Wow, I'm just floored by the response to the last chapter. Thank you guys so much!
Katniss
"Here's how you deal with that bitch—" Jo begins, but then Tigris whacks her before she can give me advice.
"You don't know that she's a bitch," Tigris argues.
"Didn't you hear what Katniss said? The girl booked a flight before even talking to Peeta about it. She's a self-indulgent, invasive rich American bitch."
We're lying on our backs in a circle, on our turf at the beach, with our heads close together as we gaze up at the starry sky. When Jo had caught onto my crankiness and asked what the hell was bothering me, I gave in and wrote them everything, from the moment I kissed Peeta to this morning when Madge called. Which was followed by a long silence, then Tigris's romantic sigh and Jo's wrath against a girl she doesn't even know.
I hadn't wanted to tell anyone. I wanted to keep my time with Peeta tucked close to my chest, but I needed someone to talk to about Madge. I'd needed to recruit my friends, though I disagree with Jo. Most likely, Madge merely assumed that Peeta would be euphoric about her visit. Maybe he is. He's seemed adrift ever since.
She's not a bitch. Peeta wouldn't choose such a girl. He wouldn't wear her initial.
Writing that to Jo is pointless. I don't understand why she approves of my kinship with Peeta when she used to glower at him. But I do want to find out how to keep myself from breaking when I see the lovers reunited. And that means enduring the rest of her rant.
"Peeta wasn't supposed to get visitors, but here she comes," Jo prattles on, waving her hand. "And I don't care that nothing happens between you guys at night. You want more, and I'm betting he does too. You might not think so, but the moonstruck way he talked about you at the street fest proves it. That's why Madge is gonna hate you. She might seem sweet and perfect, but when she sees the island goddess that her boyfriend's been sleeping within fucking distance of, she's gonna peel off her face and reveal the true competition. And it's gonna have fangs that suck blood by the pint."
"I hate your portrayal of our species," Tigris says.
It's not a competition, I insist. Peeta rejected me.
"On the outside, he did," Jo says. "On the inside, he's been swept away by you for months. So here's what you do: Be yourself. Be nice to the blond demoness with the fangs and the bat wings. And be sincere about it. Channel Prim's kindness and mix it with your spice, and you'll be irresistible."
"Smile more often," Tigris chimes in. "Ask Madge questions about herself."
"But be the fierce Katniss that you've always been," Jo adds. "Don't become a tame, withering victim. Don't let her weaken you. Don't let anyone weaken you. "
The last thing I intend is for Princess Madge to weaken me. What's scary is not knowing whether I'll be able to tolerate the sight of them as a couple. Her alone, I can take. Her permanently affixed to Peeta's side, and her mouth sucking on his, is another story.
Still, Jo's right. Shrinking isn't me. I won't let it happen no matter how I feel about Peeta, or how he doesn't feel about me.
In bed that night, I squirm against him. Truthfully, I hadn't expected him to join me now that Madge has slipped through the cracks and become a reality between us.
"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, as if it's a mystery.
Already my resolve to be strong is plummeting. I snatch my notebook. Where will you sleep when she's here?
Peeta hedges, staring at my hand on his stomach. In the dark, his cheeks look hollow, but his nose is still adorable. He agonizes over how to respond, but there's no need. The unspoken answer churns my gut. I'll have to watch them embrace. I'll have to watch him put his arms around her. I'll have to watch them kiss. And I will definitely have to spend my evenings by myself, my heart spasming while he spends his in her hotel room. They lost their virginity to one another, after all. Why wouldn't they fuck after five months apart?
I'll have to watch him come home in the mornings. I'll have to watch him be happy...well, that part is nice.
Are you excited? I ask.
"It hasn't hit me yet," he says with a neutral smile.
That's him, sparing me from the harsher answer. Irritation courses through me at the idea that I'm being pitied and protected. Katniss Everdeen is made of more durable material than that. I toss away my notebook, sick of using it when he can read my expressions better than anyone. I pinch his side.
"Ouch!" he squeaks.
Do not lie to me to make me feel better.
"I'd never lie to you," he says, his eyes flitting between me and my sleeping mother.
I deflate. No, he wouldn't. I'm overreacting.
Peeta takes my wrists gingerly. The gesture strikes me. He has often reached for that part of me but then held himself back.
"When I met you, you wore handcuffs that chaffed your skin, all red and raw," he says. "I thought to myself, that it was the only place where you weren't strong. I wanted to touch you here." He strokes my wrists with his thumbs. "To make you feel better, or maybe to explore what a wound felt like on you, or both, I don't know. I guess I hoped that I could comfort you somehow and sort of confirm that you were more vulnerable than you seemed.
"But it was a mistake to think that I could fix you. Your wrists healed on their own. I know you're tough, Katniss. I mean, you're not inhuman. We all need someone to help us. But I know you can survive the truth, and I'll always give it to you."
I do not want things to change.
I don't want to stop talking like this. I want us to know one another, to confess things and make jokes. I want him to babble more about words and art and this storytelling called fanfiction that he misses so much. I want to tell him more about swimming and the great big sea. I want to explain why I wish I could find the courage to sing again. I want us to be ourselves.
I don't want Madge to take that from me. To take him from me.
Peeta sees what I'm thinking. "Nothing will change," he promises. "I'll be busy with her, but I won't be far."
He cares about me. If he didn't, he wouldn't be here holding me every night, trusting me with his private, random, and wandering thoughts. He confessed that he likes me more than he should, but it's not enough, because cannot predict what will happen. There's only so much any of us can control. He's a faithful boy. A good, honorable boy like his papa. He'll show Madge whatever affection she needs, and that will be his priority.
I am not a fool, though suddenly I feel foolish. What am I doing? Finnick and I aren't in love, and my mind is elsewhere when he's on top of me, which is seldom now. But I assured him that our relationship is still intact. Yet I've tried to kiss Peeta, and I would do it again, if it were invited. I've flung myself at him. And I'm lying to Finnick about him.
Perhaps Madge coming here will be a blessing and a reminder of how things are supposed to be.
She's arriving during the spring holiday from school. Over the coming weeks, plans are made through phone calls and Peeta's trips to the north shore to email her. He talks to Haymitch about everything, rather than to me. I assume it's because he believes that I don't want to hear about it. He's right. Our communication is already yielding to more "important" tasks.
Only once am I in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens when Haymitch offers to take a room at the hotel since it's near his job, suggesting that Madge can share the bunk bed with Peeta. Before I can mentally put an arrow between my uncle's eyes, Mama grows nervous, claiming a fit of anxiety over Haymitch being gone and leaving her with three teens to answer for. Mama needs routine, so I could have predicted this reaction, though it still appears staged to me. Maybe she'd noticed the murderous look on my face, or the stricken one on Peeta's.
Either way, it put the option to rest. Peeta insisted that it was better for Madge to stay in the hotel instead. Relived, Mama's zone out after that, but I continued to stew.
During the hours when he prepares for his girlfriend's visit, I spend time with Finnick, Jo, and Tigris on the beach. I sharpen what I've learned in Survival in the woods. Cinna is pleased when he learns how seriously I take his lessons, though I'm unsure whether they will ever be put to use.
When I write this to Cinna after class, he laughs kindly. "That's the point," he says. "That's what we should hope for."
Thinking of what happened to Primrose, I hope so too.
February becomes March. March becomes Spring. On a Friday evening, turbulence fails to take Madge's plane down, and she lands on Panem Island safely. Peeta picks her up at the airport by himself. He leaves the cottage with flowers, a pale tint to his skin, and a quick glance at me. Last night was the last one we'll spend together for a week, and most of the hours were wasted by him fussing with the blankets and being eerily quiet.
I set the table for dinner, determined to stay focused. When I hear the cab pull up in front of our home, I look around our humble living room, instantly prideful and defensive.
"Is that her?" Mama asks, coming out from the kitchen. Together, we peek through the curtain, watching as Peeta gets out of the cab first, followed by a pair of feminine legs and pink sandals.
Pink. An impractical color for shoes, which can only be worn by someone who doesn't have to worry about owning only one or two pairs.
Madge appears beside Peeta, outfitted in a short, black dress. She's carrying a bag that has so many zippers and clasps that it could rightly serve as a medieval torture device. But she looks like she was made for him, with glossy blond hair that bounces as she walks and irises like melted gems. She's blessed with healthy skin. Her breasts are significant. I'm certain they've found their way into Peeta's palms many times in the past.
She smells the flowers Peeta picked for her and leans into him. He responds with a close-mouthed smile and obediently slides his arm around her shoulders, which makes her beam. Like a rainbow, she's perfectly shaped, massively pretty, and impossible to outshine.
"She certainly looks fancy," Mama observes.
Yes, I think.
"Pink shoes."
Yes.
"Flamingo pink."
We chuckle, her nervously, me silently. The laughter fades as fast as it came. Her presence of mind is a magical moment that I can't fully appreciate right then, which sets me to a high flame. This is what seeing Peeta with another feels like. I'm an inferno.
Mama's hand comes to rest on my back, where she rubs me gingerly. An ache spreads over my skin. I can't remember when she last did something like this. Somehow she knows what this visit means to me. I grip the curtain, stopping myself from twisting into her arms.
A well-bred American girl is about to dance into our cottage. A girl who can afford to travel to another country to visit her boyfriend for only seven days. She's going to see our furniture, eat our food, and take up residence beside him for dinner. We had to borrow an extra chair from Greasy Sae just to fit five at the table.
I dash into my room and stare at myself in the mirror, the abrasive gray eyes and hair hanging down my chest. The faded orange dress that's too loose and frayed along the neckline. Issuing a frustrated grunt, I rip off the dress and tear through my drawers until I decide on something daring, something private between Peeta and me. Something that will feel like armor.
The front door opens. I hear Peeta introducing Madge to my family. Her voice is made of porcelain and sounds cheerful. I take a deep, all-consuming breath, smooth out my clothes, and strut into the living room.
"Ah there you are, Wild Child," Haymitch says. "Grand entrance as usual."
I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at Peeta, who turns and meets my eyes. "And this is Katn..." His blue eyes widen. They flit up and down my frame, recognizing my outfit. I'm wearing my favorite long green skirt.
And his white shirt. The one I stole from him.
I had smelled the newness of it that day, so I am confident that Madge isn't familiar with it. I've tied it at the waist and rolled up the sleeves. Peeta is dumbstruck, gazing at me like I'm the moon and the stars, with a magnetic light in his eyes.
Madge is unaware. She pivots, a greeting ready on her lips. Her smile flattens when she gets a prominent look at me. My feet are bare, and I'm probably the exact image of a plain and poor village girl. The inadequacy that I work to hide gets worse when I see the glint of a silver P hanging from her neck. I may be wearing his shirt, but she's wearing his name.
My chin gets a bit heavier to hold up, but I manage. I will always manage.
Madge recovers her grin as she shakes my hand. "Katniss. Peety told me so much about you."
I raise an eyebrow at this. What does she consider "so much" when I'm a complete stranger?
Madge isn't surprised by my silence. That gives me one indication. He must have warned her in advance that I don't speak.
"Peeta doesn't have a sister at home, so this is a cool change for him," she adds.
Peeta flinches. What does he think I'll do? Plow her with a pillow for saying that? No. I'd only do that to him. I give him a look that says so.
Madge means what she said in earnest. I can tell. But I can also tell that she wants it to be true. I don't respond with any gestures since it wasn't a question. I meet her stare with a cryptic one of my own, the kind I would have given Peeta when I met him. By the way her smile remains stapled in place, displaying manners rather than sincerity, I doubt she's used to people treating her this directly.
"Madge is a cheerleader," Peeta blurts out. "Varsity. She likes big groups that make lots of noise. And she has two sisters, so she has a soft spot for people with no girls in the family. Except for mothers," he concedes. "Not that mothers aren't enough, but other girls to mix things up. Besides her, I mean. But she has two brothers also, so yeah, that mixes things up a lot."
Madge, my family, and I stare at him.
"Madge doesn't go for spicy food, Violet," Peeta continues. "Sorry, I forgot to mention that before you cooked. She and I have that in common. And other things too. We're both overachievers, and we're both into etymology, and we both like...bread...not all bread," he corrects. "Madge isn't crazy about pumpernickel. We're not eating pumpernickel tonight, so...but so long as we have other choices besides peppers and—"
Madge and I both touch Peeta's arm to stop him. She glances at me, and I pull back, acknowledging her territory. I don't want to surrender, but I don't want to make things awkward for Peeta either. I suppose wearing his shirt hasn't helped.
Haymitch claps his hands. "Can we eat? I can't stand seeing young people be cordial. It confuses me and disturbs the natural order of things. You hungry, American girl?"
Madge's laugh is polite. "Absolutely. Peety says the food here is amazing."
Hearing that nickname again, Haymitch's brows spike. Peety, he and I privately mouth to each other in amusement, behind the lovers' backs.
We all sit around the table, which brims with the scent of burnt rice—Mama must have been anxious about this visit while she was cooking. The charred smell battles with Madge's perfume as she cradles herself against Peeta and does girlfriend things like play with his shirt collar. Peeta glances at me regularly, a tidepool of emotions collecting on his face. Guilt, discomfort, longing, concern.
Madge whispers something about his new haircut that makes him blush. I stab my pepper and relish the aggressive spark of heat on my tongue. I'm tempted to serve Mama, but she's clearheaded enough tonight to do it herself. She's the one casting me questioning looks.
Madge chews and pretends to enjoy the blackened rice. Peeta finally gets over his nerves and leads the conversation, helping her out whenever her District Twelve phrases confuse us. She talks about her family and school and compliments Panem's beauty. She's perky and eloquent. And she refuses to stop touching him.
I learn how it feels to be an outsider when she speaks exclusively to him about a school dance called Prom. I've heard of it, but I don't know the details.
"Glimmer asked Marvel," she says.
"No way!" Peeta chuckles. "Glimmer actually did the asking?"
"It was classic. She got him roses."
"That's so not her."
"I know, right? I guess you and I'll have to wait until next year," she flirts.
My head shifts back and forth between them. I cannot relate to prom. I have no relation to Glimmer and Marvel. For the last six months, Peeta belonged to this island. I now see his history somewhere else, with someone else. They grin at each other. They took a while returning from the airport, most likely spending some appropriate time alone first. They have so much to talk about, but my family is here. We're interlopers.
"So what made you come visit our boy?" Haymitch asks.
Peeta opens his mouth in a hurry like he wants to seize the answer and disguise it, but Madge cuts him off. "Oh." She fiddles with her fork. "It's our one-year anniversary."
My own fork clatters onto my plate. Madge and Peeta startle. Haymitch is too busy cramming his mouth with black beans to notice.
Mama takes the focus off my blunder by saying, "That's very sweet."
"I thought it would be the perfect time, especially since Peety also has Spring Break," Madge shares. "Mommy and Daddy adore him, so they gave me permission to come here, as a gift. Peety's super sentimental. We got together during his favorite season. He loves spring."
Peeta gives me an apologetic look, but my chest still contracts. I didn't know this little fact about him, because knowing everything would take longer than half a year. I feign preoccupation with my meal, behaving like I drop forks all the time and acting like every sentiment Madge reveals is unimportant. In short, I do a horrible job of being nice like Jo told me to be. Fierce, yes. Nice, no.
Peeta begins to notice my prickly attitude, willing me to either acknowledge him or at least be civil to Madge. But I can't. Never mind sparing him the awkwardness and making things easy on him. Instead, I brush off each of her attempts to get to know me.
"Peeta says you like to dance," Madge prompts.
I merely shrug. I don't like that he's been talking to her about me.
She waits for more. "Do-do you go to clubs or something?"
I scoff openly. Clubs? There's no such thing here.
Haymitch and Mama harpoon me with warning looks. Madge withdraws into Peeta, propelling him to drape his arm around her and pin me with a glare. I act like I don't notice, but he knows me better than that. While Mama engages Madge in conversation, I finally lock gazes with him, and we launch into a silent argument.
Why are you doing this? his eyes demand. I know this isn't easy. And I'm sorry. But is it that hard to be nice to my girlfriend?
What do you want me to do? Pinch her cheeks? I snap back.
You could start by actually responding to her.
Humpf. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have my notebook. I cannot write to her.
That's an excuse. Use your hands. Nod. Smile. Can't you do that for me?
I don't owe you anything. I'll behave however I wish. This is my house, not yours! You're just a guest like her!
Peeta falls back into his chair, hurt burrowing into his features. I don't know what possessed me to say that. I don't know how we understand each other without actual words, but we do. Our connection is so dear to me, yet I've severed it. I've crossed a line.
I want to take my outburst back, to reassure him that of course this is his home, but it's too late. His irises darken just before he swings his head away from me. For his part, he indulges Madge and spares me hardly a glance from then on. Nothing's going to change? Since we sat down, we've abandoned all pretense of being friends.
After supper, Madge offers to help clean up, but Mama waves her off while Haymitch relaxes before work.
"It's been a long flight," Madge hints. "Maybe we can stop by the beach on the way to the hotel?"
The beach. The hotel. Peeta's ears turn as pink as her shoes.
I look away as they lace their fingers together and say goodnight to my family. I barely acknowledge Madge's wave—"And I love your shirt," she compliments me—before the door closes behind them. They're going to the beach. My beach. Our beach.
I wash the dishes with Mama, who briefly touches my shoulder. While the water scalds my hands, visions of Peeta and Madge flash in my head. The two of them holding each other on the sand, kissing passionately, then naked together in her hotel room, him picking her up as she giggles, draping her on the bed, her hands on his body, their legs entwined. Peeta making love to her, like he's done before.
Once the plates are dry, I make my escape. I can't hide in the closet with my mother and Haymitch awake, so I climb into bed. I cradle the picture Peeta took of me to my chest, because it's the only image that doesn't hurt right now.
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