28The images flashed before him with a startling frequency.
The deep amber liquid as it dribbled down onto the dark grey canvas of his sneakers. The dark red plastic as it surrendered to the pressure of his fingers. The brimming solo cup as it crumpled within his fist and tumbled down onto the carpet. The pulsing red lights as they washed over the thrumming sea of bodies which danced and writhed around him. The cigarette ash, spilt liquor and empty beer cans which lay on the sticky expanse of carpet at his feet as he staggered to retrieve his cup.
Fuck.
He needed to get out. The crowd of bodies swayed and tilted before him as he clambered back to his feet. He hastily wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed through the enthusiastic throngs of grinding bodies, sweaty limbs and gyrating hips. As he stumbled towards the door he purposely ignored the tight blonde ringlets and dark pink tank top that he knew would be his undoing. He just needed some air. He grabbed his navy blue jacket from the haphazard pile of coats and bags which sat discarded by the door and pulled it over his shoulders. He frantically palmed his pockets in search of his flask as he inched closer and closer towards the door. But with each step forward that he took, the door just seemed to get further and further away.
Pull yourself together!
He fumbled once more for the small silver flask in his inside pocket and took a desperate gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all at once he heard her calling out to him again. But this time, he didn't look back as his trembling fingers curled around the door handle and the cool wind thrashed against his burning cheeks.
"Hello?"
He slowly blinked open his eyes. An instant onslaught of bright, golden sunlight filled his vision and made his head throb in protest. He clenched his eyes shut tightly and winced as the burning sheet of orange seemed to imprint itself against the back of his eyelids. He frowned deeply as his body awakened to a puzzling array of smells and textures. The sour taste of whiskey lingering on his breath, he was used to. The rancid stench of tobacco clinging to his clothing, he was used to. But this was different. He felt a soft, almost sharp sensation tickling his cheek and an urgent prodding against his ribs. He rolled lazily onto his back and breathed in the scents of sunshine and freshly mowed grass. And not like the stupid Yankee Candle versions that his ex- girlfriend loved so much either. But real grass, wet with dew. The prodding against his ribs grew more insistent.
What the fuck?!
"Are you okay?"
He dared to open his eyes once more, mentally preparing himself for the bright assault of sunlight. But this time, the sharp rays of the sun were partially blocked from his vision. They did however frame a curious, almost angry looking face. The golden orange worked to accent the figure of the teenage girl who frowned down at him, her hands placed strongly on her hips. The beaming sunlight contrasted against her long, dark braid and gleamed above her head like a halo.
Is this a dream?
He marvelled at her for just a little too long, and he heard her cough uncomfortably as he continued to drink her in. She seemed familiar, but he's sure he would have noticed this girl before. She was so naturally beautiful, her grey eyes so remarkably striking as she scowled down at him. She wasn't covered in thick layers of makeup and the tanned sheen of her skin was quite obviously not from a spray can. His heavy-lidded eyes gazed down at the gentle curves of her body, openly gawking as he took in her simple jeans and band tee a little too blatantly. His gaze wandered back up to her full lips, and he felt a stirring in his jeans as he imagined what they would feel like wrapped—
OW!
The sharp swipe of her foot against his ribcage brought him out of his musings. Okay, not a dream he realised as he rubbed his painfully smarting skin. He supposed he deserved that. He felt a stifling heat rise up to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the mild weather and everything to do with his—admittedly creepy and not at all subtle—appraisal of her.
"So you are alive then?" he heard her scoff as she scuffed her battered pair of converse against the lawn.
"Looks that way," he replied gruffly as he lifted his reeling head from the ground and took in his surroundings.
From this vantage resting on his elbows, he spied a small residential street. And there he was; dazed, hung-over and sprawled out unceremoniously across the lawn of this girl's house. The same girl who was quite clearly getting more and more annoyed by the second, he thought. He fought back a smirk at the way her fingers drummed impatiently against her hips and ignored her ire; he found it strangely sexy. He craned his neck in the hope of placing his location, but his mind came up empty. The houses around him were all slightly smaller and significantly more dilapidated than those from his own neighbourhood. The flowerbeds were less elaborate, but he liked it better. The fences and gates were less maintained, but he liked it better. The front doors and windows weren't so fancy, and the paint peeled in places. But it was nice, it was real. He looked back to the girl, who had resorted to tapping her foot irritably against the ground and appeared to be debating whether or not to kick him again. He patted his jacket idly, and smiled when he felt the hard steel of his flask. At this, the girl looked back over at him curiously, the light sweeping of freckles across her nose standing out against the sunshine and wisps of her dark hair dancing in the breeze.
"So… are you going to get up?" She finally queried. No hint of sympathy. Not that he deserved any. He had got wasted and passed out in her yard after all.
"Are you gonna help me?" he asked her with a cheeky wink.
Fuck hung-over, I must still be drunk to play it like that he thought.
"No…" She replied, drawing out the simple word as if it were a question. He couldn't help but stare at the way her dusky lips pursed as she elongated the syllable.
A long silence permeated the air around them against a backdrop of gently pulsing sprinklers and softly crooning radios. He broke out of his trance and watched across the narrow street as a pair of dark haired siblings played basketball and he tried to hide his ever-growing embarrassment.
"Come on Peeta, are you gonna get up? I have to get to work."
At this, he looked back over at the girl so quickly that his neck cracked painfully in response. His throat felt uncomfortably dry despite the vomit which threatened to bubble forth.
"How do you know my name?" He choked out in surprise, silently praying that he hadn't disturbed her last night whilst in his drunken stupor.
The girl sighed deeply and looked down at her feet. Her well-worn converse were covered in sporadic patches of green and brown and scraped at the toe.
"We go to the same school, Peeta. We're in the same year, in fact. We have English class together."
Peeta blinked and felt his mouth gape open in shock. She had to be lying, there's no way that he would never have noticed this frustratingly beautiful girl before. She was different. She was moody and sullen but he couldn't even begin to comprehend the effect that she was having on him. She was different, in the best possible way. Just like everything else about this neighbourhood and this whole damn morning in general. He knew he must have looked ridiculous, his mouth wide open in shock, his wavy blonde hair sticking out in all directions, his shirt stained with beer and his shoes…
Where were his shoes?
As if reading his mind, the girl's stern expression suddenly wavered as the corner of her lips quirked up in amusement. She covered her mouth to stifle her laugher as she gestured to the rusty old mailbox which stood in front of them. Whilst one of his sneakers lay neglected on the ground, the other had been stuffed inside amongst a pile of pamphlets. And if the silver chain wrapped around the post was anything to go by, his wallet had been thrust in there for good measure too.
Peeta cringed at the display, and brought his hand up to cover his eyes. This caused the girl to laugh even harder, and the sound was so unlike anything else that he had ever heard. It wasn't fake, or forced, or even ladylike. It was honest and real and he found himself desperate to make her laugh like that again and again. He peeked back at her through his splayed fingers and grinned as he saw her clutching her side in mirth. And in that moment she was so beautiful, and he was so goddamn stupid that he couldn't help but laugh along with her.
A series of whoops and hollers interspersed with their laughter, and they both turned towards the dark haired siblings across the street as their basketball rolled out into the road.
"Nice shot, Posy!" the girl in front of him cheered as a genuine smile took over her face. He studied her profile for a scant moment before her eyes flittered back over towards him.
Eventually she extended her hand in his direction, and he gripped on tight as she helped him to his feet. His head rolled forward and the world began to spin as he pitched forward towards her in his daze. The olive skin of her shoulder was so soft and steadying that he felt his fingers squeeze and his thumb twitch across her flesh before he could so much as think about stopping himself. He noticed the goose bumps which inundated her skin as she grabbed onto his shoulders to steady him before she stepped out of his grasp. He watched her intently as his arm dropped limply beside him and smacked uselessly against his thigh. Now that he stood at his full height, he could really appreciate her. She seemed to be about his age, with a petite figure that was practically the perfect juxtaposition to his much stockier frame. A small dimple appeared in her left cheek as she laughed nervously. He was mesmerised.
"So you're not joking, we really are in the same class?" he asked as he placed his hands on his knees to centre himself, before shamefully walking over to retrieve his shoes.
"Yep" she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Mr Abernathy, right? Did you hear about the time that I stole his liquor from his desk and filled his flask with vinegar?" he chuckled, hopping manically on his right leg to place his shoe.
"Mmm, yeah" She answered, suddenly completely uninterested and staring up at the rapidly forming clouds.
Not the response he expected. Glimmer thought it was hilarious.
"Well yeah, it was —"
"So do you want a ride home or not? Like I said, I'm running late." She interrupted him harshly, back to business and her total indifference towards him.
"Uh... yeah. Please" he murmured, suddenly sheepish as he followed her rapidly retreating form. He seized his wallet and jogged to catch up with her, begging his memory to recall her. Her name might be a good start, loser his mind taunted him as he hopped into her scuffed green truck. If she had been one of the dumb cheerleader types from school, he would have simply been content to address her as 'babe', or 'gorgeous.' But he had the feeling that this girl would kick his ass if he so much as looked at her funny.
The interior of her truck was just as worn and rundown as the outside, a far cry from the fancy leather seat warmers of his Land Rover. He fastened his threadbare seat belt and glanced back over towards her, but frowned at what he saw. For the first time, this girl didn't look angry, nor was she laughing. Her eyebrows were knitted together, and a light pink blossomed over her cheeks as she adjusted her interior mirror. She was embarrassed. He suddenly felt his heart plummet. If anybody should be embarrassed, it was him. He was sunburnt and blotchy from his whole impromptu slumber party in her garden, his clothes were rumpled and dirty, and his body was stinking and hung-over as hell. He wanted to say something, to reach out and comfort her somehow. But he feared the extravagant display of wealth that the shiny silver watch on his wrist expressed would only make him seem like more of a jerk. The girl tossed her ebony braid over her shoulder and twirled her keys around her index finger, resolutely avoiding his gaze. She may not have had the level of privilege that he did, but Peeta decided in that moment that she had more class in her little finger than anyone from his entire neighbourhood could claim. The tinkling of her keychain reverberated throughout the entirety of the truck; breaking him out of his reverie and echoing throughout his brain in a way which made his head pound in tandem. He was just about to tell her to kindly knock it off, when she quickly interrupted him.
"My name is Katniss, by the way. I might as well tell you before you burst a blood vessel trying to figure it out. Your face is going real red over there."
"Katniss? Katniss Everdeen?"
"Oh, so you do remember me" she replied drily, as she distractedly pulled out into the street.
Remember? How could he forget?
As they stopped almost instantly at a red light, he watched as she rolled down her window and let a gentle draught roll through the truck. The breeze carried the scents of bar soap, lavender and pine trees that he knew at once were simply a heady combination of her.
Katniss Everdeen had been his first crush. He had first spotted her on his first day of infant school and his Spiderman lunch box had clattered down onto the pavement at his first glimpse of her red plaid dress. Her hair had been two braids back then, and her eyes were a slightly different shade of grey to the ones which had greeted him today. This morning with the golden sun as his guide, Peeta had been able to detect the tiny flecks of electric blue which now stood out against the deep slate grey of her iris.
Back in infant school and after two years of admiring her from afar, he had finally made her a gift for Valentine's Day. It wasn't particularly very good, but that didn't mean he hadn't put any work into it. His clumsy child's fingers had iced a small replica of her namesake—the Katniss flower—onto one of his father's famous sugar cookies and he had proudly placed it within her designated tray in their classroom. Only, he never actually told her that it was from him. He had watched her that morning as she had picked it up between her tiny fingers and unfurled the crinkly red tissue paper to reveal his sugary gift. His gap-toothed smile had stretched its widest as he had watched her mouth open in awe and her eyes glisten. But he didn't move an inch when she turned around in confusion and glanced at her classmates; his body had been so still that he felt as though he had been glued to his chair. He was frozen by his own innocent infatuation and fear of humiliation.
The next several months of his childhood flew by, and in that time he learnt how to ride a bike, he lost two baby teeth and he finally beat both of his brothers at Jenga. But he had still never uttered so much as a word to Katniss Everdeen. But on one particularly cold November morning that had sent his teeth chattering and his skin stinging, Katniss never turned up to class. But she was always there for class, even when her nose was runny and her knees were scraped. She didn't come back the next day either, nor the day after that. Peeta had run home to his father that evening with tears threatening to burst from his eyes and stream down his cheeks. His father had lifted him onto the kitchen counter as he brushed the curls from his eyes and explained to him that Katniss had lost her father. Lost? He remembered asking. Where was he last? He wanted to was always what his father had always asked him when he needed help looking for something. But his father just stroked his cheek and sighed as he told him that Katniss' father had died. Peeta still remembered the fear that churned within his stomach that evening when he was told that Katniss might be absent from school for a little while longer. And so he waited. And waited some more. He used to slip sugar cookies into her tray every morning in the hope that she would come skipping back through the door like she used to. He would stare at the bold, printed out letters of her name which labelled her tray for so long that the letters always turned blurry in his vision and all fused together. But she never came back.
Eventually, Peeta starting mooching about with Finnick Odair and everything changed. A well timed growth spurt, cheap cider, girls. The shy boy with chubby cheeks who used to stare at Katniss Everdeen across the playground and blush was long gone. As he progressed through school, he grew broad and strong and the girls started staring and blushing at him.
"Where shall I drop you off then?" Katniss uttered, unknowingly breaking him from his memories. He looked up and out of the windshield, hoping that she wouldn't notice the glassy tears which clung to his fair eyelashes as he blinked them away.
"Where are you going?" he croaked.
Katniss looked back over to him in surprise at his change of tone, and her face softened for a fraction of a second at his forlorn expression.
"Capitol Bar" she replied, referring to a local dive bar that he knew his oldest brother had been kicked out of twice before. It wasn't exactly known for its honourable reputation.
"You work there?" he asked, his voice rising in surprise and mild disgust.
"Yeah, the owner is an old friend of my family. He pays me to come in and clean before they open."
Peeta squinted over at the small clock face on the dashboard, 8.14.
"And now you're late" he muttered dejectedly. She didn't reply.
Because of me he thought. He couldn't let her take the fall for this.
"Let me come with you" he added when their conversation fell silent. The only sounds which filled the void as he waited for her response were that of the trucks sputtering, thunderous engine. She needed more persuading.
"Let me help you do your cleaning and whatever to help make up for making you late and—"
"—Passing out on my lawn" she finished for him with a small smile.
"Yeah for passing out on your lawn and—"
"—Putting your shoes in my mailbox." Peeta could feel his cheeks burning yet again.
"Yeah, and for putting my shoes in your mailbox and—"
"—Throwing up over my neighbours flowerbeds" she finished for him once again, barely holding her laughter back now.
"What? I didn't, did I?" he exclaimed, thoroughly mortified.
"Yeah, and you also…"
"—Okay! Okay! All right, Katniss. I get the picture. I'm sorry!" he gasped through his own amusement.
"So, let me get this straight?" Katniss began as she parked up outside of the derelict bar. "You want to help me clean the bar? You know, washing dishes and cleaning dirty toilets?" She asked, as she raised a sceptical eyebrow in his direction.
Peeta felt his stomach churn at the mention of toilets and filth but tried his best to keep the grimace off his face.
"Yep" he replied after a beat, a smirk forming in response to her shocked expression. He quickly tried to convince himself that he was simply doing this to repay his debt to her, for all of the havoc that he had caused her this morning.
Except for the fact that you still have a crush on her! That you actually want to spend time with her! His thoughts jeered back at him.
He shook his head and watched as she unclipped her seat beat and stretched over towards the back seat. He restrained himself from looking down at her cleavage as she reached over and fumbled around in search of something.
His stared furiously at his lap and began to pick at a loose thread in his jeans when a small, pink apron was tossed into his lap.
"Let's go then" she challenged, as she climbed out of her seat and slammed the truck door behind her.
As they stepped over towards the entrance of the bar, Peeta couldn't help but cringe at its appearance. The crumbling walls were covered in cobwebs, graffiti and several dark stains which he could only imagine were a combination of dried piss and spilt beer. The neon sign that sat crooked above the door sizzled and hissed dangerously as they walked beneath it. All three of its vowels were smashed, proclaiming the bar CPTL; which Peeta concluded sounded more like some sort of computer function than anything else. Katniss unlocked a rather feeble looking deadbolt before looking over her shoulder and ushering him inside. It was nothing special, just a few pitiful looking booths and a selection of moth-eaten stools surrounding the bar. His fingertips ached to reach out for her and slide down her curves as he followed her further into the darkness with only the dim lights of the jukebox to light their path. The musty stench of sweat and whiskey instantly assaulted Peeta's nostrils and did nothing to help his resurfacing hangover. Katniss seemed to notice his unsettled reaction, turning back to face him with a knowing smirk plastered across her face. But then the gentle orange and red lights of the jukebox washed over her skin just so and made him lose any semblance of nonchalance.
"You should feel right at home here" she grinned, gesturing towards the empty bottles of beer which crowded the bar like old patrons before throwing him a pair of rubber gloves.
Together they thrust open the blinds, pulled the fusty barstools down and switched on the blinking overhead lights. She washed the dishes, whilst he dried. She cleaned the ladies toilets and he rather begrudgingly cleaned the men's. As they wiped down the bar, the strong smells of bleach and disinfectant seemed to burn straight through his nostrils and down his throat, but at least it was better than the stuffy alternative. The bar was so neglected that he half expected tumbleweed to come breezing through at some point. When they had finally finished, they collapsed down into a booth with two glasses of coke in hand and their mops, plungers and gloves discarded behind the bar. He ran over the chipped rim of his glass with the sleeve of his jacket before taking a welcome sip of the soothing liquid. He instinctively patted his pocket for his trusty silver flask, but an awkward throat clearing caused him to falter in his movements.
"Thanks for helping me today" Katniss muttered. Her plush lips pursed and her silver eyes narrowed as she looked towards his jacket pocket.
"No problem. I actually kinda enjoyed myself" he replied shyly and chuckled at her disbelieving expression.
Shy? Since when was Peeta Mellark shy anymore? He wasn't sure himself, but Katniss just seemed to bring it out of him. The cocksure attitude that he normally displayed around cute girls went straight out of the window when it came to her. Deep down, he was still the same boy who felt frozen in his seat whenever she glanced his way.
"Okay, the men's bathroom stalls… not so much" he relented as he tilted his head, which caused her lips to curve upwards in response. He liked how she seemed to transition from scowling to playful, with no in between. Katniss Everdeen didn't play games.
"Well, Mellark. You were actually a big help. So thanks. Consider your debt repaid. Just wait here one sec and I'll get my keys and take you home."
Shy or not, he couldn't quite help but stare at her ass as she walked around the bar and reached for her purse.
The balmy sun was much higher in the sky when Katniss eventually pulled up outside of his home. Her eyes seemed to widen at the sight of the huge, pristinely kept house and obnoxious double garage. His neighbourhood was all white picket fences, gravel driveways and precisely groomed rosebushes. An uncomfortable silence overtook the truck. He didn't want to get out and go home just yet. He looked over at Katniss, his heart sinking. His shot at befriending her was slipping through his fingers like quicksand. His fingers twitched in their desperation to reach out and smooth down the flyaway hairs that had escaped from her dark braid. But she wasn't like the other girls, he had to remind himself. She wouldn't giggle mindlessly and lean closer towards him to give him a better view of her chest.
"Well… thanks again." She hedged.
"No problem" he replied, reluctantly reaching for the door handle. He might have been goddamn stupid, but he could take a hint. He took once last look at her face, before turning back towards the artificial grandeur of his home. He took one uncertain step forward, before the roaring of her trucks engine brought him back to his senses.
"Wait!" he yelled, turning back towards her. He ran his hands frantically through his wavy blonde hair as she regarded him once more.
Here goes nothing.
"Can I have lunch with you at school on Monday?" he blurted out.
His heart was pounding as she raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. He could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain.
"Um… I mean… I don't know" she answered hesitantly, before turning her gaze back towards the dusty windshield in front of her.
Rejection.
"Please!" he begged, quickly placing his hands beneath his chin and giving her his best puppy dog eyes.
He watched intently as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to spite her grin.
"Okay… but only on the condition that you never pull that stupid face at me again" she yielded with a spirited shake of her head.
He smiled his widest at her, relishing in her playful frustration with him as he finally shut the truck door behind him. She turned back once more, placing her hands more securely on the steering wheel and putting the truck into gear.
"Katniss! One last thing." She turned back towards him, looking utterly exasperated.
"I just… I have no idea how I never noticed you in English before" he muttered, looking down to the meticulously preened grass beneath his sneakers in shame.
"Don't worry about it, Peeta. I've always been kind of invisible" she replied. But she didn't sound bitter, or upset or even offended. In fact, she sounded remarkably indifferent.
He looked up to object, but choked on the thick streams of fog which expelled from her truck as she pulled away and back down his street.
"Not to me" he replied weakly, kicking a small pebble into the immaculate flowerbeds as he watched her speed away.
AN: The next chapter is outlined and partially written so if anybody at all is interested in reading it, please follow/review to let me know!