Author's notes: Again, Caryn! Thank you for applying you beta wonders to this story. It means the world to me!
Trigger warnings: mention of drug use.
No. It's not him. It can't be him. During all this time I've been trying to keep him out of my head. Out of sight, out of mind. And he's been out of my mind for eight years. He will not make a reappearance now. I've worked too fucking hard for this. This will ruin everything.
"You're catching flies, Everdeen," an inmate announces.
"I didn't peg you for one of those who would fall for a cowboy," another one says.
They're right. I don't. I fell for him a long time ago. I think I'm still falling.
A push in my back jolts me back to reality. "Move along. You're holding up the line." If I weren't so confused I'd probably send the bitch behind me a glare, promising that she'd pay for that comment later. But I don't. Instead, I catch up with the line, careful not to meet his eyes. He can't know I'm here. Besides, I think I'll crumble to pieces if I look at him one more time.
The food looks like it always does. It doesn't matter what they call it—I wouldn't be surprised if it's the same goo every day, but now I'm happy to have something to occupy my hands. I sit down at my usual spot. No one dares to take it. It happened once, and she ended up with a black eye.
"So what do you want to do?" Clove asks.
"What?" I look at her in confusion.
"That one that pushed you. We have to reciprocate." Clove and Glimmer do my dirty work. In return for carrying out small favors for me, I give them security. I have a network full of inmates—and some guards—in different parts of the prison that do different types of work for me. It's everything from buying something in the commissary for me to taking care of troublesome inmates and smuggling drugs.
"What's she in for?"
"Possession, I think," Glimmer replies. "We should beat her up." She's resourceful and good at procuring weapons from what we have, but she's not that bright. There are better ways than always beating someone up to get your point across.
"Is she on the list?" I have a list of inmates who buy different types of drugs from me. It's good for moments like these to keep tabs of your customers, knowing their weaknesses.
"Yeah."
"Fine. Cut her off. She's not getting anything from anyone for two weeks. And let the others know that if they sell her anything, they'll end up in the infirmary."
A smile spreads on her face, but a whistle echoing across the hall catches everyone's attention. I turn to the source of the noise. Of course. It's Mason.
"Finally. They realized we're women." Her gaze is set on Peeta. Yes, it's definitely him. "You can stay in the cell next to mine, cowboy!"
He doesn't flinch—doesn't even acknowledge her presence—and I'm filled with an odd sort of satisfaction.
"Mason! Get back in line and shut the fuck up," another guard shouts at her. It's the one I met in the hallway earlier.
"You've got competition, Hawthorne." She looks back at him, but follows his instructions. During the entire lunch there are whispers and subtle glances Peeta's way. It's not until I'm about to leave when someone at the table next to us speaks up.
"Hey, Mellark! I can give you a tour and show you the ropes around here. I'm sure we can think of a way for you to repay me," she smirks.
He strides up to her table, flashing her a gorgeous smile. "Let's get one thing straight." His voice is still as soft as ever, albeit a little darker. It feels strange hearing it again after all these years. "I've been to three different maximum security prisons. I know all the ropes. I know how you get stuff in and out, and I know where you hide it. Bother me again and I might do a spontaneous sweep of your cell. I know exactly where to look. Now shut up and finish your fucking meal." His smile doesn't falter once, and it's eerie how he can deliver such a threat in that casual tone.
He walks back where he stood and continues to observe the hall. I quickly finish my meal and try to leave as discreetly as possible. I walk past Cato, placing the tray where it belongs. He sneers at me like it's some kind of victory for him. Any other day I would have done something to wipe that fucking grimace off his face, but not today.
I just walk past him and hope that Peeta doesn't notice me.
When I get back to my cell I throw myself under the covers, as if I could block him out with a piece of fabric. He invades my mind no matter what, and I curse myself for reacting this way to his presence. What fucking right does he have to waltz in here after all this time?
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. No. I love him. Fuck, I still love him.
Mason is still at the dining hall, and she'll probably be there for a while. I decide to take the risk and let my hand dip beneath the waistband of my pants. I need some release and I'm already wet. He's always had that effect on me—the sound of his voice, his breath on my skin, the touch of our tongues whirling in a dance we've perfected.
I think of his fingers skating across my breasts, hardening my nipples, and the way he would grab my ass and bury himself inside me a little deeper. My finger slides around my clit in tight, fast circles as I imagine the weight of his cock in my hand, feeling every ridge as I pump him before taking him in my mouth.
I think of the pants and moans he lets out when he fucks me, and it exhilarates me, knowing that I'm the only who gets to hear those sounds. It fills me with a sense of pride. He fills me both mentally and physically. I'm completely at his mercy, and he knows it—just as he's at mine.
The thoughts of him bring me to the edge so fast, and I'm already frantically bucking my hips against the mattress, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to escape my mouth. When I picture his eyes locking on me as he's plunging into me with everything that he's got, it's my undoing. The pleasure explodes inside me in one of the most intense orgasms I've had in a very long time.
My heart is pounding in my ear, and I'm out of breath. Fuck. I hope I didn't make too much noise. It's not uncommon to hear inmates pleasuring themselves—and others. We all do it. You just don't want anyone to know exactly when or where. Because in that moment you are weak—you have no control, and you don't want anyone taking advantage of that.
When I've come back to my senses and caught my breath I turn to the side, facing the wall. What is he doing here? It can't be a coincidence. He must know that I'm here too, but if they knew about our connection, there's no way he would be allowed to work here. He must be fucking pissed at me. He must be here for revenge. He's here to kill me. That must be why he's here. It's the only explanation. Inmates I can protect myself from, but CO's are another matter. If they want to harm you, they will.
I don't know how long I've been lying here, but I'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice there's another person in the cell. I quickly snap my head around, and I'm met with Peeta's stare. He's standing casually, leaning against the door. My hand discreetly goes for the cavity in the wall next to the bed where I keep my knife.
"It's not there," he says, holding it up. My heart drops. He's unarmed me, and now there is really nothing anyone can do to stop him from killing me. I've pictured this moment in a thousand ways, but neither of those have been by Peeta's hands. "It's the truth. I know exactly where to look."
"You saw me?"
"Of course I did. You're the reason I'm here," he says calmly, which makes him even more intimidating.
"Just do it fast."
"What?" Confusion is written all over his face. "What are you talking about?"
"You're here to kill me," I say, like I need to inform him.
"What? No. You couldn't be more wrong, Katniss." He moves across the room, and I instinctively curl up against the wall. He halts, hurt registering on his face.
"Then why did you take my knife?"
"Precaution. You'll get it back, I promise. I didn't want to risk you throwing it at me." He doesn't move—only stands in the middle of the cell.
"So you're not here to kill me?" He shakes his head. "Are you angry with me?"
"No," he replies sincerely, taking the knife and gently putting it by the edge of the bed. He doesn't have the same posture of confidence he had during lunch. There's a vulnerability in the way he looks at me. I grab the knife and rapidly put it back where it belongs.
He's still looking at me like he's expecting me to say something. I walk up to him so that our faces are only inches apart, and I can smell a familiar scent of mint. He still uses the same toothpaste, the one I said was my favorite. I raise my gaze, my eyes locking on his. "Then fuck you."
"Katniss—" I know this voice. He's always used it to calm me down. But not this time. I won't allow it.
"Don't you fucking dare say my name again," I say through gritted teeth. "You're a correctional officer, and I'm an inmate. We don't know each other." I can't stay here. I have to leave.
The door is still open, so I bolt for the opening and hurry to the bathrooms. I lock myself into one of the stalls and sit on the toilet, my hands covering my ears. I can't hold it together.
Whatever reason he has for being here, I don't want to hear it. I can't. He left me in this fucking place. For the first time since the first night in here, I allow myself to cry. I cry for myself. I cry for him and for us. It's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.
A gentle knock on the door pulls me from my stupor.
"Occupied." I manage to keep a steady voice despite my sobbing. Another knock. I move to my feet, flinging the door open, and the girl on the other side instantly backs away. "Are you deaf or color blind?" I point to the lock. "See this thing here? When it's red, it means someone's in here."
"I know, I'm sorry. I just—" I sigh loudly, hoping it will get her to the point faster. "I need something." She can't stand still, and she keeps rubbing her arms.
Something doesn't tell me anything—she has to be more specific. Then I recognize her—it's the girl who shoved me in line at lunch. She must be desperate, coming to me so soon.
"No can do." I have to keep up appearances, even though the only thing I want to do right now is curl up and die.
"I didn't even know it was you. Come on, cut me some slack," she pleads.
"How desperate are you?"
She licks her lips and puts her hand between my legs, rubbing me. "Very."
I swat her hand away. I'm no stranger to letting someone else finish me off once in awhile—you get tired of your own fingers sometimes. But it's not the currency I use. I need a more long-lived commitment. "That's not how this works. If I let you have some, you are mine. You will do as I say, and if I catch you so much as looking Cashmere's way, I know many people in here who just can't wait to beat someone up."
She nods and rubs her nose. I go to the soap container and remove it—there's a loose tile, and behind it I have a small bag with crystal meth. I take it and toss it to her.
"I move my shit everyday, so don't you even think about going back here, thinking you can rip me off."
"I-I, won't," she stammers as I walk past her.
"You junkies are the easiest."
When I get back to my cell Peeta's gone, but Mason is back.
"I saw you eyeing that new guard." Twice in two days. She must really be in a chatty mood.
"Yeah, didn't everyone? He's the first one in here who fills out his uniform." I pause. "In the right places. You announced it in front of everyone, if I'm not mistaken."
"Just letting him know his options, is all. But you were eye-fucking him."
Shit, I didn't realize I was that obvious. "Hm? He would be a good distraction from Cato, I suppose."
She just snorts.
The next day he's back in the dining hall. I guess I shouldn't be surprised—he does work here, and I can't avoid him forever. I can't make him quit.
A hand waving in front of my face suddenly obscures my view. "Hey, wake up."
"What?"
"That meth head. She got her hands on a bindle," Clove tells me.
"Yeah, I gave it to her."
"What? Are you going soft, Everdeen?" Glimmer asks in shock.
I point at her. "Listen. To get where I am today, you need brawns and brains." I tap my finger on my temple. "I could have denied her, but then she'd probably gone to Cashmere instead. Now, I've got another foot soldier. Besides, I didn't say she could have more than one."
"Ah, you're cruel." Glimmer nods her head, apparently liking my tactic.
"I am. And don't ever call me fucking soft again. I can cut you off too." Glimmer is also a drug addict. That's how I got her too. Her face falls, and she's quiet for the rest of the meal.
I try to steal subtle glances Peeta's way. I don't want to. I want to forget him, but I can't help myself from looking his way. He's shaved clean, with not even a trace of stubble, and his hair is perfect, just the right length and styled just the right amount. Why does he have to be so fucking gorgeous?
It's the same routine every day. I see him three times a day, trying not to get caught staring, and then I rub one off when I can. I can't help the way my body responds to him. It's the same as it was before— that hasn't changed.
One night I notice my knife's gone missing, and I know exactly who to blame. He's the only one who knows I have it. I go straight for the dining hall. Since he's always there, I guess he's also there between meals.
He's sitting by one of the tables, alone in the entire room. It feels weird, being here without a bunch of people eating. His shoulders are slumped, and he's leaning on one of his elbows, looking down at the table. In front of him is my knife. I take a quick look around to make sure the room is completely empty.
"This will get you sent to max, you know that right?" he says, not taking his eyes off the table.
"Yeah. That's not the only thing I do in here that will," I say as I cautiously sit across from him. "Why haven't you turned it in?"
"I want you to hear me out," he says, pushing the knife my direction. "But I won't force you. You can take it and leave. I won't turn you in, you have my word. But I will not disappear, and I won't give up," he says matter-of-factly.
I slam my hand on the table, grabbing the knife and quickly shoving it in my pocket. "You've had eight fucking years," I seeth. "You left me in here to rot, and now you think you can come here and everything's gonna be alright?"
"I don't," he says solemnly.
"Good. Because it's not gonna happen, so save yourself the trouble. Turn me in. I don't care. That way I won't have to look at you every fucking day, reminding me that I'm here because of you!" I don't even mean the last part. I said it just to hurt him, and by the way his eyes instantly tear up, I know I've succeeded. But I don't see it as a victory. It feels like we've both lost.
"I'm sorry that's the way you see it," he whispers.
Inside I'm screaming. I want to take him in my arms and comfort him. I see his pain, but I cannot give in to it. So I leave before I do something stupid like cry.
It's a Thursday when it happens. I know because it says "soup" on the menu. Thursday is "soup day." Why they bother to call it a menu is beyond me—it's just a list of different names for the same thing.
I'm not listening to Glimmer's and Clove's chatter. They're useful, but I don't particularly enjoy their company. As always, Peeta overlooks the dining hall. After he shut that girl up on his first day there have been no more catcalls. He has earned the inmates' respect.
I've managed to avoid any more encounters with him, but I don't miss his glances my way when no one else is looking. I can't say I hate it. I kind of like the feeling of him looking out for me. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Today, he's standing next to Cato. Their physical appearances are similar, blond with quite a muscular build, though Cato is one or two inches taller. But their personalities are polar opposites.
Cato says something to him that I don't quite catch—I usually don't, but his comment is obviously funny because Peeta gives him a subtle laugh. How can he stand there and fucking laugh? With Cato, of all people? Is this place or this situation a joke to him? I don't know if it's the tension between us that has been building ever since he came here, or if it's something else, but my body moves of its own accord. It's like I'm on autopilot and I snap.
I leave my tray on the table and walk with determined steps to them. Both Cato and Peeta see me, but technically I haven't broken any rules, so they can't do anything. My hands automatically go for Peeta's chest, and I push him back. Hard. He manages to keep his balance, but the damage I caused isn't physical.
I instantly regret it. What in the world was I thinking? But before I can do anything to try to rectify the situation an arm locks around my waist and someone harshly slams me to the ground. A hand holds my head down while my hands are cuffed behind my back.
"She's feisty, this one," I hear Cato musing as he holds me down. My face is pushed to the side, away from them, so I can't see Peeta. It's probably a good thing. "You know where you're going," he wheezes into my ear. I do, but I don't dignify him with an answer.
I'm brusquely hauled up to my feet by rough hands, and I'm sure it will bruise. Standing up, I catch a glimpse of Peeta. He's not embarrassed by being pushed by a female inmate, as most other guards in here would be.
"Hey, take it easy, man," he tells Cato calmly. "She's already cuffed." Why does he care? I just humiliated him in front of the entire dining hall, and he cares about how Cato's manhandling me?
"Why? These sluts can't go around here thinking that they set the rules. We fucking own this place."
Peeta flinches a little at his use of the word slut, but other than that, his expression is impassive. "Do it by the book. You don't want her getting off on a technicality." It doesn't matter if Cato does it by the book or not—they don't care about proper protocol here.
I've never heard him so calculating and cold before, and that scares me more than anything else.
Cato huffs, but his grip loosens a little, and he and another guard drag me away. Before we turn the corner I manage turn my head in Peeta's direction. He's not there, and a pang of regret hits me. I'm still angry, but I've gotten used to seeing him and being around him again.
But now it will be a long time before I see him again.
Author's notes: Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this story. I'm maxwellandlovelace on tumblr and I'm always up for chatting!