A/N: I can't apologize enough for how long this took. You guys understand about writer's block, right? I think it should be treated as medical condition.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
Chapter Nine
In the darkness, Peeta slipped out of bed. He padded across the bedroom as quietly as he could and went to the door of the apartment. Crouching in front of it, he pulled a hair pin out of the hair at the back of his head, and jammed it into the lock. He wasn't trying to escape. Escape was impossible. There was just something he had to do.
The stairs outside the apartment were immersed in darkness. Peeta blindly moved forward and skipped down the stairs as quickly as he could. When Cato had dragged him back after Finnick's party, he had caught a glimpse of a phone in the reception area. There was still some time before Cato got back from work so if he was fast enough, he could be done and back upstairs without getting caught.
The phone remained where Peeta had first saw it. He greedily grabbed it and stabbed the buttons in the only number that remained in his head after so long.
"Peeta?" Madge's voice was saddened but hopeful. "Peeta, is that you?"
"Yeah, Madge, it's me," Peeta whispered. He slid down to hide behind the deserted reception desk. The cold night air bit at his skin and he felt himself begin to shake already. However, this could have been because of the Nightlock that now permanently sat in his system.
"Where have you been?!" Madge yelled. She didn't sound angry. She only sounded panicked.
"I can't say," Peeta replied.
"Are you coming back soon?"
Peeta closed his eyes and sighed. "No. I'm not."
"Why? Where are you? You're calling from an unknown number. Please just tell me where you are."
"I can't, Madge. Trust me," Peeta whispered. "Just . . . I just wanted you to know that I'm okay"-his voice shook at the word 'okay'-"and I . . . yeah, I'm . . . great."
"Stop lying to me," said Madge. "Why are you lying to me?"
"I'm not," Peeta denied, shaking his head as if she could see it.
"We don't lie to each other. Remember? That pact?"
Five years old. Sandbox. Purple sundress and tiny blue sneakers. Crossed fingers. Promising.
Peeta remembered.
"I'm not lying to you."
A small pause.
"Promise?"
Madge's voice was so small, Peeta felt the urge to cry. "I promise."
Another pause.
"Please tell me where you are."
Peeta felt like he was taking too much time. Cato would be coming back any time now. "I've got to go, Madge."
"No, Peeta, don't you dare"-
"Goodbye, Madge. You were a great friend."
"Peeta!"-
Peeta pressed his thumb against the red button on the phone and took a shaky breath. He would not cry. He felt like even if he wanted to cry, the tears would not come. Like he had cried all the tears he had left in his system. He knew that this wasn't the case because he was sure that within a few hours, he would be crying again. Mainly because of Cato.
He mounted the stairs again and shut the door quietly, crouching down again and locking it with the hair clip once more. His throat hurt but he wouldn't cry. Not yet anyway. At least somebody knew that he was okay now. As brief as the conversation was, it had given him a glimmer of hope.
A few hours later, Peeta sat at the top of the bed, picking at his fingernails to get them into some sort of order. Cato seemed to have gotten it into his head that Peeta was going to try to kill himself and had immediately gotten rid of any sharp objects. Including nail clippers. Why Cato thought that Peeta would commit suicide, he didn't know, but after they had gotten back from Finnick's party, Cato instantly started emptying out the kitchen drawers. Peeta thought it ridiculous as he had never even thought about suicide. Not until Cato started freaking out about it anyway. It would take a lot more than an attempted rape and a couple of bruises to scare Peeta into taking his own life.
However, he still felt like a fool. Cato decided everything he wore now; every morning Peeta felt like he was Cato's doll who he got to dress up and style every day. It wasn't that Cato didn't have a good sense of fashion, it was just that he hated the nightwear. Cato expected him to be okay with traipsing around the apartment in nothing but a thin silk robe that hid nothing and a pair of skin tight underwear. Peeta felt like a prostitute, not a man in a relationship.
"Stop picking your nails like that, you're going to hurt yourself."
Peeta flinched when Cato sat on the bed beside him against the head board. To give himself a little bit of dignity, Peeta had his legs tucked underneath the bedcovers to hide the fact that Cato's stupid brand of male silk robes were practically transparent. "They're getting too long," Peeta muttered.
"I'll cut them for you tomorrow, just leave it alone for now," said Cato. He placed his hand on top of Peeta's, the single appendage dwarfing both of Peeta's.
"Fine. I'll just go to sleep then." Peeta turned around to face away from Cato and pulled the quilt up to his chin. Ever since Finnick's party, he hadn't shown any desire towards Cato what-so-ever and treated him with a casual, indifferent attitude. Sometimes his voice came out clipped but he tried not to show anger. He tried not to show anything. To give Cato was he truly deserved: nothing.
Peeta shivered underneath the covers, the thick thermal quilt unable to provide enough heat to warm his practically naked body. He could feel Cato's natural body heat licking at his back teasingly, trying to grab him by the ankles and drag him under the older man's spell again. Peeta almost wanted to fall under the spell again. At least then he would have the naivety again to believe that Cato wasn't a crazed, bi-polar psycho.
When it became apparent that Peeta wasn't going to be making any sort of advance for what felt to Cato like the millionth night but had really only been the third, the older blond decided that it was about time he sorted things out for himself.
Peeta tensed as Cato's arm came around his waist. To someone who didn't understand the circumstances, this may seem sedated and not at all significant but to Peeta, every time Cato moved or touched him, he feared that he was about to be hurt in some shape or form. Cato dragged him closer so his back was against his front. It would be a lie to say that Peeta didn't appreciate the body heat and how it soothed his stone cold skin but this simple action made his mind race fearfully.
"You're looking very sexy tonight," Cato purred, burying his face into the crook of Peeta's neck. "I knew you'd suit these pyjamas." His hand trailed down Peeta's silk covered side, over the curve of his hip and scooting over mid-thigh so his hand cupped the smaller boy's butt cheek. Peeta quickly closed his eyes, pretending to have fallen asleep already.
Cato was persistent and Peeta's pretending only seemed to be spurring him on instead of slowing him down. It started off as small, almost unnoticeable strokes. So minute Peeta almost believed he could actually get some sleep and let Cato do as he liked. It did not take long for the tune to change though and soon Peeta was wincing to himself as his ass cheeks were being roughly groped while his neck was being assaulted with wet kisses. He supposed Cato's dedication was admirable. Except the last thing on his mind was admiring anything.
Although Cato's willingness to grope his boyfriend while he was supposedly sleeping was questionable.
Having enough, Peeta decided he'd sleep on the sofa. He tried to get up but Cato immediately pulled him back down. "Leave me alone, Cato, I want to get up," Peeta snapped. He squirmed and struggled as Cato's strong arms enclosed his body and held onto him tight, hands sliding all over his body and ruffling up the silk robe so they could explore exposed skin.
"No, you're mad at me," Cato mumbled, lips moving against the side of Peeta's throat sloppily while he spoke. "I want to make up for what I did wrong." Peeta gasped-a sound trapped part way between surprise and disgust-when a hand roughly squeezed his pectoral.
"Wanna know how to make up for it? Let me go to sleep in peace." Peeta knew he was already losing, since he was somehow already on his stomach with Cato's hand gripping his neck tight and forcing his face into the pillow. It was almost like he didn't even protest too hard. Like he had already resigned himself to the fate of being raped by his boyfriend. Somehow he had sensed it was going to happen eventually.
A gentle hand feathered down the slope of his back, fingertips dancing on top of the silken transparent robe fabric. Peeta shivered. Moments like these threw him off. When Cato was being genuinely careful and caressed him like he would break if pressed too hard. Caring hands slowly pushed the fabric of the robe up his back to sit messily at his shoulder blades. Peeta buried his face further into the pillow in shame as his underwear was tugged down over the curve of his ass, slowly as if the undergarment was the wrapping paper of a Christmas present Cato couldn't wait to unwrap.
Peeta wished he could remember the times when shame and fear didn't flood him whenever he had sex with Cato. He wished he could be back then, when their relationship was fresh and just getting started. When he didn't have to worry about anything other than what he was going to make for dinner that night. Now there was nothing but fear. Every waking hour he spent with Cato was spent waiting for the next advance; the next blow; the next scream of rage.
And somehow, when Peeta imagined leaving Cato, his heart filled with dread and he knew that he couldn't. Cato had known what he had been doing all along. He had waited until Peeta had gotten to the same level of attachment as himself before he began to show his true colours. He did it so Peeta wouldn't leave him when the bruises began to show and his body began to ache.
It was a cruel plan.
Pleasure left no prisoners. What had to be one of the most annoying things about the body was that it always reacted unfairly to a sexual touch. Sometimes Peeta wished he wasn't as young as he was, because maybe then his body wouldn't be as willing to be satisfied as it was now. Cato's touch still drove his nerves wild, no matter how angry he was with him, and Cato knew this. That was why his form of apology was always sex. Because he knew Peeta's body wouldn't allow him to say no.
Something wet dripped onto Peeta's back. He frowned. By now he had expected the surge of pain that came hand in hand with being entered by Cato, but it hadn't come. Peeta carefully turned around, balancing his weight on his elbows to keep himself supported. Cato sat there, kneeling over him like the grim reaper. Only his eyes were wet.
He was crying.
Peeta didn't know what to do. "C-Cato?"
"You're mad at me," Cato said, the water in his eyes spilling over in a torrent. "You're mad at me and I don't know how to fix it."
"Cato . . ." It hurt Peeta to see Cato cry. He couldn't handle it. He reached out with a shaky hand and cupped Cato's cheek. "Trying to sex everything away won't erase the problems either."
"I just . . . I'm not good at this." Cato pressed his forehead against Peeta's and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's how it goes, right?"
"I want to believe you Cato, I really do, but are you even aware what you are apologizing for?" asked Peeta.
"Of course I do." There was a pregnant pause and Peeta waited. He expected Cato to continue and say what it was exactly he was apologizing for, but the silence dragged out until it was almost unbearable.
"Which is?" Peeta prompted. He had to hear it. He had to hear that Cato understood what he was apologizing for. Cato's recent instability lead to the swift and frequent mood swings that could be the reason for the sudden tears. Peeta wanted to believe that Cato was feeling genuinely sorry but he didn't know what to believe anymore. For all he knew, after he forgave Cato, five minutes later he would be terrified again because Cato got angry over something seemingly small.
"I'm just . . . really sorry," Cato insisted.
"I understand that, Cato," Peeta said. "Just tell me what it is you're upset about. Tell me that you understand what you're sorry about. Tell me you get it."
"I do get it, Peeta, just say you forgive me please," replied Cato. His voice sounded almost desperate. Maybe Peeta's aversion to letting him getting away with things was causing him to freak out a little. This wasn't surprising, since his own aversion to going to see a doctor about his current mental state was causing the bi-polar tendencies to worsen.
Peeta grabbed the opportunity and slipped out from underneath Cato, tugging his underpants back up in the process. The silk robe fell back down, fluttering around him like a flock of butterflies. The damn thing was so short, Peeta couldn't see the practicality in it. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, his thoughts immediately turned to a hooker. All he needed was smudged make-up and his boxer briefs wadded up in his pocket.
Peeta turned his back on the mirror and faced Cato again. Desperation welled in his chest like an infection. "Cato, please tell me you understand. Without clarity your apologies are empty."
Cato sat down properly, his movements almost robotic. There was still water in his eyes but no tears fell. "Why don't you just trust me?" he asked, his voice accusing.
"I've trusted you before," said Peeta. His voice was fat and unemotional. "Then you tried to rape me. Not just that, you tried to rape me with someone else. Unless you understand how much that hurt me then I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again."
"That's what I'm sorry for," Cato said, clicking his fingers. He then frowned. "That's what you want me to be sorry for, right?"
Peeta stared at him. He slumped and wished he could accept that as a credit worth answer. "What did you believe you were saying sorry for?"
Cato shrugged, the tears almost all but gone by now. Peeta still couldn't wrap his head around how fast emotions could come and go through Cato's brain. In his mind, emotions had to be processed and felt but it seemed to Cato all he really felt was the impact before it slowly slid off him again. "You were mad at me. I assumed that sorry was what you wanted to hear."
Peeta shook his head. He lifted his hand to push his fingers through his hair but immediately cringed as he saw how he shook like a leaf. The Nightlock was beginning to affect his system.
"I don't get why you're still so hung up on that. It was two weeks ago, when are you going to let go?" asked Cato.
"You tried to rape me," Peeta said slowly. "You don't honestly think I'd get over that in a fortnight?"
"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself," Cato answered smoothly. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, hands behind his head. It was hard to believe that merely a second ago he was crying and apologizing. Now he was his regular smooth and charming self again. Peeta didn't know if he could keep up with all of this anymore. But then again, how could he leave? Where would he go? Cato would come after him. This was definite.
Peeta walked to the door. He needed a glass of water.
Before leaving, he said one last thing to Cato, "I don't enjoy anything anymore."
~xXx~
Peeta sat nervously on the couch in the practically defecated living room. This was definitely a drug den. It had to be. It seemed all the parties and high life had taken a pause while Cato and his gang took care of some 'business.' They had been on the way to what Cato had called the 'perfect make-up date ever', when Finnick had rang up saying that someone or other hadn't paid their Nightlock debt off.
Peeta wasn't a fool. He knew nothing good could come from what was about to happen. He could tell from how reluctant Cato had been to bring him along. Peeta had said that he could wait in the car but this wouldn't do as Cato didn't trust him to be in the car alone. He could run away, after all. And that wasn't acceptable.
The rusty hinges creaked angrily as the crumbling door swung open. Peeta's heart jumped into his throat as he expected to see Cato come out covered in blood or something. This didn't make sense anyway because there hadn't been any shouting or screams of pain. Peeta couldn't help jumping the gun to the worst case scenarios anyway.
What he didn't expect was to see Cato come out with his arm around the supposed perpetrator. The sight should have relaxed Peeta but the fact that Cato was carrying a gun, the weapon almost screaming to be noticed against everything else instantly threw him back onto the edge. Peeta had never seen a real gun before and as soon as his eyes landed on the weapon in Cato's hand, he stiffened in fear, as if it were going to be turned on him.
"Okay, here's how we're going to do this," Cato said to the snivelling mess he was currently palling up to. "We'll do a round of Russian Roulette and if you win, we'll let you off of all charges."
Russian Roulette? As in the thing with the guns and the pointing at the head?! Finnick came out of the room soon after, twirling another gun around his forefinger, whistling a merry tune. Peeta stood up and instantly drifted to Cato's side, unable to stop himself from worrying like a spinster.
When he saw him coming, Cato released the guy who was obviously the one in debt and turned to Peeta with a smile. It was like he was trying to put Peeta at ease, except it didn't work. "Cato, this is stupid," Peeta whispered. "Can't the guy just pay you back?"
"Peeta, this guy has been owing us money for months now," Cato explained. "We're past the point of paying back."
"But . . . but Russian Roulette is dangerous! You could die," Peeta whisper-hissed. A part of him wanted to step back and assess the situation. He was still dressed in the suit Cato had picked out for the 'make-up' date except he had pulled his tie out and his shirt was a little untucked. He felt like he was in one of those movies, where everything took such a sudden turn that no one had time to get changed. Which it sort of was like.
"Ah, look at this," Cato said. He wound an arm around Peeta's shoulders and ran the nozzle of the gun along his jawline. "My boyfriend's looking out for me." Peeta flinched and tried to step back again. Cato's grip on his arm was too tight however and all his escape attempt did was make him tighten it.
"So sweet," Finnick commented dryly, tossing the spare gun over to the debt ower.
"Afraid you'll miss me if I die?" Cato asked Peeta. He fixed Peeta with such a burning gaze, Peeta felt like he was about to melt into a puddle right there in front of him.
"Games of chance are stupid enough without throwing your life on the line for them," Peeta said firmly.
"That's why I didn't want to bring you into this lifestyle," Cato explained. He opened the barrel of his gun and slapped a bullet into one chamber before throwing it shut again. "I knew you'd be too afraid and innocent to cope with it. Finnick thought you were ready but I wasn't so sure. I was obviously right. However, the calm manner in which you are approaching the situation is admirable so well done for that."
"What is this, a test?" Peeta snapped. Cato ignored him and turned to face the guy who owed them money, who's gun was already loaded. When Cato lifted his arm to place the nozzle against his temple, Peeta placed his hand over the gun and looked at him pleadingly. "Please, don't do this."
If Cato died, would he be free? Or would Finnick just take him away for himself? Peeta didn't know why these questions mattered anyway because he knew it was hopeless to think about such a thing. He couldn't let Cato die. Especially not in such a stupid way. All it ever seemed to come down to was money. What was money when you didn't have you life to use it?
Cato smiled and Peeta didn't know whether it was because he was touched by how much he cared or if he was patronizing him. A second later Cato's lips were on Peeta's, claiming them voraciously and making his mark on them. Peeta feebly protested as Cato shoved his tongue down his throat but he knew it was fruitless. He knew what Cato was up to too. He was proving his position as Alpha to the debt ower. Showing him exactly what belonged to him.
When he pulled away, Cato shoved Peeta over to Finnick, who grabbed him and held him back. Peeta struggled and squirmed but he knew it was hopeless. Finnick had both of his arms around him, there was no way he could escape. Peeta was a little well built due to years of throwing sacks of flour around at the bakery but it was nothing compared to the muscles and strength that bulged out of Finnick's arms.
The debt ower seemed pretty confident, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. He spun the barrel of his gun and Cato mimicked the action, both simultaneously pressing the nozzles against their heads. Peeta couldn't watch. He shut his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, and prayed that everything would turn out okay. It had to.
A second later there was a loud bang. Peeta jumped in Finnick's grasp and couldn't contain his scream of fear. There was the faint thump of a body hitting the floor and Peeta didn't dare breath, didn't dare open his eyes, didn't dare move. Finnick stepped back but Peeta felt paralysed. Fear gripped him tighter than Finnick ever could and the realization of how dependent he had become on Cato crashed over Peeta like a wave. If Cato died, there wouldn't be much of Peeta's life that he could pick up again. Cato had become his life, whether he liked it or not.
Peeta didn't realize that he was crying until his face was being cupped by familiar hands. This only made him cry harder, however, and despite everything he gravitated into Cato's embrace and buried his face in his chest.
"Loaded both of his barrels," Finnick said, giving the debt owner's body a small kick. "The moron didn't think to check before he spun and shot."
Peeta felt Cato's chuckle vibrate in his chest. "They're always so naïve," he sighed. Peeta had ran out of tears but was shaking violently, petrified after what he had just witnessed. "Look, I'd love to stay and help you and Marvel with the body but I should get Peeta home. I think he needs some Nightlock to calm down a little."
Peeta was so shaken up, he didn't protest when Cato lead him out to the car and took him back to the apartment. All he could think about was the debt ower's face and how one moment he had been alive and then the next he was dead. That could have been Cato, too, but he had gotten lucky. His gun had been loaded, Peeta had watched him do it, but it seemed fate was smiling down on them as it decided to spare Cato for another day.
"The first death is always the hardest," Cato gently said. He guided Peeta, who was still in a fear induced state, to the bedroom and took his clothes off, before helping him shrug on the stupid frilly robe again. After that he brought him back out into the sitting area and sat him down on the couch while he went off to collect some Nightlock.
Peeta felt like he was autopilot, allowing Cato to do as he wished because his head was too crowded. Was it possible to be crowded yet feel empty at the exact same time? When Cato returned with a bag of Nightlock, he pulled Peeta's head back to rest against the cushions and slowly tapped the powder directly into his nose. Peeta obediently inhaled, hoping that the drug would take away the pain for just a little bit while he recovered.
Cato carried Peeta to bed, tucking him in so tight Peeta almost felt trapped. Brushing the blond hairs back from his face, Cato leaned forward and kissed Peeta's forehead. "You'll get used to it, I promise," he whispered against the younger boy's skin.
But that was just it.
Peeta didn't want to get used to it.
A/N: I don't know when I can update this again but I will do my best to write the next chapter asap :)
Please R&R!
