The house is spotless. Small, but spotless. That is the first thing I notice when Gale drops me inside of the doorway. His touch is electrifying and he stands suffocatingly close, but I bite down a smile and survey this new world around me.
Everything is wooden, save for one stuffed chair in front of the television set, and everything is worn. The floors creak from being tread upon, the colored wooden chairs are chipped and cracked from use; the paint on the walls is faded. But there is not a speck of dust in sight, not a spot of mud to be found. It smells warm, like a family home would, and the feeling dances across my very skin. Sounds boom around me as the family bursts from the door and scatters. Posy grabs my hand and drags me toward the kitchen, which is open to the living area. Vick bickers with Gale about who gets which chair tonight, and Rory complains as his mother hands him plates to set the small table.
They don't even pull a chair up for me. There are six chairs there, as though they were expecting me. Or as though they never removed the one for their father; as though they half expected him to walk in one day, covered in coal dust, and sit down for dinner. I fall down in the chair that Posy pulls me toward, the wooden chair wedged between her little body and Gale's imposing one.
Mrs. Hawthorne left a stew simmering while we watched the bloodbath, and the smell fills the room as she carries the bowl over to us. Begrudgingly, Rory hands out bowls and the silverware-which glints menacingly in the dim light like Cato's knife-as my ears struggle to take in both the table chatter and the sounds coming from the television.
The Capitol provided television set rustles in the background, and I try to tune into it as best I can as Mrs. Hawthorne ladles out the stew the barely fills half of the pot. I can see the meat, probably something Gale caught, brewed with wild vegetables, and the unfamiliar scent makes my stomach bubble. My mind races with the thought that the Capitol can provide television sets for its citizens, but a widowed woman with four children must resort to illegal means to feed them.
It is wrong.
Gale catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye as he brings a bite of stew to his mouth. I am not good at reading him yet, but he seems to be asking me to come back to reality. With a shake of my head, as though the jolt will clear my vision of the injustice before me, a small smile comes to my lips and I take a large gulp from my cup of water. My eyes scan the collection of people around me, from Mrs. Hawthorne's-whose hands are stained and wrinkled from being soaked in wash water all day- to Rory, who never seems to come up for air, to Vick, who carefully watches his oldest brother and mimics his actions with precision, to Posy, who enjoys her dinner, completely oblivious to everything except what is right before her.
Gale sits on my left, his gaze shifting in my direction every few seconds as he eats. His gaze is calculating, interested, taking in every action as if he is waiting for an excuse to be offended.
"So, Madge, what do you do?" Mrs. Hawthorne asks, kindly beginning conversation to break the stream of noise from the flickering television.
I look up from the cracked and stained wooden table, confused by the question. It is astounding to me that she is so supportive. She works, she takes care of her family, and yet she lets me in, welcomes me, without a single thought. She is the support system here, the mother. Whereas in my home, I am the support system.
"Do?" I ask, my hands clenching my dented cup, letting the water slosh around.
The entire family now stares plainly at me. Mrs. Hawthorne tries to help me understand the odd question.
"Well, Gale traps, Katniss hunts-"
I imagine Gale's chagrin at the distinction, but refuse to turn and see it for myself. I understand his annoyance at her choice of words. Gale and Katniss, they do things that help their families, and I, privileged as I am, do nothing of the sort.
"What do you do, Madge?" she asks, her voice quiet and betraying none of the bitterness that emanates off of Gale.
Her warm smile and encouraging eyes take the edge out of the otherwise loaded question. Gale answers for me.
"She plays piano," Gale cuts in, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline and every word dripping with sarcastic praise.
Mrs. Hawthorne gives her eldest son a look, unamused that he is interrupting our conversation.
"I'm sure Madge can answer for herself," She snaps.
The children around us snicker. I laugh, but stifle it with my hand when Gale pins a glare on me.
"I do play piano," I say, smiling between Gale and his mother, "And I teach reading sometimes."
I smirk to myself before continuing.
"Lately, though, I've been taking care of this one," I say, nudging Gale.
I glance up at him and beam; he stares at me with a bemused look. All first steps in our 'relationship' are taken by him. This is new. Besides that, the move is flirtatious and forward; I almost regret it until I see the look on Mrs. Hawthorne's face. She seems pleased, almost proud. I vaguely wonder how many girls Gale has brought home to his family. Not many, I think, if she is reacting this way. Vick and Rory gag at each other.
"And taking care of me!" Posy says, smiling up at me and thankfully turning all of the attention off of Gale and I for the briefest of moments, giving me a chance to breathe.
She hops into my lap and looks across the table to her mother. Something shifts in Mrs. Hawthorne's eyes at that moment, as Gale edges ever closer to me in the already tight space and as Posy cuddles herself deeper into my chest. I don't know what Mrs. Hawthorne thinks, but in that moment, we must look like a family of our own. Her eyes are distant, contemplative, and even content, as though she might take the mental image and make it into a photograph that she can keep forever. After a moment, she snaps out of it to the sound of Rory and Vick using their cutlery as musical instruments.
"Finished, boys?" Mrs. Hawthorne finally asks, rising to her weary feet.
I join her, setting Posy down on the ground. My chair claws noisily against the worn wooden floor.
"Let me help-" I say, jumping at the chance of being useful.
"Oh, you don't—" she begins.
I cut her off with a wave, grabbing up Posy and Gale's plates in one swoop of my arms. I can feel Gale's approval. They gave me dinner, so I am paying them back by doing the dishes. I am sure that is how he sees it, and I will let him think it.
After all, there is a nasty rumor circulating that the Mayor's daughter does nothing and is infected with indolence and laziness like her mother. It's a useful rumor. People may hate me, but it keeps my mother safe. But tonight I stand in the hopes of proving to Gale's family that the whispers are untrue. I certainly don't want Mrs. Hawthorne believing it.
"I do the dishes at home. I don't mind," I say with a shrug as I walk into the tiny kitchen.
Then I hear a voice pipe up in an accusing whisper.
"But you said she has people who do that for her-"
I stiffen and my neck cranes around to see Gale shoot a pointed look at Vick, who is leaning in to whisper. When my eyes meet theirs, they look like wild animals caught in a snare. I am torn between outrage and shock that Gale would tell his brothers anything like that, but I quickly recover when I realize that we are still playing the part of the smitten boyfriend and girlfriend.
"Only on Sundays," I say, my voice just loud enough to be heard above the television, a small smile playing on my lips.
From their expression, it is obvious they cannot tell if I am serious or joking. Of course, I do jest, so I throw a teasing wink in Gale's direction and follow Mrs. Hawthorne into the kitchen. Feeling the adrenaline pump against my ears, color flash across my face, I watch as Gale returns the wink with a crooked half-smile.
Mrs. Hawthorne and I are barely able to stand side-by-side in front of the rusting sink, so I stand against a cabinet covered in chipping white paint when she hands me a rag to dry the dishes. I open my mouth to offer to do more, but she dismisses me before the words even come out. A small window sits above the sink and looks out into the Seam. As Mrs. Hawthorne's hands absent-mindedly wash the grease off of her dishes, it is there that her eyes travel.
"I hope our house isn't too much of a shock for you," she says, handing me the first dish.
I shake my head, surprised that she would even say a thing like that. It is much more typical of Gale. Well, I think to myself, he must have gotten it from someone. I realize that there must be something more, that she must be going somewhere with her words, but she seems guarded in this moment. I silently wait for her to continue.
"But I guess once you've seen it, it takes the surprise away, doesn't it?"
She shoots me a coy look out of the side of her eye before turning her gaze back to the window. Through the glass, we can see the front porch and the small patch of dirt before it. Just where Gale and I struck our deal the day before. She knows. She knows everything about Gale and I. The dilemma. The deal. The game we're playing.
"Oh, I-" I have no idea how to react or answer to what she is implying, so I flounder for words. My hands freeze on the plate I am drying as Mrs. Hawthorne raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for an answer. Mercifully, I am saved by Gale's voice coming from the adjoining room.
"Madge? Ma?" He asks, his voice ringing out in a way that I have never before heard. "Evening recap."
I lay the plate I am drying down on the counter, refusing to meet Mrs. Hawthorne's gaze. What does she think of me now? Is she trying to tell me to stop? Or is she trying to encourage me? The questions and doubts flit around my mind as I walk to where Gale is sitting. His eyes are trained on the flickering television screen, and my ears tune into Caesar Flickerman's voice. Gale sits on the couch, his siblings tucked in to various spots around the room. His mother follows close behind me before finding a seat on a threadbare sewing chair. As I settle next to Gale, leaning over the back of the couch, I notice that Caesar Flickerman and his co-anchor appear more delighted than usual –as if children killing each other was something to applaud and celebrate—waving an enthusiastic hand to a large picture of Peeta. He looks so pale and terrified but determined. I don't envy him.
"Now, it would seem that Peeta Mellark," I roll my eyes at how much fun Caesar has with pronouncing that name, "and Katniss Everdeen are not the only star crossed lovers from District Twelve tonight."
My heart stops when a picture of my hand clasped in Gale's at the viewing of the Bloodbath appears onscreen. In the photograph, I am looking up at him with all of the hope in the world. I feel Gale tense next to me, probably as disgusted by the invasion of privacy as I am. We could be a painting or the subject of a book; two teenagers in the prime of their youth, showing unity in the face of the slaughter. The world stops and my hand clenches Gale's shoulder tightly. This is what we want. Attention. But I do not expect it so soon and so...public. But something about it seems wrong. My father is seeing this same broadcast. Worse, my mother may be watching. Worse still, I realize, President Snow is watching.
Caesar's co-anchor drops in, "Now, who is that?" Using his pen to point at a prompter in front of him as though he is not already aware of who the photographed couple is.
Caesar smiles and doesn't even have the decency to pretend to look down at his notes as though unsure.
"The girl in the photograph is, reportedly, the Mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee, whose Aunt, we all remember was tragically struck down in the arms of Haymitch Abernathy in the 50th Hunger Games," everything after my name comes out as an off-handed comment rather than the tragic reality that is my life. My heart breaks at the mention of Aunt Maysilee. Caesar reports everything diplomatically, warmly. As if commenting on the weather. As if we are props instead of people.
"And the boy is- though this has not been confirmed- Katniss Everdeen's cousin, Gale Hawthorne. You remember the strapping young lad we saw in the family interview after the Reaping?" Caesar asks his co-host.
The other man nods and Caesar continues.
"It seems to me that Katniss' volunteering for her sister has brought some people together," Caesar says coyly.
"Well," he pauses for emphasis, smiling, "to Mr. Hawthorne and his Ms. Undersee, I send my warmest wish for happiness."
He changes the subject, turning to roll the pictures of today's eleven fallen tributes one last time. I breathe a sigh of relief as my picture disappears from view, though Gale's shoulders stay tense and rigid under my hand. I immediately pull it away, not wanting to incite any more ire in him than is already there. I fear for a moment that he will call the whole thing off now that we have been seen together and that I will go back to being ignored. We both stare straight ahead, looking through the television set as the death count hovers in the corner of the screen harmlessly.
As they begin the graphic recounts of today's brutal murders, Hazelle herds her other children into bed. They protest loudly, but she manages to brush them out of the room, stopping to give Gale a kiss on the top of his head. Then, she turns to me.
"Goodnight, Madge," she says with a smile.
And then she does something odd. She kisses the top of my head just as she did with her son. Like I belong here. Like I'm apart of this family. My ears tinge red. I can't remember the last time that my own mother showed me such affection.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hawthorne," I say, smiling at my hands.
When the doors to the two bedrooms in the back close, Gale looks away from me and back toward the television as the boy from One struggles with strangling a girl much weaker than him. I know how she feels.
"Well, we got what we want," Gale says, his voice limp and lifeless.
If we got what we wanted, why do I feel like we just made an awful mistake?
Well, there it is! Shoutout to my best BETA, Ooyeteri. She's fabulous. I tried to make this a long chapter because I am not sure when I will be able to update next. I live in the cone for Hurricane Isaac, so keep us in your thoughts!
So...what did you think? What is your favorite line? Favorite part? Character? Anything you want to see in the future? I would love to hear your thoughts! Please review! :)
