I've been wanting to write something for Christmas, but just haven't had the time. I'm off for 11 days now, and tonight, Christmas Eve, I'm writing down what's been in my head for a month. If the title seems familiar, it's because, yes, I Everlarked Adele - the Queen of heartbreak. *gasp* Is this Everlark? you ask… follow me and find out. :) Been wanting to do write this since I heard the song! The setting is the holidays because, well, it's Christmas, y'all. Leave some love for me!

PS - turn on your ipods to this song while you read. I know you've got it!

I lay stretched out on my stomach across my bed, watching the wind whip through the palm trees outside my window. It's two days before Christmas and I can't seem to keep thoughts of home out of my mind. The tropical landscape fades until all I can see are snow covered hills and neighborhoods illuminated with twinkling decorations, some set to music. I try to push away the memories of caroling until late in the evening and then warming up next to the fire with a cup of hot chocolate, steam rising underneath my nose; the warm liquid soothing my vocal chords, tired out from singing too loud and laughing too hard.

It sounds like the kind of life anyone would want to remember. But he was there. He is what makes it hard to relive that time. I cannot forget the boyish blond hair that fell in his eyes when he let it grow too long, vivid baby blue's that always found their way straight to my soul. A smile that could melt the icicles hanging from the rooftops. A smile that I managed to crush when I broke his heart.

It's the most haunting part of what I did. Peeta was the most jovial of souls, the kindest of hearts. I haven't seen him in years, but I carry with me the last image of the wreckage I caused. Pain-filled eyes, trembling lips, broad shoulders slumped in defeat. He begged me not to go. Told me he loved me over and over. That he would do anything for me, and I didn't doubt his sincerity. But how could he know? No one knows the future. People change. My father did.

The whole time I was packing my bags, my heart was pounding in my chest like a prisoner trying to escape, trying to be somewhere other than where I was taking it - away from him. But I left anyway, put a million miles between us. Too afraid of losing him. Too afraid of having Peeta to do me what I did to him.

My feelings had become so strong for him. It was something I told myself I never wanted. I had always wanted to be independent of the kind of love that debilitates you and makes you susceptible to heartache. I watched my mother go through that, and even though I always loved the way my father looked at her, and she at him, from the time he left her for a woman with more youth, I never wanted a man to look at me that way and expect me to return those feelings.

I realized four Christmases ago, when Peeta gave me a simple diamond ring as my gift, that it had crept up on me anyway. When I looked into his stunning blue eyes, I saw it; the look my father gave my mother when I was young. The look that told her she was all he ever wanted. Until he didn't.

I spent a year trying to move on, throwing myself into my job teaching fourth grade science, going out on weekends with friends, talking with attractive strangers at bars and consuming too much alcohol in a desperate effort to forget. Three years later he's on my mind more than if I had stayed. I was wrong. It was such a mistake. But what can I do now? It's been too long.

It took about a year before I could I finally admit to myself I couldn't move on. After one too many nights with my head over the toilet, Peeta still assaulting my blurry thoughts, I tried calling him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry. Sorry for what I'd done. Maybe if I could talk to him, know that he was okay, I could have closure. It felt like I dialed his number a thousand times. And a thousand times he didn't answer.

Looking over to the nightstand, I breathe deeply when my eyes land on the calling card from home - my sister's wedding invitation. I feel elated for her, and horrified for myself. I'll be leaving for the tiny town I grew up in tomorrow. The town where nothing ever happened and everyone knew your business. I escaped the inevitable gossip that went around after I left. Peeta most likely had to deal with it all, unless he made it out of there too. I wouldn't know. I never ask my sister about him. She knows not to speak about him. And my mother has no information for me. She can't have a normal conversation with me, or anyone else for that matter. Even after all these years she still can't face what happened. My mother's fate is what keeps me from running back to him on the days I'm determined to hear his voice and the nights I'm desperate to feel his body. That, and the fact that I've put so much distance between us, and not just in mileage.

But tomorrow I'll be going back. It's a small enough town. If he's still there, he probably already knows I'm coming back. I wonder if he'll stay away? I wonder if I'll be able to stay away? I've been successful at it for a long while now, but that's because we haven't been physically near each other. He always had a magnetic pull on me.

I dread what my heart will do when I see him, what his heart may do to him when he sees me. The mended parts of them tearing open like a fresh wound, experiencing the pain all over again. Should I call? Prim warned me she invited him, since we all grew up together. He was like a big brother to her. I can't blame her for wanting him there. It's my fault things are the way they are.

Picking up the phone, I dial the ten numbers I've never managed to forget. I tell myself it won't matter if he answers, even though a small part of my heart lights up with hope.

The hope is extinguished when I hear his voice mail a few rings later. He sounds… good. Surely he's moved on, but part of me wonders why he won't take my calls if he has. Did I hurt him so badly that he is angry and bitter now? Does he carry the pain on his back like one of the fifty pound bags of flour he used to move around when he worked in his parents' bakery all those years ago?

The beep sounds, halting my thoughts.

"Hello?" I ask, wondering if he remembers the sound of my voice. "It's me." He knows it's me, right? "It's… it's Katniss." And just that quickly I see it again - the fading smile, the questioning eyes, the falling countenance that used to be so bright. I did that. My heart is pierced like an arrow through its target.

"I was wondering if… well, maybe you've heard. I'll be home tomorrow. For Prim's wedding." My voice trails off to a whisper, the phone shakes in my hand, my stomach lurches at what I'm about to say.

"I was wondering if, if you'd like to meet? I want to talk about… everything," I say, knowing he will understand what I mean. I ask him to call me if it's agreeable to him. I don't know whether I'll hear from him or not, but as I pack my bag for the five-hour flight across the country tomorrow, I set my mind to knowing that at least I've tried.

I take a seat in coach, readying myself for the long flight back to Baltimore, then a two hour drive north across the border of Pennsylvania to Panem City, my home town. My book is in the seat pocket, my iPod turned to airplane mode and queued to my favorite playlist. My nerves are shot. I got very little sleep last night and the thoughts in my head are filling up faster than this plane. Is it just me or is everyone suffocating in here? I take a few deep breaths, noting how everyone else seems normal.

"Vodka cranberry, please," I tell the attendant as she takes pre-orders while passengers stow their luggage and fasten their seatbelts. I need something to calm me down. Peeta never called back, but I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, that I might see him soon.

My lips turn up in a tight smile as a young woman takes a seat next to me. She's probably close to my age, and what most people would call an all-American girl. Definitely a California-type; long, blonde hair that falls past her shoulders, blue eyes, hourglass shape. She's dressed in a fitted, black track suit that makes her curves look incredible, and I'm instantly jealous. I've never been that lucky. She smiles back at me, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. I run my tongue over my teeth subconsciously, my eyes quickly flitting away from hers.

I tap the play button on the screen of my ipod, turning the music up loud enough so that anyone near me can hear it. She seems like the type that might try small talk, and I'm certainly not a person who wants to be engaged in awkward chatter. Especially since my nerves are already on high alert.

She digs out an iPad and turns her attention to it, which I'm grateful for. We don't talk the entire time, and I fall asleep somewhere around hour two of the flight. I wake to the attendant tapping my shoulder, asking me to stow my tray table and adjust my seat back. With the back of my hand I wipe a small amount of drool from the side of my mouth, then dry my hand on my jeans. I let my hair down and run my fingers through it, then pinch my cheeks for color and try to plump my lips a little by rubbing them together. It's just Prim picking me up, but we haven't seen each other since she came to L.A. a few years after I moved out there. I've missed so much since I left and I think all too often about what would have happened if I'd stayed. Would I be on the way to inevitable heartbreak? Would I be happy? Questions that will never be answered roll through my mind one at a time as everyone stands to exit the plane. I grab my bag and make my way past my blonde seat-mate, who is digging through her purse and reapplying lip gloss. I'm just ready to see Prim and stretch my cramped legs.

My eyes are down, following the lines in the dingy jetway carpet, until I reach the threshold and glance up, looking for Prim's curly blonde hair, the most excitement I've felt in months buzzing around inside me.

I freeze, seeing the color I'm looking for directly in front of me. But it doesn't belong to Prim. I want to move. Something. Anything. An arm. A finger. A lung. Please, please breathe, Katniss, I tell myself. The very large terminal is becoming stifling, and I feel perspiration gather on my brow and at the back of my neck.

He stands, just as frozen as me, hands in his pockets, lips slightly parted. My attention is drawn to them, and every memory that was made with them fused to mine surfaces, causing a different kind of excitement than what I had been feeling moments ago to begin rising. It's a longing, really. I miss him. I've missed him all along.

New thoughts tumble through my mind, knocking into the old ones and pushing them aside. He got my message. He came to see me. He wants to talk about... everything. My heart leaps in my chest and just as I'm about to smile I hear his name from behind me.

"Peeta!" a female voice squeals happily. I turn to see the all-American, California girl that sat next to me on the flight running in her trendy wedged track shoes, her arms stretched out, purse swinging mildly back and forth with the exertion of her dainty run.

It's all in slow motion, their reunion, the recognition in Peeta's features, the crumbling of the heart I thought I could put back together with distance. Her arms wrap around his neck, and it's only when I see his eyes, the color of sadness, that I know for sure that he didn't come for me. It takes him a moment to break out of the trance, his gaze shifting away. Smiling down at her, he pulls his arms from his pockets, encircling her waist. He picks up her bag, kisses her on the lips and they walk hand-in-hand out of the terminal.

I don't hear Prim say my name until she's right in front of me, practically yelling at me. I don't let my arms rest around her until hers envelope me in a tight hug. She pulls away, gives me a sympathetic smile, and drags me to the parking lot.

What happened between us clearly doesn't tear him apart anymore.

I'll be writing all week so follow the story or myself for the updates! This is my favorite way to write - short, frequent updates. It motivates me. So here we go again! Pbg