The music echoes through the garage and throughout the neighborhood. The technical skill was there, but something was severely lacking… the sound of a guitar. Thresh and Domi play their instruments beautifully. Lately, they'd been more inspired to write music, create something magical, and it all began with their jam session in Cinna's art class.
Finnick is still sulking in the corner of the garage, not really paying too much attention to the new sound. Truth be told, it was absolutely breathtaking, but all he could think about was the event that took place on campus in his car. He still couldn't figure out what he had done wrong to scare Myka away like that. He tried to push it to the abyss in his mind, but it constantly tickled his brain, itching with an annoying sensation.
"What do you think?" Domi asks the auburn haired teenager. They'd just performed a song she and Thresh had spent the last couple days working on, something soft and sweet.
Finnick looks up from the thread on his jeans he'd been picking it, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Domi and Thresh look at him, waiting for a reply. "Sorry, Dom. What did you say?"
"I asked what you thought… about the music, pumpkin." She says softly. She could tell he wasn't himself today.
"Oh… it was great, you guys." Finnick mumbles before picking at the loose thread in his jeans again. Thresh and Domi share a look before he decides to take a break, setting his bass aside and going inside the house to grab something to drink. Domi walks over to Finnick and starts massaging his hair, planting soft and loving kisses on the top of his head and face.
"Little dove, talk to me. What's bothering you?" she asks, her fingers trailing down his hair to his shoulders. She places her cheek on his shoulder and plants a single kiss on his jaw, waiting for him to answer.
He takes a deep breath, sighing. "I think I messed up, Dom." When she stays put and doesn't say anything, he understands she's gesturing for him to continue. "I kissed Myka in my car today. He kissed me back, so I thought he wanted me. But when I tried to take things further, he freaked out and ran."
She giggles into his neck. "Oh, honey… you're so darling. I'm sure he likes you just as much as you like him, but let's face it, baby, this isn't your playing field."
"What do you mean?" he asks. It didn't make much sense. If there was anything Finnick was good at, it was sex; he knew it like no other. How many people begged for him, convulsed at just his touch?
"I mean," she starts, "You're kind of a tease, sweetheart. You know how to get a prize, but you don't know how to keep the prize. How long do your relationships last? A couple days at most? Myka isn't looking for a quick fuck. He wants the real thing; you don't know how to give that."
Finding offense to the comment, Finnick gives her a childish glare, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not a quick fuck. Any girl- any boy- would kill to have me as their boyfriend."
Domi frowns, her red lips pouting just the slightest. "That's not what I was saying, dove. I know you'd make a great boyfriend, but you don't know how to communicate that. If you want things to work out with Myka- learn his last name first."
"What does that mean?" Finnick asks curiously. He wasn't grasping the concept so clearly.
"It means take things slow before you try to jump into it. Let him show you when he's ready for the next step." She smiles.
Thinking it over, Finnick realizes she's right. Domi only ever wanted him, and all of her loved ones, to be happy. She'd never go out of her way to hurt anyone or lie to her friends. When she offered advice, it was because she genuinely cared. She's a good girl, and an even more amazing friend to have.
"Let's send him a text, shall we? You can start to fix whatever's going on between you two today." She winks before taking out her cell phone. When she finishes typing her message, she presses the send button and looks over at Finnick, who has an excited, boyish grin on his face. Maybe he could work things out with Myka after all.
Myka's phone vibrates on the dresser, the noise catching him by surprise. He looks down at Gale, who stirs in the bed with annoyance. He had passed out after drinking a bottle of vodka, hoping to forget his pain at least for a moment. Myka had taken off his shoes and pants, laying him down in the bed in a more comfortable position before covering him with one of the black blankets. When he had completed the task, he helped himself to another cigarette before strumming on his guitar again, creating different melodies on the black instrument.
Before he can reach for the cell phone, Gale mumbles indecipherable gibberish, his gray eyes fluttering open. Myka gingerly places the guitar down next to the bed, looks back down at Gale. "What was that?" he asks.
Gale stares at him for a long moment, their eyes burning into one another. "I love you, Myka."
Chuckling at the comment, Myka smiles at him. "I love you, too, Gale."
"No, Myka." Gale shakes his head. "I really love you."
"Dude, you're upset and you're drunk…" Myka rolls his eyes. "Not to mention straight as a perfect line. Go back to sleep."
"No, I'm not." Gale retorts, brows furrowed. How could he possibly know what's going through Gale's mind or how he feels?
"Yes, you are. You're just confused. Go to sleep." He repeats before he lay down next to Gale, picking up one of his textbooks and reading where he'd last left off. Minutes pass before he can hear the shuffling of the bed sheets. He doesn't budge from his spot, continuing to study. A moment passes by and suddenly Gale smacks his lips against his own.
"We're the same, Myka. I love you."
They share sad kisses and both cry as they never have before, finally letting the pain that had torn at the abyss of their memories release, until the exhaustion takes over and Myka falls asleep with Gale's arm wrapped tightly around him, face buried into the crook of his neck. Just as Gale is about to enter a state of unconsciousness, he hears his phone beep. He gently lifts himself from Myka's chest and steps away from the softly rising and falling form, and walks to his discarded pants that lay on the floor. Fetching inside one of the pockets, he pulls out his cell phone to see a notification of an unread message. It's from Katniss.
"I miss you. P.S. Peeta and I are worried about you. Please call me."
He doesn't call either of them. He doesn't want to talk to Katniss, to get her involved in this hell of his, and he's still upset at Peeta for trying to take advantage of him in his most vulnerable times. He had Myka here with him, whom understood his pain and let him do whatever he needed to his body. He turns his phone off and tosses it on to the dresser before crawling back into the bed, where Myka has shifted and turned around, and he wraps his arms around Myka's stomach, nuzzles into the back of his neck. He falls into a dreamless sleep and forgets all about Katniss and Peeta.
Over at the bakery, Peeta has just burned a whole mesh of pastries in the oven. His mind was so preoccupied that he forgot all about them, staring out the windows of the shop, watching people pass by as if the day were like any other good evening. When he finally remembered the sweets, he jogged over to the oven to find them already destroyed. As much as he would like to feel anything, he doesn't. He's empty and nothing matters, so he stares at the treats as they continue to bake into clumps of ash. He can't be bothered to do much else.
"Peeta, the bread!" a man shouts when he notices the smoke in the oven. But Peeta just shrugs his shoulders, uninterested.
The man turns off the oven and looks down at Peeta's otherwise lifeless form. "Do you want to talk about, son?"
The young baker shakes his head, wanting to be left alone. "Not really." He mutters under his breath.
"Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? Take a hot shower and relax a little. I'll take care of everything down here. Maybe you can call your nice friends and have them over or something." He offers; his identical blue eyes filled with concern, worried for his son. Peeta has only ever acted like this one other time, and it had everything to do with his last school. He fears it may have happened again.
"Thanks, Dad." Peeta mumbles before taking off his white and blue apron, placing it on a rack before walking up the stairs towards his bedroom. He doesn't have the energy to take a shower right now.
Dragging his feet into the clean and very organized room, Peeta collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling. It's the perfect metaphor for how he feels right now; dull, uninteresting, a blank canvas with small swirls of white on a bare wall. He should attempt to get out of this state of depression, but he can't will his body to make the simple movements to pick up his cell phone and call someone. He should have tried to call Katniss. She would have made him feel better. But in the back of his mind, he doesn't want to feel better. He wanted to know what was wrong with him, why he was the way he is.
He shouldn't have tried to kiss Gale. It was insensitive. Several hours had passed after that moment when he realized Gale may not have been gay at all. Taking a second glance at the Facebook page, he found that he misinterpreted it completely. And now it tore at the back of his mind, the thought of how Gale must be feeling right now. His friend wasn't upset today because he had been publicly outted, he was upset because his terrible past came back to haunt him for the world to see. He wanted to apologize and take back everything he said or did to him.
Cato still confused him as well. The kiss was always in the back of his mind. If it had meant anything, why didn't Cato say something about it? He was so strange, and Peeta just can't even begin to understand him. Why was he so nice to him? Why did he kiss him? Why wouldn't he talk to him about it? He did promise to talk about it "later," but how late would that be? A million and one emotions flow through his veins, driving him crazy. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
Picking up the cell phone from his blue bedspread, he angrily punches in different letters, typing out a text message. Even if he didn't get any answers today, he'd at least feel a little better getting back some of the control. He wouldn't let this swallow him anymore. He didn't deserve it.
Peeta presses the send button and suddenly a new feeling overwhelms him. He doesn't feel empowered or strong like he thought he would. Instead, he feels nervous and the anticipation squeezes his chest all over again. He needs to distract himself… now. He hastily shoves the cell phone back onto the bed and races for the bathroom. When he makes it inside, the nervousness takes over and he finds himself throwing up in the porcelain toilet. The contents of his stomach travel up his throat and down the toilet in an endless wave. When he thinks it's over, the smell gets to him, making him sick all over again and he starts to vomit again.
The gagging eventually settles down, the smell no longer making him nauseas. He flushes the toilet and watches the contents spin over and over again, quickly swallowing into the white porcelain until the evidence vanishes. He pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it into the corner of the room and slowly undresses until he's completely naked, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't want to look at himself anymore and slams his wrist against the bathroom counter. He'd meant to let out some steam, but it completely backfired, bruising his wrist instantly. He winces in pain before angrily stomping away from the mirror and into the shower where he lets the hot water work its magic in his muscles.
Right now, for the moment at least, he begins to feel a little bit better. The warmth soothes him, calming his nerves. He spends fifteen minutes underneath the showerhead before deciding to go back to his room. He turns the silver knob, shutting the water off, and lets the drops cascade down his body before grabbing a maroon towel waiting for him on the rack on the other side of the clear shower door. He wraps it around the lower half of his frame, not really concerned about drying off his chest or arms. He steps out of the tub, his feet touching the cold tile with a shiver. Letting himself back into his room, he gently shuts the door behind him to give him more privacy as he got dressed. He puts on a pair of blue sweat pants, not bothering with any undergarment, and tosses on a white tank top before he lay down on the bed.
Looking to his side, he notices Cato has replied to his message. He snatches the cell phone from the comforter and frantically reads the message before sending a reply.
Cato feels the vibration in his jean pocket, notifying him of a text message. He pulls out his cell phone and reads the message.
"Srsly Cato. I dont like when people toy with my emotions. So do you like me or not? What did that kiss mean?!"
Feeling his lips curve into a slightly devious smile, Cato types his reply.
"Calm down kid. Come to Glimmer's party with me and I'll explain everything."
Almost immediately after pushing the send button, Peeta has sent a reply.
"Only if you promise to tell me whats going on!"
He really wanted an answer didn't he? Not sure whether he meant to explain now or at the party, Cato picks the more convenient one, opting to make his intentions clear at the party.
"Great. I'll pick you up at 8 on sat. Later."
Satisfied with the conversation, Cato shoves his phone back into his pocket and heads back to the living room where Marvel is waiting for him. He'd almost forgotten the reason he went into the kitchen was to get sodas for the both of them. He hands one of the cold cans to the curly-haired heart-stopper and takes a seat next to him on the couch.
"Finally!" Marvel rolls his eyes. "I thought you got lost. Thought I might have to send a search party for you or something."
"Fucker, shut up. Now what was that shit about a bracelet?" Cato asks, popping open his soda can.
Marvel takes out a small box from his backpack and opens it, revealing a beautiful gold bracelet with a heart charm adorned with tiny clear diamonds on it. "What do you think? I know she'll want something special, but I'm not ready to give her a ring."
"Dear God, she wants you to propose?" Cato asks in disgust. He couldn't imagine getting married so young. Especially not to Glimmer, who drove him nuts.
"Yeah, but that's not happening any time soon." Marvel says. "I mean, I guess if there's anyone I should be with, it's her, but I have some shit I need to sort through first."
"You're joking, right? She's hot and all, but I hate to break it to you, man… she's a fuckin bitch." The two friends laugh in hysterics, knowing the cold-hard reality is that what he's said is true. The laughter dies down and Cato looks at Marvel in a serious manner. "I'm glad it's not a ring."
A gleam sparkles in Marvel's eyes before he tears his gaze away, looking at his feet. "Yeah…"
There's an awkward tension in the room until they hear the ring of the doorbell. Getting up from his seat, Cato makes his way to the front door. He opens it to see Gloss smiling at him. "Hey, man-"
"You! I'm going to fucking kill you, Gloss!"