Coffee and Classics
Hey guys! Last chapter was pretty intense! This chapter has a bit of a cliffhanger ending, and I hope you enjoy it!
I do not own The Hunger Games.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
It's past two by the time we finally arrive at Peeta's apartment. I practically had to drag him out of bed and dress him myself, but we eventually got into his truck. The entire drive Peeta continued to argue his case: Rye deserved to be punched and put in his place for disrespecting me and women all over the globe. I thought that was a tad farfetched, but when I told him so he spouted out a billion relationship abuse statistics he had learned during a women's studies course, I decided it was better for me to just shut up.
"I feel like a fucking idiot—I have to knock on my own door!" Peeta exclaims once we reach his apartment on the second floor.
"I'll do it then," I say, tired of listening to him complain, and pull my hand out of my sweatshirt pocket to knock loudly three times on the grey wood. We listen to muffled movements for several seconds before the door is wretched open.
Rye looks like hell. His eye is completely swollen shut and black, and he has a very obvious cut on his bottom lip. His short blonde hair looks greasy and he wears a white tank top and athletic shorts; his big right hand holds a bag of frozen peas.
"Fuck, you look like shit," Peeta says as he walks across the threshold.
"Thanks, dickhead. You don't exactly look like the prettiest prostitute in the brothel, either." He places the peas back on his eye and cringes as he follows Peeta. I furrow my eyebrows. Weirdest analogy ever. I slowly follow the boys and watch them plop down on the small, brown loveseat Peeta has onwall next to his closet. I go into the kitchen and begin to make coffee, hoping the guys will talk. They don't.
"Hey, guys. How about you talk or I'll kick both your asses?" I ask after listening to ten solid minutes of feet shuffling and exaggerated sighs.
I hear Peeta's slight chuckle and smile as I watch the coffee slowly brew in Peeta's ancient coffee pot. Then Peeta takes a deep breath and begins.
"Rye, I'm sorry that I hit you bro. It was totally immature, and I should have just taken you outside and talked to you."
"Peeta, let's just forget about it," Rye says, a hint of annoyance in his tired voice.
"Yeah. But let's talk first. I shouldn't have hit you, but I don't regret it. And if you insult Katniss again, I'll do it again."
"Peeta!" I yell, trying to convey his misstep, but he doesn't care.
"I love her, Rye. More than I've loved anything in this world, and I won't let you treat her like shit. You don't have to like her, though you're an idiot if you don't, but you have to respect her. Or you can go fuck yourself and we will see each other every other holiday."
I want to yell something, but the flutter in stomach caused by his loving words is preventing me. As much as I don't like Rye, they are still brothers. And they should try to get along.
"You would seriously cut me off for a chick you just met?" Rye asks, his tone not chastising or angry, but incredulous.
"I've known her for over two months, and I already know that she's my missing piece." His voice is serious and loving, and my breath is sucked out of my lungs at the sincerity. Then his voice gets tremendous low, and I have to strain to hear his next three words; three words he's probably afraid to let me hear—afraid that I'll run off. "She's the one."
I almost drop the mugs I have in my hands, but quickly recover, not wanting Peeta to know that I heard. The one? I mean, I know he loves me and I love him, and he did say that brother thing to Prim a week ago, but the one? I expect my body to start shaking in panic and fear because of his words, but instead I find myself smiling. Maybe a future with someone isn't so scary anymore. Or maybe it's just a future with Peeta that isn't scary.
"I'm sorry, Katniss," Rye's voice breaking through my thoughts. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that or yelled at you like that. It was super douche-y."
I grab our three coffees and place them on a TV tray with the half and half and sugar and bring it into the room where Peeta and Rye sit. I set it on the side table next to the couch and hand Rye a peace offering.
"You're forgiven, Rye. We were drunk and we said some shit we shouldn't have. I shouldn't have brought up your mom. Talk about terrible fucking timing." He takes the mug out of my hand and gives me a nod, the side of his mouth quirking up in a half smile.
"We're good?" he asks after taking a sip of his black coffee.
"We're good." I nod, smiling at him. A full smile breaks out on his and Peeta's faces and I laugh. Wow, they look creepily similar when they smile.
"You're right, though," Rye says after a few moments of silence as we drink out coffees. I look up at him confused. "I always felt guilty about not doing anything about our mom. I always felt like I should have been there."
"Rye, fuck, we were just kids. You shouldn't have any guilt over that. It wasn't your fault at all." Peeta says, clasping Rye's beefy shoulder with his right hand. Rye shrugs, but his face is etched in sorrow. "Mom is gone. Let's just try to heal, okay?"
Rye nods and tries to smile. Soon, friendly chatter takes up the next hour and half while we drink our coffee. Peeta and Rye have a great give and take. It's a brotherly banter that's so fun to watch, and I find myself smiling like an idiot. A future with Peeta and his family might not be so bad. Eventually, I stand up off the floor across from them on the couch and stretch. Peeta wanted me to sit on his lap, but I vehemently denied his request. I have never sat on a man's lap, and I never will. I'm a big girl, and I can sit on the ground.
"Hey, I'm gonna go, Peeta," I say, during the one second of silence that's occurred since we began, which only happened because the boys both coincidentally decided to finish their coffees at the same time.
"Why?" Peeta asks, getting up off the love seat and stepping over to where I'm standing.
"I think you and Rye should have some man time. Watch football. Or drink some whiskey. Or arm wrestle and eat beef jerky. Whatever men do together. I'm gonna go check up on Prim and do some homework and some laundry and stuff."
"Are you sure, baby? I would love to have you here." He says, taking my hand and rubbing circles with his thumb.
"I'm sure." I nod, and tilt my face up. He instantly leans down and presses his soft lips to mine. I try to react modestly and accordingly, considering his brother is a foot away, but I can't help it; my hands move to is hair and I try to deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding along his upper lip. Peeta gasps, granting me access and I dart my tongue into his mouth and twirl it with his; Peeta latches onto me, pressing his hard body against mine and I suppress a moan.
"Get a fucking room," Rye's voice cuts through our kiss, causing us to break apart. I chuckle a little and redden.
"I'll see you later, Rye," I say, and move to the door. Rye says goodbye and Peeta follows as I begin to leave, opening the door for me.
"I love you, Katniss," Peeta says, leaning down and planting chaste kiss on my wet and frenzied lips.
"You, too," I whisper against his mouth, and plant another kiss on his lips. His eyes glare at me, his mouth in a smirk. "Fine, I love you, too!"
He smiles broadly and gives me another kiss that weakens my knees, so soft and loving. After he we separate, finally, I leave out the door I came.
My idea to spend time with Prim was epically shattered when I came home to find a note that explained that she was off at Rue's for the night—and I could call her parents if I wanted to make sure. And I obviously did. There's no way in Hell I'm letting that party thing fade away for a solid year.
I sit on the couch studying and annotating my massive edition of The Canterbury Tales for several hours, when a loud knock interrupts me; I glance up, slightly confused, and get up off the couch and head to the door.
As soon as I turn the handle, someone barges into my apartment; Finnick stands in front of me with his coiffed bronze hair wearing a white t-shirt with black jeans. In his bandaged hand, he holds a bottle of tequila; my weakness. It's the one drink that gets me completely fucked up. The last time Finnick and I drank tequila together I ended up running around with my shirt pulled over my head, singing Spice Girls while he cried in the corner. It kinda affects both of us oddly.
"I think it's time for us to spend some quality time together again," he says, giving me in 1000 watt smile and shaking the bottle suggestively. "Plus, my hand hurts like a motherfucker and I need some pain relief."
"Finnick, you know what happens when we drink tequila: Fuckville." I say, slightly glaring.
"Come on, you know you want to relieve some of that anger you have, all the time." I shrug. He's got a point. Peeta's off with his brother and I could use a little fun after we had such an intense night last night. I grab the bottle out of his hand and take it into the kitchen and grab us to two glasses. "So where is Peeta? I was hoping he would be here too. I would love to see him completely wasted. I bet it's hilarious."
I thought about it for a second. "Yeah. I've never seen him wasted either. I've seen him tipsy but never fully drunk."
"I bet it's awesome. He is always so put together and considerate; drunk Peeta is probably fucking crazy." He takes the glass I just poured a heaping mount of tequila in, and pours it down the hatch, drinking it all. I do the same, trying to not to cringe at the taste. It tastes like lemony lighter fluid, but it does the trick.
A few more drinks later, Finnick and I are sprawled on the wood floor beside the couch and the coffee table, laughing hysterically.
"—and then she grabbed my junk, and started twisting it! Where did she learn that that is supposed to be erotic or pleasing? I thought she was gonna rip it off!" We laugh again, causing my neighbor to bang on the wall. We try to quiet down, but we don't succeed.
"Ow! That sounds terrible." Then I get curious. "Seriously, Finnick, how many women have you slept with?"
"Ummm, I don't know if I should tell your delicate, virgin ears." He says, chuckling. I punch him on the arm from where I'm lying on the ground, but it doesn't connect very well.
"You know I'm not a virgin, Finnick, don't be a dick."
"I know, but I'm 90% sure that Peeta is the only person you've slept with, and my count is a lot more than one."
"So. It's not like I have delicate fucking sensibility. How could I, after listening to your, Gale's and Johanna's stories!" He barks out a laugh and turns to face me on the floor, I move too, so we are both on our sides.
"Okay, are you ready for this?" he slurs, waving his hand in my face. I nod, giggling. He does a fake drum roll with his mouth and then stops, pausing dramatically. "I'm never telling you!" He laughs loudly and rolls around on the ground.
"You're an ass," I yell, laughing too. Whatever, I don't give a shit. It's probably some disgusting number anyway.
Finnick and I have two more glasses each, cackling crazily and yelling and singing, and before I know it, everything begins to fade…
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" I sit up in bed, startled, and look at the door. My vision is blurry, but eventually I see that Peeta stands there, looking scarily furious.
"What?! What's going on?" I ask, surprised, raising my hand to my head. Why is he so angry so early in the morning? My head is pounding and I feel like throwing up. Worst hangover ever.
"How could you?!" he throws his hand toward my bed, and I turn my head, only to find a completely naked Finnick lying on his stomach, sprawled out on top of my sheets; the comforter kicked down to the bottom of the bed. I gasp, and my stomach churns, and I really do throw up, leaning over to the trash can beside my bed. When I'm done, I look up at Peeta, my throat dry and scratchy.
"Peeta—we didn't, I – I didn't—," I start, but he cuts me off.
"How could you?" he repeats softly, his blue eyes filling with tears, his face broken. And then he leaves, slamming my bedroom door behind him. I get up, tripping over my sheets as I fly out of bed, running after him
"Peeta, no!" I yell, as I run across my apartment and out the front door. I glance down the hallway, but it's completely empty.
He's already gone.