The Story Continues (Mockingjay Fanfiction-Sequel)

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"Oh. my."

Peeta looked at me. I glared back.

He looked like he was going to say something, but just turned his head and walked scooted a step further away from me. Then, he said, "You're such a girl sometimes."

"Wow, 3 years and you finally realize that."

 All he did was raise his eyebrow a bit and continued reading.

"Oh. my."

He sighed and closed the leather-bound book and turned to me. I bit my lip and stared at the carpet.

"Do you know why I came?"

"I don't know," I said, "but please don't keep me guessing."

"It's hard to explain, I guess." His finger traced the zig zag pattern and tensed. "We were supposed to be friends."

"I never said we weren't."

"I never implied that we weren't." I was overwhelmed with a eeriness of looking into my soul.

"So...."

"So I want us to be normal again. It's not like you've been very....nice since we got back..." his breath hitches. I understand.

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

"More like the, okay, what normal should we be, the Capitol or ---"

"Nothing to do with the Capitol."

"Okay," I smile. Peeta smiles too, the smile that makes me shiver with goosebumps and my stomach warm. For a while, all I do is focus on the diamond pattern on the carpet beneath my feet, kicking the loose yarns back and forth with my bare feet, and the irregular pattern of the wooden coffee table.

"What do you do other than bake?" I break the silence.

"Nothing much. Except daydream about the horrors of the Games. You?"

"Well, when I try to hunt, I always end up on a train going nowhere, and labeled as a phsycopath."

He smiles a little. " I think we're going to District 9."

"Yeah, I asked an Avox. I'm excited to see where they'll put me now." I roll my eyes. "Maybe stick me in a grain field until I return to 'normal'."

"Well, it can't be that bad," he says, "I think it'll be a nice change."

"Hmm." I tighten my lips and look out the window. I don't want to talk now.

"I guess it's time for me to leave," he tells me. I don't say anything but continue to stare at the tall stalks of grass flash by the car. His steps aren't fast or slow, but it seems like only a second before the room returns to silence again.

Again, all copyright goes to Suzanne Collins; none of the characters are mine.