Three in the Morning

The Bar

Katniss

By Thursday, Gale's been here for four days. Tension between us has ceased, and we're back to that unchanging best-friendship we've always had.

Even so, he's constantly pushing me to eat. I do every time he asks me to, to prove to him that there's nothing wrong. But every bite leaves me feeling a bit bloated, sometimes sick to my stomach. How am I just noticing this issue now? I guess I don't exactly pay much attention to myself.

Gale's in a deep sleep beside me in my bed right now.

If it were anyone else in my room, I can't say I wouldn't be a little freaked out. After what Cato put me through, I wouldn't speak for a week. But I trust Gale, and I don't think I can trust anyone in the world quite as much.

Recently, fragments of my past have seemed so distant. So much so that it seems like maybe my friend Madge Undersee was the one who went with Cato, and maybe she laid by her little sister's hospital bed for days after what she'd done. Not me. It could have been anyone, but I feel so detached from all that's happened.

Except for my father's death. Every time I close my eyes, I see an airplane mid-nosedive.

This just might be what Gale and Prim mean. I'm hardly myself anymore.

It's almost midnight. I can hear crickets chirping vivaciously from outside the window, and I'm sweltering under the blankets of my bed. Gale's beginning to snore some, and I almost feel like hitting him with a pillow, but refrain from it.

My eyelids are getting heavier with every line of this book that they scan, so I decide to call it a night and shut my light, just as I receive a text from Peeta completely out of the blue.

'Are you awake?' It says.

'Yes,' I reply instantaneously.

'Are you doing anything tomorrow?' He sends.

'Nothing,' I tell him, but then remember I'm to take Prim to her boyfriend's house tomorrow night at half past five. I don't tell Peeta that.

It takes a minute for him to respond, and it's difficult for me not to drift off in anticipation, but when I do get his text, he's invited me to a bar for lunch.

I look over at Gale and decide that he'll be fine alone in my apartment for a few hours, and accept Peeta's offer.

At a quarter to twelve the following day, I step out of the building into humid summer air. Though Peeta and I are venturing from the same point A, we've left separately.

I ended up telling Gale that I was going to catch a movie with Peeta. That new X-Men one. My eyes could have deceived me, but I think he looked a little hurt. If I'd told Gale the truth, I know he'd never allow me to visit a bar without his supervision.

I promise myself that I'm going to be utterly responsible. I make a mental note of what I'll order; some iced tea.

Peeta's already seated at the counter, two beers in front of him.

"Hey, Katniss! Got you something to drink," he calls, waving me over.

My footsteps grow more tentative all of the sudden, but I slide onto the stool next to him.

"I like your shirt," he comments.

"Thanks."

I put a tiny bit of effort into dressing decently today. I have on my usual summer attire: jean shorts and a tank top, but it's a nice, floral one that I've had hanging in my closet for months although always regarded as too pretty to wear just for sitting around the apartment or working in a bloody butcher's shop. I'm glad Peeta likes it.

"Hungry? Should I order wings or something?"

I begin to refuse, but then Gale's pleads to take care of myself resurface in my mind.

"Sure, that would be great."

I'm actually not one for wings, but I suppose I'll just have the fries that come with it.

Peeta leans away to get the attention of a bartender. She's a tall, blonde girl with long, golden locks and a very, very low cut shirt. Her name tag says Glimmer. The names some people have in this city I will never understand. It's like her parents knew she'd become a slutty bartender from the moment she was born.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and instinctively I whirl around to face a fat middle-aged drunkard.

"Sweetheart, can I get you somethin' strong to drink?"

I'm conflicted. I want to punch him, but also just want to carry out a calm lunch with Peeta today.

"Leave me alone."

I turn back around in my stool and put my hand around the icy bottle in front of me.

"I was talkin' to you," the man slurs, clamping a sweaty hand onto the same shoulder.

"Hey!" shouts Peeta, holding a basket of buffalo wings and french fries, "get your hands off her!"

"Lay off, Abernathy, you're going to snap this little girl like a twig," says his friend.

I roll my eyes and grit my teeth.

"Ignore those idiots," Peeta tells me.

I try to. I dip a fry in ketchup and devour it while attempting to tune out their heckling.

"Twenty bucks says you can't get her by the end of this hour," the second man bets 'Abernathy.'

I spin my head around and glare at them, but they smile mockingly, and one of them hiccups.

"That's a deal. I'll say you're underestimatin' me," says the fat man from his seat.

"You're disgusting and I wouldn't sleep with you if my life depended on it," I say flatly.

"That's real funny, sweetheart. All I want is a kiss right here." He puckers his lips.

"In that case, let me rephrase that. You're disgusting and I wouldn't kiss you if my life depended on it."

His New York Giants tee shirt is stained all over with God knows what, and his unkempt dark curls fall sloppily onto his forehead. I might not live my own life in the most prestigious way, but I do have standards.

"I'm gettin' his twenty bucks, so either you're gonna kiss me or I'm comin' over there."

Peeta's demeanor tells me he doesn't know what to do.

"Forget it," I say, growing more and more irritated by the second but still just wanting more than anything to have a cordial lunch with a friend.

"What's it going to take for you to get the Hell away from her?" Peeta chimes in.

"Hey, I told her what she's gotta do," and so he keeps to his word, approaching me.

He's not too tall. When I rise to face him, Abernathy is probably just has half a foot on me.

He leans in, and I put two hands on his chest and push him away hard.

He drunkenly stumbles back, and his friend howls with laughter.

"Haymitch! You just got knocked over by a freaking twig!" His companion shouts.

"Shut up!" I yell.

Peeta stands up angrily, "come on, Katniss, we can leave if you want."

"No, I'm fine."

I sit down, my mind buzzing with annoyance. In not too long, my drink has been tapped into.

I sip it until a sense of serenity makes me feel airy and calm.

"Hey, Peeta," the words fall out of my mouth in a jumble.

He looks up at me.

"I like your shirt, too."