Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews, the follows and the favorites in continued support of this story. I'm making good progress on it, and your kind words and comments certainly motivate me! I'm glad that so many people enjoyed the introduction of Peeta's vapid wife...it should be firmly established now just how deeply troubled this marriage already is!

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Thanks to ILoveRynMar and Jeeno2 for their feedback on this chapter. ILY both, ladies! And additional thanks to HGRomance for her friendship and her therapy this week...you have been a lifesaver, my dear.


(Katniss)

Wednesday starts off much the same way Tuesday did.

Katniss is late for work. Again.

This morning it's for the simple reason that she overslept. She had closed Abernathy's with Haymitch, and when she finally crawled into bed at half-past two, it had taken another forty-five minutes before she drifted into a restless slumber.

She knows she needs to stop agreeing to bar shifts at Abernathy's Pub when she has to open the diner the next morning. But if there is one person Katniss has difficulty saying no to other than her little sister, it's Haymitch Abernathy.

Her uncle is the kind of man who makes a bad first impression before he worms his way into your heart.

She had met him exactly once before the first time her mother went to rehab. This was in spite of the fact he and his sister had lived in the same town for eight years. He had come over for Christmas dinner once when Katniss was nine and then she didn't see him again until she was thirteen. Katniss never really understood why he didn't visit more often; her mother never spoke ill of him and the siblings had no outward animosity between them before Tressa's death.

In fact, it had been Haymitch's idea for his younger sister to get herself help and try to turn things around, get back to being kind of mother she was when her husband was alive and the Everdeens had been a happy family of four.

The irony is that Haymitch himself is an alcoholic. A functioning alcoholic, but a drunk nonetheless. His biting, sarcastic nature helps to disguise the illness well and the patrons at his bar don't seem to care either way as long as the beer is cold and the food is decent. Katniss has never been fully convinced it's a good idea for a man with such demons to own such an establishment, but Abernathy's thriving business has always silenced her doubts.

As soon as Katniss turned eighteen and could legally serve alcohol, Haymitch taught her the ropes of bartending. The money was good and it wasn't technically a handout. He knew his stubborn niece would no longer allow him to provide for her now that she was legally an adult.

The money is still good, she reminds herself, which is why whenever Haymitch finds himself short-staffed for the evening, Katniss cannot say no to her cranky uncle.

"You're skating on thin ice, Everdeen," Cray barks from behind his podium, his watery eyes never leaving his newspaper as she breezes past him.

Katniss hates having to apologize to the grizzled old man. "Sorry."

"Are you trying to get fired?" Johanna hisses as Katniss glides past her.

"I'm not even that late," she retorts, glaring at the clock beside the door that proclaims it's nearly six a.m. "We don't open for ten more minutes." She pauses, glancing over at the petite brunette. "I know you had to do most of the set up alone, Jo. I owe you one."

Johanna's hazel eyes widen in disbelief. "Did Katniss Everdeen just say she owed me something? Fuck me."

"Savor it," she smiles wryly.

"Stations are up." Cray glances up from his paper. "Who's bringing me my coffee?"

Katniss and Johanna exchange a glance.

"I'll get it, sir," a small voice pipes up before the two women can argue over the loathsome morning task. A skinny red-headed girl slinks past them with a steaming coffee cup. Johanna snorts and stuffs the rest of the Sweet and Lows behind the Splendas in the little white containers she has been filling.

"Foxface is such a fucking suck-up."

Johanna has christened the new waitress, Renata, that Cray hired last week "Foxface" because with her deep auburn hair, clear green eyes and narrow features, the girl kind of does resemble the animal. Furthermore, she always seems to be slinking around and appearing when Katniss least expects her to. The nineteen-year-old is so quiet most of the time Katniss forgets she is even there.

"Better her than us," Katniss replies, following Johanna to the front to take a peek at the floor plan for the day. She is about to turn to Johanna and gloat when she realizes her friend is smirking at her.

Katniss heaves a sigh. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Have fun in Kiddie Hell again, Everdeen!" Johanna rubs at the wipe-off board with her thumb and rewrites their names, swapping the original assignments Cray had posted for both of them.

And Kiddie Hell lives up to its name that morning.

Several hours later, Katniss is thoroughly exhausted from catering to several tables of crying infants and boisterous toddlers. It's just after ten a.m. and it seems the only customers she has had are children. The diner is relatively slow that morning, but the tables she's had have more than made up for the lull with their demands and the messes they've left. She has cleaned up spilled milk, apple juice and oatmeal, swept up more Cheerios than she can count, and her eardrums have been shattered with a cacophony of shrieks and screams. The tips have been mediocre at best.

Just when she thinks the morning can't get much worse, Cray seats one of her booths with three young guys. Katniss sizes them up, debating if they're high-school dropouts or college frat boys without morning classes when one of them snaps his fingers and barks, "Yo, babe. Can we get some service over here?"

She cringes at being called "babe" by anyone, and she immediately knows this table is going to try her already frayed patience.

"Morning, boys. What can I get you?" She forces a stiff smile onto her face and ignores the boys' blatant leers at her breasts. She's used to it by now between the diner and the bar.

"Your number," the tallest of the three cackles, earning a high-five from both his cretin buddies.

"I'll take your number too," the second guy adds. "In case Derrick gets tired of you." The tall guy, who must be Derrick, smacks his friend sharply across the back of his head.

"No more of my sloppy seconds, asshole," he chides. "Vanessa was the last, got it?"

Katniss rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the third guy, who isn't the slightest bit attractive and has a bad case of acne marring his face.

"Can I get you coffee or anything?"

His lip curls up and his eyes narrow, a seedy look in them.

"You'd be a lot hotter if you wore more makeup."

Katniss bites back an exasperated sigh. She does not need advice from a troll who's probably never been laid a day in his pathetic life.

"You've got thirty seconds to tell me what you three want and stop wasting my time," she spits, trying to keep her composure.

"Fuck you," the second guy snarls. "We're the customers. You have to listen to us."

"And we're always right," the pimple-faced one interjects.

Katniss presses her lips together so tightly a sharp burst of pain emanates from them. She struggles to keep her temper in check as she slowly counts to ten in her head.

"I'll take a chocolate milkshake," the first one pipes up.

"Ooh, yeah, me too!" Katniss chokes back a scathing remark about chocolate being bad for the complexion as she pretends to jot their orders down on her notepad. In this case, it's more to avoid eye contact with the trolls.

"Dumbasses, you can't drink that shit before we work out," the short one laughs. "Or you're gonna have to shit it right out." The three of them erupt into guffaws of laughter and Katniss taps her foot impatiently.

"And for you?" She directs the question at the short guy.

"Fuck it, I'll have a milkshake too. Strawberry."

She spins on her heel and leaves the three heathens behind to go prepare the milkshakes.

Katniss hates milkshakes. The machine is so old and decrepit that she's sure it's going to explode into a fiery inferno each time she uses it. Plus the fact that the assholes couldn't have all ordered the same flavor will force her to have to clean down the machine before making the strawberry one. Cray's stinginess means one machine only.

"This is all your fault," she hisses to Johanna through clenched teeth as her friend approaches with a stack of empty plates. She smacks the side of the machine as it coughs and sputters. Johanna laughs.

"I just got a twenty-dollar tip on a seventy-dollar check," she crows softly. Katniss shoots her a nasty look over her shoulder and Johanna grins gleefully.

"First round is on me when you finally take that stick out of your ass and come drinking with me!" She winks and struts off to her station.

Katniss finally finishes the shakes, tops them with whipped cream and drops a cherry onto each. She loads them onto a tray and deposits them without a word. She has other tables that will cause her less hassle than the frat guys will and she doesn't care if they take it out on her tip, if the tools will even leave her a tip at all.

"Fucking took long enough," the guy with the acne calls after her. She ignores him.

Her other current tables, as it turns out, do little to elevate her mood. There is a complaint at Table Eight about cold eggs and one at Table Six about overdone bacon, and a little girl in the back booth will not stop wailing that her brother got more whipped cream on his hot chocolate than hers.

She reluctantly heads back to the booth of Neanderthals and waits impatiently for them to acknowledge her and give their orders. They are unexpectedly quiet, three pairs of eyes all fixed on their phones, fingers swiping and tapping screens.

"Have you decided?" she asks, her voice clipped as her annoyance rises again. None of the guys looks up immediately, but eventually the tall one glances up and gives her a nasty grin.

"We're gonna need new milkshakes, babe." He pushes the half-empty glass into the center of the table and nods at his friends to do the same. The short guy's glass is nearly empty.

"And what's wrong with the ones I gave you?" She grits her teeth and counts to ten again.

"They tasted funny," Pimple-Face smirks.

"You seemed to enjoy yours just fine." She narrows her eyes and tosses her braid over her shoulder. "If you get new milkshakes, you're paying for new milkshakes. Now if you're not gonna order something to eat, I have other tables to tend to." She waits for several moments and when none of them speak up, she turns to leave the booth.

Strong fingers clamp around her forearm, digging forcefully into the tender skin there. The tall guy glowers at her menacingly.

"I don't like the way you're treating us, bitch."

"Get your hands off me," she warns, but his grip tightens.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you the customer is always right?" he repeats the words that Pimple-Face used earlier.

"Not this time," she snaps, bringing her free hand up to wrap around his fingers, which are still encircling her arm. "I'll tell you one last time, let go of me." She enunciates each word calmly but firmly.

His eyes glint maliciously and he digs his fingers further into her flesh. "I want to speak to your manager."

Katniss may be slight, but she knows she is stronger than she looks. With one fluid motion, she grabs his middle finger and peels it off her arm, wrenching it backwards as hard as she can.

If the rest of the diner wasn't already staring at the commotion unfolding in her section, the ear-splitting yowl of pain that bursts from the tall guy effectively turns every head in their direction. He releases Katniss and slumps over, clutching his hand to his broad chest, continuing to howl.

"She broke my finger! She fucking broke my finger!"

Murmurs and hushed whispers drone around the diner in a feverish buzz; chairs scrape and a few patrons rise or crane their necks to get a glimpse of the scene.

Katniss steps back and examines the skin of her forearm. Bright red patches are visible where the guy's fingers burrowed into her skin, and she knows they will fade to angry purple bruises within hours.

Cray storms over, his creased face flushed with anger. "What is going on over here, Everdeen?"

"This stupid fucking bitch broke my finger!" He thrusts his middle finger upward, and Katniss has to look away and take her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a grin. Her temporary satisfaction dissipates instantaneously when Cray explodes on her.

"Did you touch a customer? Did you!?" he yells.

Katniss thrusts her chin up and steels her eyes on her boss. "He touched me first. He grabbed my arm and he wouldn't let go."

"I should press charges," the guy growls, waving his gnarled finger in the air. Katniss can see that it has swollen to nearly twice the size of the other digits on his hand, and it's bent at an unseemly angle.

"There will be no need for that, sir." Cray's tone changes automatically to falsely-sycophantic drawl. "I will see to it personally that your medical expenses come out of Miss Everdeen's paycheck. Her last one." He turns and scowls at her. "You're fired. Get out of my diner."

Katniss's heart hammers in her chest. She has never been fired before. And she needs this job, as much as she hates it.

But she knows it's futile to argue with Cray; his mantra had already been thrown in her face twice: the customer is always right. And she's incensed that he plans to hold her accountable for the douchebag's injury; she has just as much of an assault case against him for grabbing her.

"Are you out of your mind, old man?" Johanna is suddenly beside the booth too, hazel eyes flashing fire. "Did you not hear these assholes harassing her?"

"Get back to work, Mason, or you can join her on the unemployment line!" Cray barks.

"It'll be okay, Jo," Katniss whispers as she begins to untie her apron and stalks away from the booth. She cuts her eyes back to watch Cray groveling and negotiating with the injured guy and his friends.

"Shit, Brainless, I can't believe you broke that dude's finger. Like it was nothing!" Johanna sounds almost proud of her, and Katniss gives her friend a wan smile.

"Well it was something. I told him to let go. Nobody fucks with me," she replies brusquely. She tosses the apron on the counter and cashes out her morning's receipts. She is aware of Johanna watching her carefully as she logs off the register for the last time.

"I'll call you as soon as my shift ends," Johanna promises, reaching over to squeeze her hand. Katniss squeezes back before straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders and marching out of the diner, extending her own middle finger in a flourish at Cray as the door swings closed behind her.


Three hours later, Katniss lounges on a bench in the park, watching the ducks waddle by and splash into the wide pond that dominates the eastern quadrant of the green. A brisk breeze kicks up, ruffling the pond's glassy surface. The day has grown gloomy and overcast, and the bruised sky swells with teeming clouds that threaten to rupture at any given moment. She has no umbrella, no coat, but if it rains, so be it, she decides. She takes a sip of a tepid latte that was hot when she first bought it, drumming her fingers against the lid when she lowers it from her mouth and holds it in her lap.

The extent of what transpired at Cray's that morning is beginning to settle over her, and while she does not regret standing up for herself, she starts to panic at the thought of combing the classifieds for a new job. Interviews and faux pleasantries have never really suited her.

Her cell phone vibrates, and she realizes she never took it off the silent setting after leaving work. She flicks the switch and it chirps an audible ping as she retrieves the incoming text message. Katniss groans inwardly as her eyes sweep across the screen.

Cato: Hey babe. U off work yet?

It's the word 'babe' that sets her off.

It's been slightly over three months that Katniss has been dating Cato Harrison. And it's been just under two months since she realized the how little she has in common with the brutish ex-jock (the guy talks more about his old glory days on the football field than he does about his actual job as a Phys Ed teacher), but she hasn't had the patience or the energy to deal with a breakup so she's allowed the guy to hang around longer than she knows she should have.

Now, being fired seems to bring some sort of imminent clarity to her life: she doesn't need to settle. Cato is just a slightly older incarnation of the dicks from the diner.

And she doesn't have the time to waste on this jerk anymore. Might as well make another clean break.

The right job is out there. The right guy is out there. She just hasn't found either yet.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she picks up her cell phone and types back a terse message to Cato.

Katniss: We need to talk. Drinks tonight at my uncle's?

Barely ten seconds pass before his answer pops up.

Cato: Aight. C u around 8? That good?

He texts like a frat boy, she laments, firing off her own quick reply.

Katniss: Yes, 8 is fine. See you then.

Katniss prefers to break up with men at her uncle's bar. No one has ever dared challenge her with Uncle Haymitch shooting them daggers from beside a wall of antique muskets and hatchets. (Haymitch swears its rustic ambience, but Katniss has always suspected it's a sneaky way to always have weapons at his disposal.) Not that Katniss has had many suitors to dump; Cato is only her third serious relationship since Gale.

Katniss often wonders if her life would be much different if she had stayed with Gale Hawthorne when he went off to the Capitol to complete his internship.

She and Gale had been friends since she could walk; their parents had practically been joined at the hip while they were growing up. The Hawthornes and Everdeens spent summer vacations at the Hawthornes' lake house once Gale's eccentric uncle Flavius died and bequeathed the property to his favorite (and only) brother. They often spent holidays in each other's company too.

She knew Gale wanted more than friendship once they reached their teenage years. But when he confessed his feelings and hinted they could make a relationship work if she felt the same way, it fell on deaf ears, mostly due to poor timing. Katniss's mother was in rehab for the third time at that point, and Katniss continually reconciled her mother's self-destructive behavior with one simple catalyst: the loss of her father. Tressa Everdeen had just loved her husband too much.

Katniss never wanted to feel such an all-encompassing need for someone, a love so intense that to have it ripped away left nothing but a hollow shell of the one unlucky enough to outlive the other. She and Gale were already such good friends that she feared it could quickly escalate to that scary kind of love if she let him into her heart.

She loved Gale. She just didn't want to be in love with Gale.

Katniss always suspected people had assumed she and Gale were a couple. And she was fine with that assumption, actually, because it unofficially declared her off-limits to any guys who might try and pursue her.

Gale was two years ahead of her in school, so it happened that when he graduated and he suddenly wasn't by her side day in and day out, she began to wonder if she hadn't made a mistake by not seeing if there wasn't something more there.

The Hawthornes couldn't afford to send Gale to the out-of-state school near the Capitol that he desperately wanted to attend, but they managed to scrape together enough to send him to a decent state school. It still meant Katniss only saw him on holidays.

That first Thanksgiving he came home on break, they had been intertwined on the couch at Katniss's uncle's house when she nervously pressed her lips against his for the first time. Gale had been surprised, to say the least, but he responded eagerly and Katniss hesitantly agreed to give a relationship a try.

She knew that because theirs was largely a long-distance relationship, it put her more at ease; keeping Gale at arm's length was effortless when he was a few hundred miles away most of the time. Besides, it was Gale, and she was so comfortable around him it made all those firsts easier to navigate.

The first that actually was the most difficult to forge was their breakup.

Things had changed between them from the moment Gale started talking of marriage and the future.

That was something she was wholly uncomfortable with, Gale or not.

It was a nice enough idea on paper, in theory. But as with so many other ideas on paper, it was complete fiction.

Marriage didn't last forever. Even the most perfect unions, like that of her parents, could be shattered like broken glass. Her father's death had ruined her mother; it destroyed the happy home they had built and Katniss and Prim had been effectively orphaned the day he had dropped dead.

She knew scores of classmates with divorced parents, some with twice- and thrice-divorced parents.

Marriage just seemed like a terrible idea.

But if Gale was determined to pursue the white-picket fence, the barefoot wife and the two-point-five children, far be it from her to deny him that. It just wasn't going to be with her.

She had dumped him the day after Christmas four years ago. Again, the distance made things easier; she missed him at first, of course, but it wasn't much different than when they were dating and she didn't see him for long stretches of time. It also aided his avoidance of her. Phone calls and text messages went unanswered; it took six months for him to even speak to her. She mourned the loss of their friendship, but it has finally been rebuilt, like a precariously reassembled house of cards.

Her phone rings, jolting her out of her reverie. She glances down.

"Hey, Jo," she sighs as she answers the call.

"What the fuck, Brainless? I mean, holy shit. I knew you could be a tough chick, but breaking a guy's finger? Fuck!"

Katniss issues another sigh and stands from the bench. She doesn't know why she feels better pacing when she talks, but it's an odd habit she's never been able to break. She begins to meander around in circles as she starts to explain her thinking to Johanna.

"I don't know what came over me, Jo. I've dealt with plenty of rude customers before. I've never lost my cool like that."

"No shit! I mean, there's no way you thought that through. If Cray hadn't kissed that dick's ass so much before the guys finally left, he might have pressed charges against you."

"I know, Jo, I know," she groans. That would be the last thing she could afford to deal with at the moment, both emotionally and financially.

"Well, there's something to be said for standing up for yourself, Everdeen. I'm kind of impressed," Jo laughs. "Anyway, you had a visitor not long after Cray threw your ass out."

"A visitor?" Katniss furrows her brow and stops her pacing. She nearly steps on a squirrel that scampers across the bike path on which she's been treading and scurries up a nearby tree.

"Tall, blond and handsome from yesterday morning? The one you were supposed to tell me about when you backed out of drinks again last night?"

Katniss swallows and feels a knot twist in her stomach. Peeta. Johanna means Peeta Mellark. He had come back to see her. She had forgotten all about him in the turmoil of her morning.

She is mildly irritated by the little spiral of excitement that coils through her and then further annoyed by the frisson of disappointment that slithers down her spine that she was not there to see him.

Get it together, Everdeen, she warns herself.

"You mean Peeta?" she replies nonchalantly. At least, she hopes it sounds nonchalant.

"Yeah, Golden Boy."

Katniss rolls her eyes at Johanna's penchant for stupid nicknames, as perfectly fitting as it actually is.

"What did he want?"

"He came to say he left his wife because he's been waiting for you for years. Said something about getting you alone and fucking you senseless." Johanna chuckles her familiar sardonic laugh, but Katniss isn't laughing. Her friend's joking insinuation sends another thrill coursing through her veins, as ludicrous as it is.

"That's not funny, Jo," she says harshly.

"Relax, Brainless. It was a joke. He just said he needed to see you. I didn't pry any further. None of my business."

"Right," Katniss retorts. Johanna has never been one for subtlety or staying out of things that don't concern her.

"Don't act so surprised. He asked for your number, so I gave it to him."

"You did what?!" Katniss croaks, a cross between a gasp and a cough trapped in her throat.

"Relax. He was pretty persistent. Said he really needed to see you, and I told him that would have to be up to you, and you no longer worked at Cray's. So if he really needs to talk to you, he'll reach out. I mean, what the fuck else was I supposed to say? Would you have rather I'd given him your address?"

She sighs and resumes her measured walking alongside the bike path. She knows Johanna probably was caught off-guard having to explain Katniss's abrupt absence.

"Did you tell him I got fired?" she asks quietly. The embarrassment she felt waiting on him and his friend yesterday was bad, but Peeta knowing she couldn't even keep such a pathetic job would be downright humiliating.

"No. I told you, I said you no longer worked there. And when he asked why I said that he'd have to ask you himself."

She considers their parting conversation. Peeta Mellark was always too good to be true, and Katniss assumes that he was just trying to keep his promise to return with a tip for her. Either that or he was extending the offer to have dinner at his restaurant.

Katniss never gives pause to consider the lottery ticket.

"It's okay, Jo," she replies. "Thanks for looking out for me. I guess I'll wait and see if he calls. It's probably about the tip he didn't leave me yesterday."

"He came all the way back to Cray's dump to give you a tip?"

"Yeah. He had forgotten his wallet. I covered his check, but he insisted on giving me a tip." God, it sounds even sillier when she says it aloud. "Listen, we'll go out tomorrow night, okay. Promise. I've got business to take care of tonight."

"Don't wear out the batteries," Jo cracks.

"I'm breaking it off with Cato tonight."

"Fuck yes! That's the best excuse you've given me for not going out in weeks!"

"I'm glad you approve," she replies dryly.

"That douchenozzle has overstayed his welcome in Chez Everdeen."

"He never made it past the front door."

"Wait a minute! Back the fuck up. You kept that dickhead around for this long and you never at least gave him a test ride? What the fuck else was he good for?"

"Goodbye Jo. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She ends the call before her friend can utter a protest and demand more details about Katniss's sex life, or the lack thereof.

She shoves her phone in her purse and begins the long walk back to her apartment, trying in vain not to think about Peeta Mellark.


Katniss opens her eyes groggily, squints at the clock above the television and when she can't make out the time in her sleep-induced haze, she picks up her phone from the end table. The stark white digits set against the black screen affirm that for the second time that day, Katniss is late.

8:04.

After arriving home that afternoon, she had changed out of her uniform and thrown on sweats, lying down to take what she had intended to be a quick nap before going for a run and having time for a shower before meeting Cato. She hadn't planned on sleeping for four hours.

"Shit!" she curses, stumbling to her feet and running her tongue over her teeth. She grabs for her phone and contemplates calling Cato to tell him she's running behind. But then she thinks twice and frowns. Instead, her thumbs rapidly tap the keys and type out a text message to her uncle.

Katniss: Running late. Tell Prince Charming I'll be there soon. Do not let him get drunk before I get there. I mean it.

She rushes to the bathroom and in spite of the fact she is not planning on any mouth-to-mouth contact this evening, she begins to brush her teeth. Her phone chirps and she glances down at the counter where she set it.

Haymitch: hes on his second irish car bomb will try to stall him

"Fuck," she hisses as she spits the toothpaste into the sink and swishes water around in her mouth. She knows Cato has a relatively high tolerance for alcohol, but he's not usually consuming shots on the occasions she has been out with him.

She gives her reflection a quick once-over, wrinkles her nose and decides there is little point to trying to look glamorous for a breakup. She touches up her already-simple makeup, applies some nude lip gloss and drags a brush through her hair.

Grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor, she tugs them up and over her hips. She could really care less if they are clean or not. She scans her closet for a shirt, plucking a sage-green tee from its hanger and slipping it over her head. She locates her flats near the closet door and slides her feet into them.

You deserve better. This is the right thing to do, Katniss reminds herself as she throws her purse over her shoulder and closes the apartment door behind her, locking it securely before making quick work of the few-blocks walk to Haymitch's bar.

She pushes the door to the pub, the loud strains of some 80s power ballad pulsing from the vintage jukebox Haymitch loves so much. Katniss has pleaded with him to update the music selection, but her uncle stubbornly refuses. His clientele (and Katniss always manages to snort with disdain at such a word in regards to the crowd that favors Abernathy's) prefers the Eagles and ELO and Journey.

She spies Cato sitting at the far end of the bar, seemingly glued to the flat-screen television suspended from the ceiling.

Haymitch catches her eye and mimes throwing back a shot. Katniss narrows her eyes as she approaches Cato's stool.

"Hey," she says. He doesn't move.

"Hey," she tries again, louder. He pivots on the stool and cranes his neck over his shoulder, but she swears he keeps one eye trained on the TV.

"Hey!" he replies, a little too loudly, she thinks, and she glances at the empty shot glass in front of him. She cuts her eyes towards Haymitch, who flashes her four fingers. She shakes her head, uncertain whether his count means 'four total shots' or 'four more' since the two she already knows about, bringing his grand total to six.

He moves to kiss her, and she ducks her head, taking a step backward. His blue eyes turn cold and he sneers at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? That's not a very nice way to greet your boyfriend."

You're not my boyfriend. "You've been drinking."

"No shit," he slurs. "I'm in a bar."

"It's a school night," she adds, ignoring his petulant remark.

"You're not my mother. I'll just call out sick tomorrow."

Well, this is off to an auspicious start, she frowns. He's only making this easier.

"Let's go sit at a table," she suggests. He shrugs and stumbles to his feet. She leads him to a booth along the front wall, careful to choose one that is in the line of Haymitch's vision. Not that she can't take care of herself, but when Cato drinks, as she is already all-too-familiar, he gets mean. Haymitch has a zero tolerance policy for nasty drunks.

"Did you have a bad day?" she asks softly, wondering if there is another reason for his foul mood.

"Not really."

You're about to, she thinks, fingers playing with the beverage napkin, shredding it into tiny squares.

"I did," she sighs. "I got fired this morning."

"I'm thinking we should take a trip. You wanna go away with me? Like one of those all-inclusive places? Antigua or Barbados or some shit like that?"

She stares at him, incredulous.

"I tell you I got fired this morning and that's your response?"

"You have the time off now," he laughs.

She glares at him, thoroughly disgusted. And to think she was going to try to let him down gently.

"Actually, Cato, this isn't working."

"Huh?"

Katniss has always found Cato attractive. She can't say she is attracted to him, but he is good-looking. His features are hard but chiseled, and he is in incredibly good shape.

But at the moment, she is struck by how ugly he is. The expression on his face is blank, confused, and he almost appears indifferent.

"This isn't working," she repeats. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"What the fuck? Why not?"

"We have nothing in common, Cato," she hedges. "And I just can't see myself in any kind of future with you-"

"Future? Fuck, I'm not looking to marry you, Katniss. I'm just looking for a good time."

"Well, then you're looking in the wrong place."

She watches his face change from its usual ruddy hue (she knows he frequents the tanning beds at the local salon) to an angry, flushed red.

"I fucking like you, Katniss. I don't just wait around for girls that don't put out by the third date. You know how many chicks I coulda fucked in the time we've been together?" His voice is low and menacing, and Katniss notices a vein throbbing erratically beside his right eye.

"Well, I'm sure you won't have any trouble rebounding then," she replies quietly.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" he hisses.

"I think we're done here. Goodbye, Cato." She starts to rise from the bench when she feels strong fingers wrap around her right forearm.

A surge of adrenaline courses through her.

"Unless you want me to break your finger like I did to the guy this morning that got me fired, you'll let go of me right now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Haymitch flinch and start to move from behind the bar. Cato lurches to his feet and glowers down at her, releasing her arm with an exaggerated push.

"You'll regret this," he snarls.

"I doubt it." She crosses her arms across her chest and purses her lips.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out.

It's at that moment her phone pings, alerting her to a text message. Before she can even make a move to retrieve it, Cato yanks the purse from its spot on the booth's bench and begins frantically searching for the phone.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she yells, lunging for the purse. He holds up the phone triumphantly and flips it open. His face contorts and he throws it to the floor violently.

"Stupid bitch. If you're going to fucking cheat on me, you could have made it less obvious by putting the dick's name into your phone."

And with that, he brings his foot down hard on the device with a sickening crunch before stalking out of the bar.

Katniss inhales sharply, leaning down to pick up the mangled remains of her phone. She is surprised she is keeping her own anger in check as she stares at the cracked screen, its face a distorted blur of numbers and letters that she now has no way of reading.


A/N: Chapter 4 is back to Peeta's point-of-view.

Thank you for reading; I welcome your thoughts on this chapter!