Between The Bars
Two months since our departure from District 12, Gale and I have developed a strange kind of friendship – one forged from the loss of the same person. He tells me, on nights when he is drunk enough, about his feelings for her and how it all hasn't died away yet. He apologizes to me about Prim as if I am Katniss on other nights. Sometimes he just cries, because it is all he can do.
I watch him with an ounce of sympathy. He reminds me of Effie during Haymitch's funeral, when she tries to hold herself back from falling apart like it is going to kill her if she fails. He also reminds me of Peeta, unwilling to face the truth of my entanglement with Katniss.
He also reminds me of Katniss, fighting off the demons snapping at his heels. The war bothers him, but Katniss bothers him more.
On this foundation we forge our friendship.
It is no wonder we end up in bed with each other some time later, tangled with need, aversion to loneliness because we can't stand it and pent up self-loathing for even sleeping with each other in the first place.
He sits at the far end of the room – just like Katniss used to when we have our bad moments. He looks guilty – not towards me, perhaps, but towards himself. I feel the same, and I sit as far as I can from him.
Between us, the air hangs stale and thick.
After an eternity, he lets out a laugh. He shakes his head, still laughing to himself, and I watch him curiously.
"I can't believe it," he says, trying to shake off his laughter but failing. "This is what it's come to. What do we do?" He shakes his head again, and then he looks at me, tears in his eyes. I don't feel the need to question the emotion that rides on those tears because I know – we both know each other well enough at this point.
"We do what we always do, Gale. We cope."
It has nothing to do with romance. We don't love each other, we don't feel anything but the mutual understanding that we have lost something dear to us, whether it is by our own hand or not. It's just a quick fuck here and a quick fuck there when one of us feels the need to, or when our ghosts come and catch up with us.
I don't like it one bit, but Gale seems to have resigned himself to it.
Haymitch feels sorry for me. I know this because in my dreams, I am back in his sitting room and we share drinks and conversation like old times. He never forgets to tell me how sorry he is at my state, not even in my dreams. Other times he tells me, "You actually took my advice and slept with him? Kid, you're a wreck." Even in death he has a lot to say about me, and I wonder when his ghost will leave me. I often wake up frustrated and begin to consider leaving Gale to his own devices - doesn't he have a girl back in District 2? - but I later remember, when I'm at the doorway, that he is as I am: broken, missing a piece.
When he wakes up, every time after we sleep together, he finds me the same - by his side, unmoving, never once resenting how we end up.
"What happened to that girl you found in District 2?" I ask him one day.
He looks at me as if struck, as if it is the most ludicrous question I could ever think of asking him when we were here, when we were coping together. I don't give in and keep my stare firm until he caves in.
"I left her. The moment I got the call from Catnip, I just..." Gale shrugs, more to himself. "I think I forgot she still had Peeta by her side."
I didn't forget, and I still didn't care. I shake my head. "Don't you ever think about going back to that other girl?"
He drinks, drowning something unknown to me. Regret? Guilt? It is easy to guess, but not easy to pin down. He sets down his glass after several drinks.
"I can't do it. I hurt her enough. I don't want to apologize and then watch her take me back." He looks at me, eyes hazy with drunkenness. "You know why?"
I know why.
"Katniss."
He nods, smiling through the fog of alcohol in his system. "Katniss," he repeats.
"How did you two end up..." Gale gestures to something invisible between us. "Like that?"
"I saw her at the party at Haymitch's." I shrug. "Something just pulled me in. I don't know what it was, but I couldn't help myself. I could never help myself since. Maybe it was the thrill of doing something bad like stealing Peeta's girl, but...but it turned out to be something else."
"Did you need to love someone to forget the war?"
I look at him square in the eyes.
"I don't know what it was I wanted. But loving her came second." I sink into my armchair, holding myself. "I never saw it coming."
He smiles at me - he is lost to his own drunkenness again.
"It was like that for me too." He tips his head back and smiles up at the ceiling. "I never saw it coming either."
We abandon the life of wandering drunkards and decide to do something better with ourselves.
Well, that's the general plan, anyway.
Gale still has some trouble putting down the bottle, but I help him along.
"Don't wanna...end up like Haymitch," Gale slurs as I help him back to bed. "Get it away from me. The...bottles. Throw 'em. Toss 'em now."
"I will, I will." I tuck him into bed and he slips away into slumber, leaving me to myself. I pick up the bottle and leave the house, seated on the outskirts of District 11. The truth is that we could never go far without wanting to come back, and so we settled here. Life is peaceful, and since the war's end, the district has been recovering. Two more recovering refugees makes no difference to them.
I consider tossing the bottle like Gale said, but then I hear the whistle of a jabberjay carrying Katniss' song.
One more night, I promise myself, and sit down on the porch with the bottle in hand. Then I'll try again tomorrow.