Author's notes: Trigger warning: Graphic depiction of attempted rape.

All my love to papofglencoe who's my biggest inspiration and support. She's also the reason my stories aren't filled with grammatical errors and typos.

There's a little nod to Red rising in this chapter. I don't own that trilogy either.

"You have one more day in here. I'll come find you after that," he says quietly, almost as a whisper. "I have to get back before they notice I'm gone."

He's about to close the hatch when I call out to him.

"Peeta?"

He stops his movement, holding the window half-open.

"I shouldn't have pushed you," I say in a whisper.

"Don't worry about it." He stands still for a couple of seconds, like he's contemplating saying something else, but eventually closes it.

And once again I'm left alone with nothing else to occupy me other than my own thoughts. But the knowledge of having only one more day in here puts me at ease. I'll take Mason's company any day over this.

If I'm not mistaken, they slide in a new tray three more times. But after Peeta's visit I don't bang the door anymore. I still refuse the food, though—the loaf of bread Peeta brought is enough for the remainder of my stay here.

The fourth time someone approaches my cell, the door opens, revealing one of the few decent guards in this prison. I'm sitting on the floor, and Thresh looks down on me from the door opening.

"Come on, Everdeen."

I consider not moving, anything to make my stay here harder for everyone. That way maybe they think twice before sending me down here again. But that would only force Thresh to carry me out of here, and I have no quarrel with him. So I walk up to him, letting him cuff me and lead me back to my cell.

"You're usually smart, Everdeen. Why did you have to go against a CO? You know how some of the guards react to shit like that."

His concern is genuine, and I know what he means. When I was in the hole, I was safe—no one could touch me there. Now that I'm back, there is no stopping some of the guards from getting back at me for hitting Peeta. It doesn't matter to them if he wants revenge. Most of them see the guards as a brotherhood—mess with one, and you mess with all.

Our first stop is Abernathy's office. I feel like a kid who's come back from detention and now has to face the principal to talk about the consequences of their behavior.

Thresh closes the door, and I slump down on the chair across from the desk.

"Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day."

There's no question, so I don't feel the need to answer him. Instead, I lock my eyes on one of his pens on the desk, trying to look indifferent.

"Yeah, I know you're not a talker," he says, refilling his cup with something way stronger than coffee. "What did the Mellark boy do to you?" He pauses, the cup inches from his mouth. "Did he introduce you to little Mellark? He doesn't strike me as the type, but you never know."

I huff, annoyed that he would even consider Peeta forcing himself on someone. "No."

"So?" He gestures for me to explain. I could lie, but Abernathy would see right through it, so I just stay silent.

He sighs. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" I glare at him. "Fine, I'll just make something up for the report. You can leave."

As soon as I stand up, he puts his feet on the table, pinching his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Hey, Everdeen," he barks when I'm at the door. "I'm not the enemy."

As soon as I'm out of his office I head for the bathroom—I need a shower. The only way of cleaning myself the last two days has been the small sink in my cell, but that doesn't cut it. This is not the time I usually shower—there's a schedule. But the guard outside is one of mine. I've blown him so many times I've lost count, so he lets me pass anyway. The door to the stall closes behind me and I swiftly slip out of my clothes and let the water rinse me of everything from that place. There's normally a line to the showers, so I usually make it quick. But today the place is empty, so I decide to take advantage and stay a few minutes extra under the cascading water.

I'm back just in time for supper. Glimmer and Clove chatter my ears off, but I try to concentrate on the food. It's actually pretty good—considering. I quickly finish my meal and head back to my cell—I've missed my bed. The corridor is seemingly empty. Most people are probably still in the hall.

A hand covers my mouth and yanks me backward, and an arm wraps around my waist to keep me from falling. It's one of the guards coming to retaliate—probably Cato. I'm forced into a narrow corridor I haven't seen before and then into an ever smaller one. If you don't know it's here you'd probably never find it. The grip on me loosens, and I'm taken aback when I see it's Peeta who's brought me here.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rough," he says, releasing me completely. He switches places with me, putting me between him and the only opening out of here.

"I've had rougher."

He doesn't speak for a couple of seconds, letting the impact of my statement settle in.

"So..." He rubs the back of his neck. "What do you want to know?"

I have so many questions I don't really know where to start. So I start with the most important one, the one that's been burning a hole in my soul. I did what I did for Peeta. I know that. But if he can't see it, everything's been in vain.

"When did you find out that…? That I was the one who…?" For some reason I can't bring myself to say the word, murdered your mother. It sounds so cold. But then again, that's probably what I have become.

"As soon as I heard the news, I knew," he says quietly.

"And how did you feel about that?" I ask carefully, afraid of finding out that he hates me for it.

"Relieved. Is that weird?"

Nothing about his family situation was normal, so there is no right way to react to something like that. "No."

"I wanted to go to your trial, but I couldn't. I couldn't even leave the hospital. Hell, I could barely walk. My leg was pretty fucked up, so I had a lot of physical therapy. I still have a limp."

I remember searching for Peeta in the courtroom, but I never saw him—I assumed it was because he hated me. I chose not to testify—I didn't want to talk about Peeta's and my relationship or the one he had with his mother. It was too personal. Besides, if I did, Peeta would be forced to testify, and I couldn't put him through that too.

My lawyer wanted to argue temporary insanity, that seeing Peeta caused me to snap and that I didn't know what I was doing. But I was completely sane at the time and knew full well the consequences of my actions. I didn't regret it—I still don't.

"I've been wanting to see you ever since I woke up."

There is a visiting room and telephones, both of which he could have used. "So you waited eight years?" I ask dryly, the bitterness evident.

"I know how it looks. You think I abandoned you, but that's not it. At all. I—" A beep from his radio interrupts him.

"Yeah?" he says into the comm without removing it from his shoulder.

"You're needed in cellblock C," the voice in the radio says.

"Okay, I'll be right there," Peeta answers. He looks back to me. "I have to go." As he walks past me, he raises his hand as if he's going to put it on my shoulder, but it lingers in the air. He must change his mind, because he retracts it again. "I… I've missed you," he whispers. Then he's gone.

That was the longest conversation we've had since before I was incarcerated, but it doesn't feel like I got that much information out of it. If anything, it raised even more questions. If he didn't abandon me, why hasn't he come to see me? And even if his reason is legitimate, will I be able to let it go? I've been angry for so long I'm not sure if I can feel anything else.

When I get back to the hallway, it's bustling with inmates getting back from supper. Glimmer grabs me by the arm and drags me toward another corridor.

"Come on, you've got to see this," she says without looking at me. I don't like how hard her grip is on my arm, and after this, I will let her know that. But for the time being I relent and follow her.

"What is it?"

"You've got to see it for yourself."

I'm not going to just blindly follow her wherever she leads me, so I pull to a halt, forcing her to do the same. "That's not how this works." She seems to have forgotten that we are not equals. "Tell me what it is, and then I'll decide if it's worth my attention."

She glances over my shoulder, and I follow the direction of her gaze—big mistake. When I turn my head I'm shoved into the closet we've stopped outside, and I fall over, fortunately managing to let my hands break the fall. Someone is blocking the door—Hawthorne.

"If I'm not mistaken, you owe me something," he taunts, closing the door. That's what this whole charade was for?

"You didn't have to go through someone else for that," I say, trying not to let my fear show. The look he's giving me is terrifying, but I don't want him to know that.

He approaches me, and I decide to stand where I am—I will not back away from him. He grabs my chin, bringing my face closer to his. "I think I did." Without warning my feet are swept from under me, effectively bringing me to my knees. I'm eye level with his crotch—he wants a blowjob.

I start unbuckling his belt. The sooner this is over, the better, but his dick is only half-hard. I throw him a glance as I start stroking him. He takes out a knife from his pocket, putting it on my throat—he must've talked to Cato. "Don't you give me that look, inmate. It's in your best interest that you do a good job."

Trying not to acknowledge his threat, I take him into my mouth. He removes the knife and puts it back in his pocket, getting lost in the moment.

I don't know his preference, so I do the shit that most men seem to like—sucking the head, fondling his balls. I have a feeling I'll soon know exactly what he likes. I don't know for how long I've been sucking his dick, but it doesn't seem to work. So I put my hands on his hips, taking in as much of him as I can. I try not to gag as I look up at him, locking my eyes on his, and finally—finally—he starts bucking his hips.

"Yes. Take my cock, you little cunt," he pants, fucking my mouth. "You've been missing a real man's touch." I have missed a real man's touch, but it's not his. Instead I hum, creating vibrations that I'm sure will bring him even closer.

He grabs my hair, pushing my head faster and harder toward him. I close my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that are threatening to spill over the brim of my eyes. I hate this. I fucking hate it.

The only thing that keeps me going is that I can feel how close he is. Only a few more seconds and then we're done. He's about to finish when he pulls out, frantically stroking himself.

"Oh, fuck yes," he gasps. A few more pumps and then he spurts his cum on me, mostly my face. "Take it," he exclaims as he strokes himself through his orgasm. It's not the first time someone has come on my face—they do it all the time. I don't say anything, letting him have his seconds of bliss.

He doesn't do anything for a few seconds, coming down from his high. When the waves of his release subsides, he tucks himself back into his pants.

"Clean your face, inmate. You look disgusting." He's no different from the others. My touch is wanted until they come, and then I'm garbage again. I wipe his cum of my face and stand up to leave.

"Where do you think you're going, inmate?" he snarls. I don't know if his addressing me as inmate all the time is a power thing. Maybe it turns him on. Probably both.

"I'm going to my bunk. I owed you. Now I don't," I state. And I owe Glimmer a fucking beating.

"We're not finished." He needs some time to recover, so I doubt he wants to fuck me too. But right when I'm about to ask what he's talking about, the door opens, revealing Cato and two other guards.

Fuck.

"Well, hello there," Cato mocks, one of his characteristic smug smiles on his face. He swipes his thumb across my cheek. "Hawthorne, have you already had your fun?"

"What was I supposed to do?" he smirks. "Besides, she owed me. And from what I've heard, Everdeen always pays her debts."

"She does," Cato sneers, licking the side of my face. "She does."

Four guards against me. I stand no fucking chance whatsoever. Cato and his companions walk into the room, closing the door. I can't do anything but hope they go easy on me—I doubt it. The COs are here for the inmates' protection, but who will guard the guards themselves?

Cato closes the distance between us, his face only an inch from mine. "You assaulted an officer. Now you will pay the price," he seethes. He doesn't care about Peeta—oh Peeta—he's just using this as an excuse to fuck me, but it doesn't make it less real. It doesn't matter the reason—it hurts just as much.

The guards behind Cato grab me by the arms and push me onto a table, face down. I don't have time to react before my hands are cuffed to the legs on either side. I'm completely defenseless in this position, and when they pull my pants off there's nothing I can do. I could try to resist, but I know it's pointless, so I just let them. I will not give them the satisfaction of winning over me.

Cato pushes his groin against me, his erection pressing against my bare ass. He leans over me, his chest flush against my back. His breath against my skin and the reek of his cologne disgust me, but I try not to show it.

"Have you ever taken it in the ass, inmate?" I don't answer him. "It doesn't matter. Soon you will," he hisses in my ear. There is no mistaking the sound of pants unzipping, and then he drags his dick along my ass.

I try to prepare myself for the pain. I will not scream. I will not. He will not have the satisfaction of knowing that he's hurting me.

But before he pushes himself in, the door opens, and for some stupid reason I let myself hope that it's someone who's come to rescue me. My heart drops when I hear Hawthorne's words.

"Well, here's the man of the hour."

There's a short intake of breath and a couple of seconds of silence.

"What the fuck is this?" Peeta's voice is strained, and I don't know what's worse—being in this position or Peeta seeing me like this. So vulnerable.

"She needs a lesson in hierarchy. And I think you'd be the perfect teacher. Or at least you can have the first round," Cato explains calmly and slaps my ass—that's going to leave a mark.

No one says anything. Now I know what the worst part is. Peeta will have to rape me right here on the table while these guards watch. There's no way he can talk his way out of this. What little relationship we'd managed to rebuild will be completely destroyed today. Pain I can live with, but Peeta will never recover from doing something like this. And it's my fault. I caused this.

Cato walks around the table so that he's standing in front of me, his dick hanging out for all of us to see. I still can't see Peeta.

"How many inmates have you fucked, Cato?" Peeta asks behind me. He sounds surprisingly calm.

"Too many to count," he answers, a smug look on his face.

"And how many of them follow your rules?" His smile drops, and Peeta walks around the table, his eyes locking on Cato's. Their faces are so close I'm sure they can smell each other's breath. But despite Peeta being shorter, it's Cato who wavers. "Didn't think so," Peeta continues. "You can't fuck them into submission."

"It's the only language they understand."

"No, it's the only language you understand." He pauses. "You've only worked in this prison, right?"

"So?" Cato's confidence falters, and I feel a small satisfaction at his discomfort.

"How do you think we do it in max—where it's not this easy to sneak off for a quick fuck? Making sure they drop the soap?"

Cato doesn't say anything. But I don't think he's angry at Peeta for shutting him up. I've seen his angry face, and that's not it. That's when I notice that Peeta has an insignia on the sleeve of his shirt that Cato doesn't. Peeta outranks him.

"Try to make sure some of your blood rushes to your brain instead of your dick, and I might just tell you," Peeta says calmly, glancing down.

"That still doesn't mean you can't have a little fun," Cato tries to reason, tucking himself back in.

"Oh, I'm planning to. But I won't be getting it up with your ugly faces here. No offense, but I think I prefer this pretty little one here," he says, patting my head. "Now get the fuck out."

The guards behind me huff, but don't say anything. Cato walks toward the door and when he passes me he puts his hand on my ass, squeezing it just enough for it to hurt. "We'll take a raincheck, sweetheart."

This is the first time I see Peeta flinch today, but he manages to remain his composure. As soon as the guards close the door he rushes over to it, locking it and putting a chair against it so that no one from the outside can open it, even with keys.

Without another word he hurries back to my side, unlocking the handcuffs. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

I know that this was all Cato's doing. Peeta could've taken advantage and fucked me and gotten away with it, but he chose not to. He also saved me from a painful and humiliating experience. "This wasn't your fault," I tell him as soon as I pull up my pants.

"I mean about everything. For making you think that I didn't care. I should've try harder to…" He pauses. "I should have reached out to you, but I didn't know how."

"There is a visiting area."

"You have to sign in for that. Besides there are cameras everywhere." He takes a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"So?" I sound impatient, but I've been waiting too long for these answers. I take a seat next to him, but we don't touch. Only an inch separates us, but it feels like a mile.

"What kind of relationship would that have been, Katniss? A meeting once a week, the only touches allowed in the beginning and end of every visit, every phone call and conversation monitored." He exhales. "I'm sorry, but that's not good enough for me."

He's right. That wouldn't be much of a relationship. But what were we supposed to do? And is this good enough for him? We won't be able to have a real relationship in here either if that's his reason for coming here.

"When did you start working as a CO?"

"As soon as I could. I started basic training right after my leg healed. They normally let new recruits start in minimum security prisons, but they were so understaffed that my first job was at a max." That explains why he's already worked at three of them.

"How did you end up here?"

"I've only worked in all-male maximum security. I said I wanted to 'broaden my horizon.' I always intended on ending up here. With you."

Even if that's true, why didn't he let me in on it? "You could've told me."

"How? If I'd come here, people would have known. The wrestling-wimp visiting the psychopathic killer. That would make a great headline," he says dryly.

He's never been one to care what other people think, so I don't understand why that would've stopped him. But how did the media find out about the truth?

Peeta apparently senses my question. "After your trial the teachers and coaches started talking. How they'd suspected but didn't do anything, like they couldn't have. They were crying their eyes out in the newspaper like some fucking martyrs." Peeta clenches his hands into fists in frustration. I instinctively want to cover his hand with mine but refrain.

"They called you a wimp?" I don't know why I ask that—it's not the most pressing issue.

"Yeah." He lets out a humorless chuckle. "I was too much of a wuss to handle Mother myself, so I sent my girlfriend to do my dirty work."

I don't really know what to say. I had no idea how the outside reacted to what happened—I had assumed that no one knew the truth, but apparently everyone did. After the trial, my own mother severed what little bond we still had. She hasn't visited me once, and I don't expect her to. I don't have any other contacts—except Peeta.

"I thought no one knew," I say quietly.

He looks at me, blue eyes locking on gray, and for the first time since he came back, my first emotion isn't anger or betrayal, it's compassion. He's suffered as much as I have.

He's the first one to break eye contact. "Anyway." He drags a hand through his hair. "I focused all my energy on training as soon as I was discharged from the hospital. I didn't talk to the media. I never confirmed or denied any of the rumors. I just wanted everyone and everything to disappear."

I can understand that. He never wanted the abuse to be public knowledge, and suddenly it was plastered all over the news.

"That's why you changed your last name?"

"Partly, yes."

"Then why couldn't you come here?" I ask in frustration. "People wouldn't know it was you."

"They run background checks on all the guards. If anyone ever found out about my past, or if there were records of me being here before, visiting one of the inmates, I would never have been able to start working here. It had to look like we didn't have any type of connection. I couldn't risk it."

I don't say anything, stunned to silence. Ever since he got out of the hospital he's been putting all of his effort into seeing me again. I thought he'd abandoned me, but it was the opposite.

"I know you think I gave up on you. On us. But everything I've ever done has been with the intention of ending up here," he says quietly.

"I didn't know."

"Now you do. If you don't ever want to see me again, I'll respect that." He pauses, closing his eyes. "I've never stopped loving you. If you don't believe anything else, believe that."

I had been feeling sorry for myself, convincing myself that he deserted me here and that he hated me. I hated him too. It made it easier to cope, to blame someone else and be angry. But he never stopped caring about me. And instead of accepting the situation, he's been doing everything in his power to see me again—for real.

He stands up, straightening his shirt and heading to the door. He won't press me for any answers—he's changed, but some things remain the same. But he can't leave this room thinking that I hate him.

"Peeta?" My voice is weak, but I don't care. No one else can hear me right now. He turns his head when he's about to open the door. "Don't leave."

He looks up to me, a silent question in his eyes. Tears prickle my own. It's been so many years, but it still comes as natural as ever. Loving him. I've never stopped. Closing the distance between us, I let him embrace me. I've spent so much time building walls, and now they crumble to the ground at his touch. In his arms I am free. He breaks the chains.

It's a simple request, but it weighs a million tons, constricting my throat and clouding my mind. "Stay."

His grip tightens. His one-word answer is just as simple, but the impact is unfathomable. "Always."

Author's notes: I would very much appreciate if you'd leave a comment to let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!