"Oh, god, Peeta, YES!"
The name-less, face-less chick moans my name, and I feel her clench around me, an orgasm hitting her again. I continue to pump myself into her, not quite there yet. She's pretty enough, with medium length dirty blonde hair, spread out on her pink pillow, but I'm tired of meaningless sex. I mean, yeah, it feels great, but it's boring. I want the love again.
I pick up my pace, pounding her deep and hard, ready to get this over with. One, two, three, and I slam her hard, and spill myself into the condom, filling the tip. I immediately roll off of her and lie on my back. She crawls up my side and leans her head on my bare chest.
"God, you're so good. I came three times," she pants, kissing my pec and running her right hand up and down my stomach.
"Um, thanks," I mumble. "It was good for me too." I guess. But not as good as her. I push thoughts for her out of my head and turn my face back to the chick who's naked next to me. I lean in a kiss her pink lips, swollen from our previous acts.
"I have to go, actually," I say. I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I'm really sorry."
I slip out of bed and begin to dress, grabbing my clothes from all over her room. It was kind of a frenzied thing, and she basically jumped me as soon as I walked into the bar. It literally took her ten minutes before we were leaving and heading back to her place; she was an eager one. I pull the condom off and discard it in the garbage before pulling on my boxers and then my jeans.
"Uh, okay." I look over to her, pulling up the covers to hide her bare chest. "Do you want to call me so we can do this again sometime?
I nod. "Absolutely, Meg." Not.
She frowns. "It's Madge." I cringe. Fuck.
"I'm really sorry." And I am. I'm sure she's a wonderful girl, maybe a little slutty, and I wish that I wanted to be with her for more than one night. I wish I wanted to be with anyone for more than one night. I crawl back on the bed and kiss her again, swiping my tongue along her bottom lip—trying to make up for my mistake. I pull away and she smiles at me. I take a sigh of relief. "I had a great time, don't worry." When did lying get so easy for me? I used to hate lying, and now I seem to do it every time I meet a girl.
She smiles brightly and I move back off the bed and head to her door. I give her a quick wave and duck out, without any intention of ever seeing her again.
"So, how was it?" Gale asks as soon as I walk through the door. He's sitting on the couch, going over the lyrics of one of his new songs. He's a lyricist, not really in front of the microphone, but behind it—and he's incredibly good at it. I mean, he basically bought this three bedroom house for the two of us, and I just pay him for utilities and cable. He glances at the clock and sees that it's barely 1:00 a.m.; he hisses. "Not good, I guess. Struck out?"
I shake my head. "Nah, I got the jackpot. But the kind where you win tokens and not coins. She was pretty enough, but…"
"She's not her," Gale finishes for me. I nod. He knows me too well.
Gale and I have been roommates since we met our freshman year at Panem University. And even though we're graduates, and have been for two years, we still room together—unable to get out of the pattern. But best friends don't have to grow out of anything—I think that's kind of the point. They are there with you for the hard stuff, but they've also been with you through the immature stuff—and that is the stuff you want remember the most. Like when we egged our professor's car for giving Gale a D or when Gale streaked through the park, past a group of third graders.
"Dude, I know you've heard me say this a billion times, and as much as I don't want to say it again, I will," he says, setting down his usual glass of bourbon onto our scratched, wooden coffee table. "You should try to find someone better than her." He runs his hand through his messy brown hair.
I shake my head. "There's no such person," I whisper.
Gale rolls his eyes. "Peet, I love you bro, but it's been almost three years!"
"She was the one, Gale. And she ran away—scared of her feelings. And now she's half across the country." I cross my arms over my chest. "You just don't understand."
Gale stands up off the couch. "You're right. I don't." He exits the living room, shaking his head and taking his glass with him, and into his bedroom.
I head to my room too and begin to shed my clothes for bed. You can't just "get over" your soul mate. And sure, we had some issues—I mean, she was sullen and moody and outspoken and I was the opposite—but we balanced each other out. Love does that to you. I believe if you love someone, truly love them, then the faults just fade away. You find the ability to look over them or embrace them. Because they are it for you. And I thought she was it for me.
When I'm just in my boxers, I crawl under my covers and try to fall asleep; but all I see is her face. Laughing, kissing my cheek, nuzzling my neck, whispering "I love you" into my ear, glaring at me with her beautiful grey eyes. She was broken, but we were broken together. Her beauty overshadowed everyone on this God forsaken place we call earth.
She was my best friend.
The grocery store is empty the next morning and I wander effortlessly through the aisles, grabbing things off our mile long list. Gale and I don't really go shopping that often so when we do, we buy out the whole store—our cart filled to the brim. I grab two boxes of cheerios and turn down the produce aisle. I have to finish all the shopping and a few other errands before work, but I've still got five hours. I own a bakery a few blocks from mine and Gale's house. It was handed down to me by my father when he passed away a few years ago, and though I have two older brothers, none of them were interested in taking up the family business. But I was and always had been; it's all I've ever wanted to do. And my bitch of a mom has been gone for years, so why would my Dad pass it to her? Especially after how she's treated us while we grew up.
I lean down to grab a head of lettuce when a flicker out of the corner of my eye causes me to look up. I look down the aisle and see her. My breath hitches. What is she doing here? I thought she was supposed to be in Los Angeles, not in Dumb-Fuck, Virginia.
"Katniss?" I ask, incredulously. The beautiful woman looks over to me, her chocolate braid flipping around her head.
"Peeta?" Her beautiful lips form my name and I feel my pulse spike, just like it did when we were together. I've been in love with her since I was a kid, but she never even gave me the time of day until our Freshman year of college when Gale and I happened to take Psych 101 with her. When she smiled at me for the first time, the whole world made sense, and I knew I would never be the same. And I haven't.
I stand back up, step away from the food and walk down the aisle towards her. She's holding a small child in her arms, but I don't focus on that. All I see is her. It's been over two and a half years since I've seen Katniss, the person I thought I would love forever. And I know I will, but her forever didn't seem to be as long as mine.
"How are you?" I ask when I finally reach her. All I want to do is tuck the stray piece of hair that's fallen from her braid behind her ear—like I've done a thousand times before. But I can't anymore. And it kills me.
She smiles shyly and my heartbeat practically becomes audible. "I'm good. How are you?" She shifts the girl onto her right hip and my eyes flicker to the little girl momentarily.
"Good. I'm good too." I grin at her, then smile at the little girl. "And who's this?" I ask, reaching out my hand to the little girl. The girl giggles and buries her face in Katniss's neck. I laugh.
"This is Prim."
My eyes widen. "Like your sister?" She nods her head. Katniss's sister died when Katniss was just a teenager. Her sister was only twelve. She never talked to anyone about it—except me. There was a fire one night when Prim was staying at her best friend's house and she was trapped; her friend died too. My heart beats in my chest, nervous adrenaline running through my veins. If her name is Prim…
"So she's yours?" I ask. Again, she nods her head.
"Prim, this is Peeta," she says. Prim removes her head and looks at me again. I reach out my hand again and tickle her side. She giggles, thrashing around in Katniss's arm, her blond hair flying about.
"How old is she?" I ask, grinning. This little girl is so cute. It almost makes me forget that the love of my life has another man's child.
"Almost two," she whispers, her eyes casting downward, avoiding my gaze. My eyebrows pull together. Two? I look back at Prim. Her hair is very dirty blonde, curls sticking up haphazardly all over her head. She has high cheekbones like Katniss and her same nose and same long eyelashes. But it's the eyes I focus on. They are bright blue and eerily familiar.
"Katniss?" I look away from the little girl and back to the girl I've loved since I was six.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, something she's always done when she's nervous. After what seems like a thousand years, she releases her lip and looks up at me—her grey eyes warm like summer storm.
"She's yours."
I've had this story in my head and hidden on my computer for a long time and I've finally decided to publish it. I hope you all enjoy it!
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