#bakerboy

I’m confused, and… scared. But scared of what exactly? When I search deep down for answer, the only thing I can come up with is that I’m either afraid of losing Madge, or of never seeing Katniss again. It’s probably both, but which of them commands more of that fear is what I can’t put my finger on.

 I both dread and rejoice every day that my credit card statement doesn’t come in, but it’s due any day now. I check for it daily when I get home from the bakery, but no dice. I know when it does come I’ll have to sit Madge down and explain it all - no excuses - and beg her forgiveness for my stupidity.

 Even with that daunting conversation looming over me, I haven’t been able to get Katniss off my mind. Our last encounter, when she stripped her shirt off and practically forced herself on me, replays on autopilot almost hourly. It’s a heady concoction of a fantasy and a nightmare rolled into one. I wanted to reach out and touch her. Hold her. The mere presence of her almost compelled me to. But it’s the mixture of hurt and anger in Katniss’s eyes when I rejected her that haunts me after dark. I don’t sleep much, but I don’t have to be asleep to have her on the brain. She’s always there, even when I will her not to be. The thought of her is just as stubborn as the real thing, it seems.

 I haven’t seen her since our confrontation. Haven’t heard a peep about her or her cousin after my phone call with Gale. Turning him down was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It was basically turning Katniss down. I thought some time and distance would help clear my head, put my priorities back in place. But instead, the water is murkier than ever.

 It’s not right, these thoughts about Katniss, yet I can’t stop them. And when I look at Madge all I feel is guilt. All-consuming, limb-numbing remorse that’s going to eat away at me until I’ve purged it all. I owe it to her to be the best husband I can be, but even that seems as daunting a task as climbing Mount Everest right now.

 Madge and I have only been intimate once since her return, and it didn’t seem either of us was into it. Neither one of us got off. I apologized and blamed it on lack of sleep and stress. She said she understood and the next day asked if we could wait until our wedding night, that abstaining now would make it more special then. Any red-blooded male would balk at that, maybe even argue, or at least try to talk about it. What’s got me most worried isn’t 14 weeks without sex. It’s the fact that I was relieved and agreeable to her idea.

 What am I doing? I think I’m losing my mind. I need someone to talk to, so I ring Finnick and let him know I’m coming over after I leave the bakery today. Glancing at the clock, I note that’s only two hours away and there’s still so much to do here. I really need to hire another person, but that’s not something I can think about now.

 I double my speed, getting as much done as I possibly can before I leave to meet Finnick. Rue sweetly accepts responsibility for the few tasks I couldn’t get to. I should give her a raise. That, too, will have to wait because I’m late to meet Finnick. I leave quick a note for Madge, who will be in after five to work on the books, and rush out of the bakery, driving a little faster than I should to the coffee shop near his work.

 I find him in a corner and swiftly make my way over to him. I feel jittery. My fingers tingle and I bounce on my toes as I walk. To anyone else I might look peppy or extremely caffeinated, or on drugs, but Finnick knows me. I can see it in his creased brow.

 “What’s going on, Pete?”

 I sit down and order a water before I launch into the story. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to tell it. I imagine the out-with-it style would sound something like ‘I was seeing a hooker while Madge was in  Mexico’. That’s no good. I rap my knuckles lightly on the table while I think, staring at nothing really. I almost decide to feign illness and go home, but I need to get this off my chest in a big way.

 “You’re acting stranger than you were when Madge was away. Spill it.”

 It’s almost as if his command to spill it carries some voodoo quality with it because what pops into my head, and subsequently out of my mouth, is something even I am not prepared to hear.

 “I don’t know if I want to marry Madge.”

 I freeze, listening to the echo of my statement as it fills the air. Finnick leans forward, elbows on the table, eyebrows above his hairline.

 “Come again?” he asks with an edge of concern in his voice. It eases some of the nerves I’m having.

 “Okay, maybe that was… too much. I’m just, I don’t know… having second thoughts?” Explaining without thinking first isn’t going to help. I need to get my thoughts together before I say something detrimental to my relationship with my future wife again.

 “It’s alright, Peeta. Lots of guys get cold feet.” He reaches across the table with his long arms and pats me on the shoulder.

 I cock my head and look at him, wishing I could blame it on that. But I’m not sure I can. How did things change inside me so quickly? Madge was gone all of a week. One week. No, it’s not cold feet. I’m actually the world’s worst fiance.

 I shake my head slowly. “No, that’s not it.”

 “You wanna tell me what it is, then?” Finnick asks after I don’t elaborate.

 It all comes pouring out. I start with Katniss under the tree in the rain, then move to the recurring dream, ignoring the confusion I see on his face, knowing it will be cleared up by the end of the story. When I get to the part about seeing her picture on the card, he stops me.

 “You were with a hooker?” He gives me a surprised look.

 “Yes, but not like that-”

 “How exactly do you spend time with a hooker and not do that?” His question is layered in doubt, but there’s a tiny smirk on his lips, and I see now how difficult this is going to be with Madge. Finnick is just my friend. He might be shocked, but it won’t change our relationship much if at all. Madge, on the other hand… Brrrrr. I shudder thinking about it.

 “Just - I didn’t okay? Trust me.” Finnick nods his head in a display of faith, another thing I know I won’t get from Madge, at least at first, and motions for me to continue. I take a deep breath and start again. “I just feel this connection to her. Like I was meant to protect her. Help her in some way. But, damn, if she’s not the most stubborn girl I’ve ever known.” I talk about Katniss, but leave out some of the better descriptions, like beautiful and alluring.

I stick with the basics. I tell him about the multiple visits, her history and why she chose that particular profession. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to justify that she’s a virgin. My heart sinks that it may not be the case anymore, but it’s the last I knew of her so I’m going to keep telling myself that until I know otherwise. If  I ever know, that is. But I can’t stand the uncertainty I see in his eyes. I know it’s not for me; we’ve known each other for years. It’s for Katniss. He doesn’t trust her.

 I finish the story with her cousin Gale reaching out to me, my refusal to do any more, and how it’s gutted me like a fish. When I finally stop I feel so much lighter now that somebody knows.

“You did the right thing, Peeta. You’re a good man. You did what you could for her, but in the end, you can’t force help on anyone.” I know he speaks from experience. His crackhead mother is still on the streets, using. Doing whatever she can to score a hit. But his encouragement falls flat because Katniss isn’t addicted to anything. Except maybe her stubbornness.

 “What are you grinning for?” he questions, and I realize I’m smiling at the thought of her fiery nature. I shake my head, not sure I want to bring up.

 “Look, you’ve got a good thing going with Madge. You really wanna risk that for a prostitute?”

 My answer is barely audible. “No.” Maybe?

 “You did something noble, although stupid in hindsight.” There’s no denying his words. “And if you, in fact, paid for a hooker and did not have sex with her, I’m sure Madge will believe you and, given time learn to trust you again, and all will be forgiven. And then I may need to show you what to do with a woman,” he adds and grins at me like he’s found out a secret. “Especially before your wedding night.”

 “That’s not why I didn’t have sex with Katniss,” I reply, only slightly annoyed. I feel like I’ve been caught sneaking back into the house. I know what I think about Katniss, but I’m scared to explore what it means about my feelings. For her or Madge. I do love Madge. I want to do right by her, but when I think about Katniss, everything just doesn’t add up. It’s like putting 2  and 2 together and getting 7. Inexplicable.

 My phone rings. The number isn’t familiar so I let it go to voicemail.

 “You know what,” I say to Finnick, glancing at my watch. I’ve been here for an hour already. It’s time to face the music. “I should go. I need to get home.” I told my friend what I came to tell him, but the rest… I’m not ready to share.

 The phone rings again from the mysterious number as I turn on my street. I send it straight to voicemail, my mind too preoccupied to deal with a number that’s not saved in my contacts. If they want to reach me they can leave a message.

When I pull up to the house I see Madge’s car. My heart starts pounding and my gut twists. She’s usually not home until after six. I guess it’s a sign. I sit in my car and breathe, count to twenty, then fifty, then one hundred before I get out. My feet feel like lead as I trudge up the walkway. I’m about to break my fiance’s trust, and most likely her heart. For the second time today I ask myself how I got here.

The door creaks when I open it, something that’s never bothered me before, but now it seems ominous, the soundtrack to what’s about to unfold. She’s not immediately visible in the living room so I move to the kitchen. My pulse spikes when I spot the stack of mail I usually retrieve. Other than being transported, it looks completely untouched, stacked in a tidy bundle. I flip through the envelopes quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t see it. She’ll still find out from me instead of VISA.

I head down the hallway to our bedroom, ignoring the churning in my stomach. I just want this tall to be over with.

As soon as I step through the door my eyes fixate on the open suitcase sitting atop our bed. There are clothes already in it and I hear sniffles and quiet rustling coming from the closet. I walk over to it and freeze. Next to the suitcase lays a tri-folded credit card statement. With a lot of charges on it.

 I pick it up. The paper’s edges flutter back and forth in my trembling hands. There are four transactions on here for the District 12 Lounge; one more than I made myself.

 “You.” The word comes out almost demonic and my eyes snap from the paper to Madge’s face; red, swollen and enraged. The statement falls back to the bed as I turn to approach her cautiously. She looks like she wants nothing more than to kill me right now. I feel like I’ve been fast-forwarded to the inevitable fight, which could have been avoided had I told her sooner. Or in retrospect, had I not paid for Katniss’s time.

 “It’s not what you think, Madge, if you would let me explain-” I duck as one high-heeled shoe and then another sail past my head, landing with hard thunks on the wall behind me.

 “Explain that you’ve been using a fucking prostitute?!” A few things that tip me off as to how angry she is? Madge never uses the F word. And I’ve never heard her voice at this pitch before. It could shatter glass. “How on Earth could you explain this any other way than you’ve been cheating on me?” Her fists are clenched at her sides like she’s holding herself back from pummelling me, and her teeth are locked down as she speaks.

 “It’s a mistake! I swear! I wouldn’t do that, Madge, you have to believe me.”

 She marches over to me and snatches the statement from the bed, ramming it into my chest. “So these are, what, mistakes?” Her eyes don’t blink once as she waits for me to answer.

 “Well, yes and… no.”

 “Yes and no? What the fuck does that even mean!”

That's twice now. “I didn’t sleep with her, Madge, honest to God.”

 “Her?” Madge’s hands settle heavily on her hips as she levels me with an even more incredulous glare, if that’s possible. At this rate her sky-blue eyes are going to pop out of her head “You saw the same girl four times?”

 “No. I saw the same girl three times,” I say honestly and she growls at me. I don’t think much about the extra charge. “But only because I was trying to help her!”

 “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Peeta? Help her? You really think I’m going to believe that you were trying to help her? Was the fucking zipper on her neglige so bad that you needed to pay to help her FOUR TIMES?” Her voice rises with each word until she’s shouting, our noses just inches apart. “Four times, Peeta! I was gone for seven days! We don’t even have sex that much in a month!”

 Her chest is heaving in anger and mine matches it in fear.

 “I don’t even know you, Peeta,” she hisses, looking at me with withering disdain. “And to think I felt guilty about kissing another man in Mexico.” She throws her hands up and backs away. “And you were back here fucking a whore!”

 I completely miss tallying the sixth F word she's used because she just dropped a bomb on me - and not of the fucking variety. “Wait - you kissed someone else?” Now that it’s out of my mouth, it doesn’t seem so smart considering what the topic is, but it’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense right now. I know what I did and didn’t do with Katniss. My intentions were honorable even if they don’t look it. I pushed Katniss away when she offered herself to me, but my fiance didn’t push away another man’s advances?

 “Really, Peeta? That’s what you focus on? Not the fact that you’ve run up thousands of dollars on your credit card for sex!” Madge isn’t ready to talk about it. Fine. We’ll deal with my problem first. She turns to walk away but this is far from over.

 “Listen to me-”

 She whirls around, pointing her finger at me. “No! You don’t get to-”

 “Listen. To. ME!” I yell the last word because there is more going on there than my misguided attempts to help a young girl.

 Madge is silent, staring at me as if she’s never seen me before. I’ve never raised my voice to her. Or anyone. My mother used to do that constantly. I don’t think I ever heard her natural voice when she was alive.

 I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, sit down on the edge of the bed and let my arms fall to my knees. “Four years ago I saw a girl. Outside the bakery. She was leaning against a tree, starving. I wanted to do something, but… my mother.”

 She narrows her eyes much the way Finnick did earlier. “I swear to God, Peeta, if you start telling me you seeing a whore has something to do with the way your mother treated you-”

 “Stop right there, Madge. She’s not a whore,” I say. I can’t not defend Katniss against that word anymore. She’s decent and good and, as far as I know, pure. “She’s a girl that’s fallen on a difficult time and has had to resort to despicable means to take care of her sick mother and little sister.”

 Madge purses her lips as if she wants to dispute it. But she’s lived in this town as long as I have. She’s seen what it does to people. The opportunities available to make quick money. Katniss’s isn’t the only story like this. She’s one of thousands over the years. She also just happens to be the story that landed on my back doorstep.

 “I’m ashamed I cared more about keeping the peace in that moment than about the safety of someone else. I’m ashamed every. Fucking. Day. that my mother turned a blind eye to the homeless, even a young girl, and looked down her straight nose at those less fortunate than herself. And that it influenced my behavior that day. I didn’t help Katniss because some stuck up, old bitty didn’t approve and would have made my life miserable. But how miserable is Katniss now? Having to sell herself to men who want nothing from her but the use of her…” I can’t say the words. It makes me physically ill to think about her that way. She may look the part - barely - but in only three visits I know that’s not who she is. I’ve never been more assured that one can never judge a book by it’s cover, no matter how lacey or olive-skinned it is. Covers are designed to divert the attention from the secrets and the pain that lies inside.

 Madge is still staring at me, arms crossed, though more loosely now than they were. Her defenses are slipping somewhat.

 “When I went to the bachelor party, I was approached by a guy, and he shoved a card in my face with a girl’s picture on it. Her picture. Her face was burned into my memory all those years ago, Madge. I can’t forget. It’s like the Universe wants me to constantly remember that moment of weakness so I can right a wrong. And this was my chance. So without thought for you and what it would look like, I took it.”

 I stand from the bed and take a step forward. She doesn’t move or flinch, and in her eyes I can see she wants to believe me, but doubt lingers. As it should.

 “I never meant to hurt you or lose your trust. And I swear on my own soul that I didn’t lay a hand on her. Not once. I can’t say I’m sorry I tried to help her, but I am sorry for hurting you. And for not telling you as soon as you got home.”

 She takes a deep, calming breath and her eyes shift away, arms falling to her sides. She chews her lip as her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt. She’s trying to decide what she’s going to do - forgive me or keep her distance. But there’s something else we have to clear up before there can be any reconciliation.  

 “Now that you know everything that happened when you were gone, we need to talk about your trip.” Strangely, I’m not crippled that she allowed some strange guy to put his lips on hers. Lips that should have been reserved for only me. But I need to know why she did it.

 She hugs herself and the blue eyes that look so much like my own are staring back at me with the same guilt I felt moments ago. A guilt that seems to have been partially relieved with my confession. But we aren't out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.

 “I'm sorry, I… don't know what happened. One minute I was having a nice conversation, and the next he was kissing me.”

 “Did you kiss him back?” She nods. “Why?”

 Her shoulders raise in a shrug. “I guess there was something that just… I don't know?” She looks genuinely confused. “We hit it off conversationally. It was like he wanted me to know everything about him and he wanted to know all about me too. And he was always attentive to me when he took our group on tours. At first I thought he was just being nice, but looking back, and after the kiss, I guess I was being a bit naive. And then it just… happened, and I couldn't take it back.”

 I nod my head stiffly, my lips pursed in thought. I wonder what Finnick would say now. “I think we should postpone the wedding.”

 Madge's eyes widen, then her face falls. She's seconds away from tears. I reach for her and she comes willingly, slipping her arms around my waist. Mine wrap around her shoulders and hug her to me tightly. She cries into my chest and I let her, rubbing up and down her back to try and comfort her. She sniffles a few times and finally steps back. My hands hold on to her arms and I dip down to look her in the eyes because she won't raise hers to mine. “Just until we get this sorted out, alright? It stressful enough as it is, and with all this between us I think it’d be a good idea.”

 She nods, but I can see she's unconvinced, and in all honesty, so am I.

 I leave Madge at the house and head up to the bakery. I know I probably should stay, but we’ve said everything we need to for now. We both need time to cool off and process, and nothing helps me think like being in a kitchen, kneading dough, shaping pretzels or mixing up icing, smelling the sweet scent of yeast and sugar baking together.

 On the way, my phone beeps. I have a voicemail notification from the strange number that called earlier. I pull it up to listen, anxious for something to take my mind off the part of my life that’s spiraling out of control.

 “Peeta?”

 I suck in a sharp breath. It’s Katniss. I know it before she says her name.

 “It’s Katniss. Look, you have to stop. Stop interfering in my life. Nothing good can come of it. All you’re doing is prolonging the inevitable. You’re going to end up spending all your money on me, and for what? So I can be your project? So you can be my superhero? Do you know how humiliating it is that you don’t even show up anymore? Just stop.”

 I hear her draw in a deep breath, and realize I’m holding mine as well. She begins speaking again, softer now, so I send my questions about what she’s just said to the back of my mind and focus on her voice. That smoky, raspy tone that stirs things inside me. Things an engaged man probably shouldn’t be feeling.  

 “I really appreciate what you’ve done, but how many more times can you spend money buying me and not using my services? It’s clear you don’t want to be with me, so I think we need a clean break. I’m going to tell Gale not to accept your payments anymore. Seven times is too much. It’s more than too much, actually. Goodbye, Peeta.”

 I replay the message several times for many reasons. First, her voice. Second, I feel connected to her again. The soft quality of her goodbye doesn’t convince me she actually means it. That if we saw each other on the street she would say hello. Maybe even ask how I’ve been doing.