I don't own the Hunger Games or anything you recognize. Based on the song "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" by Rupert Holmes. My jam! ;) This is an AU story btw, no Hunger Games but they're still in Panem and everyone's happy and no one's dead. Oh, and they're in District 2.
Three years. Madge and I have been married for three years. I turn on the bed, the warmth of her body pressing on my chest. For some reason, I feel like we've been together for too long, including the two years before we got married (which actually makes our relationship five years long if those two years were counted). Don't get me wrong, I love her- but maybe not as much as before. It's like a worn-out recording of a favorite song.
Glancing at her face, I wait for the tingles in my toes or the weird sensation in my chest and stomach, but they were faint. Nearly imperceptible. I sigh through my nose. This has been bothering me for a couple of weeks now. How I want to escape from this life. From my life with Madge, I suppose. Maybe I like the excitement. And hell, there hasn't been any excitement in this marriage since the first year.
I remember sneaking out at midnight to see Madge, when we were keeping our relationship a secret from our parents, and taking her to different places such as bars, night clubs, diners (she never ate at a diner before I dated her), lakes, etc. Our relationship back then was quite romantic- almost to the point that you could say it sounded fictional. But it's all true.
Inhaling her sweet strawberry scent, I move away and glimpse at the digital clock on our nightstand. It read 3:42 A.M., and I bit the inside of my cheek to refrain myself from sighing. It's always like this now. We wake up in the morning, she makes breakfast while I prepare myself for work. We eat breakfast together and I leave first, giving her a chaste kiss before I go. We don't see each until dinner, and even then, we hardly talk about anything rakish. Instead, we talk about how our days went (which are too dull), change into comfier clothes, and then go to sleep. Of course, we share kisses and touches, and sometimes more than that, but there's nothing else to look forward to.
I look around our room; clean and organized, yet oh-so-very monotonous. It used to be messy with clothes strewn on the wooden-tiled floor, but now, whenever we toss our clothes on the floor, they end up in the same pile on some corner. It's so frustrating how systematized our lives are! My job is already boring, but sometimes in life, I actually want to be some unkempt, wild guy- not this overly-
I stop my thoughts when I spot a folded newspaper behind the digital clock. Carefully, I reach out towards it and ease it on my lap. The moonlight peering through the gaps of the blinds act as my reading light, since I don't want to open the lamp in fear of waking my wife up. I flip through the headlines, until I find the personal columns. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, seeing many anonymous ads. One thing that got my attention was the third one down the second column.
If you like flaming cocktails, swimming in the dark, and making love at midnight by the shore, then I'm the lady you've looked for. Write to me and escape.
Excitement. It's bubbling in the pit of my stomach, the ones I used to have whenever Madge and I go rendezvousing late at night, and I glance at my wife beside me. Discreetly, I slide out of the bed and pad stealthily out of the room. I head for the kitchen, down the dim staircase, and turn the lights on. The lights make me squint but I lean on the counter, rereading it again. For once in my married life, I'm not going to think about this particular thing. The ad seems so tempting, and the lady sounds really . . . enticing. I swallow dryly, switching to the dark living room to grab a pen and paper. I'm going to take out a personal ad, and reply to that woman. I go back to the kitchen, and think for a moment.
Running an eager hand through my bed-mussed hair, I grip the pen tighter. I want to impress the lady, and of course, I want to meet her as soon as possible. So for five minutes, I recline against the counter with my hip resting on the dark-marbled countertop and think. Think very deeply.
And then I simply opt to responding frankly to her ad.
Yes, I like flaming cocktails, and swimming in the dark, I start. Tomorrow . . . I don't have any work tomorrow. So I quickly scribble, Let's meet up tomorrow noon at the bar called Rock o' Mountains. We'll see what we can do about this escape.
The next day, I get up early to find my wife asleep on her side, but a little smile is on her face. Suddenly, I feel quite guilty for not even thinking about her while I wrote to that lady. But then, I think of how tedius our lives have become, and think that just this once . . . just this once, I'll do something hedonistic (not that I haven't done that before I met Madge, but you know what I mean). And after that, I'll call it quits with the girl. I glance over my closet, wondering what the hell I should wear for this noon. It has to accomodate my lie; saying that I'm going out with Rory and Thom. So my outfit has to be something normal.
At 9 A.M., three hours before my tryst with the unknown woman, I tell Madge that I'll be leaving at noon.
"Oh?" she asks mildly. Not curious, thank God. Madge brushes a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, blue eyes glimpsing at me as I mess with my hair. "With who?" questions Madge.
"Thom and Rory," I reply, peeking at the mirror behind her. I'm feeling nervous, yet extremely zealous, for this . . . date.
"Okay," says Madge, almost giddily. "I'm going somewhere too."
This time, I ask, "Oh?" Accompanied with a raised eyebrow.
She smiles and nods, glancing back in the closet. At least I don't have to leave her alone by herself. "With Katniss," Madge adds as she examines her dresses.
"Ah," I muse understandingly. Madge sweeps her hair to the side, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Her skin looks so soft and silky, and hell I know they feel soft and silky. We keep to our thoughts until the clock strikes 11:30 A.M. Anxiously looking around for anything else I might I need, I make my way downstairs, just in time to see Madge pulling a light cotton cardigan over her arms.
"Have fun," I tell her, kissing her forehead.
"You too," responds Madge, an involuntary smile making its way on her face. She fluffs her hair one more time before entering the kitchen. I use this chance to slip out of the door and into my car. My heart's beating rapidly in my chest, images of a sultry woman entering my mind as I pull out of the driveway.
Fifteen minutes later, I sit myself on a bar stool and wait with high hopes. My grey eyes keep on straying towards the entrance of the bar, and press my knuckles towards my lips, lightly biting them. Nerves, damn it. Many ladies had entered the bar, but none of them appeared to be searching for anyone, so I don't worry about them.
A minute later, my eyes all but bulge out of my eye sockets as I watch the familiar blonde enter the bar. Her cornflower blue eyes are just as wide as mine, and I take in the familiar curve of her face, the familiar shape of her lips, and the familiar color of her blonde hair. She makes her way to me and stands in front of my stool in amazement.
"Oh, it's you," Madge says shyly, although she's trying to stifle her giggles. We look at each other, and then start laughing. I offer her my hand and she takes it, willingly entering my firm embrace. I kiss her forehead, her cheek, and then the corners of her beaming lips.
"I never knew that you liked flaming cocktails," I murmur and she giggles, "or swimming in the dark," I continue while her cheeks flush a light pink. "Or like the feel of the ocean while we make love," I whisper, pressing a lingering kiss on her mouth. Her ears are tinted red, and she pulls away, breathless.
"In that case," I say with a mischievous glint in my eye, "You're the love I've looked for, come with me . . ." I press my lips on hers again, "and escape."
If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape
You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape.