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I’m heading back to the bakery after my three a.m. smoke break when Finnick sticks his head out the office door. He gives me a bleary-eyed nod of acknowledgment before rubbing the heel of his hands against the sockets. Dark circles mar his typically god-like looks beneath his green eyes. He looks like hell. A handful of years ago, I would’ve blamed Finnick’s haggard appearance on one too many late nights at the dive bar across town, drinking shitty whisky and chasing anything warm and willing, same as me.
That’s no longer the case. Mr. Gorgeous has his life together, at least as much as anyone living around here does. He’s got a wife, a new double-wide trailer, and a baby who keeps Annie up most nights. He doesn’t say much about his family, but I know Finnick worries most nights he’s here, pulling his shift as graveyard manager of the local 24-hour Fuck-It-All-Mart.
I get why he worries. Annie’s wires already weren’t strung the tightest before the baby was born, and I guess her postpartum depression has been a real roller coaster ride of up and down mood swings for her. God, I don’t envy her that. Not that I have any room to talk about mental health; we’re all fucking crazy in this town. Panem, West Virginia, is the kind of place where dreams go to die.
Unlike Finnick, my bad habits of drinking too much and picking up random women on my days off from this shit job haven’t changed. I only have myself to take care of, and whether I’m here or not, I do a bang-up job of it. I can’t seem to find the will to settle down or stop self-medicating with women and alcohol.
I don’t have a reason to care. Once upon a time, I had a bright future- the only girl I ever loved, a full-ride scholarship to State, prospects from here to the moon. One night I fucked it all up, bad, and I’ve been paying since. It serves me right.
Despite my personal sob story, because everybody has one, don’t they? I’m not a complete asshole. I still want to help out my friends when I can. I don’t have many left.
“Why don’t you take off early? Jo and I can handle it,” I tell Finnick, waving at the lone stock girl-slash-cashier working the floor tonight. Her smile is full of saccharine when she shoots me the middle finger. In turn, she gets the classic jerk-off motion from me. It’s fine. That’s how Jo and I communicate.
The store is a ghost town this time of night, exactly why it’s the perfect time for me to come in and do the baking. Working nights also means I don’t have to cross paths with many customers. I prefer it that way.
I haven’t always been like this- I used to be friendly and try to act like a decent human being. At least Finnick is trying to be a better person, taking responsibility for the people he loves. Sometimes I think Finnick and Annie’s relationship is mainly based on him atoning for his past sins.
It’s been a long time since I’ve considered asking for forgiveness of any sort.
“You should go,” I reiterate. “I’ll clock you out at six. Don’t worry.”
Relief crosses my friend’s face. I've made it easy for him to do what he wants. That's one thing you can say about me these days- I don't fight the inevitable. I never make waves. Whatever is going to happen, I just let it happen.
With another “thank you,” as he hurries out the door, Finnick leaves for the night. I hope Annie and the baby are sleeping when he gets home. I hope someone gets something good out of this fucked-up thing we call life.
“Heading back,” I tell Jo as I make my way towards the kitchen.
“Kay,” Jo waves me off as she stands from stocking one of the lower shelves. We have a routine. She will get me to watch the front when it’s time for her break; she’ll probably bum a cigarette off me. We both keep saying it’s a dirty habit, that we’re going to quit. We’ll do it together because it’s always easier when you’re accountable to someone else.
Neither of us makes an effort to do so. I feel like smoking is the least of my problems.
I fall into the familiar rhythm of filling pans with dough, glazing doughnuts, frosting cupcakes until Jo hollers that she’s going out, and can I come out to the floor and cover for her? While she’s gone, I flip through the Panem Tribute, our local news rag. It’s full of lots of stupidity and very little that constitutes news. I noticed that one of my former classmates died of a drug overdose once I reached the obituary section and let out a tired breath. Typical for Panem, but goddamn, I hate it.
Jo is back quicker than I anticipated she would be. Her face is white, even more than usual against her black hair and painted black lips. “Someone is hanging out on the far side of the back lot. A woman. She was watching me,”
“You know this is a shit neighborhood,” I remind her.
Jo rolls her eyes. That girl isn’t afraid of anything. Typically. “I know that doesn’t sound that weird but, it’s weird.”
I frown at her and the way she’s floundering over her words like she’s trying to fit a puzzle back together, and the pieces no longer line up. “Did it seem like something was wrong with her, like was she high or out of her mind or something?”
“No, it was just- no,” Jo tilts her chin up, challenging me to argue with her. “That woman out there, I would swear it’s Katniss.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“There’s no way she’s back; it can’t be-”
Jo grabs my shoulders and pivots me toward the back of the store. “Go see for yourself.”
It’s quiet as the grave when I make my way out the back door of the stock room and out to the loading dock. Fog settled in since I was last out, and I’m wondering how Jo saw anything at all back here when she’s suddenly there.
Katniss.
Tremors begin at my jaw and spread through my facial muscles, torso, arms, and legs. I feel like an uncontrollable mess as my hand migrates to cover my lips in an attempt to calm myself. Oh god, it’s really Katniss, and she’s as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her.
She moves toward me, and I’m choking, sobbing- snot and tears running down my face so rapidly I have to grab the hem of my shirt to wipe my nose and eyes. I hate to miss out on even a second of looking at her, but the mess I’m making of myself is leaving me half-blind in the hazy night air.
“Why are you here?” I manage, trying not to hyperventilate and doing not the best job of it. “I didn’t think-”
“Peeta,” Katniss says softly, and when she touches my arm, my eyes slide closed. The relief of seeing her again, feeling her touch again, all conspires to make me weak and drain any sense of reason away.
I never thought I’d see her again, not after the way things ended between us.
“I came to tell you I still love you.”
“But how can you, after everything? That night, and, and-”
“Peeta,” she repeats my name, and I whimper because I’ve missed my name crossing her lips so much. “I forgive you. For everything, for what you did that night, and the way you’ve been hurting yourself since.”
“You do?” I wipe tears out of my eyes with the back of my hand, choking on a laugh. “You forgive me?”
“Yes. And I want us to be together again.”
“Oh, Katniss, I want that too. I want it more than anything.” She leans into me then, throwing her arms around my neck, laying her head against the spot on my chest that’s hers. The bitter thought of all the nameless women I tried replacing her with since Katniss left crosses my mind, but I push the thoughts out just as quickly.
What’s done is done. Katniss is here, she forgives me. It’s something I could never do for myself. I’m the luckiest man in the world.
“This time, it’s for aways,” Katniss whispers, smiling at me reassuringly, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes. I’m not the only one shaken. “Meet me after work, okay? I’ll wait for you. Your shift is almost over, and Jo might need you, so you’d better get back.”
“You promise, you’re not going to leave again?” I ask before I go, my hands framing Katniss’s jaw, my eyes tracing the contours of her beautiful face- her grey eyes, full lips. I want to kiss her until I’m out of air. I want to drink her in like a man dying of thirst. I’ve lived a drought since she’s been gone.
“I’m afraid I’m going to walk away and never see you again,” I admit.
Katniss runs her thumb across my lips in a tender gesture that sucks the breath from my body. “You’ll see me soon, Peeta. I promise.”
I stumble back into the store on feet that I don’t quite grasp the how or why of moving. “Jo!” I shout, approaching the corner of shelves blocking the registers from my view. I have to tell her she was right. I can’t believe this moment is real. I have to talk to her about it! “You were right! It was her; it was Katniss!”
Odd enough, I don’t get an answer. I’m wondering why Jo is staying mum because this is precisely the type of situation she’s always so quick to say “I told you so” in answer.
I round the corner, and my first thought is what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense. Why is Jo shaking like that? I can see she’s frightened out of her mind. Jo isn’t afraid of anyone.
But then I notice the man with her, standing on the customer side of the register counter. He has a shotgun, and it’s pointed in Jo’s face.
“No,” I whisper as if my words are going to do anything.
If he fires the gun at Jo, it’ll blow her head off her shoulders. There’s no coming back from a shot at that close range.
Jo’s eyes flit to mine, wide, frightened, then land on the man with the gun.
“Hey,” I hear myself say. I have to distract the man. I don’t have a plan, but I have to do something, right? “What do you want- you want money? I can get you money. Just put the gun down. Don’t hurt her, please.”
I don’t know what I do to startle the man, but I seem to surprise him. He swings the gun my way. It looks like a knee-jerk reaction or a reflex because he moves so fast. His hand is on the trigger, and I hear the sound of a car backfiring as my chest explodes. I slump to the tile floor beneath the bright, artificial lights of the store. Pain. There’s so much pain and blood. The blood is everywhere. I choke under the weight of it, drowning as it fills my lungs.
I didn’t know I could bleed out so quickly, but the man wielding the gun was an excellent shot.
My eyes slip closed, and distantly, I hear the sounds of Jo screaming. The light fades into darkness.
A soft, familiar hand is stroking my hair, a warm touch brushing the strands away from my forehead.
I open my eyes again. There’s light here too, but it’s softer yet brighter. There’s no more pain. I wonder if the light is coming from her.
“Peeta,” Katniss greets me, smiling. My head rests in her lap. It’s so lovely here.
Even though I’m dead, I’m finally complete again, whole with the one meant for me and me for her.
I’ve been half-alive since the night of the accident.
We were driving home from a concert. I’d surprised Katniss with tickets for her favorite band. We drove all night to get home when we shouldn’t have. I was exhausted, and I should have admitted that to her.
My last memory of that night was watching Katniss doze in the passenger seat, the highway lights playing skipping games across her face inside the dark interior of the car.
They said I was lucky to escape with my life while Katniss, unfortunately, wasn’t. They said she died almost instantaneously.
“What’s it like?” I ask, rolling onto my stomach and resting my cheek against her thigh. Katniss wears a dress of some soft, thin material; I take the opportunity to stroke her calf. I never want to stop touching her, reassuring myself she isn’t leaving me again, that she loves and forgives me for failing her. I’m really here, with her, wherever here might be.
Katniss sighs, running her fingers through my hair. “It was good while I was waiting for you. Now that you’re here, it’s perfect.”