Chapter 11 – The Crook Cuticle
Another day of working with Peeta has me smiling, feeling lighter than air. However there's something which holds me down from truly soaring through the clouds. It's this nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me something is terribly wrong.
I ignore it.
What could possibly be wrong? Well, besides from Cato's condition and Katniss's bitchiness…
I think about tonight's schedule, how I have to escort Cato to the surprise dinner in his honour, and how I don't really know many people that'll be there.
Maybe it's just anxiety grabbing at my legs?
I push open the door of the bakery and greet the cold outside with distaste. Peeta told me that'd he'd take up the baked goods and set up, of course I protested but he wouldn't have none of that. He basically ushered me out the door. Saying something about how I have to get dressed up. He obviously doesn't realise that it only takes me a couple of minutes to get dressed…
When I come up to the deviation in the path which leads to Victor's Village I do not even bother looking at it. Just the thought of it makes me ticked off. Instead I push on forward, off the path and into the snow.
I open the door to the house and find relief in the warmth I am greeted with instantly. It's nice coming back to a warm house. I make my way down the corridor and walk into the lounge room. Cato's body is slumped in the same chair I found him bleeding to death in the other day. My hands quiver at the sheer thought and my feet falter.
I hesitate, call me paranoid but I don't ever want to see it happen again.
"Cato," I call, my face lifts as soon as I see his body react and his head swivel. "Looks like you've had a productive day."
"Yeah you can count on it." He gets up and moves toward me. "Is it eight already?"
I shake my head. "No, I got off early, it's only five."
His face contorts into a twisted smile. "Well then, looks like we've got some spare time up our sleeves then doesn't it?" His arms enclose me, and his hands slide down my back.
"Didn't get them." I say as I push him away.
"Why not?" He pouts.
"I forgot, I'm sorry."
"If you keep that up I'm going to assume you don't want me to ever get laid again." He jokes.
"Have you ever thought that the reason might be that I don't want to do it?" I joke back.
"Please, never want to have this hunk of man? Yeah right. I know you can't resist my amazing looks and solid body." He flexes his biceps as if that proves anything.
"Sorry Cato, but I think I can do better." I laugh as I push away his arms.
"Psh, as if, you can't top perfection babe" I glare at the name. "What's wrong babe? Don't like the name babe, babe?"
"Oh of course not, pooky-kins." His facial transition is hilarious.
"Touché."
"Do you know what would be good? What if we got out and had a dinner on the town?"
"You do know that we're in District Twelve right?"
"Well it's no District Two but do you don't think I'm that pretentious, right?" Damn't. Now I was saying that horrid word.
"Of course not, but I don't think they even have restaurants here…"
"There's one not too far from the bakery, one of the customers really recommended it, said it was 'bliss for the tongue'." I lie.
"Fine if you insist then, maybe we can pick up some protection on the way through." I almost roll my eyes at his unhidden desire for sex. "Let's go then." He says as he walks toward the door.
"Hold on big guy. You can't wear that." I say as I motion towards his tattered tracksuit pants and stained white jacket.
"Since when are you so fussy with clothes?"
"We have to look good. Don't you remember how you dressed when you first came to my house the day of that dance we didn't go to? That's what you need to wear." He raises his eyebrow in questioning. "This time I'll get to dress as well." He slumps his shoulders as he gives in. I follow him to our bedroom with a satisfied smirk.
I go to grab my suitcase from under the bed only to find it empty.
"I had a bit of spare time today so I unpacked it for you, they're in the dresser on your side of the bed." I smile at the gesture and ope.n the draws grabbing out a pair of jeans and my best jacket.
"Clove, I think you should wear this." I turn around to face him. His hands wrapped around an all too familiar black dress.
"I completely forgot about that dress." I say, more to myself than Cato. "I don't know Cato, it might not even fit me anymore."
"Well, I doubt that. You're not exactly packing the weight." He chucks me the dress. "And besides, I've never seen you wear it before. In fact, I've never seen you wear any dress before."
"We should probably keep it that way." I say, lost in thought of the shopping experience with Cato's mum. That was the only time I had ever worn it.
"Hey, you picked what I have to wear. I can always still go like this."
I scowl. "That's blackmail."
"I see you're familiar with the trade. Now get changed."
I sigh. "Fine. But I'm getting changed in the bathroom."
My reflection stares back at me, foreign and unknown. It's almost like I have travelled back in time to that day when I had first worn it. Only now I look so much older, so much wiser. Past times of fear, worry and depression have seen me age beyond my years of youth. But, if I look past the impact stress has had on my facial features I can see the radiance which lies beneath, laced by a sanguine outlook.
I admire myself for what has to be the second time in all my life.
The elegant and seductive dress played well with my skin and hair colour. My eyes look up to my hair. It was sitting up in a neat bundle, as it always was. I remember Cato asking me numerous times to let it down for him, but I never did. It was almost what identified me. Perhaps it was because through all the grief I had gone through, I wanted something to stay constant, something not to change, of course that doesn't really make much sense, but it had always seen to comfort me.
I could feel my hands playing with my hair unconsciously, slowly releasing it from the bundle it was in. I'm not even sure why I was doing it. Curiosity it seems has bested me. I watch, as if only a spectator, with no influence over my actions, my hair falls. It's like a complete transformation. It's almost as if it is a completely different side of me I have kept hidden from the world.
I look beautiful. But it's not about beauty. It's about the change it represents. I can leave it down and embrace every change that calls to me, or I can put it back up and try not to lose myself in the waters of alteration. But aren't I already too far under to try and resurface now? I am so different from that dejected girl who was estranged from her only living parent. I am independent, I am taking every opportunity I can grasp; I am already pulled under the water. But I am not drowning; no I'm merely just adapting to fit better conditions.
I gaze at the reflected image of my sin-black hair. It falls just above my mid-back. I'm almost a modern day Rapunzel.
I slip on the shoes to match, and I step out to see Cato adjusting his mauve tie. If you look at him closely you can see that the suit is a little small for him, but it's not blatantly noticeable. He looks just as handsome as that day when he came to my house dressed in it.
As his eyes scan me, they widen.
"You look amazing Clove." I take a few steps toward him, so I am standing right next to him.
"And you? Well you look dashing." I smile, my hands opening his hair styling gel on the dresser by the side of me. I dab my fingers in the substance. "All that you need, is a little bit of hair style, and you will just be perfect." I say as my fingers sweep through the very front of hair, styling it up. "Done." I wipe my hands, never leaving eye contact. "Now, what do you say about getting some dinner?"
The walk there is cold yet embracing. It is filled with idle chatter and small but genuine smiles.
We stand at the door. "Clove, isn't this the assembly hall?"
"Don't be ridiculous." I lie. "I know where I am."
I knock at the door, just to allow people to know that we have arrived.
The door opens from the inside and we are greeted to cheering. It's quite intriguing to watch someone's relatively calm face disappear into a beyond confused expression in half of a second.
"What?" Cato asks.
The room is well lit; tables line it in a U-shape, with the Mayor sitting central, and his daughter to the left of him. He stands up.
"Welcome Mr. Douglas and Miss Mason. In celebration of your acceptation to join us here in District Twelve, this feast is in your honour. I would very much so like it if you would both join me at head." I follow Cato up to the head of the table where he sits next to the mayor, and I next to him.
It is only then after I have sat down do I notice who I am also sitting next to. The queen bitch herself.
"Hello Katniss." I say succeeding at a fallacious smile.
"Well, I can see you've found your wardrobe, so tell me, how exactly did they get all twelve tons over here?"
I clench my jaw.
"First course I present to you is the entrée, created by myself and Miss Mason." I turn to face Peeta who is carting a metal trolley containing numerous saucers containing four small spring rolls each. I go to get up to help, but am quickly dismissed. "Madam it is fine, just sit down and enjoy your-" His words trail off and his mouth falls slightly agape. "Clove?" I don't know why but I suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. I sit back down feeling useless and awkward, as Peeta reaches over my shoulder and puts down my meal, only after the mayor, his daughter and Cato.
We wait until everyone is served before we eat. I had only made a few spring rolls with Peeta, he was much faster than I was. As I chew, the flavours mingle to create a succulent and delectable taste. I've had spring rolls before, but this is bliss in comparison to them.
I am only vaguely aware of my name being called. "Clove?" I look up to face Cato, his eyes penetrating mine. "The mayor is talking to you." My eyes flit past Cato to the Mayor.
"I'm sorry, I was just lost in the array of flavour."
"That's quite understandable; you and Mr. Mellark did a commendable job on them. Anyway, tell me how you both are finding my modest District?"
Cato speaks first. But it's not like I was in any rush. "It's lovely, the winter mountains are beautiful here, and it seems like people are friendly, you know, besides who I was stabbed by." He half-jokes, but the mayor reacts apologetically.
"I am so sorry about that, we usually do not have so much trouble in that way. You don't have to worry though, that person is being punished as we speak." He mumbles. "Miss Mason, I've heard you're fitting in quite nicely, you've only been here for the shortest of time and you already have a job at the bakery. How is that going?" His face seems genuinely curious.
"It's great. It feels good to finally do something with my day." I admit. My head swivels and I notice an empty seat next to Katniss.
The mayor, as if following my eyes tells me, "It's for our only other Victor." My mind wanders, trying to think about who else has won from District Twelve. Back when I was in training school we were made to learn every victor and watch every game as to learn from their strategy. I remember a man named Magnus Riora who had won the 13th Hunger Games, but he was now deceased. Finally it comes to me: Haymitch Abernathy. He had won the last quarter quell where there had been double the competitors. Other than that I don't know much. We were never allowed to watch that game. I remember Haymitch from last year's reaping. He had literally fallen of the stage. Drunk off his head. Well that's probably where he is now.
For most of the night I try to avoid even looking in Katniss' direction, but by the last course, the dreaded soufflés, I tell myself I'm just demeaning myself to her levels. And besides, the best way to get back at someone is with kindness.
"Oh by the way Katniss, you do look lovely." She raises on eyebrow as if this is a trap.
"Are you trying to be funny?" She says, anger on her face. "Well I'm sorry I didn't lower myself to such degrading levels as to wear a dress unlike you," That's when I realise she is only wearing a pair of jeans and a jacket. "and do you know why I didn't go all out? Well, if you're so curious, I didn't think this was an event worth celebration. But I couldn't just stay home could I? No. I JUST had to go. I JUST had to come and welcome the tourists."
I give up. Screw kindness.
"Oh for crying out loud, I'm so sick of your bipolar mood swings and bitchiness! Would it kill you to be nice for one dinner?!" I say, only to realise my speech has grown into yelling. Oh what the hell, in a penny in a pound.
She glares with eyes like knives, but I am not easily intimidated.
"Why should I be nice? You tell me why. I don't even want to be here! Why the hell are we having a feast to celebrate Mr Peacekeeper here and his pleasure toy when people out here are starving?! When people out here are dying from starvation! Why?!" Her voice raises matching mine.
"You expect me to believe that you grew a sense of ethics, after the way you have been discriminating against me just because I come from a different place? Yeah right. If you don't like it, leave. No one is stopping you." Katniss storms out, feet thudding dramatically against the wooden floorboards. I turn to face everyone staring at me in shock of the scene which had just played out before them all.
For the rest of the night no one says anything about the fiasco, or not to me. In fact, not much is said at all, just little bits of chatter here and there. I think I terrified them.
The next few courses fly by, I don't take too much notice. I'm just looking forward to the end of the night. I can feel people's eyes on me, only to move them once I look at them. It's like I just destroyed my whole reputation in one sitting. Aren't I good?
Eventually it finishes and I tell Cato that I'm going to help Peeta clean up. He doesn't argue, he just disappears into the amalgamation of people exiting. I wonder if he's angry with me? From now on he will probably be known as 'that guy who's dating that crazy chick'.
I start stacking plates around the room, as Peeta does on the other side of the room. Once we have all dishes on the trolley we take them into the kitchen out the back of the room. Straight away I feel his eyes on me.
"I know. I know." I say. "I shouldn't have done it."
"Well, it's not like it was only your fault." I turn to him, taking in his attire. He is wearing a collared white long sleeved shirt, with black full length trousers. "I bet you got a few glances, eh?"
I smile. "Like you would not believe."
He fills the sink with bubbly water. "It'll blow over, trust me."
"I hope so because the truth is, as sad as it is, I actually care what people think of me."
"I know." He states, his hands scrubbing plate number one with force. "Well, you'll get them on your side sooner or later, even if you have to win them one by one."
I let out a short-lived laugh. "I don't know about that. Who says I can win anyone over?"
"Well you won me over." I look at him and he stares at me, before looking away. "How hard can a few twenty year olds be?"
I nod my head, too lost in thought to be able to hold a conversation. But perhaps Peeta is right; perhaps I can just win them over? I just need to know how.
The dirty dishes slowly dwindle until there is none, only a sparkly pile of dishes, which I dried.
"It's getting late Clove, why don't you head off, all I need to do is take the dishes to the bakery."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's all good."
"Thanks." I go to walk out, when I hear Peeta say something.
"Oh and Clove?" I turn back to him. "You look beautiful." I walk out feeling strange. He thinks I look beautiful? I'm not sure why but the idea sounds foreign. Well, maybe he didn't say that. Maybe I misheard him. Maybe he didn't call me beautiful. Maybe he just called me a crook cuticle. Yes that must be it. Most definitely.
(OOC: Sorry guys, I know it shouldn't have taken this long to update, but now I am going to write more. Since I am still writing 'Hardships of Teenage love' I will be alternating each week between writing a chapter for this and that.
Guest- None of the poker players were Gale, I haven't even mentioned Gale in this fanfic as of yet. I will get there though ;)
Guest - Aww thanks so much! I'm so glad, and so sad that your addiction isn't getting fed as often as it should be. Please forgive me !
