II. Sender: Peeta Mellark

The unpleasant gut wrenching turns into hot anger. I thought we were past this! How dare he? Furiously I start to rip the envelope in two and then stop myself. I have a feeling that he is watching. I'm not the only one who learned a few new tricks in the arena and during all that followed Peeta has become much more skilled at camouflage, at hiding. He knows how to blend in with the scenery, never be seen, stay out of sight. How he is able to make no sound with that artificial leg of his, is a mystery to me. Maybe they taught him in the Capitol and used some technical method to enhance his leg. I wouldn't put that past those doctors, those hijackers. Still tormenting the Mockingjay by letting Peeta silently stalk me.

I don't want to give Peeta the satisfaction of seeing that his stupid letter has me so worked up. And I don't want him to see me throwing it into the trash as that will only encourage him to write another. I will burn it without reading, but I will do that in private.

I enter the house and close the door behind me. I throw the letter into the fireplace in the sitting room, hating that I have to make a fire in summer.

I sit on the sofa knowing I should really go clean up the house now, especially the guest room. However I can't bring myself to do it. It will make the fact that Gale is gone reality. Before I can stop myself I'm tearing up once more. Gale was so kind and sweet those last few days. I had to control myself around him, work hard at holding back so I didn't start to cry and beg for him to stay. I don't think that he would've appreciate the fierce huntress he loves turn into a clingy, weak girl.

I'm climbing up the stairs, exhausted from crying. I barely make it to the guest room. Gale's room. Trembling I walk over to his bed, our bed. I'm certainly not washing those sheets any time soon. They still smell of Gale, of us making love in this room just a few hours ago. I cuddle myself into the pillow and drift into sleep, pretending he is the blanket and still resting here with me.

Days of longing turn into weeks.

Weeks of desperation turn into months in which the sound of the mail man posting letters is the only thing keeping me sane.

Gale and I - we are officially a couple. We have what Haymitch calls a long distance relationship. Meaning I can't see my lover, because he is a thousand miles away.

Gale promised that he would return to me as soon as he could get vacation again. Sometimes he is given a free weekend, but Twelve is too far away, the trip takes over a day by train. He would basically have a moment to say hello and give me a quick kiss on the platform and then jump back on the train. I would be okay with even that short glimpse of him. However visiting is out of the question, Gale tells me so in one short card he writes from the Capitol that arrives in September. There is also his family to think of. Hazelle writes she also barely sees her own son, and they live in the same District.

In reality it is all on me to keep our communication running.

I write letters and I call him as often as he has an hour to spare - he created a little time table for me to check when he is available.
I write daily - he replies monthly.
I call every weekend, he answers every call - for the first three months. Then suddenly I have to consider myself lucky, if he answers the phone on the pre-determined phone dates at all.

I try my hardest to not sound too reproachful when I write letters to him. Trying to keep my angry mood swings away from him is difficult, because I don't have any outlet for my frustrations other than the letters and calls. He is busy, I get that. I'm not. All I have is too much time doing nothing.

I forget again that I am supposed to eat at least one meal a day. My body steadily returns to the one of a younger girl lacking womanly curves. I begin to look like I did long before the Hunger Games.

Half a year into our life as a couple I realize that I haven't touched myself for two months. My daily masturbating sessions in the guest room seem like a fading memory. When the sheets smell of Gale no longer - only of me - it is time to finally wash them and move back into my bedroom. Sometimes I ask myself if I could have dreamed having sex with Gale. Maybe that wasn't real and all in my head? Is this what the hijacking felt like for my dear neighbor? I won't go over and ask him, that's for sure. The need for sex disappears and is replaced by a desire for more pills to numb down the loneliness. As usual, I mention it to my mother and after a while a small parcel holding a box of pills finds its way to my red letter box.

Someone is banging at my door. Hard. People have become rude here in Twelve or whatever this place is called now. I'm in the sitting room on the sofa. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner tells me it is half past eleven. I have been staring at the fireplace for quite a while, not noticing my feet have gone to sleep. As I limp towards the front door, loud coursing can be heard from the other side.

"Open the damn door or I'll break it down! I know you're there, Katniss Everdeen!" Haymitch Abernathy's raised voice cannot be ignored.

"Stop it, Haymitch. I'm coming," I try to shout back, however the only sound that comes out is some weird croaking noise. I haven't used my voice for days. When was the last time I talked to Haymitch?

I open the door and there he is, looking wild and his hair is disheveled. "What?" I whisper. He gives me a long hard look, steps into the house and closes the door behind him. He turns to me and gives me a short hug and then steps back to get a better look at me.

"I was worried, Sweetheart. I have been knocking and shouting at your door for five minutes. Why do you lock the door? It's only us here in the Victor's Village. Why do you want to keep us out?" His voice is softer now.

I grimace at that. Haymitch knows exactly that I don't like surprise visitors sitting in my kitchen. That's why I lock the door. When he sees the look on my face he sighs in exasperation. "Look, I have not seen you in days. And you look as thin as a stick and as white as a ghost. When was the last time you ate?"

My answer comes so swiftly he can barely blink. "Just this morning, I had some berries from the woods and toast for breakfast an hour ago," I turn around quickly and walk into the sitting room, returning to my nest on the sofa.

"Bullshit. You haven't left the house to hunt for days," Haymitch follows me and shakes his head. "It's winter Katniss! There are no berries in the woods. And toast? Why do you lie? Henry told me he hasn't sold bread to you in weeks. In fact, you haven't been seen by anyone in town since October."

I cringe at being caught lying. I consider telling him I baked the toast myself, but this would really be pathetic.

"What's it to you Haymitch? Spying on me? Why are you talking about me with the townspeople? You know I hate that. Why are you even here?" Anger overwhelms me. "Don't you have work to do?" I know the words are unfair as I speak, but I can't seem to stop myself. When Haymitch is involved I never hold back. He is the only one who can handle the real me anyway.

"Calm down. My workshop will survive a few hours without me. You're important to me. To us. I need to check up on you and I need you to eat. We are concerned about you." Haymitch sighs. "I want you to live Sweetheart. Just surviving won't do. Trust your old mentor, please. You have to eat. What would Gale say if he saw you like this?"

Exhausted all the fight leaves my body and I nod. I look up at Haymitch and then ask in a small voice. "Did you talk to Gale?"

"Yes, I did. He wants to surprise you with a visit and only told me over the phone last night. I thought it would be best if I warned you though. You have to prepare and eat. He'll be over in two weeks. So please, please, promise me you'll go to the bakery and buy food, ok?"

There is too much information in that sentence for my befuddled brain to process. Gale will be back in two weeks? I can't believe it! I could kiss Haymitch for warning me. Immediately I straighten up my stance. Gale can't see me in this state, I have to make sure I look my best when he is here.

"You're right. Sorry Haymitch. I will eat. In fact I will go to Henry's right now. Can I bring you something from town? I can also go to the butcher if you like?", I ask smiling at the news of Gale's return, feeling eager to leave the house. Suddenly my stomach gives a low rumble and I smirk, noticing that I am indeed hungry. I start to stand up to walk over to the wardrobe to get my coat, when Haymitch interrupts me.

"Wait a minute, Sweetheart," he looks around the room as if he's searching for something. His eyes fly over the fireplace and back to my face. "Uh... did you check your letter box recently?" I don't know what he's getting at.

"Yes, I check it daily. Why?" Haymitch looks uncomfortable.

"Please tell me you have read his letters." Haymitchs voice feels flat to my ears. I save us both the awkwardness of pretending I don't know who he's talking about. I sink back to the sofa and take a long look at Haymitch.

"No. I haven't read his letters. I threw them out." The face Haymitch is making at my words can only be described as heartbroken.

After I found the beige envelope on that June afternoon when Gale left I had been struggling with my inner demons. I had burned the letter in the morning without opening it. Having no direct contact with Peeta for over a year, a letter from him wasn't wanted. I wondered what had made him spring into action anyway, I couldn't help it. It must've been because he saw me with Gale.

I didn't want to waste a minute and think about his reasons though. I had spent too many long nights wondering about Peeta Mellark and his stupid reasons. He could not worm himself into my mind that easily again, I was determined that he stayed out of my head. But then there was another letter and another and another. All at once "Sender: Peeta Mellark" was written on the majority of my mail. It was like Peeta was forcing me to acknowledge the fact that he existed. I burned each letter immediately.

There was this weekend a few weeks ago when Gale didn't answer my call. I hit a particularly low point. There hadn't been any mail in the letter box that week - only Peeta's. I almost opened his letter. I wondered briefly if Peeta wrote the same words each time or - believing I was reading his musings - happily chatted away. Did he really create new carefully crafted content for each letter? I managed to restrain myself and the letter followed the same fate as its predecessors.

I don't feel bad about it. And I tell that to Haymitch.

"I'm not interested in what he has to say. You know that. Why are you so surprised that I didn't read them? I thought you knew. We never talked about them," that should have made it obvious to Haymitch that I have no idea what Peeta might be writing about.

"Sweetheart, if I had started to talk about the boy, you would've kicked me out of this house in an instant. And I'm not saying you're wrong about him. Just one look at your face right now makes it clear that you don't have any intention to talk. Nonetheless you have to listen to me for a minute."

"If Peeta has something to say he should come himself," I say coldly, knowing I wouldn't listen to Peeta and leave him standing in the cold at the front door.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No. He cannot do that. Talking to you is hard on him as well. Besides he has no time to waste, knocking at a door that won't open."

I hate that curiosity makes me ask: "What is so important for him to do that he doesn't have time? Nothing to do here anyway. Or is he painting horrible hijacked images of the Mockingjay all night so he can't get out of bed in the morning?" My voice turns icy.

Instead of looking angry Haymitch just looks distressed when he answers, "No. He is busy, because he has a business to run. Remember the bakery? Mellark's?"

What a stupid question to ask. Of course, I remember the bakery, why does he have to ask this? I detect no sarcasm in his tone. And who could forget Mellark's bakery?

I remember each little detail. Everything about it. Without wanting them to, my thoughts fly back to the spring when we all helped rebuilding parts of the town. Peeta had some money from the Victor's winning left so he chose to rebuilt his father's house. He opted for a busy spot on the main road between the new town square and the Victor's Village. Peeta, Haymitch and me spent long evenings carefully planning each room. From the sales front counter to the working area at the back with a big oven for bread and another area for creating cakes and experimenting on smaller pastries. A bright small office for the paper work and a store room with a back-door, where Peeta could place ingredients that came from the other districts and the Capitol.

Unbidden an image flitters vividly through my brain. It's early in the morning, the morning before the grand opening. We are preparing for the day I turn around and see...

Peeta, his blonde hair shimmering golden due to the rising sun shining through the open door. Looking serenely happy as he lifts a sack of flour to the shelf. And then he looks at me. He is smiling and in that smile lies the promise of a bright future. His blue eyes full of love, sweet adoration and endless happiness.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. No, no! I cannot, I will not remember this.

"Yes, I remember the bakery, Haymitch. What about it?" I shake my head to dispel the image, not wanting to think of Peeta this way.

"Have you actually seen Peeta in the Victor's Village lately?"

Thinking hard I try to remember. "No, he has become apt at hiding away it seems," I answer slowly.

I don't know where Haymitch is going with this. Peeta lives in the Victor's Village. We avoid each other, as much as one can avoid another when you're direct neighbors. I often take a different route, leave the house through the back door, scared of running into him. Exhausting, but worth it. It always felt like Peeta was also making the effort to see as little of me as possible. Sometimes I saw his form disappearing around the corner of the road or walking towards Haymitch's house. When I opened up the windows facing his house he could be seen working in his garden or painting his house. That was in summer though and now that Haymitch actually asks me about Peeta I notice that I haven't seen him in a while.

"He is not hiding, Katniss. He is sleeping at the bakery. Basically lives there now," Haymitch hesitates, seems to have some inner fight with himself and then continues.

"The boy, he is at his limit. I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I guess he thinks you already know. He believes you are actually communicating again through the letters. I told him that was most likely wishful thinking, but he wouldn't listen."

Before feelings of regret over the letters even have the smallest chance to creep up on me, I quickly remind myself that it is Peeta's fault that things are as they are. Peeta doesn't have the right to feel hurt by any action of mine.

My voice is impassive as I ask Haymitch, "What about Elmar and Coraline? They can't be too happy with him sleeping on their sofa."

Elmar and his wife Coraline are new settlers who moved from District Five to District Twelve. Elmar is a baker who lost his bakery during the bombings of the war. He wasn't as well off financially as Peeta so he had to look around Panem for employment. Both of them are a huge help to Peeta. They moved into the big apartment on the top floor of the bakery and while Peeta and Elmar are working in the back, Coraline is responsible for the counter, orders and the customers. They are good, nice people. Elmar and Peeta shared a connection immediately. Exchanging baking secrets and tricks of the trade with one another. Elmar is a natural joker and like one of the older brothers that Peeta lost. But then Peeta always drew people to him as moths are drawn to the flame. I have never met anyone who didn't like him. Even after the hijacking Peeta was always kind to strangers and easy to get along with.

"He isn't sleeping on their sofa. There is no sofa, as they are not here anymore. He had to let them go. They returned to Five last spring." My eyes grow large at this.

"They resigned," I whisper, shocked. "But why? There was so much work to do! Why?"

"Sweetheart, please, don't take what I tell you now the wrong way. I know that Peeta made his own bed and now has to lie in it. But have you ever thought about how your actions reflect on others? He once told you that you have no idea about the effect you can have. And that is still true. Currently even more than back then."

"Stop beating around the bush, Haymitch. What are you talking about? What have I done?" I hiss now. I try to wreck my brain to get an answer to the question on whatever I could have to done that made Peeta lay off Elmar and Coraline.

"Katniss, you must realize how famous you are. You will always be the Mockingjay, a symbol of the rebellion, a celebrity basically. The boy, he was well liked to, but even back in the first arena, the sponsors and everyone was simply in love with you and you only. Even though he won't believe it, I tried to get Peeta a sponsor's gift as well. However people just didn't respond to him the way they did to you. And it is still true for this small town here. Everyone is fond of you, you're a hero of the war, the one who made it all happen. Sure there are people who have negative feelings, but for the majority, they look up to you. You're an idol here in Twelve. That's how it is."

"So what?" I am almost screaming at my old my mentor. "That's not my fault and I never wanted any of it!"

"I know that. But that doesn't change the reality of it. Now tell me Sweetheart, where do you buy your bread?"

At this abrupt change of topic I can only look at Haymitch and answer dumbfounded, "At the other bakery, at Henry's."

"Why? Is Henry's bread the best in town?" Haymitch inquires.

I shake my head. No, it isn't. The best bread in town will always be Peeta's bread. Henry's buns just pale in comparison to every baked good Peeta ever created.

"That's not...that's not the reason why I don't...why I'm not..." I stammer. I don't finish the sentence.

"I know, Sweetheart, I know. But the rest of Twelve doesn't have these inside informations on the former star-crossed lovers. All they see is that Katniss Everdeen prefers Henry Walner's bread to Peeta Mellark's. If the Mockingjay of all people doesn't buy her bread at Mellark's there must be something wrong with it. This is a small town, rumors can destroy you and once the public opinion turns, there is no holding back. In fact Twelve is so small, it doesn't even need two bakeries. Peeta's business was getting slower and slower until he couldn't pay Elmar and Coraline anymore. There are still a few loyal customers left, mostly older residents from Twelve who lived here before the war and knew his father. But numbers are dwindling. The boy has to do the work on his own now from the paperwork to the baking, cleaning, selling. He is working around the clock and it's taking its toll."

I am silent. I honestly don't know what to say. Some voice inside my head is screaming You should've never burned his letters, you idiot!

I did what I thought was best, what I thought Peeta wanted as well. I never ever wanted to destroy him. We went our seperate ways but that my actions did this to him cuts like a knife. Peeta's life work. His passion. All that he has left.

"He's in deep trouble financially," Haymitch continues. "If things don't change for him and soon, I don't know what will happen. I tried my best to get the town people back on his side. But I don't have that much power here. It's not only the quality of his bread that is in question with these folks. When you were seen with Gale in the summer people seemed to feel that you confirmed their suspicions that Peeta is a villain who broke your heart and shouldn't be trusted."

Feeling dizzy I grip the edge of the sofa to steady myself. I don't really understand this. Peeta is the lovable one. I'm antisocial and hate to talk to the townsfolk. Why do they love me so much and decided to side with me? It doesn't make sense.

"I'm happy you chose to eat again," Haymitch says. "Don't forget to act surprised when Gale arrives in two weeks. I just have one request. Buy your bread from the boy and make sure that people see you at the bakery and in town carrying his goods. It might be too late, but we've got to give it try."

I'm barely listening, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. I feel Haymitch's eyes on me. He is waiting for an answer. Slowly I nod.

"Yes, I will go. I will go to him. I promise."

"Good. Thank you, Sweetheart. I don't know how the boy will react to your presence after all this time, so don't try to scare him, alright?" he turns around making for the door. "Gotta go, or else my business will also fail. I'll see you around." And with that Haymitch is gone.

I'm still bewildered. This morning nothing was further from my mind than Peeta and his bakery. Now I promised Haymitch I would visit said place. I can't bring myself to move.

I'm scared of really going there. Seeing Peeta for the first time close up again, talking to him, buying his bread. What seemed like a natural and easy task two years ago, now is a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to take on.

If what Haymitch said is true though, it is high time I go. Our old mentor wouldn't make this story up. I know it is the truth. I have to make sure that Peeta's bakery won't fail. I can't put this off any longer.

Heavy hearted I get up, grab my coat and purse and leave the house in the direction of Mellark's Bakery for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

The afternoon is chilly and the last leaves of the year are twirling around in little circles as I come closer and closer to the bakery. My hands are sweaty and my throat is dry. When I can make out the small shop sign which Haymitch so carefully crafted one evening, I feel like my heartbeat is on overdrive. It is crazy but I'm afraid. Afraid of seeing him again up close, hearing that voice. Peering in the direction of the square I see there aren't many people out this afternoon. Silently I curse. I hoped that some gossip would be on the street to tell tales right away. I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. I have to come back here more often.

I'm nearly at the door but I walk past the bakery just risking a quick glance inside. No customer is in and the shop window looks strangely empty. There are a few loaves of rye bread laid out in a basket and I see a lone baguette at the sides. Peeta and his father, back in the days of the old bakery, usually displayed a variety of cake. Prim loved to look at those sweet treats. Sadness starts to overwhelm me at the thought of her. I push the sadness into the furthest corner of my mind as the situation is complicated enough without dark thoughts of the little duck. I just can't handle the grief right now.

When I reach the town square I make for a short circle and trace back to the bakery. I'm really bad at this. Putting off the inevitable. Returning to the front entrance once more I almost start to linger again. Maybe it is good that I don't have any idea what I'm going to say or else all courage would've left me already. Haymitch ambushed me with this and I'm kind of glad I am here now and didn't have time to overthink this. Straightening up I steel myself and then enter before I can change my mind.

The cheery ring of the doorbell above sounds unbefitting as I push the door open. There is no one in sight, but I hear Peeta's voice calling, "Coming. I'll be right with you!" from the back. I swallow as I wait. The air is warm in the shop. Oven's running on full heat in the back, I reckon.

"What can I do...," Peeta says, hastily appearing through the back door, drying his hands on a small towel and stopping in midstep at the sight of me. "...for you?" he finishes in a low voice. His mouth hangs slightly open in shock.

It is obvious that he didn't expect me. He moves his hands to his eyes and slowly begins to rub them, as if I'm some sort of spirit that suddenly materialized out of nowhere. I wonder if coming here was really that good of a plan. Haymitch would have warned me if Peeta could have one of his episodes at the sight of me, wouldn't he? Is it possible that Haymitch didn't really think this through? Or maybe he never knew what exactly triggered Peeta's episodes so he didn't think of the possibilities this situation might entail?

To distract myself and to stop the awkward silence that has stretched between the two of us I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I'd like to have some bread, please." My voice sounds surprisingly steady. I'm looking Peeta straight in the eyes, trying to see any signs of his pupils dilating - preparing to flee if it happens.

Peeta blinks and doesn't answer. The silence is unbearable. I don't know what to do. When he doesn't move I finally break eye contact and take a look at the counter. What I see is almost as pathetic as the displayed bread in the window. About three regular loaves of bread, one nut and raisin bread and a dozen wheat, rye and regular rolls. That's all. I never saw it look this empty in here. This is your fault! a little nagging voice is agonizing me in the back of my mind.

"Katniss?" He asks, his voice weak, almost breaking. It sounds like we're back in that horrible cave and he cannot see me. Like I'm hidden by the darkness and he is confirming I'm really there. I force myself to look up at him again. He has tears in his eyes. "Katniss, is that really you?"

I have to hold back a snappy reply at this. He hasn't gone blind, so he should be able to recognize me. I don't answer. Instead I ask "Are there any cheese buns left?" in a bored voice.

I really became good at hiding my real emotions. Peeta on the other hand wears his heart on his sleeve. He looks at the counter as well and then shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't bake any. Today. I mean, there is bread. I made bread. Today. And rolls. Maybe...but...but maybe you'd like some rye rolls? Or nut and raisin bread? You always liked that, didn't you? I'm so sorry about the cheese buns," he is rambling. I don't really know what he is talking about. This boy who was so good with words, words that could make me feel like anything was possible and words that did hurt worse than fire burns on my skin.

I force myself to take a long look at Peeta. Haymitch wasn't kidding in any way. He doesn't look good. Deep dark circles stand out under his red eyes. His golden locks appear ashen. His skin is pale and even though I can make out muscles through his white shirt he looks thinner up close. He also looks older than his twenty years, resembling his father more. But then I think about my own appearance and shudder. Peeta is not the only one who didn't take care of himself. I feel his eyes on me. The desire to leave the bakery becomes overwhelming.

"Well, we can't help that, can we? Just give me the nut and raisin bread then," I speak very fast now and search for my purse urgently. "How much do I owe you?"

"No, no, you don't have to pay, that's alright!" He is also speeding up his talk as if to catch up with me. "I'm sorry, I didn't have any cheese buns ready for you. I should have made some, really. Do you have to leave already? I could make them for you now. We can talk a bit in the back. If not, I could bring them over to your house later. Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. Listen, I'm sorry that there is not that much of a selection to choose from today, I had some troubles with the oven lately."

Peeta gives me a apologetic smile as he slowly wraps the nut and raisin bread in paper. I don't smile back. Peeta is lying to me and that makes me angry. I almost say something when I remember Haymitch's words. Peeta isn't aware of the fact that I know he is in a bind.

In his letters he obviously didn't mention his problems with the bakery. If he did he wouldn't have to pretend that he has oven troubles.
Or that the reason his assortment became so small is anything other than the fact that there are almost no customers left.
What the hell was he writing about in those letters?

I'm almost as angry at his lies as I am at his foolish suggestion to talk in private. Has he forgotten everything that happened? He was the one who turned our dealings so awkward, made me keep my distance!

"I don't need your charity, Peeta. Just tell me how much," I say coldly and he flinches as if I'd slapped him. He tells me a ridiculously low price and I count the money and leave it atop the coin tray. No wonder he is in trouble, if he sells his products for so little. Mrs. Mellark would turn in her grave if she'd witness her son's short sighted business decisions. And for once I would agree with her. I take the wrapped bread from his hands and make to leave, not wanting to stay a minute longer.

"Wait please, Katniss. It's been months since I mentioned it, so I thought you wouldn't come, which I'd understand of course. But I'm so glad, you came, really," he is speaking again and to hear him talk like that only makes me more irritated.

For the second time time today I feel ashamed about the way I acted. Peeta deserves to know that I didn't read any of his letters. He could've stopped wasting his time writing them much sooner. I can't bring myself to tell him that I never knew about any invitation of his. Forcing myself to pay attention he babbles on "..and that's certainly true. I meant what I said though, I can deliver to your house from tomorrow on, if you'd like."

He looks at me, expectation shining in his blue eyes. Expectations he has no right to.

I would like nothing better than for him just to leave the bread on my doorstep each morning, to not see the bakery like this, to not have to talk to him again.

However these wishes are in vain. I shake my head and say slowly, "No, but thanks for offering. I'm coming back here tomorrow. You better have these cheese buns ready by then." I try to sound teasing, but my tone is dry.

Peeta is oblivious and just beams at me. I mumble a short goodbye and slip through the door. The doorbell drowns out Peeta's bright "See you tomorrow, Katniss!" and then I'm out at the street.

Our whole exchange couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes but it still felt draining and anticlimatic. We didn't speak about the past and I'm glad for it. I can't help but wonder about tomorrow though and the days that will follow. As I walk towards home I pass a couple of kids on their way to the town square. Unfortunately those don't look like they would tattle much.

The thought of another visit to the bakery lost some of it's frightfulness. Our exchange was normal and polite. I'm still not happy that visiting will be a regular event of my day from now on though. Gale will be back in two weeks and I'd rather not want him to know that I am on talking terms with Peeta again, although Gale would probably be glad and think that this is healthy.

Darkness falls over the Victor's Village when I return home and glance at my red letter box. Connecting the dots I observe that Peeta, even though he slept at the bakery for over half a year, made his way to the Victor's Village regularly to drop letters. Letters which I burned immediately. Unbidden images of Peeta sitting at his desk in the back office, writing one of those letter comes to my mind. That must've also taken time, time he didn't have.

I eat a slice of the nut and raisin bread and get ready for bed. I lay down and think of the bread and how rich and good it tasted. Just like the bread he threw to me when we were children. As I drift into sleep my last thought is that it has been much too long since I had any cheese buns and that I do look forward to taste them again.