From behind her locked door, Katniss heard the echo of happy voices and of passing feet, people walking down the hall as though it were the easiest thing in the world.
She listened to the happy chatter of her neighbors headed for the bank of elevators and took stock of the door in front of her. It was a nice door: the paint glossy and green, the knob bronze, the lock simple. All she had to do was twist the lock to the left and the knob to the right. Easy.
Yeah, about as easy as turning into a bird and flying out the window.
Every breath came as a gasping panic, quick sawing breaths that whistle on the inhale. This shouldn't be so hard. It shouldn't. She opened the door every Tuesday, she'd done it ever since—
No, she pushed that thought away. She had the rest of the morning to have those kinds of thoughts dredged up—dredged up, deep fried, and served to him with a side of coleslaw.
The elevator dinged and the laughter trailed and faded away, leaving Katniss still staring at her lock. From their voices, Katniss knew that the group was the trio of girls who lived in 8-B: Johanna, Annie, and Madge. They joked and laughed and argued about whose turn it was to buy milk. They went to movies. They were normal.
She imagined herself joining them, another laughing girl walking easily out the door, not seeing it as some Olympic barrier.
8:30 a.m. If she didn't leave in the next fifteen minutes she would be late and he would know she failed. Thinking about his mocking expression was enough to make her reach for the knob.
Right hand turns the knob right.
The knob turned in her grasp and she pushed forward, but nothing happened. She pushed harder. Nothing.
She'd forgotten to turn the lock.
Every breath came out a shallow wheeze. Okay, start over. Just start over. She reached for the lock, this time with a hand shaking, a disembodied hand that didn't seem part of her body. The metal rattled beneath her fingers. If she didn't get it this time, if she couldn't make it…
The door across the hall from hers opened, the wood making a brisk scraping sound against carpet. Katniss could almost sense the press of foreign air as it crept under her own door, almost smell the piney scent of turpentine, a familiar scent coming from that apartment.
The other door clicked shut. Keys jangled. A lock tumbled into place.
And then the pause. Always the pause.
Peeta Mellark stood on the other side of her door. Peeta Mellark, her neighbor, who should have been finger-painting with kindergartners twenty minutes ago.
Peeta Mellark. The ex-love-of-her-life.
Katniss felt like he could see her straight through the door.
She closed her eyes and covered her mouth with both hands to smother the jagged noise. She didn't want to give Peeta any reason to knock, any reason to use the house key she'd never gotten back. She didn't want him thinking about her at all. Why was he even there? She'd purposefully made the Tuesday appointment after he was supposed to be gone.
Go, she willed. Just go. She'd said those words once before, almost a year ago. They were the last words she'd said to him. Screamed through this same door, ripped from her heart and her throat, those words were meant to excise him from her life forever.
The room was suddenly sizzling hot. Sweat prickled her scalp, her armpits, her groin.
Go, she willed again.
And then he was walking down the hall. Ding went the elevator and he was gone.
She sank down to the ground, curling her hands up around her knees, and bowing her head into the hollowed out cup between her body and her bent legs. She wouldn't go. She didn't care what he said or thought. She'd call and say she was sick. Reschedule. She'd have to talk to her, but she'd have to talk to her either way.
But, I got ready today. I got out of bed and put on clothes—all for this. The thought was tiny and sad. Her world had shrunk to the four walls of her apartment and a weekly two-block trip had become the highlight.
Stay or go? For three heartbeats she studied the frayed knee of her jeans and fought a battle in her mind. Go won out and she unfurled herself and stared at the door again.
One breath.
She turned the lock.
Another breath.
She turned the knob.
Another push and the door creaked open an inch. Katniss grabbed her messenger bag and stepped out into the cool air of the hall. Head down, Katniss walked to the bank of elevators, fast, so she wouldn't have to think about it.
Two fake ferns guarded the four elevator doors. Katniss stalked across the tile floor, not making a sound. If she were lucky, she would have the elevator to herself.
She pressed the button and finally, the elevator dinged for her. The doors clinked open. Katniss took a step forward before she realized that someone was already standing there.
"Katniss!" the voice was astonished, awe-struck, and... familiar, a voice that once meant hope and a future, but now only meant pain. Katniss steeled herself against the jumble of emotions that voice triggered in her chest.
She raised her eyes to see Peeta Mellark.
There wasn't enough steel in the world to prop up the unstable shelf of her heart. It toppled over, spilling everything she'd cautiously put back into place, all the fears and doubts and shiny good memories she just couldn't throw away.
She hadn't come face-to-face with Peeta Mellark in almost a year. She'd organized her life so she never saw him. Why did he come back up the elevator? Why was he still here when he was already so late? In all her years of knowing him, she couldn't remember him ever being late for anything.
Over and over her throat worked to swallow, dry convulsion that rolled from her mouth to her gullet.
"Katniss." This time the word was a prayer. His arm struck out, forcing the closing elevator door to clank and wheeze back open. He stared at her, his blue eyes still x-ray, but this time peering through flesh and bone to see the heart of her.
She didn't know if she could move away from those eyes. She was concrete, a statue molded into place for him to view. Her heart kept trying to force the thick sludge of her blood through her veins and she could feel every pulse. Time slowed to the ticks between heartbeats.
"You're outside." He was still using that prayer voice, like he was witnessing a miracle.
And she wasn't outside. He was standing between her and outside.
The other elevator clattered open and Katniss lunged for it. She clung to the silver rail in the center as the door closed. She considered pushing the emergency button so she could hide in there for a while. Hide and not go to her appointment. Because he would want to hear about this and somehow he would know. But she didn't.
The elevator landed on the first floor and Katniss picked herself up.
Peeta could have ridden his elevator down and be waiting to ambush her, but she doubted it. He hadn't tried to talk to her in months. After the last time, he knew that forcing her into a corner was the worst possible thing he could do.
But doubt wasn't certainty and Katniss understood that odds couldn't be trusted. She walked on silent feet through the lobby, watching for the ash-blond hair, the broad shoulders, the blue eyes.
He wasn't there and Katniss made her way to the door. Two more tries and she made it to the sidewalk. The noise of the city blew through her, instant and impossibly loud. Cars careered forward in flashes of blacks, silvers, and yellows, ate the asphalt as they dashed to and from all their different somewheres. The gray buildings tore at the milk-pale sky. And there were people everywhere, erratic, noisy, impossible-to-trust human beings.