Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Happy 2016!

Chapter 1: She wanted the help

No. Oh, she can't be doing this to me. I glare at the Help Wanted sign and all that it entitles to any onlookers. How could she. Putting the darn thing in front of our flower stand a few seconds ago, despite my long-winded - and reasonable - refusal. It was too colourful, too personal and just plain unnecessary. We don't even need someone to decorate the pots. 'But it'll mean we can charge more Katniss' she said. Prim had even gone to the extent of handwriting each word in her neat script - a talent that puts my writing to shame - rather than just stealing a cheaper version from another stall.

"Don't you think this is a little too much?" I ask crossing my arms. Prim stands a few feet in front of the stand, smiling as she admires her work oblivious to me questioning her motives. I scowl. It doesn't help that she intentionally put the sign in the centre of our display, concealing the best flower pot arrangements that any and every potential customer would want to see before they make a purchase.

What was the point anyway? Did we really need any more help for our little stand? No. Would it be too much for a single person to handle, especially if they liked flowers? No. With Primrose moving on in life and growing in her potential for so much more than I could ever do, was I given priority over our stall? No, but I should have been. Besides I'm four years older than her; perhaps I should have been better friends with Rue. Maybe then she would have given me the authority of looking after the business. I mean, I haven't spent the last few years dismissing weekend shopping – even though given the chance I'd be reluctant – and lunch for nothing. It's my future, not hers.

This is insulting.

"But Prim" I drone on, uncrossing my arms and slumping my shoulders in defeat. Prim's eyes flicker between me and the sign before settling on me with an apologetic smile when she notices the broken expression on my face.

"I'm sorry Kat, but we need the help. You can't do everything on your own" she says.

"Of course I can," I continue stubbornly, "I've been practically running this whole thing by myself for years, doing absolutely fine, besides I could do with the practise".

She sighs and visibly deflates at my persistence "For what? This is what you wanted to do and you've had more practises then you'll ever need. Oh and lately we've lost a tenth of our weekly customers".

"How's that my fault?" I argue.

"You're not the most charming person to be around. Come on Kat" she says "It'll make me feel better".

"And what about me?" I ask lifting my arms, confused.

"You'll still work here when I'm gone. Besides you could do with more friends" she continues as she reaches forward to pluck a few leaves off wilting flowers.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I complain lowering my arms.

"Nothing just you're not the most social person out there" she says as she arranges the leaves in a pile at the bottom of the sign. Is that supposed to be for decoration? Is she decorating that sign? What a waste.

"There's nothing wrong with that" I argue, I'm perfectly contempt with being alone. She should just agree with me. Everyone knows I'm the one decorating the stand at dawn every day, delivering the ordered flowers in the afternoon and selling to customers at dust. For nine – no, ten years now. It's never her. Sure Prim managed the legal stuff making sure we were allowed our place on the street, ordering flowers and checking our revenue but is it really that hard? I deserve more – no all the authority.

"I agree but we need someone in-between, a person that can help do all the little messy jobs. It'll be less stress" she finishes.

Right because watching and making money off flowers is so hard and as for messy jobs; well what have I been doing then? I heavily exhale and turn away from my sister before leaning back on the stall.

"You're my sister you're supposed to be on my side" I say growing more and more tired of this argument by the minute. "What about Maysilee?" I suggest. She liked flowers, didn't she? I mean she might be old but she had a flower garden at her home. This could just be something to help pass the time. Or maybe I could persuade her to-

Prim's laugh interrupts my train of thought "Maysilee has her job, the same one she's had for fifty years and I'll be getting mine soon. Just trust me Katniss". Way to rub it in. Primrose has spent the last few years searching for a real job because apparently being associated with me and the flower stand isn't a career.

Sighing I pass the next few hours by re-arranging the flowers so they look decorative and appear an amazing quality to match the prices as well as attempting to design the pots and tying the stems for custom made bouquets and flowers. Unfortunately they aren't enough of a distraction to make me forget about Prim complaining about the outcome of the pots. They should be 'prettier' and have a sense of 'artistic finish' whatever that means. Grabbing her tablet she circles the stand taking pictures of the displays and me as I arrange the flowers regardless of how uncomfortable I feel. I don't even see the need for the extensive advertising on our website but she is anything if not persistent.

Thankfully, the time soon came for me to take my hour-long lunch break. It's a shame the sky isn't clear though, huge grey clouds seem to hover and obstruct the light given off by the sun. Scowling, I stroll past a homeless man sitting on the other side of the street and down the marketplace glancing at a few competing shops and stands ranging from clothes to meat, mainly the local butcher who seems to be ever popular. The buildings seem to grow in height the further I walk until they are towering above me, lifeless and dull in desperate need of a new coat of paint and some re-furbishing.

Everything is so different from our colourful stand practically bursting with life; these shops just make the area seem dull and cheap but then again they must have good business otherwise they wouldn't have a shop in comparison to a cheap, homemade stand.

Turning around I queue up at the local butchers and order some meat and put it in a bun. Somehow this shop teamed up with the local bakery – not the best in the district unfortunately – and from what I know they weekly trade products. With fifteen minutes to spare, I quickly eat my small lunch and pay the man before wiping my hands on a cheap napkin near the counter when I see two people come into the shop. Unlike the other customers, one is a teenage boy with ashy blonde hair hidden beneath his hoodie, with a man who I assume to be his father by his side. If not for the stark age gap – visually – then I'd guess they were brothers. As I walk past them I get a clear view of his face, and recognise him instantly. He glances my way, unfazed by the staring but his usual stoic, expressionless face remains the same. He doesn't care.

Peeta Mellark.

He didn't see me – or at least recognise me. He doesn't know I'm here, not that it matters though. I snap out of my thoughts when his father gently touches his shoulder as if he didn't want to frighten the boy. "Peeta, go have a seat, I'll order for us okay?".

He scowls. I instantly hate him for it. That's my thing, besides his father doesn't seem to have done anything wrong. The ignorance of this generation. "Peeta I know your upset, but this will be good for you, alright? These things just take time. Trust me" he continues empathetically. I grimace at the similarity between their conversation and mine with Prim barely an hour ago.

Peeta glares at his father moving out of his reach. The same glare he aims toward anyone in school, even remotely looking in his direction let alone trying to speak to him. I train my eyes on the door and rush past them and everyone in the queue. Did he see me? He must have seen me, right? I shovel my way through the crowds on the street as I return to our stand. Well the stand which is currently missing the Help Wanted sign.

"No" I groan walking over to Prim "What happened?".

She smiles gleefully, "It happened. I hired a new employee, this is perfect and that was fast, wasn't it? See, the sign wasn't a waste". My eyes flitter around our stand analysing the pots when my mind registered her words.

"Wait" I say "You - without asking - where's my. Its been an hour, where's my authority-".

"Kat" Prim says interrupting me as I stutter, "If I had consulted you then you would have tried to talk me out of it again and you wouldn't have seen his potential as a wonderful addition to our business".

His?

I shakily exhale before slowly breathing in, allowing my gaze to focus on the small plants in a box leaned up against the metal bars that held up the green tent above the stand. I swallow past the lump in my throat. "Who" I clear my throat "Err, who is it?"

She pulls a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and tugs at the hem of her dress "A man came by earlier with his son and said he's looking for a job. Oh and the best part; he paints - well kind of, he's an artist but that's just even more useful right! I mean he could paint the pots and help arrange flowers when I'm not here, oh and-".

I tune out her words as she continues to rant on, listing every small job he could do "Is that the only reason you hired him? To design our pots?".

"No he. Look it'll be great, he's amazing, your amazing, I'm amazing. Its perfect, oh" she adds in an afterthought "he's also mute, which is kind of weird but his looks make up for it and anyway painting requires focus so he won't be able to talk and if its important... well he'll figure something out".

A jolt of unease lurches in my chest and I grip the table to keep from falling. "Mute?" I mummer. She nods happily.

"Is his name Peeta?" I whisper. Maybe its someone else, that's possible right?

She nods again destroying any ounce of hope I had left. Prim grins "Yeah, you know him? That's great, see you guys can be friends it isn't as bad as you thought right?".

I think back to the restaurant and Peeta's rude attitude towards his father. How I felt his eyes on my back whenever he sat behind me in class, how he didn't like anyone or anything. How could Prim be desperate enough to hire him?

"I cannot believe this," I murmur, shaking my head in disbelief. How could she be so clueless? After all my hard work at this stand, she's willing to throw it all away for a random painter, I bet his even rubbish at that. I mean Mellark out of all people? Surely you can go back on a deal if you don't like the person right? I don't want to deal with him every day nevertheless somewhere I'm happy.

"What's the big deal?" she asks tiredly.

I scowl, "You're the worst little sister and business associate ever, that's the big deal".

She laughs as she picks up the box of flowers "Stop exaggerating Kat".

I narrow my eyes "Oh, and by the way, can you go around and try to sell the 'Help Wanted' sign? Its in great condition so we could probably get some decent money for it".

I force a smile as I pick up the sign "Sure sis" I say tossing it behind me and into the homeless man's fire, "I mean it was just decent".

She crosses her arms and glares at me as I stroll past her, "Hey Kat?" she calls as I prepare to gather my items for the delivery. I swing around to face her smirking, "He starts Monday."

Authors note ~ hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this new story, I've already got the next few chapters ready. Should I continue? Please review, I love your feedback!

Happy new year and I hope you all had a merry Christmas or if you don't celebrate it then I just hope you had an amazing day!

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: To shreds

Authors note ~ Hey everyone, this is two days later – Monday. Oh and to the guest review, t hanks for the feedback but don't worry Katniss will be nicer later on, right now she's just upset a bout someone who could effectively harm her dream job, so don't worry and Peeta will have a f ew surprises so you'll know why he is the way that he is. I won't make them hate each other for th e whole story. ;)

All mistakes are mine and character rights go to Suzanne Collins.

Ambling to our small stand, I dodge pedestrians and toss my leather satchel onto the blue and green webbed lawn chair situated under the shade of our stand's roof and just in front of the window of an old shop. Unfortunately Prim had got here earlier than me and brought her little friend who could affect my chances of decorating the stands for today's customers.

I raise an eyebrow and watch Prim – still upset over why she wants to ruin my life – as she hums absentmindedly and relentlessly fiddles with the current display. Looking up at the sound of quiet cough she glances at me before turning around. "Katniss" she snaps rushing over to the lawn chair, her heels clacking against the concrete. "What is wrong with you?" she hisses picking up my satchel and - apologising to it? Looking at where the satchel was I hold back a groan. The figure shifts and waves my sister off. Of course it had to land on his stomach.

I should have thrown it harder.

Prim drops my satchel on the ground next to him and it lands with a thud. "I'm warning you Katniss, don't throw things at him" she states pointing at me.

"He shouldn't be sitting down, for all I know he could have been slacking off" I argue as she adjustsher hair which is in a bow braid tieback.

"I told him to sit" she says simply.

"Then what are you paying him for?" I continue.

"His job" she replies, "be nice". Its then that I notice she isn't wearing her usual attire; no pretty little sundress for a 'sunny' girl, just a long sleeved black t-shirt messily tucked into a short white skirt with a hot pink belt. It must be another interview day.

"But I don't want to" I whine as she rolls her eyes. "Can't you take him with you?" I plead.

"He's not a pet Katniss" she states.

"Shame" I mummer, "I can still kick him out onto the streets if he annoys me though, right?".

"Katniss behave" she says.

"I always do" I reply. She raises her eyebrows at me as if warning me to continue arguing with her. I shrug in acceptance.

Tightening the straps on her black heels – making her almost as tall as me – she turns to face the boy. "Alright, it's time for me to go" she begins "I'll see you both later and Peeta, your working until six today, eight on weekends okay?".

He glances at her and nods moving his legs off the chair as he shifts so he's sitting up.

"Katniss" she says, turning to me. "Today and for the next few days he's here to mostly watch, okay? Just to see how things work and maybe how you decorate. Just try to show him the basics, it'll be a big help. He'll be using my notepad so he can get started on sketching ideas and designs for the display next season."

"Okay" I reply and she offers me an apologetic smile.

I hate it.

"Come here" I say smiling at her in an attempt to wipe the look off her face. I hold my hands out and turn her around so I'm facing her back, "You better tuck in that tail little duck" I mummer as I tuck her shirt into her skirt so it looks more presentable.

"I wish I looked as pretty as you" she whispers.

"No" I state turning her to face me "I wish I looked as pretty as you little duck" I say repeating her nickname. The same one she had for years, even since I first compared her un-tucked shirt tail to a duckling's tail.

"Thank you" she mummers and I hug her close desperate for moments like these where she isn't in a rush to get away from me and my attitude or pursue her future. Just a minute every so often to pause and live in moments like these. I doubt I'll have many but their what I need the most. Prim gives me a shy smile and adjust one more daisy before waving and merging into the crowds on the street, disappearing from my sight. I notice something out of the corner of my eye and see Peeta. He's watching me. His eyes hold a slight tinge of wonder but as soon as I blink its gone replaced with blank dull eyes.

Was he watching us? My private moment with her? I scowl at the thought.

My eyes flicker back out at the streets before moving up towards the sky. Grey clouds scuttle along, blocking the sun from my view leaving me with the horrible feeling that it might rain later and there's nothing worse than losing customers over something as stupid as the weather. The sun was kind of a rare thing to see around here, considering that it was almost always shrouded with clouds.

Yet despite the clouds it almost never rains, but when it does, it rains too much. Just another thing my district's known for. I lower my gaze and glare at the daisy Prim touched for at least three minutes; it's a wonder how I haven't burned a hole in it yet. 'Be nice', 'behave', just try to make conversation. I can do that right?

For her?

Steeling my nerves I swivel around to face Peeta. "Have you got any good ideas yet? For the display?" I ask politely. I hate small talk but this is as good as it's going to get. Prim's normally my backup for a conversation starter. His fingers stop drawing and he smudges the charcoal on the drawing before continuing, offering me only a small nod to say he's heard me. He never looks at me.

I rake my eyes over him, scrutinizing every aspect, searching for something that could tell me more about him. Maybe a stain on his shirt, telling me that he doesn't care about appearances, or perhaps an expensive jacket, telling me that he cared too much and money was at his disposal, but there was nothing that stood out; then again no-one had money in 12. He slouched a little bit in his seat.

I sigh. He'll be gone soon. It was only a matter of time before Prim had to fire him. He was in a few of my classes at school, and he rarely ever did his class or homework. He rarely even bothered to listen to what the teacher had to say. The teachers, however, always took pity on him and he managed to scrape by so he must be failing all his subjects. Well except art. I've never seen him more engrossed in what's on his paper. He's always painting on a canvas or sketching. I'm not sure what though; he never gives his work in.

There was one time a few years ago when I had to be in the same group as him for a school project for music class, and of course, he didn't contribute at all. I told – well Prim technically told him but I thought of it - him to meet me at the library the day before the project was due because I had to help my mum most of the day, and it was entirely for his benefit, so he could at least do something, but he didn't show up. He wouldn't even look me in the eye the day we had to present it.

I voiced my concerns to Prim on Saturday but she just dismissed them saying that as long as he is creative then he's 'perfect'.

Maybe I should say something to him, yet when I open my mouth no words come out, not even a noise. I mean, I did try so it was his turn wasn't it? Trying to distract myself I make small flower arrangements for about an hour from the spare flowers we have. I hope we get new types soon; some of these are getting a bit repetitive. A few stray customers buy pots – for the normal price as they're un-painted - or groups of flowers, leaving empty spaces that I fill up instantly. In that time I try to show Peeta some of the basics of flower arranging, and what colours look good together – even though if he was really an artist then he should already know this - but he didn't really seem to be listening. Well either that or he didn't care. Eventually after a pause in customers I try again.

"Hey Mr. no conversation starter?" I call out somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of using his real name, "So um, what made you want to work here?".

Peeta didn't move at all. He didn't even flinch at the nickname; although I have a feeling it won't stick. Is he ignoring me? He folds the page his drawing on over his notepad before writing on the blank sheet for a long time. Seemingly satisfied he begins to tilt the paper toward me before changing his mind and scribbling everything out. Glaring at the paper he writes for a few more seconds before nodding to himself. He holds out his arm out with the paper in hand and I peel it off the notepad.

I hate flowers.

Three simply words, written at the very bottom of the paper in handwriting similar to Prim's. Everything else has been scribbled out and the charcoal's smudged making it impossible to read what he's written.

"Wait, so you want to work here because you hate flowers?" I ask scrunching up the paper.

How can anyone hate flowers? If he hates flowers then I hate art.

I mean, if I just take a photo of what he wrote and show Prim... bad mouthing your job can still get you fired right?

Why else would he be here? "Did, did your dad make you?" I question cautiously. It's hard to see that nice man as anything even similar to someone who would forcefully make you do something. He nodded, leaning back and putting his legs back on the chair.

So he didn't want the job? I guess that means he won't really ruin my job then, right? I wanted to ask why but I felt like that might be rude and if I upset him... well Prim isn't always an angel.

"You know" I say fiddling with my jacket "You can quit whenever you want".

He shakes his head and begins to write on his next sheet of paper. Peeta repeats what he did before, except this time he scribbled out his messages at least two times so much that I'm wondering what's so hard for him to say – or write. Half way through his third attempt he pouts before crumpling the paper and stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie.

I scowl at the pocket. What's he trying to hide? I glance up searching his face for any expression but his looks hint at nothing.

"What were you going to write?" I ask and I stop messing with my jacket. "Peeta" I warn putting my hands on my hips and he seemed to almost flinch when I said his name. Weird. "What were you going to write?" I repeat losing my patience. He twirls the charcoal around his fingers but didn't write another word. Just stared. Sighing I twist around at the sound of my voice and go to help more customers.

Humming along to 'Atlas' by some acoustic group, as it plays off of Prim's old radio, I begin to sing along when the music abruptly stops. Spinning around I see Peeta standing at the other end of the table with his finger of the power button. He blinks as if testing my reaction.

"Oh, so you hate music too?" I snap crossing my arms.

He shakes his head and turns the radio back on, except this time he turned the dial for a few seconds until the static cleared and very loud – well i guess i can only describe it as raw music. Someone singing about a dead man and hanging and if that wasn't creeping then Prim's reaction to us losing customers would be. I try to turn the volume down but he gently slaps my hands away, glaring like a child protecting their ice cream.

"You're not serious-" I begin, stopping when I see his lips curl up into the smallest smirk as if he was internally laughing at me. I turned the radio dial until it was back to the same channel I was listening before, and begin to hum the tune again but he turns it off, again.

I turned it on. "Stop."

He turned it off. I slap his hand away and turn it on.

He slaps my hand and turns it off.

After several minutes of continuing to switch the power button - all the while that smirk never leaves his face - I growl out "What the hell is your problem pretty boy?".

His smirk grows slightly and he reaches for the button again "Don't even-".

Off.

I huff loudly and glare at him. What's so funny? Reaching forward I press the button, but this time it didn't turn on. I try again. Nothing.

"You broke it," I say through clenched teeth letting out a fake laugh to calm myself down. "You broke Prim's radio – our radio and you're not even going to talk?". He nods happily before glancing behind me. The blank expression returns.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired, because I'll more than happily do it" I threaten. He blinks. My fingers twitch with the familiar urge to inflict pain, but I don't. Especially in full view of any potential customers. I really need to hunt. Soon. After a moment of silence he shrugs before returning to the lawn chair and closing his eyes he-.

Is he falling asleep? Who does he think it is? This is a terrible first impression, well unless sleep means its peaceful.

"Hey Kat!". Sighing I turn around to see Cato, an old friend. I guess. If you were generous when describing our relationship. I force a smile.

"So it's true?" he asked, his gaze travelling to Peeta, "Working together? I guess that means you've had time to talk about things, huh Peet?".

I glance back at Peeta noting his stiff posture. He looked defensive and avoided eye contact with either of us.

"Yes, we're allies," I lie. Why is he acting so weird? A sick feeling settles in my stomach. "Why are you here?" I ask "I'm working".

"You don't have to be" he jokes tugging on my hair. From the corner of my eye I can see Peeta standing up.

I don't move a muscle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me uncomfortable - well him or Peeta. "You haven't really talked to me at school for a while. Are you okay?" he asks moving is hand away.

I nod, "maybe we could hang out, oh and Peet can come" he mocks smirking at Peeta whose, whose chest was heaving up and down with each broken and unsteady breath he took. I open my mouth to ask Peeta what's wrong but Cato cuts me off, continuing to mock Peeta and his lack of speech.

"We could probably get some achohol too" he says smirking at Peeta as if some sort of private conversation between the two. The sick feeling grows stronger and it seems as if Peeta's shaking. But it isn't cold.

"Well, are you going to buy something?" I interrupt, uncomfortably in an attempt to diffuse the underlying tension. Cato sighs and glances at the boy behind me.

"No thanks, Kaniss" he mummers. I wave him off knowing Prim would only want customers. Why did Peeta have to break the radio? He owe's us a new one.

But when I put the smuggest look on my face and spin to face him, he's gone, and only the paper that was in his hoodie from earlier remains. A drawing I think, now torn to shreds.

Author's Note ~ Hi, i hope you enjoyed this, please review, I love your feedback! :) Thanks for reading!

Chapter Text

I can't wait to tell Prim about this. I resist the urge to smile as I watch Peeta's form walk down the street, his head lowered and hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, his frame shrinking the further he distances himself from me whilst the chances of him getting fired increase. Prim may be soft but even she hates it when I leave early without a good reason. He didn't even tell me why.

I contemplate going after him because I should really check if he's okay, especially with how he reacted to Cato but that means I'll have to leave the stand and I just can't do that. Prim would be furious. 'Think of the flowers', she'd tell me, but she does have a tendency to make people feel better. Besides if something was really wrong then he'd just say so rather than leaving abruptly. Right? It was a hard decision but I know what I have to do.

With a smile and a spin I continue to finish my shift, thankful for the silence.

Glancing across the street, I take note of which shops shut early as I prepare to dismantle the display. Flower arrangements and pots go underneath the stand in a drawer with a thin plastic sheet - with water droplets clinging to it - covering it so that the paint doesn't dry and crack and to avoid the plants suffering. Whilst I place the signs and painting equipment in my satchel so that I can go home and edit any elements, such as prices, if need be. Securing the stall with an old bike chain, I pull down the protector cover so that the tarpaulin blocks the stall from rain in the case of harsh weather before swinging my satchel over my shoulder and beginning the journey home whilst trying to avoid all the people leaving at rush hour.

Eventually I arrive home thankful that it didn't rain. I smile as I stomp the mud off my shoes on the doorstep. My house isn't very far away from the stand but appearance wise it is completely different to the types of houses in the district. From a distance and based on the size most would view it as a small cottage giving off the warm glow of life. A gentle stream of smoke arises from the chimney and a dim light shines behind the thin drapes covering every window.

Basking in the peacefulness and safety that only my house filled with my loved ones could bring me, I reach for the door handle only to have it opened for me. I glance up smiling at my mother who stands at roughly the same height as me. Usually our relationship is civilized at the best of times but with events like what happened prior to this moment, certain circumstances from the past can be briefly overlooked for a moment of unity as a real family and knowing my mother, she'd happily comply.

"Hi Mum" I say, my pent up happiness finally showing and reflecting her own joy - at my expression - in her eyes, a brilliant blue shade, "do you mind?". I gesture at my dirty shoes and my mother signals for me to take them off.

"Come on, give them here" she says as I take off my shoes and pass them to her. Usually my mother doesn't mind me bringing mud tracks into the house - by accident of course - but today I'm not wearing my boots, I'm wearing a pair of shoes that are only to be used for special occasions or work so she has a tendency to clean them whenever they look like they might be stained by dirt.

"So, how was it with the new employee today? Peeta, was it?" she asks.

Shutting the door behind me, I follow her past the living room and the dining room, into the kitchen, "yeah" I mummer.

"Well?" she prods as she opens the backdoor and puts the shoes outside, most likely so she can scrub them later without ruining the kitchen floor.

"He's an idiot" I say simply.

"That's not what Prim told me" she replies shutting the door.

"Prim's an idiot as well, I mean why would she even let him join us? He's ruining everything and he's so stubborn!" I complain.

"Just like you" she states chuckling when I scowl, "It'll probably just take him some time to get used to the job you should try making him feel welcome Katniss. Imagine how he feels: a new job, new people, being outside all day, minimum wage and putting up with you!".

"That's a lie! I tried to make him feel welcome but he was rude to me, and I'm not that bad to be around. I'm actually quite entertaining" I say triumphantly crossing my arms.

"How?" she asks offering me a small smile as she takes off her apron and puts it on the door hook.

"I made him smile!" I say only half-lying. A smirk is a kind of smile, at least I think it is. "But seriously, with him there, which alone is unnecessary, I have an even smaller pay. I have to pay bills too you know!" I vent - well at least I will pay the bills when Prim and mum can't, or maybe I'll use it to finally get Prim the camera she's always wanted.

"Katniss" she sighs and rests her hand on my shoulder, "you need to calm down with him there it'll help the business. I'm sure of it - or at least your personality" she says murmuring the last bit.

"That's what Prim thinks" I grumble as I avoid eye contact "I've seen him at school though and unless his being creative, he does no work. He just sits there staring at all the paintbrushes and craft stuff when were trying to work in other classes or he'll copy people! I once saw him watching some girl paint and she started to put her loose hair behind her ears and then he looked down at his table and started messing with his hair for no reason! Who does that?".

She takes her hand off my shoulder and brushes past me to check on what I presume is dinner, "You shouldn't be so quick to judge people, Katniss. Maybe he's self-conscious or just shy".

"Or annoying" I finish, rolling my eyes. No way was he self-conscious or shy. I've seen how he acts around people, he probably has a ton of friends hidden away someone. He's a merchant, and besides if he was shy then he should have grown out of it or stopped caring. I have. I know the circumstances too well, he's not shy or scared, he's just closed off. Just like me. I shiver at the thought.

"Can you put our satchel away dear? I don't want it on the table" Mum asks as she scoops rice into two bowls. Although bland and tasteless - and sometimes charred - rice is a luxury many in our district - including us - can't afford, meaning people have to settle for countess years of terrase which comes in much smaller portions an almost always leaves a stale taste to linger be if food or oil.

"Sure" I mummer tossing my satchel on the couch in the living room before returning to the kitchen much to the disapproval of my mother.

Sighing she ushers me into a chair at the dining table before placing a bowl and spoon in front of me and another next to me for herself before sitting. We both eat in silence, mum most likely because she wasn't sure what to say and I was to focused on the food knowing that if I started a conversation then my food would quickly grow cold. In the past Prim and my father would sit to have dinner with us but due to my father passing in tragic circumstances and Prim constantly looking for work, dinner was usually the two of us. Well three; but only when buttercup could be bothered. The lazy cat, although she did love food, so I guess that makes us equals.

My eyes flicker away from my bowl and I do a double take when I find my mother watching me intently. I slowly finish chewing. "What?" I ask uneasily.

"Katniss", she says setting her spoon down and reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers. I flinch at the contact and she clears her throat nervously. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, well you and Prim" she begins. I move my hand from her grip and grip the corner of the table trying to calm my racing heartbeat and distract myself. I hate not knowing things that could heavily impact on my life. Change isn't someone I'd like to meet.

"What is it?" I ask impatiently. There's no point dragging this out.

"Your father's friend-".

"No" I interrupt quietly.

"He's been released from jail" she continues, "He's learned his lesson Katniss"

"No" I whisper again, closing my eyes briefly. The breath I let out was noticeably shaky. This can't be happening.

"He needs somewhere to stay-".

"You know what he did!" I say louder.

"It was an accident" she argues.

"No it wasn't!" I shout, forcefully slamming my hand on the table, the noise echoing in the silence as the light goes out of her eyes. Of course this noise would startle her. "You said I'd never have to see him again".

"Things have changed" she says monotone, dead eyes staring back me as I plead with her.

"You know what he did to dad, to us. He wasn't a friend, he was deceitful, a liar!" I beg.

"Time's gone, things have changed. You have to learn to forgive him" she states.

"Yeah, learn to forgive the man who set the bo-".

A thud echo's as the door slams into the wall, our eyes train on Prim sheepishly standing in the doorway. "Umm, sorry" she mummers quietly closing the door. The sound of her footsteps echo as she slowly walks towards us, her heels clacking across the floor to us, doing nothing to cut the palpable tension in the room. She stops.

No-one makes a sound. Not even a breath is heard. Its so quiet.

"I'll just go eat with buttercup" she whispers shuffling off to find the cat. I lurch forward jerking her as I tightly grab ahold of her arm.

Meow. I freeze glancing down at the damn cat, swishing its tail back and forth as it sits upon my foot. I lift my foot making the cat hiss as it stalks off.

"You knew about this?" I mummer daring her to speak.

"No" she squeaks pointing at my mum.

"You told her but you didn't tell me?" I argue. My eyes turn to slits as I glare at her.

"I didn't know for sure. Katniss, no-one clears anything with me" she replies.

"What about me?!" I shout, eyes darting between the two "What about what I want?! I deserve a choice in the matter". It was getting hard to control my breathing, to control the scream in my throat that dared me to let it go.

"That's enough Kat" Prim says trying to calm me down.

"No let her go on" mother says.

"Oh, you just love to betray me".

"Don't blame me" Prim interrupts struggling out of my grasp.

"Don't you act innocent", I say gritting my teeth.

"Oh grow up".

"This is your fault" I grab my bowl and launch it at the door in anger watching as it shatters on impact. The shards clattering to the floor.

"Mine?" she says raising her voice.

"I bet your waiting for the day I leave so you don't have to deal with my damn attitude".

"Katniss, stop it".

"No you stop it. I'm sick of you lying to me and mistrusting me, leaving me with that weirdo because who knows, I might as well get stalked as well".

"Don't shout at me" she cries pulling herself free and throwing her hands up in frustration, tugging on her hair. "You're being ridiculous!".

"You know what?" I spit. "I-I don't care. Let him come! He can replace me because I'm done with this!".

I jump up and run past them to the stairs, taking the steps to at a time as waves of dread wash over my body. I slam the door open to my room, banging it shut, barely able to stop my heavy breathing. I slam my body down onto my bed, fists clenching around the sheet as I resist the urge to tear the room apart. They had the audacity to forgive him and go behind my back. They had the nerve to let him back into this house, into this family just so he can hurt us again and again, getting away each and every time. Well I won't be a part of it. If he comes then I'm going. I slap my hand against the headboard in frustration.

My dad was way too kind; too generous. He just wanted to protect us, but of course that man had to take advantage and make a friendship with him. And he let him, because he was an idiot. A stupidly loving man who only saw the good in people. Though I guess we never deserved him. But that doesn't make the loss hurt any less.

I shift and curl up, staring at the wall, still breathing hard. The sound of rain begins to fill the room. I can hear Prim and my mother's voices downstairs as they talk about me most likely. None of them come to check on me. They've learned not to, though I doubt my mum would even care enough to try. My palm stings from hitting the headboard and my eyes are beginning to burn from trying to force myself not to do something stupid like cry. To choose anger over weakness.

I can't go downstairs now. I don't even want to think about facing them. That's a problem I can deal with tomorrow. Not to mention I have the issue that I destroyed dinnerware and left them - mainly Prim - to clean up which just adds to the stress she's under. A wave of guilt crashes over me but I won't allow myself to regret how I reacted. So much for making amends.

I glance up and my eyes catches the small blinking red light on the speakerphone. I uncurl myself and shift over to the phone. I don't know why I'd have a voice male since I haven't recently gave anyone my number but maybe Prim did. I am her emergency contact after all, and I guess a reference for her jobs. Yet the caller ID is blank.

Sighing I press the button on the phone, preparing for someone to be prank calling me - or maybe its Mr Mellark. He called me earlier so its likely. It begins to play. The voice makes my breathing halt. It sounds weary. Clearly the person on the other line has been crying. It starts off with just some murmuring, allowing me to catch snippets of a conversation. Nothing important thought. I reach over to press delete. Then they speak, as if in pain; the sound like a whimper. "I-I can make you stop hurting. I just - I need to see you. Now. Let me come now". Then the voice cuts off with a whimper. I'm listening to someone's pleads to come. To see me. I'm listening to the rainfall when I hear the scream.

Author's Note ~ A ll mistakes are mine and character rights go to Suzanne Collins.

Hi, I just had a nap and now I feel really lazy. zzzzzzzz :D Sorry I took so long to update but I'm on break so hopefully more, quicker updates. I hope you enjoyed this, please comment and leave kudos. I love your feedback! :) Thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr - kdlovehg - come say hi. :)

Chapter Text

Well that's great, I have double vision now. Who knew the sun could make bloodshot eyes burn.

Yawning I rub the sleep out of my eyes before leaning on the lawn chair. I should have went to sleep earlier or at least put some ice on my eyes and hand. I still have a faint red mark on my palm and all my muscles ache from being curled up for a substantial period of time. Maybe tonight I'll just go to bed without dinner and avoid all the verbal abuse that awaits me. Its hardly worth the cost of my sleep.

A heavy huff snaps me too attention. My eyes dart up.

"Finally decided to show up? Its about time".

I was so caught up in whether I'm even physically stable today that I had almost forgot that Peeta was supposed to be here today. Now here he is. Two hours late.

"You know you were supposed to be here hours ago you know?" I continue considering he ignored my last question. I try to catch his eyes but they evade mine. I can practically here Prim hissing in my ear, be nice she'd say, try talking to him - communication is key. She should earn to take her own advice. My eyes flicker back to the sun. If I lost my eyesight for a while it wouldn't be too bad, I mean I'll have an excuse to avoid looking at everyone.

"Are you going to talk yet? Don't act like you can't. Everyone at school knows you can talk" I state.

His posture stiffened.

"Come on, don't waste my time Peeta. Oh and don't look at me like that, I don't know what's the big deal. I get that you're shy and secretive and all, but seriously? This isn't - Your not helping" I say exasperated, dragging my hands down my face. I feel ridiculous considering I know he called me upset yesterday for some unknown reason and like the pathetic person I am, I stayed up for another three hours and left the phone on all night - adding to the bills - in case he was going to call me again so I could answer it and make sure he was okay. He's tricking me into acting stupid already.

I take a deep breath and aim a nauseatingly fake smile at Peeta hoping to make the message clear. We are not friends. Your here to do work. Do it. "Okay. Good afternoon Peeta" I say with as much spite as I can muster, ignoring the empty feeling in my chest from the way he clutches his notebook tighter, slightly bending the book.

My fingers graze my throat for a moment. If i'm not careful I might lose my voice and well that's no good for business. Regardless of my anger I attempt to speak more softly. For my benefit, not his.

"Do you mind er, telling - no writing why you're so late? Maybe if your lucky I'll excuse you". He doesn't reply. I jerk back when he walks up to me.

"What are you-oh". He shrugs off his backpack and settles it on the chair before glancing at me nervously. Despite wanting him to maintain eye-contact earlier, I feel unsettled with the sight of thinly veiled pain expressed harshly through joy-ridden eyes and how they replicate my bloodshot look. He looks painfully exhausted. It doesn't suit him though, like it does me. I just want to wipe that expression off his face. He doesn't mention the phone call though.

He carefully - without his eyes straying once - pulls a piece of charcoal from his backpack and begins to write; slowly. His eyes flickering to the paper for a mere second before returning to mine as if in a trance. I glance down seeing that he wrote 'My' after ten seconds have passed and as if sensing me watching him he scribbles the rest in a blur only cringing for a moment.

Gently as if unsure, he tears the paper off the pad and hands it to me before shoving his hands and the book in the pockets of his hoodie as if trying to hide something, or maybe its just a nervous habit. I wonder if that paper from the other day is still there.

I glance down at the paper.

My fault. Its an accident. Won't happen again.

Before it says 'its' is the word 'I'm' scribbled out. I scoff shaking my head at the error, and shove the note in my back pocket. Glancing around him I scan the sidewalk for potential buyers but everyone seems too concerned in talking or reaching their destination, neither of which will be about the shop.

"Its okay" I force out glancing back at him while he looks at his shoes, "But considering everything that's been going on-". His eyes dart up filling with panic and instantly I know what he does. The phone call. He must have thought I haven't heard it. Maybe that'll make this easier. I feign ignorance and despite being told repetitively that I'm a terrible actress he seems to buy it.

"Look, if I help you out at school or whenever you need it then I'll be doing you a favor. So you'll owe me and I'd like to cash-in in advance" I say as he raises his eyebrows as if to ask me what I want. The look of fear doesn't leave entirely.

"Quit" I say simply.

I can hear his sharp intake of breath before his eyes taper to slits. He shakes his head and stands up straighter as if trying to intimidate me.

"But why?" I whine rubbing my shoulder to sooth the tense muscles.

His eyes widen for a second at my voice and there's a subtle upturn of his lips. Its gone in a flash. He pulls out the charcoal and pad again before flipping to a new, blank page. It takes him a while for some reason.

He begins to write before ripping the paper off and using both hands to hold it up against my face. I smack his hands away as I catch a glimpse at his writing.

No whining. I don't need your help.

"Back to these games are we?".

He nods proudly.

"Quit lying, you do need me" I say.

He shakes his head. No. I blame the slight pain in my chest on stress. Of course he'd react like that. I would as well.

"You can't just put up with it forever" I say. He shrugs and glances around for customers.

"Okay" I say lowering my arm, "If you want to continue without me bugging you then prove to me that your worth it". A dark look appears in his eyes for a moment like the very thought is impossible. "Just paint what you need to, sketch some designs, become a creative master for all I care. Just do something".

He bends the corner of his notepad slightly yet he doesn't move. I glance up at the sky hoping it could rain so I'd have an excuse to leave yet the sun continues to glow unbeknownst to the suffering its forcing me to go through.

I close my eyes and open them to glare at him and his paper as he scribbles on it. I whine childishly, "Why are you doing this to me?".

Cause I can

I bite back a laugh choosing to scowl and hope that he takes any hint of a smile as a mockery.

A buzzing alerts me and I reach into my other back pocket to grab my outdated phone. A cheap item I purchased due to its size and the fact that at least thirty people must have used it before me. I flip it open and answer the call without knowing who's calling. Its not like I could check anyway.

"Hello?" I ask trying to ignore Peeta's watchful eyes.

"Katniss". I roll my eyes at Prim's voice.

"Ready to apologize?".

"Sorry".

"Well that didn't sound sincere".

"Kat" she wined.

"What? Anything else you want to yell at me for?".

"No" she whispers, her voice hushed and breathy. I straighten up focusing all my attention on her. I may be angry but her voice is starting to make me uncomfortable. Peeta must notice because he looks away. I can tell he's eavesdropping though because he isn't distracting himself.

"What's the matter?".

"Its him" she says referring to the star of our argument with our mother. The feeling of dread curls inside me.

"What?"

"He was here," Prim says, panic lacing her voice. "I just arrived home and there was a knock at the door. It was him. I just thought- I just thought I'd let you know. When are you coming home?" she asked.

I tried not to flinch at the idea. "I don't want to."

"I'm not sure you have a choice."

"Why?"

"He wants to see you". I sigh but don't interrupt. "Kat he did something bad".

"So tell mum" I answer. Its not the first time he's done something wrong.

"I can't".

"Why not".

"He threatened you for not happily welcoming him back". I roll my eyes. I haven't even seen him yet and its like he knows how I feel. Then again we didn't split on a positive note.

"Okay what did he say?" I ask.

"Nothing".

"Well whats the problem?" I say, hoping she'll get to the point already.

"He sent me link so I googled it and it was similar to one the boys in my class used to use. Its for adults".

"So its like a website to order prostitutes?" I ask, more concerned with the fact she just googled a random link that could have been much worse. "Well tell him I don't want one".

"I can't" she whispers.

"Why?"

"Because your on it".