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Clean

Katniss' POV

The man was green. There was simply no other way to put it. Green and puking all over our kitchen table. Wince.

I jumped out of the way of the splattering chunks. Unfortunately, Prim wasn't as quick. Her blond curls were sticky and hanging in her face, her dress sporting questionable looking lumps. I swallowed hard and turned my attention to the unconscious man collapsed on our floor. I prodded him with the toe of my boot. No response.

Don't panic, I chanted to myself. I jogged over to the bed at the other end of the room to poke another collapsed figure. I could only see a web of my mother's greying golden hair peeking out from under the quilt. Was it just me, or was the rest of her figure under the blanket quivering? I wrote this off to post-vomit hallucinations, and shook her a little bit harder.

I got more of a reaction from the drunk guy who'd been dragged into our house minutes before.

At least I thought he was drunk. I kneeled down to examine him. All I could smell was the vomit. I wondered briefly if I should go chase down the guys who had pulled him through our door, then bolted when the first round of upchucking started. But Prim was still standing there covered in brown liquid and sobbing. I didn't know who to deal with first, the unconscious and potentially drunk man on the floor, my dirty crying sister or my depressed mother.

I stood up swiftly, accidentally knocking the man's head aside with my boot. Red spots. Blotches on his neck. Bulbous and diseased looking, they consumed the side of his throat, looking like little pins on the map big map on the board in geography class. Trembling, I grabbed hold of the table to steady myself. My hand recoiled when it found the sticky vomit that I'd forgotten about.

Staring down at my hand then back at the ugly red spots on the man, I felt the urge to go shrink under blankets with my mother. Which made absolutely no sense, seeing as she hadn't given me any comfort in months.

Buttercup was mewling at the door, wanting to be let out. I couldn't think of a better idea. I kicked the door open and took off down the street. I heard my sister crying out from the house as I left, and Buttercup hissing because I'd probably slammed the door on its tail. All I could to was to move my feet in the familiar rhythm, trying not to trip on the loose stones on the street.

I found myself at his front door. I forced it open with my clean hand and stumbled into the house.

I stared at the people inside, then raised my barf-covered fingers. "Help," I croaked.

I felt hands on my shoulders. Somebody put chair underneath my legs. Somebody firmly demanded answers from me. And a somebody with familiar grey eyes took my wrist and closed my fingers around the fabric he was holding.

I watched as Hazelle left, and shouted over her shoulder for Gale to watch me, to my puzzlement, and not the small children

"As much as that might look like a squirrel, that is not meant for killing." I looked down at the cloth in my hand that I'd been picking at. A few strands of torn thread were on my lap.

"Funny. But in case you haven't noticed, there's a very sick man in my house, my sister is all alone and my mother is not there."

"Not there?" Gale grabbed my wrist again, taking the cloth and wiping the vomit off for me since I'd not really grasped the purpose of the fabric.

"Not there." I said firmly, knowing he didn't really need an explanation. My mother had these spells of depression often, and he knew it. "I really need to go over there."

"No you don't." He pulled me off the chair by my arm and dragged me over to the sink.

"Yes I do!" I tried to yank my arm from his grip. No luck.

We were both silenced momentarily by the hiss of water escaping the tap. Gale pulled my fingers under the stream. He turned it around under the water with a clinical expression on his face. I calmed down a little bit while he continued to rinse my hand off then handed me a bar of soap.

"Hazelle can take care of it."

"And I can help her take care of it!" I lathered up my hand.

Gale raised his eyebrows at me. "I know you can. But you see, I really need help taking care of these three very wild and uncontrollable children." Posy was sleeping. Vick and Rory were playing cards and whispering in hushed tones. "And besides, if you weren't here, who in the world would help me with my chemistry homework?" Chemistry was his best subject.

I sighed and sank back down into the chair. "Fine."

…

My clean fingers found the clean doorknob. My clean boots were now the dirtiest things in my clean house. My puke-less, unconscious man-less, clean house.

I thanked Hazelle about a million times. I thanked Gale exactly once. I ignored my mother sitting quietly in the corner, listening to every word that passed between us with her eyes closed.

Gale and Hazelle walked across the clean room and reached towards the clean door.

"Wait."

My mother was now standing, looking pitifully frail. But that didn't quell the anger boiling in my chest.

"Wait." She repeated. "You… your hands need moisturizing." She took a few more steps and then grabbed Hazelle's cracked and blistered hand. "The washboard can to that to them. They must be awful in the winter."

"They're not so bad. A good pair of fleece gloves can fix that." Hazelle's eyes were probing my mother's, and Gale was looking very confused.

"No, they can't. I have a salve." My mother dropped Hazelle's hand and walked towards the medicine cabinet. She rifled through until she found a little blue glass bottle. Hazelle took it and Gale read the label over her shoulder.

"Calendula hand salve." Hazelle read to herself.

"With rosemary." My mother added. She cleared her throat. "Of course, I'd have to whip up a new batch. That one is months old."

"She can't possibly think that a bottle of calendula hand salve can solve everything." I stared at my mother and Hazelle, both of them chattering about business while Gale and I sat at the clean kitchen table.

Gale smirked. "You never know. Besides, this is calendula hand salve…" He picked up the bottle and pointed at the clean label. "…with rosemary. And you have to admit, this bottle is pretty sparkly." He held it up closer to the window where clean sunlight was pouring in.

He was right. Clean and shiny, it sparkled.

Thanks for reading. I hope you liked this one. If you're up to it, a little reviewage would be appreciated