AN:: Sorry sorry, I said I'd be quick. But life and school gets in the way. Here is the first chapters, and thank you to those who already faved and are following. It really means a lot :D

Chapter 1

Peeta

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

When I was younger, I don't think I was able to fully comprehend this concept. Either that or I naively believed that nothing was fleeting and I took for granted all the things that I thought I would have forever. Now at thirty-three with plenty of years of life experience, I've come to really understand the wise words of Ferris Bueller and apply this philosophy to my own life. Just don't tell my clients I get all my words of wisdom from childhood classic movies though. They might laugh in my face, and I have a reputation to maintain here.

But there is certainly truth in that quote isn't there? I think about it all the time with my two children, Daniel and Meredith, when I think about how fast they are going to grow up. For me, that quote helps bring everything into focus and it reminds me to be conscientious of the beauty surrounding us and cherish the people dear to us always. If there's anything I want to teach my kids, it would be that. Life is too quick to dwell in the past, and besides, you never are sure when it's your time to leave this world. You might as well make each day count. And that's quoting yet another famous movie…

Cruising down the familiar roads as I get off the highway, I turn and drive up a little further before pulling up before a light colored building. It was two stories with a pointed, triangular roof and twin stairs that led up onto the second floor covered deck.

I maneuver my Subaru easily into the adjacent parking lot and twist the keys free from the ignition once I slide into a vacant spot. Stepping out, the all-empowering Floridian sun instantly blinds my vision and burns right through. Relishing its heat as I stretch my muscles like a sunning cat, I inhale the clean atmosphere and am further put at ease by the fresh fragrance of the ocean drifting in from the beaches and lively flowers.

As I walk up to the building, I pass by the large dry garden adorning the front entrance. In the middle of the patch of prickly plants and beside a small tree was a stucco monument sign that read in gold leaf text "Palm Beach Garden Marriage & Family Therapy Center".

I live in Palm Beach Garden, as you may have guessed, in southern Florida. You know, just above places like Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Palm Beach County is filled with wealthy coastal towns such as Jupiter or Manalapan, and Palm Beach Garden is one of them. If you're a golf lover, this place would seem like Heaven on Earth for you. But even if you're like me and can't play golf to save your life, I'm nearly positive you'd still find yourself falling fast and hard for this little place.

Golf aside, Palm Beach Garden has everything I could possibly need. The therapy center where I work and shopping areas are all just over three miles away from my gated community, which means I could literally walk to work every morning if I really wanted closest family beach is Juno, which is only about eight miles from where we live, but we usually prefer to go to the beaches up in Jupiter—and that's just an addition two miles out of our way. I'm pretty simple like that. And it's very clean here too and the people here are absolutely the best people you could hope to meet. I'm originally from Brooklyn, and while I'll admit it was a weird adjustment to southern life, I love living here so much more than the Big Apple. It's great! Everything's in walking proximity like New York City, minus bustling throngs of bluster and of course its smog appeal.

I climb the stairs leading up onto the second level and enter through the double door entrance. A cheerful jingle of bells and the surge of cold air from the AC greet me as I duck inside and close the door behind me, and I look up to find my boss and fellow therapists. They all smile brightly to me and an automatic grin is plastered on my face in reply.

Including me, there are six therapists at the clinic—Cinna, Madge, Flavius, Venia, and Octavia—and over the years we have become a pretty close-knit family. Seriously, I mean that. We all go out for drinks once in a while, or even if I can't manage it with my schedule, the gang comes to me. My kids love them too and have adapted in addressing them by the titles of "Auntie" or "Uncle". If my kids or I ever need anything, they always have my back. It's a great relief like you wouldn't believe.

"Morning everyone," I tell them with my usual cheerfulness. From growing up in my parent's deli-bakery and getting up at the crack of dawn to work, I am very much a morning person. Even still, I don't dare turn down an indulgent cup of coffee as I join them in conversation. Black, just the way I like it.

They're all great and easy to talk to, but no one beats Cinna. Cinna, a soft-spoken brunette man in his early forties with bottle green eyes, is my boss and the head therapist, and he is also one of the closest friends I've made here. He is amazingly supportive and encouraging, an inspiration to us all in the way he can just listen to anyone and understand them like he's known them their entire life. He also has a strong control over his emotions and manages to create a perfect balance between being objective and compassionate. Cinna just has one of those personalities that instantly put you at ease and where you can't help but spill your entire life story to him. It's always an honor to work under him and learn tips from his years of experience, both with clients and his own life.

Cinna lives on the first level, which is only accessible from entering through clinic on the second floor. Typically people furnish their practices and houses in the opposite order, but it's Cinna so he's allowed to be as unorthodox as he pleases. It's a sign of genius, and I don't dare question this.

After chatting a little longer with the others, I nurse my coffee as I pick up my patient files and then retreat into my private office.

Besides being incredible at his job, Cinna also has exceedingly innate fashion and interior decorating skills. His clinic reflects that. The waiting room and the individual offices were all furnished and decorated with the latest modern styles and it's picturesque enough in my opinion to make an appearance in ElleDecor. It has sleek hardwood flooring throughout, accented with floor rugs, warm hues on the walls, artwork on the walls, intricate bookshelves lined with books and knickknacks, and plants. Real ones, I might add. You wouldn't believe how many practices still use those creepy artificial ones. But my favorite features are the incandescent lamps and the variety of windows that let in natural daylight, as opposed to usual inexpensive choice of florescent light. Cinna said he was trying to create a sense of intimacy and capture more of a home-like environment. You know, to make our patients feel at ease when they come here. It obviously does the trick. Seriously. Put yourself in the client's shoes and imagine how painfully uncomfortable and reluctant you would feel about talking about your innermost feelings in an uninviting office-like room with unbearably bright florescent.

There is no comparison.

I sigh as I ease into my chair across from the vacant love seat where my patients sit and rest my coffee on the side table next to me so I can flip through the files without doing a juggling act. A therapist needs to prepare themselves you know, and even though I mostly see the same people on a weekly basis, each and every day comes with it own unique problems that sometimes you can never anticipate.

My official title is a marriage and family therapist, but what I specialize in is grief therapy. In other words, I help people who have recently undergone a devastating loss; like the death of a loved one, a divorce. That sort of thing. Most of the time it's death though. I've only been a therapist for about three and half years, which is nothing compared to my co-workers who all have almost ten or more years under their belt, so I know there is still so much I haven't seen. But I've seen an adequate amount and am familiar enough with grief myself to know how it works and dismantles lives. Grief affects people in many different ways—depression, heightened anxiety, strained relationships, and even self-sabotage—and ultimately it's my job to evaluate the symptoms I see and figure out the best way that I can help them make that tough adjustment and accept them death…Which is actually a really lame thing to say because nobody ever wants to accept it.

My first patient of the day is a woman named Effie, who I've been seeing for four months ever since the death of her husband. Honestly, this woman really makes my day. Besides just her completely off-the-wire commentary about what's new in her life or something her husband used to do, there's so much I admire about her strength through all of this. She's had it pretty rough for a while, but she's hanging in there. In the first month that I saw her, she just said in front of me sobbing and letting it all out. Most people try to keep it all in, thinking if they ignore the pain that it will go away faster. In truth, it's the exact opposite, which is why I always encourage my patients never to hold anything back. After that first month, the tears did subside a bit and she could talk to me easily, having no problem remembering all the good times she and her husband had shared. For her, those memories are what keep him alive and they are keeping her going as she learns to live life without him physically there.

Of course, not all my patients are as lucky as she is. I have another patient, James, who I've been seeing close to two years now who lost his wife to cancer and a son to war. On the side to seeing me, also meets with a psychiatrist gives him prescriptions to treat his manic depression, and between my therapy and the drugs, there is little to no improvement. But that's what sucks about this job sometimes; there are just some patients who despite their desire to be cured and return to normalcy, resist therapy. It's not his fault either. Trust me, I know. James has confided in me on countless occasions how badly he wants to be freed from his bottomless pit grief, but at the same time he struggles with putting his family's memories to rest. I feel for the guy, I really do. And even if he is a hopeless cause, I hate giving up on my patients. If there's one rule I have to live by it's that giving up is never an option. So I'll keep treating him, and hope that one day something clicks. I've asked Cinna, and he's told me as much as well.

I usually see six to seven patients a day for fifty minute intervals. After each client leaves and we've made arrangements for things I want my client to do on their own before the next session, I spend about twenty minutes researching new techniques and doing paperwork before the next patient arrives.

After I've taken my lunch break at noon, I look down at my charts and gaze over the patient I am seeing next: Katniss Everdeen.

In her patient summary, it says that her younger sister was killed in a car crash caused by a drunk driver in early January and that Katniss has been refusing treatment for her depression ever since then. They had apparently been very close to one another, especially after the death of their father and their mother's own submission into depression. Katniss had had a few outbursts in which she had quit her job and broke all ties from her long time best friend. Last month she had tried to commit suicide, but hadn't gone through with it. Her step-father had found her in her house with a lying besides her gun in her hand and a few bullet holes through the walls. It was after that final incident that her parents had decided to send her to get help. Apparently, I was recommended as the best person to treat her in the area.

I have yet to meet with her in person, but everything written down here was told to me by her step-father. She was supposed to meet with me last week, but she never showed up. Never called. Nothing. Her parents had apologized to me over the phone, and said that Katniss had extreme anxiety and was terrified of the idea of going to therapy. It's understandable. People get cold feet about therapy all the time and it's normal to do so. Think about how hard it is on a daily basis for people not in therapy to face their fears.

But the problem that I detect here is that Katniss is being forced against her will to come to therapy. No, I don't know that for a fact, but considering how I've only ever talked to her mother and step-father, I think it is safe to say Katniss wants no part in this healing process. I don't blame her exactly for how she had acted particularly because it's not her fault. I know her parents have her best interests at heart and are concerned, but you're never supposed to force someone to go into therapy. Sure, we all need a boatload of encouragement to take the first step and a little bit of firmness, but good, lasting results seldom come from a patient who does not seek treatment on their own accord. I have no idea how this is going to go over, but considering that she never even showed up last time, I'd be willing to bet she'd make a consistent habit of doing so.

But to my surprise, there she is in the waiting room, glaring at me with a sullen stare. Granted she is a good ten minutes late, but at least she decided to show this time.

She was dressed in rolled up sweatpants, an army green tank-top, and a beaten pair of Sperrys. The way the clothing hung on her made it very clear to see that she recently lost a substantial amount of weight that a person of her size and stature couldn't afford to lose in the first place. Her waist long chocolate hair was scrappily pulled into a side braid and her overgrown bangs hung limply against her jaw. Her face looked ragged and tired, her eyes rung with great dark circles and olive skin. I knew she was a few years younger than I was, but something in her dull and weary face made her appear my elder.

Smiling with professional ease, I moved forward to greet her. "Hi, Miss Everdeen?" Her critical gaze doesn't waver, and I clear my throat, "I'm your therapist, Peeta Mellark. You can call me whatever you like, I don't really have a preference." Warmly I extend my hand to her and she stares at it coldly, like it is some foreign object that has just intruded into her personal space. It doesn't take a therapist to tell that she is bitter and already has formed negative opinions of me. With a tired sigh I lower my hand back to my side, still trying to present a pleasant front, "Alright then. Shall we go in and get started?"

Katniss finally frowns, the first movement she has made since entering the office. Her eyes take on a guarded expression and she looks me up and down, as if she is the one psychoanalyzing me. The point she is trying to make does not go unnoticed.

"So what now?" she says, her eyes returning to mine solemnly, and for the first time I really get a good look at them. Her eyes were pure gray, without any hint of blue or anything. Unbending, like steel.

I shake my head uncomprehendingly and she folds her arms across her small chest. She looks almost bored now, as if I am wasting her time.

Deciding not to continue this fruitless conversation in the waiting room with other patients watching us, I gesture in the direction of my office, "Can we talk in my office?"

She shrugs noncommittally and I wait to see if she will move. She doesn't, and I take my cue to lead her inside. At first my ears don't detect any movement behind me, but once I am a good five feet ahead of her I hear the padding of her feet trailing after me. Once inside the office, I step off to the side to let her in before closing the door behind her. At the sound of the door quietly clicking shut, her head spins on me murderously and I hold up my hands as a sign of peace.

"It's alright. It's just to give us some privacy so other people can't hear us," I tell her gently, hoping her distrustful gaze will subside. It lingers for another moment or so, and finally she loses interest in me and turns away. While her back is turned, I inwardly take a few deep breaths and prepare myself for the next fifty minutes of hell she will no doubt give to me.

When I am ready, I calmly pace towards my chair opposite of Katniss and settle myself down with my notebook. Looking across the way at her, I notice how tense her body; her back erect against the loveseat as subconsciously began to wring her hands. Her eyes flicker around the room; first to the window, to the bookshelves, to the paintings on the wall, to the door. Her gaze hardens as her attention returns to me and she presses her lips in tight line. I smile to her patiently, hoping to put her at ease. Rather it has the opposite effect and she unhesitantly asks me, "So what did they tell you?" Even though her tone is very monotone, there is something very snarky her tone. I can only assume that it is a combination of distrust and betrayal.

I shake my head to her, "It doesn't matter what they said. I all I care about is what you say and tell me. Alright? Only you know the real story and can give me real answers."

Katniss rolls her eyes listlessly, her lips still pursed in that thin line of irritation. I know she distrusts me. What reasons have I given her not to distrust me? To her I'm the guy who was scheming behind her back alongside her parents. Nobody would want to trust that person.

But I try again. "Katniss," I begin, but then cut myself short. Suddenly, I decide upon a new tactic. "You have every right to be angry with us, by the way." I say evenly, and her eyes launch at me, edged with suspicion. I nod to her reassuringly though, "Really, you do. I wouldn't say otherwise if I didn't think it were true."

Katniss seems to relax a bit while I am talking. Not a lot. Actually, hardly at all. Her gaze isn't as harsh as before, but she is still very alert. I wait to see if this will encourage her to speak, but I can tell by her expectant gaze that she wishes me to give her a better explanation. Then she will decide whether or not she thinks I am full of shit.

"A lot has changed in your life, and the last thing you need is to be pressured into making more adjustments. Only you know your real emotions and what is best for yourself. Nobody can make those kinds of decisions but you Katniss. I'll help you only when and if you want me to. But you have to be the one who initiates that." I pause and let my words sink in before adding, "But I think it was very admirable of you to come today."

She seems to huff her breath a little, her gaze lowering from mine. I let her sit there in silence and don't press her any further until I hear her finally mumble, "So you're here to help me?"

I nod, "Only if you want me to."

Katniss looks back up at me at this, her expression warped in confusion as her eyes search mine for something tangible about my words. After a long time, she nods stoically in what I imagine is agreement. "Fine."

After that, she sits there watching me and waiting to see if I say anything more. It takes her a while to grasp that I am keeping up my end of the bargain; that I won't help her unless she chooses to help herself.

Inhaling slowly as she trains her eyes down on her hands, Katniss exhales with what seems to be great effort as she wills her voice to find the words locked inside of her.

"My sister…Prim," She begins, a sudden shakiness creeping into her stony voice, "…she…" Katniss exhaled, fidgeting with her hands again as she sat in absolute silence. Finally bitter anger flashed through her as her hands murderously became clenched into fists against her thighs. She didn't speak, and I could notice even through my obstructed view of her face that she was biting her lip down painfully, as if to prevent words from coming out.

The whole time I sit placidly across from her. It is not my place to interfere here; this was between Katniss and herself. If she chose not to say anything today, than so be it. She was simply not ready. But if she did, then they would work from there.

I glance discreetly over her head at the clock craftily hung on the wall behind her simply to get a bearing on the time and then quietly resume the way I was before. After a few more minutes pass by, I look up to Katniss and see how badly she is struggling to say the words aloud. Now is not the time. She is still resisting against, and that isn't something that can be fixed in the reaming half hour of our session.

"Take it easy," I say soothingly, "You don't have to say everything all at once." She doesn't look up, but her muscles do uncoil. I pause before continuing, "But your sister, why don't you tell me about her. What is she like?" I am always very careful about what tense I speak in when referring to someone who is deceased. I've learned that there is a very huge difference depending if you use the word "is" as opposed to "was".

Katniss still doesn't look at me, and I then add, "We don't have to talk about her if you don't want to."

To my surprise, Katniss shakes her head. "She's…was…unfailing kind." Katniss glanced up for a moment towards me for reassurance. I nodded to her to go on and she looked back down. She was quite and then shook her head, "No matter what anyone did or said, she just forgave them. And loved them….even when others wouldn't." there was a pause and then, "Everyone loved her."

I make an effort to smile easily, my eyes resting on Katniss compassionately, "I can see why."

After that small exchange, there is very little more that is said between us. Which is fine and normal. When I tell her that the session is over and she is free to go, she hesitates for a moment and I know she is waiting for me to book another appointment. Our eyes met knowingly and she nods with understanding.

"So…next Thursday?" she says in a low voice, reluctance still just as evident as before.

"Sounds good to me," I tell her, and after setting time that works for us, she heads out wordlessly without initiating any gesture of goodbye. I pause, my gaze following until she is obscured from my vision. I let out a sigh. There is a long road ahead of us, and I know I need to prepare for whatever Katniss Everdeen intends to bring to the table.

But at this point, there is no way of me ever foreseeing what actually lies further down the road for the both of us.

Please remember to comment to let me know what you think so far :D