Hello! Many, many thanks to everyone who read, favorited, or subscribed. As always, I also want to express my gratitude to all of you who left comments; to be honest, I felt like this story was in limbo, then I had some really wonderful reviews that changed the whole way I look at it. So thank you so much to Sara, Chanceawakening, MaidenAlice, ugh ugh ugh ugh (I totally thought your review was going to be a flame! XD), Thynerdgurl, Anon (I don't think there's a better compliment for a story like mine than the one you gave me, and I'm really honored), Thundarrgirl, Guest, ignitetheballoon, and Calliwishis.

Also, a Guest asked me if Haymitch was going to make an appearance all the way back on Chapter 3, and I've finally remembered to answer that. The answer is a very tentative 'yes,' but if things works out the way I expect, it won't be much more than a cameo, kind of like Finnick had in Chapter 1. I'm so scared of writing Haymitch.

As usual, I don't own Hunger Games.

XXX

The weekend's bad. I spend the entire thing alone, rotating between my dorm, the library, the cafeteria, and my tree. But it's the worst on Sunday night, when I return to my dorm room.

As soon as I swing the door open, every single one of my senses is instantly under attack. I hear Johanna's garbled voice and her moan, muffled by the lips of someone else who's sprawled out on top of her. I barely catch a glimpse of the boy's naked backside before I retreat, slamming the door shut behind me.

I don't bother waiting to see if the pair of them will stop long enough for me to grab my Calculus notes to study. And even if they do take it somewhere else, there's no way I'm going back in that room before I have to.

As usual, when I don't have anywhere else to go, I find my tree. It doesn't matter how murky and overcast it is outside, or that gusts of wind seek me in the shade, chilling me to my bones.

I stay there like that—curled up under my tree—for awhile. It could be thirty minutes, an hour, two, for all I know. But an unshakeable thought plants itself in my mind: I don't want to be here.

I don't want to sit in the shade, where every breeze sends me ducking for shelter in my arms.

But where else can I go?

I think about the library, which tends to be crowded on Sunday, or the living area on the first floor of my dorm. But I have nothing to do in the library but sit by myself. If I go back to the dorm, I'll have to see Johanna's friend or whoever he is walking out. My cheeks burn red at the thought.

There are small restaurants and study coves, and I wander around campus, looking for the right place. But they all seem foreign and unwelcoming, colder inside than out.

Eventually, a fireplace I spot through the windows of a café catches my attention. I move towards it, my mind slowly making the connection. It's a place with warm drinks and food and bread. It seems so opposite from every other gray place on campus that I have to wonder if I was subconsciously seeking it out the whole time.

Bon Café is packed, as I should've expected. The lights inside are dim, but the fireplace roars to life, bathing the room in constantly-moving shadows. My eyes automatically slide to the counter, where two workers are hurrying around, trying to please the giant line leading to the register.

I stand on my tiptoes, trying to get a good look at the employees' faces. One might be the cranky woman who told Peeta to do the dishes the first night I visited him here, but I can't but sure. Neither of them are people who'll recognize me. I'm not sure if that's a relief or not, but I work my way through the crowd, searching for faces I might know. Whether that's because I want to avoid them or sit with them, I can't say.

It isn't long before the room starts to feel claustrophobic and overwhelming, like it's all moving too fast and too slow at the same time. I take in the groups and couples and laughter, and that's all I need to realize I shouldn't have come here. That, for some indefinable reason, I don't belong here.

Someone opens the door at the front, all the way across the room from me, and I watch the people near it collectively tremble at the cold wind. I long for it now, because at least I know the wind outside will let me breathe.

The line pushes forward, trying to get away from the open doorway, and I realize how difficult it'll be to move against the group of them to get out. I'll have to nudge and push through, but I don't want any of them to notice me.

Verging on desperate, I try to stake out an alternate way to leave. Unless I want to dive through one of the closed windows, there isn't much I can do.

Then, I hear a door whisking open somewhere in the back room, behind the counter. I move towards the sound, lifting my head to get a better look.

I cautiously watch the two workers. If I can just slip through the open doorway behind them and disappear into the back, I'll be gone before anyone knows it. I'm sure students aren't supposed to go behind the counter, but everyone's distracted anyway. And there are only a few feet from the edge of the counter to the open doorway that leads to the other room.

Crouching a little, I smoothly slide through the doorway. I move to the right and glance behind me, making sure no one saw. The employees stay where they are up front, bustling around, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I turn back around to face the room. There are stacks of boxes that contain food ingredients and cleaning supplies. Various juices and energy drinks fill a refrigerator that's pressed up against the wall, and I see an oven in the corner. Tall, wooden shelves house so many rags, dishes, and cleaning supplies that I can't see over the top of them.

All in all, the place is organized and clean, with everything in its place.

As I move towards the door that leads outside, there's a sudden movement somewhere off to my left. I jump, sucking in a mouthful of air, and see Peeta's head peeking out from behind one of the shelves.

"Katniss?" he asks, disbelief written on his face.

The accusation passes my lips before I can stop it. "Were you hiding from me?"

"What?"

"What are you doing back here?"

He blinks. "I work here."

"I didn't see you doing anything up front. They need help up there."

Gingerly, he steps out from behind the shelf. "I got off work fifteen minutes ago, but I came back for my coat. Forgot it on the employee rack."

I step closer to him and glance around the corner, where he was standing before. Sure enough, I see what has to be his black coat hanging on a plastic peg drilled into the shelf.

"Oh." I clear my throat. "I was looking for—"

He smiles. "Bread?"

"A way out. It's packed up front." His eyebrows crease. Trying to be nonchalant, I give him a one-handed wave. "Looks like I found one, so I'll see you later."

Peeta's clearly confused, but he doesn't stop me. I open the backdoor and feel another gust of wind.

I turn back, ready to thank him for letting me go this way, but I see his attention's focused on the woman who must've entered through the doorway, silent as a cat, while my back was turned.

"What've I told you about bringing people back here?" she snaps at him, though her hard gaze locks on me.

Something about her sets my nerves on edge. The way she talks to him, the slightly disgusted look on her face as she eyes me up and down.

"He didn't invite me back here," I say flatly, setting my jaw. "I—"

"She's coming with me to pick up Taff," Peeta interrupts, and I frown, looking at him. "I just wanted to grab my coat before we left, and it didn't make sense to have her wait outside."

The woman purses her lips as her eyes flit back to me for a split second, before returning to Peeta. "If I catch her back here again, you're fired." She shoos him away, impatient. "Now go get your brother before they throw him out on the street."

Peeta nods and silently beckons for me to head out first. I do, but only after shooting the woman a dark look.

Once we're outside with the door shut tightly behind us, shivering in the wind, he finally pulls his jacket on. I watch, sick with guilt, and say, "You shouldn't have covered for me if it meant getting in trouble with your boss."

Peeta stops me, shaking his head. "She always says that. It doesn't matter, she won't fire me." He must notice the suspicion on my face because he shrugs. "She's my mom."

My head snaps back to look at the backdoor, as if the woman will be waiting there to yell at him again. "Your mom?"

"My dad owns Bon. We've got another one in the city, so he's always working there."

At a loss, I slowly begin to shuffle forward, away from the building. "She shouldn't talk to you like that."

Peeta doesn't seem to have an answer for me. There's a funny expression on his face, one I can't read, so I decide to move on. "Who did you say we're picking up?"

"My brother."

"From where?"

He rubs a hand over his face, then buries it in his curls. "He's getting out of the hospital."

I tense, eyes widening, and immediately remember what Gale wrote last time we spoke: Marvel said this kid got beat to hell on the edge of campus last week.

"What happened?" I ask, though my instincts tell me I'm overstepping my boundaries.

"Nothing." Peeta's voice sounds so tired that I regret asking. But he conjures up a lethargic smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Katniss."

He starts to walk away, and I pause, thinking about Peeta, his mother, what Gale said. I end up hurrying after him, following behind like a child. "I don't mind helping you move him out. If he has stuff he needs carried or...whatever."

Peeta squints at me over his shoulder, slowing his pace. "No, it's okay, thanks. I've got it."

I have no right to be annoyed by his refusal, but I am. "Well, I can't go back to my room, your cafe's out, and I'm sick of the library."

"Why can't you go back to your room?"

Sighing, I wish I could take the words back. The last thing I want to do is tell him what I saw, even though there's a chance I'm the only person left on campus who'd be embarrassed by it. When his curious look doesn't vanish, I half-heartedly answer, "My roommate had a guy there, last time I checked."

A few seconds pass, then he understands. His head drops, eyes jumping to the ground. To my surprise, there's a fresh red tinge to his cheeks. For the second time today, he seems unsure what to say in response. I don't help him this time.

Eventually, he mutters, "You can come if you want, but my brother's just going to sign some paperwork and change into the clothes I bring, then we're taking a cab right back here."

"I want to go." He raises an eyebrow, and I mirror the movement, saying, "Come on."

XXX

I made a big mistake, but it's not until a taxi drops us off at the hospital entrance that I realize it. If Peeta's brother was injured on campus, of course they brought him to the same hospital they took me. And I may not have been fully conscious when they brought me in, but the familiarity of the emergency room as we pass by it leaves my palms sweating.

Through the windows, I see an ambulance with flashing lights pull up, and my mind leaps to imagine all the possible scenarios. Is the person from a car accident, like my dad? A suicide, like the green-eyed man from the mental home I stayed in? Or maybe a drowning victim?

My legs feel like jelly underneath me, and the world starts to spin. The familiar itching that leads to new scars (or worse) when it catches me unaware swells up in my throat, consuming me. The world around me goes numb, and I struggle to remember why I'm here, how I got here, who I'm with.

I forget everything. Everything except the hospital, anyway. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't forget where I am and what it was like last time.

There were tubes and muffled voices, and a weight that made it impossible to breathe, let alone open my mouth to call for help.

Someone with a white glove held my hand.

At one point, I'd unsuccessfully tried to tell the doctors they might as well give up. I'm already gone, the voice inside my head had repeated, over and over. Sleeping without the dreams.

But, as I felt the constant pressure of that latex hand in mine until morning, they brought me back to the world.