Author's note: My friend papofglencoe does not only beta this story, she's a wonderful human being. Thank you!
It's been almost a decade, but this place still looks the same. The house doesn't stand out from the rest, and a bypasser wouldn't have any clue about what atrocities went down in there. The 'a' and 'r' on the mailbox have started to fade, but other than that it's like time stood still.
When we walk up the stairs to the porch I remember the day that changed me completely. Peeta's birthday. I'd never hated anyone before that. But looking through that window something changed. I didn't understand it at the time, but after that nothing has ever been the same.
I look up to Peeta standing next to me, and I grab his hand for support. Being here is difficult for me, and I can't even imagine what it's like for him. His eyes are hard—unforgiving. Without hesitation he knocks on the door—three hard, decisive knocks. If he's feeling insecure he sure as hell isn't showing it.
It takes a while, and I start to think there's no one home when there's rustling behind the door. It opens, revealing a man in his fifties. Arian's hair is gray around his temples, and the wrinkles around his eyes reveal a hard life. I don't fucking care.
His eyes go to me first, and I'm struck by the intensity of his stare. He doesn't seem to recognize me, and confusion is written all over his face. But when he looks at Peeta his expression softens. It's shock at first and then disbelief.
I look up to Peeta again, but his glare is just as hard as it was before.
"Hello, Dad."
"Peeta." He raises his hand, probably wanting to touch his son, but Peeta rapidly backs away.
"Don't fucking touch me."
He immediately retracts his hand. "Alright, I won't," he says weakly. He looks Peeta in the eye a couple of seconds but doesn't seem to be able to hold his gaze. Shifting his attention to me, he finally recognizes my face. "Katniss? Are you…? I thought—"
Peeta slams his hand against the doorframe in front of his father's face, effectively blocking me from his field of vision. "She's none of your fucking concern."
"Peeta, what—"
"Aren't you going to invite us in?" Peeta interrupts. It's not a question.
He hesitates. I can understand his reaction to me, but denying his son anything at this point is just provoking. He should be on his knees, begging him for forgiveness. For every time he chose to turn the blind eye when Peeta was being physically and mentally harassed. Especially the last time. He's pressing all of my buttons.
"Pe—" I can't handle him standing there, making himself out to be some sort of victim. Before he has the chance to finish I take out my gun, pointing at him right between the eyes.
"Cut the bullshit." His eyes flit to Peeta, but he gets no sympathy there either.
"We're going to have a little chat," Peeta says before pushing himself past his father. I lower my gun and follow him. The inside of this house has completely changed, a stark contrast from the exterior. All of the furniture has been replaced—the only thing I recognize is the fireplace.
Peeta's dad closes the door and trails after Peeta as he enters the kitchen.
"Sit." He looks at Peeta warily, as if to check that it's really him. This ticks Peeta off, and he exhales loudly, getting in his father's face. "Sit the fuck down." Peeta's got a couple of inches on him, and with his physique he could easily take him down. But the tone of his voice and unforgiving stare are enough.
Arian sits down by the short end of the table, and Peeta and I sit on opposite sides, flanking him.
"I'm going to be honest with you," Peeta says, putting his gun on the table. His dad looks at it carefully, then back to Peeta. He's afraid of saying something to piss him off. Good. "I've never understood the whole thing about blood being thicker than water." He takes up the gun, examining it as if making sure the safety is on. Of course it is. "I don't even like you."
He hits just right, and the hurt in his dad's eyes is obvious, but Peeta doesn't flinch.
"So why are you here, then?" Arian asks carefully.
"You know. Hate I can understand," Peeta says, still examining the gun. "She hated me—I can live with that. I hated her too. But do you know what I find worse than hate?" He pauses before continuing. Putting the weapon on the table he finally gives his father the attention he's been craving since we came here. "Indifference."
Arian looks unsure, uncertain of where Peeta's going with this. He should have known the moment he laid his eyes on him.
"You didn't hate me—you just didn't care."
"What do you want, Peeta?" Arian looks down at his lap, seemingly unable to look his son in the eyes. Is he ashamed? I fucking hope so.
"It's a really simple question. Why? That's all it comes down to. Why, Dad?" Peeta's eyes are glistening from unshed tears, but he blinks them away before they spill over. "I spent all my life trying to please you. Nothing was ever good enough for her, and you didn't even care that I tried." He stands up and leans over his father's face, forcing him to look at him. "Tell me what the fuck I did to make my mother hate me and for my father to let her."
"You don't under—"
Peeta slams his fist on the table, silencing his father. "No, I don't. But you're going to explain it to me."
His eyes flit to mine, as if hoping to get some understanding from me. He doesn't. Whatever Peeta decides to do, I will support him.
"Why is she here? She killed your—"
"I'm here because I was the only one who cared about your son."
"What's it gonna be? I've got a lot of bullets, but I think I'll only need one. What do you think?" Peeta taunts.
"Probably," he whispers, fear seeping from his voice. He's realizing what kind of man Peeta's become, and it terrifies him. "It's complicated."
It's complicated. You don't understand. He's stalling, and Peeta sees right through it. He takes the gun in his hand, looking his father in the eyes as he cocks it and aims it at him. Slowly. He doesn't waver one bit. "What did I do to deserve it?"
Arian mumbles something barely audible. A cold wave rushes through me because I heard, but Peeta didn't.
"What?"
Arian's eyes no longer show fear. It's determination. Or anger?
"You were born!" he erupts. "You ruined everything. Go ahead. Shoot your father. Prove me right. Prove to me that you destroy everything you touch, including your mother."
Peeta puts the safety back on the gun before hitting his father in the face with it. There's a streak of blood on his cheek from where the gun hit. Peeta is about to take another swing, but I put my hand on his arm. "Peeta. Hear him out first." I have no concern about his father's well-being. I just want to get what we came for.
He takes a breath to calm himself before addressing his father again. "You've got a lot of fucking nerve. Now, my anatomy might be a little rusty, but last time I checked, for a child to be born two people need to fuck."
"You never wondered why you never had any siblings?"
"Guess I was too busy getting my ass kicked by my mother to give it any thought."
"When you came out you made damned sure she could never have children again."
"That's the lamest fucking excuse I've ever heard. She blamed Peeta for not being able to have more than one child? She should've cherished him, knowing he'd be the only one."
"She did."
Peeta snorts. "No, she didn't."
"You're too young to remember. But the knowledge of not being able to have more children put a strain our marriage."
"Save me the sob story."
"You wanted the truth. I wanted to split up, but she didn't. She threatened to sue me for assault if I filed for divorce. Once, she hit you to show me how determined she was. Said that she'd use it in court as proof of my violent tendencies. I guess she took a liking to it."
She took a liking to beating her only child? And he sits there, talking about it like it's the fucking weather. If it were up to me I'd kill him on the spot. "And you? Where the fuck were you?"
"I tried to build myself a normal life, but it's difficult with a crazy wife, and the cause of it living right under your nose."
"Well, I hope you managed to find a new life for yourself while your son was fighting for his," Peeta says dryly.
Silence.
"You're going to kill me now? Now that you got what you came for?"
"We're not done."
"I told you everything. What else do you want?"
"There's this thing that's been bugging me for a while," Peeta says, scratching his temple with the barrel of the gun. "The day I was committed to the hospital someone called 911. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Mom, and it sure as hell wasn't me. That leaves you."
He nods in my direction. "How do you know it wasn't her?"
"Already asked."
"And you believe her?"
"Yes," he answers without hesitation. "Now. You were here. Tell me what happened."
"I don't know what happened. I got here, and she was freaking out. She begged me not to call the police. I called for an ambulance and told her I wouldn't call the cops if she left town. For good."
"You had a golden opportunity to make a change. Get revenge for everything she put Peeta through. And you chose not to. You're a piece of shit."
"And you have the moral high ground here?"
I don't have time to respond before the front door opens. Neither of us has time to react before a blonde woman appears in opening.
"Oh, I didn't know you had—" She stops herself when she sees the guns on the table. She's trying to make sense of what's happening, but I'm out of my chair before she can think. My hand over her mouth prevents her from screaming.
"Sit down, and don't say a word." I take her purse, looking for an ID. Her driver's license says that she's about a year younger than Peeta and me, but it's her name that catches my attention. "Peeta?"
I hand him the ID, and his eyes go wide in realization. The woman sits down in the chair I'd been sitting in, so I take the seat next to her. Peeta puts the card on the table before speaking. "Tell me, Delly Cartwright," he emphasizes her last name. "Why are you sharing a last name with this man over here?"
"He's… He's my father," she stutters, confused.
It didn't take long time after Peeta was born until he found another woman to fuck and impregnate. Delly looks frightened, having no idea what's going on.
"Do you have any siblings, Delly?"
"Peeta—"
"Shut the fuck up. You've done enough talking. Let the lady speak."
"N… No, I don't. Why? What does it have to do with anything?"
Peeta shoots his father a look. At least he has the decency to look ashamed. Whether it has to do with Peeta or Delly is impossible to tell.
"You sure about that? We have the same eyes, same hair..."
"I don't know you."
"And who's fault is that?" He turns to his father. "Dad." Realization dawns on Delly's face when Peeta's father doesn't argue. "Are you gonna blame this on Mom too? Or are you gonna grow a pair and take some fucking responsibility?"
"I know you," Delly says carefully, her attention on me. "I've seen you on TV. You're the one who..." She doesn't finish the sentence. She looks like she's about to scream when she realizes who we are. I'm about to take out a cloth to gag her, but she's fast and I don't expect it. She manages to get behind me, pressing a small pocket knife to my throat. It's dull, but it can still do a lot of damage.
Peeta immediately points his gun at her, but she uses me as a shield. The knife trembles against my throat, and I don't want to make any sudden moves. I'd never thought she might have any weapons, and now I'm paying the price. I try to catch Peeta's eye, asking for forgiveness, but his gaze is trained on Delly.
"You don't want to test my marksmanship, Delly." He's right—he's an excellent shot, especially close-range. "If you try anything, there will be at least two bodies here, and I won't have any qualms about it."
She's sniveling behind me—she's in way over her head. "Please just leave."
"That's the plan, but you decide whether or not you'll be alive when we do."
"Dad, leave," she cries.
Peeta's nervous—I can see it in his eyes. This situation's gotten way out of hand, but his hands are still steady.
"No, he stays. I don't know you, Delly, so I don't know what you're capable of. So if I think for one second you're about to hurt her, I will shoot you on the spot." He never breaks eye contact with her. "Let her go," he says calmly.
The pressure against my throat lessens, and she lowers her hand. As soon as she releases me I swiftly move away from her, grabbing my gun in the process.
"You've got guts, Delly. In another universe I think we could have been friends. We're gonna leave now, but neither of you are gonna call the police. I didn't work at three maximum security prisons without making some friends." He looks at Delly. "Whether or not you want to forgive him is your choice. But if I learned anything from this man it's that he's a pretty good liar. It's up to you if choose to believe whatever lies he'll tell you after we've left." He pauses. "But if you want some brotherly advice I'd put that knife of yours to good use."
With that, Peeta takes my hand, and we walk out of there. Neither Delly nor Peeta's dad will call the police—I saw the fear in both of their eyes.
Getting in the car, I take Peeta's hand over the console, giving it a light squeeze. At that, he looks at me. He maybe didn't like the answers he got, but he got them nonetheless, and that seems to be good enough for him.
He doesn't smile, but I didn't expect him to. Instead he looks straight ahead, focusing on the road in front of us.
We're leaving.
Author's note: Only one chapter to go. If you enjoy this story, please drop me a line. I'm maxwellandlovelace on tumblr.