a/n: as always, you guys blow my mind with all the support! thank you for all of the reviews, favorites and alerts! and thank you, as always, to Leigh for editing!
Slowly blinking her eyes open, Katniss shifted uncomfortably under the warm sheets, her legs tangled into the soft cotton; her skin, sheening with a slick layer of sweat, prickled from the humid air that made it hard to breathe, and she lazily wondered what time it was. It didn't matter today; Annie was back home and working her usual shift tonight.
She'd had a good night's sleep, her brain relenting to the persistent, sturdy wisps of exhaustion that wrapped themselves around her, a result from the lack of sleep in the past few nights. There were no dreams, not ones that could remember anyway, and she preferred the darkness of her dreamless nights to the terrors of her nightmare-filled ones any day.
She closed her eyes, the smell of something warm and delicious wafting through her nose, filling the air with a citrusy, tangy smell. It smelled a little bit like Peeta's room, and just the thought of the grungy basement, splashes of color bouncing off of the walls, the floor, brought the odd, tingly sensations back to the pit of her stomach that she was now becoming fairly accustomed to.
She pulled at her limbs, her toes and fingers outstretching in opposite directions as far her body would allow in hopes of escape the almost painful swirls in her gut, only tossing her head back against her pillow when her efforts had clearly failed.
Last night, the painting, the kiss, all played back in her mind and she felt the color drain from her face, her heartbeat thumping too loudly in her ears, beating rapidly under her chest, her toes, her fingertips.
She wanted to hide, of course she wanted to hide – hide from the feelings and hide from the emotions that she knew inevitably accompanied the feelings. These feelings were foreign, were strangers to her. This territory was completely uncharted, and now that she found herself in the midst of it, all she wanted to do was back-peddle, swim in waters that were comfortable, familiar, follow blindly into the direction of the wind that she knew all so well, a path she could follow without opening her eyes.
But she couldn't, not anymore. She knew that much. She had never had a boyfriend, not even anything close to it. But she knew what she felt the night before, and although it wasn't as familiar as the solitude she'd grown to love, nor as comfortable, it was something she wanted. It was something she wanted, not because it affected her survival, or the well-being of her sister. It was something that she wanted, the only thing she wanted that came without other strings attached or loose ends. It was something she wanted just for herself; it was something she wanted simply because she could want to want it.
She wanted Peeta, and in the comfort of her bed and the privacy and confines of her own mind she knew that she could admit that. She wanted to open up to people. She wanted to give love, to receive love, to allow love the way only Peeta knew how, despite all the bad in the world. She wanted to feel young, to feel seventeen, to feel hopeful in the terrifying, unyielding face of the future.
She wanted to believe the way Annie believed: in love, in happiness, in the good things that had to exist in the world because it existed in Annie, and it existed in Prim and it existed in Peeta.
And she would. She would open up, she would give and receive love and she would believe. Katniss was resilient, and she was strong and she knew that. But when it came to the matters of the heart, she shied away, protecting her heart with a steel armor that she now realized was just cowardice in disguise. So instead of following, with her eyes shut, into the winds that she knew, she would simply adjust her sails and lurch forward into a path that she didn't know.
She reached for her phone as a loud, chiming bell rang, echoing loudly from across the room on the desk where she'd left it the night before. She clambered out of bed, the comforter slipping from her legs as she rose and falling into a heap on the floor.
The small screen flashed 'Annie' in blue letters and Katniss flipped the phone open, her finger pressing at the fading green button.
"Hello?"
"Hi," Annie's sweet voice came on the other line, her sweet voice muffled by her breaths, long and shallow on the phone. "I'm so, so sorry, I know you covered for me all last week but—"
Her voice cracked, a raw emotion Katniss had never heard before in Annie's voice now present. She didn't sound like herself; her ever-present cheery tone was missing, a sad, low murmur replacing it instead. "I just really need you to cover for me tonight. I swear I'll make it up to you."
"Sure, of course." Katniss paused, frowning. A deep, irrational fear creeping up her stomach, fighting its way to her lungs as her heart raced under her worn tank top. "Annie, is everything okay? Are you okay?"
Annie let out a noise – something in between a snort of laughter and a sob – the sound too sardonic, too twisted to be truly Annie's. "I'm … I'm fine …" her voice wavered.
Katniss waited for her to continue, wishing with all she had that Annie wouldn't tell her what she feared she would. She heard something rustle in the background before Annie sighed loudly, "I'm not fine.
"Finnick," Annie sniffled, her voice thick but suddenly impossibly small at the same time, "Finnick cheated on me."
And just like that, all of her resolve, all the words she used to convince herself not five minutes ago swiftly dissipated right before her, looming over her head in a black cloud instead; somehow leaving her feeling hollower than she ever did before.
Katniss braced herself as she stood outside the small blue house, a red door, bright and inviting before her. She'd only ever had been here at night, not seeing the house for what it was really was before. It was warm; it was comfortable. It reminded her so very much of everything that Annie was.
She pulled the large bag of chocolate she'd bought on the way from the Mini-Market from the plastic bag that was twisted around her right wrist, along with a small container of sugar cookies that she'd found on the breakfast table earlier that morning. She had brought them both at the advice of her little sister Prim, who seemed to be better equipped to handle any kind of wound - both physical and emotional – than she was, though Katniss wasn't quite sure if she was equipped to handle just why her fourteen year old sister knew the latter.
She knocked on the door gingerly, her knuckles sounding loudly against the wood.
She knocked again a second later, turning her head towards the street, her eyes scanning across the cars scattered along curb. Johanna's was missing, and she wondered if maybe Annie had gone along with her.
She knocked one last time, turning the knob to make sure. It twisted all the way, the door opening a small gap.
Katniss peaked in, noting that the television was off, and the kitchen looked untouched. But a small, muffling noise came from somewhere inside the house, a noise so faint that maybe it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but with years of hunting behind her, her ears were sensitive to the smallest of noises.
The wood creaking slightly beneath her feet as she shut the door behind her, she padded slowly through the house, following the soft noise that became clearer as Katniss neared the sole bedroom of the house.
She knocked on it, her palm banging on the door lightly, twisting the knob a second later when she heard nothing but the continuation of the sound that sounded more like a moan now, guttural and throaty and raw.
Katniss' heart lodged in her throat. Her fingers gripped the plastic container in her hands tightly, turning the tips of her fingers a pale, translucent color.
Annie lay on the smell bed in the far right corner of the room, her side of her shared bedroom. Her chin tucked in her elbow, her legs curled under her, her eyes rimmed with red. Her eye lashes were thick and wet, her cheeks stained with the wetness that sheened her eyes.
She made no attempt to move, no attempt to recognize Katniss' presence; her eyes focused on a spot on the floor, as her body heaved with her sobs, her chest rising up and down violently.
Protecting people – people whom she loved – was an instinct for Katniss, something she'd been trained to do her whole life. She didn't know how to be taken care of, but taking care of others came easily to her.
She dropped the chocolates and cookies on Johanna's vanity table where she remembered spending an excruciating amount of time, and angrily wondered where the hell the older girl was. She should be here, should be helping Annie.
Katniss quickly walked to the kitchen, opening three cabinets before she found the one that held glasses, and opened the tap, filling a glass to the rim.
Her father had always said that there was no better cure for tears than a glass of cold water, and even now, Katniss could recall the way the cold water rushed through her body, easing the ache that throbbed in the back of her throat, leveling the unbearable heat that swept through her body and her throat, already sore from the tears.
She crouched by Annie's bed, thrusting the glass towards Annie, and her green eyes widened, as if noticing Katniss for the first time.
Annie feebly clutched at the glass, her sobs shaking the water roughly, spilling some onto the bed sheet as Katniss helped her lift her body.
She reluctantly took a small sip of the water, her sobs transforming into smaller hiccups almost immediately. She met her green eyes with Katniss' grey ones, the small golden flicks bright from the sunlight that peered through the window, dancing along the walls of the small room. She wiped her face with the back of her hand as she took another sip, and then another until her hiccups turned to sniffles, tears no longer dripping along the side of her face but instead held captive in her eyes.
Annie whispered a thank you, her voice raspy and sore before she averted her eyes away from Katniss, her eyes focused on the erratic pattern of the blanket that was thrown lazily across her bed; it was hot, maybe the hottest day of the summer and the heat only exacerbated the misery Katniss felt.
"Are you okay?" Katniss asked, knowing it was a stupid question – of course she wasn't okay, she was far from okay – but not knowing what else to say.
Annie shook her head, the hair that was matted to her forehead falling from her forehead, framing her face.
Katniss stood, remembering Prim's advice and walked towards the vanity. She came back, sitting on the edge of the bed this time, and handed Annie the plastic bag and container of sweets uncertainly, a wry smile on her face. "Comfort food." She shrugged, "I hear it's supposed to help."
Annie managed a smile, despite her tears, and nodded gratefully. "Thank you."
Katniss nodded, not knowing what else to do from here. Gale was the only other person she knew who had ever gone through a break-up – but he handled them much differently. An extra shift at his dad's garage fixing up cars and listening to angry music, an extra hour at the gym letting his aggression out, an extra beer at night to ease the pain. Although, judging from what Katniss had seen in the past, Gale hadn't ever had his heart broken. Not the way Annie had.
She silently wondered if she should ask Annie what had happened, or if Annie even wanted to talk about it.
"I was wrong," Annie started quietly, solving Katniss' dilemma. She wiped her face roughly with the tip of her fingers one last time, now splotched with patches of white and red, "I was wrong about Finnick. I was wrong about –"
She sniffled again, and Katniss stood and walked to the bathroom, a long line of toilet paper flying in her hand as she came back. Annie moved to the other edge of the bed, making room for Katniss.
Katniss climbed in, realizing she'd never done anything like this before; sitting in a bed with a girlfriend, talking about a bad break-up … this, much like the rest of her summer, was new territory. She looked to Annie's face as she handed her the make-shift tissues, and was glad that of all the people she'd met this summer, Annie was the one she was sharing this new experience with.
Annie started again, her voice still quivering, but only slightly now. "My parents have been together for twenty-seven years. They've been married for twenty-four. The love that they share, the way they feel about each other – like they need each other to survive, they complete one another. I wanted that. I wanted that so badly. And I thought I found it. I thought I was so lucky because I didn't have to sift through the good boys and the bad boys – I already found the one. I thought Finnick was the one …"
Annie's voice trailed off, her eyes staring at her fingers helplessly. Katniss was at a loss.
"You deserve better than that. You deserve better than him." She surprised herself as the words tumbled out of her; she didn't understand Annie's deep want for a relationship, for love that lasted. She didn't, couldn't comprehend wanting to need somebody, wanting someone to complete you. But the words of support still broke through her. "You'll find the one like your parents did some day. Just give it time."
Annie shook her head, her shoulders slumped. "I don't know if I believe in that anymore. I always believed in that fairy-tale kinda love that can overcome anything, but – but maybe Jo's right. Maybe it exists for a few lucky people, like my parents, but it doesn't exist for everyone."
Annie's shoulders drooped further, her dark, wavy hair mussed in a haphazard bun above her head. She flicked her eyes towards Katniss', the green bright, wide, sad.
"Maybe, sometimes love isn't enough." She said finally, her voice soft. She peeled the foil off of a small piece of chocolate, offering the larger plastic bag to Katniss. "My love just wasn't enough for Finnick."
Katniss remained quiet, not knowing what to say as always. There was nothing she could say that would make Annie feel better. She never believed in that always-kind-of love. She didn't think that people could love each other enough to overcome the greatest of obstacles together. She thought love just crippled people – the way love had crippled her mother. And though, for the smallest of moments, she thought that maybe, maybe love didn't have to be so crippling, that it didn't have to be the worst thing to happen, she couldn't believe that anymore. She couldn't let her guard down only to be broken a few short minutes later. She couldn't bear to care for anyone other than the few people she already cared for; the fear of losing them was already large enough, she couldn't add to her list. If Annie's love wasn't enough, there was no way anything that Katniss could offer to anyone would be enough.
She briefly glanced at her cell-phone, the metal device sitting abandoned on Annie's nightstand. The screen flashed numbers at her in blue; it was close to four.
"I should get to the diner soon," Katniss said after a beat of silence.
Annie turned towards her, her eyes wide as she nodded. "Thank you for taking my shift, by the way. I just – I couldn't handle –"
Katniss shook her head as she lifted herself from the bed, "It's okay, don't worry about it."
Then she reached down, surprising herself for the second time, and wrapped her arms around Annie's small, thin frame. If she was shocked, Annie hid it well, and hugged her back fiercely.
"Thanks, Katniss. For everything," she whispered before letting her go.
Katniss nodded and padded out of the house, the wood creaking in the same spots it had when she had walked in.
As she trudged down the small steps, and onto the sidewalk, she heard loud music filtering through from the large window of the house she'd just left. Kelly Clarkson's voice bounced off the walls.
Katniss turned, glancing back at the blue house with the red door, the dark shadow of Annie's body, swaying, her hands over her head swinging wildly, her voice echoing through the street as she sang along.
The tingling sensation she'd felt the night before, the burning in her gut now just felt like electrical shots, nipping at her skin, painful and unwanted. The thumping that echoed in her head, her heartbeat sounding loudly, vibrating in every inch of her body like a melody now sounded like a death march.
She shifted her eyes from Peeta's confused, blue ones as she wiped down her last table and turned to Johanna, who sat in her usual position behind the counter, her shoulders slumped, her fingers working quickly over the piles of cash, her mouth moving but silent. She wound a rubber band around a wad of cash quickly, her movements quicker, jerkier than usual.
Her head snapped up to Katniss, her hair piled on top of her hand, a pencil sticking through the bun. Her voice was annoyed, but a watered down version of its usual snarky tone; she sounded tired. "You done?"
Katniss nodded and Johanna's swiveled in her stool towards Peeta, repeating her snipped question.
He walked towards them, five white Styrofoam boxes stalked in his arms. "Yup, I packed dinner for you and Annie – and I made a few of those red velvet cupcakes she likes…" he said, shrugging.
"Alright, let's get out of here. I need to get home, see what state Annie's in now." Johanna said, balancing the three boxes in her hands as she fished in her pockets for the key to the diner.
Peeta and Katniss both nodded, filing out of the front door, Johanna trailing behind them.
Peeta took a few steps towards the boardwalk before he turned to Katniss, his hands still clutching both of their Styrofoam boxes, his eyes questioning. His voice was worried, and the electrical shots she felt pinched her skin harder. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, stuffing her fingers in her pockets, her lips a thin line.
"So, to the beach?" Peeta tried again, his eyes squinting slightly. His lips stretched across his face unsurely, his smile crooked.
Katniss rubbed her neck, a habit, she realized, she'd picked up from Peeta. She dropped her hands to her side, balling her fingers into her palms, pressing her jagged nails into her skin. "I actually don't feel very well," she said, not exactly lying. She didn't know how she was feeling – her emotions were scattered, confused – but she didn't feel well, that much she knew. "I think I'm just going to go home."
Peeta looked relieved, if only for a moment and an easier smile took place of the half-smile he wore before. "Oh! Well, I'll walk you home. I can make you some—"
Katniss shook her head, her voice catching in her throat. "I actually would rather just be alone."
Peeta's expression fell, his eyebrows knitting together, a small crease appearing in the middle of them. "Oh," he murmured. "Okay. I'll, uh, I'll see you later then."
She nodded, meeting him halfway as he handed her a take-out box. His fingers grazed hers, and she wanted to yelp from the currents she felt.
She turned around, avoiding his steady gaze, and walked away from him, in the direction of the familiar winds, towards the comfortable territory she'd known all her life.
That night, sleep wasn't as easy to come as the night before; her thoughts were too wild, scattered, lurching from one end to another without any clear coherence or consistency and she couldn't quite think straight anyway with the hot air that hung heavy in her room creeping up her legs, making it impossible to get comfortable.
She turned to face Prim, her baby sister's sleeping form curled into a small ball, blonde wisps of her hair matting to her forehead, her skin slick from sweat. Katniss stood and yanked the light covers off of her, careful not move them from Prim – she had this little quirk of needing to clutch her blankets when she slept close to her chest, no matter how hot and sticky the temperature got. She moved to the fan, exhaustion slowing her movements, and turned the fan close to the window, hoping to bring in some of the chill from outside.
She didn't know what time it was, but it didn't seem like it was too late. She had heard Haymitch's steps outside her room not too long ago, lethargically padding down the ever-creaking halls. Before, Haymitch was something short of a night owl; he spent most of his nights in his study, steadily nursing his endless supply of bottles full of foul smelling alcohol under the pretense of working on his latest novel, but now he had had actually formed some sort of routine – at least, according to Prim – and was at least trying to conform to more normal habits.
But from the way her eyes stung with sleep that was clearly too far out of reach, Katniss knew she wasn't exactly in the position to judge her uncle, anyway.
She trudged down the hallway, her stomach tossing uncomfortably inside her. She didn't know how much longer she could stand the painful buzzing of the electric shocks; it was only logical to her that the more distance she put between the boy with the bright blue eyes and the unfailing smiles, the less painful the zips from the shocks would get. She had been wrong.
She poured herself a glass of milk, quietly sifting through the drawers in search of something sweet. Spending the summer with practically her own personal baker hadn't gone over well for her sweet tooth, her appetite now growing for sweets by the day. She pulled out a blue plastic box, sliding two cookies from the flimsy tray before wrapping them in a napkin.
Cookies and milk in hand, she walked out to the glass sliding doors, choosing the deck over the front porch. There were too many memories linked to the rusting red porch, too many conversations she didn't want to think about.
She settled herself on a plastic chair, the plastic material sinking as she settled herself into it before she lifted her legs, perching them on the small glass table in front of her. The air was cooler outside, much cooler than in the house and now, she regretted leaving her sweatshirt behind.
She took a sip of her milk, hoping that the white liquid would do something to settle her jumbled stomach, before dunking her cookie into it, effectively soaking her fingers. The sound of her own crunching filled her ears, dulling the sound of the waves crashing, the splashes loud as they violently hit the shore.
She stayed quiet for a moment, inhaling the salty air until she heard a cough; a red-faced Peeta hovered towards the side of the porch, a safe five feet away from her.
His blonde hair looked almost white under the light of the moon, the way it always did at night. His irises looked a darker shade of blue, not quite their bright selves but two dark circles instead. His fingers clutched tightly to a pale-white block in his hands, a small plastic bag wrapped around his other wrist.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice shy, questioning.
"Hi," she replied, not quite meeting her eyes. She gulped her milk, her stomach suddenly unbearably uneasy. "What are you still doing up?"
He shrugged, his shoulders lifting under the loose sweatshirt he wore before pointing nodding his head towards the sky. "Full moon. It caught my attention when I was walking home from the diner. I'd been waiting until the sky cleared up a bit so that I could paint it."
He hesitated for a moment, still lingering just besides the wooden steps of the deck. "Erm, do you -," he shuffled his feet, his hands too full to rub his neck. "Do you mind if I paint here?"
He nodded towards the empty chair next to her, his hair flopping into his eyes.
She shook her head, pulling her legs under her. She felt her skin prickle with goose bumps – whether they came from the chilling wind, or the presence of the boy in front of her, she couldn't really say.
Wordlessly, he set the canvas on the table in front of them, taking his supplies out of his bag. It was methodical, the way he always set up station when he was about to paint; first, he set up the easel, hanging the canvas from it before opening each canister of paint, setting the lids behind tin can. He pulled out a plastic tray, pouring bits of each color that he wanted into it, leaving some spots empty for when he wanted to mix the colors to find just the perfect shade of whatever it was he was looking for. Tonight, he just spilled four colors onto the metal tray – black, white, blue and a soft brown.
He made an effort to smile at her, the upward turn of his lips somehow weak, unlike him.
He turned, walking back into the house without a word, returning moments later with another tin can; water splashing as he noisily trudged out onto the wooden deck. Setting the tin can on the glass table, he peeled off his sweatshirt revealing a plain white shirt.
He held out his sweatshirt to her, "Here."
She shook her head, startled. She didn't need his sweatshirt. She didn't need anything from him.
He frowned, his eyes hardening slightly. "Katniss, take it. It's cold."
"I'm fine," she said, leveling her voice.
He shook his head, unbelieving. "You have goose bumps on your arms," he said, his eyes flicking towards her pale, shivering arms. "Take it."
She hesitated. She didn't need the sweatshirt. She didn't. But maybe, she realized, she was better off with the jacket than she was without.
She accepted it, pulling it down on her body as he heaved a sigh before lowering himself on to the plastic chair sitting parallel to her.
He made no effort to pick up a brush, smear colors on to the cotton canvas, like she had expected him to, like she had seen him do so many times before. He just stared at the sky, his eyes squinting every once in a while before he turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"Truth?"
She wanted to say no. She wanted to say no, and walk back into the house, hide under the covers, hide from all these feelings she couldn't define and stomach aches she couldn't seem to cure. She wanted to.
But she shrugged instead, the gesture falsely nonchalant. "Sure."
His uncharacteristically dull, dark orbs brightened infinitesimally, but he remained silent.
"Did I do something wrong?" He asked a moment later, his voice low, gruff. "I mean – last night, should I – didn't you –" he paused, his speech unusually flustered, his cheeks tinting light pink again.
"Did I do something wrong last night?" He repeated, his voice even softer this time. Sadder.
Did he do something? Did he directly do something? She didn't know.
He had kissed her. But she had kissed him back. She had given into the tangled web of feelings she felt in the core of her gut, she had yielded to the tingles, the vibrations, the shocks that she felt when she was around him. She had made a mistake. This - him – it wasn't what she wanted; she couldn't afford to want it.
She shook her head, her heart racing uncomfortably as his frown deepened, his eyes drooping.
"I made a mistake – last night, it shouldn't have happened."
Her voice came out much more hushed than she'd anticipated, her voice barely audible next to the crashing of the waves.
Peeta nodded, his lips thinning into a straight line. His eyes dropped to the ground, focusing on a plank of wood.
A long beat of silence later he asked, "Why?"
Her eyes snapped to his, startled by the question.
Why? Why?
Because away from here, away from Cedar Point, back at home where she was headed in just two weeks, Katniss Everdeen was a girl of many responsibilities – too many already wedged on her list to add new ones. Between playing the role of both a mother and a father to her little sister, working multiple jobs, and going to school, she barely had the time to see the one friend she had managed to make over the years; she simply couldn't add anyone else to the set equation that was her life.
Because in this world of uncertainty – in this world where people just upped and left you - she couldn't continue to feel for someone the way she was beginning to feel for him. She couldn't allow herself to love more people, to need more people than she already did. Her sister was enough.
Because although she didn't know what she was feeling, or what to do with those feelings, she knew the potential this had. She knew that she was setting herself up for hurt, for pain.
Because, like Annie said, sometimes love just wasn't enough.
Because in just a little over ten days, Katniss would return to her home an hour and a half away from here, and she would forget about him and he would forget about her.
And that, she hoped, would be that.
She shrugged, her breathing shallow, her mouth puckered tightly. She knew why – each reason sticking firmly in her mind, irrationally prickling her eyes - she just didn't know how to put all that into words that would make sense.
So she didn't. She lifted herself from her chair, her eyes starting at anything but Peeta's eyes – the pain palpable in his beautiful, blue eyes.
She rubbed a hand tiredly over her face, and Peeta picked at his paint brushes, seemingly resigned to the fact that he wasn't getting an answer. Not tonight.
She whispered a good night, not waiting for a reply before she darted back into the house, her feet carrying her swiftly into her room, into her bed, under the protective layer of the covers. The room had dropped a few degrees in temperature, and she clutched the sweatshirt closer to her before realizing just what it was that she was holding on to.
Peeta's sweatshirt; she'd forgotten to give it back.
She gingerly lifted her arm to her face, and felt her eyes sting again, prickling uncomfortably.
She sniffled, drained from the emotions of the day before shutting her eyes, letting herself drown in the scent of the sweatshirt – sweet, warm, musky and Peeta – just for tonight.
Xx
Mondays weren't usually too fast-paced at the diner, just a few customers meandering through during the lunch hour, and another small group following later for dinner. But today was exceptionally slow, the rain and thunderstorm outside keeping people at bay in the safety of their own homes.
She pulled Gale's sweatshirt over her head – she'd left Peeta's on the kitchen counter, hoping he would see it there – and slipped out through the back door of the diner, telling Annie that she was taking her break. The rain fell in sheets around in front of her, and she back up against the cold cement of the diner, under the small panel that kept her out of the rain's reach.
She slumped to the floor, rocking on her heels, and pulled out her cell phone. Flipping it over, she padded her thumbs over the button, dialing one of the few numbers she knew by heart.
A sigh of relief escaped her lungs as his voice came on the other line.
"Catnip?" Gale said loudly into the phone; his voice coated in both excitement and curiosity.
She smiled, though her voice came out shallow. "Hey, Gale."
He was silent for a moment, just the sound of his movements audible as he shifted around, loud noises in the background fading in and out.
His tone dropped, his voice matching hers. "Is everything okay, Katniss? Are you okay?"
"Yeah …" she nodded her head, "I'm just –"
"Having a bad day?" He interrupted her, filling in the rest. He'd dealt with a handful of her bad days in the past; he knew one was coming before she even did, sometimes.
She sighed, wishing her best friend, her only friend was here sitting by her side. On days like these, he was the only one who could crack a smile out of her, let alone a laugh.
She heard a clink in the background, the sounds of a jostling crowd piquing her interest.
"Where are you?"
His voice was sheepish on the other end, bashful. "I'm at a restaurant."
She snorted. "Are you on a date, Gale?"
"Well … yeah, actually." He chuckled, and she could almost imagine him shifting his eyes awkwardly around the room, his fingers itching at the small stubble that was always prominent on his face.
"Oh, Gale." She scolded him; regardless of the fact that it was probably a relatively stupid, large-breasted bimbo waiting for him somewhere inside the restaurant, Katniss couldn't help but feel bad. "Go back to your date, I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"No, it's alright." He argued, "It doesn't really matter."
She shook her head. "No, really, Gale. I should be getting back to work anyway. I'll talk to you later."
He sighed. He couldn't argue against her having to leave. "Alright but I'll call you back later tonight, okay?"
Saying goodbye, she hung up the phone and stood from her crouch, her knees aching in protest. She turned on her heel, and turned back towards the restaurant.
The pungent odor of fried foods ambushed her nostrils, and today, she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to deal with it.
She groaned, she was sure fairly loudly when she noticed Johanna stomping her way towards her, her eyes narrowed into small slits. She looked angry, and Katniss was sure she was just about to get a lecture on taking a breaking when she wasn't supposed to, or not working fast or something equally stupid.
But when she opened her mouth, her lips an angry thin line, her voice thick with venom, Katniss was floored. "What did you do to Peeta?"
Katniss opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again – who the hell was Johanna, anyway, barging in here, yelling at her?
Johanna stepped closer to her, her nose level with Katniss', and Katniss vaguely noticed Annie's small body scurrying in the background, making an effort to pull Johanna back.
"What." Johanna said again, her words curt and clipped. "Did you do to him?
"Why is he refusing to come into work today and why did he look like a dog kicked to the curb when I went to see him?"
Katniss gulped, her heart thumping too loudly, too uncomfortably in her ears again.
A second later, she heard a loud, screeching voice snap, and was surprised to find it belonged to Annie. "Johanna, leave her alone."
She tugged at the other dark-hair girls hand, pulling her away from Katniss. "Drop it, Jo," she repeated.
Johanna shrugged her off, turning back to Katniss again, her eyes still hard. "You better stay out of my way today."
"Wanna talk about it?"
Katniss looked up from the condiment bottle she held in her fingers to Annie; a gentle smile stretched across her lips.
When Katniss didn't answer, the older girl slumped into the chair next to her, grabbing a yellow mustard bottle.
"I'm sorry for Johanna – this morning, she was out of line. It's not her place to fight Peeta's battles for her." She twisted the cap, her eyes raking over Katniss' lightly. "She's just really protective when it comes to the people she loves."
Katniss nodded; she couldn't begrudge Johanna for that. They were too similar in too many ways.
She pulled at another bottle, the soft hum of the vacuum buzzing in the back where Johanna was starting to clean up.
A silent moment later, Annie looked up, her voice soft. "You can talk to me about it if you want, Katniss. We're friends, and contrary to what you probably think, I'm a good listener." She smirked softly, her eyes playful.
And that's when realized, Gale wasn't her only friend—somehow, in a summer that she thought would be wasted, would be torturous, she had managed to open up to new people, she had allowed herself to trust other people. She had been able to find friends in Annie, and in Peeta, and sometimes, when she felt like it, even in Johanna.
And the words tumbled out of her; not everything, she wasn't able to explain just everything yet – about her parents, and about her life and her doubts and disbeliefs - but enough for Annie to understand.
Annie's eyes glowed. "I knew he liked you – I knew it. He just, he looked at you differently. Not the way he looked at Delly or Johanna or anyone else."
Katniss shook her head, "It doesn't matter. It wouldn't work out anyway."
Annie's eyes bored into hers, the condiment bottles abandoned on the wooden table. "Why not, Katniss?"
"Because," Katniss sputtered, "I'm going home in two weeks and my life at home, it isn't anything as simple as my summer here as been. We live far away from each other and I don't have the time, and I don't—I don't know if I can."
Her voice barely came above a whisper and Annie's fingers reached out for her own, stilling her as she tried with vicious effort to twist the cap on the plastic bottle.
"Katniss, if you like him, you can overcome that. You can overcome anything. The distance won't even matter, or the time."
"But it didn't—" she paused, not knowing how to phrase what she wanted to say. It didn't work out for Finnick and her, they weren't able to overcome everything.
"But it didn't work out for Finnick and me?" She offered, and Katniss nodded, wondering if bringing him up would reduce the girl to tears. To her surprise, it didn't.
"That's because Finnick he wasn't – he wasn't Peeta, Katniss. Peeta is special, he is so special. He's strong, and he's kind, and he loves so passionately that he—"
"I thought you said love wasn't always enough." Katniss interrupted, Annie's words from the day before echoing loudly in her ears.
"Yeah. But sometimes, love is also just the thing you need. The thing you're missing."
Annie's words still echoing loudly in her head, Katniss walked around the side of the diner, making her way to the boardwalk. She'd passed on the burger and fries for tonight; her appetite had gone missing throughout the day.
Two days ago, she was so sure what she was doing, what she was thinking was right – it was so right. Until it just wasn't anymore.
And then yesterday, this morning, she was so sure what she had done, what she had thought was so right …
Until now. Now, she wasn't sure about anything.
Her footsteps were quiet as she walked across the bridge; the only light illuminating the seemingly ancient wooden form was the moon light – not as big as the night before, but still almost whole.
She turned at the intersection, and before long, she was standing at her door, the rusting red deck wrapping around the house before her. She cautiously turned her head towards the side of the house, the side where she'd spent far too much time lately, and noticed the light spilling out from the window of the garage onto the grass, dancing in small patterns. Peeta was home.
She didn't know if she felt relief at that, or if she felt worse at the thought. She needed to talk to him again; she wanted to talk to him again. But she couldn't, not until she figured out just how she felt.
She opened the door quietly, hoping to avoid Haymitch's sober grumpy shouts and Prim's chipper questions and made a move to slide into the hallway and into her room.
But of course, she had no such luck.
Prim jumped in front of her as soon as Katniss attempted to pass the living room unnoticed. Haymitch sprawled on the couch behind her, flipping through channels.
"Katniss!" she shouted, and Katniss had to make an effort to keep her hands at her sides and not up to her ears. Her head was throbbing. Prim's expression fell as she took in Katniss; her baby sister knew the things she felt before she even did.
Prim tugged at her hand, her eyes suddenly softer, less excited. "Are you feeling okay?"
Katniss nodded, and Prim's eyes just narrowed perceptively as she did so.
"Come watch TV with us," She said, doe-eyed and soft.
Katniss was about to refuse, fake an illness, though it wouldn't be too much of a stretch. She honestly was beginning to feel a little sick.
"Please?"
And Katniss was sold. She nodded, gingerly positioning herself on the far end of the couch, opposite from Haymitch. Prim wedged herself between them and coaxed the remote from Haymitch's fingers.
She flipped the channels until she landed on a movie, and squealed with delight. Forrest Gump – one of the few things Katniss and Prim both enjoyed.
Katniss tucked her legs under her and lifted her arm, wrapping it around Prim's scrawny shoulders. Her baby sister leaned into her, and Katniss noticed her uncle's head beginning to fall to the side as his eyes shut, only to be jolted awake as Prim squealed again, her eyes excitedly shining into Katniss'.
"I forgot!" she said, her hands reaching for a small wooden square that lay on the table in front of them. She flipped it, and revealed a frame, the sides adorned with seashells, the middle blank, missing a picture.
Katniss' heart clenched, the memory of her father sitting at the kitchen table after their trips to beach, gluing Prim's seashells onto frames before sealing a picture of his two girls into the glass tugging at her chest.
"I told Peeta about how dad made these a long time ago and he made one for me." She clutched the frame to her chest, running her fingers over the seashells. "Haymitch said he'll take the picture for us tomorrow."
She told Prim it was sweet, the compliment genuine, and turned her attention back to the movie, sighing inwardly; this only confused her muddled mind even more.
She wanted to not think about Peeta, not focus on the way her inside squirmed at just the thought of him, the way her heart pounded in her chest as she recalled the look on his face the night before. She wanted to believe in Annie – she almost had believed Annie before. But now, she couldn't bear to. She thought of her mother, of Haymitch, both of them beaten down, both of them damaged beyond repair because they had trusted, and they had loved, and they had been let down in one way or another.
But then she thought of Annie, who had also trusted, who had also loved with all she had, and who had also been let down. But who had picked herself up again. Who hadn't stopped believing in love, even if it was what had caused her so much anguish. Who hadn't been broken beyond repair.
And she didn't know where to go, which turn to take as she approached a divergent path.
She heard the glass door on her right slide, followed by loud, familiar footsteps that broke her out of her reverie. And there Peeta stood, looking as disheveled as she felt, his fingers thumbing circles over his neck.
Haymitch's eyes flew open, and he squinted at the blonde boy.
"I just set the garbage out to the curb for tomorrow morning, and I wanted to make sure I got the garbage from the kitchen." He said, his eyes focusing on just Haymitch.
Haymitch stood from the couch, his hand rubbing his stomach uneasily as he belched loudly.
Prim giggled, and Peeta's eyes flicked to her momentarily, his expression softening, a smile creeping on his face.
"I did it already – the garbage, I mean."
Peeta's blue eyes widened as he studied Haymitch's face, his expression somewhere between curiosity and pride.
Haymitch grumbled something along the lines of not getting his panties in a bunch about it, and Peeta chuckled lowly, his fingers clasping Haymitch's shoulders for a moment before her uncle unsteadily walked across the living room and into his room, his fists rubbing across his eyes roughly.
"Okay, then. I guess I'll go," he said, his eyes resting fondly on her little sister. "Good night."
He turned around and Katniss felt the frown on her face deepening as she realized that Peeta hadn't even bothered to meet her eyes, let alone say a word to her.
Prim stood, her body darting towards Peeta's quickly, her fingers tugging at his. "Peeta! Come watch Forrest Gump with us!"
Katniss watched as his mouth opened, probably to decline politely, before it shut again, and Katniss was sure Prim had pulled out her wide, doe-eyes on him, as well.
He sighed, relenting. "Okay."
He made a move to sit on the small, broken-looking ottoman that sat in the far corner of the room, but Prim kept her firm grasp on him, pulling him to wear their uncle had been sitting only moments ago.
Katniss watched as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, itching to distance himself from her despite Prim's small body that served as a buffer between the two. Prim stretched herself back into her former position, this time lounging more lazily across the sofa, her head in Katniss' lap, her feet resting near Peeta's knees.
Prim erupted into giggles as Peeta tickled her feet, and just above the high pitched squeals emitting from her little sister, Katniss could hear Forrest, in his sweet southern voice, telling her just the advice she needed to hear in that moment.
"My Mama always said you've got to put the past behind you before you can move on."
a/n: i'm sorry, i'm sorry, don't kill me for the lack of a happy ending! but guys, it's katniss! what else would we expect? :p and also sorry for the slight delay - my little niece hasn't been feeling too well lately and i've been spending more time with her and less time writing :(
so now, there's just one more chapter to go. and then maybe an epilogue to follow, not sure? let me know what you guys think about that!
thank you for reading, and i hope you all enjoyed it! reviews, as always, keep me going and are so very appreciated!