I can't fucking believe I let them talk me into this.

I try not to subject myself to situations that require small talk and physical contact. Yet here I am in a bar a little bigger than the shack my family was forced to move into after my father died. There's no pool table, no juke box and no dartboard. There is, however, a DJ and a dance floor.

Great. This bar thinks it's a night club.

There are five wooden high-top tables and stools lining the wall opposite the bar, ten regular-sized tables with chairs scattered in the center, and the dance floor, if you can really call it that, is on the far left side of the room.

I doubt the maximum capacity for this place is above 80, yet there are probably 130 people in here, and 40 of them are dancing in a space not bigger than my bedroom.

Madge and Delly ran straight to the dance floor while Annie, Johanna and I decided to have a drink first. Now the four of them are grinding up against each other. Sober, I have no desires to allow some stranger to rub his body against mine while the smell of his sweat and body odor overwhelms my senses. I'd need to be very drunk for that to sound appealing.

And I'm not.

Instead, I'm sitting in the quietest spot at the end of the bar furthest from the dance floor and the crowd, nursing a scotch.

I really don't want to be here.

I recently ended a two-year relationship, and I just wanted to enjoy my first Friday night being single with a good book, comfy sweats and a mug of herbal tea.

My friends had other plans. After they finally convinced me to go to the bar with them, they tried to get me into one of Johanna's sexy skin-tight dresses. Not in this lifetime. Besides, who would wear something like that to a bar? I chose my black skinny jeans, an olive green v-neck t-shirt, and a pair of black Converse. Now that I'm here, I regret my decision.

I guess there are at least 130 people in Panem who would wear a skin-tight dress to a bar.

When I was still in college, I could go to a night club in a tank top, shorts and a pair of flip flops. Now that I'm older, I'm not only supposed to be more sophisticated, but I'm supposed to dress like it too.

Fuck that.

"Ready for another shot?" Johanna breathes when she returns from the dance floor. I shrug.

"Sure."

"We want two Wet Pussies," Johanna tells the bartender causing me to choke on my drink. Thankfully, I manage to keep it together.

I can't imagine it feels great to have scotch come out of your nose.

"I can help with that," replies a cool voice from the other side of Johanna. I roll my eyes as I turn to look past her and tell the sleaze ball we're not interested, but I'm met with a set of beautiful sea-foam green eyes set against perfectly smooth copper skin and contrasted by messy golden locks. If his crude comment hadn't completely turned me off right now, I might be attracted to him, like Johanna so obviously is as she begins to flirt with him.

He introduces himself as Finnick, and I raise my eyebrows and offer a tight smile in greeting while Johanna gives him our names.

"I'm here with some friends, if you'd like to join us," Finnick says, gesturing towards a couple of tables in the back. My eyes take in the large group of men. Some are flirting with a couple big-breasted blondes wearing halter-tops and crotch curtains while others are talking and laughing amongst themselves. As I observe the group, my gaze lands on one of them and I find him looking back at me, giving me a small smile. I quickly look away.

"Well, Brainless?" Johanna inquires.

"No. I'm good."

Johanna argues with me for five minutes after Finnick leaves before becoming exasperated. Before she walks away she orders, "You will dance before we leave tonight."

Not even Johanna's relentlessness is a match for my stubbornness.

I'm on my third scotch and watching my friends dance with Finnick and few of his friends when a slower song begins to play. It's one I like, and it reminds me of a younger, more fearful version of myself, one who only let Gale in out of necessity. He could trap animals while I could hunt. Before then when we were on our own, our families were fed just enough to be kept alive. Once we began to work together, teaching each other our skills in exchange for the other, we were not just fed, we were healthy and strong.

As for Madge, she wormed her way in. She just sat down next to me at lunch on the first day of ninth grade, not muttering a single word. The next day she did the same thing. This went on for the whole school year. On the last full day of school, I brought strawberries with my lunch. She asked to trade them for her cookies from the bakery.

I never allowed anyone else in. I'd been afraid of letting people in, scared of caring so deeply about someone that even my own health wouldn't matter, but more than anything, I was scared of losing myself, my sole existence requiring the presence of another and becoming a shell when that presence was gone. Just like my mother.

Johanna stormed her way in by force when I met her in college. I hated her petulant questions about my personal life and my family, but once we found out how much we had in common we gained an understanding of one another. She'd lost everything that mattered to her, lost even more than I had. When she told me she'd rather feel anguish and heartbreak again than to live the rest of her life feeling nothing at all, that's when I began to let others in.

Johanna hasn't stopped pushing me to take a risk since.

The song's coming to an end when I notice the guy that smiled at me earlier is standing next to me, waiting for the bartender.

I wonder how long he's been there.

He's a little taller than me, with wide shoulders, thick muscular arms, and solid hands. I sneak a furtive glance up at his profile and notice his sandy blonde curls. He has a strong, angular jaw. His features are rugged and soft at the same time.

"You have a beautiful voice," he comments, and I can feel my neck and cheeks heat up. Was I singing?

He turns his head towards me, and I now notice his piercing blue eyes are like the edge of a piece of broken glass, outlined in a sapphire blue. These eyes are familiar, but I can't quite figure out why.

When he clears his throat, I realize I must've been staring for too long. I drop my head down, finding interest in the last swallow of scotch I have left.

"You always had a beautiful voice though; it could make the birds stop to listen," he says softly and at this, I snap my head up at him, narrowing my eyes. When would he have heard my voice?

"You don't recognize me." He smiles with laughter in his eyes.

"Should I?"

"Aren't you Katniss Everdeen?" he teases while my eyes go wide. "It's me, Katniss. Peeta Mellark."

For the second time tonight, I nearly choke on my drink. I haven't seen Peeta in seven years. Not since high school graduation. We never talked then although he did help me—and my family— once.

We had just moved into the small shack. We had no money, no food, and my mom hadn't spoken or worked since my dad died; in fact, she'd barely left her bed. I was eleven and my sister, Prim, was eight. It'd already been nearly two days since we'd eaten so I took the silver necklace with the emerald pendant my father had bought me for my tenth birthday to the pawnshop across the street from the bakery. I was only given twenty dollars in exchange for it, but I knew I could get enough food to last a couple weeks with that.

I walked across the street to the bakery, planning to buy a day-old loaf of bread. I knew I should have checked to see who was working before I went inside, but the floury smell of fresh bread and the scent of the sugar and vanilla from the pastries was too strong, not having eaten in over 48 hours. When I walked in, I barely got to enjoy the warmth before Mrs. Mellark told me she didn't welcome "Seam Trash" in her store. When I tried to explain that I had money, she haughtily stated that she was not giving any discounts and that I needed to leave and stay away from her property.

I was too weak to argue. She was a bitch to everyone, whether you had money or not, unless she wanted something substantial from you.

It was quite a walk to get to the grocery store, and I was tired so I sat down for a few minutes in an attempt to regain some strength. I heard the bakery door open, and I thought it would be Mrs. Mellark.

But it wasn't. It was Peeta. He had a trash bag in one hand and small paper bag in the other. He handed me the paper bag quickly as he walked towards the dumpsters. He didn't look me in the eye, just muttered, "Leave" as he walked past me. I made it all the way home before I opened the bag and found a loaf of bread, six cheese buns and a dozen cookies. I had no idea why Peeta would do that or how he even managed to do it, but I was grateful.

The next school day I found my necklace inside my desk, and he had a black eye.

I never gained the courage to thank him personally. We caught each other staring a few times over the next seven years, but each time our gazes met one of us would look away.

Now here he is, standing in front of me, and he's gorgeous. It dawns on me that I still haven't uttered more than two words to him.

"How've you been, Peeta?" I don't think I've ever heard my voice so small and unsure.

"Good. I've been good. I teach seventh and eighth grade art now."

"Wow. Have you always liked art?" I search my memory, but I can't remember him ever showing an interest in art. Wrestling and baking, yes. Art? No.

"Yeah. I used to draw and paint in high school, but my mom didn't approve." The corners of his lips tug downward into a pained frown, but it's gone as quickly as it came, his bright smile returning. "What have you been up to?"

"I work in Human Resources, which is a headache, but it pays the bills."

"How's your sister?"

"She's great. She's finishing up school to be an RN. She's been dating Gale's younger brother, Rory, for a few years now."

"Oh, are you and Gale still together?" I can't help the laughter that escapes my throat at his question. This is not the first time someone has assumed Gale and I were together, but it is the first time I've heard it in years.

"He and I were never together. Just friends. Madge and Gale are a different story." I don't miss the way his eyes light up, and his smile widens at my admission.

"If I'd known that, I would've tried talking to you back then," he says as he dips he head closer to mine.

I tilt my head to side, perplexed. "What do you mean?" I almost whisper. I'm pretty sure I already know the answer. My skin is tingling, and I'm suddenly aware of how intimately close we are to one another.

"You really don't know? Katniss, I had a crush on you the first day of kindergarten, and it never went away." I can't help the smile that forms on my face at his admission as I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding. I know I have to take a risk right now. Before I can wimp out, I hear Johanna's voice telling me to go for it.

"Peeta, do you want to dance?"

"I'd love to dance with you, Katniss, except I'm not much of a dancer, and it's really noisy in here. How about we go get a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds perfect.

Thanks to my lovely beta, Court, for all her hard work in fixing my mistakes and making this look so much better than it did before if such a speedy time frame.

You can find me on Tumblr (survivewithoutanyone).