Thank you to everyone who has continued to be supporters of this story, even when I was struggling to write this chapter! You are all the reason why this is so fun and I'm so happy to present Chapter 9.
I don't know what I would do without justmellarky and her AWESOME beta skills and this chapter was only possible because she's the best cheerleader in the world!
The title comes from the 1975 song "Lyin' Eyes" by The Eagles.
As always, every review makes my day and feel free to come be silly on tumblr-I'm starks-and-mellarks over there!
Chapter 9: You cant hide your lying eyes
"Hi," My voice is an octave higher than usual when I arrive at the bakery the next morning. Peeta is kneading bread dough and gives me a bright smile.
"Good morning, Katniss."
"Did you have a good rest of the night?" I ask the question politely but all I can focus on are his lips. I have the wild urge to kiss them again.
"I did," He says easily. I wonder if maybe I am making a bigger deal out of this than I have to. Clearly Peeta isn't fazed by our kiss and there's no reason I should be either. I nod curtly and head to the front. "Hey Katniss?" I glance over my shoulder. "Thank you again."
"Anytime," The corners of my mouth lift into a smile and my mood is bright for the rest of the morning.
Tristan slinks in after the lunch rush.
"Did you enjoy your dinner last night, Katniss?" Tristan cocks his head to the right and loosens the scarf around his neck. I roll my eyes.
"It was different. Prim and I usually have grilled cheese and soup when the weather starts to get colder." I shrug my shoulders and Tristan stares at me for a second before his face shifts into something that vaguely resembles a genuine smile.
"That actually sounds pretty good." He heads towards the back and I contemplate how different my relationship is with Tristan than just six months ago when I started working at the bakery. He heads to the back and
ADD TRISTAN GOING TO BACKclear some of the cookie crumbs from the counter.
"I just don't understand why it has to be here." The cold November winds means Peeta no longer uses the loud fans in the kitchen. On one hand, this means I can easily hear the music from where I stand at the register. However, this also means I can clearly hear conversations in the back. I worry my eavesdropping on Tristan and Peeta is becoming a bad habit, but it doesn't stop me from listening in.
"Go to the dry cleaning store and see Little Cartwright, let me handle this." Tristan sounds irritated.
"Like hell, Tristan. I'm working in case you didn't notice."
"Well, dip out for a bit and come back. Father doesn't want you here."
"I'm not leaving Katniss with you and him."
"Scared I'll swoop in on your girl?" I roll my eyes at Tristan's taunts: it's sometimes hard to believe he's the older of the pair. "Relax Peeta, she'll be fine." I hear more shuffling in the back.
"I don't feel comfortable with this."
"Hate to break it to you, little bro, but you don't have a choice." I suck in a sharp breath at Tristan's blunt but honest words. Sure enough, two minutes later Peeta comes up to the front with an excuse about having to run an errand.
"That's fine," I try to sound reassuring but Peeta is biting the inside of his cheek and looking around the front of the bakery nervously.
"Just…just call Delly if there are any problems, okay? And you can leave whenever you want." His worried expression meets mine and I nod my head. "Okay." He takes his time leaving.
The first thing Tristan does is shut off Peeta's radio. The silence is deafening.
The light over the door has been flickering for months but it's a creepy coincidence that it goes off for good at the exact moment the visitor opens the door.
He's different from anyone else I've seen come into the bakery for business in the back. He's smartly dressed in a deep brown suit with a bright red tie. He has oversized glasses, a neatly trimmed beard and walks with an expensive looking cane.
"Good afternoon," he says coolly.
"Good afternoon," I repeat and his gaze lingers over me. It's different from the way Cato sizes me up: where Cato plain out leers, this man seems to be memorizing me. It's extremely unnerving and for once in my life I am glad to see Tristan.
"Antonius," Tristan greets him like he's an equal but there's a slight edge to his voice. "Remind me, have you ever been in the bakery before?"
"I have not. It's…traditional." He looks around, taps his cane on the floor and then looks back towards me. "A sister?" I notice he directs the question at Tristan, not at me, and though it irritates me I know better than to run my mouth.
"A close friend." I hear a slight change in Tristan's voice when he answers.
Antonius walks around the counter. "Shall we take our business in the back?"
"Indeed." Antonius stops as he passes me, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne. "And what is your name?" I open my mouth to answer but Tristan cuts me off.
"Linda James." He lies easily. "And she's nearly off the clock. Why don't you head out early and home to your husband, Linda?" He speaks so casually that I almost miss the urgent look in his eyes.
"Sure, thanks." I try to act nonchalant. "I'll just grab my coat. Nice to meet you." I attempt a smile at Antonius but it comes out looking more like a grimace. I grab my warm pea coat and scarf and quickly walk out the door.
Usually Peeta insists on driving me home but I don't mind the walk today: my head is far too jumbled with thoughts of the Mellark brothers, their family and my plans for the evening involving one surly detective at a run down diner.
—
Though I was the one who had called the meeting with Haymitch, insisting he meet me at The Hob, I realize when he sits down I have no idea what to say.
"So." I start, trying to put into words what I want to do. Because in my head it sounds crazy enough and there's a small chance Haymitch might laugh at me. Or worse, tell me there's nothing he can do.
"So." He mimics and looks his usual bored and slightly hungover self.
"So," I start again, this time with more confidence. "How do you get out of an organized crime family?" Wow, Katniss. Way to ease him into it.
He stares at me for a minute and his gray eyes that are oddly like my own scan my face. Finally he takes a deep breath and leans back into the booth.
"Jesus, you're head over heels for the boy."
"It's not about that." I try to think of a way to make Haymitch understand. "I know what its like to be forced into a role you aren't prepared for. You grow up too fast and you think there's no way out. But there has to be, right?"
"Look, I'm no goddamn Dear Abby," He's paying full attention now, slightly leaning over the table. "But this business..it's tough to break into and it's near impossible to break out of. The secrets and the deals go way beyond what you can even imagine and when things don't go their way it tends to get violent."
"Why do you know so much about how it works?" I turn the tables and try to find something from Haymitch I can work with.
"I'm a detective sweetheart, that's my job." I hold his gaze and I see a slight flicker of emotion in his eyes. "I know you think you can save him, but a month's work of snooping and a couple call-ins doesn't mean you're an agent fit for a takedown."
"I don't care about taking them down, I care about making sure he had the chance for a life he actually wants-"
"What about the life other people want? The people who make a few mistakes, get down on their luck and make one deal that haunts them forever?"
"Those people aren't Peeta-"
"They are somebody's Peeta." His words deflate me in an instant. I sit back into the booth and take a shaky breath. Haymitch looks down at his untouched coffee cup and starts to slowly speak. "You know, my dad came home from the war with his left hand missing and nightmares about being shot at by Germans. My little brother and I were just kids, we didn't understand why he couldn't go back to his job in the mines. He got desperate and went to a guy who could help him out, a guy who knew a guy who needed a favor."
My stomach starts to sink and his voice gets more gruff as he continues.
"For a little bit it seemed our troubles were gone. We had food on the table and Ma didn't look so sad all the time. But the favors kept coming and Dad was a little tired of being told what to do so he took the money we had and went to a betting game. Figured maybe if he won enough we could leave town and go up North."
"There was this new name in town, a guy with the last name Snow who would loan out money for the games. So dad went to him and Snow lent to him and Dad lost it all and then some." Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes and I rapidly blink to stop them. "And my dad takes my little brother out for a milkshake one night and they both end up with bullets in their heads."
He finally looks up from the mug and I see his raw pain.
"People don't know any better sometimes, they think it's their only option. Those families and that life shouldn't be an option." I nod in agreement and we are quiet for a few minutes before Haymitch clears his throat. "Do you remember why I pulled you off your work?"
"Because of Snow." Saying the name sends a jolt of fear through me, knowing what he's capable of. "You said if he's involved then it's too dangerous."
"He is involved. We're still piecing together how and a lot of the information is shit, but there's something going on between the Mellarks and Snow's men. My advice would be to stay as far away from the family as possible." I bite the inside of my cheek, a move that does not go unnoticed by the detective and he smirks. "But I'm guessing you're not going to take my advice."
"He doesn't want that life, Haymitch." I say the words quietly and he heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples with his forefingers.
"Has he actually said those exact words? Because if you're forming some plan and he doesn't even want out, you're going to end up with your hands as dirty as he is."
"Peeta is not dirty." My voice is firm and slightly threatening and this seems to amuse Haymitch.
"It doesn't matter if you jump in the mud or get dragged into it, sweetheart. In the end, you're the same kind of dirty."
—
The next day, Peeta is in a terrible mood at the bakery. I've never seen him like this: he slams shut the oven door, makes a racket with the pans and plays the music so loud I can barely hear the customers at one point. He's cordial enough to me, but one word answers and a tense expression isn't the Peeta I am used to and my whole day feels a little thrown by it.
Haymitch and I left things fairly unsettled, though he assured me I could call him if I ever found myself in a jam and I promised to try not do anything stupid.
I'm nervous as I get into Peeta's car after we close up the bakery. The radio kicks in when he starts the car and we drive to my apartment with nothing but the sounds of The Guess Who. I hate seeing him like this and when we pull up to my building, I turn to him.
"Do you want to come up for some hot cocoa?" I ask nicely but there's a hint of concern in my voice. He lets out a deep breath and turns off the car.
"I'd like that." I open my door and get out before he can see my smile. Peeta lingers at the door then grabs a schoolbag from the back.
The apartment is cold when we walk in and I frown at the radiator.
"Sorry, this thing is old and awful." I forcefully twist the knob and can hear a strained noise. "Our landlord keeps saying he will fix it but," I shrug. "We just keep our coats on."
"Then hot cocoa is definitely a good thing." Peeta crouches down to look at the radiator and tinkers with the knob but there's no difference in heat by the time I heat up the milk, cocoa powder and sugar. I sprinkle a little cinnamon on top and add a hint of vanilla extract before I stir the liquid with a spoon and divide it into two mugs.
"Here," I hand a mug to Peeta and he wraps his hands around it.
"Thank you." We are quiet as we sip our comforting drink before Peeta clears his throat. "I want to apologize if I was in a bad mood today."
"You don't have to apologize, you're allowed to have bad days." I'm not the best at being comforting but I'm trying my hardest for him.
"It's just," There's a crease between his eyebrows. "Things are happening in my family. Bad things." He bites his lip like he's said too much but continues. "And there's just all of this pressure and I just…" Peeta trails off and focuses his gaze on me. "You said I was different from my family. I've always known it, but ever since you said it it's all I can think about. But it's like everywhere in this town, there they are. I can't escape them. Coal, cocktails and crime, right?" He says the silly town saying with such hatred.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with all of that." I reach out a hand and gently place it on top of his. His breathing picks up a little and he moves his other hand to reach into his backpack.
"You asked me why my family thinks we are dating," His change of subject takes me by surprise. He pulls a worn spiral book out of his backpack and places it on the table. "Sometimes I like to draw," He's nervous and I meet his gaze, encouraging him to continue. "I don't really know when it started. But it helps me sometimes…helps me relax. It's something just for me."
He pushes the sketchbook towards me.
"Are you sure?"
"They're probably not even that good…"
But he couldn't be more wrong. The first few sketches are of places: his backyard, the city skyline, Merchant Street during the Fourth of July. There's one of Delly, laughing as usual and another of his car parked by a river. Halfway through the book I see sketches of the bakery and I stop when I see one of me.
My hair is in the usual braid and I'm behind the register, looking out the window with a calm expression. Though he used only pencil, the shading and the lines are so precise that it looks exactly like me. I carefully turn the page and let out a small gasp. It's a drawing of the meadow we went to after Peeta taught me how to drive. In the picture the two of us are sitting on the hood of the car and my hand is over his. We're looking at each other in understanding and I remember that was the day he told me about his family and I confessed he was always the boy with the bread.
"Peeta…these are extraordinary." His face softens at my compliment even though the tips of his ears remain red.
"I had left it outside on the porch on accident a week ago." He ran a hand through his hair. "My mom got a hold of it I guess and after a nice lecture about how I 'might as well keep a diary for how embarrassing and probably queer I am' she told me to invite you to dinner."
"She's an awful person." My blood boils and I hate Mrs. Mellark.
"She is." He doesn't hesitate to agree and somehow that makes it even worse. "God, the whole bunch of them are awful. And I'm stuck!" He is a mix between exasperated and defeated but it's his next words that change everything. "I don't want this life."
There it is.
And before I can truly think about the consequences, I start talking.
"Peeta, there's a way out. I know someone, a detective for the police, and I know he can get you out if you want to."
"The police aren't going to help someone like me, Katniss."
"But he will, I know he will if I ask him-"
"What kind of pull do you have with a detective?" Peeta cuts me off with a guarded look. My heart starts to race and I feel a ball of anxiety form in my stomach. I should have known this was coming, I should have thought about this ahead of time so I could come up with an answer.
But when I look at the boy sitting next to me I realize all I want to do is tell him the truth.
"A couple months ago, a detective came to my door. He had some questions and he had an arrangement. He gave me names," I take a deep breath and feel my throat go dry. "And I had to tell him if they came into the bakery."
Peeta stares at me with a stone cold expression.
"But then the fight at the club happened and he said it was too dangerous so I stopped doing it but he understands Peeta, he would help you and I trust him-"
"Just like I trusted you?" His voice slightly raises and I tense. "Damnit Katniss, I know you don't like my family but I didn't think you would sell us out-"
"I didn't have a choice!"
"Bullshit you didn't." Peeta stands up from his chair and crosses his arms.
"He knew about Prim, he knew I wasn't her guardian! What was I supposed to do?"
"So you threw my family under the bus to protect your own?" Peeta is fuming and though I don't blame him, I can't stop talking as I stand up too.
"They never asked about you specifically, you or Tristan. It was more identifying other people, what they picked up,"
"What they picked up?" I cringe at the incredulous look on Peeta's face. "Jesus, Katniss, do you know how fucking bad this is?"
"I know it's bad, it's horrible and that's why I want to find a way to get you out," I'm pleading with him now and tears are pricking the corner of my eyes, but Peeta shakes his head and let's out a humorless laugh.
"You think I can get out of this? There's no way out. This is my fucking LIFE!" He shouts the last word and I can feel the tears run down my face. "I'm a goddamn Mellark. And I thought you," He points angrily at me. "I thought you might be one of the few people who could see past the name, who wouldn't manipulate me the exact way they do."
"Peeta," I start but I can tell he doesn't want to hear a thing from me. His next words come out slightly choked, like he is fighting a lump in his throat.
"God Katniss, I don't even know what's real anymore." He looks hurt and I would rather have him scream at me for hours than see that look for one more minute. He turns around and walks out of the apartment, like he couldn't leave fast enough. Like he couldn't get away from me fast enough.
It's not until I hear the door that leads out of the building close that I allow myself to freely cry, although I know I am incredibly selfish for it. Peeta is right: I did exactly what his family had always done. I snuck around and made deals, thinking only of myself in the process.
And I hate myself for it.