I can't help it.
I know I should resist my urges and think about everything that's happened between us. But when I come home from work to find Katniss sitting on the couch wearing a see-through white shirt, it tips me over the edge. And I tumble into my desires.
I head for the shower, tearing off my clothes as quickly as possible, and as soon as the scalding water hits my head, I wrap my hand around my cock and groan in relief. I relive our moment together two weeks ago when everything felt right—if only for a moment. When I sunk into her wetness and felt her squeeze around me as she came.
Needless to say, I come in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
When the guilt and anger fade and I finish actually showering, I exit the bathroom and find Prim bouncing around to whatever is playing on the TV; her blonde curls fall and rise with her feet. When she sees me, she screams—that high-pitch, joyful kid scream—and runs to me. I pick her up and swing her around, smiling and laughing with her.
It's this, this right here, that makes it seem like my life is perfect. Like the future I always imagined for myself has come true. This snarky angel is mine and I cherish her with all of my heart. I kiss her forehead and bury my face in her curls as I pull her to my side; she wraps her little legs around me. Her hair smells like baby oil and strawberry shampoo and it has me fighting tears.
"Hello, baby girl." She buries her face in my neck and giggles.
How did I get here? When did she become so affectionate? She's always been kind and fun—like ninety percent of toddlers—but now she's clinging to me like I'm someone important.
Shit, am I reading too much into this?
Katniss stands up from the couch. Unfortunately, she hasn't changed out of her shirt, but she walks towards us with her hands crossed over her chest. She watches as Prim snuggles into me and wraps her tiny arms around my neck; warmth spreads through my chest.
"I figured I would have dinner made by the time you guys got home. Why are you here already?" I ask Katniss.
She shrugs. "Prim was a little fussy today—she wouldn't take her nap at the studio. So I just decided to cut the day short and see if she would fall asleep in her crib here. She did." She runs a hand through her loose hair and yawns. "I've been on the phone with an artist or I would have started cooking. I didn't realize how late it is."
It's barely past six, but I don't say that to her. She hasn't been sleeping well the last few nights—at least that's what she told me. We haven't been sleeping in the same bed. I know I promised I would sleep with her some nights, but I keep on making excuses not to: I have to wake up early, her bed hurts my back, my futon is too small for two people—just bullshit excuses that she must see through.
I also know I shouldn't feel guilty about it, but I do. Back when we were together, I swore I would always be there when she needed me to be. And even though we aren't together anymore, I can't help but feel like every time I say "goodnight" to her and she's not at my side, I'm breaking that promise.
Why is it that even after everything that's happened, I'm still wrapped around her finger?
"But I have some good news," she says, stifling a second yawn.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. You know that artist I was telling you about?"
I nod my head slowly, remembering. "I think so. Finn Something, right?"
"Finnick, actually. Finnick Odair. Anyway, he's coming to town in two days to record in the studio."
"That's awesome, Katniss!" And I'm not lying. She's been stressed for days now—about this Finnick dude and bunch of other studio shit—so I'm glad that something good has come out of all the stress.
I take a step forward to hug her, but realize that Prim doesn't really have hold on me and I should probably keep a tight grip on her. So I do the only thing I can do: I hold up my hand for a high five.
She stares at it for a little too long, her eyebrows furrowing, before she smacks it with her own. And I feel like a total fucking moron.
"I'm sorry," I say immediately. "That was super weird."
She nods her head, not even an ounce of humor or happiness on her face. Shit. She was just grinning a second ago—or at least Katniss's version of a grin. Which basically means a smile where she actually shows some of her teeth. And now I've fucked it all up.
I just don't know what to do anymore. I literally fucked myself in the shower with the hand I just high fived her with—while I was thinking about her, no less—but I can't even find it in myself to help her fall asleep at night.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He's literally the most handsome man I've ever seen.
It's obvious that he's a singer—I'm sure even if he had the most tone deaf voice in the entire world, he would sell albums like drugs to every woman in the world, young and old. But he looks like the definition of a celebrity: copper hair elegantly disheveled, bright green eyes that appear to be looking into your soul, broad shoulders that make you feel like he could throw you over his shoulder whenever he felt like it.
I've never really been overly self-confident or self-conscious about my looks, but right now I feel like a troll who lives under a bridge.
"I'm Finnick Odair," he says to me when I walk out of the kitchen with Prim on my hip and an apron on. Yeah. An apron. And not one of the white ones I wear at work. One of Katniss's that has a large dandelion on the front.
I take his outstretched hand, balancing Prim for a quick second. "Peeta Mellark."
He nods his head, a genuine smile on his handsome face, his emerald eyes bright. "I know. Katniss has told me all about you." He drifts his gaze to Prim. "Hi, Prim. Do you remember me?"
She nods shyly. "Finny."
He grins at her. "Only you are allowed to call me that, beautiful." He winks at her and she giggles—though I'm sure she has no idea what that gesture means.
Katniss finally comes through the door and shuts it behind her. She heads for Prim immediately.
Prim throws her hands up in the air with excitement and practically launches herself out of my grasp. Luckily, Katniss is right there to get her and nothing terrible happens.
"Hey, Peeta," Katniss greets me when Prim is tucked into her side and pulling on her braid. "I assume there were no issues."
"No, everything was fine. Just making dinner."
Katniss left me alone with Prim while she went into the office for a couple of hours. I actually forgot that she was picking up Mr. Gives Everyone An Inferiority Complex from the airport today. Thankfully, lasagna is baking away, which means we will have plenty.
"Um, do guys want a drink? Water or beer or something."
Finnick turns his head to Katniss and gives her a knowing look. "Hey, Kat, why don't you make us some of your famous old fashioneds?"
I raise my eyebrows at Katniss. First of all: Kat? Katniss has never in her life liked nicknames. In fact, I tried to call her Kat once when we first starting dating and she threatened to punch me in the balls. And second of all: famous old fashioned? How the fuck does he know she makes a good old fashioned?
She shakes her head at him, but she's smiling. Smiling like she's reliving a fond memory—an inside joke of some kind. "Finnick, it's a Tuesday night. We aren't going to get drunk on a Tuesday with our daughter here."
The spark of my pulse at her admitting to someone that Prim is our daughter is overshadowed by the pit in my stomach that's growing bigger and bigger as I imagine the history between these two.
Finnick's phone rings and he excuses himself—walking down the hallway until his voice is just a murmur. I take the opportunity to go the kitchen and get away from Katniss before I say something I regret. Like how she fucking lied when she said she had never slept with anyone but me.
But Katniss follows me. I pick up the knife I set aside when I heard the door open and continue chopping cucumbers for the salad. She leans against the adjacent counter and watches me work.
"So no problems?" she says.
"I literally just said that not a minute ago, Kat," I sneer, unable to mask my feelings. God, I'm an asshole. I have no right to be angry or jealous or whatever the fuck I'm feeling right now. Katniss can do whatever the hell she wants.
Before she has the chance to say anything, Finnick finds his way to the kitchen. He pockets his phone with an uncomfortable look on his face.
"That was the hotel you booked for me, Kat," he says. I wince. "Apparently the room was double-booked and I got booted. And there's no other vacancies at the hotel until tomorrow. Some kind of business convention. What are some other hotels in this town so I can make a reservation?"
"Just crash here," she replies—and my knife almost goes through my hand. Here? Well, fuck. Looks like I'm staying my place tonight. "There's a futon set up in the spare room already."
"Awesome."
Yeah. Awesome.
Dinner is actually pretty cordial. Finnick and Katniss joke and chat and laugh, and I stew quietly at the end of the table, helping Prim get some food into her mouth, not just on her face and clothes. I only imagine punching Finnick in the face once—when he places his hand on Katniss's as they laugh at a joke I don't understand.
And it makes me pissed. I'm pissed that I'm pissed. How fucking nuts is that? I hate that seeing Katniss have a good time with this Greek God makes me angry and jealous. We broke up a billion years ago and she's broken my heart into a million pieces—this shouldn't hurt me at all. I should be immune.
But I'm not. Because I've never moved on, and laughing with this guy makes it seem like she did.
When the two of them sit down on the couch after cleaning up after dinner, I put Prim to bed and change the sheets on the futon. Katniss walks in while I'm throwing my electric razor and toothbrush into a backpack.
"What are you doing?"
I nod my head towards the living room. "Mr. Handsome's staying here tonight, so I'm headed home."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "Seriously, Peeta? Can't you just stay in my room? Or are the flannel sheets too warm?"
Fuck me. "Fine. Whatever."
I walk into her bedroom and throw myself down onto the covers, setting the baby monitor on the nightstand. After days of avoiding this and her, I find myself sleeping next to Katniss on the worst night possible. When I'm fuming and jealous of this guy she seems to like too much for my taste—even if it is just friendship.
I've never been good with jealousy. Loving Katniss from afar while I was growing up was hard. She didn't date much, but when she did, I would sink into a pointless depression until they broke up. So when I finally got the girl, I was never okay with letting her go. I got jealous. I never acted on it, or got really macho about it, but I didn't like seeing her with other guys. I knew she would always be faithful. It was the dudes that looked at her like a piece of meat that I didn't trust.
I have tucked myself under the sheets and gotten comfortable when Katniss joins me a half an hour later. She strips down to her cotton panties and does the fascinating thing where she removes her bra through her sleeve before she climbs into bed next to me.
Her bed is small, so there's almost no way that we can't touch in some way; a grazed toe here, a bumped knee there. She rolls over on her side and faces me. I can tell that she's in a fine mood, that she had a good time with Mr. Celebrity. But I can also see that she isn't happy with me.
"What the hell, Peeta?" she whispers, her face inches from mine. "What's up your ass—and could you remove it posthaste?"
I chuckle in spite of myself. But then I go back to how I was feeling before she walked in here: jealous, upset, angry, miserable. "I don't like that guy," I grumble.
She shakes her at me. "You are the worst liar ever."
"And you're the best." Fuck. I shouldn't have said that.
She narrows her eyes at me. "What are you referring to now, Peeta? How did I lie to you this time? I brought a musician home and let him stay the night—how is that a lie? Maybe I should have consulted you before I invited him to stay, but I didn't think it would be a big deal."
"Oh, he's a just a 'musician'?" I cut in. "Somehow I doubt that."
She exhales and gives me that look that I hate. The look that says: "Now I understand and I'm disappointed that you are feeling this way." She used to give it to me whenever we were in the stupid predicament we are in right now.
"You're jealous of him," she says simply.
I can't deny it, so I just look away from her like a child. "He is more than just a musician," I counter.
She releases a heavy sigh that makes me look at her again. "We dated for a couple weeks. About a year ago."
"And that's why I'm jealous, Katniss," I explain, butting in again before she can clarify her statement. "Because you lied about who he was and you lied about not fucking anyone else but me!" The last part comes out as a shout, louder than I wanted or intended it to.
She glares at me. "I didn't lie about that, asshole. I said we dated—not that we fucked. You are allowed to date without sex—didn't you know that? Oh right, I forgot. You obviously don't. You don't even know what a date is anymore. You've spent the last few years fucking everyone who shows even the slightest interest in you—without going through the burden of getting to know them on a date."
I glare back at her. My anger is about to pour out, ugly and sarcastic. "Why did I do that, Katniss? Do you remember? I think I do. I think it's because you left me—right after we had sex, I may add. You fucked me and bolted." I can see her angry eyes become glassy with tears, but I can't stop. "So yeah, I had sex. I had a lot of sex. And I never risked my heart—my heart so fucking broken it probably won't ever be able to put itself back together. But you dic, love. You tried to find someone new to date and fall in love with." I roll over, turning my back to her. "I will never be able to do that."
It's silent for a long time after that. So quiet, I think she has fallen asleep. I know I probably shouldn't have said those things. We've created a delicate balance between the two of us. A balance that depends on moving past all the hurt and focusing on our love of Prim.
But it's a lie.
All of this is a lie. We tiptoe around the hurt like it's a landmine. But just like a landmine, the hurt is going to explode when we don't expect it. Explode when we take one wrong step and break the peace. Like tonight. Gale was right. We will never have a "clean slate." There is too much history.
"I was trying to start over." Katniss's voice is so soft and forgiving, unlike it was before. "I thought I could try to move on, to find someone new—I won't deny that. I thought that if I could find someone else it would mean I was supposed to leave you." My heart contracts in my chest. "But I didn't, Peeta. I barely went on three dates with Finnick. It never felt right."
I feel her shift closer to me on the bed, so close I can feel her breath on the back of my neck. Her hand runs down my spine and all of the tension slips out of my body, in spite of everything.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
And then she moves to the far edge of the bed so not even an inch of us is touching.
The next morning is awkward to say the least. We are more polite to each other than we have ever been—now even more afraid to ruin our attempt at a clean slate again. Or, more accurately, pretending like a clean slate is still a thing we could do.
Finnick is fucking oblivious, though. Or at least he acts like it. He makes merry chit-chat with both of us all through breakfast, and by the time the two of them are ready to leave for the studio, he acts as if we are best friends.
"Hey, I have an idea," he says to me as Katniss leaves the table to grab her purse. "I could watch Prim tonight and you two could go have some fun. It's the least I could do for you guys after letting me stay here last night."
I hesitate for a minute. It could be nice to get some space from Katniss without feeling guilty about it—and it would be great for her to have some time off. I know she got it last week when I took Prim to meet Gale, but she works so damn hard with Prim and she deserves free time more than just every few weeks.
But I don't know if I can trust this Finnick guy. I barely know him.
"Have you watched her before?" I ask.
He nods. "A couple times." I try not to get angry at that. "After Kat and I had our attempt at dating, we became pretty good friends. I watched Prim when she had to work late." He shakes his head, a warm smile on his face. "God, that was a disaster. I was trying to get over my ex, Annie, and she was..." he trails off and locks eyes with me. "You know."
I look down at my shoes, at a loss for words. I know all too well.
"Look," he starts back up again. "I know it's none of my business, but—"
"No, it's not," I cut him off. I don't need his opinion or his advice.
He nods his head. "Message received. So can I watch her tonight or what?"
I reluctantly nod my head back. "Yes, but only for an hour or so."
I tuck Prim into bed alone, Katniss chatting with Finnick in the living room. It's a little past eight o'clock, but I feel more comfortable letting Finnick watch her if she's just sleeping and probably won't need any attending to.
I sit in the rocking chair and watch Prim blink her eyes in that sleepy toddler way—where they want to stay up, but their bodies want them to fall asleep.
"Daddy?"
Time freezes for a moment. But then I shoot from the chair and practically jump the entire distance to Prim's crib.
"Prim?" I ask quietly. Did she seriously just say what I think she said?
"Pee-da," she says—and my heart drops. Guess not.
"Yes?"
"You my daddy?"
I don't really think about. I don't consider whether or not this would piss off Katniss. Or fuck, whether or not it would hurt Prim—though I hope it doesn't. I just tell her the truth, my heart clenching in my chest.
"Yes, baby girl. I'm your daddy—if you'll have me." I reach through the wooden slats and stroke her nose with the tip of my finger.
She nods her head sleepily. "Pwease."
She falls asleep shortly after that. But I just sit on the floor next to her, trying not to scream or cry from joy, and watch her small body rise and fall with her breathing in the dim light of her nightlight.
It isn't until my back starts to ache from the weird position I've been sitting in that I get up. I creep out of Prim's room and close the door quietly before I run into the living room.
Katniss is standing by the door, ready to go. I barely wave goodbye to Finnick before I grab Katniss's arm and pull her from the house.
"Where are we going?" she asks, but I don't answer her. The plan was for me to go home and hang out with Gale and for Katniss to go to this local café that has her favorite cheesecake and read for a while. But fuck those plans.
As soon as we finish walking the four blocks to the park, I move in front of her, cutting her off mid-stride.
"Prim called me daddy," I say, without waiting for her to say anything. "She called me daddy, Katniss!"
Katniss looks at me, startled. "She did?" I nod my head, almost maniacally. But I can't help it. Prim called me Daddy! I'm her father and now she finally knows—or at least, she knows for sure. Kids are way more perceptive that we give them credit for. Who knows how long she's considered me her dad. That thought makes my heart want to explode.
She smiles, the first genuine smile I think I've ever seen on her. "That's fantastic, Peeta." And I can tell she means it. Her eyes are focused on mine, bright and honest.
I pull her into my arms instantly, forgetting all the bullshit awkwardness from earlier—and since she's come back into my life in general. She wraps her arms around me and clenches me tightly, like she's been waiting for this moment to happen for far too long. I nuzzle into hair and the Katniss scent almost makes me choke. Why does this feel so perfect when every other moment with her feels so fucking hopeless?
"I want to kiss you," I whisper into her ear, remembering what she said a few days ago. But I pull away, knowing in my heart that I shouldn't act on it. Her hands skim down my face and back as she lets me go. When I find her gaze, I see hurt and desperation so familiar it makes me want to punch everything in sight. It's so familiar because I see it in myself every time I look in the mirror.
We both stand there, with pregnant silence falling around us; only the crickets and the tail end of the sunset as company. I can see from her perused lips that she has something she wants to say, just like I do. But she's never been one to say what she's thinking or feeling, and I will never be the person to break this kind of empty silence ever again.
I turn to head towards small lake that's just up ahead, when she takes the plunge, her words spoken in soft anguish.
"I don't think I'll ever be happy without you, Peeta."
I turn back around. I don't know if it's a lack of sleep or if she's hurting from the awkwardness just as much as I am. But as the first tear hits her cheek, I know that this is it. This is the moment we've been building towards since we crossed paths in that grocery store sixteen days ago. We've yelled and fucked and made desperate claims of peace, but this is what it all boils down to: the pain of being apart.
Unlike she used to when we were dating, she doesn't try to hide the tears or wipe them away as quickly as possible. She's lets them pour down her cheeks, her chin, her neck—until they disappear into her collar.
"Why do you think I came back here?"
My face falls—I know it does. Because it feels like my entire being falls, if that's even possible.
"I'm selfish, remember?" she says with a shrug of her shoulder, though the statement seems to make her cry even harder. "I came back here for you. Telling you about Prim was a part of it, but I'm tired of telling you and everybody else that I did it for anything else but you. I came back here because I've been broken my whole fucking life and you're the only one who knows how to fix me."
I don't know what to do. It feels as if I have a million words ready to pour out of me and nothing to say at the same time.
"I'm destroyed, Katniss," I settle on finally. "You destroyed me."
It might not be what I'm supposed to say, but I say it anyway—and with zero anger or malice. It's just a devastating fact.
She nods her head as if she knew that was what I was going to say all along. "I know I did. I ran away scared and I ruined our lives." She begins to cry harder, so hard I barely understand what she says next. "I'm so fucking sorry that I ruined you, Peeta. I'm so sorry you're as broken as I am—that I caused you to be that broken. I didn't mean to."
I don't try to fight my tears either. They slide down my face with ease, as if they've been waiting for this moment to fall. For her to finally say that she's sorry for hurting me. Not that she's sorry for leaving or not telling me about Prim or for acting like a single parent when she never needed to be. Not saying she she's sorry for doing those things, like she has, but that she's sorry that doing all of those things hurt me.
"I know that I won't ever be truly happy without you, too," I whisper, my voice garbled with spit. "That I'll always feel empty without you. And I'm so afraid that we will never move past this hurt."
She takes a step towards me. "Me too," she cries back. "I'm afraid, too. But I will do anything. Anything so the three of us can be happy together."
"Me, too."
I take her face in my hands and wipe away a few of the tears, but it's not enough. They continue to drip of her eyes like a leaky faucet.
"I still love you, Peeta," she sobs, pressing her forehead to mine. "I've loved you since our first date, and I will never stop."
I can feel myself start to forgive her right here. I feel it in my bones. It's crazy, I know. But hearing those words makes it possible to forgive her. I'm not there yet, but it doesn't seem impossible like it did not ten minutes ago.
I kiss her then. It's not a desperate or passionate or special kiss. But a kiss of necessity. A brief and normal kiss, like I've been doing it my whole life and will continue to do it until I die.
"Can we just be broken together?" she pleads when I pull away.
My thumb grazes her beautiful bottom lip. "Maybe we can try."
Hello, wonderful readers! I hope you are all enjoying the story. I just wanted to take the time to thank you all for reading my fanfiction, and supporting me—some for a long time, through my many bouts of writer's block. Writing fanfiction is a blast, but it's also a scary, difficult thing. You are putting your ideas and yourself out there for the whole world to read and critique. I hope that I'm doing a good job with this story and that you will all like how it pans out, but I know that as individuals, we have different opinions and different brains—which means we have different ideas for how this story could go. So, I'm sorry if you any of you read this fic and wish it had gone differently. Weird apology, I know, but I felt like saying it anyway. A disclaimer of sorts. Also, this story is going to be about ten chapters, if you are curious.
However, if you like the idea of this story, I just read a novel with a pretty similar plot line and really enjoyed it. It's called How To Love by Katie Cotungo. Check it out!
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