"He's so good for you!" my mother shouts. "Why can't you see that?"
"Mom!" I whisper back. "How could you say that?"
"Who cares if he hits you?" she screams. "He is an upstanding citizen, he makes a ton of money! You and your children would be set! Why can't you make a sacrifice for your future?"
"What if I value my happiness over money?" I scream. "I don't care if he's rich. Mom, he's killing me!"
"Don't be such a drama queen," she says. "Maybe that's why he hits you, you're so annoying."
My mouth drops. "Stop caring so much about yourself and care about someone else for a change," Mom says. "Think about me for a change. Do you know what Gale Hawthorne's money will do for me?"
"You're the selfish one," I whisper. "You're a horrible mother. I can't believe you."
"Get out of my house," my mother says after a long pause. "If you refuse to marry Gale Hawthorne, get out of my house."
I look at her. "Get out," she says softly.
I stand up and walk out into the rain. "Katniss!" my little sister Prim says. "Katniss, you can't leave!" She runs out into the rain.
"I have to," I say softly. "I'm sorry. I love you, don't forget that." She hugs me tightly and eventually I get her off of me and walk away.
I walk for a long time in the rain. And I mean, a long time. No matter where I walk, the rain continues just as hard. Some time in the night, I succumb to my tiredness and coldness and walk into a twenty-four hour diner in the small town I'm walking through. A blonde man with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen wipes down the counter. The diner was completely dead.
"Hi, welcome to Mellark's," the boy says. He looked up at me. "Whoa."
"Got a problem?" I ask defensively.
"You look awful," the man says. "Like, really awful."
"Thanks," I snap.
"Can I get you some dry clothes?" he asks. "Or at least a towel, to dry off?"
"I'm fine," I say, taking a seat at a table. "I just need to sit for a bit and then I'll be out of your hair."
"I've never seen you around," he says, coming to sit across from me. "St. Peters is a really small town. Are you new?"
"Just passing through," I say with hostility.
"Where you headed?" he asks.
"Why do you care?"
"Just making small-talk," the boy says. "I get the feeling you've had a rough day?"
"Once again, why do you care?"
He shrugs. "It's the diner way," he says. "You cook food, listen to people's stories, and get paid. I promise, I won't tell anyone if you tell me what's bugging you."
"You're a complete stranger," I say.
He shrugs. "Alright. You want some food?"
"I don't have money."
"Let me rephrase this," he says. "Are you hungry?"
"I haven't eaten in awhile," I shrug. "My . . . never mind."
"Do you like eggs?" he asks. "I figure at 3:27 in the morning, eggs are appropriate."
"I like pancakes better," I say softly. "But if you want to make eggs I'll eat them."
He looks at me strangely. "I can make pancakes. But if you want me to make eggs I'll make them."
I scoff at him. "What would you like on the pancakes?"
"I don't have money," I repeat.
"Do you like chocolate?"
"Yes," I admit.
"Four chocolate chip pancakes coming right up," he says.
Before I can argue, he's disappeared into the kitchen. It doesn't take long for him to return. "Four chocolate chip pancakes," he says, setting them in front of me. "I'm Peeta, by the way. Peeta Mellark. I own the bakery. It was my dad's, but he retired and moved to New York City."
"I'm Katniss," I say.
"I told you a story, you tell me one," he says.
I shake my head.
"C'mon," Peeta urges. "I love stories."
"I don't have any stories," I reply.
"Sure you do," Peeta says. "Like, why you're just passing through St. Peters. Nobody just passes through St. Peters. And nobody stops at Mellark's at 3:30 in the morning without a story."
"I don't have a story, okay?" I snap.
He backs off for a moment. "What if we play 20 Questions? I'll get answers out of you then."
I shrug.
"Alright," he says. "Are you running from someone?"
"Kind of," I reply.
"Are you leaving someone?" he asks.
"A mixture of the two."
"Are you running/leaving your boyfriend?" he asks.
I nod.
"Did he hurt you?" Peeta asks.
I nod.
"Little fucker," Peeta says. "Hitting a girl like you? What's the story with your mom and dad? Are they on your side?"
"My dad's dead," I say flatly. "And my mom kicked me out when she heard I was going to leave him."
Peeta nods. "That's all I needed to hear. I've got extra space in my apartment upstairs. You're staying."
I shake my head. "Thanks for the pancakes, but I should get going." I stand up to leave but Peeta grabs my wrist. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stay! Please let go." He lets go immediately.
"Oh my God," he says softly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't . . . I mean . . . I'm going to kill whoever did this to you."
"I barely know you," I mutter.
"Doesn't matter," he says. "You're a woman. Every woman should be treated with respect. She should be romanced and loved and touched nicely and gently, only if she wants it. No woman should be beaten."
"I don't want to be a burden to you," I say. "Eating your food, staying in your place . . ."
"You don't want to be a burden?" Peeta asks. "Fine. You can work. At the dinner. We're looking for another person who can take on the lunch shift."
"Lunch shift?" I ask.
"10:30 AM to 3:30 PM," Peeta says. "Every day, unless you need time off. Which I hear the boss is pretty good about." He flashes me a smile.
"You're the boss," I say.
"Exactly."
I smile for the first time since I've arrived. "The apartment's right up the stairs," he says. "I normally don't pull the midnight shift, but the normal guy needed a day off. The breakfast guy comes in at four."
"Four?" I ask incredulously.
He nods. "The breakfast rush starts at five. Most of the men in this town work in the factory and they come to the diner for some breakfast first."
"Factory?"
"Where do you come from?" he laughs.
"Not around here," I say softly.
"Go upstairs and shower," Peeta instructs. "The bathroom is right off the kitchen. I have a bunch of really old, smallish clothes in the top drawer of my dresser, the one beside my bed. There should be towels underneath the sink. I'll be done soon."
I nod and head upstairs. Peeta's apartment is small – very small. I don't see where he's going to have me sleep, but I know that I won't be here when morning comes. I'll wait until Peeta is asleep and then I'll bolt.
He comes up just as I leave the bathroom. "You clean up nice," he comments.
I shrug. "The guest room's over here," he says. "It's small, but it's better than nothing." The room has a twin bed, a dresser, and a desk. There isn't much room for anything else. "So, I guess I'll leave you alone. Um, I normally work the lunch shift, too, so after we can go out and get you some clothes that fit, I guess. Unless you just want to wear my loose clothes all the time. Which I wouldn't mind. They suit you."
"I don't have money," I repeat.
"We'll take it out of your first paycheck," he shrugs.
"Peeta, you're letting me stay in your house," I argue. "That should be my pay."
He shrugs. "The room wasn't being used. At least now it's not just empty space."
I sigh. "What if I get up in the middle of the night and leave?"
He laughs. "You won't get past me. I don't sleep very much, or very well."
"I don't sleep very much, either," I admit. "I haven't much, since . . ."
"Is it too soon to talk about it? Your boyfriend?" Peeta asks.
I nod. "I don't want to talk about it."
Peeta nods. "Another day, then?"
I nod.
"Good night, Katniss," Peeta says. "I'll make sure you're awake in time for the shift."
He closes the door behind him. I sit on the bed and stare out the window. The rain is still falling, hard. I turn out the light and lay down on the bed. It's very comfortable. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep, and I surprise myself as I fall asleep to dreams about the blonde haired, blue eyed diner owner.