A/N: I'm sorry I didn't get to update this yesterday as originally planned. My sister's engagement party was last night and I didn't get a chance to publish. Anyway, here it is! Enjoy! :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Part II

Madge: A story of self-discovery

Here's the thing: I'm gay. But I'm also not. Everyone knows the former but they don't know the latter. I feel like it can't be right. Is it even possible to be both? I feel like I'm both but that can't be right. Surely it must be my hormones confuzzling my judgement or something.

My parents have been trying to change me. They're real bible bashers. They've been in avid denial of me ever since I came out to them. I think I'm a 'test from God' or something like that. I've been going to Church Camp ever since I told them. I don't know how Father Ganway believes he'll 'fix me' but repeatedly reciting bible passages and forcing me to listen to how the Lord believes I'm 'immoral' and 'wrong' certainly isn't the way to go about it.

Why fix something that isn't broken?

I'm a Catholic, don't get me wrong. I think the bible is beautiful, just not the passages-mainly Leviticus-that damns everyone and everything. That's not God. I believe in the all loving God, not the 'you are wrong for loving the same gender' God that was created by the old men who wrote the bible post Jesus' death. I say my rosary each night and attend Church on Saturday nights, like every other Catholic in the practice.

I don't think God hates me, despite what my parents seem to believe and are avidly trying to fix. If he created me, then surely he loves me. I've been able to hold down this belief. That, despite my sexuality and background, I can continue to practice my religion with my family in peace.

And that's when he comes into my life and ruins everything.

I love being in the sunshine. Whenever it's warm out, I go to the park and simply sit on the grass, feeling the rays against my face. It's a nice place to go to think or do homework or simply enjoy the peace. I sometimes even bring some bread to feed the ducks with.

School is out for the day and I haul ass up to the park to do my homework. The sunlight sparkles off the water in the pond like thousands of diamonds bobbing along with the ducks. I sigh in contentment and cross my legs in the grass. Delly Cartwright's birthday was yesterday so she brought in a huge chunk of her mammoth birthday cake to share with the class. It was triple chocolate brownie cake and it filled me up to the brim. I wasn't able to eat my lunch. I still feel full so I decide to give my sandwiches to the ducks.

Tearing chunks of bread off my sandwich and tossing it into the pond. I wonder if the ducks ever feel grateful for being fed by human beings.

"You know bread is bad for ducks."

I look over my shoulder to the source of the voice. "Oh?" I ask the man sitting on the bench behind me.

"Yeah, it messes with their digestive tract," the man replies. He stands up and approaches me, sitting down in the grass beside me.

Now that he's closer, I can make out his face. I feel a tug in my stomach and I swallow hard in a mixture of fear and surprise. He's really hot. His masculine face is of perfect proportion and his smoky grey eyes are mysterious and gorgeous. He has a short brown beard which I feel tempted to reach out and stroke.

"I see," I hum, unable to find anything else to say. I'm confused as hell.

"I don't know what else there is to feed them, though," the man continues. He smiles and holds his hand out to me. "I'm Gale."

"Madge," I say, shaking his hand.

"I always see you around here," Gale explains, leaning back on his elbows. I can't look him in the face. My eyes remain stuck on the pond and ducks fighting over my last slice of bread.

"I like nature," I say curtly. My palms are sweaty. My heart is pounding. What the hell is wrong with me right now?

"Where are you from?" Gale asks.

I frown at the ducks. "District 12," I answer. "Merchant Sector."

"No kidding. I'm from the Seam Sector."

What? Really? How could I have never known that someone as handsome as Gale lived right under my nose? I'm usually very sharp when it comes to noticing beauty . . .

. . . in girls.

There has to be something wrong. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I press my hand to my forehead. Hmm. No temperature.

"Tell me, Madge," Gale begins, "why would you come all the way from 12 to this lowly park?"

"Why would you?" I fire back, taking a risk and looking at him. He quirks an eyebrow at me and I flush. Couldn't he just . . . I don't know . . . stop looking like that? It would be of massive help. Then maybe I could pull my shit together and have a decent conversation.

"I have a car," Gale answers with clear amusement.

I roll my eyes. Of course he does. I bet it's a Ferrari or a Mercedes or something. Those are good cars, right? Whatever. It's most definitely expensive. I shake my head in disinterest and look back at the ducks. My heart has stopped pounding as hard but I can still feel its dull thumps inside of me, rattling my ribcage and making my bones jitter.

"I've been watching you for a while, Madge," Gale explains. "Every day, I come to see if you're here. And you usually are. I admire your determination."

"Right," I say slowly. "So you're a stalker?"

Gale laughs. He sits up straight again and shocks me by taking my hand. "Will you go out with me, Madge?" he blurts out.

I jolt in alarm and stare at him horror. My heart has lurched up into my throat and, in blind panic, I throw, "I'm gay!" at him. Gale's face could almost be comical, if I wasn't panicking so much. His jaw practically unhinges and his eyes bulge out of his sockets in shock. I gape at him, in shock myself. "I am so sorry," I quickly say, gathering up my stuff and standing up. "I shouldn't have been so rude"-

"It's alright," Gale says, standing up as well. "I shouldn't have been so forward."

"Don't worry about it, really," I'm quick to reply.

Gale smiles again and my eyelid twitches irritably at the thoughts that come into my head about the simple gesture. "Do you want a ride home?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's okay," I answer, already backing away.

"At least take my number," Gale insists. He grabs my hand and presses a piece of paper into it. "Not to date, even though that would have been lovely. Just to chat. You're an enigma, Madge. I'd really like to get to know more about you."

My cheeks heat up and I nod sheepishly. I accept his number and stuff it into my ring binder. I can't risk looking at Gale again so I spin on my heel and plough up the hill, back in the direction of District 12.

I'm out of breath by the time I'm exiting the park, having almost ran away from Gale. I don't know what I was thinking by accepting his number. I'll just be tempted to call him and there's no use in doing that. I'll just be stringing him along. Surely there's no way I could interact with him normally. Not after the way I just behaved! For goodness sake, you'd think I had a crush on him!

But I can't have.

Am I . . . straight?

No. I've always liked girls. This is just one guy, it doesn't mean anything. It can't! I've fantasied about more girls than Gale has probably even dated! I've had two girlfriends in the past. My parents are practically chucking over holy water over my head to 'fix' me!

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't look where I'm going. I crash into someone and stumble, accidentally pushing them to the ground. They grip my elbows, trying to regain their balance, but we both end up toppling onto the pavement. I bang my funny bone against the tarmac and I groan, the pain momentarily taking my breath away.

"I'm so sorry!" I say at the same time as the person I crashed into. It's a boy, about my age. He's wearing the Capitol High School for Boys uniform. I hear that's a very prestigious place and a lot of the boys there are homophobes so I tend to steer clear of them.

Scrambling to my feet, I help the boy stand and dust off his uniform. It's only when we're standing that I realize his nose is bleeding. "Your nose!" I exclaim. I throw my bag open, frantically trying to find tissues for him to staunch the flow with.

"It's fine," the blond boy mutters. He has a tissue of his own, which is nearly completely soaked with the red life liquid. He presses it against his nose and tries to skirt around me.

"Wait, are you okay?" I ask, not happy about just letting him go when I could have potentially hurt him.

He waves me off and walks on. His gait is off centre and he seems to be in some form of a hurry. I feel a compulsion to follow him but I shake it off. There's no point. We'll have forgotten about each other in the morning and he seems to have himself under control.

I return home, my thoughts mainly crowded with my confusion over Gale. When I enter the house, I dip my fingertips into the holy water font and bless myself. I can hear my mum rustling around in the kitchen but I go straight to my room. I can't discuss my puzzlement with her. She'll just latch onto the possibility of me having a crush on a boy and try to convince me that God has saved me and I've gone straight.

I chuck my bags onto the floor into my room and run my fingers through my hair. Surely, that one interaction shouldn't make me question myself. My sexuality doesn't make me incapable of recognising when a male is attractive. Yet . . . it feels different with Gale. It feels like a higher form of recognition. It resembles the feeling I got when I first laid eyes on Emeraude Toubia and my stomach felt like it was being tied into huge, tight, unbreakable knots.

Bisexuality is a thing. I know it is. But having to admit to myself that I'm not who I thought I was isn't something I'm prepared to do. I've been a lesbian since I was fourteen and between then and now I've had to deal with people telling me it was my age; it was puberty; it was a phase; it would pass when I got older. If I told people that I was bisexual, they would think they were right. They would take it as me admitting that I'm straight, when I'm not.

I unfold the piece of paper Gale gave me and stare at the random jumble of numbers written onto it. I throw the paper onto my desk and decide to ignore it for a while. I strip out of my clothes and go to my bathroom to have a shower. My head needs clearing and the only way to do that is with a hot shower.

As the hot water cascades down my back and dampens my hair, I wonder how my life would be if I was straight. Would it be easier? Would I have less worries, less concerns, less difficulties? I don't want to change. I don't want to be different from who I am now, but I'm sick of all the tribulations I'm having to go through just to reach a point of serenity.

Sexuality is a wild thing, I understand that. People have different things that they are looking for in life and trying to figure out who you are and where you stand is all part of the journey. But I'm sick of the journey. I just want to know who I am and what I want. Not knowing is exhausting.

The only time I really interact with my mum is at dinner time. For her, conversation is always dominated with their desperate quest to 'turn me back onto the path of God'. It was ok at first. I was able to deal with it; laugh it off; joke about it. But after years of it, the same probing questions over and over again becomes draining. Especially when it's from your own mum. I've tried asking her about the teachings of love everybody and do not pass judgement on others but she doesn't seem to process what I say. Maybe they believe my lesbianism clouds my thought process.

Tonight is no different, except for the fact that I don't wish to even humour them.

"Look what we found online this morning," my mother tells me at the dinner table. My mum is a good woman at heart, her intentions are just always a little skewered. My dad usually works late, which I'm ashamed to say that I'm thankful for. One pressing parent is enough for me to deal with. I couldn't handle two.

I stir the salad on the side of my chicken miserably. "What?" I ask.

Mum tips my chin up, forcing me to look at her fake beaming smile. She passes me a booklet over that she must have printed while I was at school. When I look at it, my heart sinks so far in my chest that I can practically feel it in my stomach. 'How to fix your children. St Anthony's Summer Camp to Cure Homosexuality Est. 1986.

When I look back up to my mum, the way she looks so pleased with herself ruins my mood completely. "I don't need cured," I say flatly.

The corner of Mum's mouth twitches. "Madge, we've had this discussion before," she says.

"I know we have," I reply. "And you never listen to a word I say."

"I listen to everything you say," Mum contradicts. "You're just not sure what you're saying. Media has confused you, your hormones are everywhere. It's a normal thing, sweetheart. I'm just trying to help you help yourself."

"I don't need your help!" I snap. Normally, my temper would hold out much longer than this. At least until the end of the meal, but after everything that has happened today, alongside my confusion, I just can't deal with this right now. "I'm sorting myself out, I don't need your stupid camps!"

"Madge," Mum says measuredly, "think about what God would think! Honour your mother and father!"

I scream in frustration and push away from the table. "I'll honour you when you start honouring me!" I shout back.

"I am honouring you! Look at everything I am doing for you!" Mum insists. I know she is genuinely thinking that she is helping me, and I should be easier on her because of this, but I have dealt with this sort of treatment for five years now. I've gone to the summer camps; I've listened to the priests; I've sat on a stool while my dad blesses me with holy water. I can't. I just can't. I'm finished with it.

"Why can't you let me be who I want to be?" I demand, throwing my fork down onto the table. "Why can't you let me be who I am?"

"This isn't you," Mum says in avid denial. "I didn't raise you to choose this path!"

"I didn't choose anything!" I yell back. When my mum shakes her head, I lean forward over my seat and hiss, "Tell me about the day you chose to be straight."

"Well . . . That didn't happen," Mum says, frowning with confusion.

"Exactly!" I reply. "Can't you see what I'm trying to say?"

For a moment, I think I may have gotten through to her. She sits in silence, blue eyes sparkling with what I think is realization but, a second later, I see is something else. "I am what the Lord made me," Mum tells me, her pale hand enclosing around the crucifix which she wears around her neck. "You are behaving like the child of Satan!"

I stare at her in shock. I wait for her to back out of what she just said but instead she glares at me, obviously meaning every word. My blood boils with rage and I throw my glass across the room so it smashes against the wall. Mum jumps and closes her eyes, waiting for me to leave.

I spin around and charge back to my room, making sure to slam my door as hard as I can. We've only had a spat like this once before. When she tried to send me away to a yearlong retreat where I'd have to live the life of a nun. I'd lost it and tore the tablecloth off the table before barricading myself in my room until she told me that she wouldn't make me go.

I know my mother loves me but sometimes I wonder. If my mum and dad truly loved me, they would let me be who I am and love me for it anyway.

I'm so full of rage and misery, I need someone to vent to before I explode and destroy my room. I don't really have any friends. There's only one number and it's the one I had thought I wouldn't call at all, let alone be snatching at a few hours after getting it.

Hopefully, Gale won't mind me ranting to him. He seemed like a nice guy. Or maybe he won't care at all because he'd only wanted to date me.

I stop when my mobile is open in my hand, the dial screen shining in my face. Do I want to date him? That stirring feeling has to have meant something. Maybe I should investigate it. Maybe it'll lead somewhere, maybe it won't. There's really only one way to find out . . .

The phone is answered on the third ring. "Hello?" a female voice asks.

"Hi, is Gale there?" I ask.

"No," the woman replies. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Oh," I say, heart sinking. "It's fine. Do you know where I could find him?"

"He's out with his fiancée," the woman explains. "I'm not sure when he'll be back."

I feel the ground is going to swallow me up. I can't bring myself to even say goodbye. I press my finger against the red button and drop my phone onto the carpet. I can't believe it. I've been an idiot. Of course Gale is getting married. Of course he's an asshole. Of course I was a fool and trusted him.

I'm sick of it all.

I drag my bag out from under my bed and throw as much as I can carry into it. I'll bring all my savings and catch a bus to somewhere far from here. Away from my parents; away from Gale; away from everyone who can't accept the fact that I am gay. Or I maybe bisexual. What does it matter anyway? My sexuality shouldn't be what people judge me for. It's not me. It's not what defines me as a person. But it is a part of me that has to be accepted by the people I'm to be surrounded by.

When I thump down the stairs. My mum watches me, from the living room, judgement burning on her features as she stares. She sees the bag in my hand but doesn't say anything as I go to the front door and leave. Whatever. I don't need her anymore.

Because it's late, I sleep in the shed in the back garden. Almost like I'm the house slave or something. It's cold but I can't spend another second in that poisonous house. I prefer it outside.

When the morning comes, I head to the bus stop. Determined to go somewhere where I don't know anyone at all. I'll get by . . . By busking on the streets or bagging groceries. I'll find some way to make a living. I just can't deal with this life anymore. I want to live somewhere where I can be gay or bisexual and it isn't a big deal. I can do what I want and be who I want to be and nobody will bat an eyelid.

The bus stop is relatively empty. A van passes as I reach the pavement on the opposite side. It's so large it rumbles the ground and makes my bones shake inside of me. When it's completely passed, I see there is one person sitting at the stop. Her hands are wedged between her knees and is trying to keep herself warm.

I can't see her properly from where I stand but even from a distance, I can tell that she's beautiful. My stomach twists into knots way tighter than Gale ever made it twist. My heart begins to rapidly beat as I cross the road and I force myself to keep a neutral expression as I near her.

When I arrive at the stop, she looks up at me with mysterious, smoky grey eyes. She stands up and smiles. "Hi," she says, her voice melodic and painfully gorgeous.

What does it matter that I'm gay or bisexual? I'm just Madge. And that's all that matters.