Author's note: This story would not be what it is without the help from papofglencoe, wonderful friend and beta!
Trigger warning: Graphic depictions of violence.
He holds my hands behind my back, but his touch is soft. Since most of the guards are working with the inspections the corridor is pretty much empty—except for Hawthorne. I can tell the exact moment Peeta sees him, his grip on my wrists tightening.
"Making new friends?" Hawthorne quips, looking at me.
I want to spit in his face. That motherfucker and I have unfinished business. But I can't do it now—it would only cause a scene, and attention is the last thing we need right now.
"Found a knife in her cell," Peeta responds immediately. If he thinks Peeta's taking me somewhere to fuck, maybe he'll mind his own business. Peeta carefully yanks me backward, his mouth by my ear. "There's only one hard object you're allowed in your hand."
His meaning is not lost on Hawthorne, and he smirks at Peeta's comment. He looks at Peeta. "Thread will send her to max."
"Probably."
"Does he know?"
"Not yet."
Hawthorne approaches us—I have to suppress the gag reflex, but I try not to show it. He grabs my chin, turning my face left and right, as if inspecting it. "It's a shame. She gives a decent blowjob." Then he addresses me. "What do you say, sweetheart? One last time? As a parting gift," he mocks.
"I told you, Hawthorne. Don't touch my things," Peeta says in his most authoritative voice.
"What makes you judge of that?" He looks and sounds annoyed. He's probably still pissed because he couldn't have his turn. He seems like someone who can hold a grudge.
"Hierarchy. Would you like a lesson?" Hawthorne's got a couple of inches on Peeta, but Peeta makes up for it in confidence.
He squints his eyes at Peeta, then surrenders, only now seeming to realize that Peeta outranks him. He looks down at his feet. "No." I can't suppress the smirk on my face.
"Good. If you don't have anything better to do, then you can help Cato with the inspections. They're a man short."
Hawthorne drags his feet as he passes us, and I'm sure that if we didn't want the extra attention Peeta would reprimand him for it. He's been a pain the ass to the guards who were involved in the incident in that room. And I love him for it.
The rest of the walk is quiet. Fortunately, we don't meet anyone else, and I appreciate these few minutes of silence, his hand on my wrists, his soft breaths—this closeness.
Before Peeta knocks on the door he unlocks my cuffs. "I need a couple of minutes. You sure you can stall him?"
I turn around so we're face to face. Since he came back he's never faltered, but now there's vulnerability in his eyes—he's nervous too. "Yeah."
He looks around, making sure no one can see us, and puts his hands on my arms. "You can still change your mind about this."
"I know, but I won't," I tell him with the firmest voice I can muster. I'm sure of my words and I'm determined to leave, but I'd lie if I said I wasn't nervous.
He slides his hands up to my cheeks, grabbing my face and pulling me in for a kiss. I part my lips, and our tongues meet as I skate my hands up his arms, grabbing him as if my life depended on it. It does. We don't know how everything will play out after I enter that office, so I pour every emotion I can into this kiss, and he does too. The insane roller coaster we've both been on is about to come to an end, and the weight of it hits me. He suckles on my bottom lip before pulling away, and I instantly miss his touch. We will leave this place. Or die trying.
We don't have to say anything else. His fingers linger on my arm a little longer before he knocks on the door.
"What?" Thread shouts from inside.
Peeta opens the door, and we both walk in. Thread doesn't even look up from his papers, and Peeta clears his throat to get his attention.
"We found a knife in her cell." Peeta pushes me forward. "I figured you'd want to speak to her about that."
A smile of satisfaction spreads on his face. "You figured right," he says, licking his lips. Motherfucker.
Peeta subtly caresses my wrist behind my back before letting me go. "I'll wait outside."
"This might take a while, Mellark. You can continue with the inspection. I'll make sure Everdeen is well taken care of," he says, a smug look on his ugly face.
I don't have to see Peeta to know that he's shooting daggers at Thread. But his voice is still steady. "Alright, sir."
As much as I want to look at him one more time before he leaves, I restrain myself from turning around. When the door closes I take my seat across from Thread. He stands up right away, walking to the door and locking it.
In an instant he's behind me. I don't like it.
"Whatever are we going to do about you, little missy?" He puts his hands on my shoulder and lets one of them shamelessly slide down my shirt to my breast. He grabs it with such force that I have to suppress a cry of pain.
"A knife, huh? Unless you want to be shipped off to max, you have some serious groveling to do."
"What's your price?" I ask, trying not to let the pain he's causing seep into my voice.
"You're not in a position to negotiate. We'll see how well you do today, and then I'll decide if it's good enough. You're a pain in my ass, Everdeen, but you do have decent cunt."
He unbuckles his belt, turns my chair around, and stands with my legs between his. His dick is right in front of me, and I try not to let the disgust show on my face.
"You want to stay here, don't you?" he murmurs, sliding his dick along my left cheek.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good," he says, backing away from me a couple of inches. "On your knees."
Apparently I hesitate a second too long, and he slaps me. Hard. It takes me by surprise, because even if he uses his whip from time to time, he's never used his fists.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Instead of answering I get off the chair and do as he says. He immediately takes my seat. "Take your shirt off," he commands as he strokes himself.
I obey, not wanting to aggravate him. He needs to have a false sense of security.
"You'll probably won't need your pants either."
He barely has time to finish his sentence before there are four rapid knocks on the door. This catches Thread's attention, and I act as if on autopilot. I pull out a knife Peeta slipped in my pocket earlier and put it at his dick. No, this is not a knife—it looks like a scalpel.
"Don't say a fucking word, or I swear to god, I'll cut it off."
The door is locked, but Peeta has a spare key, and when Thread sees him there's a glimmer of hope on his face. But instead of rushing to his aid, Peeta slowly closes the door and locks it again.
"Mellark?"
"Shut up, you fucking piece of shit," he spits. Peeta puts down the bag he was carrying when he came in and pulls out roll of tape to strap Thread's wrists and ankles to the chair. "They'll be needing dental records when we're done with you," he says in Thread's face after being silent during the entire process. Peeta's words have the desired effect—Thread's scared shitless. I've never seen him so weak. It's a wonderful sight.
"What are you—"
"Didn't you hear the officer?" I move the scalpel to his throat. "You will speak only when addressed," I seeth.
Peeta looks to me, seeing my state of undress. "What did he do?" His voice is completely different from when he talks to Thread.
I stand up, putting my shirt back on. "He complimented my pussy." I direct my gaze to Thread. "Or how did you put it? My decent cunt."
Peeta takes out a gun, pressing the muzzle against Thread's jaw, only inches separating them. "It's fucking better than decent."
As Peeta moves away from Thread I stand on my toes and give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
His hand snakes around my waist and he puts his mouth by my ear, making sure Thread can't hear him. "You alright?" His genuine concern for me makes me want to shut everything and everyone out. This moment is about him and me, and us alone.
"Yes," I whisper, pressing my cheek against his and feeling his warmth. I guess it'll have to do for now—we're not out of here yet.
Peeta shifts his focus back to Thread as I stand behind him. He tries to follow my movement, as if he's afraid I might do something he won't see coming. Good. But Peeta brings his attention back to him.
"Do you know why Everdeen is here?"
"You found… You found a knife in her cell." It looks like he's trying to reposition himself in the chair, but the tape prevents him from doing so.
"No," Peeta says impatiently, exhaling. "In prison."
"I… I don't know," he says carefully, apparently afraid of saying something wrong.
"Sure you do. You must have looked at her file dozens of times, every time you threatened to send her to max."
Thread hesitates, his eyes flickering. Peeta doesn't hesitate. He punches him right on the nose, causing it to start bleeding. "Don't go forgetful on me now, warden. You had no problem remembering every single one of her missteps during my installation."
Thread's hand jerks, probably instinctively wanting to wipe his nose. "She… She killed someone."
"That's right. Do you know who?"
"I don't remember the name. What does it have to do with—"
Peeta pulls out a card from his pocket, throwing it on Thread's lap.
"Ring a bell?"
It's his old driver's license. The one he had before changing his last name. Thread stares at it for a couple of seconds, putting the pieces together.
"You," he says, looking up to Peeta again. "You're the wimp who—"
He doesn't see my fist coming, and I punch him square in the jaw. "He's not a fucking wimp!" Fuck, that hurts a lot more than I thought it would.
It takes a little longer for him to recover this time, but when he does there's a sneer on his face. "Always hide behind a woman when things get rough?" he taunts. He's very cocky for being in this position, and I want to slap the grin off his face. But that would only be grist to his mill.
Peeta seems unaffected by Thread's mocking. "I can understand why a strong woman might make someone like you feel emasculated. But I really don't like your attitude," he says calmly, before turning the gun around in his hand and hitting Thread with it, exactly on the same spot he hit him before. Peeta backs away, giving me the space. "All yours."
I move so I'm only inches away from his face. Blood runs freely from his nose, dripping down on his shirt. I want to yell. Yell at him for forcing the abortion, raping me, letting almost every guard rape me, for ignoring the beatings, and for all the other shit that's going on in here. But it won't change anything—he won't change.
I let out a huff. "You're not worth my time or my energy."
My words seem to make him think I'm having second thoughts, a glimmer of hope glistens in his eyes.
At first I think I miss. I don't feel the knife slicing through his skin. It appears Thread doesn't realize what I did either. It takes a couple of seconds before his hands instinctively try to move to cover the open wound where I slit his throat, but they're strapped down. The blood squirts from his artery with such force it soaks me. The red liquid is warm, the feeling liberating.
Peeta grabs my arm. "We've gotta go."
I don't know if Thread's dead or alive when we leave his office. It doesn't matter. If he's still breathing, he won't be for long.
"Come on, this way." Peeta pulls me through a door leading to a tiny room. It reminds me of the hole, but this one has another door on the opposite side. It looks like it's a way out. "This is an emergency exit for the administrative staff."
"Won't the alarm go off if we open it?"
"No. It's been broken for years. I checked." He takes out a long cylinder from his bag, threading it on his gun—a silencer—and hands an identical one to me. It feels cold and heavy in my hand. The last time I held one was when I killed his mom. You'd think that it would stir up a string of emotions, but it doesn't. "Listen, when we get out there, you run. Okay? I don't know if we're gonna get fired at. It depends if the guards on watch see us. You remember how to use one of these, right?"
I stare at the gun in my hands. "Yes."
"It's the white Ford. It's open, and the keys are under the driver's seat."
Why is he telling me this?
"Don't you have the keys?"
"Yeah, but…" He swallows. "Whatever you do, keep running, okay?"
I put my hand on his chest, and he grabs my fingers, closing his eyes briefly. "Peeta…"
"Please, Katniss. Whatever happens, get to that car."
"Peeta." I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me. "Don't expect me to just leave you." After everything we've been through, how does he think I'll be able to keep on living if something happens to him?
He puts his hands on my hips and kisses my hair. "I hope it won't come to that, but—"
The door we just came through bursts open. Neither of us have time to react before the intruder spots us—it's a guard. He must've seen us. Fuck.
We all stare at each other for a while—I have no idea how long—no one seeming to want to make any sudden movements. Only when the guard slowly moves his hand to the radio on his shoulder does Peeta break this weird stalemate, and swiftly points his gun at the guard. "Don't."
He seems at a loss, not knowing what to do, and frankly neither do I. But Peeta slowly approaches him, pulling the cuffs in the back of his utility belt off with one hand, leaving only one of the gun. The guard apparently sees this as an opportunity and tries to knock it out of Peeta's grip. It doesn't work, but it's enough to shift Peeta's focus for a split second and my heart sinks when I see him getting tripped and falling to the ground.
On instinct, I drop the gun I'm holding and throw myself at the guard, who's know on top of Peeta, desperately trying to pull him off. His ugly hands are locked around Peeta's throat, and the sight makes me lose all control. "Let go of him!" I scream as I try to claw at his arms, neck, face. Whatever I can think of to get him off.
It's enough to get his attention, turning around to throw me off him. With a grunt he manages to land a fist in the side of my stomach. The force knocks the wind out of me. My vision gets blurry and the sounds of the scuffle next to me drown in silence.
The next thing I see is Peeta's face above me. It's pale. Why does he look so scared? He looks down between us. His hands are covered in blood. Oh no. He can't leave me now. Everything spins. White lights dance around Peeta's head.
He's my angel.
"Katniss? Stay with me. Please. Stay with me."
Why am I lying down? Peeta's terrified. I lift my hand up to his face, caressing it. There's something red on my finger. I paint a flower on his cheek. I'm here. I'll always be here. With you.
"Katniss?" He pats the side of my face with his hands. "You need to stay with me." Why does he think I'm leaving?
He opens the bag, pulling out something white, and pushes it to my stomach.
Then pain. Oh, the fucking pain. The lights disappear when the intense burn from my stomach flashes through my entire body, out to the tips of my fingers.
"Peeta!?" I cough.
"Hey, you're going to be alright, okay." I don't know if he's asking or telling me, but I believe him. He never lies. Not to me. You have to try to stay awake, okay. Can you do that?" The blood on his hands isn't his—it's mine.
The realization throws me back to the present, my brain letting me feel the full extent of my injury. It hurts like hell.
"Yes." I don't know if I can, but I will give it my all.
"Listen, there's a lot of bleeding. You need stitches. The fucker had a knife." Peeta's voice is calm—he's switched to survival mode, methodically working on my wound. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, his jaw clenching. But we're sitting ducks here. Someone is going to find Thread, and then we'll be stuck here, our only chance of leaving slipping through our fingers.
"We have to go, Peeta. We can't stay here." They will find us here if we don't leave.
"Katniss, if we don't do anything about this you're gonna bleed out." That's when I see it. He's not calm. He's terrified. I've always thought that if something happened to me he'd survive it. He's strong. But now I see in his eyes that he won't. We're the same, dependent on each other and unable to survive without the other.
"We have to go."
"I know. I'll get you out of here. I promise." He takes my hand. "Do you trust me?"
He doesn't even have to ask. "Yes."
"Good. I managed to put on a bandage, but that's not gonna last. The infirmary is not too far away. I'll carry you."
No, that won't work. Both of his hands will be tied. "No, I can walk." I think.
Peeta helps me up to my feet, but he might as well have carried me—I'm putting pretty much all of my weight on him.
"The guard didn't have time to call it in, so no one suspects anything yet, at least," Peeta assures me. I look down at the body. One shot. In the head.
We don't take the shortest way to the infirmary, trying to avoid most of the cameras. We can't evade all of them, but Peeta says they're not monitored all the time, so hopefully no one in surveillance sees us.
I lean on Peeta the entire way, doing my best not to put all of my weight on him. I wish I could stand and walk on my own, but it hurts too much. Thanks to me, we're forced to go back, leaving us extremely vulnerable. "Peeta, I'm so sorry."
We stop after we round a corner. "Hey, listen. Do you remember what you used to tell me after Mother hit me?"
I do—I told him the truth.
"That it wasn't your fault."
"And this isn't yours."
"But you didn't believe me."
"No, but I'm a lot more persuasive than you." Even now, when we're facing the hardest challenge we'll probably ever meet, he manages to put a small smile on my face. And I know he's right. He doesn't say it to placate me. He says it because he believes it. And I believe him. "Come on, we're almost there."
The infirmary is a large room with beds along the walls. When Peeta opens the door it's eerily empty. What if they already know? But it doesn't take long before a middle-aged man enters the room from a door opposite the one we came through. Doctor Aurelius. He's done some of my medical exams. He freezes when he sees us.
Before he get's a chance to do anything Peeta points his gun at him.
"Mellark? What—"
"She need stitches, and you're gonna do it."
"Are you asking me to—"
"This isn't a fucking discussion, Aurelius. You either do it, or I'll shoot you and do it myself. I prefer option number one, and I think you do too."
Aurelius looks at me and Peeta for a couple of seconds before making his decision. "Put her here," he says, motioning to one of the beds. Peeta carries me to it and gently puts me down. As soon as he lets me go I grab his hand, holding on to it as hard as I can, searching his eyes to have something to hold on to.
The doctor carefully lifts my shirt and removes Peeta's temporary bandage, which is now completely soaked. Some of it has even smeared onto Peeta's shirt, leaving a red stain. "What happened?"
"A knife," Peeta says, without breaking eye contact with me.
"I have to clean this," he says robotically. Peeta holds my hand the entire time, his eyes going between me and the doctor. "Are you feeling nauseated?"
"No."
The doctor takes my blood pressure and measures my pulse, everything under Peeta's watchful eyes.
"There doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding, and from what I can see the knife missed any vital organs."
Peeta sighs in relief. "Good. Then finish up and we'll be on our way."
Aurelius hesitates again, and I can see Peeta's losing his patience, exhaling loudly.
"It would go a lot smoother if I didn't have a loaded gun pointed at me at all times," Aurelius mutters.
"Well, doctor, it just so happens that I don't trust you. So why don't you focus on what you're doing, and I'll make sure this doesn't accidentally go off?"
I don't feel anything when the doctor stitches me back together. Did he give me something? I feel myself drifting off, Peeta's face turning blurry. But he keeps talking to me, whispering assuring words in my ear that keep me in the present.
"Look at me. Just a little while longer. We'll be out of here in no time." I try to focus on his eyes to keep myself from losing consciousness.
"Peeta?" I whisper. "Tell me a story."
He brushes a tear from my cheek, and gives me the subtlest of smiles. "Did I tell you about the final game in the state wrestling competition?"
"No."
"I was nervous as hell. The guy I was up against was bigger than me. Not much, but sometimes that's all you need. I wanted to win so badly—not for the school or for myself, but for Mom."
I furrow my brows. "Why?"
He closes his eyes, as if to gather strength before continuing.
"Because maybe then she wouldn't see me as a constant failure and disappointment anymore. Or at least for the day." His confession breaks my heart. He did everything he could to get her to care about him, even though all she ever did was break him down. She didn't deserve him.
"Anyway, I'd seen you in the crowd during some of the games, and my foolish, lovestruck teenage mind had somehow convinced myself that you were there to watch me," he says, shrugging his head as if chastising his younger self.
"The minutes before the game I tried to find you in the sea of people. And then my opponent came out, looking down on me. He wasn't that much taller, but it's a lot of psychology, and he was already winning. It wasn't until we stepped onto the mat that I saw you. It was like the entire room fell silent. And just like that, I knew that I could beat him."
He saw me. He saw me in the audience, and it gave him strength. I've relied on him for so many things, but he depends on me just as much. Lying here, hand in hand, I don't want to be anywhere else. Wherever he is, I want to be there.
"Okay, you're done," Aurelius says, breaking us from our moment. Peeta helps me up to a sitting position. The pain radiates from the right side of my stomach through my entire body. "She can't walk, or the wound will reopen."
"Give me your phone," Peeta says to Aurelius. He pulls it out from his pocket, giving it to Peeta, who hurls it across the room, breaking it against a wall. "Where's the bathroom?"
The doctor points to a door close to the one we came from. "Get in there." Aurelius looks at Peeta in horror. "They'll find you eventually. You won't like the alternative."
As soon as Aurelius opens the door, Peeta closes it and and props a chair up against it, making it impossible to open from the inside. He smashes some of the cupboards, taking most of the stuff, and puts it in his bag before swinging it over his shoulder.
"Put your hands around my neck," he instructs when he's back by my side. "There's been a slight change of plans. We'll go through here. We have to get outside before the alarms go off. Many of the doors lock automatically."
"How far are we from the parking lot?"
"Too far. I have to get the car first and come and pick you up."
He scoops me up in his arms. I know he's doing his best not to make my pain worse, but it hurts like hell. "Fuck," I exclaim. I'm afraid I'll pass out.
"I know. Just hold on a little longer." He carries me through the same door Aurelius came through and then a short, narrow corridor. At the end of it is another door that looks like it leads outside. When we get to it, Peeta uses one of his knees to prop me up, freeing one of his arms so that he can use his keycard.
The light almost blinds me. The sun shines right in my face. It's warming. Comforting. Peeta carefully puts me down on the ground. I'm an easy target, waiting here for Peeta to come back, but it's our only chance. I'll only slow him down if he takes me with him, leaving us too exposed to the guards.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promises and hands me a gun. I know he will. He'll put his own life at risk to save me. And that scares me more than anything.
I think I drift in and out of consciousness, because I have no idea how long it takes before I hear the car. That's when the alarm goes off. There's a click from the door we just came through. If I'd slowed us down any longer we'd be stuck in there. I've never heard this alarm before. It's different from the 6.30 wake-up call—louder and more high-pitched. I wait for the shooting to begin. But it doesn't.
Peeta parks the car right in front of me, shielding me from the watchtowers. He opens the passenger door from the inside. Stepping out, he helps me get in the car. I do my best to help him, but the wound hurts so fucking much that Peeta ends up doing all of the work. He even makes sure to buckle my seatbelt before we take off.
That's when the shooting starts. This car isn't bulletproof—one shot in the right place and we'll never get out of here.
"They're shooting at the tires," Peeta says, as if that will calm me down. If they hit one of them, everything is over. We can't get away if they blow a tire.
But Peeta manages to get away from the bullets, skillfully turning left and right before we're out of their sight.
We come to a wider road, and we're both silent for a couple of minutes before he takes my hand.
"How are you feeling?"
It hurts like hell, but I really want to sleep. "I'm tired."
He grazes his thumb over my knuckles. "It's okay. Go to sleep."
I close my eyes and see seventeen-year-old Peeta right before the last game in the wrestling tournament. That moment when his eyes locked on mine. I'd written it off as a coincidence, a figment of my imagination, that he actually was looking at me.
"Peeta."
"Hm?" He squeezes my fingers.
"I was there to watch you."
I don't have to open my eyes to know that he's smiling.
Author's note: If you're enjoying this story please drop me a line, either here or tumblr (maxwellandlovelace). Thank you for reading!
