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"What are you saying?" Peeta snarls on the phone. "Sort this shit out before I go over to your house and sort you out!" He hangs up the phone and buries his head in his hands. He thinks I'm asleep, but I'm peeking at him through my eyelashes. He's sat at his desk which is in line with the bed by the real window which looks out onto the Capitol.
He gets up from the chair and starts to pace, drumming the phone against his lips. Maybe he is hoping they'll ring him back, but they don't. He dumps his phone on his desk and gets back into bed. I don't roll over to look at him so he thinks I'm still dreaming.
I'm not sure who he was talking too; I only woke up when I heard his harsh talking on his phone and for a wild moment I thought it was directed at me. I hear the keyboard on his phone rapidly typing away. "For Fucks sake," I hear him mutter.
I roll over and since my eyes are already half open, I see him toss his phone away from the bed. There is no thud as it hits the floor; it must have landed in his t-shirt or some other item of clothing. I pretend to be sleepy, and he kisses my forehead. "Hey," He says gently.
"Hey," I say. "Were you talking to somebody?"
"I had the TV on low for a little bit," He lies. It doesn't sound like a lie, though; if I hadn't heard him talking on the phone, I might have believed him. "Sorry if I woke you up."
"It's okay," I yawn, and he kisses me, on the lips this time, and wraps his arms around me. His lips press against my shoulder. "Do you have to go to work today?"
"Yeah," He mumbles against my shoulder. "I need to get ready."
He climbs out of bed and grabs his trousers; he yanks them on and I hear him zipping them up. I wait until I hear the noise of the cabinet opening until I say, "I heard you on the phone."
The drawer slowly closes. "How much of it did you hear?"
I roll over; I make sure the duvet is over my breasts. "Not much," I say. "You were mad,"
"Not exactly," He says, buttoning up a black shirt. "Just talking to a guy at work,"
"You were yelling," I say. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," He says. "Just business stuff,"
"That sounds like bullshit," I say. "Is somebody mad at you? Are you mad at them?"
"Katniss," He says.
"People are mad at me," He says. "That's all. I'm going in today to sort it out."
"Why are they mad at you?" I ask. He grabs some shoes from his wardrobe. "Peeta!"
"They don't want me to alter the business," Peeta says.
"What?" I say. "Why not?"
He sighs, tying up his shoelace. "I went into business with two Capitol guys; two sexist Capitol guys. They are not pleased with the thought of me making it more female friendly. I'm being over-ruled."
"What do you mean by over-ruled?"
He rubs his forehead. "They're not letting me change the business," He says. "That's the problem when you own a business but decide to have some business partners as well. They don't like you making changes that could affect the money that is brought in."
"So..."
"So the business stays the same," Peeta says. He must see my face fall and the way I clutch my blanket tighter around myself. "Katniss, I'm so sorry, but I tried, I'm still trying, but I don't think it's going to make a difference."
"Then..." I can't conjure up the words; my mouth feels numb. "Then what are we doing here?"
He stares at me. "What do you mean?"
"Peeta. When you have this thing – this slavery thing for the sake of the Capitol – it doesn't make me feel like your girlfriend, it makes me feel like your whore. And it's like when we stop fucking, I'm nothing."
"Katniss, it's not like that, it's-"
"But it is, Peeta," My voice is weak and defeated because I can't believe that the girls in the Capitol are going to continue to be exploited until – until when? Somebody gets raped and murdered? Why does it always take a death before things change? "It's exactly like that. I wish it wasn't. I wish we both still lived in District Twelve. I wish you were still my boy with the bread."
"I tried, Katniss!" He shouts. "I tried! What else am I supposed to do? I've done everything for you!" His voice goes to be weak, like mine. "I don't want this to end."
"I love you," I tell him. "But now, it's going to be like every time I kiss you, I think of the girls in the Capitol that are being kissed against their will and it makes me want to throw up. I love you, but I don't love who you are."
"Katniss," He pleads. "Katniss, please."
"I know you've tried, Peeta, and I owe you a lot for that, but at the end of the day, we both know who we are. We both know what sort of people we are. I'm the slut, you're the sleaze, and that's the way it is." I say.
"But you're not," He says. "And I'm not a sleaze."
"Okay," I say slowly. "You're not a sleaze, but your business is. And I can't live here, or with you, when I know that it's still being run. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
His face almost kills me. I feel the pain of leaving him, the pain of leaving this, right in my stomach. I feel almost as sick as I do when I think of the girls. But I need to do this. Not just for them. But for what I believe in. I could have been one of those girls and it scares me.
He opens his mouth to say something, but then it closes again. He knows that there isn't anything more to say. After several minutes of silence, he says, "I'm so sorry, Katniss."
"I'm sorry that you didn't order a more obedient escort," I say.
"No," He says. "I'm glad that you showed up. You've...you've showed me and taught me a lot of things. Not just about how to treat people. Thank you."
He leaves silently to go to work. That's good, because it lets me cry without him watching. With tears running down my face, I pack him my few belongings – mostly just clothes – and take a slow walk around the apartment.
I know it's stupid. I know it's fucking stupid that I feel such an attachment to a man who bought me for a night. But he wasn't just the boy with the bread. He was the boy who saved my life, and I am grateful.
"Thank you," I whisper, because I am, and I know there are cameras in here somewhere. I want him to know how much I actually love him. I owe him my life, but I don't owe him those girls.
And then I leave without looking back.