#annabel lee by edgar allan poe you will make me lose my mind

[cowskulls]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[writing-in-april]

A Tale of Two Poe’s

Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: AU where Poe Dameron and Edgar Allan Poe both exist in the Star Wars universe. Reader finds a book containing the writings of Edgar Allan Poe and just can’t wait to show her Poe.

A/N: This is a purely self indulgent fic lmao 😂 this AU idea where Poe Dameron and Edgar Allan Poe exist in the same universe came into my head a while back and I just had to write it. Idk if it’s weird or not but I enjoyed writing it lmao- also obviously credit goes to Edgar Allan Poe for all his stories and poem excerpts I use. @writefightandflightclub and @sergeantkane are definitely my go to for Poe fics if you’re curious and they always inspire me to write more for Poe but- there are so many other amazing writers for Poe too. I’ll have to make a fic rec list for him soon. This also is my second fic for my 1000 follower celebration!!! I want to thank you all so much again, this is so surreal!! Thanks for reading and requests are open!!

Warnings: Uhh- a sexual innuendo & talk of death in the war I think that’s it...

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.2k

The amount of bookstores that were left in the galaxy was such a small and minuscule number, most people just used their data pads to read, that is if they read anything at all. It was such a shame, in your opinion. No data pad could truly recreate the magic of a physical book.There was nothing better than opening a book, new or old, the parchment smell wafting around under your nose as you fully enveloped yourself in the words on the page.

You had stopped in at the old library after you had completed a routine information pick up for the resistance. The planet you were on was the beautiful Naboo and you had a couple hours to kill before your partner, Poe came with his x-wing to pick you up. The little vintage book store stood out in the ethereal metropolis of the big city, and you were instantly drawn to it.

When you entered the little shop it was filled wall to wall with books, you had never seen so many books in your life before. Personally, you only had three that you kept on top of your small dresser that you put the small amount of clothes in. They weren’t interesting books to say the least, mostly consisting of military procedurals from your early days in the academy, besides one novel written on a planet far away called Earth named “A tale of two cities”. The book shop made you want to take all of them back to base and read every leisure novel you could ever want to read. However, there was no real time and you didn’t have the money to take all the books home with you, so you settled on picking one that really grabbed your attention.

The book that caught your eye was a black hard cover, so thick because of how many pages it held that you could barely hold it in one hand. The spine said “The complete collection of stories and poems by Edgar Allan Poe” and just by flipping through it a little you gathered that it must have also been written on the planet Earth, just like your one other novel. You loved the other novel and you knew that you were definitely going to bring this book home, even if you didn’t enjoy it at least you could tease Poe about the shared name. But, you had a feeling you were going to enjoy it.

You opened the book to another random page written by the person who held a similar name to your man and landed on a page that had a poem by the name of Annabel Lee. Poems were not something that were often seen in the galaxy anymore, even on the data pads that everyone used. They had fallen into obscurity as a form of literature that was obsolete and pointless.

The poem instantly had you hooked just in the first few lines, it was definitely a sad poem, as you suspected the rest were as well. But, the beautiful well written rhymes seduced you like the sirens you had heard about from Ahch-To. Though, Rey had told you the Thala-sirens were not nearly as beautiful as the myths would have you believe. Realizing that you were getting tight on time you rushed to check out the book, you didn’t want to worry Poe. Once you had paid the kind older lady who ran the shop you ran quickly out to your rendezvous point where Poe was already anxiously waiting.

“Kriff- there you are, I was worried something had happened to you.” His eyes were a bit frantic looking and hair disheveled. he had undoubtedly been looking around for you in worry while running his hands through his hair and had been pacing. Poe needed to learn to relax every once and awhile, he was often an overworrier and was often overworked.

“I’m only a few minutes late, relax. I just had to pick up a little surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What is it?” He reached to grab the parcel that the book had been wrapped in by the owner of the shop. You swiftly pulled the package away from him, you wanted it to be a surprise for later, when you both could relax.

“Hands off- I’ll show you later, be patient.” His indignant sigh only caused you to roll your eyes while you both climbed into the x-wing, with you sitting on Poe’s lap. He was so dramatic sometimes. Maybe, someday you’d get to come back to the bookshop on Naboo to get some more books, with hopefully Poe in tow next time.

—-

When we got back to base you were vibrating with excitement in anticipation of showing Poe the book that had an author with the same name as him. Throughout the entire briefing with Leia she could probably tell that my mind was in a far off place, almost like you still had my head stuck in the book. When she’d finally dismissed you after you had gone through the mission debriefing I bolted to our shared quarters. Once you had gone in the fresher for a quick wash and got dressed for the night you hopped in your small bed that you shared with Poe, but not before grabbing the new book you had added to your collection.

“Come to bed, I’ve got something for you.” You said as soon as Poe got through the door. He always had to check in with the main mechanic that worked on his x-wing right after he came home on a mission, it was the only way he would ever let anyone touch black one.

“Oh? Is it that surprise you were talking about earlier?” His signature cheeky smile that he flashed you while he stripped off his flight suit let you know immediately what he assumed the surprise was.

You threw his pillow he used at him, then accosted him playfully,“It’s not what you think it is you horndog, I’ve got a book for you.”

“A book? You know I don't know how to read.” You wished that you had a third pillow to throw at him in that moment, but you didn’t want to lose your own pillow. There had been many times in your relationship where Poe had stolen your pillow to mess with you and you weren’t about to give him the upper hand.

“Shut it, I’ll read it to you, you big baby.” He was now dressed in your favorite ensemble besides his flight suit, a white tank top, boxers, and nothing else.Patting the bed right next to you, you finally got him to come over to you. He sank down next to you on the bed, making sure to immediately cuddle up into you, you then spoke again,“But, before I do I want you to see what the Author’s name was.”

Handing him over the hardcover he looked at the name on the spine with furrowed brows, then letting out a breath of laughter once he read the Author’s last name. He didn’t read often like he had joked earlier, but he definitely could read the big gold leaf cursive letters that said, Edgar Allan Poe. “Woah, that’s cool. He would’ve been cooler if he had Poe for his first name though.” In response to another cheeky comment from him I bonked him on the head with the book before I started to read, “It was many and many a year ago,   In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know   By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought   Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child,   In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love—   I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven   Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago,   In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling   My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came   And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre   In this kingdom by the sea.” As you lilted your voice through the poem you could feel Poe sinking down further into relaxation, which was good since he hardly ever relaxed. He was always on the move all the time because of his vast responsibilities as a commander in the resistance. To be honest, you could do with some more relaxation like this in your life, just you, Poe, and a charging BB-8. You must have paused for a second with your reading because Poe looked up at your with his deep caf colored eyes in question, prompting you to continue, “The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,   Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,   In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night,   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love   Of those who were older than we—   Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above   Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,   In her sepulchre there by the sea—   In her tomb by the sounding sea.  — why are you crying?”

A few small tears had welled up in the corners of Poe’s eyes with one spilling over to run down his scruff covered cheeks. He sniffled a bit, wiping away the tears before speaking, “Just reminded me of you and how much I love you. I don’t like thinking about you dying, I don’t think I could survive.”

Your heart broke a little, but also felt filled with the feeling of love. You knew there were even more dark times ahead in the war, you had both even had a conversation of what would happen if one of you passed. You even had letters that were to be read by the other if something were to happen. Even though you had discussed this before, you agreed with Poe, you never wanted to think about what the galaxy would be like without him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth him a bit. You felt a little bad that you had not realized how much it might affect Poe, so you decided to shift the subject to something that hit less close to home, “I’ll read something a bit different. They’re all dark, but I’ll pick one that you’ll enjoy more.”

You then began to read the Cask of Amontillado, which was a story that you both could relate to personally less which meant you could both fully enjoy the story.

“You were right, I liked that one.” He took the book from your hands to inspect the black book further, “How old is this book?”

“I don’t know, probably pretty old. I’ll have to take extra good care of it.”

“Yeah, just as long as that doesn’t become your favorite Poe in your life.” Poe’s signature cheeky grin was back on his face, then tilting his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours.

“Ok, Edgar.” A wide cheeky smile was now on your face, proud of your ‘clever’ new nickname for Poe.

“No no no that nickname better not stick.”

“But- your hair looks so similar to his! Look at all those dark messy curls! I’m keeping the nickname.” You flipped to one of the earlier pages of the book that had a short biography at the front about the author with a print of a portrait of the author. His expression soured once he looked at the portrait, realizing that his curls did in fact, look like the Author’s. He let out a fake disgruntled sigh that did a horrible job of hiding his underlying happiness and flopped down back on the bed to cuddle up with you for the night.

The entire resistance was confused why you had started calling Poe, Edgar whenever you wanted to tease him. But, you guys kept the secret of the tale of two Poe’s, the only people who knew the origins of the nickname were you and your Poe. The nickname definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

—-

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All works: @shotarosleftpinky​ @oreogutz​

Poe Dameron/SW:

[codevassie]

Virgil's Book Haul 💜

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

I’ll totally call myself out for this one. I gave my favorite side my favorite book. At first, I was sort of surprised I did this and thought about changing my mind, but it actually makes sense. Certain themes appeal to me, so whatever themes I find in my favorite things probably connect. There’s actually a couple that I think Verge would dig. Loyalty and protectiveness are traits Virgil would connect with, from the loyalty found with the Greasers, to the found family dynamics between the characters. Virgil is pretty loyal to his own little family he’s found, and definitely protective over them and Thomas especially. At the same time, however, Virgil knows what it’s like to be the outcast. As is talked about in the episode “Fitting In,” Virgil has had experiences that have labeled him the “outsider” (pun in honor of Patton). Ponyboy, throughout this novel, often feels isolated from society and even the other Greasers and his family. He also has experience with being judged harshly and superficially, since Greasers have a reputation. Virgil, while judged for the actions which have led him to make Thomas fear him, is also judged superficially. He aims to protect Thomas, and, as we know, he does so in a way that’s unhealthy before AA, but this also comes from a cycle of the others assuming the worse of him. Encroaching somewhat into theory-mode, I believe Virgil became victim to a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts--he was sorted into the villain category and thus a “villain” he became.

Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

This book is a little intense, a little haunting, and perfect for Virgil in many ways. For one, it’s a ghost story, something I think would appeal to Virgil. For another, it’s completely in free-verse poetry, which sort of reminds me of the angsty teenage vibes Virge has going (which is not a negative thing. Jason Reynolds’ poetry is magnificent and angsty teenage poetry isn’t inherently bad). Will, the main character of this book, faces ghosts of his past, and though Virgil’s own “ghosts” of his past is a bit different than what Will experiences, I think it’s something he can connect with. This book also deals with perspective and fear. Will has to consider what he has always known versus what may be right. He is afraid to kill someone, and he is afraid to lose face for not following the Rules, not killing someone. This speaks to Virgil’s change in perspective over how he handles being Thomas’ Anxiety, and the fear he experiences as Anxiety, but also of not being taken seriously unless he is scary. 

The Nightmare Before Christmas by Tim Burton

This book here is the reason people label The Nightmare Before Christmas as Tim Burton even though he didn’t direct the movie. And, other than Virgil’s obvious love for the movie, there’s a few reasons I think he’d enjoy this read. For one, it’s a scaring twist on a traditionally jolly Christmas story. If you haven’t read the book, it’s structured like The Night Before Christmas, but with some spooky substitutes. For another, the illustrations are gorgeous, while also twisting a traditional sense of beauty. It’s full of long, thin shapes and dark tones, and, no, Santa doesn’t look like a particularly jolly guy. I just think Virgil would find it neat. 

The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe

Another predictable one, but, hey, predictable doesn’t mean bad. Virgil is totally into the macabre and seeming edgy. Sure, Poe aligns with the outer image he presents of himself, but we’ve seen that Virgil connects to dark things for reasons outside his need to be feared and heard as well (vampire Virgil hallelujah). Predictably, I’m going to point out The Tell-Tale Heart first. It’s a story literally about paranoia, and though that paranoia surrounds the circumstances of a murder, I think it would interest Virgil as a sort of precautionary tale. While there is definitely a lot more going on in the short story, I think it shows the dangers of too much anxiety. And while that is sort of a depressing outlook of something Virgil might enjoy, with a decent helping of angst because I cannot help myself, it’s one we can’t move on without first addressing. On a lighter note, another short story I think he’d enjoy is The Cask of Amontillado. It’s for the meme. Some poems I think he would enjoy are Annabel Lee, The Bells, and A Dream within a Dream. Since this section is getting long, I’ll go into only one of them. The Bells is a journey between emotions and stages of life. The passing of time is something Virgil is quite intuned with, as well as the possibility that things can go wrong at any time. It is beautiful to read, moving from innocence and joy to fearful and haunting. Poe isn’t someone I think Virgil goes to for a lot of hope, but more to dwell in some good ole’ teenage angst. I think Poe is also cathartic for understanding the darker aspects of life, which can be both bad and good for a guy like Virgil. It’s great for him to seek out positives, but as a person inclined to negatives, too much positivity could alienate him, as we’ve seen when he asks Patton not to treat him like an angel or something. 

Solitaire by Alice Oseman

Alright, so to be up front with you all, this book makes me very sad. Not in the way A List of Cages from Patton’s list makes me sad (somewhat similar, but I won’t get too into the distinctions). It’s not heart-wrenching; it’s not altogether beautiful. It’s raw and it’s real and I would highly suggest being careful getting into it. It’s not graphic, but it’s a very accurate representation of mental illness--depression to be exact, though it includes others. And, no, Virgil is not ‘depression’ and that’s not what I’m getting at by including this, though I understand that train of thought. I do believe he would like this novel, however, because it is so true to life and its lows and how complicated it can really be. Virgil would also probably relate to Tori’s dry sense of humor.

[everlarkficexchange]

Dissever My Soul From Yours (part 2)

Written by: @alliswell21

Rated: Mature  *Smut Ahead*

Warnings: Modern AU; Age Gap; Mourning; Grief Stages; Hurt and Comfort; Angst; Brief Description Of Domestic Abuse; Implied Past Child Abuse; Smut; Guilt; Canon Typical Anger Issues; Fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. All mistakes are mine.

Synopsis: Losing a loved one is hard enough, losing a child is torture. Peeta Mellark struggles to move on from the loss of his son, so he clings to the last piece of him left alive, his son’s girlfriend. Based on Prompt 106: Katniss is Rye’s girlfriend when he dies. Katniss and Peeta (Rye’s father) start to hang out to go through their grief together. [submitted by Anonymous]

Acknowledgements: Thank you Anon for this prompt, I wish I knew who you were to dedicate it to you, but I guess this way the story simple belongs to the universe :) Also thank you @kleeklutch for reading this through and helping me get my ideas straight… I truly loved your insights! lastly, thank you Everlark Fic Exchange from bring us all together! 

Other Notes: Excerpt of the lyrics to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman (Toy Story, 1995)

Excerpts and rewordings for the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe; featuring the poem “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

This fic got away from me. I had outlined it to be around 8-10K words, but this monstrosity grew up to be close to 32K… this is the second part, and when I post the story to AO3 there will be an epilogue. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I press the call button, but chicken out after the first ring and hang up tossing the phone on the couch next to me and putting a cushion on top of it for good measure.

  My childish fix doesn’t help one bit. The phone rings under the cushion all the same, because stupid smartphones are snitches. I miss the 80’s when the most technologically advanced phone was a wireless wall unit.

  “Hello?” I answer, pretending to yawn. I’m not sure what does that help.

  “Hey! Were you trying to call me?” She asks.

  There’s something about hearing her voice that makes my heart stutter. Suddenly I want to see her. Badly.

  “Rye’s headstone is ready.”

  There’s a pause on the other side of the line.

  “I’m coming over.” She says determinedly.

  I hear some shuffling, her breathing pattern fluctuating while she does who-knows-what. Then she asks if I need anything, if I’m okay. But I only make some nonverbal noises. I just want her here. I’m about to tell her I’m going to put the phone down, we can talk when she comes, but I hear the unmistakable turn of a key in my front door, and when I look up, there she is, walking into my apartment.

  Her hair is down, I’ve only ever seen it down a handful of times, but it’s the first time I feel the urge to run my fingers through it’s length. Pull on it a little. See what sounds she’ll produce if I do so.

  My groin area grows warm and tight, and for a moment I lose myself in this devious reaction to her, a primitive hunger unfurling in my core, all consuming and blinding to the rest of the world. I hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing but the scent of her. I watch her with sicken glee as she hurries towards me. I twitch excitedly when she drops in the couch next to me, willing her to just come closer.

  Yes pretty girl, come closer, put your sweet little arms around me, so I can… so I can… so I can…

  The scary voice of the mutt inside me gets fainter the longer I repeat the the last three words.

  So I can… Do what?

  So I can do what?

  “Peeta!” She squeezes my hand, breaking the cursed spell.

  I tear my hand out of hers as if her finger had burned my skin. She retracts her hand and her face turns scarlet in embarrassment, but when my eyes can’t focus on anything, her gaze fills with concern.

  “Hey, where did you go just now? Are you okay? I’m here.” She tells me soothingly, chancing a pass of her hand over my shoulder.

  I have the feeling she’s been trying to get me out of it for a while. I wish I could tell her I’m fine, but the truth is that I’m shaky.

  I don’t know what exactly just came over me. I felt like the wolf, disguised and salivating for Red Riding Hood’s tender flesh. I feel predatory. Dirty. Despicable.

  I start crying. It’s all I can do to release this darkness inside.

  I’m furious with myself when she mistakes my odd behavior as grief, and pulls me down to lay my head on her lap as the rest of my body curls into itself, because I should ask her to leave, I should tell her I may turn into a beast and devour her whole, but I refuse to deprive myself from her touch; because I’m selfish, because I’m disturbed in the head, because I’m a fucked up, lonely failure in love with his son’s girl.

  Somewhere deep down, I’ve always knew I a was goner, and I hate myself for being weak, perverted and a bad father. The worst part, I can’t make myself want to stop falling for her.

  ——-

  Rye’s headstone gets placed on his grave on a Thursday morning.

  It’s cold and windy out, though the sun is shining. I’m surprisingly calm through the whole event. It just feels like it’s the end of the story. He’s gone then, for real. Nothing will bring him back and his name glaring at me in that fucking rock is the proof.

  My father is bawling though. My mother can’t even look at the stone, it’s as if it hurts her, just glancing at it.

  The cynical part of me rejoices that finally something happened to force her show she actually gives a damn. The vindictive side of me wants to scream at her, that she’s a hypocritical bitch, she tossed me out on my ass when I told her I was raising the baby on my own.

  “If you think you’re big enough to ruin your life, then you must be big enough to be on your own.” Those words will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life.

  At the end, after everything was said and done, it turns out my mother loved Rye, doted on him even. Grandbabies have that effect on people. They make the most unfeeling individuals softer, loving, sweet. I’ll never know what that feels like, loving your child’s child. My hopes for grandchildren are buried with Rye.

  As if in autopilot, my eyes find Katniss and I stare at her, scanning her navy blue peacoat clad form from head to toe. Beautifully sculpted legs asides, I stop on her middle and stare where my grand babies should’ve bloom and be given life.

  She’s free to find someone else to fill her belly with children. Though she says she doesn’t want them, I’ve seen her interacting with my nephews, she’s amazing with kids.

  A possessive thought sinks it’s claws in my mind. Her womb should be filled with Mellarks, not some faceless schmuck threatening my legacy. But Rye’s is really dead, who’s stopping her from falling in love with someone else, marrying them, have children… be happy with a family of her own, where I have no place in.

  Now I’m angry at Rye for dying.

  He left me alone. He took my potential family with him into his grave.

  Katniss wanders off after paying her respects to Rye. Her mother and sister trail after her like a family of ducklings.

  When the three of them are together, is clear to see who the head of the Everdeen household really is.

  Prim came to the cemetery with two small bouquets. One she placed against the shiny, new headstone of one Rye Joshua Mellark, the other, I see her place in a vial on the mausoleum where ashes are put to rest.

  Something tells me that if I came snooping around, I’d catch a glimpse of Mr. Everdeen’s last resting place.

  “Bread Boy, when are you heading home?” Jo startles me, when she sidles closer on my left.

  I turn to look at her, but she’s staring at the Everdeen’s in the distance.

  “As soon as she’s done,” I gesture to the Everdeens vaguely.

  Jo frowns, so as way of plantation I inform her, “She came here with me.”

  Jo gives me a disapproving stare that I ignore. After a while she simply sighs. “That was ballsy of you. Stealing and rewording Annabel Lee.” She says in reference to a line I commissioned to be etched at the bottom of the headstone.

  She entones,

“Wingèd seraphs of Heaven   Coveted him. And this was the reason that,   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Navy seaman”

  I glare at her for a moment.

  “I thought Rye hated Poe.” She adds flicking her fingernails, and old habit of hers. It means she’s holding back.

  “He still knew it by heart.” I deadpan.

  “Because it was your favorite! You used to bored him to tears with it. How come you’re still trying to shove it down the poor kid’s throat?”

  All gloves are off now.

  “Because of her!” I point in the direction of Katniss, hissing and whispering harshly. “She loves Poe! and then he did too! I just didn’t know it until the wake. Then, she shows me some of his letters; he wrote the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read, and he was fucking amazing, Jo, the kid had a natural talent with words we never knew!” I’m so angry at Rye.

  I’m also jealous. I feel like he hid something we could’ve have in common, bond over probably, and shared it with someone else instead. I feel he kept part of him from me, and that just hurts deeply.

  I paw off an angry tear from my eye, “He credited me for his love of dark poetry.” I say bitterly. “Apparently, lying to his girlfriend about how he adored her favorite author, instead of telling her he felt indifferent about it, was what got him into her pants. I don’t know, Johanna. It was Katniss’ idea, to include Annabel Lee since it was Rye’s favorite poem according to her.”

  Johanna’s face remains hard the whole while.

  “Did it occurred to you, that maybe your son did like your pal Eddie after all? Obviously he was into emo chicks I find hard to swallow. And since when did he have to show you his love poems? You were his dad! He loved you, but he was his own person too, Peeta.” She starts to walk away from me.

  “Tell me when get your head out of your ass. I’ll be here waiting with tequila, seeing as you refuse to listen to me.” She tosses over her shoulder heading towards my dad and brothers.

  I’m mad at her too!

  On the ride back home, we’re both quiet. Our hands kept brushing against the other over the center console the entire ride.

  We stop at a restaurant, because we are not ready to go back home to face our new reality after Rye.

  My hands keeps finding her waist, the small of her back, the end of her braid. She seems content with my proximity, leaning into me, holding on to my arm when we walk, and when we’re finally seated, the touches just get bolder. At one point, my forearm rests on her knee while we play thumb war on the table with our free hands.

  The waiter wishes us to enjoy the rest of our date, and she smiles brightly at him and thanks him. We hold hands the rest of our meal, all the way to the car and all the way up to my place. She spends the night in the spare room Jo hasn’t stayed in in 7 weeks. I’ve been counting.

  We change out of our nice clothes, I miss seeing her in a dress and heels, but I like her in her yoga pants more. I’m in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt with my socks clad feet on the coffee table, watching Impractical Jokers.

  She plops sideways next me, so her whole back is resting on my right side from our hips up. My arm goes around her automatically. This closeness feels natural, right, comfortable. Domestic.

  She’s reading some book, only glancing at the tv when I’m laughing very hard. During a commercial break, she asks if I’d like a drink or a snack. I’m not used to anyone catering to me this way, but she kisses my cheek, patting my chest, and all I do is nod.

  She comes back with a bottle of Mike’s and a bowl of popcorn, the resumes her place up against my body.

  “What about you?” I ask curiously.

  “What about me?” She questions not looking up from her book, twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.

  “You don’t want a snack?” I ask her, squeezing her side a little.

  She makes a face, “We’re sharing!” She looks at me with a ‘duh’ expression that simply shuts me up.

  I chuckle a little, and pull on her braid wanting to be playful, “Why do girls sit like that all the time?”

  “Like what?” She turns her head to look at me.

  “Crisscrossed applesauce.” I point at her legs. “It doesn’t matter where you guys sit, your legs always go like a pretzel under yourselves.”

  She looks at me under her lashes for a second, and shrugs.

  “Is comfortable.”

  “How? I’ve seen girls sit on the bakery chairs that way. It looks painful as hell.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you, Peeta. I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Yeah, but… isn’t it weird that every. Single. Girl does it? Hell, Jo sits that way!”

  “Then why do you ask Johanna about it?” She snaps aggravated.

  Well, I didn’t expect this vipery response. Girls do this regarding other girls too. They get catty.

  She goes back to her book moodily. I simply hug her. Rye’s mom used to have this same reaction to Jo. A hug usually mollified her, and as Katniss starts to relax in my embrace, I think I’ve succeeded, so I also go back to watch the tv.

  “Why does Johanna hate me?” She asks casually after a while.

  I turn the volume of my show down, though her nose is firmly planted in the book I realize with a jolt is one from the box I gave her a few months ago. Girls also like to seem casual about things that truly bother them. I remember that from Rye’s mom.

  “She doesn’t hate you.” I say softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s a strong word.”

  “Could’ve fool me.” She says under her breath.

  She doesn’t say anything further, and I wait a minute longer just in case, but I go back to my show since she’s yet to stop reading.

  Ten minutes later, she adds. “I don’t like her either. So I guess we’re even.”

  The truth is that neither has to like the other. I like them both and that’s what matters, but I know for a fact that saying that will just make her angry enough to leave, and I don’t want her to leave, so I keep my mouth shut.

  She leans her head on my shoulder a few minutes later, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on the top of her head and rest my cheek on it.

  “How come you didn’t tell me this were all your books? I was bound to figure it out at some point. You’ve scribble on most of the margins. Which isn’t entirely kosher, you know. You’re defacing the books.”

  I chuckle, dropping another kiss to the crown of her head, “It wasn’t important. Sorry if my notes bothered you.”

  “I wasn’t bothered. I’m just telling you that other people would find that off putting.” She snuggles into me.

  She doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then she speaks quietly.

  “Rye told me once he felt like you were more involved in our relationship than he was. He was joking of course, but he said that he didn’t mind it as long as we kept the geeky to ourselves when he was around.” She closes the book and lowers it to her lap, her face finds the crook of my neck, but she doesn’t stay there long.

  She sits up. “You know what I thought about today?”

  I shake my head, my hand still resting on her hip, willingly her to sit back as she was.

  “I thought, that now that he’s officially gone, we don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”

  She turns to face me, her eyes are filling with tears.

  “Does that make me a bad person?”

  She doesn’t let me answer. She’s up and inside the spare bedroom in the blink of an eye. She cries the rest of the night, locked behind the door. I just sit on the floor with my back on her wall and let her say her final goodbyes.

  ———

  It’s May 8th, Katniss’ 22 birthday, and she warned me to not even think of congratulating her. She’s going to see her sister and mother this weekend, back home in Panem, but today I took the day off and left the shop in my store manager, Rue’s, capable hands.

  Rue and Katniss met a couple of years ago at the bakery and hit it off despite there being a few years age gap. They speak a language of their own those two, and though I knew of Katniss’ birthday because of Rye, it’s Rue who insists I do something low key for her.

  At 6:15 I rap on her door, and rock on the ball of my feet holding a tiny bouquet of wild onions and katniss blooms behind my back.

She scowls at me as soon as she opens the door.

  “Wipe that silly grin off your face, Peeta. I’m warning you, I don’t do birthdays.”

  “Come on!” I cajole stepping into her apartment when she stomps back in. “You don’t even know what I’m here for!”

  She just glares at me, and I smile widens. I stick the flowers and inch from her nose, unable to say any of the words I had practiced on my way down to her floor.

  Instead, I just say, “I’m taking you up!”

  She’s staring at my flowers, still not taking them from my hand, but her eyes are as big as silver dollars.

  “Where did you get these?” She asks in awe caressing a petal of a katniss flower.

  “Garden on the roof,” I say nonchalantly.

  “What? That’s impossible!”

  “Not really. There’s a bunch of the things up there. If you wanna see it, then put on some shoes and I’ll show you.” I tell her easily.

  “I’m in my pajamas!” She protests.

  “So? I think you look cute. Plus nobody goes up there anyway.”

  We’re out her door and in the elevator in a heartbeat. She’s exuding excitement and it’s contagious. When we step in the 13th floor, there’s a flight of stairs we have to climb and then we’re on the roof of the building.

  Her mouth drops open in astonishment when she sees the sea of wild flowers all over planters in every inch of the roof, and in the very middle, there’s a picnic set up.

  “Where did all this come from?” She whispers out softly. Her hand gliding over the cheerful blooms closest to her.

  “Well, technically, they all came from Panem!” I say simply.

  “How?” She faces me demanding my answers.

  “I had your sister’s boyfriend find them for a fee, and then I just transplanted them here.” I say trying to shove down the ever increasing anxiety I’m feeling. “The duck potatoes were the hardest ones to get to take… you can recreate their habitat without water.”

  Her eyes snap to me dangerously. “What kind of fee did you pay?”

  “Monetary kind.”

  “How big of a fee? Because these plants are basically weeds in the woods back home, and if Rory dared to rip you off—“

  “Katniss! Can you for once, just enjoy something nice some has done for you? let someone else worry about costs and such for once.”

  Her eyes soften. “You didn’t have to go through this trouble,” she gestures around us.

  “Just say you like the flowers, and that you’re hungry, and we’re even,” I smile at her.

  She smiles back, albeit reluctantly and nods.

  We’re both wearing crowns of dandelions she weaved for us, dipping cheese buns in hot chocolate, when she asks seriously, “How did you come up with this idea?”

  “You said you wanted to go home. And I know you’re going to say you’ll be in Panem Friday evening, but when you talked about your favorite birthday being out in the woods with your father, gathering wild onions, and katniss tubers, and mint leaves… I wanted you have that memory back, but I’m not your father, I’ve never set foot in woods in my life. I know how to tend a garden, and I figured the city needed more pretty wildflowers, like you.”

  “Peeta…” she sighs my name, and I swear I’ll never forget the effect that sound had over my body and soul. Her eyes search mine, imploringly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  I stare at her for a moment, the words that come of my mouth, escape without my consent.

  “You know why,”

  “I do?” Her voice is breathy, and dances away with the swift breeze.

  “You have, no idea the effect you can have…” my voice matches hers.

  I don’t think she meant to speak the words, since her lips barely move, but I heard them all the same, minute and ethereal, here a moment and gone the next, “kiss me?”

  And who am I to deny her anything?

  In the blink of an eye, I lean forward and pull her lower lip inside my mouth, I release soon after, to kiss her properly, and my hands move in to trap her face and pull her closer to me. Her hands take hold of my wrist and she just sighs contentedly against my mouth.

  In a matter of seconds, she’s migrated to my lap, and the kisses turn into a straight up makeout session. Things just escalate from there without any kind of brake. We are free falling, and neither of us cares.

  My lips and tongue seek her skin hungrily and she’s just too happy to oblige dipping her head back granting me access.

  Is an unseasonably warm evening, so we’re both wearing shorts, hers is a flimsy material that matches her tank top. I’m taking complete advantage of her skimpy sleep clothes, my hands caress the supple olive skin of her shapely legs all the way down to her ankles, then creep back to her hips.

  My lips are attached to her jaw, my tongue dances across her neck and collarbone. At some point, we ended up laying on the picnic blanket. I’m hovering above her.

  “Is this okay?” I whisper into her ear, nipping her lobe before sliding my hand into her hair to undo the braid.

  “Yes,” She sighs.

  I kiss her some more and she speaks raggedly against my lips.

  “Peeta. You make my heart race…”

  She takes my hand, and slips it flushed against herself from her hip, all the way to her chest, where her heart is indeed beating frantically. The palm of my hand is half on her breast and half over the spot where heart beats. Her tank rides up as she drags my hand up her body.

  I swipe my thumb over her nipple under the thin fabric of her shirt, and she arches her chest to meet the slight touch. I take it as permission to dip my hand under her top, and almost cry when I’m met with bare flesh. I push the tank top up and she raises her arms so I can pull it over her head. After tossing her shirt to the side I dive in to devour her perky, pretty breast.

  She digs her fingers into my hair, to keep my head in place. She didn’t need worry. I’m not going to stop sucking on her nipples any time soon.

  I’ve pinned her lower half to the ground with my hips, but I don’t dare move for fear that I’ll explode in my shorts. Katniss is making the most delicious noises I’ve ever heard, undulating her body against mine, and I have to give her something to stimulate her, so I bring a hand to her knee and let my hand travel slowly upwards and inward, as I suck and kiss her breasts non stop.

  I’m only aware of how big of a mistake touching her there is for me, when I find the cotton of her panties soaking wet and hot. She shouts as soon as my fingers find her.

  “Peeta… please…” she begs.

  So I slip one finger under her underwear, and find the glorious mess of her arousal, dripping wet and warm.

  “Fuck, Katniss… you’re soaked.”

  “Your. F-fault.” She meowls twisting under my weight.

  “My fault? Do I make you wet often?” I tease her slit unhurriedly.

  “Y-yessss. Ah… lot…”

  “When?”

  “I don’t. Knooow. All the tiiiiimeeeee?” I slide my finger inside her and her head rolls back.

  “Peeta… don’t… tease!”

  Her own slim hand snakes down our bodies, and palms the bulge in my shorts. Is too much, I pull away but she whines. She opens her glassy eyes, and stares me down until she’s wrestled my cock out of my shorts.

  Her grey eyes grow determined, she pulls my erection in her tight fist making me grunt with want. I push her panties aside, just as she positions the head of my cock at her entrance.

  “No more teasing!” She breathes out sternly.

  “Whatever you want, Katniss. Just answer me this question first,” I plead, and she nods. “Are you in love with me?” I hear the shakiness in my voice, the desperation, “I need to know.” I whisper into her ear, leaving a kiss in the shell.

  “Yeah,” she breathes out against my cheekbone. “Been for a while.”

  I picture in my head all the times I’ve caught her staring at me, blushing and smiling sweetly. I know in my heart she’s accepted her feelings and come to terms with them before now, I want to give her anything she wants, including my heart, if she asks for it on a platter!

  I press into her slowly to give her a chance to adjust to my girth. She gasps, and her clever dainty fingers curl around my shoulders tighter the deeper I go. She’s so wet and welcoming, her body offers no resistance whatsoever. Her walls envelop my erection like a fitted glove, accepting the intrusion with a warm, snug hug.

  She feels like heaven.

  Once I’m completely sheathed in her, all I can do is hold on to her hips for dear life while I wait for my lungs to breathe naturally. I’m scared I’m going to blow my load if I move, it’s agony trying to tell your body to calm the hell down when all I want is to get lost in the sensations.

  She seems to understand I need a minute, because one of her hands let’s go of my biceps, caress my face lovingly, then she kisses my jaw and nuzzles her nose on the side of my face.

  “We have all night, take me slowly.” She breathes into my ear.

  My forehead drops to the crook of her neck for a moment. It’s been so long since a woman has shown me affection, I want to soak it all up and live in her warmth forever. I kiss a path from her cheek to her mouth, and start moving slowly within her.

  Pulling almost all the way out, then plunging back in quickly, thrusting all the way to the hilt. The elastic of her panties rubbing on the side of my dick drives me insanely hard. Her hot breath hitches every time I enter her hightnenig the feeling.

  She barely makes any noises, her mouth forms a silent scream, I’m convinced I just expelled all the air out of her body when I slid in.

  I pick up my pace, when her feet lock around my calfs, thrusting faster and harder; that does it for her, and I swear is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  She moans my name over and over, her body seizing under mine, and her walls fluttering around me ushers my own release.

  I slump on top of her and she attacks my chin and neck with tight lip nips. She actually bites the collar of my t-shirt and pulls on it like a playful puppy.

  She giggles, and starts playing with a curl of hair that’s fallen on my eyes. My whole body shakes with her laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask her curiously cracking one eye open so I can look at her disheveled, beautiful, flushed face.

  Her hair falls wildly around her head like an inky halo. I love it. I love her.

  “Nothing really. I was just mentally calling myself a horny hoe… you felt so thick inside me, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait to see your hard dick properly? I was wondering if next time we could be completely naked? I could give it a lick if you think that’ll help…” she trails her short nails down my arm blinking her lashes innocently.

  Then, she purrs, “Can’t wait to give you head.” She has the fucking audacity to suck her bottom lip inside her mouth giving me a peek of her teeth and pink tongue.

  I’m rock hard and ready to go, just like that.

  She oomphs when I scramble off the ground pulling her up by the waist. I grab her top and shove it in her hands before picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, like a sack of flour. She squeals and kicks at first, but then she just giggles as I bound down the stairs, leaving behind the picnic to deal with later.

  Her shorts and panties are still askew from before. I run a finger down her messy slit and inform her, “You can have me naked and in your mouth in a minute. But I’m eating you out first, so brace yourself sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet!”

  ———

  I wake up to a rain of sweet, loving kisses peppered all over my face by luscious, warm lips.

  I try to trap her in my arms, but she’s sitting in a very weird position just out of my reach. She giggles pecking my eyelid.

  “I have a meeting with a professor in an hour. I have to go.”

  “Is he hot? Your professor?” I ask sleepily.

  She chuckles. “No. Professor Lattier is awfully smart and a great mentor, but I don’t find him attractive.”

  “I don’t like having competition… the brainiacs are the worst!” I lunge at her and drag her back into the bed as she yelps. “They always end up charming the pretty girls, at the end of the movies.”

  She turns in my arms laughing, until she’s laying across my body. Punctuated with lazy kisses on the lips, she assures me, “You. Have no. Competition. Anywhere!” She smiles down at me, “I happen to like the jock, wrestling champs, with hearts of gold type… like you!”

  “Good! Everything is right with world then.”

  We kiss again. Languidly.

  “I’ll bring take out for supper this evening?”

  “But I texted Rue that I wasn’t coming in today either, so I could stay in bed with you all day!” I pout. “Can’t you just meet with the professor real quick and come home right away?”

  She giggles again, and kisses me all over.

  “I think we need a little break to rest ourselves, don’t you?” She combs my hair back off my forehead. “You can have me all to yourself tonight, I have to finish my graduation project this week, otherwise…” She runs the palm of her hand down my bare chest with a wicked smirk. “That was some birthday gift!”

  She’s fast though. Before I can move to pin her under me again she hops off the bed and blows me a kiss from the door.

  “You minx!” I call after and her melodic laugh trails down the hall and dies when she leaves the apartment.

  I try to sit up, but every muscle in my body screams. My junk is chafing too. She’s probably right about that break; I can’t imagine how she feels. I took her in every conceivable position I know, and made her cum at least twice as many times.

  I lay back down and reminisce on last night’s events.

  It wasn’t all just mindless fucking, we had some quiet moments filled with meaningful conversations or just easy banter. Our age difference was never an issue last night, and although in the last few years I’ve gotten a bit of a flabby belly, she seemed to enjoy my body as much as I enjoyed hers.

  It was what I’ve always pictured a healthy, mature relationship would feel and look like. I can’t wait to be with her again, and I don’t mean in bed.

  I want to take her out on dates, or just sit sit somewhere quietly and sketch her. My mind gets away from me, planing future trips to Europe, because once, she mentioned how she’d love to travel but never had the means to since growing up she had to help support her sister Primrose.

  I’m not a millionaire, but I’m pretty loaded. I could take her anywhere in the world. I think we should start with London, so she can visit all the places she knows from literacy. I bet she’d get a kick out of Paddington Station. We could get a Sherlock Holmes and also a Harry Potter tour… she’s so well read, my Katniss!

  But the human mind is just as much a pitfall of despair, as it is a well of dreams and noble ideas.

  MY Katniss?

  She isn’t mine.

  She belongs to Rye.

  Guilt, shame and self loathing hits me like a ton of bricks.

  What have I done?

  The roiling in my stomach gets painful and I have to rush to the toilet to vomit.

  I get up, shower, avoid looking at myself in the mirror for fear of what I’ll find in my reflection.

  The out of the blue, I have to see.

  The white hair in my temples looks painfully obvious now that my hair is damp and a shade darker. My two day stubble is also sprinkled with the white fuckers, mocking me.

  Suddenly I’m questioning if any of her actions were real. Did she mean anything she said last night about liking me?

  Our age difference is so stark and jarring when she’s not around to muddle up my thinking process. I can’t think straight when she’s around. I’m not sure is my memories of her are real or not. Looking back, everything has a shiny quality to it, too hypened.

  After getting dressed, I pull the covers off the bed and switch them for clean ones. I febreze the entire bedroom, because it’s smells like sex with her, and I can’t deal with the emotions her scents stirs in me.

  But I’m jumpy. I need something to do, so I go through a box I haven’t dare touch since packing it back in winter. I’m not ready for this, but in the dark recesses of my mind, some nagging voice suspiciously similar to my mother’s says that I deserve punishment for being a weak creep.

  My hands tremble when I grab Rye’s duffle bag. He never got the chance to fully unpack.

  I’m a despicable piece of shit! Here I was planning some romantic trip with his girlfriend, when I never once asked him if he wanted to go somewhere. Granted, we did travel some when he was young, we visited most of the important landmarks all over the continental US, and when he graduated high school, before boot camp, we went with Jo to Hawaii for two weeks. He tried to look excited, but I knew he missed Katniss the whole time. I wish I had asked her mother permission to bring her with us.

  Could I’ve been that dad that condones their underaged children have sleepovers with their sweethearts? Did any parent in the world actually allow that?

  I gave my child the best life I could; why do I steal from him in death, is beyond me.

  The tears start falling freely as soon as I unzip the bag and I’m met with my boy’s scent. The first t-shirt I pull out of the duffle, I recognize as one he’s had since high school. I completely lose it.

  I bring the worn cotton to my nose and breathe my son in. I hug the shirt to my chest and scream in pain. I can’t go on for maybe an hour, and really I should just stop, find one of those hermetic storing bags, so every ounce of my Rye’s precious essence is preserved. But I need to atone for what I did. I can’t even think of it or call it by its name, but the ugly sensations twisting the pit of my stomach into a knot won’t let me have a reprieve, so I keep unpacking, and then I see it, rolled up into a sock, stuffed into a boot, a tiny black box.

  I don’t wanna open it, I don’t wanna know what’s inside, but what else could it be?

  And now I’m filled with full hot white rage. So much so I want to go find her, yell at her, tell her how much I hate her for what she’s doing to me, to Rye. To his memory, but I don’t, I just sit there and cry.

  ————-

  “Knock, knock!” Her voice is cheerful, carefree, innocent, and grating in my ears.

  Up until this point, I’ve only blamed myself for the betrayal of Rye. But now that I hear her, I realize she was an all too willing participant in this debacle,

going as far as inciting the events. She has a responsibility too in this mess.

  A small voice in the back of my mind tries to tell me that I’m just projecting my own guilt on her, that my anger is unwarranted, that she has no idea of what I’ve been stewing in my head all day, but I want to be angry, I want to lash out, I want her to feel as sad and hurt as Rye probably does right now!

  ‘It’s the grief talking’. “It’s the truth!” I argue with myself with low growls.

  She walks in the kitchen and the smell of fried rice attacks me, making my stomach churn uncomfortably.

  “Hi handsome!” She greets obviously to the storm brewing in my chest. “Did someone forget it was my turn making dinner?” She asks playfully when she sees me hard at work kneading some dough.

  “I didn’t forget. I just don’t want Chinese food” I say quietly.

  She had been unpacking bags but abruptly stops, I glance at her for the first time since she left this morning, and I punch the dough harder than is necessary.

  She’s so beautiful it’s gutting me out.

  The smile etched in her face slowly falls as the tension in the room mounts.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I bought all this food because I’ve been ravenous all day after last night. I could’ve gotten something else.” She chuckles nervously.

  I stop kneading, and take a beer from the fridge.

  “I think you better leave.” I say flatly, take a nice long drink from my bottle the whole time staring her down.

  “Are you… is this… did I miss something? what’s- what’s the matter?” She’s visibly stunned, there are around 10 little containers of take out sprawl on the counter, she eyes them wearily, but starts putting them back in the plastic bags she brought them in.

  I have to hold onto the back of a chair, just to feel in control of myself.

  I can see the concern in her eyes. I know her well enough to know she’s trying to tamp down her own emotions, she’s very wise that way. If she doesn’t understand something, she waits until she can see the whole picture.

  “I just… I can’t deal with y— ‘it’ right now.” I bow my head and squeeze the back of the chair until my circulation cuts.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Her voice is thin and broken.

  That’s when I scream at her.

  “You don’t think cheating on your dead boyfriend is enough wrongdoing?”

  She flinches at my outburst, frozen in place.

  “He bought you a fucking ring, you know, and you repay him by sleeping around?” I accuse her viciously.

  She’s panicking, but I don’t feel anything right now, other than shame and guilt, and she’s the cause of it. The floodgates of hell have been opened, I can’t stop the vile that comes out of my mouth, even though I know I’m being completely unfair.

  “My son hasn’t been in the ground five months and I’m fucking his girl raw! But you ask if you’ve done something wrong? You’re letting me, a man 18 years older than yourself, fuck, you who can barely rent a car legally! You should be mourning my son, not sleeping with me, that’s what’s wrong!”

  I take a lamp from the corner of the counter and throw it across the kitchen until it smashes on the wall besides her.

  She shrieks and slings herself the opposite way.

  She doesn’t move for a minute, huddle by the refrigerator. She looks terrified and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

  “I— Katniss—” I try.

  She shakes her head, extends her arm and gives me her palm to stop me, to keep distance between us. She grabs the bags of food trembling like a leaf from head to toe, muttering under her breath between choked whimpers something about the homeless around the corner, and how much they’ll appreciate a nice warm meal.

  Her face is a mess of tears and snot.

  I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms and apologize a million times, whispering in her ear that I didn’t mean it, that it’s not her fault, that I’m a jerk and a fuck-up just like my mother always told me I was.

  But I don’t move and inch. I’m not just an useless fuck-up, I’ve turned into a monster, an abusive mutt. I’ve turned into my mother.

  I’m paralyzed. My body doesn’t respond to my frantic commands, not even when she hightails out the kitchen.

  “Katniss?” I plead choking back a sob.

  But the front door slams after her.

  ———-

  It’s been a week since I scared Katniss away, and I feel like shit.

  I run into her in the lobby. She perks up, standing straighter, and I can’t help my wandering eyes.

  Her hair is loose today, and she’s got makeup on, she’s wearing slacks and a nice flowy blouse. I wonder where is she coming from, but instead of talking to her like a normal person, I ignore her.

  My eyes flit back towards her, then I board the elevator and we just stand face to face, staring at each other mutely. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and holding to her big girl purse as she calls it, for dear life. Neither of us move but eventually the elevator doors start closing.

  There’s a fraction of a second in which her eyebrows arch expectantly, like she’s giving me a chance to do something; her gaze searches my eyes, but I see the disappointment dulling down her usually sparkly eyes. She finally lets her eyes fall away. The last thing I see before the doors are shut, are her shoulders hunching.

  My eyes are stuck on the spot I last saw her, but in front of me is only my own reflection on the buffed steel surface of the elevator.

  I look even older.

  Is better this way. I have no business messing with a 22 year old. She can do so much better. She did so much better. She used to have Rye. Now she’s got no one because I took myself from the equation.

  The next day I come home to a neat pile of books on my coffee table that weren’t there when I left for work in the morning. On top of the books is a note hastily scribbled in Katniss’ loopy handwriting, and on top of the note, the spare key to my apartment she had never gotten around to return until now.

  My eyes prickle with unshed tears.

  She returned even the books she took the day of the wake.

  With a pang to the heart I pick up the note and stick it on the fridge, right on the place she had leaned her head to cry on, because I deserve to be reminded everyday of the things I’m not allowed to want, let alone have.

  ‘Alone’

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

  Edgar Allan Poe

  ———

  It’s been over three months since I last saw Katniss. Closed to 9 months since laying Rye to rest.

  Thanks to Rue I know Katniss graduated college last week. Her mother and sister were here for that, and she got a job her professor recommended her for. She didn’t even interviewed for it! It doesn’t surprise me. She’s so smart and clever, she is also such a hard worker.

  I was so proud of her, I think I smiled the whole time Rue was talking about Katniss’ accomplishments.

  “You should call her.” Rue says and my smile fades. “Whatever fall out you two had, it’s obvious you miss each other.”

  “No. I’m being realistic, she doesn’t need me holding her hostage to some loyalty to Rye. He’s dead, she’s not, she deserves to live her life.”

  “I understand you want her to move on, but so should you, Peeta. Loving someone is not a sin. But not fighting for that love… well, that’s just tragic. Don’t look at me like that, mister!” She sasses when I just stare at her in disbelief. “I’ve known how you felt for her for ages.

  “You think you’re so discreet? Well, it’s pretty much written all over your face. That lovesick puppy face you make when you say her name is a pretty obvious giveaway.”

  “What? you’re exaggerating.” I protest.

  Rue just cocks her head to the side, stares at me and says, “But, am I?”

  ———-

  I get a ping on my phone and I’m surprised to see it’s from her.

  17:55

Katniss: Hey! Can we talk?

  I delete the message. It’s taken me too long to get her out of my system to fall into this rabbit hole again.

  The next day, she calls, and I let it go to voicemail. She calls two more times and I let them ring until the phone goes silent. She leaves messages, but I don’t hear them before erasing them.

  She texts again two days later.

  18:33

Katniss: When will be an appropriate time 2 call U?

  28:34

Katniss: Or U can call me. I’m free anytime

  I ignore those too.

  Johanna finally comes to the city, once I tell her I cut Katniss completely off my life.

  She dusting a picture of Rye wearing his 8th grade quarterback uniform.

  “He hated football.” I say glancing at the picture. “He hated wrestling. He hated baseball. He hated art. He hated everything!”

  “He loved track and swimming.” Jo says smiling down at a picture of baby Rye eating a lemon wedge.

  “Two things Katniss is good at.” I grimace. I didn’t mean to say it aloud. But all comes back to her at the end.

  “Good riddance.” She breathes out. “I’m so relieved you’re not seeing her anymore.”

  My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. I feel like Johanna during Christmas all over again, when I didn’t want to go to Panem and she could understand why I wouldn’t just get over my sadness and join my brothers with all their living sons and have a merry holiday.

  “Why? What did Katniss ever do to you, Jo? What is it about her you hate so much? She’s a sweet, caring, smart, beautiful girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hostility!”

  Johanna is just staring at me weird.

  “WHAT? Goddamnit?” I yell.

  “You’re crying.” She says simply.

  I hadn’t notice. Having tears rolling down my face is so commonplace now, I don’t even feel them anymore.

  Johanna breathes deeply, gets up from her spot and gives me a hug. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t think is healthy for you to hang out together.”

  “I know that! You don’t think I know that? But is not the way you’re thinking. You think she’s gonna hurt me, when in reality I’m the one who hurt her. That’s the reason I let her go, because she needs to be protected from me.”

  Jo looks perturbed, and she doesn’t know half of it. So I fill her in on my doomed relationship with Katniss. The whole time, she just made faces, interjecting here and there, piecing the story together.

  “Peeta! Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her?” She asks anxiously and a little grossed out.

  When I don’t answer she says my name again in disappointment. “Were you at least safe?”  

  I refuse to answer and her face tells me just how bad I’ve fucked up as if I need her judging me, it takes her a while to look at me again, but she finally resolves that the next thing I need to do is have hot date, expensive food, and a good fuck with a lady more on my age bracket, and I’ll be good as new.

  I don’t want to date and fuck anybody other than Katniss, but I let Jo convince me that her remedy will work, because it’ll be like a rebound. I’m not sure about her logic, but I let her set me up in a date, for the next weekend.

  On Saturday night, I open my front door, and jump back startled, when I find Katniss with her knuckles poised to rap on my door.

  I frown. She’s persistent.

  And as pretty as ever, if a bit fuller looking. Johanna would have a field day talking about how round and rosy Katniss’ cheeks are.

  She’s startled too, but undeterred.

  “Hi, Peeta!” She says shyly, “Um, do you have a minute? I’ve been wanting to talk to you. It’s kind of important—“

  “Sorry, I’m late for a date.” I say stepping out of the apartment and locking the door.

  “Oh?” Her eyes flit away, I see the pain in her face, and it sucks.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime next week.”

  “Mmm, m-my lease is up actually. I’m moving back to Panem in a few days. But I have to t—“

  My phone rings, and it’s my date.

  “Sorry, I have to take this… I’ll try and catch you up?” I walk away, and see the agitation in Katniss’ gray eyes.

  “I just need a minute, just a minute,” She practically begs. But then holds back, standing in the middle of the hallway.

  I answer the call and my date tells me she’s 10 minutes away from the restaurant, so I hurry away to the elevator. When I turn around Katniss is still standing there, dejected.

  It strikes me as odd. Her eyes are always so sparkly, even during Rye’s funeral her eyes sparkled, but right now they look dull and sad.

  I’ve just walked away from the girl I once sworn didn’t want to lose. And a conflict unfolds inside me, on the one hand Rue’s telling me to fight for her, on the other, Jo keeps telling me I’m better off without her.

  Who I’m I gonna listen in the end?

  ———-

  I’m pissing drunk. I can barely hold myself up, but I do my best, until I’m in front of the door I’m looking for through slitted eyes.

  I pound on the door as savagely as the coordination of a man with this level of intoxication can muster.

  And then I start slurring loudly.

  “Kantiss! You cock-blocking, cock-blocker!

  “Kantsissss. You win goddamnit!

  “I miss you!

  “Hell, I’m fucking in love with you!

  “Kat-niiiiith!”

  I pound on the door again, “I’m yours! And I’m sorry I’ve been such a… mmm… Kat—” I slip a little.

  When I get up, I start just chanting her name.

  “Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,”

  A door two apartments down the hall flies open, revealing a bewildered Katniss in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. I sigh like a schoolboy when I see her stalk me, looking positively angry.

  “Heeeey, purty thang!” I smile dreamily at her.

  “What the hell are you doing, Peeta? You’re gonna get us in trouble!” She pulls me away from the door I’ve been hollering at.

  “Wait!” I exclaim alarmed. “Where we going? I been knockin’, and callin’ and tellin’ ya shit… you-you came out of the wrong door!” I look back at the door but still go willingly after her when she tugs on my hand.

  “Uh, sorry to break to you, Peeta, but you were about blast down the wrong door.”

  “Na-uh! You live in D12!” I inform her proud of myself.

  She glares at me. “I know! It’s been my address for a few years now. But you were screaming at D10, you’re lucky Dalton is out of town.” We are about to cross under her threshold, but she turns around sharply. “Did you drive here? How did you get home?”

  “I drove myself silly! But first I stopped at the vodka store, because you can’t get smashed without vodka!”

  “So you did this to yourself intentionally,” She rolls her eyes and pulls me inside her apartment.

  “Duuude! This is exactly like your old place! Look it, it even has the same stain of pasgetti I left on the carpet!”

  She huffs. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

  “Are we gonna… do… IT?” I whisper the last two words as if I’m saying something naughty.

  She shuffles me inside the bathroom, and frowns a little with her fists on her hips. Without turning to look at me she says in a no nonsense voice, “We are not gonna have sex, Peeta.”

  “Whyyyy?” I whine. “You’re hotter than a hapaleño! Wait, that ain’t right… ñalapeño, haranero?”

  “It’s either habanero or jalapeño. Sit down here and take off your shoes and socks.”

  “Yeah! That’s it! hañavero!” I smile goofily, doing as she commanded.

  I’m not very coordinated so she has to help, and once my feet are bare, I wiggle my toes at her.

  She bats my foot away before gesturing with her hand. “Shirt.”

  I raise my arms so she can pull of my shirt off, but it’s a button up, so she has to undo the top three buttons before pulling it over my head.

  “You didn’t tell me why you won’t let me do you?”

  ”Pants and underwear off. We’re not having sex because I’m angry at you, Peeta. Plus, you’re skunked and smell horrible.”

  “I love you!” I tell her.

  This makes her stop for a second to glare at me, before continuing.

  “I love you too. Even though you’re a jackass.” She deadpans. “Sit tight for a second, I’m gonna get the water.”

  She takes her own close off real quick and we get into the steaming shower together. She washes my body as if I was a toddler. She even bats my hands away sternly when I try to touch her breasts.

  “You have amazing boobs! I think I’m in love with your boobs.”

  “I know. Turn around and rinse off.”

  Once she declares us cleaned, she gives me a towel and I do a mediocre job drying myself. I follow her to bed. We climb naked under the covers, I’m so tired I don’t even try anything funny.

  “Marry me, Katniss. We should get married,” I stare into her face, while she settles next to me.

  She combs my hair softly, not quite smiling.

  “Ask me again when you’re sober.”

  “Willyousayyes?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hey, Katniss, have I ever tell you about Lavinia?” She shakes her head. “She has auburn hair and dark green eyes that you’d think are emeralds. She was the first girl I fucked. We fucked like bunnies. In the car, in the movie theatre, in the public library bathroom, in her folks bed, in my dad’s bakery closet. You name it, we’ve fuck there. I knocked her up. She wanted to have an abortion, I told her I’d support anything she wanted, because I was scared shitless.

  “Lavinia’s daddy was a preacher. He didn’t let her have the abortion, but she didn’t want to keep the kid. So, the day Rye was born, I fell in love for the first time, ever! I felt bad I wanted Lavinia to abort him. The child was a joy to be around. So sweet, so funny and opinionated. Lavinia only met him a couple of times. She didn’t come to his funeral because she felt guilty. Her loss. My boy had a family that doted in him, and family who adored him, and a gorgeous girl to call his own, he never really miss her as a mom.

  “But that made think. Maybe, just maybe, Rye was here on borrowed time? And then I think back on all the wonderful times we had together… he was my greatest treasure, my greatest accomplishment and my greatest love. I wish I had given him siblings. I love babies, but the right woman never came along until you showed up, and I feel terrible that I’m stealing from Rye, but I went to see him tonight instead of going on that silly date. I mean, I went to the restaurant, but one small conversation with Ms. Cashmere sweater- whatever her name is- and I knew I wasn’t gonna stay long, and she didn’t regret it either.

  “But, yeah… I went to Rye’s grave, I came clean to him. I told him how I felt for you, and I asked him to forgive me. I told him, that if you’d have me, I’d try my best to honor and cherish you as much as as he did. And I would treat you with love and respect… and then, a breeze started blowing. Sweet and fragrant and warm. It felt like he gave me his blessing, which was further confirmed when I got to my kitchen and was drinking my vodka, and in my head, I heard him reciting some words, and then he said I could borrow his poem. So, here it goes:

  “— Our love it was stronger by far than the love   Of those who were older than we—   Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above   Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes   Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

Katniss Everdeen.”

  I pause and look up at her, she has tears in her cheeks, silent ones, but not angry ones.

  “Did you see what I did there?” I ask her trying to wink. I’m still pretty drunk, but this, I’ll remember in the morning.

  She smiles sadly, “Yeah. You replaced Annabel Lee’s with mine. So clever, Peeta. Just one problem, won’t mr. Poe be angry for your plagiarism?”

  “What are you? Poetry police? Nevermore!” I shout and she finally gives me a real smile.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Nevermore!”

  “Nevermore yourself!” She chuckles, “Go to sleep, you crazy man. Who goes to the graveyard at night?”

  “I had important business with my boy.” I yawn. “Hey Katniss. I won’t forget to ask you to marry me tomorrow. I remember everything about you! So think about your answer? I’d like to know what’s in your mind. I know you don’t want babies. I’m okay with just being us two. But if you ever change your mind, that’s cool too… just think about it. Say you’ll think about it,”

  I don’t hear what she says, sleep catches up with me, but I’m okay since my beautiful Katniss Everdeen is next to me. All my nightmares nowadays are about losing her.

  ———-

  “Peeta?”

  I hear her voice coming groggily from her bedroom. I would’ve answered, if I knew where my voice had gone to.

  I hear shuffling and moving in the other room, then she pads almost silently to the living area. I hear her sighing and walking again. The bathroom door opens and she screams when she turns the light on and she sees me sitting in the tub.

  I don’t turn to face her.

  I can’t.

  My eyes are fixed in the grainy, black and white picture I snatched from the fridge door this morning after getting dressed and attempting to make some very strong coffee for myself.

  I’ve been sitting in the bathtub with my knees drawn to my chest staring at this image ever since.

  Once she recuperates from the jump scare, she walks cautiously inside, lowers the toilet lid and takes a sit. She says nothing, but feel her inquisitive eyes on me.

  All I can think to say is, “Is this what you were hounding me to talk about?” I caress the glossy picture with my thumb.

  My eyes flit to her quickly.

  Her hands are neatly clasped on her lap.

  She nods slowly. “It is.” She confirms.

  “Why didn’t you say anything last night?” I ask her holding her eyes for a short moment.

  “Your were drunk as a skunk! Your head wasn’t in a very good place, and earlier when I went to see you, you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  I release a stuttering breath. She’s right, I did dismiss her without giving her the chance to say her peace, and later I just barged in here like a mad man.

  “And… You’re keeping it?” I’m trying hard to tamp down any emotions I’m feeling, which are confusing at best.

  “I am. I really want it.” Her voice is small but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “Is this why you’re going back to Panem? What happened with that job offer here in Capitol City?” I ask nervously.

  “I turned down the job. My mama said I could come back home, she’ll cut down on her hours at the hospital to help watch the baby, while I figure what to do for a job. I could apply for few positions there, it shouldn’t be that bad. And Prim…” she hesitates grimacing. “Prim will go to medical school as planned with her scholarship and grants and the small chunk of money my father had the foresight to save all those years ago.” She shrugs, “We’re gonna make it work.”

  “So… your mother knows?” I keep running my thumbs over the sonogram.

  “Of course she knows. I had to tell someone. Who better than a highly qualified nurse practitioner who’s also my mother?” There’s a hint of reproach in her tone.

  I feel like such a tool right now. “Does she know who the daddy is?” I enunciate.

  She frowns. “I didn’t have to tell her actually. She… she kinda just knew. She wasn’t even mad, just… disappointed.” She sighs.

  “Okay. And… what about me?”

  “About you? I guess is up to yourself.”

  Then before I swallow down the words, because I know it’s a terrible, terrible, terrible stupid thing to ask, my mouth runs idiotically in the worst possible question ever. “Any chance I’m gonna be a grandpa?” I grimace right away. I know this is costing me mayor points with her, and I can’t afford that as it is.

  I’m surprised she still responds.

  “I would have to be 19 months far for this child to be your grand baby, if that was even a remote possibility.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not that I have to justify this to you, but FYI, including yourself, I’ve slept with only two people my whole life, and neither is related to the other.

  “Rye and I never had sex. We never had the chance. The night he got murdered would’ve been our first time. He wasn’t concerned with sexuality, in fact, sometimes I wonder if he was asexual or something. I guess we’ll never know. Now, can you stop with the weirdness?”

  Well, this is news.

  Katniss and Rye were serious since before he was deployed. I never actively thought about Rye having sex, it’s just too strange, disturbing and gross to think about, but it actually surprises me more to hear he and Katniss weren’t physically intimate than the opposite. Too many implications that only the two of them understand.

  The way he spoke about her,  or how he looked at her like she was the sun. I know my son was smitten. I can’t imagine him not wanting her sexually.

  But I guess, you don’t have to be physical to express love for somebody. Besides the one crazy night of passion, Katniss and I have never been romantically involved, yet we had a level of intimacy I’ve never experience before, and I’m completely smitten with her.

  “Katniss, I honestly don’t wanna know about Rye’s sexual life—“

  “You brought it up!” She snaps.

  “Sorry.” I mutter sheepishly.

  “You should be!” She’s fully scowling now, “The issue with sex with Rye was always a touchy subject for me. For the longest time, I thought that there was something wrong with me, or that he was a closeted gay guy with a girlfriend, wouldn’t had been the first sailor to do something like that.” Her legs are crossed now as well as her arms.

  I’m no body language expert, but she looks very defensive and unapproachable right now.

  “Look, my bladder’s shrunk to the size of a lima bean. I’ve been holding it all this time because I think it is important we have this conversation, Lord knows we have too much shit to deal with, we may even need professional help depending on the direction we’ll take with this, but I have to pee, badly, and I really want a break from this conversation, because you keep putting your foot in your mouth, and my patience is running thin,”

  I assent, knowing she’s right and willing to start being the man both her and the baby deserve, I climb out of the tub heavily. I pass her still sitting on the toilet, bouncing one leg impatiently and her arms still crossed over her chest.

  My mind starts wandering down the wrong path, but I force myself to bring it back and keep it on the straight and narrowed. I won’t let go of the sonogram though, and I’m not sure what am I gonna tell her, but I’m keeping it.

  Once in the living room, I don’t know what to do with myself. I keep pacing in a irregular circle, from the kitchen to the tiny two chair table that doubles as her dining room, around the couch and back to the kitchen to start my loop again. After three laps of that, I start wondering if the baby is hungry?

  I should’ve asked Katniss when was the last time she ate. I should make her breakfast! I have cheese bun ingredients upstairs. She likes those!

  I knock on the bathroom door and speak loudly. “Hey, Katniss… I’m gonna go make us something to eat. Text me if you want me to bring it down here, or we can eat up if you like.”

  “Okay,” comes her response. “I’m feeling nauseous right now, but I can eat!”

  The idea of someone saying that, for real, tickles me, but something tells me laughing out loud about it right now will be counterproductive.

  I’m almost giddy hopping on the elevator and waltzing through my apartment door. I turn on my oven, gather all my supplies, set Pandora to something cheerful; I’m feeling ska, because is that kind of morning, old school but colorful.

  30 minutes later, my buns are in the oven, and my figurative “bun in the oven” rings my doorbell.

  I sigh dreamily when I see Katniss.

  I wonder if the fact that I know she’s pregnant makes any difference in how I look at her? So I indulge myself in simply staring at her in a way I’ve never allowed myself before: unapologetically hungry.

  Her hair is wet and tightly braided, she’s got clean comfortable clothes on and is barefooted. She realizes I’m starting at her feet.

  “I just felt like it,” She says jutting her chin out at me.

  I raise both my hands in surrender. I’m not going to say anything. I’m smarter than that. Instead, I direct her to the breakfast bar where I’ve set my best china, glass and silverware. I wanted to put flowers on the table for her, but I don’t have even a measly fake one in here, so quickly I whipped up some frosting, in a few several colors, and voila!

  Flowers!

  Sugar flowers stuck to an upside down mixing bowl, but still, flowers. A whole bouquet of wildflowers, like the ones I used to have out on the roof, before everything fell apart, and I never returned to tend my garden.

  I usher her to her seat, and help her on the stool, though I know she’s perfectly capable of getting on it herself, I can’t curb the need to touch her… any part of her.

  “For you!” I plate two cheese buns on a dish I’ve pipped wild onion blooms on the edge of.

  Katniss’ eyes go wide.

  She takes one cheese bun delicately, and bites into it with relish. She closes her eyes while chewing, and after swallowing, the floodgates lift.

  I panic. I jump from my stool and round over to her, I pick her up bridal style, and carry her to the couch.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it!”

  “Nothing is wrong!” She cries loudly. “The buns are perfect.” She heaves a deep breath.

  Now I’m at a loss, wondering what triggered this episode. “Okay, but why are you crying then?” I try to be as gentle as possible.”

  “I’ve missed cheese buns! I’ve been craving them for weeks, but you were ignoring me, and I went to the bakery to buy me some, but they were out… and I was so hungry! I ate a whole large pizza all by myself, and threw it all up after… now I can’t even smell pizza, I start gagging.”

  She gives me look of misery, then asks me in a tiny voice.

  “What if the same happens with Cheese buns? What if this baby decides to hate them. They’re my favorite food ever! I don’t wanna have to start eating gluten free. I want my bread to be gluten full!”

  “That’ll be ironic, actually. I mean, It’s a baker’s baby.”

  She cries even harder after my attempt at a joke.

  “This isn’t funny, Peeta! Your baby is making me sick! She hates food!”

  “She?” I ask, Katniss isn’t even showing, but I wonder if science is advanced enough, you can tell a baby’s gender so early on.

  “It’s a She… Everdeen’s only give girls,” She grouses.

  I smirk, “Mellarks only give boys,” I smile at her. “Ask my mother, she’ll complain about it. No daughters or granddaughters for her.“

  I lean back on the couch, and she falls on my chest like a rag doll. I start rubbing circles on her back and feel her relax on top of me.

  “One thing I learned in biology when I was a kid, is that men give the gender chromosome. So maybe is a boy…”

  Then all the excitement of the news, crazy as they are gets smashed to smithereens.

  “So… I’m not looking to replace my son.” I say bluntly.

  She sits up and looks down at me wearily.

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  My arms fall off of her when she stands from my lap. I let her go, because I need my space right now.

  “What are you asking then, Katniss?” I cringe internally, I sound accusing even to myself.

  “I’m not asking you anything!”

  “Really? Because you sure as hell wanted to tell me I knocked you up, very badly!”

  She blushes violently. Her eyes are on fire.

  “Is the responsible thing to do!” She yells. “You have the right know. In the sea of irresponsible shit I’ve done in the last few months, this I wanted to do right, because I owed it to everybody: you, Rye and the baby and myself. Whatever you do with the information is totally your prerogative.”

  She’s crossed her arms again, but let’s her shoulders fall. “I was hoping you wanted to be part of the baby’s life. I know you already raised a baby from infancy and this is like starting over again, so I’ll understand if this isn’t for you—“

  I dig the heels of my hands in my eyes. And then say what’s on the tip of my tongue.

  “Let’s get married, then.”

  She frowns. “No.” She answers emphatically.

  I roll my eyes in frustration. “Why the fuck not?”

  “Because last night you were drunk as fuck, borderline alcohol poisoned, and you still managed to do a better proposal then.” She says throwing her hands in the air.

  I did propose to her last night, at least twice, and it did sound better than what I just said.

  “I don’t want you asking me to marry you, because I’m pregnant.” She deflates plucking a cheese bun from her plate, then sitting on the corner of my coffee table facing me.

  “I want the baby, though.” I stress. “I just don’t want to replace or replicate Rye.”

  “No child could ever replace another.” She says looking older than her age, not for the first time.

  Sometimes I forget Katniss is truly and old soul trapped in a young, hot body.

  “Peeta, this baby complicates many things. I’m going back to Panem because my mom wants me there until I know what I want to do about my future.” She pauses. “I’m terrified.” She confesses. “Not of the baby! I want this child so much I feel like I’ve been living a lie forever. Which is scary in a different way.” She explains.

  She takes a bite of bun and I just stare quietly. Not moving a muscle.

  “People will gossip,” I point out stupidly.

  She shrugs, “Prim’s not talking to me at the moment. She called me a hussy. What do I care if other people talk about me?” Her lip quivers.

  I’m beyond pissed off at Primrose. I don’t understand how she could’ve said something like that to her big sister who has always sacrificed for her.

  “Don’t go back to Panem then. Stay in the city.”

  She shakes her head, staring at her half eaten cheese bun. “Mama says Prim’s just in shock. She’s grieving Rye, and she’ll come around when the baby is here.” Katniss shivers.

  “But Prim was so nasty when I told them you were the father. She yelled that I went after you because I’m some kind of horrible gold digging cunt.” She breaks down. “I never thought my little sister could be so mean and angry…”

  I grab her in one swoop move and sit her back in my lap, where she belongs.

  I kiss the shell of her ear, her neck, her jaw.

  Her hands grasp my shoulders, and her mouth opens up when I kiss her lips. I feel our lives aligning again.

  “Everything is gonna be fine, sweetheart,” I tell her raining kisses on the side of her face. “We have each other.”

  She relaxes against me, letting me hold her close. She moans softly into my mouth. I bring us down from the steep road we’re taking. It’s incredible to me how fast we go from zero to banging just with a couple of kisses.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long. Sometimes I’m convinced I’ve wanted you even before Rye was taken from us. If anyone is a hussy, that’s me, not you. You’re so… pure! An angel. The only bright spot in my sad, dreary life.” I hesitate for just a moment, but I take her hands in mine, and look her straight in the eyes. “I love you, Katniss.” I say seriously.

  She blushes, but her smile is more radiant than the sun. She tries to hide it thought.

  “I know,” she mumbles, the ghost of her smile hovering. “You blurted it out a few times last night.”

  “And, you?” I ask nervously, “You love me. Real or not real?”

  “Real,” she smiles softly.

  “Marry me?” She makes an unconvinced face, so I rush, “We will go at your pace. We will do as you say. I’ll support your decisions, always.” I kiss her lips again and rest our foreheads together. “I don’t want you to go back to Panem. Will you consider moving in with me? Or at the very least renewing your lease?”

  “I told my mother I wouldn’t go back to you until we got some things worked out.”

  “You… told your mom about getting back with me? Like she knew you’d want to come back?”

  “I told mama everything. And I mean, everything! She knew you’d try to lure me back in eventually. She asked me if I’d consider it, knowing how badly things went? I said I might. I loved you enough to think about it. So… we’ll see.”

  “So. You’re saying there’s a very good chance?” I know I’m pushing it, but I need to make sure.

  She huffs. “If we do this, Peeta, I have a list of demands:” she announces business like, “I want you to seek anger and grief counseling, because I’m not a fucking statistic! I will not live with you in fear that something would trigger a hijacking episode and you’ll yell at me and destroy shit in a fit of anger. I get that you grew up watching your mother doing that exact same thing, I just want it to be clear, I won’t tolerate that behavior. You never did it to Rye, which means you can control it. So, control. It.”

  I grimace. “Katniss, I already felt like shit about the whole thing. How do you think I feel now, knowing I threw a lamp near you, and you were already pregnant?” We just stare at each other for a moment, “You want me to get help? I will! Today!”

  “Good… I’ll consider your many proposals, then”