Girls in White Dresses

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my bones. I've run my body ragged in an attempt to outwit the nightmares. Even as my eyes slip shut, I know it won't be for long. Horrors lurk and lurch inside my head.

I'm cold, but the day is hot and bleak. Dusty, wide-eyed children corralled into unwilling lines stand stoically as I wander between them. The air is thick with dust.

"I volunteer." I hear the echo of my voice.

Those words tore from my throat. Like blinking, or breathing. "I volunteer." For her. For my pretty yellow haired sister in her Reaping's best. The sky is blue. Water is wet. I save her. Instinctual, mechanical. Without question.

I'm gasping on the stage. Like a fish choked by air. The faces of the crowd swarm into a smear of blues and browns. Terror is a black bag, is a wind tunnel, is standing up while falling down. I know it's him, the warmth lingering at my elbow. I want to see him again, but he's always lost in the corner of my eye. Eternally, my peripheral boyfriend. I try to catch him again, to catch that feeling. Prim's voice pulls my focus.

She sings sweetly in the crowd. "Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you."

I'm singing too. My hair pulled tightly into plaits. Dad smiles. Mom and the baby too. 'Here is the place where I love you.' The table is bare, but the kitchen is warm.

"Because…because…she came here with me."

Cesar sits behind me. I crane my head to see, to remember. Peeta flushes. He stammers. He has the goddamn decency to look ashamed. I reel. I rush forward propelled by what was once fury, but now is something entirely different. He slips through my fingers.

There are children dying to a soundtrack of songbirds and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. The smell of wet leaves and morning sunshine. I trek through the early fog. All alone in a forest, but hope drifts in on a dirty promise. Two tributes can live. I know the lie. I've read this story. Still his name erupts from my mouth.

"Peeta!" I scream. "Peeta, Peeta…Find him." The words swirl and repeat. And there he is. That face. That dumb smile.

"Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

I want to kiss him, but I can't make our lips meet. A haze of infection and sweat surrounds us. His clammy brow and ragged words, the desperation of our association. The fervor of a teenage affection. His chapped lips refusing to crash into mine. His fingers curl around my wrist, but I can't feel the pinch.

I should have kissed him more. I should have kissed him forever.

"I don't want to lose the boy with the bread." I whisper. I bellow. I cry.

I see him in the distance, but the light fades. I didn't want to lose the boy with the bread. He's the hand I want to clutch in the dark. The face I want to find in the crowd. There's a flash of light. Cato's face looms over me. His hands wrap around my throat. The gash on his forehead seeps. The smell of boy and blood overwhelms. His face disappears from sight. My fingers run along the cold reassuring length of an arrow.

"Go on, shoot." A myriad of emotions swim across his face. He is fury. He is crying. He is scared.

"And we both go down and you win. Go on. I'm dead anyway!" The façade shatters. "I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?" He volunteered. I volunteered. He grew up fed. He grew up clean, but there we stand, stood. "NO! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

"Not that it matters." I reply. Peeta mouths the words.

Something shifts. Resolution dances across that handsome face. When he falls, Peeta falls with him. I scream. I screamed. The mutts roared. Bone and cartilage cracked on sharpened teeth. The arrow I loose finds a home in Cato's head. Peeta's eyes are wide and dark.

Is agony contagious? My skin is in shreds too.

The arrow flies, flew. It's a haunting, hollow, wet sound.

"You're not leaving me here alone," I whisper.

The sun rose. Spite courses like fire set on brittle grass.

"…I'm more than just piece in their Games." Peeta words in my head.

My fingers fumble, but they find their prey. Berries slick and mashed cupped in my hand. The yellow, acid taste of contempt fill my mouth. Their cheers surround me. The shot came without warning. The impact knocks me flat. He anticipated my ending. The berries cascade from hand, a beautiful slow motion moment captured in the blinding sunlight. The tranquilizer floods my system. With a sluggish surge, I lick my palm clean. Like a cat on a warm summer day, I sprawl. The sky swirls while I drowned in anarchy and sedative.

"Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen."

Because when he loved, even I believed.

"I knew…I was a goner."

My eyes snap open. Goner. Prophetic sap. The sacrificial lamb destined to die from the first act. Fucking Peeta Mellark. His pretty face joking over breakfast, painting like a boy with time to spare, dying horrifically like the boys you love sometimes do. I'm sweat drenched and shaken. The television blares in the living room. Tour starts tomorrow. Interview with Cesar today and then we're off. I shift to my side on the cramped sofa. Preliminary coverage has started. They parade the who's who in front of the camera. Finnick Odair smiles with his arm around Snow. Enobaria bares her teeth. 'Stay tuned,' they cry, 'countdowns of fan favorite moments.' Milking the Games for all they are worth. I resettle on my back. The ceiling fan spins a slow and hypnotic wobble.

"May the odds be ever in your favor." I whisper to the air.

Prim clatters downstairs. She looks beautiful in her pressed blue dress. She looks grown up in way that tugs at my heart. She waits in the doorway as I roll my creaking body from the couch. We shuffle to the kitchen and take up our places at the old wooden table. Prim places a glass of milk in front of me. I run a hand through the rat's nest that is my hair. Prim smiles. I slide my thumbs back into the holes worn into my sleeves, Peeta's sleeves. I snuggle into my stolen sweater and hug my knees to my chest.

"You want me to brush your hair?" She asks offhandedly. Casually. Breakfast is traditionally a judgment free zone.

"I think it looks fine like this." I pick at a small pull in the knee of my pants.

"You smell again."

If it were anyone else, I'd explode. I'd rage, but not at her, never at her. "I'm tired."

"I know, but at least let's wash your face. Ok?"

"Maybe." I shrug, noncommittal.

She slurps her milk. "Did you pack?"

"I don't need anything." The pattern of the wood in the table is suddenly of great interest to me. I swirl the drops of condensation in a senseless pattern.

"They'll be here soon to make you up."

To play dress up with their shiniest, new toy, but Cinna is a bright light in a dark room. "I know."

"You can do this." She assures me.

I laugh, harsh and cold. I've survived the past few weeks in a tranquilizer-induced haze. I don't remember leaving the arena. I fumble for the memory, but each time I come up empty. It's unnerving. I woke up in the hospital with Haymitch watching me, his eyes impassive. He still watches me. I catch him now and then. He holds my hair. We sit together in the dark, Peeta's memory occupying the space between us. The room fills with guilt. Hot, heavy and jagged. He picked me, but I think a part of him thought that maybe we'd both find a way out.

"Yeah." I answer. Her hand moves slowly towards mine. I nod slightly before she takes my hand.

"If anyone can do it, Katniss, you can."

She believes. I can see it in those big grey eyes. She'll always believe, my pretty kid sister. My stomach is a tangled knot of dread and panic. I don't believe in much anymore. She brushes the hair from my face. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I try to find words. A loud knock on the door interrupts us. It takes a moment before I realize I'm lying prone on the hardwood floor. My heart pound as my vision comes back into focus. There's tears and snot smeared across my face. Someone's still banging at the door.

"You're okay, Katniss. You're safe. It's just Effie at the door."

Crumbs of forgotten meals dig into my cheek. "I'm okay." I pause. "Don't let them in here!"

"I'll handle it." It's my mother's voice speaking from somewhere unseen. Her heels clack across the floor. The kitchen door clicks shut. A cacophony of voices fill the foyer, but the insufferable knocking finally ceases. Prim sits calmly beside me. I focus on the small crack in the plaster wall.

"I can't do this." I hear Effie titter in the hall. I cringe. "Can't do this."

"You have too." Prim's voice is hollow and older than I like.

"I know." The floor is cold against my cheek. "There's really no hope, is there?"

"There's always hope." She says quietly.

"You don't believe that."

"It's time to get off the kitchen floor, Katniss."

"Okay." I move unsteadily to my feet.

She pulls me towards the sink. The washcloth is rough against my cheek. With careful hands, she cleans my face. Tears, crumbs, sweat, and snot gently dabbed away.

"There you go." She tosses the cloth onto the counter. She gives me a small smile. "Better."

She's alive, I remind myself. I'd do it again. I wrap my arms tightly around her. Her chin presses into my shoulder. She's getting so big.

"You really do smell, Sass."

I smile at the childhood nickname. I can feel the ghost of rough hand gently tugging my braid, my father's booming voice admonishing me not to run in the house. I remember Prim's girlish giggles ringing out from the kitchen, the sight of my mother watching us from her chair, the needle in her hand never slowing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

She sighs. "No you aren't."

I snort. "You're right." I pull away. "I'm not." I glance towards the door.

"Waiting isn't going to make it any easier."

I turn back to my sister. Her hands don't shake. Her eyes aren't wide. She's solid, no matter how hard the wind blows. "How'd you get so tough, little duck?"

She grabs my hand. "I watched you."

Her smile is watery and small, but it warms me nonetheless. Effie's shrill voice echoes outside the door. My mother's valiant efforts at distraction are wearing thin.

"Okay."

"Okay." She nods.

Prim strides across the kitchen and throws open the door. Effie screams. She quickly covers her mouth. Apparently, that reaction was too over the top, even for a woman dressed head to toe in fuchsia and some kind of animal print.

"Katniss." That one word drips with pity and concern. I must be pretty pathetic if Effie isn't even upset with me.

I make a half-hearted attempt to flatten my hair. "I guess you have your work cut out for you."

Effie shuffles forward in towering heels. "No worries, my dear. We know Cinna can work magic. Come on let's get you upstairs."

I've seen Effie cry. The morning of Cesar's post game interview, I stumbled into her room. I don't remember how I got there. She sat at her dressing table. Her dark hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders. Her face was clean of makeup. She looked up at me over the rim of her glass. The brown liquid sloshed back and forth.

I swayed in the doorway. "Going to be a rough day." I clung to the wall. Too many drugs, not enough sleep.

"Katniss. You should be sleeping." She advised, but her tone wasn't quite right.

"Can't sleep anymore." I warbled.

She looked beautiful in that swathe of early morning light. She looked like a person.

"I'm sorry I freaked last night at dinner, Effie. I didn't mean to scare you." I shrugged. "Loud noises get me every time."

She turned in her chair. "The way you screamed his name, Katniss." She shivered. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "We carry on." She swallowed a mouthful of liquor. "We all have jobs to do."

I slide back to the present as we trek up the stairs. The others follow at a distance. Effie stays at my elbow. She's a comforting whirlwind of hairspray scented taffeta. Cinna waits with open arms. I settle comfortably in his embrace.

"How's my girl?"

"I'm holding up."

He raises his eyebrow, but doesn't call my bluff. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

He leads me to the chair. "Yeah." I mumble, untwisting my hair from its perpetual knot.

"You trust me, girl on fire?"

I gaze up at his reflection in the mirror. He stands behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. There's no question in my mind. "Of course."

"Good." He smiles and spins me away from the mirror.

My eyes slip shut as his hands go to work. He effortlessly winds my hair into a loose braid. I hear the scissors before I feel the cut. He works quickly with sure cuts and precision. I hold tight to the calm I feel while his hands work.

"Open your eyes."

I do and he presses my bedraggled braid into my hand. My newly shorn hair tickles my ears.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." I blurt out. I'm lighter. I'm brand new. I'm-I realize the eyes of everyone in the room are fixed on me. They have the decency not to comment on the fat tears that roll down my face.

"Good." He claps his hands together and grins. "Let's get you ready."

I'm washed and dried. Polished and shined. He shapes and buzzes my hair into something even I can recognize as edgy. My makeup is dark and hard. I'm costumed simply in leather pants and a black shirt. My boots are heavy and worn. I feel invincible. The little girl with her braid is no more. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'm all hard angles and lines. They cut all the soft out of me.

Cinna saves the best for last. He's fashioned a simple burnished gold chain with an embossed mockingjay medallion and a single charm shaped like loaf of bread. I burst into tearful bout of laughter. He fastens the chain around my neck.

"The mockingjay and the baker's boy." He whispers.

I finger the delicate chain. The little loaf of bread is both the silliest and the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. "Thank you, Cinna."

"Time to feed the monster." He reaches for my hand and drops a kiss against my knuckles. "I believe in you, girl on fire."

My mother meets us at the bottom of the stairs. "Gale is waiting for you." She gently touches my face. "You look all grown up."

My face flushes. I shrug her off. "Where is Gale?"

Her smile is sad. "He's in the living room."

"Okay." I gently push past her.

Gale is waiting for me. His hat crumbled in his hands, his face smudged with grime from a half a shift's work.

"You look beautiful, Catnip."

They always say that like it's the most important thing. Like a pretty face is all I have to offer some days. After the Games, Effie watched as Haymitch jammed a needle in my arm so I could sleep. Effie gently touched my hair. 'You really are beautiful Katniss' Effie murmured in consolation. I find my way back to moment at hand.

"Thanks." I reply because I've learned that's just what you should do. "You like my new hair?" I turn my head back and forth.

"I do." He links his hands with mine.

I fucked him. In the aftermath of everything, it was his comfort I sought. I pulled him in with greedy hands desperate for intimacy. For a safe touch. For some sensation to still the ever present buzzing in my head. I didn't want to be touched, yet I wanted to be consumed. He was happy to indulge me. We fucked on the floor of my old abandoned house. He smelled like a hard day's work. His coal stained fingers left marks on my skin.

My hand brushes his arm. He's quieter now. Angrier too. The Capitol passed legislature promoting the use of clean energy. Twelve is dying. I think it's my fault. Punishment for the glimmer of rebellion Snow read in my eyes. Gale is simmering. He's the hub of a web of whispers. When the levee breaks, he'll be there, probably holding the axe. I don't know where I'll be.

"Me too..." I respond and run my fingers through my new hair once more. The team files past. Effie gestures exaggeratedly to her watch-less wrist. "I've got to get going. You want to walk me down?"

He shakes his head. "I just wanted the chance to say goodbye properly."

"Two minutes, Katniss." Effie yells as Cinna directs her out the door.

"Properly?" I ask. "How properly?" My body thrums in anticipation of his hands and his mouth. I step in closer.

"I want to make you feel good. But, we don't have much time." He murmurs into my neck.

"Lucky you've got a talented tongue."

His hand ventures slowly down my body. His fingers slide between my thighs. "Are you wet for me?"

I sigh and rock my hips searching for more friction. "I am for you."

He shoves the clutter off the armchair resting against the wall. He maneuvers me into the seat. I kiss him as his hands work at the fasteners on my pants. He bites my lip as he draws away. Roughly, he pulls my pants down around my knees. His hand slips between my thighs.

"I want to taste you."

"Yeah, yeah." I breathe.

His tongue pushes at my folds, hot and wet. I live in a constant state of arousal. At any time, I think I could come or scream. My fingers tangle in his hair. I yank him closer; my only intention is to ride his tongue to completion. I'm cresting. I'm on fire. I can't think. I can only feel. It's clear and it's easy. I cry out.

"You're beautiful." He gasps.

I struggle to catch my breath and ride the wave of pleasure. He searches for something to clean me up. He snags the box of tissues from the table.

"Come here." I tug at his collar.

We kiss. I savor the taste of him and me on his tongue. His hair's a disaster. His pupils are blown. I know he's hard, but he's already moving again. He's trying valiantly to paint me back into too tight pants.

"Wait. I have to take off this underwear. It's soaked."

He smirks, but the ensuing strip show unfolds clinically. It's not awkward. The moment's just gone.

I shove the swathe of green lace into his hand. "Here, going away present."

He shoves my panties into his pocket. I jam my feet into my shoes. I almost topple over trying to resettle my heel and zip my pants. He catches me by the elbow.

"Be safe out there, kid."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Gale."

"The Capitol isn't safe. Just be careful."

"I will."

He kisses me again. Slow and lingering. We trying to have a moment, some kind of fond farewell, but the reality is he tongue fucked me on an antique chair and I don't love him. And he doesn't love me. We're just two bodies grappling for release. It wouldn't have mattered the cause, so long as I came. We lost ourselves in each other and now we're back on solid ground. He goes back into the mines and I disappear into the decadence of Snow's Panem.

"I'll see you in a couple weeks."

Something dark skates across his face. "Yeah, I'll be here." He heads for the door.

I bend to zip up my boot. "Are you going to watch?" I ask over my shoulder, but he's already gone.