When I arrive at work a week after Peeta gave me the beautiful guitar I can't seem to stop playing, I'm almost twenty minutes early. I shrug my shoulders at the weird happenstance, I'm never early, and decide to grab a drink from Seam Café on the first floor before heading to my office on the second. I scan the menu items as I wait in line; unfortunately they don't have delicious pastries like Peeta makes, but the coffee is pretty good. When I reach the front, I feel a smile tug at my lips at who I find.
"Katniss, baby, it's been awhile," Cato coos as he stands behind the counter, his dirty blonde hair coiffed sexily.
"Yes it has," I simply reply. Cato and I had a thing right after I broke up with Gale. He always flirted with me, and when I came to work after the screaming match that ended mine and Gale's relationship, Cato just so happened to be working. So we made out in the café's storage closet. Then he came over later that night. And we did more than just make out. Peeta hated him though. He said he didn't understand why I needed to sleep with someone so soon after my breakup with Gale. Well, I bet he understands now. "Can I get a hot chocolate?"
He nods and clicks a few buttons on the cash register as I hand him some cash; the fox-faced girl next to him begins to make my drink. He sets his elbows on the counter and leans towards me until his face is only a few inches from mine. "Have any plans later?"
I pause. Cato and I were good together. He was pretty fantastic in bed—very dominate, but sweet too. He wanted to be kissing me at all times and knew just the right things to make damn sure I was enjoying myself; he was considerate. But then I think about Peeta. His memory may be too fresh in my mind to wipe it away. I want to savor the way his hands lingered on my thighs and the way his lips grazed my collarbone. But Peeta doesn't want to be with me. Maybe it would be a good idea to try to forget him as soon as possible, as much as I don't want to; try to move on rather than focus on what will never be.
"I thought you were seeing that Glimmer chick?" I ask, moving to the "pick-up" counter; Cato follows me. Glimmer is this annoyingly slutty girl that works at the café too. But with her large boobs she pushes up until they rest under her chin and her pasted on make-up and ridiculously high heels, you'd think she was a hooker.
"Nah, she's crazy; we're not together. Not for a lack of trying though—she's attempted to mount me about a hundred times." He reaches across the marble counter and touches the end of my braid. "But I like my women natural."
I shrug my shoulders, ignoring his comment. Maybe one night couldn't hurt. Since Peeta, I've been in a constant state of horniness. It's fucking terrible. And though I've been imagining it would be with Peeta, maybe I just need a release from Cato.
"Well, I might be free tonight," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He grins. "Awesome. Text me later if you're down, okay?"
I nod and he hands me my hot chocolate. I give him a small wave before I leave him behind and head to Cornucopia.
Finnick is waiting in my office when I open the door, leaning against my desk. I glance at the clock in the corner, worried I'm late again, but see that it's still five minutes before my shift is supposed to start.
"Hey Finnick, what's up?" I ask as I hang my bag on the hook next to the door. He doesn't normally do this. In fact, I've never walked into my office to find him waiting for me like he's a hunter and I'm the prey.
"Do you have any plans tonight?" he asks, running a hand through his bronze locks.
"Yeah, I think I do—why? What's up?" I really don't want to work tonight. Once a month one of us stays late to do a quick inventory of the herbs and physical therapy equipment—and it's about that time again. But I did it last month, and I really don't want to do it again. It's so damn boring.
"Uh, nothing really; I was gonna ask you something but it doesn't matter. I can do it later." He gives me his sexy smirk, then exits my room, his usual swagger catching my eye.
Huh. That was weird.
"Got any plans tonight? It is Friday after all," Peeta asks when I get home. Jeez. What is with everyone asking me that today? He's lounging on the couch, sketchbook in hand, with soft acoustic music on in the background. He looks over to me as I walk past him to head to my room to change.
"Maybe," I call over my shoulder. Once I'm in my room, I rip off my pants, and go to remove my top when I remember the shitty zipper of my shirt. It's one of my favorites—given to me by my father the day I graduated high school; he said the green ruffled fabric in front brought out the green flecks in my grey eyes. However, the five years since it was given to me haven't treated it well. The zipper is basically broken, and only moves when it feels like it. Fuck. I try to pull it off my head, but the silky material hugs my ribcage too tightly, and it won't budge past my shoulders. I let out an angry sigh. Dammit.
I throw open my door and head back to the living room to Peeta without a second thought. When he sees me, his eyes instantly widen and flit down to my legs. Crap! I forgot I removed my pants. I cross my legs, suddenly overwhelming self-conscious, though I know it's ridiculous. He saw me completely naked not long ago.
"Um, can you, uh, help me unzip my shirt?" I stutter, suddenly realizing what a terrible idea this is.
He jumps up off the couch, his sketchbook tumbling to the floor. Licking his lips, he tucks the pencil he was drawing with behind his ear and walks towards me; I turn away from him, unable to look into his open, beautiful eyes—afraid of what I'll find there.
"So what did you mean by 'maybe?'" he asks as I feel his hands gently touch my back. He tugs at the zipper and of course, it immediately moves for him. I bet it's his hands—zippers probably love baker's hands.
"Oh, um, I might be hanging out with Cato," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
Peeta stops his ministrations, the zipper only half way down my back. "Cato? Seriously, Kat?" his voice is harsh and ragged—like he's been running at full speed and has just stopped. His rips the zipper the rest of the way down violently, and it falls away from my back. I immediately turn back around—I don't like his tone.
"What, Peeta?" I raise my eyebrow up, challenging him.
"He's not good enough for you. He just wants to use you for sex, and you deserve more than that," he whispers, his voice angry and stern. His blue eyes flame, the silver flecks around his pupils becoming more prominent.
"Well maybe I don't want more than sex," I say, my voice rising. I mean, that's not exactly true, but who is he to tell me what I want?
"That's bullshit and we both know it." He lifts his big, smooth hands and places them on my neck before leaning forward and pressing his forehead against mine. He's done this a million times before, but I suddenly realize the intimacy of it. If he leaned in just one more inch, his lips would touch mine, and it would be nirvana. He takes a deep breath. "I just want you to have everything you desire in love and life," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. I want you! I want to yell at him—but I can't. Then he opens his eyes again, staring into mine—blue vs. grey. "And I know Cato isn't it."
I instantly pull away from him; his hands drop awkwardly to his sides. "Well I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you, but Cato is…uncomplicated."
"Just don't let him use you."
"If anything, we're using each other," I point out.
He stiffens. His eyes change from concerned to furious in a matter of seconds. "And that's supposed to make it better?!" he yells, startling me. Peeta isn't one to yell. I can't remember the last time he actually yelled at me—or anyone. He didn't even shout when I told him I didn't think he should propose to Madge; he just got eerily quiet. He's not like me; I get pissed off and scream at everyone. And I'm about to do it again.
"Stop judging me, Peeta! Just because you're soooooooo perfect, doesn't give you the right to look down at me!" I shout back at him.
"I would never look down on you! I just don't want some douchebag to fuck you and then leave you like some piece of trash—because you aren't! You are so unbelievably amazing, and Cato doesn't see that like I do!" There's a vein bulging in his neck, and his fists are clenched at his side.
"I'm not attached to Cato, so it wouldn't be like that," I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.
Then he points his finger at me, his eyes flaming. "You better not let him come inside you." His voice is cold, and full of uncontrolled contempt and jealousy that I've never heard from him before.
I feel like I just got slapped in the face. My mouth drops open, and Peeta falters; a shocked expression forming on his face as he realizes what he just said. He opens his mouth to say something but I let my body act for me; I reel back and push him as hard as I can. He stumbles, tripping over the ottoman in front of the couch, and falls on his ass. I turn around and stomp out of the room, back to mine, slamming the door behind me so hard it shakes for a long time.
I throw off my shirt and crawl into my bed, pulling the covers over me. And then finally, since everything happened with Peeta, and the first time in a long time, I let myself cry.
As soon as Prim says the words, I fall to my knees, the air ripped from my lungs. The phone slips from my grasp as violent sobs rack my chest and my brain fills with fog. I curl up on the ground and my ears plug with sea noises. I wish I was in the forest. I wish I had my bow. I wish my dad was here. But he's not. And I'm never going to see him again. My dad is dead.
I hear footsteps around me but I don't move. I can't move. Any desire to move has left me and it's never coming back. I think I hear my name being called but the sea noise in my ear is trying to calm me, and I want it to do its job. I feel fingers wrap around my biceps and pull me up. But I don't want to. I want to stay here. The carpet feels good on my cheek. Like a lamb. My dad is dead.
Suddenly, beautiful blue eyes fill my vision. It's Peeta. He's so handsome. Like a movie star. My dad is dead.
"Kitty, what the hell is going on? Baby, tell me?" his voice is garbled, like he's underwater. Am I underwater? I wish I was underwater. Swimming around with my dad and skipping rocks. But I'm here. And he's gone. My dad is dead.
There's a loud screeching noise. I don't know where it's coming from. Peeta looks scared. I don't like it when beautiful Peeta is scared. Something so beautiful shouldn't be scared. He should be happy. I think the noise is coming from me because my throat is starting to hurt. My dad is dead.
I feel warmth enveloping my frozen body. He's putting me in bed, and crawling in with me. I grab his white shirt in my hands and hold him to me, burying my face into his shoulder. I think he's saying something to me. But the sea is drowning him out. My dad is dead.
I don't want to cry. I hate crying. But I hurt. Everything hurts. My dad is dead.
I sink my teeth into Peeta's shoulder, trying to stop the noises spewing out of me, but I can't. They won't stop. My face is bleeding tears. My nose is bleeding snot. My mouth is bleeding salvia. My heart is bleeding. My dad is dead.
Peeta's voice is getting louder in my ear. I try to listen through the ocean. "…love with you. Tell me." I only catch the end of his sentence. He sounds so unbelievably worried. I pull away from his neck and look at him. He wipes my bangs away from my face and tucks them behind my ear before leaning forward and kissing the corner of my mouth. "What happened?"
"My dad," I whimper, and then another sob escapes my throat and I choke. Tears instantly well behind his eyes and he presses his forehead against mine.
"God, fuck, Kitty, no," he mumbles as one of his tears falls onto the bridge of my nose.
We stay like this, hugging and whispering and crying until our tears cease. But I feel empty now. I wish I still had more tears in me—then at least I'd know I was alive.
"How do you do it, Peety? How do you live without them?" I whisper, my voice almost gone.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. I just try to breathe and act like the man I think they'd want me to be." He kisses my forehead. "It's hard."
I turn around and snuggle into his arms; he places his chin on my shoulder and squeezes me again.
My dad is dead.
But Peeta is still here.
I guess that's something.
It's hours later when the tears finally dry, but I don't move from my bed. I still can't believe that Peeta would say that to me. I know him, better than anyone else, and just know he understood how private and insecure I was about that. If I didn't let my boyfriend of three years have sex with me without a condom, why the hell would I let Cato? Peeta said those things out of spite, and in a moment of anger, he threw something incredibly personal in my face; and that's what kills me the most.
When the colors outside change from light to dark, and the chilly air begins to seep through my open window, I hear my bedroom door creak open. I feel the mattress dip and the covers shift slightly as he gets into bed with me. His big hand slides across my bare stomach and he moves closer until he's spooning with me. He takes shaky breath, the hot air skimming across my exposed neck.
"You will never understand how completely, entirely, magnificently sorry I am, Kitty," Peeta whispers. His voice is trembling, like he's on the verge of crying, and I unintentionally feel my stomach drop. I hate hearing him sad.
"I can't believe how terribly I fucked up. You mean everything to me, you're my whole family, and I said that—" he breaks off, his voice cracking, and I feel another tear slip down my nose. Peeta grew up without a family. He was raised by his uncle Chaff after he lost his parents and two brothers in a freak house fire when he was only three. His uncle wasn't great at rearing him, an uncontrollable alcoholic, and Peeta's always felt isolated—alone in life. Until he met me. I became his family, just like he became that for me. We found each other in random circumstances, when we weren't looking for anything permanent. But we did. He's a permanent part of me.
"Please tell me you can forgive me; maybe not now, but eventually. If you aren't in my life, I don't know what I would do." He sniffs. "Always, remember? We said that two years ago, and I still believe it to this day. I know what I said to you was inexcusable. Not only was that an insecurity of yours, but I acted like I had a claim on you in your intimate life. What kind of prick does that? Definitely not a best friend. But I swear I will never do anything like it again. Please just forgive me."
I turn around, unable to hear him speak like that anymore, and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Like Peeta said, I can't imagine my life without him. I'm not one to keep grudges—especially against Peeta—even if he hurt me. I'm a bitter, selfish, moody bitch and he likes me in spite of that. I'm not gonna let one mistake ruin what we've built. God knows I've screamed at him more than once, and I'm positive I'll do it again—probably soon. He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me to him and kisses my shoulder.
"Why did you say it, Peeta?" I find myself asking, breathing in his scent; he smells like manly cinnamon.
"I honestly don't know." His hand makes soothing circles on my back and I pull away from his neck so I can look into his eyes. "It just came out of my mouth; I have no idea where it came from." He shakes his head, astonishment and shame overwhelming his face.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him I can forgive him, but suddenly, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I feel the hunger I did when he first kissed me ignite my body, but I know this kiss isn't like the other one. It's not heated or sexual. It's a plea; an apology. His hand cups my jaw and he removes his soft lips from mine momentarily. "Forgive me, Kitty," he whispers, then kisses me again.
I know that he's my best friend and he always will be. I know that he's hurting and he wants comfort. I know that he's sorry. I know that I will forgive him for anything. And I know that he doesn't love me like I love him. But most of all, I know that this kiss is more than just a kiss shared between two friends.
Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a hard one to write—pretty intense. Jealous Peeta reared his UGLY head. But we all say stuff we never intended to when we fight with someone. Haha! I also hope you liked the flashback. For anyone that has experienced loss, it can be like that. All these weird things pop into your head and you feel unbelievably hopeless, and kind of like a robot; or in a dreamlike state. I hope I was able to do it justice.