Author's Note—I said I had updates, and yes, that means most of my stories. Believe it or not, this one has a fair amount of chapters banked, because I had originally intended to post them once a month for a year—once the story was complete. And then once I realized that wasn't possible, I just held on to the chapters. So now, I'm just going to update as I go, still fully intending to see this one (and most of them) through until the end. I'm hoping that for some readers this story will be a new discovery.
Apparently Harper's Island is no longer on Netflix, but it is on Amazon Prime (all but one random episode that I have no idea why it's gone). And PBS/Brit Box has a great version of the Agatha Christie book And Then There Were None. So if you want to know what inspired this, check those out.
As always, all mistakes are mine. Thank you to the readers who have stuck by me all these years. Thank you to El, who never stops encouraging me and tolerating the asks to her Tumblr page. LY always!
Peeta grips his beer bottle a little tighter and hopes that no one, especially Delly, notices the slight tremor of his hand as Gale re-approaches —without Katniss. The two of them had walked off together several minutes ago, and while she had been doing her best to conceal it, Katniss had looked upset.
Peeta also hadn't missed seeing those beautiful silver eyes—eyes that used to gaze at him with such open adoration—fill with distress when she looked right at him. Him and Delly.
He had felt a stab of sympathy for Katniss at that moment. Throughout the years he's tormented himself with thoughts of her being with phantom guys, even though Gale and Madge have insisted that Katniss has remained single. But his torment has only been imaginary. Not real. For Katniss, seeing him with another woman is real. Very, very real.
He had thought it would give him some iota of satisfaction, some demented form of pleasure knowing Katniss was feeling even an ounce of the same anguish he felt when she left him behind six years ago. But there's no satisfaction. Not at all.
In spite of the fact he no longer has a right to feel slighted or jealous, a swift current of bitterness flows through him when he thinks of Katniss seeking out Gale for comfort. There was, of course, a time when she leaned on Peeta before anyone else, but Gale always seemed to be lingering nearby. Katniss's mother's funeral always stuck out in Peeta's mind as a perfect example of how Gale always managed to insinuate himself into their relationship…
Peeta followed the hearse through the gates and along the winding cemetery road, towards the open grave reserved for Lilly Everdeen. He stole a glance at Katniss where she sat, silent, in the passenger seat.
She hadn't said a word since the eulogy she had given for her mother back at the funeral home. Mr. Everdeen hadn't been able to handle speaking about his late wife and had left the job to Katniss, just as he had tasked his daughter with selecting the burial plot, the information required for the newspaper obituary, and choosing the flowers for the casket.
Peeta had kept quiet while those burdens had been piled onto Katniss's slight shoulders. He did, though, voice his displeasure at Katniss delivering the eulogy. He knew she had a fear of public speaking, not to mention she was generally uncomfortable in front of large groups. Katniss had vacillated, torn between her phobia and her loyalty to her father. But Gale had gently wheedled Katniss, saying her mother would be proud of her for stepping up, and Katniss had ultimately relented. Peeta had been the one to sit with Katniss for nearly three hours, helping her craft a brief, eloquent tribute that crammed the sum of Lilly Everdeen's life into a four-minute speech.
The hearse stopped just over the crest of a little hill. Peeta steered his Jeep in behind Gale's old Suburban, which transported Katniss's father, as well as Prim and Rory. Peeta glanced in his rearview mirror. A steady line of traffic was filing in, parking in succession along the narrow road. He spotted his father's sedan several cars back.
"Katniss, sweetheart, we're here," Peeta said softly. She continued to stare out the window. "Katniss?" he tried again, reaching for her hand. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her palm. When she finally lifted her eyes, he saw the anguish clouding those beautiful grey irises. He gave her a sad smile and leaned across the console, kissing her cheek.
"It's almost over," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "You've been so strong. I'm so proud of you."
"It's never going to be over," she whispered back. She swallowed and her chest swelled as she took a deep breath. It seemed as if she was going to say something more, but then the passenger door opened. Gale met Peeta's eyes first, wearing an expression that was sympathetic bordering on almost remorseful. Then he looked down at Katniss.
"Prim…she." He sighed and started again. "Prim won't get out of the car. She won't listen to Rory or me. She wants you, Catnip. She needs you."
Prim wasn't taking her mother's death well at all. Peeta understood that she was younger than Katniss, and his heart did ache for the young girl. But there was a small part of him that was irritated that neither Mr. Everdeen nor Prim was offering any comfort back to Katniss. While Peeta didn't believe in measuring grief or loss and he knew from psychology class that everyone handled death in different ways, it concerned him that Katniss had the additional trauma weighing on her of having been the one to find her mother's body, and yet she was expected to be the strong one when the rest of her family was crumbling around her. It was too much for one teenage girl to bear.
Still, Katniss would do anything for her sister. And so, as he'd grown so accustomed to doing, he bit his tongue and kept quiet. He pressed a soft kiss to Katniss's lips. "C'mon. Prim needs you." She nodded mutely and Peeta unfastened her seat belt for her. Gale extended a hand and helped Katniss out of the Jeep. Peeta exited the vehicle and rounded the car to stand beside Gale.
"I'm worried about her," Peeta said, his gaze following Katniss as she approached Gale's SUV. "She's been like a zombie the last couple of days. Robotic, almost. She's not sleeping. And she won't take anything to help her get any sleep."
Gale buttoned his suit jacket. "You're doing everything you can…being there for her, you know? Not pushing her." He cleared his throat. "She's going to need you even more after today. And I know you'll…be there for her."
"I love her," Peeta replied simply. "Whatever it takes to help her through this, I'll do it. For however long it takes." Gale awkwardly clapped a hand on Peeta's shoulder. Peeta smiled wanly. It was as much of an endorsement as he could ever expect to get from Gale Hawthorne. If the circumstances were better Peeta might actually feel validated. His eyes drifted to where Katniss was coaxing Prim out of the truck. She wound an arm around her sister's skinny waist. Rory lingered several feet away from the girls. Peeta watched the boy for several moments, automatically recognizing the way Gale's brother was gazing at Prim Everdeen. It was the same way Peeta knew he had stared at Katniss when they were younger, before he had finally taken a chance and told her he wanted to be more than just friends. His heart went out to Rory. The boy clearly wanted to comfort his best friend, but Rory obviously wasn't ready to take that step yet. Given the somber occasion, Peeta acknowledged, it was probably the right call.
"Noooooo!" Prim wailed suddenly. She clung to Katniss and shook her head violently, howling again. Peeta could see the coffin being unloaded from the hearse. He rushed towards where Katniss was struggling to hold Prim upright.
"Let me," he said, and gently pried Prim's fingers from where they clutched the fabric of Katniss's dress. He wrapped his arm around Prim. With his free hand, he reached for Katniss.
"It's okay, Peeta. Just take care of her," she replied. Her lips twitched as she tried to smile at him. He could see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Prim continued to sag against him.
"Katniss," Gale said quietly, nodding towards Mr. Everdeen. She nodded and walked away from Peeta, to where her father was standing motionless near the hearse. Peeta sighed and tightened his grip on Prim. He was practically dragging her along as he escorted her graveside. Once he helped the crying girl into one of the folding chairs that had been set up directly in front of the open grave, he turned, intending to head back for Katniss. He saw her walking slowly alongside her father, one hand clasping his elbow, the other resting on the middle of Mr. Everdeen's back. As they neared the grave, he could hear Katniss murmuring words of encouragement to her father. Peeta felt a renewed surge of heartache followed by an intense pride for this girl he loved so much. No one should have to go through the hell Katniss was going through, and she was facing this unfathomable tragedy with such grace.
"Right here. Right next to Prim," Katniss said, urging her father towards the empty seat beside Prim. "And I'll be right here, on your other side. See?"
"No, Katniss!" Prim choked on a sob. "I need you too. Sit between Daddy and me." Katniss glanced over at Peeta, her eyes filled with sorrow. He knew what she was thinking without her saying a word. He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"I'll be right behind you," he whispered. She bit her lip and nodded, then helped her father into his seat. She perched at the edge of the chair between Mr. Everdeen and Prim, Her father's gaze honed in on his wife's casket, and he rocked forward slightly. Prim leaned her head against Katniss's shoulder. Peeta sighed and gently placed his hand on Katniss's opposite shoulder, the only comforting touch he could offer her.
"Everything okay?" Madge's voice breaks into Peeta's thoughts. He blinks rapidly, moistening his lips. But when he regains his composure, he sees Madge loop her arm around Gale's biceps as he returns to the group, the question obviously directed at her fiancé. Peeta coughs and takes a hasty swig from his drink. He feels Gale's gaze shift towards him and braces himself for Gale's patented glare. But he looks sympathetic, almost contrite, as he locks eyes with Peeta.
"Yeah. Everything's great," Gale murmurs quietly, pressing a kiss to Madge's temple. "She'll be fine. She's strong." Peeta hears him whisper to her. The words sound hollow, Gale's assurance anything but genuine. Peeta glances to the doors, waiting for Katniss to walk through them.
She doesn't.
When Peeta cuts his eyes back to the group, Gale's compassionate gaze has gone stony. Peeta takes another gulp of his drink.
"Good!" Madge says brightly, seemingly oblivious to the visual standoff underway between her fiancé and Peeta. "Let's dance, then." She leads Gale away from the group.
Peeta checks the doors. Still no Katniss. He quickly looks back to Delly when he feels her arm grip his elbow.
"Dancing sounds good. Come on," she says, her blue eyes wide and insistent. His gaze flickers towards the doors a third time. Delly arches her brows at him, plucks his glass from his hand, and thrusts it at a passing waiter. Without another word, she drags him towards the dance floor. She immediately circles her arms around his neck and steps closer to him. He sucks in a deep breath through his nostrils, inhaling the sharp notes of her perfume. He can see how some men might find the aromas of amber and musk alluring and sexy, but he finds the fragrance Delly favors overpowering. Peeta much prefers subtle scents, like the one that Katniss used to wear. He wonders if she wears it.
"Isn't this place just beautiful?" Delly's voice cuts into his thoughts.
"Ah, yeah, it's really nice," he replies. She sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. He sets his hands on her waist and begins to sway in time with the music.
"Madge is so lucky. Everything about this wedding is just perfect."
"I guess," he replies absently, covertly maneuvering Delly so he's facing the doors to the balcony.
"I think I want to get married on the beach, too. But somewhere tropical. Ooh, like a full-blown destination wedding. That would be so fun! Maybe Cancun or the Dominican Republic," she babbles. Her left hand starts playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Peeta finally spies Katniss ducking in through the balcony doors, her eyes cast downward. She heads directly towards the bar. He catches a glimpse of the bartender flashing Katniss a wide, flirtatious grin before the couple closest to him and Delly moves directly into Peeta's line of vision, blocking his view. Shit.
"Peeta? Did you hear me?" Guiltily, he returns his attention to Delly. She glares at him, a storm brewing in her big blue eyes.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?" He hopes the smile that he offers her looks more sincere than it feels. He lowers his lips to Delly's in an attempt to placate her. He kisses the corner of her mouth chastely and prepares himself to indulge her in more inane chatter about her fictitious wedding day.
Maybe in another lifetime Katniss would do something about the "fuck me" smile that the bartender gives her when he slides her second vodka and tonic across the bar towards her. He's cute enough, she supposes. The confidence with which he moves suggests he'd be very good in bed.
Who is she kidding, she thinks, as she offers him a weak "thanks" and jams a couple of dollar bills into the snifter glass that's serving as his tip jar. There's no lifetime where her body and her heart wouldn't wholly belong to Peeta Mellark.
And in this lifetime it's utterly devastating to see him smiling at another woman, wrapping his strong arms around another woman's waist, brushing his lips against another woman's mouth. Especially when that woman is Delly Cartwright.
The knot in her stomach tightens. She stares down into her drink, sloshing the clear liquid around in the glass. The last thing she wants is to observe the intimacy on display between Peeta and Delly. It's a thousand times harder than she thought it would be to be in the same room as him and his girlfriend.
This is what you wanted, she reminds herself as she stalks towards the corner of the ballroom farthest away from where the bridal party has congregated. You wanted him to move on and find happiness with someone else. Someone who wouldn't drag him down or hold him back. Peeta deserved better than being tethered to the damaged girl you were. You had to cut him free. You did it for him.
She steals a surreptitious glance at Peeta and Delly. Watching Delly's fingers trail up and down the back of Peeta's neck, Katniss remembers how she could always make him shiver when she raked her nails in the exact same place Delly is presently touching him. Katniss had especially loved to toy with his hair right where it brushed the collar of his shirt during their frequent make-out sessions. He wears his hair much shorter now, but she can't imagine it's any less soft. She rubs her fingertips together, another ripple of sadness ebbing through her. A memory surfaces, unbidden, but so vivid, so tangible. A memory of being naked in his bed on one of the rare occasions where his parents and brothers were all out of the house. She can almost feel the specter of his touch on her skin, feel him moving inside of her. Her cheeks flush and she shakes away the erotic image.
Shit. She made her bed and now she has to lie in it. Alone. Always alone.
She throws back her drink, draining it in two gulps, and rotates the empty glass in her hands. She's never been much of a drinker—but what the hell. Might as well get shit-faced tonight. It's not like she has to worry about driving; her room is right upstairs. Maybe with enough alcohol coursing through her veins she'll summon the necessary strength to make it through this damn party.
En route to the bar, she takes a quick detour to the bathroom. After relieving herself and washing her hands, she stares into the mirror, noting the sallow tint to her complexion. She hopes it's just the bathroom's harsh lighting that's making her look so washed out. Opening her clutch, she fishes out her compact, dabbing the applicator over her cheeks and swiping it along her forehead and under her eyes. Then she pinches her cheeks to try and draw out some color. Satisfied that she doesn't look too much like a zombie, she exits the bathroom—and promptly collides with a solid frame. Her clutch tumbles from her grasp. She kneels down to retrieve it.
"I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was go—" Her apology dies on her lips and her heart vaults into her throat as she finds herself staring into Peeta's striking blue eyes. He crouches just a couple of feet from her, his fingers hovering over hers where they're both reaching for the purse. She can practically feel the heat emanating from his skin. She swallows hard and tugs her purse to her chest. She hastily straightens up.
"I'm sorry," she echoes softly, glancing down at her feet, evading those blue eyes that have always been her undoing. Out of her peripheral vision, she sees him rise to his full height. She moves a little to her left and holds her breath as she waits for him to pass by.
"Katniss." She closes her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips. She can't help it. For a brief second, she allows herself to remember all the ways he used to say her name like it was the most precious thing in the world. Like when she'd sneak up on him so many afternoons at his parents' bakery, winding her arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck. Or when he'd whisper it through the phone late at night, wishing her sweet dreams after they'd talked for hours. And when he'd gasp it aloud as he came, gazing so deep into her eyes that she could see the pleasure she was giving him.
She reopens her eyes. Her breath catches when she realizes he hasn't moved and he's staring at her. Not in any of the ways that he used to, but cautiously, and thankfully, without the open hostility that was there during their run-in at his parents' deli.
Awkward silence thickens the air between them. Katniss worries her bottom lip with her teeth, but releases it quickly when she remembers the fresh slick of gloss she applied in the restroom. Peeta clears his throat. Then he makes a slight movement forward, as if he's going to attempt to inch past her to proceed to the restroom.
"Peeta." She winces as she hears the tautness in her voice. He falters and meets her eyes again. She offers him a hopeful smile. "You…you, um, you look really handsome tonight." Something sparks in those blue irises. He lowers them to briefly scan up and down her body. She can't help the frisson that races down her spine from being under his perusal. Another memory assaults her, as she remembers how he used to drink her in with that hungry look in his eyes, the one that never failed to turn her bones to liquid, right before his lips would devour hers. That knot in her stomach uncoils and furls into something else. She chides her body for reacting in such a way.
He clears his throat again. His countenance has hardened. "You've looked better," he says bluntly.
His words hurt, but she tries to ignore them, however true they might be.
"You're too thin," he adds.
"I've been running a lot," she replies, feeling the need to offer some justification. Peeta's mouth lifts into a sardonic smile.
"Yeah, you were always good at that," he says.
The cold remark slices her to the bone. It takes all her strength to ignore his insult, to not let him see how much it affects her. Because what she really wants to do is turn and duck back into the restroom, before she can do something stupid like cry. But she refuses to give him the satisfaction. He's clearly still hurt and forgiveness is not something she has earned. Time to change the subject. She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath.
"So you and Delly," she offers.
He nods. "Yeah."
"That's great." Lie. "You make a really nice couple." Lie. More bile rises in her throat. "You look really good together." Lie. Lie. Lie.
"Thanks."
"I'm…I'm glad you're happy, Peeta. That's all I ever wanted for you. For you to be happy." Finally something that isn't a lie. That is one-hundred percent the truth. She waits, but Peeta doesn't say anything.
"Okay. Um. Well, enjoy the rest of the party." Fake smile still on her lips, her throat prickling with heat and tears stinging her eyes, she pivots on her heel and walks back into the ballroom. As she strides past the crowded dance floor, she swears every pair of prying eyes is pinned to her. She carefully avoids Delly's murderous gaze. Thankfully, on the other side of the room, she spies Gale's parents standing with Prim and Rory and makes a beeline for them.
"Katniss, what's wrong?" Hazelle asks, placing a hand on the small of Katniss's back. "You're as white as a sheet."
"Oh, it's, ah, it's nothing, I'll be fine," she replies. She hears the slight wobble in her voice and prays no one notices. But Prim immediately arches a blonde brow at her. She looks past Katniss, directly over to the corridor by the restrooms. Katniss turns, but Peeta is no longer there.
"Hazelle is right. You're pale. You look as if you're going to be sick," Wade adds. "Was it something you ate, perhaps?"
Prim places a hand on Katniss's forearm. "What did he say to you?" she hisses. Katniss looks into her sister's determined blue eyes. She should have known Prim wouldn't miss a thing.
"Maybe it was the crab cakes," Katniss replies, dodging Prim's inquiry. There will be time to talk to her sister later. "I'll be fine," she insists. "It'll pass."
"Do you need to go upstairs to your room?" Hazelle asks, her brows knitted in concern. "If you're sick, everyone will understand if you leave."
In truth, fleeing to the safety of her room sounds heavenly to Katniss. But that would be running, and it would mean Peeta would be right. She knows as much as it pains her, she needs to tough it out and stay at the party. She promised Gale this weekend would not be about her or her past with Peeta Mellark.
"I just need another drink," she says, false courage curving her mouth into a grin. "Who's coming to the bar with me?"
Fuck. Peeta rubs his temples and scrubs his hands over his face. He looks up from the sink and glares into the mirror, disgusted by his own reflection. The man staring back at him is a stranger. The man looking back at him would never have been so cruel to the woman he's loved his entire life, no matter how much he's still hurting six years later.
He had seen Katniss slip inside the ladies' room while he had been dancing with Delly, and he couldn't resist excusing himself to go to the men's room. He knew it was a bad idea, but his head couldn't convince his pathetic heart otherwise. Seeing the palpable pain in Katniss's eyes had weakened his resolve, and he wondered if he didn't owe it to the deeply-in-love teenagers they had once been to make some concerted effort to broker peace with her.
He had waited outside the restrooms for Katniss to emerge. He had had every intention of making it look like a chance encounter. If Katniss happened to initiate a conversation, well, then, he planned to be civil.
Yet when she had smacked into him, unaware of his presence outside the door, all that logic and maturity flew out the window. In that confined little space, standing just a few feet away from Katniss, he felt the same inexorable pull towards her that had always been there. She still had the power to steal the breath from his lungs. And while he hadn't been lying—he does think she looks far too thin—she's easily the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. She had clearly put effort into her appearance. It isn't lost on him that her dress is his exact favorite color, that soft orange that mirrors a sunset over the bay. Whether or not she had chosen that hue deliberately, he can't be certain.
And then he had smelled that subtle blend of vanilla and sandalwood, a confirmation of his earlier curiosity about her perfume, and it triggered something unpleasant. All that festering hurt and anger had surged to the surface like magma. Hot, molten anger. When she had complimented him, hope brimming in those pretty silver irises, he had taken aim with his reply. Though she'd tried valiantly to mask her reaction, he knew his venomous words had hit their mark. Cruel. Cruel, cruel, cruel.
Peeta sighs and slaps his palm against the sink. Fucking idiot. He shakes his head at his reflection and draws a cleansing breath as he exits the restroom. And for the second time tonight, he nearly plows into someone. This time, however, it's not Katniss. Gale Hawthorne stands in front of him, arms crossed, his grey eyes a hurricane.
"Can we talk?" Gale asks. It doesn't really sound like a question, and the icy expression on Gale's face suggests this isn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
"Ah, sure," Peeta replies. Gale motions for Peeta to follow him into a small lounge area just off the west side of the ballroom. Though there are banks of couches running along two of the walls, Gale makes no move to sit down, so Peeta remains standing too.
"Look, Peeta, you and I have never been the best of friends," Gale begins, "and while my loyalty has always lain with Katniss, I have empathized with you. I know it killed you when she left. I don't blame you for being angry with her. Not at first.
"I don't know what you said to her just now. And it's none of my business." Gale pauses, and Peeta suspects Gale is indeed waiting for an explanation, in spite of his assertion otherwise. Well, fuck that. That's between Peeta and Katniss. He has to admit there's a modicum of satisfaction that Gale doesn't already know, that she didn't go running straight to him and tell him everything like she always has.
Gale makes a little noise of disgust and shakes his head. Then he cranes his neck and peers past Peeta. He lowers his voice and says, "I do know one thing, though. I'm sick as fuck of seeing that tortured look in her eyes. You may have moved on, but she hasn't. And I don't know that she ever will. She seems pretty content to torment herself with one fucking mistake she made when she was just a grieving kid."
"Mistake?" Peeta echoes. Gale's stony visage alters for a split second, but Peeta sees it: the flicker of alarm in his eyes, the "oh shit, what did I just say?" set to his jaw. But Gale's expression neutralizes a moment later and his shoulders lift with the deep breath he takes. His voice is softer when he speaks again.
"You and I both know Katniss is stubborn as hell. She got it in her head that you would be better off without her and no one was going to convince her otherwise. She really thought she was making the right choice for you."
"It was the wrong choice not to give me a choice," Peeta interjects. Gale nods.
"I know that. And she knows that now. But this is my point, Peeta. She's had to live with that for all this time. She was just a kid, really. You both were. Kids make mistakes. She knew you'd be mad. I just don't think she was prepared for you to hate her so much. I think she really thought that with enough time, no matter what fucked up reasoning she had, you'd understand that she had made a sacrifice for you."
Peeta's stomach clenches and guilt washes over him anew. "I don't hate her," he says, defiance lacing his defense.
"She sure thinks you do." Gale shakes his head. "You didn't see her. How broken she was. I mean, for fuck's sake, Peeta, she had one of your voicemails saved and she would listen to it again and again just to hear your voice. With every unanswered email and letter, she got more and more depressed, until I finally convinced her to stop sending them to you. I couldn't watch her suffer any more."
An uneasy sensation claws at Peeta's gut and his heart falters in its steady rhythm, then starts to pounds more furiously. "Wait. What? What emails? What letters?" he demands. Gale's brows knit and worry lines crawl across his forehead.
"The emails and the letters she wrote you. I told her it was a bad idea, but she said she owed it to you, that she owed you an apology. I think it was, I dunno, maybe a couple of months after she left. It was an email at first, then two or three more, and then when she didn't get replies after a half dozen or so, she switched to actual letters. Figured maybe you'd closed that email address. She mailed letters to your house. She thought you'd see those for sure."
Peeta's pulse is thundering now, the blood drumming in his ears so loudly that he can barely hear Gale's words. He sucks in a breath through his nose and furls his fists, feeling the tension coiling in his fingers.
"I never got an email. Not one. Or any letters, other than that very first one when she left."
"Well she sent them," Gale insists. "And she's got a whole box of unsent ones under her bed. She kept writing them even after she stopped sending them. I'd venture a guess that she's got five years worth in there."
The room suddenly feels like it's tilting and spinning. Peeta closes his eyes to maintain his equilibrium. Even with all that Gale has just revealed, Peeta only has more questions. He hadn't ever changed his email address. Or his cell phone number. As angry as he had been with Katniss, he had always clung to a gossamer thread of hope that she would reach out to him, to beg his forgiveness, to plead with him for another chance. He had wanted her to come back so badly. He knows deep down, that one look into those silver eyes and he'd have been a goner. All the emotions roiling around in him collide, clustering into a mass of profound sadness, an actual physical ache blooming in his chest. She had tried. She had reached out to him. And in her mind he had rejected her. Again, and again, and again. He shakes his head in stunned disbelief.
"I never got them," he asserts. "Not a single one. I promise you, Gale. I would never have stonewalled her like that. I know she was hurting too." His throat is so tight that his words come out a strangled whisper. Gale presses his lips together. His head bobs and he slips his hands into his pockets.
"This is probably a conversation you should have with Katniss. And I guess that's what I really wanted to talk to you about. I love Katniss. I want her happy. I don't know that that's truly possible…but if you'd just talk to her, listen to her long enough to allow her to apologize, I think that would allow her to finally start healing. I can't say that she will ever move on, but…can you do that for me? Will you talk with her? Not tonight. Not here. Tomorrow, when you both have clear heads. You can consider it a wedding gift to me." He smiles ruefully and shuffles awkwardly in place for a moment. He withdraws his left hand partially from his pocket, as if he's going to make a move to shake Peeta's hand. But instead, Gale turns and walks out of the lounge, leaving Peeta alone with the weight of six years anchoring him to the floor.
Cato slaps a five-dollar bill down on the glossy mahogany bar and smirks at the bartender. "Another Jim Beam. Neat."
The bartender raises a quizzical eyebrow at him. "You know, sir, I am counting. I'm required to cut you off if you appear to be a threat to yourself or someone else."
"I can fucking count too," he retorts. "And I've only had four so far. Keep your panties on. And keep 'em coming. The night's still young, and you're paid to pour drinks, not be a fucking babysitter."
With a polite smile, the bartender selects a clean tumbler and pours the deep gold liquor into the glass, gently sliding it across the bar, where Cato snatches it up and without a word of thanks to the man.
Cato gulps his bourbon. With each subsequent drink, the pleasurable burn is less pronounced, and his sips have become slurps. As he lumbers around the room, he's drawn to a flash of red disappearing through the open French doors in the farthest corner of the lounge. After another greedy slug of his drink, he ambles over to the doors and steps onto the little balcony. A smirk slinks onto his lips as he spies the blonde leaning on the railing, eyes fixed on the ocean.
"You know for all the times we did it, we never fucked in public with a hundred people just inside," he whispers loudly into his ex-girlfriend's ear. Glimmer jumps and whirls about to face him.
"What are you doing?" she asks icily. "I came out here to get some fresh air."
He leers at her and trails a finger up her bare arm. She visibly flinches at his touch and shrugs the digit off. "You know you miss this. Whaddya say?"
"Ugh, surprise, surprise, you're drunk," Glimmer says, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she pushes him away. The bourbon sloshes over the side of the glass. Cato sneers at the loss of half of his drink, then quickly flashes her a grin.
"C'mon. You've been checking me out since we got here. Just once, for old time's sake."
She tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder and leans in towards him. "I wouldn't fuck you again if you were the last man on earth," she hisses.
"Wait!" he slurs. He swipes for her arm as she turns away, and her blue eyes shoot daggers at his fingers clasped around the bare skin.
"Let. Go. Now," she snarls.
He digs in his fingers a little more, and she yelps softly. "Why won't you give me a second chance? We were good together."
She lifts her leg and digs her heel into his shoe, causing him to release his own howl of pain, and her arm slips free. She rubs at it, little red blotches marring the golden skin. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you stuck your dick in that redheaded whore from your office."
"I made a mistake," he insists, advancing upon her again.
Glimmer snorts. "A mistake? A mistake is getting drunk once and being remorseful about it the next day. You snuck around behind my back for four months before you got caught! Who knows how long you'd have kept fucking her if I hadn't walked in on you!"
"I woulda come to my senses eventually." He sets his nearly empty glass down on the balcony ledge. He reaches for her hands more gently. "You were the best thing in my life. Please, Glim?"
"I promised Gale and Madge I'd be civil to you for their sake. But let's get this straight, Cato. Once this weekend is over, I never want to see you again. I don't forgive and I don't forget." She spins on her heel and flounces off the balcony, the gauzy curtains fluttering in her wake.
"Fine!" He grabs for his drink and then whirls about, throwing his hands into the air, yelling to no one in particular. The remainder of his Jim Beam lances through the air and splashes into an amber puddle on the white composite tile. "Fine! Fuck you, then!" He hurls the empty cocktail glass out as far as he can, waiting for the subsequent shattering. But it never comes. Leaning onto the railing, his rapidly blurring vision scans the inky twilight sky; the smattering of stars exacerbates the disorientation from the alcohol. He closes his eyes in a vain attempt to reconcile his senses.
Fucking Glimmer. What was he thinking? Has the bourbon sluicing through his veins really left him so needy and pathetic that he actually groveled at her pedicured feet? Now he remembers why he cheated on her. Pretentious, cold-hearted bitch. He fidgets with his idle hands.
He needs another drink.
As he turns around, he realizes he's not alone on the balcony. His bleary eyes struggle to focus on the shadowy figure closing in on him.
"Gl-Glimmer?" he stammers. Without warning two hands lunge, firmly connecting with his chest. The force of the blow sends him staggering into the railing, the small of his back slamming against the wood. Pain sprouts up his spine, and he howls. "Hey! What the fuck, man? What the fuck are you doing?"
Another shove—this one higher—lands on his shoulders, and then he feels his feet desperately seeking purchase with balcony deck floor. It's not until the whistling sound vibrates in his ears that he realizes he's plummeting through the air, and he doesn't even have time to scream before he smacks into the pavement with a macabre thud, bones cracking, as a river of red flows from his crumpled, shattered body.
Author's Post-Note—Not gonna lie...it's really hard to write angsty Everlark. I just want them happy all the time. I had to channel MJ Peeta and all that hurt to write these scenes. I hope they worked...and do not lose faith in me that no story of mine won't be endgame Everlark. Thank you for reading! XOXO ~Court