"You little Everdeen bitch. You stay away from my son. I don't want any of your bullshit." I see her back twist away from me, and fear covers her face. She's afraid of me. Peeta's mother is afraid of me?

The small park grows cold and empty the more I realize Peeta's left.

I sit there for a second trying to organize my thoughts. What kind of bullshit did she mean? I was just about to fulfill part of my sexual fantasies. Were they really that prude down south?

The brick in my pocket begins to rumble against my thigh. I pull out my ancient phone to see that I have a new message.

Sorry bout that ;)

I try to type of a response, but I just can't figure out what I want to say. "Oh don't worry about it?"..."What the hell was your mom talking about?"..."Please take me now. I'm naked already."

No worries. Hope I didn't get you into any trouble.

I hit send and lean back into the bench. Something was going on here. And I was pretty sure that my mom knew the truth. The heat of my anxiety was resting on my shoulders, and I could feel every hair on my neck agitate, as if I had bugs crawling all over me.

dont give a flyin rats ass about Ma...meet me 2nite at the bottom of your hill? pwease?

My agitation evaporates instantly and I can't fight the smile.

fo sho.

I sure was spending a lot of my free time here with Peeta. Thank goodness for that.

wat does fo sho mean

By six o'clock I'm sitting on the old leather couch in the living room, holding my Nokia phone and checking the time every ten seconds. We never set an actual time for us to meet up, so it was safe for me to assume he would call me when he got off work and to the bottom of my hill.

But everything about today still bothered me. My odd job interview. The run in with his mother. Our kiss. The odd conversation we had. It was all enough to make me want to run up back north and back into Gale's apartment.

I hear the loose glass panes of the front windows shiver as the front door opens and shuts. Mom's light footsteps are enough to make the old floor boards creak and moan, making me feel as if the entire house would cave in on me.

Maybe she'd cook dinner? Should I have cooked dinner?

I step out into the hall, my ears searching for her voice. I hadn't had her come home to me in years, I was sure her habits of being too quiet had no changed.

"Mom?" I whispered. The hall was becoming dark with the November shadows and threats of winter. I could hear the nuances of movement coming in the foyer, but something told me to stand still. I felt the darkness on my shoulders.

The ambient hiss of quiet air came at me, filling my ears with heavy silence. I could feel my cheeks warming, and yet at the same time the back of my neck cooled with a frightened chill.

"Mom?" I spoke again, this time an audible edge to my voice. The house seemed bigger than a cathedral at this point, and it was as if I could hear my own echo mocking me.

And then I heard the front door open again, the elegant clacking of my mother's work shoes lightly caressing the hard wooden floor of the foyer.

"Prim? Katniss? I've brought dinner home!" She called out. I couldn't bring myself to move. I could have sworn I had heard someone open the front door, close it, and then walk into the house.

Suddenly, Prim's room upstairs sprung to life, and I heard her pitter patter of socked feet against the staircase as she moved down it to greet mama. When she emerged at the landing, catching sight of me in the hall, she stilled herself. She held my gaze, and like Peeta, she studied me.

When Prim was satisfied she made her way to the front of the house, and I heard them exchange frivolous greetings and conversation.

The house seemed normal again. No heavy silence, no impatient darkness. The hallway succumbed to its normal size, and there was no threat to me now. But had there ever even been a threat?

"I've brought your favorite." I heard mom whisper to me from the end of the hall. I hadn't noticed her walk there, but I felt my head nod.

The smell of buttery fried chicken began to flood my nostrils and made my head spin in the most pleasant way. Quick not to succumb to my mother's charms however, I heard myself mutter: "That's not my favorite any more."

Somehow in the darkness I could make out her eyes becoming glassy, and her lips twisting into a defeated ghost of a smile.

"Well next time I'll be sure to get your favorite. But for now, will it do?" Her voice is thick and glistening with apathy. Or is that not apathy, but hurt? Does she care what my favorite food even is?

My shoulders relax and I am defeated. I join her in the dining room and make myself a plate. Prim is pulling the meat off of her chicken leg, and ripping it into small pieces. It reminds me of a friend from high school, who was obsessed with being thin.

"Cheerwine?" Mama offers, handing me a tall glass of fizzing burgundy soda. I thank her softly and dig into my fare, regretting the fact that I told her it wasn't my favorite. Fried chicken always was and always will be the only food I ever crave. But I can't let her think she's getting to me. She still should suffer for the way she abandoned me.

We eat silently, and awkwardly. Both mom and Prim check their smart phones every five seconds, and soon I am fidgeting in my seat. I left my Nokia on the couch in my haste to meet whoever it was at the door. Speaking of which, it could be very possible that there was someone in my house right now, watching me. Waiting for the moment to strike. I could feel their eyes on me, burning a hole in my neck.

Peeta. Peeta could have been calling me this whole time.

Without a word I get up, and run back to the living room, my socks sliding on the hard wood. Sure enough I have two missed calls and a text from his number.

I get out of work in ten minutes, I'll call you when I get to your hill.

I feel silly analyzing a text, but his tone is different. Usually he types like a thirteen year old girl, but this seems formal and urgent for him. I can't help but feel disheartened by it, knowing that our meeting tonight could end up as dark and stoic as our past two.

After thanking Mom for the food, I clean my dish and run up to the third floor and into my room. I catch my breath when I realize my lamp is unplugged. How could she remodel the attic and forget to replace the outlets? But why is this the only loose one? Stupid old houses.

I take a look at myself in the mirror, my hair is matted from sitting on the couch all day and I'm wearing pajamas. I quickly empty the contents of my dresser onto the bed, picking out a pair of jeans and a soft black tshirt. I own nothing nice save for the one outfit I wore to the interview. I'll have to ask Peeta if there was a mall around here. I can't wear the same outfit to work tomorrow. Maybe he'll take me tonight. The thought of debuting myself at a mall scares me and suddenly my confidence is depleted. I can feel the scowl on my face as I attempt a bit of makeup, and pull on an old pair of cream colored converse I had thrown in the closet.

My phone buzzes. I answer. He's there. I ask him about the mall, he offers to take me, but he hopes I don't mind riding in a ratty old pick up. I laugh. It makes me feel better.

The pickup really is ratty, the old kind of ratty where there is a layer of grime on top of a lit up old radio.

I lean back into the torn up leather seat, letting my forehead lean on the glass of the window.

"Sorry bout earlier." He breaks the silence. His voice is deep, with a hint of an accent. He seems to have been thinking about it all day. I smile.

"'S'alright." I whisper. I chance a look at him, only to see him gripping the steering wheel all too tightly. "Peeta..." He relaxes and looks over at me. He's got bags under his eyes that are from way more than a hard day's work. "You alright?" He exhales and throws his blinker on. The gravel below us seems to scrape the undercarriage of the truck, and I immediately feel guilty about saying something.

"I'm...I'm not alright." I turn my body in the seat and wring my hands. He turns toward me also, but seems reluctant to continue. I hold my breath and wait.

"You don't know anything about this? Of course you don't...but you've been...feeling it haven't you? I shouldn't take you to the mall Katniss. I shouldn't be taking you anywhere." his words confuse me and I want to scream. What the fuck is he talking about. He must see it in my expression, because he puts up his hands relenting to my will.

"I'm gonna take you Katniss. I'm gonna take you- relax. I just, I just want to tell you a 'lil bit bout what's happenin' 'round here now." I nod my head, hopeful and wanting. Time for answers! Yes! This is it.

"I want to tell you but I can't. I'm...I'm supposed to invite you to church on Sunday. They...they want me to." I can feel my scowl returning.

"Church? "THEY" want you to take me to church."

"They're...they're a demanding bunch yes."

"Who is they?" He grips the steering wheel.

"I'm sure you'll be finding out real soon now..." I resign into my seat. My breath releases fog into the air.

The trip to the mall had helped remove the darkness from Peeta. As soon as he parked he was like himself, or rather, the sweet version of I had come to miss. I wasn't sure who was who anymore. Mister serious, dark Peeta; the man who pulled at his hair and smoked his frustrations away. Or the sweet, light Peeta- the boy who had a kind silliness to his voice that made my heart flutter. Both held a fascination for me that I just couldn't quite understand. I was undeniably attracted to both sides of him in contending ways.

I had managed to get a few outfits that would last me through the first few weeks of work. Just things to mix and match, nothing too fancy, nothing too casual. It made me feel a bit more settled in, to traverse the nearly empty mall the next town over. I felt a little bit more normal.

We grabbed takeout before he took me home, and there was not a trace of the frustration on his features from earlier. It made me happy to see him like that. I smiled most of the night.

But again, he wouldn't drive me up the hill. I could see the guilt in his face as he parked at the foot of it, maybe he wanted to. Maybe his transmission couldn't handle it. Whatever it was I really didn't want any excuses of his to ruin my mood. I smiled and said good night. We promised to take lunch together the next day so he could hear all about my first day on the job.

Everything felt somewhat normal to me as I trudged up the hill- hung out with a guy at the mall, rode around in an old car, made lunch plans. They all seemed like normal activities for a young woman my age.

Mama was working in her office with the door open. She acknowledged me with a nod as I returned home.

"Peeta wants me to go with him to church this Sunday." I whisper. Something about the question seems heavy.

She lowers her pen and removes the glasses from her nose.

"What was that?" Her voice is light and fluttery, almost weak.

"Peeta...He wants me to come with him to church this Sunday."

"Peeta wants to take you?"

"Yessum." She lowers her glasses to the desk and presses her lips together.

"Well alright. Why not I guess."

Her tone sounds resigned and flat. She's giving in to something. Little did I know, that at that time, that she was giving in to me.