest. "If the morphlings have left me anything to work with," he says wryly. "They've been glued to that station since training started." We sit in silence awhile and then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?" "I don't know." He leans his forehead down on our entwined hands. "I don't want them as allies. Why did Haymitch want us to get to know them?" I say. "It'll make it so much harder than last time. Except for Rue maybe. But I guess I never really could've killed her, anyway. She was just too much like Prim." Peeta looks up at me, his brow creased in thought. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?" "None of them were very pretty," I say, thinking of Glimmer's and Cato's ends. They call Peeta, so I wait by myself. Fifteen minutes pass. Then half an hour. It's close to forty minutes before I'm called. When I go in, I smell the sharp odor of cleaner and notice that one of the mats has been dragged to the center of the room. The mood is very different from last year's, when the Gamemakers were half drunk and distractedly picking at tidbits from the banquet table. They whisper among themselves, looking somewhat annoyed. What did Peeta do? Something to upset them? I feel a pang of worry. That isn't good. I don't want Peeta singling himself out as a target for the Gamemakers' anger. That's part of my job. To draw fire away from Peeta. But how did he upset them? Because I'd love to do just that and more. To break through the smug veneer of those who use their brains to find amusing ways to kill us. To make them realize that while we're vulnerable to the Capitol's cruelties, they are as well. Do you have any idea how much I hate you? I think. You, who have given your talents to the Games? I try to catch Plutarch Heavensbee's eye, but he seems to be intentionally ignoring me, as he has the entire training period. I remember how he sought me out for a dance, how pleased he was to show me the mockingjay on his watch. His friendly manner has no place here. How could it, when I'm a mere tribute and he's the Head Gamemaker? So powerful, so removed, so safe ... Suddenly I know just what I'm going to do. Something that will blow anything Peeta did right out of the water. I go over to the knot-tying station and get a length of rope. I start to manipulate it, but it's hard because I've never made this actual knot myself. I've only watched Finnick's clever fingers, and they moved so fast. After about ten minutes, I've come up with a respectable noose. I drag one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room and, using some chinning bars, hang it so it dangles by the neck. Tying its hands behind its back would be a nice touch, but I think I might be running out of time. I hurry over to the camouflage station, where some of the other tributes, undoubtedly the morphlings, have made a colossal mess. But I find a partial container of bloodred berry juice that will serve my needs. The flesh-colored fabric of the dummy's skin makes a good, absorbent canvas. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing them from view. Then I step away quickly to watch the reaction on the Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy. SENECA CRANE.