Chapter forty-four: Time and Distance
"The challenge is to resist circumstances. Any idiot can be happy in a happy place, but moral courage is required to be happy in a hellhole."—Joyce Carol Oates
I spend the rest of the night on the sofa with Prim sobbing into my lap. It seems Mom being taken away was the final crack that broke the dam for her.
After trying to reassure her that everything will be okay more times than I can count—with little to no response on her part—I try to comfort her by humming softly, running my hand gently through her hair, and rubbing her back until, finally, she cries herself to sleep.
I'm not sure how or what I feel; mostly I'm just numb.
As much as it pains me to recall the look on Mom's face as they carried her away and to have Prim so distraught, I can't say a part of me didn't expect this to happen… that I didn't want it to happen. At first I was angered by the suddenness of it all, but now I realize it's for the better. She'll get the proper medical care she's needed for so long. When I think of the dread I'd felt for years when waking up or coming home from school, praying I'll find her merely asleep instead of dead, I can't be upset that she's been given a proper chance to get better; even if it's away from us.
As I comb my fingers through Prim's hair, I look around at the beautiful, silent apartment surrounding us. Apang shoots up from my stomach, lodging itself in my throat and bringing tears to my eyes, as the agent's words echo in my head – 'temporary'.
I don't know if we'll be taken in by so-called family who are no more than strangers or, for that matter, where we'll end up. All I do know—what I keep reassuring myself of—is that it won't last long in the grand scheme of things. May, I only have to wait this out until May 8th.
In any case, the way Snow treated us and the way we were living makes any other place seem bright in comparison. If we're left with no choice but to leave here, even if the people who take custody of us are horrible, we'll get through it—like we always do.
When it comes down to it, it's not as if we have much choice in the matter anyway.
"Hey… how's everything holding up?" Peeta asks quietly as he enters the living room.
He looks utterly exhausted and stressed, with dark circles beneath his eyes, furrowed brows, and a deep frown. He sits down on the loveseat diagonal from us, rests his elbow on the armrest and begins rubbing his temple as if to rid a headache. I know none of this is directly my fault, but I can't help feeling guilty for bringing such trouble into Peeta's life— and his father's.
Prim wasn't the only one distraught over Mom being taken away; after the agents left, and after stating that he'll do all he can, Mr. Mellark went into Mom's room for about an hour and when he came out his face was blotchy and his eyes were all bloodshot and puffy from crying.
Apparently he needed even more solitude because he grabbed his keys and left, telling Peeta he'd text or call, but that he was probably going to stay at the bakery for the night. Peeta wasn't happy about this at all and made that fact very clear, muttering disapproving statements under his breath, before excusing himself to his bedroom to paint in order to 'blow off some steam and give us some privacy'.
That was about three hours ago, and it looks like the 'steam' has only built up.
"She fell asleep crying. There wasn't anything I could really do or say to make it better," I answer, rubbing her back. "It's good Mom's finally getting real medical care, she needs it—and I know Prim will see that soon enough. I just think taking care of Mom was a distraction for her, from everything else going on. It gave her hope and purpose and it kept her mind busy."
"I understand that all too well," he replies, looking at her thoughtfully. "She's as resilient as her big sister, though. She'll be okay with a little time. As far as distractions go, we'll just have to find her some new ones."
I nod, but I don't know how to reply without coming off as completely cynical. I think Peeta gives me too much credit for being 'resilient' – there's a difference between bouncing forward and rolling forward. I've done what I had to do to survive, but I wouldn't call it strength or courage, I'd call it not wanting to die. If you don't die, you have no choice but to keep surviving. That's all there is to it.
"And how are you?" Peeta asks after a moment.
It's such a simple question, but it has the immediate effect of bringing tears to my eyes. I try to hold my breath to keep a sob from escaping, but it's no use—it winds up coming out in an embarrassing sort of loud sob-hiccup, which thankfully doesn't wake Prim.
"Hey—" I hear Peeta begin with concern, but I sniffle, wipe my eyes, and shake my head to reassure him that I'm fine.
"I'm okay, just tired," I croak, but it doesn't seem to convince him. Without a word, he swiftly moves from the loveseat and sits beside me. The next thing I know, I'm cradled in his arms with him kissing the top of my head as I soak his T-shirt with my tears.
"It's okay not to be okay, Katniss," he whispers strongly as he caresses my shoulder. "You've been through hell and back. Things will be okay, though. They'll get better. You'll get through this, and I'll be with you through it all. You're not alone. Whatever happens from here, I'm with you all the way."
"I know," I reply as I nod and wipe my eyes. "It just feels like we're in the eye of a storm right now, waiting for the rain and wind to pass for good. I can't wait to see the sun again."
"Me too," Peeta murmurs, kissing the top of my head one last time. "Anyways, we should probably get some sleep. My eyes are so heavy I can barely keep them open."
I nod, looking up at him with hesitation, "What about your dad? Should we wait up for him?"
Peeta shakes his head, "No. He's staying at the bakery tonight. Like that's going to help anything."
"Oh," I whisper. From the look on Peeta's face, it's probably best I don't push the subject any further. "Um… so what about Prim? I don't really want to leave her alone right now…."
"Of course not. She needs you now more than ever," Peeta states as he stretches his arms and stands up, "I'll carry her to my room. She can sleep in bed with us. It'll be more comfortable than the couch." A tiny smile curves his lips as he adds, "Don't worry, I'll keep my shirt on."
To say I had a restless night would be a huge understatement.
Peeta has a small bout of night terrors, which in turn wakes up Prim. After they finally fall back to sleep, I find myself unable to. It wasn't that I wasn't tired, either—my mind just wouldn't shut off. I tried closing my eyes and counting, tossing and turning to get more comfortable—but comfort wasn't the problem. Eventually I just lay there staring up at the ceiling, crying for no particular reason.
I wake the next morning to Mr. Mellark telling us to come into the living room so he can show us something. I sit up and rub my eyes, wondering when exactly I had fallen asleep and for how long. I have no recollection of my eyes even closing and my body certainly doesn't feel rested. Still, we all reluctantly get up and make our way into the living room, each of us heavy lidded, frowning, and silent.
Mr. Mellark greets us at the living room doorway, looking as if he hadn't slept a wink. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen, his clothes and hair slightly disheveled, but somehow he still has the energy to work up a slight smile.
"Nice to see you back…." Peeta grumpily states.
"I just needed some time alone for a bit. It was… a lot to swallow yesterday," Mr. Mellark replies, running a shaky hand through his hair.
"Yeah, well it was a lot harder to swallow for her daughters, don't you think? They could've used your support. You can't just run away to the bakery every time things get hard," Peeta counters.
"Peeta…" Mr. Mellark shakes his head and gives him a stern look that says he's not in the mood.
I quickly ask Mr. Mellark what he wants to show us before either of them have a chance to say anything else; I'm tired enough as it is, the last thing I want to deal with is an argument between Peeta and his dad.
With this, Mr. Mellark nods and beckons us to follow him into the living room. He reaches behind the couch and lifts a gray pet carrier, which he quickly places down on the coffee table to unlatch.
As soon as the cage door is opened, out prances a fat, yellow tabby cat with big golden eyes. He looks around curiously and meows as if greeting us. Prim immediately rushes forward and begins alternating between petting the cat voraciously, hugging it, and telling it how cute it is. The cat doesn't seem annoyed by all the doting attention, either, in fact it looks happy to soak it all up.
"I found this friendly little fellow meowing by the bakery dumpster last night. Peeta's always wanted a pet, but his mother had allergies so we never could…." Mr. Mellark explains. "I figured he'd find some love here. I stopped by the store on the way to get a litter box, food, and such. There's also some breakfast for you all in the kitchen, by the way."
"I always wanted a pet too, but we never could because…" Prim stops short and looks over at me with wide eyes as if she'd said something wrong. Quickly, she averts her eyes back to the cat and shrugs. "We just couldn't."
What she isn't saying is that we couldn't feed ourselves most of the time, let alone a pet. The only pet we had, Snow killed very early on—I'm not even sure Prim remembers that dog as much as I do; she certainly wasn't as close to him as I was. Sparky, that was his name, and he was the friendliest little thing—and talented too. We had him since I was three. The way he died was horrible. I never wanted another pet after witnessing that—Snow would just hurt or mistreat it, we couldn't feed it, and it just wasn't worth the emotional investment.
Prim, however, would try to get close to wild animals; rabbits, turtles, squirrels, birds… and like some fairytale princess, she had the peaceful presence about her to attract them. In fact, if she had it in her to kill an animal, she'd likely be a far better huntress than myself. I remember early on when I started putting the traps out to catch animals, she'd plead and cry to keep them as pets.
I felt incredibly cruel when I'd have to tell her no, that we'd starve without the animal to eat, and the animal would starve if we starved. She wouldn't talk to me for a day or two, but she'd eat whatever I cooked—knowing there was no other option—but she'd cry the whole time. After a while, she decided to become oblivious to my hunting activities. She never asked where I was going, what I got, or what she was eating. Not unless we were fishing; she didn't give a fig about catching and eating fish.
I cross my arms and say nothing as I continue to watch Prim grow immediately attached to the animal. I'm not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, it might be the right sort of distraction, the perfect redirection of care that Prim needs at the moment.
On the other hand, what if she becomes too attached to this animal and we have to leave it behind? Surely Peeta would take care of it until we see each other next, but after her little breakdown last night I'm not sure if she can take another heartbreak of separation so soon. Then again, it's too late to do anything about it now. The bond has apparently already been made.
The next words out of Peeta's mouth seal the deal:
"So Prim, you have a name in mind for your new pal here?" He winks back at me as he kneels down beside her and scratches the cat behind it's ears. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open in surprise.
"My…" she begins hesitantly, "do you mean…?"
Peeta nods and answers, "I meant it exactly how you think I meant it. Of course we'll all give him love—but I think he should be yours. Seems to favor you already."
This fills Prim with such unexpected excitement and joy, it seems she doesn't know what to do with it all. With tears in her eyes, she looks questioningly over at me to see if I approve. What's done is done so I simply ask, "Well, you got a name in mind?"
If it's possible, her grin widens even further and she seems to bounce with enthusiasm.
"Buttercup!" she announces in a burst, and before I can ask why she'd choose this name of all names, she throws her arms around Peeta and before he can hug her back, she moves on to hugging the cat again.
When she's facing away from him, Peeta cringes with a look of pure amusement on his face as he mouths, 'Buttercup…?' to me.
I shrug and shake my head. She can name it whatever absurd name she wants; I'm just happy she has a smile on her face instead of tears.
After eating a small breakfast of biscuits and sausage gravy, I excuse myself to take a quick shower with the intention of waking myself up a bit. However, as soon as I feel the hot, steaming water wash over my body, loosening and soothing my tense muscles and giving me peace of mind for as long as I'm lost in its mist, I find myself not wanting to leave.
It's such a simple thing, but hot showers are definitely one of the best things to have in my life again. Taking my time, I wash and scrub every inch of my skin, shave my legs and underarms, before reluctantly exiting due to the water turning lukewarm. I dry off, slowly comb the tangles from my hair, and change into a pair of form-fitting jeans that Madge had given to me and a small green T-shirt. With a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever might await me today, I make my way out of the bathroom.
I don't get far; as soon as I step into the hallway, Peeta whispers my name from the doorway of his bedroom and waves for me to come quickly. I rush forward, my heart falling to my stomach as I try to imagine what bad news is going to be dumped on me this time.
As soon as I'm in his room, Peeta closes the door softly so that no one will hear.
"I thought your dad said not to shut the door—" I begin, but stop short at the troubled look on his face. "What's wrong?"
He swipes his hand over his face and moves past me to sit down on the edge of his bed, then slouches over and places his head in his hands.
"I changed my sheets while you were in the shower..." he answers. I look at him in confusion; why would this be a dire event? Then, as if being hit in the gut, my eyes widen with realization. "I found something that was beneath the mattress, and I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."
I nod and sit next to him. Leaning closer, I speak softly so that Prim and Mr. Mellark won't hear, despite the door being closed, "I put it there a couple days ago. I found it in an old box my mom kept hidden in a wall—that's why I needed the screwdriver that day, to open the box. Prim doesn't even know about it yet. Only we do. Anyways, I didn't—don't—know what to make of it. I wasn't sure whether to tell anyone, whether I was reading too much into it—"
"Katniss," he hesitates and swallows as if it pains him to even think of what he's about to say. "I think we both know what it means."
"You think our parents...?" I raise my eyebrows to ask what I don't want to put into words. He nods and rubs his eyes, looking a bit nauseated.
"I'm like 99.9% sure. I had my suspicions before, but this..." He shakes his head and sighs. "You know, I can almost pinpoint when I think it happened, too."
"It had to have started after my dad died. My mom never would've cheated on my dad," I state strongly.
He nods in agreement.
"I remember around that time, my dad was staying at the bakery a lot, sometimes staying the whole night; said he had lots of commissions to fill. My mom and dad barely spoke to each other. Anyways, one day I got sick at school and Dad had to come pick me up early. I slept in the bed upstairs until he could take me home. I found a necklace on the nightstand—it had a golden bird on it. I didn't recognize it, but I put it in my pocket to give to Mom because I thought it was hers and that she had lost it up there. I thought she'd be overjoyed that I found her missing jewelry.
She wasn't; it wasn't hers. She slapped me, thought I stole it until I told her where I found it. She got so mad, accused Dad of cheating on her, made all sorts of threats. I got the brunt of her anger, though, I guess just for being the messenger of bad news.
Dad stopped staying at the bakery as much as before, but he and Mom's relationship was more than nonexistent after that, it turned to pure hatred. Dad wasn't the same man for a while after; he was really quiet and withdrawn, depressed. Every time he looked at me, I felt guilty of something I wasn't even sure of. I don't think he blamed me or anything; he just didn't know what to say. Neither of us did. We didn't really have a proper conversation again until after I lost my leg. I never asked about it, though, whether he actually had an affair; I didn't want to know."
"I'm sorry you got put in the middle of all that. It never should've been your burden to bear," I say, bringing an arm around his back and resting my head against his shoulder. I part his fidgeting hands and take one in my own, intertwining my fingers with his.
He leans his head onto mine. "Burdens have a bad habit of finding those who shouldn't have to bear them. I think you probably know that better than anyone."
I bring his hand to my lips and kiss the top of it because I don't really know how to put into words how I feel.
Funny how before I knew Peeta as I do now, when I saw him in passing at school, I always thought of him as this handsome, popular rich kid with a perfect house and a perfect, cookie-cutter family; I saw him through the eyes of an outsider who saw all the stuff he had that I didn't. Sure, he has money, he's handsome, he has a nice house; he has nearly every superficial idea of perfection and happiness one could think of.
But Peeta is anything but superficial.
Now I see the things he's lacked that I want to give to him—things he gives me in abundance—love, support, togetherness, hope, assurance, pleasure. I want to make him feel appreciated for being who he is and not letting the world turn him bitter when it easily could have.
We fall into a deep, pensive silence for a moment until I ask, "Do you think he knew... about the baby?"
"No," Peeta replies without a trace of doubt. "There's no way he knew. If he knew, he would've helped. Whatever happened between our parents, however way it ended, he should've helped her anyway. He should've known better. She just lost her husband, the father of her children… she didn't need to lose her oldest and best friend on top of it all. No wonder…." Peeta stops short, closes his eyes, and takes in a deep breath as if to stop himself from saying something he might regret.
I'm curious about what he was going to say, but I decide it's probably best not to ask. If Peeta wants me to know, he'll tell me. As far as Mr. Mellark not helping my mom, I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe he did help her and we just don't know about it. The only ones who know for sure are Mom and Mr. Mellark, and I can't exactly ask either one of them. Best not to dwell on what-ifs and why-nots.
"Do you think he knows now?"
"Maybe. I think he probably does. Katniss, I'm not trying to be dishonest, but I really don't think we should tell him about the certificates. It's one thing to wonder, but to have it confirmed is a whole different thing. He just lost your mom, the house, he's going through a divorce, found out Mom, well, you know… and you guys… and the bakery…."
"Wait," I interrupt, narrowing my eyes in concern. "What about the bakery...?"
"Let's just say sales haven't been great. We're barely making a profit, and that usually only comes with the holidays and commissions. Everyday business? Not so much. Hard to compete with big corporate stores with cheap, generic bakeries. And then with all the bad publicity this town is getting…. But hopefully things will turn around soon. They usually do around this time of year." He shrugs, but I can tell it has him seriously worried. "Anyways, I just think we should keep this between us. I don't think another loss would be good for him right now."
"I wasn't planning on saying anything anyway. Nothing can change the past, and bringing it up now is kind of pointless," I reply. "There's enough pain to go around right now, no use creating more."
While there's no word at all concerning the whereabouts of Snow, FBI agents come and go throughout the next couple days as well as social workers.
They question me and Prim separately and then together about our life with Snow, about details we wrote in our journals, the extent of the abuse—our injuries, they ask us about school and our knowledge of Coin's criminal acts. They ask us everything and anything possible, sometimes asking the same questions 2 or 3 times—only reworded as if trying to catch us lying. Eventually it gets to the point where I'm frustrated and angered because it feels as if we're under interrogation. I know they're just doing their jobs, but things are hard enough as it is without having to prove how bad our lives were.
As if to make their questioning me to tears okay, they bring in a counselor afterwards who causes me to cry even more. It's stupid, really. The guy just comes in and asks how I am, how I feel about everything that happened to me and what's going on now. I tell him I'm worried about my mom and Prim and Peeta and everyone else… but he redirects me, shaking his head, asking again how I feel. About me and not about everyone else. Just me. How do I feel? Well, I feel like a mess of everything and nothing. I feel like everything is standing still and moving too fast, and I don't quite know how to explain that and I know no one can fix how I feel because how I feel is a result of life, of something I—and no one else—can control. So it's just pointless to try.
So I wind up crying like a baby, for some odd reason. But apparently, according to the counselor, this is a good thing… 'letting it out.'
I was happy to see him leave.
Prim was apparently just as emotionally drained by the ordeal. She had talked to the counselor before I did and when I came out of the room, she had already fallen asleep on the couch. I find this a blessing in disguise, though, because it saves me from having to discuss our discussions with each other. I've had enough of 'feeling' and 'talking' for the day.
I find Peeta in his room, painting again. Without saying anything, I walk in, heave a sigh, and fall backward onto his bed.
"That bad, huh?" Peeta asks. I say nothing; I just nod and bring an arm over my eyes. "Want to talk about it?"
I shake my head.
A moment later, I feel the bed shift as he lies down beside me, kisses me on the cheek, takes my free hand in his and kisses it, then snuggles closer. We just lie there together for a while, not saying anything, knowing nothing needs to be said. His presence beside me is the only comfort I need.
I'm nearly asleep when I hear a quiet knock and the sound of a man clearing his throat. I lift my arm off my face as Peeta quickly sits up.
"Sorry to interrupt," Mr. Mellark begins hesitantly, "I was just wondering if I could speak to Katniss alone? It's rather important."
I finally sit up to see him looking as if he might just break down into tears at any moment.
"Why do you have to speak to her alone? She tells me everything anyway," Peeta asks a bit defensively.
His dad exhales loudly and rubs his eyes. "I don't doubt that one bit, Peeta, and she can tell you anything I'm about to say if she wishes to—which she probably will. But for her sake, and for mine, I'd rather talk to her about this alone."
My gut twists at the urgency of Mr. Mellark's words. There's no doubt in my mind that whatever he's going to tell me is not going to be good news. I take a deep breath to prepare myself, though I know it'll do no good, and squeeze Peeta's hand before releasing it, letting him know I'm okay. Without a word, I stand up and follow Mr. Mellark down the hallway. He opens the room that used to be Mom's, closes the door behind us, then gestures for me to sit down on the bed as he takes a seat in the rocking chair directly across from me.
"I'm… not sure how to begin," he says, wringing hands.
"Just tell me what you need to. At this point, nothing you say will surprise me much."
He looks up at me and nods.
"Katniss, dear, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, as if I don't care for you and your sister. Your well-being means a lot to me—"
"But?" I know there's a 'but' coming; might as well skip the pleasantries. Still, my heart races and my stomach is doing somersaults.
He pauses and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for what he's about to say.
"But... it's not safe for you here. Sure, it's safe in this apartment, but you and I know you can't live behind these walls forever, kept as some prisoner to safety. It's not feasible, it's not right, and it's not fair to you or your sister. You deserve a happy, normal life, where you can go outside without fear. You'll never have that here. Even if they catch your stepfather. Even with Coin and all those corrupt cops behind bars. They didn't work alone, and they'll always have pals in and around town that fly under the radar—you know what I'm saying?"
He looks at me for an answer. I nod, because I know everything he's saying is true. We can't stay here forever, but I also don't know where else we could go that's any better.
"This is also about Peeta. I know he loves you, it doesn't take a genius to see that. He'd do anything for you, even put himself in danger—even if he thinks he's not. Now, I'm not chastising you for the things he does, but I know you care for him too and that you worry about his safety as much as I do. I don't want him mixed up in this any more than he already is."
Tears immediately fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks before I can help it. I should've known this was coming; I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. With trembling lips, I whisper as evenly as I can, "So you want me to break up with him?"
His eyes widen and he shakes his head, "No. Goodness, no. That's not what I'm saying at all."
I stare down at the floor, feeling slightly relieved as I quickly wipe my cheeks. "Then what are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is, I'd fight for custody of you and your sister with all my might if I thought it was the best thing for you two. But I know it's not. You deserve to live somewhere where you can have freedom, as well as be loved and safe and cared for—"
"And where exactly is that supposed to be?" I bitterly snap.
"Katniss, do you remember your grandparents?" he asks slowly.
I narrow my eyes and reply, "I remember my mom's parents being hateful and racist towards my dad, basically disowning her, and not really having much to do with us. I haven't seen them in years. They didn't even have the decency to come to my dad's funeral."
"No, not them. They'd be the last people I'd have you live with. Besides, from what I've heard, your mother's parents are both in nursing homes now," Mr. Mellark states, clenching his jaw at the mention of them. Obviously he doesn't care for them much either. "No, I mean your father's parents?"
"They live in another state, or at least they used to. I only saw them a handful of times..." I reply. "I doubt Prim remembers them at all."
"But they treated you well when you saw them? I met them years ago and they seemed like lovely people, and your mother and father always spoke very highly of them—"
I vaguely remember a really affectionate dark-skinned woman who always wore pretty hats that she'd let me try on. She'd sit me on her lap and tell stories and always brought us presents when she visited a couple times a year with grandpa, a blond-haired, plump man who always seemed to have a smile on his face, but never really said much. Then again, my memories of them are colored through the lens of a happy little girl who didn't yet understand how evil and horrible some people can be. Who knows, by now they may have gone completely senile.
I look down at my trembling fingers and ask the obvious, "And you want us to go stay with them?"
He releases a breath and nods, looking as if a ton of bricks had just been lifted off his shoulders. I should be relieved that the memories I have of these people are good, that we're not going to someone we don't know or who I know to be horrible, but at the moment all I feel is abandonment and resentment.
"Well, I doubt they want us. They haven't seen us in years. If they cared—"
"They do care. Very much, actually. I spoke with your grandmother a couple times over the last few days and—"
"You did?" I ask in an accusing manner. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I wanted to be sure I was making the right decision," Mr. Mellark calmly answers. "And I have no doubt that I am."
"What did they say?" I manage to whisper. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my rapidly beating heart. I knew this was coming, that we'd have to leave, but to have it actually happen so soon….
"That they can't wait to see you two again, that they've wondered where you've been all these years. They tried looking for you—"
"Yeah, well they obviously didn't try hard enough. We were just down the road from where we used to live."
"You were just down the road, but very much hidden. The place apparently wasn't even registered as an address, and your Mom's name had changed… her phone number had been disconnected, all their letters were returned. They tried searching for you guys on the internet in recent years, but that didn't really turn anything up either. Your grandmother was in tears as soon as I mentioned your name. She wanted to talk to you so much, but I told her I'd have to speak with you first. They'd love more than anything for you to come live with them. You even have cousins around your age that live there… it sounds to me like a perfect new start for you and your sister. It'd sure save you both from the grief and worry you'd continue to experience if you stuck around here."
I nod, feeling numb all of a sudden. I know he's right. There's no reason to fight this. If it turns out to be horrible, all we have to do is wait until May. In any case, I'm not going to force Mr. Mellark to fight for us when he apparently doesn't want to.
"Where do they live?"
"Maine," he answers with a small smile, "close to the ocean, I'm told. It isn't that far away, it's about a 15 hour drive. Even quicker if you take a plane. It's not far at all for Peeta to come see you, which I assure you he likely will the first chance he gets… but the most important thing, it's far enough away to keep you safe."
I swallow and nod, then ask as strongly as I can, "When do we leave?"
"As soon as possible. I've already spoken with the FBI and Social Services about this, in fact they're the ones that found your grandparents and brought it up to me. They're arranging for a special flight for you and your sister by next week. They're sending people with you to ensure your safety and arrival. That's the main reason why they've been asking you so many questions these last few days—they wanted to get your statements, the details, in full before you leave so you can start fresh when you get there."
"Okay," I reply, my voice trembling as much as my hands. "What about Mom, though? If she gets out—"
"I'll take care of her, you have my word," he reassures strongly. "But Katniss, you and I know she's probably not coming home for a while. She still has a lot of recovering to do. I'll visit her weekly, though, and we'll keep in contact—I'll keep you informed of her progress. And I want to be kept informed of how you and your sister are doing too, okay? If they treat you badly, I want to know about it. I'm doing this because I think it's for the best, and I believe it is with all my heart, but if I'm wrong… let me know and I'll do anything I can to change it, okay?"
I nod and ask quietly, "Does Peeta know about this at all?"
"No. Not a bit. I wanted you to know first," he answers. "I'm not really sure how he'll react to the news, but I hope he understands it's for the best. Would you rather me tell him or would you like to?"
"I... I think I will. It should be me. I'll tell Prim too. I think we all kind of saw this coming anyway, we just didn't know what to expect," I reply. "I also didn't think it'd happen so soon."
When I walk back into Peeta's bedroom, I see that he's already changed into his sleeping attire and is back at his canvas.
"Still painting the lake?" I ask as brightly as I can, but it comes out wobbly as tears immediately fill my eyes. The lake is just another reminder of what I'll never see again. The town of Panem holds so many horrible memories, and for years all I dreamt of was getting as far away from it as possible. Strange how now I can only remember the few good memories. It's like leaving the trailer, a place of nightmares, and yet still being nostalgic of the few beautiful memories of the woods surrounding it.
Like the trailer and the land it once sat on, when I leave here I don't see myself ever returning. Mr. Mellark was right; it'll never be safe for us here. The only reason I'd ever come back is for Peeta, and maybe to visit Gale—otherwise, there's nothing for me. I can't, with good conscience, bring Prim back here to live, knowing I'm potentially putting her in harm's way. I love Peeta and I love the bakery… I love every sweet moment we've shared together in this town.
But after I leave, there's no turning back. There's no coming back. I know there'll be tough decisions to be made about our relationship down the road, but I don't see any other way around it.
Hearing the quiver in my voice, Peeta quickly turns around and wraps his arms around me, bringing me into a hug.
"What's wrong? What did my dad say to you?"
I pull back and wipe my eyes as I sit down on his bed with a sniffle. He follows and sits down beside me, looking at me in concern for an answer.
"I'm going to go live in Maine with my grandparents. I leave by next week," I answer as quickly and evenly as I can. I hold my breath, and for one small moment, I think I'm going to be okay. But as soon as I breathe again, a sob comes with it. Once I start crying, I can't seem to stop.
For the next couple minutes, I find myself crying so hard into Peeta's chest that it takes my breath away. He whispers sweet assurances into my hair as he rubs my back and tries to calm me down, but I can't make out his words through my uncontrollable sobs.
Finally, I lean back and take a few shaky breaths to gain my composure. I look at Peeta to see he's crying too, and it makes me feel even more awful.
"Not if I can help it. I'll go talk to dad, okay? If anything, he owes it to your Mom—" he begins heatedly, his jaw clenching as he gets ready to stand up.
I place my hand on his shoulder and shake my head.
"Peeta… no. Wait."
His body relaxes as he searches my face. I hesitate as I don't know how to put what I need to say into words. A moment of heavy silence falls between us until he whispers, "Do you want to go…?"
Drawing a deep, ragged breath in, I shrug a shoulder.
"I… I think it's for the best, like your dad says. From what I can remember, my grandparents aren't bad people. But… it's so far away and I'm terrified. I don't know what'll happen. Or how to tell Prim. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to lose you. I want you to wait for me, but I can't expect—"
Peeta takes my hand in his and shakes his head.
"You can expect it. You'll never lose me, Katniss. Don't even think that, okay?" I nod, but I'm not entirely convinced. He must notice the doubt on my face because he continues more adamantly. "Distance for a few months is nothing. We have telephones, you know, and the internet… we can talk every day until we see each other again. And you're already pretty good at texting, we can do that all the time, anytime. And you better believe I'll be sending baked goods by the dozens. Like I told you before, I'm in this for the long haul… forever, as long as you want me—trust I'll always want you. I love you, and however long it takes, I'll wait for you."
I look up at him with a tearful smile, unable to find words—or my voice for that matter. He gently places his hands on the sides of my face, then leans down to capture my lips in a slow, tender kiss. As our mouths move languidly together, I feel the urge to cry all over again. God, I'm going to miss this—I'm going to miss him so much it hurts. I haven't even left yet, and I already feel the sorrow of separation.
"I feel the same about you, too, with the forever bit and all that," I whisper when we part. "You're right, though. It won't be that long. Whatever happens, we only have to wait till May. Then we can do anything we want after that."
"Exactly. Like I said, you're not alone in this. I'll help you every step of the way, in any way I can," he affirms, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and kissing my forehead. "We'll face whatever comes and we'll be together at the end of it. Things will work out, it'll just take a little bit of time. Good things come to those who wait, right?"
Of course it'll take time, but I don't believe for a minute that it'll feel like a 'little bit'. After all, bad things seem to happen in the blink of an eye and good things take forever.