For years we have stayed together,
As lovers and as friends.
What we have will last forever
If we're strong enough to bend.
The stack of invoices in front of me are mostly reconciled when I finally glance up at the clock in my office. 11:30 at night. How the hell did that happen? No wonder I'm starving. I'll have to finish them in the morning.
I stand and stretch the crick out of my back. I should really put a couch in here, so I don't have to drive home on nights like tonight, when I'm so swamped. One more thing to add to my mental to-do list.
It's past midnight when I finally stagger to my car. The drive home is only 10 minutes, that's part of the reason I chose this location for my bakery. And thank goodness it's close because I drive home on autopilot, more asleep than awake at this point.
My house is dark, of course. Katniss will have gone to bed hours ago, she's a teacher and leaves early in the mornings. Not as early as I do, but that's my own fault. Bakers keep early hours.
I don't want to wake her, so I drop my jacket on the floor in the front hall and tip-toe into the living room. I barely slide my shoes off before crashing onto the couch.
It's the sun that wakes me, filtering in through the living room sheers. I pry one eye open and try desperately to focus on the clock that sits on our fireplace mantel.
6:30.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit, I am late. I am so, so fucking late. I must have forgotten to set an alarm on my phone before passing out. Shit, I don't think I even took my phone out of my jacket pocket when I got home.
I tear up the stairs, not bothering to be quiet because Katniss will be awake by now. Sure enough, the bed is empty, already neatly made. She's not in our bedroom though, nor in the attached bath. I take a peek out the window, her car isn't in the driveway. She's already left for work. I can't believe she left without waking me. She must be ticked off with me for working late again last night. I guess I don't blame her, it's been happening a lot lately, and I didn't even call. I meant to, of course, I just got engrossed in what I was doing and lost track of time.
As I climb into the shower I think about Katniss, how little we've seen of each other lately. I need to make that up to her. Maybe we can do something this weekend. If I work just a half day Sunday I could make her breakfast in bed, like I used to when we were first dating. Might be doable, if I stay late again tonight.
My shower is fast; in and out, hair towelled dry, teeth brushed in less than 10 minutes. No time to shave but I imagine my boss will give me a pass on that, especially since I am the boss. Perks of owning my own business. I dress without even noticing what I'm wearing, and jog back downstairs. No time for breakfast, but I'll grab a bagel at the bakery.
My jacket is still crumpled on the floor in the front hall and it pulls me up short. It's really not like Katniss to have left it there, of the two of us she's the tidy one, and she'd have had to literally step over it when she left. Maybe she's more angry than I though. Well damn. I'd better call her.
My phone is in my jacket pocket, but it's dead. And that's the only reason I notice it.
I keep a spare phone charger in the drawer of our little entryway table. When we first moved here I used to buy flowers for Katniss all of the time, and she'd keep them in a vase on this table. But there hasn't been a vase of flowers here in a long time. Normally there's nothing at all on this table. But today… today there is a giant piece of faceted glass.
Katniss's keychain.
I gave her that keychain when we first moved in together five years ago, both fresh out of college, wide-eyed and ready to take on the world. The keyring is shaped like an obnoxiously oversized engagement ring, the glass cut to look like a massive diamond, the band big enough to fit over three of Katniss's fingers together. I remember her peals of laughter when I presented it to her, and the celebrating we did right after, in our shitty apartment with nothing but a mattress on the floor and our dreams. She's carried that tchotchka around ever since, weighed down with house key and car key and office key and all of the other bits that key rings accumulate.
But now it sits on my entryway table, with only a single key on it. The key to our home.
It takes far too long for my brain to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. I roll that piece of glass around in my hands, watching the light refract off facets chipped with use. Rainbows dance on the wall as I try to guess why her house key is here and she isn't. And then I drop the key and bolt for the stairs.
Her side of the closet is empty. Her drawers are empty. Her toothbrush and shampoo and make up bag are gone. Still, I refuse to believe what I'm seeing. This is a mistake, I'm just confused, it's not real!
A flash of orange catches my eye. A little corner of muted orange fabric snakes over the edge of the wastepaper basket, and curiosity drives me to pull it from the bin. It's a silk negligee, beautifully made, clearly brand new. It's gorgeous, the perfect combination of sexy and sweet, a look that suits Katniss so well. It's even my favourite colour.
And it's in the trash.
A cold horror grips me, and I run back downstairs for the phone I left beside her key.
My hands are shaking so hard when I plug in the phone and turn it on that I nearly drop it multiple times. Finally, finally, it finishes booting. I dismiss the missed call notification so I can read the date.
April 8th. Today is April 8th. The day after our anniversary.
We're not married, but April 7th has been special to Katniss and me since we were kids. It was April 7th of the year we were in 4th grade when she told me I was her best friend forever. It was April 7th, several years later, when she kissed me for the first time. April 7th when we decided to become boyfriend and girlfriend. April 7th when we committed to moving in together.
I've always planned on proposing to her on April 7th. One day.
It rushes back, yesterday morning. I was distracted; getting ready while my mind was occupied with the thousand things I needed to get done at the bakery. And Katniss had been in bed, hair wild, eyes hooded with sleep. "You'll be home for dinner tonight, right Peeta?" She'd asked me so shyly, and I'd barely listened. I think I told her I would. I don't think I even kissed her goodbye.
I stagger into the kitchen, my knees wobbly, but before I can reach for a glass of water I catch a glimpse of our dining room. And it's like a spear through the chest.
The table is beautifully set with my grandmother's china. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of tepid water. The tablecloth is crusted with pools of wax from candles that burned down to stubs waiting for me to come home last night.
When I look in the fridge I feel even worse, if that's possible. A salad of dandelion greens and berries. A platter of strawberries. A tureen that I know even before I lift the lid contains lamb stew with dried plums. Our favourite meal.
I have no idea how long I lurch from room to room, looking for any clue that there's been a mistake. But there's no mistake. She's gone.
Katniss left me.
And worse, she must have left last night. My Katniss, the love of my life, left me a day ago and I didn't even notice. I didn't notice her car missing when I crawled home hours later than I'd promised. I slept in the house alone and I didn't even fucking notice. I am the worst excuse for a human being who ever lived.
I try calling her, but I'm not at all surprised when it goes to voicemail. The message I leave is disjointed and watery, filled with apologies. I send a half dozen texts begging her to call when she turns on her phone.
It's nearly 8 when I get to the bakery, 2 hours late and so shell-shocked I can barely function. Thresh, my day manager, calls out to me as soon as I walk through the kitchen door. "About time you showed up, boss-man! I was gettin' ready to call in the cavalry!" He turns then, and raises an eyebrow when he sees me. "Damn, Peet, you look wrecked. Are you sick?"
I can only shake my head as I move across from him, leaning heavily on one of the prep tables. "Katniss left me." It's the first time I've acknowledged it out loud, barely a whisper but it echoes through my hollow guts. Thresh nods, but doesn't look surprised. I was completely blindsided and yet he reacts like I've just told him the sky is blue. "Thresh? Why do you not seem surprised?" Maybe it's wrong of me to put him on the spot but I don't fucking care right now.
He shrugs and looks away, fiddling with a tray of cooling buns. But I wait him out, and finally he clears his throat. "I, uh, well I assumed you two had already broken up," he admits, and my jaw drops. "It's just," he continues. "Well, I mean, she hasn't been around here for a long time. You haven't mentioned her in months. And, well honestly Peet, the hours you keep? I just assumed you were avoiding going home. Guys with pretty girls waiting for them don't usually work 20 hour days." He pauses. "Every day," he adds quietly.
Thankfully there's a stool behind me because my legs can no longer bear my weight. Thresh, a man I consider one of my closest friends, a person I spend more time with than, well, anyone else really. Thresh thought Katniss and I broke up long ago. "I… I don't talk about her?" It's my voice, but it hardly sounds like me, strained and small. He looks up then, catching my eyes and I can see he's completely serious as he slowly shakes his head, back and forth.
"You worked through Easter," he reminds me. "And Valentine's day. I think the last time I remember her name coming up was when you made that orange cake for New Year's." More than three months ago. I haven't mentioned the love of my life, the woman I've been in love with since before I even knew what that meant, in more than 3 months? Not even in passing?
"Yesterday was our anniversary. I missed it. I… I didn't even call her to tell her I wouldn't be home." The lump in my throat thickens, I can't speak any more. I can barely breathe.
He comes around the table and claps me on the back. "I'm really sorry, Peet. Maybe you should get out of here, take a couple of days to pull yourself together." I start to protest but I know he's right, I can't possibly get anything done, not like this. Not with how screwed up my head is. With how screwed up my life is.
"The invoices," I start, but he shakes his head, pushing me towards the door.
"I'll take care of it, Peeta. Go home."