Part One
Chapter Twelve
I can't hear anything other than the blood rushing in my ears as I climb into my car. I feel like I might vomit or pass out or both. Instead I throw the rental car into drive and leave, heading for my apartment. This was a bad idea. This was a horrible idea. What the hell else did I expect?
I pull up to Webster and fish out my apartment keys, unlocking the doors to what I had left. Months ago I stood in the living room, prepared to leave whatever it was that I had here behind. I had hoped to pack a few of those things up for my return trip, including Peeta.
Damn! Peeta isn't a thing! I act as though he's a blanket or comb or something.
My phone vibrates and I look down at the text. It's from Johanna. "Hey asshole. Based on your lack of news, I'm guessing you've fucked this up."
I drop my bags and walk around the place. Nothing—and I mean nothing—has changed. I know that Prim has been here, but the dust proves that not much has been moved. I run my finger along picture frames, mementos and books. This is what our history has been reduced to. I had assumed that Peeta's things would be gone, but they aren't. The fridge is (thankfully) empty of food and I slump onto the couch, my head in my hands.
Peeta.
I cry, not knowing what else to do.
Traveling has left my body tired and grimy so I eventually hop in the shower, letting the water wash away tear stains and calm my nerves. Once I'm out I pull on some of Peeta's old sweats and order pizza…might as well start sorting through some of my stuff while stuffing my face and nursing my ego. The Gumby's30 delivery guy shows up and I drop the boxes on the kitchen counter, grabbing a slice and taking a bite. I hear a key fumble in the lock and peek around the entryway, thankful that Prim has decided to drop by.
"Peeta." The blood rushes back to my ears and the pizza is like cardboard covered in sawdust. I swallow anyway.
He just stands there, so I nervously wipe my face assuming I have sauce somewhere. Say something. Say anything.
Say something!
"Are you back? For good?"
"No. I'm only staying for a few days…I needed to pick up some things I forgot. I leave on Saturday."
I can tell that my words cut deep and I rush to explain but he interrupts me, his voice cracking, "You can't just keep leaving. You can't just walk away without letting me say anything, Katniss."
My own voice is barely a whisper. "Am I too late?" Peeta is slowly moving closer, worried that I'll bolt.
"Too late? Too late for what?"
"I came back for you."
The shock and hurt is apparent on his face. And if I had half of a brain I would have warmed up to this, or at least started with something other than "pack your bags." I would stop thinking of him as an object to pocket. Stellar move, Katniss.
"You've got to be kidding me. You're gone for weeks—no, months—and now you've come to collect me? I don't need your charity, Katniss." The evenness of his voice is unnerving. Eerie.
"This isn't about charity or pity or guilt. I want you to come with me. I mean, I'm asking you to consider coming with me. Please."
"And why would I do that? Why would I leave everything I know—everyone who's been there for me—to follow my former fiancée—?"
My right hand instinctively clasps over my left just like every other time someone mentions Peeta or our engagement. I hadn't once considered the fact that to him, the proposal might be rescinded. I don't want it to be.
The shock in his voice is apparent, "You still have the ring?"
I keep my eyes on his and avoid his question, lowly saying, "I don't have an eloquent reason for asking you this. I know that I have no right to even ask, but I am. I want to do this. With you. Together."
We stand there looking at each other for what seems like too long. He doesn't lean on his cane and if he wasn't clutching it in his hand you wouldn't guess there was something physically different just by looking at him. He seems tired but determined and quite honestly, a little pissed. There's a dusting of flour near his hip, probably from brushing up against the countertop.
He mumbles, "Do you still love me?"
"Yes." And there you have it. The truth. Looking into his eyes, I know he thinks I'm being insincere and that I'll flake out again so I give him an out. "You don't have to love me back, Peeta."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll figure that out." Serves me right.
He steps so close that I have to look up at him. How did I get here?
"And if I do?"
"We'll figure that out, too." I reach my palm out and touch the spot I know sits right on top of his heart.
He puts his palm above my own heart, tracing with his finger. The motion is repeated for a minute or so before it ceases. Peeta's crying when he says, "I don't know if I can do this. I'm sorry."
I swallow the lump in my throat as well as my pride while I lower my hand. I had prepared myself for this, but it didn't hurt any less. It takes all of my self-restraint to not beg. "I understand. It was a long shot. Really, I understand Peeta."
We stand there for another minute, unsure of what to do or say. I want to hold him. I want him to hold me. I want to recommit his face to memory. I want to beg him to reconsider, like he once begged me.
"I should go." So soon?
"Yeah, I guess you're right." I take a step back and force a smile. "It's been a long day and I have a lot of packing to do. Pokey stix to eat."
Peeta faintly smiles and shifts nervously. I've given him his out, which is the least I could do. I owe him so much more than he'll ever know. I'll never stop owing him.
"Goodnight, Katniss."
"Goodnight."
He is gone.
I put my face in my hands and let out the choking sobs that I've been holding in. I lower myself to the floor, kneel and lean forward, resting my forehead on the carpeting. My breaths won't come evenly and my voice comes out in wails and screams, pleading for a different outcome. Another chance.
Please. Please.
I cry for Peeta. I cry for me.
…
Hours later I'm in bed but no closer to sleep. My crying hiccoughs have finally subsided and I can inhale without sputtering. It doesn't occur to me to call Annie, Prim or even Johanna because this is the reality I created all by myself. How did I get here?
The sounds of the city all seem so loud now and I'm wishing I were back in New England. I roll over to face the wall and tears leak out of my eyes. Tomorrow I'll begin again. I had selfishly hoped it would be with Peeta.
Peeta.
Three hours later the creaking of the floorboards in the living room wakes me up, but I'm not scared. I shift to look at the doorway and see his silhouette, the streetlight giving his hair a slight halo. I scoot to my side of the bed, letting Peeta drop onto the mattress and swing his legs up. He lies on his back but reaches for my hand as I hold my breath.
"I'll come." Inhale.
"Are you sure?"
"Are you?" Exhale.
I don't immediately answer. "Can you look at me?" He rolls his head to the side, facing me. I look up, searching his face. He's looking back, scrutinizing my features for some ounce of insincerity, doubt or pity. But my eyes are wide and honest; they don't look away or shift nervously. Peeta moves his hand to rest on my cheek; his skin is warm and his touch gentle. I relish the feeling of the kind hand and I want to hold it there. "Peeta, I'm sure."
"I know it's not just you…all of this, it wasn't just you." He swallows. "I've changed. I'm changing."
"Hey," I whisper as I touch his cheek. "So have I. We'll figure this out together."
We gather each other close. There isn't a kiss. This isn't just Peeta holding me, or me curled against his back. Neither one of us dominates the other…this is a mutual lock on the other, my breath hot on his neck. He exhales near my ear and we hold on.
Chapter Twelve Notes
30. Gumby's. Local pizza company that's pretty popular with students.