It's difficult to confront a loved one. The debate on whether she should get involved or not gnaws at Domi's brain like a parasite. Should she talk to Finnick about what had happened? Watching him break down last night broke her heart, and she isn't sure she can handle seeing him so broken again. He's one of her best friends, and has been around for so long, she could never imagine life without him. As far as she's concerned, he's family. On-the-other-hand, however, Myka has also become someone dear to her heart. She loves him like a brother and can't believe any of this is happening. He would never hurt Finnick. He couldn't- could he?

Everything is a mess.

Her mind races as she stares at the wall opposite to her, lost in thought. Her fingers tentatively stroke and curl around Finnick's soft hair in her lap. Finnick, his body sprawled out on the leather couch like a lazy cat, stares up at the ceiling and looks for abstract imagery in the textured, light gray paint. If he focuses enough, maybe he'll be able to forget about his life. If he pretends not to care, maybe he won't feel as if his whole world had just been shattered into tiny, broken pieces by the man he may have very much fallen in love with.

No, Finnick does not fall in love. He is a God- one that cannot be touched or attained by anyone! Especially not some mysterious boy with no direction in life. Myka is nothing. He is no one. He is beneath every living morsel this earth has ever known; lower than dirt.

He catches Domi looking down at him and smiles at her, but his smile fails to reach his eyes. She can see right through him, but ignores it, hoping to ease some of the pain. She smiles back and resumes stroking his soft, sandy hair.

"I have an idea," Finnick suddenly announces.

"Oh?" Domi asks, anticipating a bad idea.

"I'm having a house party. Tonight," he explains. "You in?"

It's a bad idea- horrible, in fact, but the desperation is clear in his face. He needs a distraction. "Sure, honey. I'll be there."

"Good," Finnick says. "Invite whoever you want… preferably hot and single."

"But what if-" Domi starts, but catches herself before the words escape, and shuts her mouth tight.

"What if what?" Finnick asks.

Domi shakes her head, already regretting opening her mouth in the first place. "Nothing, honey."

But Finnick doesn't let it go. Whatever is on her mind, he wants to know. "What is it?" he presses again, more firmly.

"It's just… is this really the best idea, love? What if-" she hesitates, lightly biting at her pale bottom lip. "What if Myka-"

"Doesn't matter," Finnick interrupts, his false smile instantly dropping from his face. The mask of indifference falls for a moment and exposes the hurt and pain he tries so desperately to hide. He pulls himself off her lap and into a sitting position beside her. His light eyebrows knot as if in deep thought, and the corners of his lips fall into a frown. "He's dead to me," he hisses before pulling away from her gentle hands. "I'll see you at eight."

Without so much as a glance back, he leaves.

And Domi still doesn't know what to do. She looks down at her shaky hands, momentarily lost in thought, and decides she needs to do something about all of this. She dials Myka's number, but it goes straight to voicemail. The phone is turned off. She doesn't know if the phone is dead or if Myka just doesn't want to be contacted. So she tries her next best option and calls Gale.

"Domi?" A hoarse voice asks on the other line.

"Gale! Are you alright, pumpkin?"

There's a short silence before he answers. "I don't know."

"What's wrong?" Domi asks, nervous and anticipating more bad news.

"I don't know if I can tell you over the phone. They could be listening," Gale mutters.

Domi freezes in place, torn between concern and anger. "Gale, listen to me- Are you high?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Gale demands. "No, I'm not fucking high! Or low! Or… fuck, I haven't taken anything! Are you one of them? Have they gotten to you, too?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry if I upset you, sweets. I'm probably just psyching myself out with everything that's going on, and-"

"Okay, good. We need to talk. I think they've gotten to Myka."

"What? What do you mean?" Domi asks. Her chest feels tight.

"He didn't come home! And I called him, you see? I called him, but it was another voice. It wasn't him, and he wouldn't let me talk to him!"

"Who wouldn't let you talk to who, Gale? I don't understand."

"Myka! He wouldn't let me talk to Myka! It was another voice!" Gale yells, frustrated by the lack of understanding.

"Okay, okay!" Domi says. "I get it, pumpkin. The other man, what did he say?"

"'My pet is currently indisposed. I'll have him call you when he wakes up.' It's a lie. It's a lie, and I know it! They got to him, Domi! They got to him and nobody believes me! But you believe me, right?"

Pet? Indisposed? Myka was having an affair with somebody else? The letdown is worse than Domi originally thought. She isn't just upset with him, no. She thought she knew him better, despite having only known him for a short while. She thought they were like brother and sister. But, obviously, Myka was not the man she had been led to believe he was. With a heavy heart, she sadly whispers, "I… I have to go, Gale."

"No. No! Domi! You have to believe me! Why doesn't anyone believe me? They got to him, Domi! They got to him and you were supposed to help me find him! You fucking-"

But Domi doesn't hear anymore of Gale's ranting. She hangs up the phone.

Several hours later, Domi finds herself back in her garage. She times her drumming in tune with Thresh's bass. You wouldn't think a set of drums and bass alone would sound this good, but it's wonderful. It would be nice, however, if they had a guitarist to play with them.

Laying down his instrument, Thresh looks over at Domi and nods his head to her. "You okay?"

"Huh?" Domi asks, obviously distracted. "Oh, yeah. Just thinking."

Thresh nods his head, already guessing what's on her mind. "You talk to any of them lately?"

Domi lets out a loud sigh and blows a stray hair away from her bright, red lips. "They're all fighting, and I don't know what to do to help. Finnick's pretending nothing is bothering him, and he wants to have this big, wild party to cover his hurt."

"You mean because of Myka?" Thresh asks.

"You know about it?" Domi asks, her voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah," Thresh admits with a sigh. He takes a seat on the leather couch. "He came by before he went to the club. Said Myka might be cheating on him. He left pretty panicked. Thinks he and Gale have been fooling around."

"Oh my goodness," Domi groans. "I knew there was more to it! He seemed to have it out for Gale for some time now. I thought it was because he was a little jealous that he and Myka are so close. They're like brothers. How could he possibly believe-?"

"I don't know," Thresh admits. "Not really my business, but he said he talked with some asshole Myka knew at some diner and that's where it all went downhill."

"Did you happen to catch a name?" Domi asks hopefully.

Thresh shakes his head. "No. And I haven't heard much since, except for the text from Fin about that party. So it's true? Myka cheated on Fin?"

"I… yeah. Gale said he talked to the other guy on the phone. I guess he tried to dial him, but his… er… the other guy picked up."

"Ouch." There's a moment of silence before something begins to bother Thresh. "What did the other guy say, anyway?"

Domi shrugs her shoulders. "Something about Myka being indisposed and he'd have him give Gale a call back when he woke up."

"That's weird," Thresh admits.

"Weird?" Domi asks, confused.

"Yeah, weird. I mean, don't get me wrong- I don't know Myka all that well. It's not like we've hung outside of our jam sessions," Thresh explains, "but he's definitely not an idiot. Don't you find it strange that he'd be so blatant about it?"

"About what, honey?" Domi asks, not following.

"Cheating on Fin," Thresh answers. "It says something when you don't go home, right? Nobody's going to believe he just crashed at a friend's place when his best friend lives with him and all of his other friends are mutual friends of his boyfriend."

It takes a moment for it to process, but Domi finally understands. "I get it. You're right. It is weird, but what else can we do? His phone's off, and we have no way of finding anything out until he goes home or decides to contact one of us." She looks down at her leopard print pumps, taking everything in. "I just hope Finnick doesn't do anything stupid until then."

"So kitty cat, are you coming to my fabulous party tonight? Promise you won't be disappointed," Finnick says with a wink.

Katniss rolls her eyes, not all that interested in another one of Finnick's grand parties. The last one she went to made her so uncomfortable that she almost vomited. There were so many drunk people grinding against one another, half-naked and exchanging saliva with so many other people it was a wonder nobody got sick… or pregnant, for that matter. She shudders at the memory. "I don't think so, Finnick. Think I'm just going to relax at the house."

"Oh, come on, Katniss!" Finnick whines. "It won't be anything like the last one, and you can bring Madge and Rue. Besides, I noticed you've been down and I think this would be good for you."

"Good for me? Or good for you?" Katniss asks with a glare.

It catches Finnick off guard. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Sorry. Forget I said anything. You're right. I'm just fed up."

There's a long moment of silence between them before Katniss continues. "Gale and I used to be so close, but ever since Domi came into the picture, I never see him anymore. He's changed. I don't know what's gotten into him, but he was never this bad. I don't even know when it all went wrong."

She looks up at Finnick, her eyes begin to water. She sucks in a heavy breath. "What happened? Is it my fault? Did I do this to him? I just don't understand how he became this monster! And I know it's a horrible thing to say, but he really has become a monster! A monster, and it's probably all my fault!"

"Katniss," Finnick coos. He places his hand on her shoulder, and looks into her flowing gray eyes. "It's not your fault. I don't know what's going on with Gale, but it definitely isn't you. You're a terrific person, and Gale's an idiot not to see that, okay? He's an idiot. Don't beat yourself up for him. You don't deserve this pain."

Katniss takes a deep breath and wipes her tear stained face with the sleeve of her forrest green sweater. She nods quickly. "Okay."

"That's my girl!" Finnick says with a smile.

"It's not your fault either," Katniss suddenly says.

Finnick is about to ask her what she means, but then she begins to explain.

"I heard about your boyfriend. I'm really sorry."

"I don't have a boyfriend," Finnick grunts. "Anyway, why are we talking about nobodies? We've got a party to get started! I'll see you later, okay? Don't think about anybody but yourself for once. Everything will be great- No! Better than great! Everything will be just perfect. Later, kitty."

A vibrating buzz sounds through the air. Cato picks up his phone and reads the text message from one of his friends. He lifts an eyebrow, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. Though his moods have drastically improved since the surgery, he finds he can still be irritated by his circle of friends.

"You okay?" Gem asks while putting away the dishes he'd just used to make pancakes.

"Yeah," Cato answers casually. "That over-achieving Ken doll from school is having some party tonight. Glimmer asked if Peeta and I were going. You know, because I'm apparently supposed to be much better the day after having a brain surgeon slice my head open."

That gives Gem a chuckle. "Not the brightest crayon in the box, is she? Beautiful, but she was never one of my favorite friends of yours."

"She's not my friend. I just put up with her because she's Marvel's girlfriend," Cato explains. He isn't sure how long that will last, but chooses to refrain from mentioning anymore of the matter. He sets his phone down and reaches for his glass of orange juice.

"That makes sense," Gem smiles. He puts away the last of his dishes, pats his damp hands on his sweatpants. "By the way, your school called. Looks like your parents forgot to tell them you were out. They said you missed mandatory counseling. What's all that about?"

"Please tell me you told them to fuck off," Cato groans. "The sessions are bullshit anyway. The counselor, Haymitch, is a real fucking tool. All because of that fucking faggot that used to live here."

"Myka?" Gem suddenly asks with interest. He tries to pretend he doesn't care, but Cato can see very clearly how excited his uncle is. "I thought he was put back into the system?"

"He was," Cato explains with a grunt. "He was taken in by these low-life drug addicts. Suits him better."

"No doubt they're just looking to take the money that comes with watching over him. I think they actually pay more when the kids are older. Desperate to place them, I bet. So what happened between you two?" Gem asks, taking a bite out of his toast with jam.

"Does it matter?" Cato scoffs with disgust. "He's a fucking tool."

"Cato," Gem says in a stern tone that only a select few have ever seen. Though only a few inches taller than Cato, he looks incredibly intimidating. It's a strange sight from the chipper, happy, mellow man he usually is. He would never lay a hand on his nephew, but even though he isn't as toned as he used to be, he still carries the body of a very strong man that obviously had a very muscular physique in his youth.

"I don't know why you still stick up for him," Cato admits with a sad sigh. He reaches for his orange juice and pretends not to be so upset.

Gem sees right through it. A heavy feeling drops in the pit of his stomach. Guilt. "I would never pick somebody else's side. You're my nephew." He takes a seat next to Cato. "I don't say it much, but I love you. You're like a son to me, Cato."

"I am?" Cato asks. It's the first time his uncle has ever referred to him as something like a son. His chest and cheeks feel a little warmer. He tries to convince himself that it's the sunlight peeking through the window warming up the room, but deep down he knows he's happy to finally hear those words. He'd never felt accepted by his own parents.

"C'mon, you practically live here. I've known you since you fit in my one hand." Gem looks down at his right hand, remembering the first time he held his nephew, the day he was born. He really did fit in one arm. He was a small baby, and Gem knew he would always love that boy.

Cato tries to suppress a smile. He could live in this moment.

But the mood changes instantly when Peeta drags himself into the kitchen, his hand on his forehead, moaning.

"Whoa there, buddy," Gem laughs. "You look like you got hit by a train or something. Sit down."

"Yeah," Peeta mumbles. "My head is killing me." And it really does feel like it. He's never had a real hangover before. Not one this bad, anyway. His brain feels like mush inside his head, with several tiny needles poking any solid matter that may remain.

The awful feeling returns to Cato's stomach. He still can't place it, but it makes him feel very sick. He shakes off the uneasiness and gestures for Peeta to sit next to him. "Come sit down. Uncle Gem made pancakes."

Peeta does as he's told and plops into the chair right next to Cato. "I'm not very hungry. I'm not sure I could keep it down," he admits.

Gem hands him a glass of orange juice. "Here, drink this. You need something in your stomach."

"Thanks," Peeta says, accepting the juice. He brings the glass to his pale lips and takes a small sip. At least he doesn't feel entirely nauseated. In fact, the juice seems to help quite a bit.

"You do look bad," Cato admits. "You look like-" but he doesn't finish his sentence. He looks at his uncle with a confused expression. Gem looks away, pretending he hadn't noticed.

"I think… Peeta and I should get going soon," Cato announces after a moment of silence has passed.

"Is everything okay?" Gem asks. He looks over at Peeta, trying to find any clues, but Peeta buries his face into his hands, willing the pain in his head to just go away. He's completely oblivious to the new tension in the room.

"Yeah," Cato answers. His tone has changed into something more distant and cold. "Need to take Peeta home."

"Why don't you two just stay here?" Gem offers. "Peeta looks like he could use some more rest. And you haven't exactly healed from your surgery yet, my man."

A feeling of anger just barely rises in the pit of Cato's stomach, but it quickly dies back down. Since the surgery, he's become much more calm, even rational. His doctor had explained his temper and mood swings were probably an effect of the tumor pressing on his brain, but he never would have guessed it had made so much of an impact on his life. How much would everything change for him? Will his personality be completely different? Will he have the same friends? The same interests? Would anything change?

Rather than dwell on the unknowing, he stops those thoughts and puts his focus back onto Peeta. His uncle was right, Peeta really looks terrible and could probably use more rest. And if he's honest with himself, he knows he shouldn't be so quick to get out of the house so soon after surgery. "Alright, you win. Peeta, do you want to lay down?"

A moment of silence passes by. Peeta hadn't heard any of the conversation, not with the constant throbbing in his head.

"Peeta?" Cato tries again, gently touching his shoulder.

Peeta finally looks up at him with blood shot eyes, pale skin, and sweat on his forehead. "Huh?"

"I asked if you want to lay down. Or do you want me to take you home?"

"Oh," Peeta breathes in a harsh breath and flops his forehead down against the table. "Don't care. Just want the headache to go away…."

Cato's light eyebrows knot in concern. He isn't sure what the best option is. Something isn't right. Something about this was just too familiar, but he pushes the feeling away and puts his attention back to Peeta, who is nearly falling asleep at the kitchen table. It's entirely possible he just came down with a flu or something.

Finally making up his mind, Cato stands up from the table and gently tugs on Peeta's arm, hoping to wake him. When Peeta doesn't react except to groan in discontent, he wraps an arm around his shoulder and carries him.