Three in the Morning

See You Soon

Katniss

I roll over in my bed, not quite expecting to hit another human while doing so. I open my eyes in shock, and it takes me a second to remember about the whole Peeta deal.

He's still fast asleep, I think, until I pull my arm out from under his body and he stirs a little.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up. Didn't want to disturb you," he reveals, and sits up straight in my bed.

I stand up on the floor and stretch my back. I don't think I've gotten as good a rest as today's in a long time.

"The clean-up crew's done with my room," Peeta says as he scrolls through his text messages with one finger and reads them studiously.

I don't say anything. I'm pretty reluctant for Peeta to have to go actually . . . I don't exactly get a ton of company aside from my sister visiting every other weekend or so when we go window shopping together in Times Square. Sometimes I'll have my mother over for dinner when I'm feeling particularly guilty for not keeping in touch when she's so down, and of course there's Gale. There's something rejuvenating in Peeta's presence though. He's so full of life.

"Oh. Well . . . goodbye . . ." I say. Still facing away from him though. I don't want him to look at me if there's a chance that my expression conveys what I'm feeling inside.

"Thank you, Katniss," he tells me in a polite tone, "I don't want to say goodbye though."

"I don't really want to either, to be honest." I confess, and direct my eyes to the ground.

I really need to clean up. I never really anticipate anyone coming in here. Peeta takes a pen from the top of my dresser and walks over to where I stand.

I smirk at the way Gale's shirt droops on Peeta with his short stature, when I can picture Gale vividly standing right where the baker boy stands, the shirt a tight fit over his muscular build.

Peeta takes my arm and presses the sharp tip of that pen to it. Digits take shape, and I put two and two together so that I know he's just given me his phone number.

"Look for me in Gloria's on Monday," he tells me with a gleam to his bright blue eyes, "bye, Katniss."

"Bye, Peeta."

He exits the room and I stay where I stand until I hear the click of the door to this apartment closing. Then I input the numbers on my arm right into my phone

I even take a second to admire the way 'Peeta Mellark' looks so untouched in my contact list, right above mine and Gale's little sisters; Prim and Posey.

I practically dance across the floor and into the shower, whistle an upbeat tune from the radio while I wash my hair, and serenade the houseplants while I fix myself a glass of lemonade.

I don't remember ever being in such a good mood as I am now. I feel so refreshed. Between the solid ten hours of sleep and just . . . Peeta . . .

With nothing else to do, I blast some music- loud enough to drown out the heavy silence that fills my place, but (I'm pretty sure) not so loud that complaining neighbors will come rapping on my door- and I get to work clearing out the clutter in my bedroom.

I fill a black plastic garbage bag with trash of all sorts, make the bed for once, fold some clothes and put others in the laundry basket, and overall just straighten the place up. I drop probably five water bottles from my bedside table into the bag as well, but pause before disposing of the alcohol that had resided beside them; the bottles that had consoled me on nights that it had felt impossible to go to bed sober and not be able to rid my mind of the image of my father's death.

I rip my eyes from the mess of bottles before the first tear drops. I don't touch them; rather decide that I'd done enough cleaning for one day, when my phone vibrates.

My heart stops beating for a second in hopes that Peeta's the sender of what caused my phone to tremble. The hopes are extinguished when 1) I remember I have his phone number and not the other way around, and 2) Prim's name appears in my notifications.

I subconsciously lean against the wall while checking the text.

'Please get to mom's house ASAP. She's on the floor. I don't know how long she's been like this but she won't wake up,' it reads.

Oh, my God.

Before I know it, I'm sprinting down the uneven sidewalks, pushing my way through people and not stopping for anything. The notion that I have a car to my name right in the parking garage is suddenly irrelevant, I don't care about the two miles that separate me from my mother at this moment. She and I are by no means close, but she's my mother. I love her regardless.