SOPHOMORE YEAR (college)
November
Gale never turned down a dare, especially with money involved, so when Thom slapped a wrinkled twenty onto the sticky bar and said, "Bet you're too chicken shit to try it, Hawthorne," Gale made the same mistake he always did.
"Give 'em here," he said, holding out his hand. Thom dropped two blue pills into his palm.
"I don't know about this," said Bristel, swaying slightly on his stool. "I heard about a guy who went blind from taking that stuff."
Gale inspected the pills in the dim, dirty bar light. Was twenty dollars worth going blind for? Not really. His pride, however, maybe. Besides, Bristel spent too much time surfing WebMD. His medical advice was not to be trusted. Gale hadn't forgotten the mysterious mole fiasco last year. For a week, Bristel was convinced he had cancer. Turned out to be a speck of ink.
"Well? You going to do it or not?" said Thom, reaching to retrieve his twenty. Gale beat him to it. He snatched up the money with one hand and tossed back the blue pills with the other, chasing them down with the last of his beer.
"If I go blind," he said, "then you better fork up another twenty bucks."
The Hob was a smelly hole in the wall, but the beer was cheap, they didn't I.D., and the music was tolerable, not that electronic crud. Madge tried to ignore the mold on the ceiling, which was difficult with Finnick around. "That one," he said, pointing to a fuzzy, green blob directly over their table, "looks like a dick."
"They all look like dicks," said Johanna.
"Not the one over the pool table," said Finnick. He turned to Madge. "Have you seen it yet?"
"No," she said. This was her first visit to The Hob. She hadn't wanted to come, but Johanna refused to take no for an answer.
"That's got to change," said Finnick. He grabbed her arm and practically dragged her out of the booth. Madge stumbled behind him across the room, squeezing between the sweaty bodies of strangers, to the pool table.
"Tell me what you see," said Finnick, coming to a stop. Madge craned her neck. She squinted at the water stain overhead.
"Um, looks kind of like a face," she said.
"Not just any face," said Finnick. "It's the spitting image of Donald Trump." He nudged her a few inches to the left. "Close one eye and look again." Madge did as she was told. Sure enough, the spot did resemble the Republican presidential nominee, slash reality T.V. mogul, slash over-bronzed asshole with chicken feather hair. Despite her health and safety concerns, the likeness impressed her. The stain was even the same rusty color as Trump.
"Still looks like a dick to me," said Johanna, leaning against the pool table.
Thirty minutes after taking the blue pills, Gale felt nothing. Bristel was still blabbering on about the horrible side effects he'd read about online, but Gale tuned him out. He scanned the room, searching for his next hook-up before the drugs kicked in. Slim pickings tonight. Glimmer cast him a sly, sideways glances from the other end of the bar, but he ignored her. Too clingy. Portia and Octavia were dancing nearby, grinding on each other, throwing come-hither looks over their shoulders. He wasn't interested in a threesome tonight, though, and those two, with their matching violet hair, came in a package deal.
Gale's searching eyes paused on Johanna Mason, sitting on the edge of the pool table with her legs spread, giving the whole room a clear view of her lacy, black panties. Ding ding ding, we have a winner, he thought, hopping down from his stool.
"Where you going?" said Bristel.
Gale stole his half finished beer and chugged. He slammed the empty bottle down on the bar, wiped his mouth, and said, "Time to pick up my date."
He cut through Portia and Octavia. Halfway across the dance floor, Johanna caught him coming. She flashed that tell-tale, thin-lipped smirk which always led to a good time.
"He won't win," said Finnick as he wracked up.
"I don't know," said Madge. "No one thought he'd make it this far. It's time to stop underestimating him." She leaned against the pool table for support, a little wobbly on her feet. She was drunk enough now not to care about the bar's questionable sanitation standards. Drunk enough to talk politics, a topic she avoided like the plague when she was sober. Being the mayor's daughter, she tried not to think about politics. Here at school, she tried to be like everyone else, not the campaign cardboard cut-out she was raised to be.
Finnick handed her a pool stick. "What, you think Trump's really going to make America great again?" he said.
Madge rolled her eyes. "Of course not. He's going to run America into the ground. He's a...a…" She was getting angry just thinking about the man. "He's a racist, woman-hating big-mouth, but that's what the people want right now. They're scared. They want a scapegoat and Trump's giving them exactly that, playing on their fears, making irresistible promises."
Finnick shrugged, unconcerned. "I still think Hillary's got it in the bag."
"She isn't much better," said Madge.
"Careful now, Undersee," he said, grinning. "There's a special place in Hell reserved for women who don't support other women."
Madge let out a snort. "That's sexist," she said, jabbing him in the stomach with her pool stick. "I'm not going to vote for someone just because we both have vaginas."
Before Finnick could form a response, Johanna leapt lithely from the pool table. "Where you going?" Finnick asked. "We're about to start a game."
"I've got another game in mind," said Johanna. Madge followed her line of sight to the handsome, dark-haired man striding towards them across the dance floor. A groan rose up from the ocean of tequila and beer in her stomach. Not him, she thought. Gale Hawthorne came to a stop before them.
"Mason," he said, ignoring Madge and Finnick. Madge didn't mind. She preferred when he ignored her. "You wanna-?"
"Alright," Johanna cut him off with a shrug. They sauntered off together, disappearing into the bathroom.
"She better not bring home whatever she catches from him," said Madge, scowling. Gale Hawthorne was an insufferable playboy. Who knew what kind of diseases he was spreading around?
"Someone sounds jealous," said Finnick.
Madge turned her scowl on him. "I'd rather fuck Donald Trump," she said flatly. Finnick tossed back his head and laughed, but she wasn't joking. Not at all.
Well, the blue pills were definitely working now and he wasn't blind, yet.
"Jesus Christ, Hawthorne," said Johanna, panting as she unwound her legs from his waist and slid to her feet, leaving a streak of sweat on the graffitied bathroom stall. Her eyes darted downwards. "How the hell are you still hard?"
Gale always forgot how frank Johanna Mason could be. God, it was hot, and uncomfortable, but mostly annoying. This was their dozenth hook-up. Maybe. He'd lost count, which meant it was about time to call it off. Not yet. Not until this stubborn erection was taken care of.
"One more time," he said, pressing his hands to the stall on either side of her head. She was so short, even in spiky heels, but her wolfish confidence gave the illusion of great height.
"Oh, alright," said Johanna. She pushed him onto the toilet and straddled him backwards, leaning over to brace her palms against the stall door.
Finnick was killing her at pool. If they were playing for real money, instead of cheese fries, then she'd have lost her whole trust fund by now. As it was, she hadn't been able to eat a single cheese fry and they looked so good. After four games of not succeeding to hit a single one of the colorful, numbered balls, Madge threw down her stick.
"I'm out," she said. She'd started drinking water an hour ago. Sobering up, her discomfort with this grimey, barely lit bar crept back in. She was tired. She had a piano recital tomorrow at noon. "I think I'm going to head home."
"Don't be a sore loser," said Finnick. "I'll share the fries."
"No thanks." Madge slung her purse over her shoulder. "Tell Johanna I'll see her back
on campus."
She gave him a quick wave, before ducking into the crowd. Sweaty bodies bumped into her as she fought her way to the bar, to close out her tab. Halfway there, she changed direction, deciding to hit the bathroom first. Campus wasn't far, but this late at night, there was no telling how long she'd have to wait for a bus.
There was a ridiculous line for the women's bathroom. Madge stood at the end for a full five minutes without getting any closer to the door. The music was a bit too loud, thumping through the wooden boards under her feet. She was ready for the concrete stability of the sidewalk, ready to get the hell out of here, change into something comfortable, eat a whole sleeve of double-stuffed oreos, and then pass out on the couch to reruns of I Love Lucy.
There was no line for the men's room. Most of them just pissed in the back alley when they stepped out for a smoke. Madge looked around to ascertain that no one was paying her any attention, before darting into the men's bathroom. She froze in the doorway, remembering too late that the room was occupied.
Johanna sat on the sink counter, her back pressed to the mirror, head tipped towards the ceiling, eyes closed, grunting profanities each time Gale slammed into her. Get out, thought Madge. Get out, get out, out, out! She couldn't look away, immobilized by shock, and disgust, and...Her gaze dropped low, to Gale's bare ass, muscles clenched and firm...
Madge shook her head. She took a step back, trying to sneak out quietly, but slipped on the slick floor. Her shoulder thudded against the door. Gale's head snapped up. He caught her reflection in the mirror. She froze again with one foot out the door, staring wide-eyed back at him, horrified and, even worse, a little turned on. Then Gale winked at her. She spun around and spilled out of the bathroom, letting the door slam shut behind her.
Only when she rounded the corner, and the thumping music from The Hob faded to a distant rumble, did Madge realize that she'd forgotten to close her tab. She couldn't go back, though, so she whipped out her phone and shot Finnick a text, asking him to cover her and promising to pay him back tomorrow.
No prob, he responded almost immediately. I saw you running out of here. Is the building on fire?
Madge didn't answer. She dropped her phone into her purse and hurried to the bus stop, desperate to put as much distance between herself and The Hob as possible.
Johanna pulled on her midriff t-shirt of some underground punk band called District Thirteen. Of course she wasn't wearing a bra. She never did.
"Seriously, did you take something?" she said, eyeing the still hard bulge in his pants.
"No," he said, lying automatically. He squirmed under Johanna's shrewd inspection.
"Whatever," she finally said. "Your problem, not mine." She brushed past him towards the door, but Gale caught her arm and pulled her into him. He locked his arms around her waist, took her pierced earlobe between his teeth and gave it slight tug.
"Come home with me," he said.
Laughing, Johanna wriggled free. "Not a chance. I'm meeting someone else."
"Who?"
Johanna didn't answer. She paused at the bathroom door, glanced at him over her shoulder, and, with an almost cruel smirk, she said, "Good luck with your little problem, Hawthorne."
Madge was grateful for the cold. She took deep breaths of icy air to clear her muggy head of what she'd accidentally walked in on. A cluster of older men gathered at the other end of the bench. They reeked of beer. Their laughter grated against her nerves. Every few minutes, she caught them casting bleary-eyed, lecherous glances in her direction. Suddenly, she regretted leaving the bar by herself, but she wasn't about to go back now.
You're fine, she told herself, keeping tabs on the men from the corner of her eye. She clutched her phone in her lap with one hand, ready to dial 911, while gripping her keychain can of mace in her purse with the other. Besides the stolen glances, the men left her alone, but better safe than sorry. This side of town really was no place for a girl to be alone.
To distract herself as she waited for the bus, hoping it would come on time for once, she tapped her feet against the sidewalk, practicing for her recital. She was tapping out an arpeggio when someone dropped down into the empty space on the bench beside her. Madge whipped out her pepper spray and rounded on the man sitting too close to her.
"That's no way to greet a friend," said Gale.
Madge gaped at him, speechless for a moment, torn between humiliation and
annoyance. "What do you want?" she snapped.
Gale leaned back against the bench and folded his hands behind his head. "Waiting for a bus," he said. He looked at the pepper spray, still raised and ready to fire. "I'm not going to attack you, Undersee."
Madge dropped the can back into her purse. "Go wait somewhere else," she said, turning away from him. She scooted to the very end of the bench.
"Why?" he said, scooting after her, so that their thighs pressed together. "I know you enjoyed the show earlier."
Madge leapt to her feet. "I was just trying to pee," she said, glaring down at him. "That's what bathrooms are for, you know."
"You could have gone," said Gale. "Jo and I wouldn't have minded."
"You're disgusting," she said. She turned her back on him and marched off.
The bus was taking forever. Gale shifted on the bench, trying to get comfortable. He spread his legs and hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. How long had it been since he took those stupid pills? At least two hours. With nothing to occupy him, Bristel's WebMD prophecies seeped into his already beer-soaked brain. To make sure he wasn't going blind, he squinted at the bus map a few feet away, trying to make out the letters like he was at the optometrist's, only the light wasn't half as good.
You'd know if you were going blind, he told himself. Bristel's doom-saying voice was louder. Gale needed a distraction. He needed...His eyes zeroed in on Madge, sitting on the curb, where she was likely to get run over if the bus ever arrived. She'd taken off her shoes and was rubbing her heel. She kept her head turned, so he could only see a thin sliver of her face, enough to know she was still scowling.
The three gray-haired men began howling laughter. Madge froze. Her slumped shoulders snapped into a tense line. She didn't look towards them, but she cocked her head a little in their direction, as if listening for the approach of unwanted footsteps. Gale noticed that her hand was in her purse. He could also see more of her face from this angle. She didn't look afraid, just prepared.
Gale stole a long, sideways glance at the three men on his other side. He'd barely noticed them before. They weren't a threat to him. No red flags. Just three nondescript, bearded men on a bender after work, probably at one of the graphite factories. He'd seen their type plenty of times. The assembly line workers reminded him a lot of the miners from his hometown.
Now that he'd taken a moment to size up this particular trio, he did notice the way their bleary, red eyes darted to Madge. He didn't much care for it.
Finally, the bus arrived on a cloud of black exhaust fumes. Madge was the first on board. She swiped her student card and then faced the crowded aisle. According to her wristwatch, it was just after three in the morning. The bars were closed and the drunken migration home had begun. There were no empty seats and the aisle was so packed, she couldn't go past the fourth row, not without having to squeeze uncomfortably close through a cluster-fuck of strangers. Resigned to standing, she stretched out her arm, just barely reaching the grab-handle dangling overhead.
One of the drunk men boarded the bus next. He dropped a few coins into the pay slot and shot Madge a sloppy, yellow teeth smile as he took a shaky step towards her. Great, she thought, trapped. It was bad enough that she had to stand, without some drunk asshole using the rocking of the bus as an excuse to dry hump her. Sometimes she regretted turning down her father's offer to hire a private chauffeur to shuttle her around. Public transportation was, in her opinion, the innermost circle of Hell. Forget anything Dante had to say on the matter. He'd never been groped on a city bus before.
Madge wanted to be independent. She didn't want to be a sheltered, spoiled rich girl. After eighteen years of that life, she was sick of it, so she grit her teeth and glared down the drunk man, trying to appear fierce, when she felt mostly nauseous. He was so close that she could smell the stale cigarette smoke that clung to his faded leather jacket.
Then Gale appeared. He caught up to the man in three quick strides and shouldered past him. The drunk stumbled sideways into the lap of a passed out frat boy. Gale stepped over the man's flailing legs.
"You're welcome," he said, joining Madge. She didn't say anything, just looked to the window. She didn't need anyone to be her knight in shining armor. Especially not him. I can take care of myself.
The bus lurched forward with a metal whine. Gale held tight to the bars on either side of him to keep from crashing into Madge. They stood face to face. Even standing on her tiptoes to reach the grab-handle, she was a head shorter than him. She kept her eyes fixed on the window, the darkness streaked with flares of artificial light. She put up a wall of tension between them that Gale could feel, physically. If he reached out his hand, he was certain he'd meet with an invisible stone barrier.
The bus hit a pothole and his sweaty hands slipped from the bars. Turned out there was no invisible wall to catch him, just Madge. She was thrown back by his weight, double her own. Her knees buckled. For a split second, as she fell, she imagined what the aisle floor looked like, all of the slush, and chewed gum from the mouths of strangers, the germs, so many germs.
Gale caught the bar to his left and, at the same time, wrapped his free arm around Madge's waist, pulling her flush against him. She looked up at him for the first time all night, really the first time in years, without a hint of revulsion.
"Tha-" she began, stopping short when she felt something hard poking into her stomach. "Seriously?" she said, leaping back, that familiar glint of disgust in her eyes. Her face red as a Fourth of July firework.
"What?" said Gale, unable to suppress a grin. Madge was such a prude. She always had been. It's a boner, not a bomb, he wanted to tell her, but that wasn't exactly the kind of thing you were supposed to announce in public.
Madge was not in the mood to be teased. Her feet were throbbing, she was sweating under her coat, even though it was below freezing outside, and she seriously needed to pee. Only the last problem was Gale's fault, but she blamed him for all of them anyway. If he hadn't kept Johanna for so long, then she wouldn't be going home by herself. Of course, Jo was just as much to blame, but Jo wasn't here.
Madge looked him straight in the eyes. "You are such a slut," she said, her voice imperious and carrying. The trio of gray-haired creeps broke into another fit of laughter. Gale ignored them. Since when did the mayor's perfect daughter use words like slut, on a city bus nonetheless, at three in the morning? Katniss was always going on about how much Undersee had changed since high school. Obviously, it was true. Hometown Madge never would've insulted anyone, not even him, with such...crass elegance.
He was still searching for a response when she turned her face back to the window. There were a few things he wanted to say, that she shouldn't flatter herself, he wasn't interested. In fact, bumping into her, literally, had been more painful than pleasurable. Surely the blue pills would wear off soon and he still wasn't blind, so everything was fine. That's what he told himself to keep from panicking.
Since there was no way in hell that he was going to tell Undersee about his bet with Thom, and since he couldn't let her insult slide completely, he whistled "The Wheels on the Bus" on loop for the remainder of the ride, watching her cheek muscle twitch, waiting for her to snap.
The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, the wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town. The wheels on the bus go round and round, the wheels on the bus...Goddamn Gale Hawthorne, thought Madge, stabbing her key into the lock. After forty-five minutes of listening to him hum, all through the bus ride and the walk to campus, she expected to have that stupid kid's song stuck in her head for days.
Madge flipped on the common room lights. It was good to be home, even if home was a cinderblock box. She was greeted by Katniss' poster of George Washington, crossing the Delaware, smoking a joint. Hello, Mr. President, she thought, kicking off her shoes. A blister pulsed where the leather straps had cut into the thin skin just above her heels. Her toes were blue from the cold. Why hadn't she worn boots, like any sane person would've done when there was still snow on the ground?
There was a note on the coffee table. Madge paused to pick it up on her way to her room. Studying with Peeta. Looks like an all-nighter. Madge rolled her eyes. Another all-nighter with Peeta. Big surprise. Katniss and Peeta weren't fooling anyone. She kept reading. Breakfast before your recital? Text me. Madge realized that her phone was still in her purse, and she was closer to her bed now than to the couch, where she'd left her purse, so Katniss was going to have to wait for an answer. No worries. Peeta was probably keeping her busy.
According to her alarm clock, it was 4:17. Breakfast wasn't going to happen anyway. Madge wiggled out of her dress. She slid under the covers, too tired to put on her pajamas. Besides, the heat was on full blast. Her recital was at noon, but the final rehearsal began at eleven. It took fifteen minutes to get from the dormitories to the concert hall. She'd need at least an hour to get ready. She totaled it all up and decided she had to be awake by 9:30, which gave her a little under five hours to sleep. Not ideal, but she'd worked with less.
She closed her eyes, snuggled deeper under the covers, and tried not to think about tomorrow. "The Wheels on the Bus" started up again in her head. Round and round, all through the town.
It had officially been five hours since he took the blue pills. As soon as he reached his dorm, Gale locked himself in the bathroom and made a few feeble attempts at jerking off. The pain stopped him from getting very far. By now, he wasn't so worried about going blind. I heard about a guy who took that stuff and then his dick fell off, he imagined Bristel saying. Twenty dollars was most definitely not worth that. Neither was pride.
Grimacing, Gale pulled up his pants. He'd left his car at The Hob. Even if it was parked on campus, he was still a little too tipsy to drive. Thom's bedroom door was wide open, revealing an empty, unmade bed. God only knew where he'd ended up. Bristel lived off campus, too far away. Gale didn't have enough money for a taxi, leaving him with two options. Call 911 or…
He did not want to be picked up by an ambulance. That was the fastest way to spark a flood of curiosity. Come morning, the whole building would know that he'd been whisked off to the hospital because he couldn't unpitch his own tent. So, really, there was only the one option.
Madge woke to the thunderous wrath of God. That was her first drowsy thought. She quickly realized, however, that it was only someone trying to knock down their door. Probably Johanna. Even worse than God. Madge yanked the covers over her head, choosing to ignore whoever it was. Soon they would go away.
Ten minutes dragged by and the knocking didn't let up. Enough was enough. Madge threw back the covers and stomped barefoot across the common room. She was reaching for the door, when she remembered that she was only had on underwear. Eager to put an end to this awful night, she didn't bother returning to her room to dress. Instead she put on her coat, zipped it up from top to bottom, and then turned the deadbolt.
As she swung open the door, she said, "What the hell…," stopping short when she saw who'd woken her up. It wasn't Johanna, or Katniss, or anyone else she might've expected. It wasn't God, but that guess had been closer, because it was the devil himself standing in the hall.
"Katniss," said Gale, ignoring the look that Madge was giving him.
"Out," snapped Madge, already moving to slam the door in his face. Gale stuck out his foot to stop her.
"Out where?" he said.
"Why don't you call her? I'm not her personal secretary."
"Her phone's dead."
Madge let go of the door. He wouldn't leave until he had what he wanted. The fastest route back to bed was to simply tell him that Katniss was with Peeta. Now that she was wide awake, though, she felt a prick of curiosity. There was something off about Gale. His hands were shaking. For some reason, that unnerved her. His hands were always so...steady. Katniss was his cousin, not to mention best friend, but he'd never dropped by in the middle of the night like this. Well, not since freshman year, but that bad been an extreme situation, which led Madge to believe that something terrible must have happened.
"Why do you need to talk to Katniss?" she asked.
"Private stuff," said Gale. "I'm kind of in a hurry," he said. The pain becoming incrementally worse. "So just tell me where she is."
"Studying with Peeta," said Madge.
Great, thought Gale. Whenever Katniss studied with Peeta, she was unreachable. So much for friendship. Usually, he respected Katniss' space. It wasn't like he'd never left her hanging to hook up. Maybe Undersee's right. I am a slut. He'd almost forgotten about Madge. Red, sleep marks cut across her cheek. He felt a sudden stab of remorse for banging on her door like a crazed axe murderer at five in the morning.
"Why are you so twitchy?" she said. "Are you on something?"
"No," he said, too hastily.
Madge crossed her arms. She knew he was lying and he knew that she knew. Being a politician's daughter, she could smell bullshit from ten miles away. Gale didn't have time to play games with her, not now. He teetered on the edge of a full-fledged panic. "I need a ride to the hospital," he blurted.
"Why?" said Madge. She searched him for any visible sign of injury or illness. Aside from his pained expression, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him.
"Just for...reasons," he said.
"Fine," she said, shrugging. "Good luck." She went to close the door again. Gale knew what he had to do: swallow his pride, tell her the truth. He caught the door with his hand this time.
"I took some Viagra about six hours ago," he said in a rush. "And now...well…" He dropped his other hand, the one carefully positioned over his crotch, to reveal the tell-tale bulge in his pants.
"Why did you take…?" Madge paused. She probably didn't want to know the answer to her unfinished question. If she wasn't so tired, and so incredibly annoyed, she might have found his situation justly amusing. A six-hour boner was almost a poetic punishment for him. She was tempted to slam the door in his face, let him deal with the consequences of his asinine behavior. After all, it's not like he was bleeding to death. He could get himself to the hospital somehow. She didn't owe him a damn thing.
Except he had provided a buffer against those creepy men on the bus, though she hadn't asked, or needed, him to, and he looked so pitiful right now. If he was asking for her help, then he must be beyond desperate. Madge heaved a sigh.
"Alright," she said. "Give me a minute to dress."
Gale had to jack-knife his long legs between his torso and the dashboard of Undersee's Mini Cooper. He hated these types of cars, cutesy and European. There was no fidgeting room, not that he didn't try anyway. He couldn't remember ever being quite so uncomfortable.
Madge kept her eyes on the road ahead. As soon as they passed into the city limits, she let off on the gas, forced to creep along stop light by stop light, caught in the early morning commute to work.
"Can't you go any faster?" said Gale, drumming his fists against the dashboard. She ignored him. Obviously she couldn't drive faster. Besides, he deserved to suffer a little while longer. She crept up to the next stop light, wondering how she'd let herself get dragged into this.
"Why did you do it?" she asked, unable to stop herself.
"Do what?" grunted Gale.
She shot him an irritated you-know-what-I'm-talking-about look. "Thom dared me to," said Gale. She let out a snort. Of course. He was always getting into trouble over some stupid dare. She remembered in middle school when he'd gotten his foot stuck in a toilet, because someone dared him to.
"What's wrong with you?" she said, rolling up to the next light.
"I already told you, Undersee," said Gale. "My dick's been hard for over-"
"Not that," she said, turning red. "I mean, why do you always do things like this? Just because someone dares you to do something, doesn't mean you have to."
Gale shifted in the passenger seat. "You wouldn't understand," he said.
Probably not, she thought, looking back to the road. She'd known him for nearly all her life and she still didn't understand him. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath. Since she was doing him a rather large favor, he bit back his return insults. To be honest, he was still a little surprised that she hadn't left him hanging high and dry.
"You're wrong," he said, shifting again. "I can't turn down a dare."
She let out another snort. "It's easy. Just say no."
Gale shook his head. If it was really that easy, he wouldn't be here now. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she thought about him. She never bothered masking her disdain. Why should he bother explaining himself, when she wasn't really interested? Her mind about him had been made up a long time ago.
But talking was his only distraction from the growing panic and pain. "Look, it's not that simple, alright. When someone dares me to do something, I just...It's kind of like an addiction."
Madge rolled her eyes. Addicted to dares? That was a new one. She hadn't heard of it in her Psych 101 class. "You just want to show off," she said.
"You think I want this?" he said, gesturing to his lap.
"Yes," she said.
"Then you're crazy."
They hit another stoplight and she looked at him again, her face awash in red light. "You like the attention," she said. "Everyone look at me. I'm Gale Hawthorne and I'm not afraid of anything." She turned her eyes back to the road. "This isn't high school, though. No one's impressed."
"I'm not trying to impress anyone," said Gale. "Or make anyone think I'm fearless. I just…" He trailed off.
"Just what?"
"I don't know," he said. "It's complicated. When there's a dare on the table, I have to take it. Sometimes it's worth the risk."
"Oh really?" said Madge, the corner of her lips twitching into a wry smile.
"Maybe not this time," he admitted. "But you'd be surprised what a dare can lead to. I met Brandon Flowers once because of a dare."
"Who?"
"Lead singer of The Killers."
"The what?"
"Oh, come on," said Gale. "I know you were raised in a plastic bubble, but you've got to know who The Killers are."
"Nope," said Madge. "Never heard of them."
He refused to believe her. "Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend who looked like the girlfriend that I had in February of last year," he half-sang, flat and tuneless. Madge burst out laughing as she turned into the hospital parking deck.
"Of course I've heard that song," she said, grinning at him. "I just wanted to make you sing it. You're terrible, by the way."
Madge regretted not bringing a book. There was nowhere more boring than a waiting room, contrary to what E.R. once led her to believe. She hated hospitals. Growing up, she spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms, left alone while her father talked to the doctors, the administrative staff, to everyone in the world, except his sick wife and lonely daughter.
Trying not to think about that painful time, she read over Gale's paperwork. He'd filled in everything, except for his social security number. The first two numbers always tripped him up. Was it 27 or 72?
"You're allergic to sesame seeds?" said Madge.
Gale shifted his arm to shield the paper from her view, like they were in high school and she was trying to cheat off of him. Only, in high school, he was usually the one doing the cheating. He scribbled down his social security number, hoping it was right. When he stood, a flash of blinding pain quickly brought him back down. He felt like he'd just been kicked in the groin.
"Shit," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. Madge took the clipboard from his hands. When the pain subsided, and he opened his eyes again, she was already at the desk, chatting with the nurse as she handed over his paperwork. First she'd agreed to take him to the hospital, and now she was doing him favors without even being asked. Gale didn't understand why she was being almost nice to him.
"Sweet woman," said Madge, nodding towards the receptionist as she settled back into the plastic chair beside him. "She says it shouldn't be a long wait."
"You can leave, if you want," said Gale. "I can take the bus home."
"I'm already here," she said, shrugging. She wasn't sure why she didn't just leave. If she did right now, she could maybe steal a nap before the recital. Then again, she doubted she'd be able to fall asleep again. Her second wind was blowing in.
"So," she said after a minute of silence. "Thom has erectile dysfunction."
Like on the bus, Gale was unprepared for her abrupt bluntness. "What? No," he said. "Where'd you hear that?"
"From you," she said. "He made the dare, so I assume he's the one who gave you the Viagra."
"He filched it from his dad over winter break," said Gale.
"Why?"
"Probably thought it was something else."
"Like what?"
"Christ, Undersee, I don't know," said Gale, running a hand over his face. "What's with all the questions?"
"Just trying to make conversation," she said.
"Well, can we talk about something else?"
"Sure."
Silence followed. Madge sought another topic. The first thing that leapt to her mind was the memory of Gale and Johanna in the Hob's grimy bathroom, but she definitely didn't want to talk about that, or even think about it.
Gale sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. He turned to look at Madge, his cheek cupped in his hand. "Thanks," he said.
"Don't thank me," she said, meeting his gaze. "The next time someone dares you to do something stupid, just don't rise-" her eyes, flashing mischievously, darted to his crotch, "-to the occasion."
"Very funny, Undersee," he said. If she wanted to play that game, so be it. He scooted closer to her, until their legs pressed together and their lips were only a few inches apart. "I already told you, though, I can't say no to a dare. There's a rush to it. Better than sex." As he expected, her face went crimson. Unexpectedly, she didn't withdraw.
"What if I dared you not to accept any more dares?" she said.
"Or you could dare me to take you into that broom closet over there and fuck your-"
Madge shoved him back. "You can't even stand up," she said.
"Rain check then," said Gale, returning to his hunched position.
Before she could get out the never in never going to happen, a doctor strode into the waiting room. "Gale Hawthorne," he said, reading from the chart in his hands. "We're ready for you."
"Good luck," said Madge. Clearly, she was enjoying herself. Fair enough, thought Gale, shuffling after the doctor. Thom and Bristel would've dished out a hell of alot worse.
She was alone in the waiting room, so she held out her hands over an imaginary piano and went through the motions of Franz Liszt's La Campanella. It was the only recital piece she struggled with. For weeks and weeks, she'd been practicing, but her timing still felt off. She counted the measures. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. Eighth note, eighth note, sixteenth, sixteenth, eighth, sixteenth. Her fingers danced rapidly across the empty air, but the music in her head didn't sound right.
After a while, her hands dropped motionless into her lap. She checked the time. 7:13. A part of her hoped to miss the recital. She wasn't ready. She wasn't perfect yet and the thought of being anything less terrified her. For once, she wished she could be a little more like Gale Hawthorne. Fearless, reckless, daring.
The doctor didn't ask many questions. He had Gale drop his pants, inspected the problem, and then gave him a paper cup with two pills inside. Gale swallowed them dry. Then there was nothing to do but wait.
"If this doesn't work," said the doctor, "then we'll have to drain the blood."
Gale crossed his fingers, praying it wouldn't come to that. For once, he wished he was a little more like Madge Undersee. Practical, prudent, cautious. Thankfully, the pills worked.
Even though Madge had said that she would wait, Gale didn't really expect her to, but there she was, right where he'd left her, fast asleep, curled up like a cat in her plastic seat. How long had she been waiting? He checked the time. 8:36. She probably would've left a long time ago, if she hadn't fallen asleep, and he was glad that she had. Taking the bus, he wouldn't get back to campus for another two hours.
"Undersee," he said, poking her shoulder.
Madge jerked awake. "Dad?" she said, groggy and confused. For a moment, she felt like a little girl again, being woken up by her father in a hospital waiting room when it was time to go. Then the sleep cleared from her eyes and she recognized Gale, smirking down at her. Oh shit, did I just call him Dad? She waited for him to raise an eyebrow and throw out some Freudian innuendo.
In just a few seconds, Gale came up with a dozen such wisecracks, but he decided to file them away for another day. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."
Madge unfurled. She stood, took one step, and toppled forward. Gale caught her arm to steady her. "You alright there, Undersee?" he asked. She couldn't feel her feet at all. Did she even have feet? Then the pins and needles hit.
"Give me a second," she said, grimacing as blood rushed back into her feet. She took a shaky step when the tingling sensation dulled a little. Gale looped his arm through her's and she didn't complain. Her second wind was gone. She was drop dead tired, but there was no time left for sleep.
When they reached her car, Gale steered her to the passenger side and threw open the door. "I'll drive," he said, holding out his hand for the keys. Madge hesitated, leaning against the car. If he drove, she could sleep. But did she really want to put him in the driver's seat? It didn't strike her as the best idea.
"I'm a good driver," said Gale, reading her doubtful expression. "Passed my test with flying colors."
Madge sighed. She fished her keys out of her purse and held them over his open palm. "If you wreck my car," she said, eyeing him sternly, "then I'll make sure the whole school finds out about tonight."
Spoken like a politician's daughter, thought Gale, taking the threat to heart. On the surface, Madge was sweet, unassuming, and innocent, but he'd seen her tear down her enemies in high school with a simple rumor whispered in the right ears. She knew how to sabotage, while keeping her own cleans. Gale had always been careful not to push her too far, though he often came dangerously close.
Madge was too anxious to sleep. She stared at the speedometer. Everytime he crept close to 50, her fingers curled around the seatbelt strap across her chest. Gale noticed the reaction from the corner of his eye.
"I've got three younger sibling to shuttle around," he said, easing onto the highway. "Trust me, I'm the most defensive driver you'll ever meet."
Madge didn't say anything. She didn't relax, either. It wasn't easy to trust the boy who once crashed a four-wheeler into the storefront of the Mass General Store. Of course, he was only eleven at the time. Then again, he hadn't changed much since then. Not that she could see. Not if tonight was any proof.
"You want to get breakfast?" said Gale. "On me."
"Can't," said Madge, glancing at the radio clock. 9:13. "I've got a final rehearsal at eleven."
"For what?"
"Piano recital," she said. She felt like her stomach was full of led balls, not butterflies. "It's kind of like a mid-term."
Gale braked a little too hard. He whipped his around to face her. "You've got a midterm today? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Um, you didn't ask."
"You shouldn't have stayed at the hospital," he said. "I don't want you to fail your midterm because of me."
"I won't fail," said Madge, with more confidence than she actually felt. "Besides, why do you care? You think my major's a joke. Only rich snobs waste tens of thousands of dollars on something trivial like music."
Gale was impressed with her imitation of him. That did sound like something he would say. In fact, he probably had said it, just to annoy her, because it wasn't something he believed. "I don't think music's trivial," he said. "I used to play guitar, you know."
"Used to?" she said, prying again despite her better judgment. That was the problem with Gale Hawthorne. Well, she had a lot of problems with him, but one of the worst was how he sucked her in the few times they found themselves alone together. From a distance, disliking him was easy. Up close, he was a puzzle she couldn't solve, and she was normally a genius with puzzles.
"I just stopped playing," said Gale. His jaw tensed. "My dad was the one who taught me."
"Oh," said Madge, not knowing what else to say. He hadn't mentioned his father to her since that night freshman year, the last time he woke her up in the middle of the night.
Gale cleared his throat. "I was never much good, anyways," he said. "But you've got real talent. It'd be a shame to let that go to waste. The world can always use more music." Something his father used to say.
Madge blushed, glad that his eyes were on the road. "You've never even heard me play," she said. Gale glanced at her and she ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her face.
"Yeah, I have," he said. "Katniss used to drag me to all of your concerts, before Peeta started going with her. You know how she hates being in public by herself."
So the compliment was genuine and not just a means to get her into a broom closet. For some reason, that made her more uncomfortable than anything else he'd done or said tonight. She didn't have long to think about it, though. Gale pressed down on the gas and zipped around the semi-truck ahead of them. After he passed, he didn't slow down.
"Gale," said Madge, a warning in her tone.
"Go back to sleep, Undersee," he said. "I'll get you home safe."
Again, thought Madge. Annoying as he'd been earlier, on their first return journey to campus, and as much as she wanted to be independent, having him following along behind her, whistling "The Wheel on the Bus," had made her feel safe. He was reckless, but not untrustworthy. He did a lot of stupid things, sure, but he never endangered anyone, besides himself.
"Just don't go too fast," she said, scooting down into the passenger seat. She rested her head against the cool window, deafened by the rushing wind buffering against the side of the car, and closed her eyes. After a minute, Gale turned on the radio. He kept the volume at a low, soothing murmur, lulling Madge back into the arms of exhaustion. He hummed tunelessly along to a song she didn't know.
The world can always use more music, she thought, tucking the line away before she fell asleep and forgot it. Who knew Gale Hawthorne would ever say something quoteworthy? Another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. Daredevil, slut, secret philosopher...he just didn't make any sense. Not yet.
Gale made it to campus in record time. Madge was drooling on the window, out cold. He decided to let her sleep a little while longer. Really, he felt too guilty to wake her up. Moments like this, where they ended up together by accident and misadventure, he wondered what exactly the two of them were. Friends was too strong a word. Acquaintances wasn't strong enough. He supposed, in a way, they were something like family. They came from the same place. Their histories overlapped. He teased her for being so uptight, while taking for granted that he could always count on her in an emergency situation.
He liked that she was dependable, but he would never admit to it. After all, he had an image to uphold. More importantly, he had himself to protect. Because he wasn't certain what Madge was to him, he tread carefully. With his hook-ups, and even with his friends, he kept his distance. Katniss was the only person he let see the darker side of him, the grief he still felt, like a gluttonous black hole, almost two years after his father's death. Katniss was his cousin, she was blood. But Madge…?
Gale didn't want to think about it anymore. He reached across the middle console to shake Madge's arm. "Rise and shine, Princess." She didn't startle awake this time and he wondered if she'd even been asleep. She immediately looked to the glowing green radio clock. 9:47.
"Shit," she said, shouldering open the passenger side door. She spilled out of the car and took off across the parking lot.
"Hold up," Gale called after her. "You forgot your…" Madge was already gone. For someone running on only a couple hours of sleep, she moved freakishly fast. Clutching her car keys in his fist, Gale followed after her, though he didn't run. He was way too tired for that shit.
Madge had picked out her outfit before going to The Hob with Johanna. She tugged the black dress up over her hips and jammed her arms into the fitted long sleeves. She hopped around the room, gathering her sheet music, with notes filling every margin, as she put on her stockings. Her hair was hopeless. There wasn't time to salvage the crumpled curls, so she twisted the the tangled mess into a painfully tight bun and clipped back her cowlicked bangs. A little makeup to cover the circles under her eyes.
Good enough, she thought, giving herself a final once over in the bathroom's full-length mirror. She threw on her coat as she crossed the common room, pushed open the door, and collided with something solid and unexpected.
Gale leapt back in time to keep the coffee in his hand from sloshing onto her dress. "You forgot you keys," he said, holding them out to her. "And I thought you might need this," he added, offering up the coffee cup as well.
"Um, thanks," said Madge, taking the keys, and then the coffee. The paper cup was hot, fresh from the kiosk. As far as she remembered, he'd never given her anything before, not so much as paperclip.
"No problem, Undersee," said Gale. "I owed you something. Better get going. Don't want to keep your audience waiting."
Right, the recital. She'd forgotten about it for a second. Gale had that effect on her. He was a bad influence. Reminded of her responsibilities, she darted around him, moving at only a half-sprint, so as not to spill the coffee.
"Just picture them in their underwear," shouted Gale, leaning against the door to her room, right where she'd left him. "That's what I used to do with you at all those recitals last year."
Madge flipped him off as she rounded the corner and hit the steps, taking them two at a time.
Just a few things:
1) I'm currently plotting out the sequel to Procreate, since it's going to be a bit more complex than the first installment, so expect to suffer an indeterminate waiting period.
2) Which leads us to the second thing...Here's a contemporary AU to hopefully hold you over. I've been wanting to dabble into this area for awhile now, so you might see more of these before the grand unveiling of Procreate's sequel.
3) Lastly, I regret to inform anyone reading "Riches to Rags," that the story is on a definite hiatus. I'm way too involved with all of the AU stuff to write canon at the moment.
Over and out, fellow Gadge lovers :)