So, since it's been so long, here is a recap from last chapter:
Gale learns Madge takes his shift in the mines, lots of feels between these two — While stuck on bedrest, KP spend some "normal" time together. They work on their silent communication, as well as read entries from Lucy Gray's diary — Katniss tricks Madge-sends her to Peeta's house, where she finally gives her the piano she bought in the Capitol — We witness the after effects of Proctor's "love", but to Effie, it's worth it, because she now has vital intel, in addition to access to places — Peeta and Prim scheme — Poppy pulls Madge aside — KP act their age and build a snowman before they finally have their long awaited toasting :)
Authors Note: Hello my lovelies! I must apologize profusely for the long delay. I've had some health issues, some personal drama, and a serious case of writers block! But I think all that's in the past and you should be receiving more regular updates from me. So...I just want to thank all of you guys who have stuck by me this far...you guys mean the world to me.
Also, this chapter would still be in "limbo" if not for my awesome beta, AvonleaBrigadoon. She has put in so much work reading, re-reading, checking for typos, grammatical mistakes, and consistency.
I'll stop my rambling now and let you read...
Disclaimer: I do not own THG. (There is dialogue in this chapter taken directly from the books.)
This chapter contains descriptive intimate moments between K & P, so please be a responsible reader!
Another Way Out
Chapter 12 –Too Little, Too Late
[ Peeta ]
As I sit idly on the bed, I can't seem to calm my racing heart while anxiously waiting for my wife to make her appearance.
My wife. MY WIFE. I still can't believe that Katniss is my wife. I mean…I've dreamt of this moment for so many years, and for all those years that's all I thought it would ever be; a dream. But she's really mine. I'm so happy-goofy, head over heels in love with this woman that I can't seem to keep my mouth from stretching into the widest, cheesiest grin imaginable.
The sound of the fumbling door alerts me to Katniss, so I reach over and grab the nearest pillow to cover my face. "I think I might need you to pinch me," I mumble from behind the pillow, feeling ashamed—embarrassed even, that I can't get my facial muscles under control.
"It's real Peeta," Katniss says softly as she lowers my hands, and the pillow from my face.
When I look up to meet her eyes, my ear-splitting smile slowly transforms into what I'm sure is an expression of pure bewilderment, laced with an abundance of desire—my dropped jaw being its proof.
"I assure you this is real Peeta. We are real. And…I—I love you," she says almost bashfully.
Katniss leans forward, pressing her lips to mine; hard and deep before standing up and taking a step back.
"So, what do you think? Does it make me look cute?" In a split-second our sweet, heartfelt moment has vanished; in its place stands a sweet, shy and nervous Katniss. She pinches the corners of her nightgown and rises on her tiptoes, turning in a complete circle. I never take my eyes off her, appreciating the full view of the alluring, sexy lingerie she has chosen to model tonight. When she finally stops, her eyes meet mine with a sparkle—and there's something else there too, but I can't seem to put a name to it.
Katniss releases the grip on her nightgown, chewing nervously, almost insecurely on her index finger as she eyes me with those wide, almond shaped gray eyes of hers. At the last minute tonight, she decided to surprise me by modeling one of the many "outfits" from the chest of clothes that Cinna sent her. How it found its way into my closet is beyond me, but hey, I'm not complaining.
My voice doesn't seem to be working, so I do the only thing I seem capable of doing and nod. Katniss interprets this gesture as an invitation and slowly inches her way to the bed. I can't get over how unbelievably elegant and regal the ivory colored, lace trimmed nightgown makes her. I almost feel bad that she won't be in it for much longer. Almost.
"Well? Am I cute?" Katniss repeats with a sly, half grin on her face. She knows good and well that I believe her to be the most beautiful creature to have ever walked this planet, yet she's still adamant on me voicing my approval.
"Urhm," I clear my throat uneasily. "Well, um…cute isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind," I answer, scratching the crown of my head. My eyes are glued on my wife, refusing to budge when instantly, I feel myself growing more excited with each minute that passes. Katniss pouts, then licks her lips and I wonder if she knows what she's doing, if she knows the effect she has on me, even as we speak.
"And what exactly…would be the correct word?" Holy balls, she's teasing me and it's so damn sexy. God, this woman is going to be the death of me, I think silently, shielding my thoughts from her.
I still can't get over how much Katniss's confidence has amplified in the span of a week. Each night she's braver, bolder, as if she's testing the waters of our intimacy—but once again, I'm not complaining.
"Oh…a few are coming to mind at the moment, but 'cute' definitely isn't one of them." I affirm, wondering if she knows I'm stalling; that she's once again rendered me completely speechless.
"Tell me," she insists, crawling across the bed, making her way into my lap. Oh God. Why is it so difficult to think, to speak, to translate my thoughts into words when she's looking at me like that?
"Mmm, seductress, for one," I finally blurt out, pulling her into my lap. She takes a moment to get situated, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of my hips. And then it's as if that one word jump starts the neurons firing in my brain. Because then I'm adding, "You are the most sexy, beautiful, radiant, and stunning seductress to exist. But most of all you're mine. All mine."
"Yours, huh?" She teasingly whispers into my ear, which sends a shiver up my spine. For a moment, I contemplate telling her how much I like this light hearted, flirty side of her, but then she distracts me once again.
"Mmm hmm," I say, reaching my arms around her and palming her ass in my hands.
"So, does that mean—" Katniss groans, then grinds into me before running her tongue along my neck. "I have ownership over you? It's only fair, right?"
"Uh-huh," I look into her eyes and nod. That's when she reaches down and pinches the corners of her nightgown, seamlessly slipping it over her head, then blindly tosses it over her shoulder. Completely bare, she scoots backwards, inching her way out of my lap. Now it's my turn to pout because I don't want her going anywhere. But then…she stops, parking herself comfortably between my thighs.
I am speechless as she gently, yet skillfully removes the prosthesis from my leg, then slowly tugs my pajama bottoms down, down, until they're completely off, then slings them over her head, where they most likely join her nightgown.
"K-Katniss, w-what—"
"Shh," she says with darkened eyes, a finger pressed to her lips. Before I know it, she's trailing hot, wet kisses up and down the length of my legs, digging her palms into my calves as she reaches the sensitive areas along my inner thighs. I freeze in place, shocked when her soft, gentle kisses begin making their way over the raised, scarred section of my mutilated leg. I can't help but feel mesmerized as I watch her with a combination of bewilderment and awe, but also wary, searching for even the slightest trace of disgust or repugnance on her face. I see none, but that doesn't halt my incredulity when, with one hand, she grabs hold of my manhood, then dips her head down, disappearing under the sheets. Electric waves surge through my body as I watch myself disappear inside her mouth—
I am instantly jolted from my dream—no, it wasn't a dream, but a vivid recollection—a mental replay from the other night. But then…why does it feel so real? I'm embarrassed that I've woken up still hard from my dream when I glance beside me and frown, my heart plummeting into my stomach at the sight of the empty space where Katniss should be.
Wait a minute, something isn't right. If I'm awake, then why do I feel like I'm still in my dream? My dream where Katniss's mouth was—
'Did I wake you?' Katniss's voice echoes inside my head. I scan the room, searching for my wife when I feel movement between my legs. I peek under the covers and my lips stretch into a grin when I come face to face with the culprit—Katniss.
"Surprise," she whispers, her lips curving up at the corners.
"You scared me half to death. I thought you—you were—" I pause, shaking my head as my heart returns to its normal rhythm. "Get up here," I insist, pulling her up and switching places with her.
"How long do we have?" I ask her, and she squirms uncomfortably. Today is Photo Shoot day. Effie, Portia, Cinna, and the rest of the gang, as well as our camera crew will be here by noon.
"Haymitch said they'd be here after lunch and it's still dark outside, so we have plenty of time. At least six hours or so."
"Only six?" I give a disappointed frown and she shoves me playfully.
"I guess we'll have to make them count," she teases back.
Then I flip the covers over my head, burying myself between Katniss's thighs, all the while thinking that I could easily do this for every minute of the rest of our lives.
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[ Madge ]
"I'm going to be really sad when you don't need me anymore," I blurt out despondently as Kizzie's tiny fingers flit across the black and white keys of the piano with impeccable precision.
"What are you talking about, Madge?" Kizzie asks, her hands jerking from the fingerboard and snaps her attention to me.
"There's just…not much left for me to teach you." I reply with a slight shrug of my shoulders.
To be honest, when the mayor first propositioned me to teach her daughter, I was only thinking about myself. I so badly missed my music—I felt like I was going through withdrawals, that I didn't care what I had to do. At the time, I told myself I would do anything, even teach her brat of a daughter how to play MY piano just so that I could be near my music. I thought it would most likely be my only opportunity to spend some time in the house I grew up in. Looking back however, I am instantly filled with shame at how quickly—and poorly I judged the Kadinski's. Because first of all, even if the mayor and her husband were the most despicable people in all the districts, Kizzie was just an innocent little girl. But she turned out to be nothing like the spoiled, entitled, annoying little brat I made her out to be in my mind.
I thought a great many things (albeit most of them negative) before really knowing Kizzie, but the one thing I never expected was for this beautiful, radiant, (and yes, Capitol-born) eight-year-old girl to find a permanent home inside my heart.
"Don't be silly Madge." Kizzie brushes me off, returning her fingers to the keys.
"I'm serious. I mean…have you ever heard yourself play?" I question her with a raised brow.
Her lips tighten into a straight line as she glares at me with her beady eyes. "Then I'll get worse, so I'll always need you," she states matter-of-factly, flipping her hair over her shoulder—our conversation not affecting her concentration in the slightest.
I can't help but smile, my heart swelling with what feels like love. "That's sweet, but it just isn't possible," I give her head a gentle pat.
"If you say so." She mumbles dejectedly with slumped shoulders.
The rest of our time is spent in silence, so I close my eyes and absorb the enchanting melody of Nocturne No. 19 in E Minor. When the song is over, Kizzie turns to me and opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but no words come out.
"Is everything okay?" I ask her.
"Yes—um…Madge, we're friends, right?"
"Of course, we are."
"Or do you only come over because it's your job?"
Her words are like a stab to my gut, but I answer honestly. "I mean…yes, I come over because it's my job, but I also really enjoy spending time with you. You're a pretty awesome kid," I say, ruffling her hair. "You're kinda like the little sister I never had."
"Really?" Kizzie immediately perks up at my words, supplying me with a devilish grin. "Um, so I was wondering, if um…if you didn't have anything to do, if maybe you'd like to hang out for a while? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I just thought—"
"I'd love to," I answer without hesitation, then glance at the clock. "What did you have in mind?"
"YAY!" Her shoulders scrunch up to her ears and her lips spread into the widest grin—the kind that reaches her eyes. "Well, um…are you hungry? I could ask Rose to get us something to eat."
"Okay, sure," I say, shrugging my shoulders. Kizzie lights up into another radiant smile, with a promise to be right back. She races to the kitchen and is back in what feels like less than five seconds.
"Miss Rose says she'll bring us a snack in a jiffy." Kizzie informs me, grabbing my hand and dragging me up the stairs.
When I enter Kizzie's bedroom, I have the sudden urge to run across the hall and into the room that was once my mother's and crawl into bed with her…until I remember she's not there. My mother is not here, nor is my father and this is not my home. Not anymore. And it never will be again.
My chin begins to tremble, so I shake my head to rid the intrusive thoughts and focus all my attention on Kizzie. Then, I begin to wonder if the universe is out to get me when my eyes inadvertently glance next to the bathroom door and spot the familiar detachable grate on the wall. Images flood my mind of all the times I'd crawled through the vents that led to the space above my dad's office. Another wave of homesickness splashes at my heartstrings thinking about my father and how much I miss him. Then again, when he was alive all I seemed to do was miss him. Which is why I would sneak into the walls, planting myself in the space above his office on days I knew he would be there. I wonder if he ever knew I was up there, or the endless hours I stationed myself above him.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall now. I think to myself, then shake my head, needing a distraction.
"So, where are we going to eat?" I ask Kizzie after scanning the room and see no other place to sit besides the bed. "We could spread a blanket out on the floor; I don't want to get crumbs all over your bed."
"I would never make you sit on the floor, Madge," she says, rolling her eyes.
I give her a bemused look. "Then where?"
"It's a surprise," she says giddily, her eyes glistening mischievously.
Kizzie and I switch off in the bathroom to wash our hands when we hear Rose on the other side of the door. "Knock-knock girls," she calls out, lightly tapping the door before pushing it open with her foot.
I don't need to see what's under the lid to know what Rose has brought us. The buttery, greasy, melted cheese aroma sticks to her and it bombards my senses. It's been so long since I inhaled the aroma of two slices of bread slathered with a thin layer of butter, toasted to an impeccable crisp in the frying pan, fused with the succulent fragrance of two pieces of gooey, yellow, messy, melted cheese oozing out the sides.
I can't even find it in me to be embarrassed by the greedy look that's almost certainly in my eyes. Because I know, without a doubt, that under the lid of the platter are two individual grilled cheese sandwiches—one for Kizzie and one for myself, each one cut from corner to corner, forming two triangles. Just like she used to make for my Sunday lunches. I am salivating for this little slice of home, and I'm overcome with embarrassment when my stomach begs for it—quite loudly at that.
"You still like grilled cheese, I see." Rose smiles at me and my eyes fill with water.
"Thank you Rose," with a quivering chin, I finally manage to get the words out, but not without wanting to kick myself for the roller coaster of emotions coursing through my body.
"You're welcome sweetheart. Now, you girls eat your food before it gets cold. And don't forget to bring your dirty dishes back down when you're done. We wouldn't want to open an invitation to all the bugs in the district," she says with a wink.
Her words freeze me in place. Is she saying what I think she's saying, or was she just being literal? Before I have time to think about her words or to dissect their meaning, she's gone, and the door is clicking shut behind her.
Shocked by Rose's statement, I never even noticed Kizzie in the background.
"If you can keep a secret, I have a secret place where we can eat," she says, removing the grate from the vent and waving me forward.
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Every fiber of my being is screaming for us to stop. To tell Kizzie this is a mistake and we should just go back. But I don't have it in me to crush her spirit, so I follow her into the crawl-space, replacing the vent behind me, and then fake my bewilderment as she guides us through the walls. The closer we get to where I know we're going, the more my stomach slowly sinks into the pit of my stomach.
"K-Kizzie, I—I'm not sure this is such a good idea," I tell her, balancing my plate with one hand and silently thanking Rose for providing us cups with lids.
"It's okay Madge. I do this all the time." She dismisses me so easily. "There's this really cool hidey-hole up ahead where we can sit down and eat." She says, and I'm glad she's in front of me so she can't see my expression. I have a feeling I know exactly where she's taking us, because it's exactly where I used to go.
My heart aches when I see my blanket. The one I kept here for long days of spying on my father. I also see the small, hand held whiteboard I would sometimes doodle on…or, write things down that I'd want to remember for later of things my father would say.
"Mmm—Oh—my—god, this is delicious!" The moan-like mumble escapes my lips after my teeth sink into the delicious grilled cheese sandwich.
Kizzie giggles, and it's a sound I've come to love. I think it has to be one of the most precious sounds I've ever heard. That, in addition to Posie's laughter.
Maybe it's the nostalgia from the grilled cheese reminding me of home, family, and the safety I once had, but it doesn't take long before I'm relaxed. Then it's like a double edged sword, because the second I relax, I'm reminded of all the bad things. All the death, loss, and my endless cycle of grief.
Soon, my heart begins to race anxiously; afraid, no, terrified the mayor will walk into her office and history will somehow repeat itself and we will become privy to a phone call or conversation that will irrevocably change our lives. But no, lightning never strikes twice in the same place, so that can't happen again, right?
Wrong.
Just like the time with Prim, by the time I realize what's happening, it's too late. First, there is the clicking of the door below us, whichfreezes us in place. Nearly simultaneously, both Kizzie and I snap our eyes to the other. Kizzie has a calm about her that tells me this isn't the first time this has happened as she pulls her index finger to her lips, then reaches for the whiteboard.
"It's okay. Mom's probably just calling Grandpa. They never talk for very long." Kizzie writes with the erasable marker, then wipes it away after I nod.
I peer through the tiny slits of the grate, focusing my eyes on the mayor, and watch as she pulls something from her pocket. I can't tell what it is from this vantage point, but I know I've seen it before. She stares at the clock for what feels like forever, and just when the second hand clicks onto the "12" she presses the "SPEAKER" button on her phone.
Great. Another 'Speaker' conversation. This can't be good. I think to myself.
"Is it true? Were you attacked prior to conceiving Kismet?" I freeze in place mid-chew at the familiar voice. Then I glance next to me to see Kizzie, her eyes locked on her mother, intrigued at being the topic of conversation.
The moment the phone rang, I had one of those "deja vu" moments. My heart plummeted into my stomach, filling my belly with that gut-sinking feeling of pure, unadulterated terror, just like the time I invited Prim up here. And coincidentally…with our grilled cheese sandwiches.
Both then and now, everything inside me screams to run. If only I had magic powers, I would snap my fingers and poof us back to her room. Because, again, like the time with Prim, something inside me knew that nothing good would come from overhearing whatever the mayor had to say. But it's too little, too late.
"H-how did you—" Mayor Kadinski begins, seemingly confused for a moment before turning a few shades darker. "DAD!" she exclaims. "You promised!"
"I know sweetheart, please don't be angry. It was an accident, truly. But…please tell me it isn't true."
"Dad," the mayor says tersely. "It was a long time ago. And it doesn't matter."
"So, all of it was true." The mayor's father—the Head Gamemaker is clearly pained by this information. The mayor doesn't answer, which I take as an admission of sorts.
"Dad, it doesn't change anything. Anyway, we don't have time for this. I need you to give it to me straight, what is the mandatory viewing about?"
My already racing heart begins pounding even harder and faster at these words. Kizzie's eyes meet mine, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.
There is a pregnant pause from the Head Gamemaker before he inhales a deep breath. "It's bad Amnesty. Really bad. You must know that I didn't have a choice. And…it's not what you think—it's not as it seems. And—and I need you to know that we are already taking precautions, devising a plan—creating…another way out for them. Just please Amy, please trust me. Have faith that I will do what's best."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I think is what the mayor says next, but I can't be certain because her words are muffled.
Mayor Kadinski closes her eyes and presses the palm of her hand against her forehead before continuing. "Dad…what have you done?" The mayor's trembling voice does nothing to ease my fears. And just like that…the final bite of my once delicious grilled cheese sandwich now tastes like cardboard in my mouth.
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[ Portia ]
"Did you bring the—" When I look up from my sketch pad, my eyes lock with Cinna's, widened in fear.
"I did. It's locked up tightly in the false bottom of the trunk." Cinna whispers, resting his hand on my knee. It's meant to be comforting, but I don't understand how he can be so calm.
"What about the—" I continue, and Cinna stops me again, this time by applying light pressure to my knee.
"Don't worry. We brought everything. I am certain we did not forget a single thing. Besides…even if we did happen to forget something, it's not like we could turn around now."
These are the words I needed to hear to relax. Or well, relax as much as I can considering our circumstances. "I suppose you're right. It's just that we can't send these particular items to them. If they found out, we would be arrested and hanged on the spot."
"Portia," Cinna scolds me gently, turning my head so that our eyes meet. I know this look all too well. He is telling me not to go there. To do the impossible and not worry. "Effie hasn't missed a single day without sending them something. Whether actual supplies, supplies disguised as other things, or sometimes in other things."
"Who knew? Effie Trinket," I chuckle at Cinna's statement, slowly beginning to relax.
Sure, we are laughing—joking about Effie, but both of us know how vital Effie's role has been. I think we make light of the situation because who knew that Effie Trinket, prim, proper, rule follower, Effie Trinket would be the heart of our little band of rebels. If it wasn't for Effie, we wouldn't have ninety percent of the medications we currently have acquired—and access to much more. Also, who knew that medication used in the injections for tightening your skin can double as antibiotics. Or the serum for filling out your lips, when mixed with certain herbs and heated to a certain degree, can transform into a concoction that heals minor injuries.
We owe Effie so much, and may very well forever be in her debt.
She risks her life day in and day out without a single complaint. She plays her role as "doting girlfriend" impeccably.
Not only has Effie procured life saving medications, but she also found an inconspicuous way to send Katniss and Peeta supplies. Non-perishable foods, bottled water, blankets, extra clothes and other vital first aid needs. Which is a good thing since the Capitol insists on sending District 12 nothing but spoiled goods. I just hope she's also been sending Haymitch the supplies he needs as well, and I pray he has been sober enough to store them in the agreed upon location, and are not just piling up in his basement. I make a mental note to find out once we arrive in 12.
"ATTENTION!" The conductor's voice vibrates through the speakers, causing me to jump. "We have reached our destination and will be pulling into the station of District 12 in the next five minutes," he informs us.
It takes close to half an hour to transfer all of our wardrobes, gear, and equipment from the train to our three specified cars. But even with that, we will arrive nearly two to three hours ahead of schedule.
We all filter into our cars and head into Victors' Village. Cinna suggested we take a car of our own and let our prep teams share the car behind us, which means we will probably be the first to arrive. From the train station, it's about forty-five minutes. But most of that is loading and unloading.
When we get to Katniss's home, as per our discussion, we let ourselves in and see sweet Primrose, and lovely Mrs. Everdeen with smiles stretched across their faces.
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[ Prim ]
"MOM!" I jump up from my seat and scream out to my mom, projecting my voice so that she can hear me from the second floor.
"Primrose, not so loud. I'm just in the kitchen," Mom says.
"Oh!" I gasp, slightly startled by her sudden appearance. "I thought you were upstairs," I say with an apologetic shrug.
"At that volume, I could have heard you from District 11." Mom replies cheekily.
"I can't help it. I'm excited," I scowl playfully, then, remembering why I was yelling in the first place, my eyes widen with excitement before shouting, "They're here!"
"What? A-are you sure?" Mom asks, freezing in place.
"Uh-huh," I shake my head excitedly up and down. "I just saw one of the cars pull into Victor's Village." My shoulders scrunch up to my ears with a squeal, unable to quell my excitement.
Mom snaps her head in the direction of the clock. "They aren't supposed to be here for another two hours!" Mom protests. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and purses her lips, slowly releasing the air to rein in her panic.
Seconds later she opens her eyes, but I know she doesn't see me as she mumbles something under her breath, ticking her fingers off. I recognize this look all too well: panic. An expression that once worried me, scared me even, now brings me a sense of calm. Because Mom's mastered the art of transforming it into something more…productive. "Okay, ten minutes before the car pulls into our driveway, two…maybe three minutes for the driver to open all the doors. Then seven, eight minutes to get all their crap unloaded. That gives us…let's underestimate and say…roughly fifteen minutes before they actually walk through the door."
Staying calm and in control, that's how mom drives the panic away. "Okay Primrose, you take the living room and the den and I'll tackle the dishes and the bathrooms," Mom instructs, not waiting for confirmation from me before she runs into the laundry room to grab a stack of hampers.
"Got it," I say anyway, nodding and taking two of the hampers from her.
"Actually—" Mom begins and I freeze on the spot. "Don't worry about actually cleaning, let's just do a spot check, and we'll worry about putting it where it goes later." I give mom a quick nod of understanding.
The two of us stick to the rooms we first agreed on. I fill my first hamper with random clothes lying haphazardly around the house. Sweaters and jackets that could belong to anyone, from myself, Mom, Katniss, Peeta, Mr. Mellark, or even Rye. I use a pencil to pick up someone's smelly socks. Then I go around and fill the second hamper with all the stray blankets, a few books, and some loose papers. "Geez, we sure are a messy bunch," I say jokingly to myself when I find Peeta's sketchbook and box of charcoals under a table in the den.
"PRIMROSE!" Mom calls out from the kitchen. "ETA?"
Rather than screaming back, I smile with satisfaction as I scan the room a final time, finding nothing out of place, then run to the kitchen where Mom is. "Done!" I boast, holding up one of the overfilled laundry hampers as my proof. Mom smiles approvingly then motions for me to follow her to the laundry room where we shove our baskets out of sight.
"Out of sight, out of mind," she says, mimicking brushing dirt from her hands. "Between us Everdeen girls, and the Mellark boys…and sometimes Haymitch, we sure know how to make a mess," Mom says, pretty much repeating my thoughts from only moments ago. Mom and I scan the house once more, then, finding that we have transformed it into the prim and proper, impeccably picture-perfect victor's dwelling that even Effie Trinket would approve of; she raises her hand for a high-five.
"Next time, we should make Katniss and Peeta clean up the night before," I suggest, the corners of my lips turning up.
As if on cue, the door swings open, and my lips stretch into an even grin when my eyes land on Cinna. Katniss was right. (I would never tell her this, but she usually is.) I remember her telling me that I would fall in love with Cinna the moment I met him, and I did. I mean, how can you not? Cinna has a natural gentleness to him; he's the type of person who just…emits calming vibes, lacking any judgements. He's kind and, like Peeta, always knows the right thing to say.
"Primrose, how are you lovelier and more beautiful each time I see you?" Portia chimes, striding in behind Cinna. And though Katniss doesn't talk about Portia all that much, I find that I really like her. And also, like Cinna, she seems to have this inherent way of boosting your confidence.
Cinna and Portia come at me from both sides and pull me in for a hug before air kissing Mom's cheeks. "Where are our favorite lovebirds?" Cinna asks, looking from side to side in search of my sister and new brother. The thought immediately, almost like a reflex, causes a smile to plaster on my face and my hand snaps up to cover my lips.
"What's so funny? Is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Cinna asks with a raise of his brow.
I shake my head, take a deep breath and slowly blow it out. "At Peeta's house, where else?" I say cooly, trying to come off nonchalantly and shrug my shoulders.
"That's not a problem. Peeta's house is Effie's first stop, so I'm sure she'll send Katniss over as soon as she gets there." Cinna replies.
Mom's eyes go wide as saucers, and I'm confused for a moment until I realize why she looks so alarmed. "Um…Katniss is probably…well…she um, she might still be asleep." Mom stumbles over her words while fidgeting with her fingers. "Perhaps Effie isn't…shouldn't um…be the one to wake them."
Cinna draws his brows together, looking confused for a moment, before he says, "Okay. Well, I don't see why that would be an issue. That is…unless…OOOHHH," he says, realization finally dawning on him. "Oh! You mean that Peeta and Katniss are… perhaps… indecent."
"It's um…it's a very likely scenario. I just think that perhaps…you and Portia could—"
"Say no more," Cinna senses Mom's uneasiness and offers her one of his brilliant smiles as he cuts her off. Then he reaches for Portia's hand and says,"Shall we?"
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[ Cinna ]
Portia and I enter Peeta's house, and we immediately survey the room, our gaze locking when we see the state of the den. Portia's cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink at the sight of the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets abandoned by the fireplace. As we make our way toward the stairs, Portia arches a brow and points out the slanted row of picture frames adorning the wall that leads upstairs. It's as if someone bumped into them.
Or two someones. I think suggestively, and then tell myself to mind my imagination.
Peeta's usually pristine, organized kitchen is cluttered with empty plates, and day old glasses and silverware fill the counter next to the sink. It's not overly messy, just…lived in. It seems our lovebirds couldn't part long enough to care for the dishes.
Portia's lips curve into a smile, her mind going to the same place as mine. "Why don't you head up and I'll get this cleaned up?" Portia suggests.
Portia doesn't waste any time and puts herself to work in the kitchen as I make my way up the steps. I purposefully walk heavily on my feet and bump into the walls, making as much noise as I can to alert the lovebirds to my presence, knowing how well Katniss can hear, in hopes of waking at least one of them. As Katniss's stylist, there isn't an inch of skin on that girl's body I haven't seen, but this is different. Intruding on Katniss and Peeta while they are in the throes of intimacy seems…well, it feels like a violation.
"Katniss, Peeta?" I call out, tapping lightly on the door. Upon entering the room, my heart melts at the sight before me. My darling children are sleeping so peacefully, curled into the other. However, judging by the state of their undress, children, they are no more.
Thankfully the covers are pulled up far enough to prevent any embarrassing conversations. I take a moment to relish in their peaceful, innocent expressions. The two lovebirds are, for once, free from all their pain. Not a single worry line blemishes their skin. They look so innocent and pure, no death on their hands and I hate to be the one to end this moment.
But I am all too aware that this moment, unfortunately, must come to an end, for Effie and the Preps will, no doubt, arrive soon. And if Effie catches sight of our pair sharing the same bed prior to their nuptials, it will likely send her into a tizzy.
I cross the room to Katniss's side of the bed and pull the covers up a few more inches—in case she jumps, startled by my waking her. "Katniss, Peeta. Come on my loves, it's time to get up." I say just above a whisper and Katniss begins to stir.
Katniss's face twitches, slowly contorting into a scowl, and I know she's awake. "I know you can hear me, you wretched girl, now wipe that scowl from your face and let's get moving. Portia won't be able to hold Effie off for long."
"Fine, I'm up." Katniss groans, sending me an irritated glare. She grabs something from the bedpost, and I realize it's a robe. Then she rolls over to Peeta, places a gentle hand on his side and a sweet kiss to his cheek.
"If I have to get up, so do you," Katniss gently shakes Peeta, and I can't tell if she's being sweet, or if she's simply irritable at having been woken.
"You sure are a bossy wife," Peeta says with his eyes still closed and a smile on his lips.
Peeta's comment freezes me in place for a moment. Did he just say wife?
A few seconds later Peeta fetches his own robe from the bedpost, slides his arms through the holes, then sits up in bed. "Cinna?" He mutters, rubbing his eyes and looking more than confused. "W-what are you doing here?"
I play oblivious and say, "I have declared it 'National Modeling Cinna's Immaculate Wedding Dresses Day'," in hopes of keeping the mood light. I am certain this is not how Katniss envisioned choosing her wedding gown, if she ever envisioned it at all. Because frankly, Katniss does not strike me as the type of girl to have fantasized about her wedding day.
There is something uncanny about their interaction, something that reminds me of something in their first Games. I just can't place my finger on it.
"Katniss—" Peeta calls out. Katniss meets his eyes, alert, and then nods, however, no words are spoken. Within seconds, Katniss is at his side with his prosthetic. I turn my back to offer them some privacy, when the sound of Portia's voice causes us all to jump.
"Effie! Effie, wait! I must show you something at once!" The three of us snap our attention toward the door when we hear Portia's attempts at distracting Effie. Within moments the click clack of Effie's heels comes to a halt and I know Portia has merely bought us a few minutes.
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[ Gale ]
"What is that racket?" I ask Ma when I head into the kitchen, towel drying my dripping hair.
My distaste for the Capitol Freaks Katniss calls her prep team isn't my best kept secret. It doesn't matter how many times Catnip claims they're different, they're all the same to me. Everyone in the Capitol is obsessed with the Games. They enjoy the annual slaughter, just as surely as they take pleasure in watching us starve. I just don't get how she so easily comes to their defense.
To avoid them, as well as all the hype surrounding the wedding of the year, I've taken extra shifts in the mines. I'm the first one at the gates, bright and early at the crack of dark, and the last one to leave, again, in the dark.
But I can't completely hide from the Capitol, even deep in the belly of the mines. Of course, they would put a television at the home base, with speakers lining the tunnels. Which is how I know that the words I've been dreading…the day I've been dreading is finally here.
But for the life of me I can't figure out why the sight of Catnip in her various wedding dresses causes my stomach to turn. It almost feels like jealousy, but no—that's not it. Maybe it's that, for all the years I've known Katniss, her opinion on marriage and family has always been crystal clear, and here the Capitol is, forcing her to go on with this charade.
Yes, that has to be it.
Ma peeks around her stack of laundry with a grin on her face and Posie at her side. "It's not racket Gale, it's Miss Madge and she's music-ing her new piano." Posie states matter of factly, her hand sassily perched on her hip.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. To go along with the sassy attitude, Posie is dressed from head to toe in pink, in an outfit Ma made from scraps of Madge's old clothes.
My head cocks to the side in confusion. "Musicking?" I repeat, wondering if this is another one of Posie's made up words.
Posie lets out an exasperated sigh. "Catnip gave Miss Madge a piano. Not a fancy one like she used to have, but it still makes really pretty sounds. Miss Madge says she's going to teach me how to play too. It's beautiful Gale, not racket!" Posie states indignantly before latching onto my leg.
"Okay, okay, you're right." I hold my hands up in defense. I was going to try to slip out and hoped that Posie didn't notice me leaving…that is, until I see how exhausted Ma looks.
"So, Rosie Posie, you want to take a trip with me to Miss Madge's house?" I ask my sister, releasing a slight chuckle when I use the nickname Posie has given Madge. I would rather go alone, because God, I miss her, but I get the impression that Ma needs a break from Posie's constant chatter.
Ma mouths the words 'Thank you,' her shoulders seeming to relax.
"Can I Ma? Please, please, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty pleeeaasseee?"
With pursed lips, Ma places her index finger to her chin teasingly in thought. "I suppose," Ma says after a moment, amused at seeing Posie squirm with so much anticipation. "Just remember the Mandatory Viewing tonight. I'd prefer that you guys come home before—so that we can watch together."
I tense up at the words Mandatory Viewing. I knew this moment was coming, but something about it makes me nauseous. Why do I feel so much dread?
"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUMAMA!" Posie squeals, bouncing up and down exuberantly.
"Madge too." Ma declares with piercing eyes. The tone in her voice, in addition to the way her eyes lock with mine tells me this is not up for debate. And even though Posie is zipping and zooming from one end of the house to the other in search of her shoes and coat, I still don't miss the notes of concern, laced with a tinge of fear in Ma's tone.
"Thanks Ma." I lean in and plant a kiss on her cheek. "Love you," I tell her before strapping Posie to my back and heading out the door.
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[ Madge ]
I was more than thankful Kizzie didn't ask any questions I didn't have the answers to when we got back from the 'Hidey Hole'. I wonder how much she heard…or knows. Or how much of the conversation she actually understood. Or, for that matter, I wonder why she didn't have any questions.
On my long walk home I replayed the conversation between the mayor and her father over and over in my head. That's when it hit me. It was MY conversation with the mayor from the other day the Head Gamemaker was asking about.Which means he was asking about Kizzie's paternity.
If that wasn't stressful enough, I am certain that something bad is going to happen tonight. This 'Mandatory Viewing' will bring about nothing good. If the Head Gamemaker is scared…then…what could it be?
As I pace the length of my living room, I feel like I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a knock on my door.
"MISSMADGE!" Posie slams into me the second I open the door and I scoop her up, hugging her tightly to my chest while I spin us around once, then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the strangest expression on Gale's face. He almost looks…happy. I might even go so far as to say…peaceful.
Hmmm, I wonder what that's about, I wonder, but don't have time to dissect it before Posie begins her spiel.
"Gale heard your music and he called it racket. He said to Ma, 'What's that racket?' But I told him it wasn't racket, it was your music machine, the piano Catnip gave you. And then he said he was going to come over here and he asked me if I wanted to come too. But of course I want to come," Posie rolls her eyes for good measure, then leans in closer to my ear as she continues and whispers, "I always want to come 'cause I like you best."
My heart swells with so much love for this little girl. I shake my head with wonderment, my brain working overtime to keep up with Posie's rapid speech and run on sentences. When it finally has, I let out a chuckle and glance over to Gale. "Racket, huh?" I say teasingly, and he has the good sense to look contrite. Then I lower Posie to the ground, balancing on one knee and lean into her ear. "Don't tell anyone—it'll be our little secret, but I like you best too." I whisper to her—and it's not exactly a lie. Her cheeks flush and a grin stretches across her face.
"I-I'm sorry. I was just—I um…I didn't know what it was." Gale looks everywhere except at me as he offers his apology.
"An apology?" I ask teasingly. "From Gale Hawthorne? I need to write this down for the books—"
"Shut up," Gale shoves me playfully and plants a quick kiss to my cheek.
"I'm sorry. I know it can get annoying after a while. It's just that—" My words trail off, uncertain if I should continue. I know how Gale absolutely detests hearing anything Capitol related.
"It's just what?" He presses.
"I've been really anxious today and playing—it um…calms my nerves."
Gale seems to understand what I'm trying to say and that I don't want to say the words aloud. Then he reaches for my hand and guides us to the couch while Posie stands in front of us, describing every miniscule detail of her day. I smile and give her a nod here and there, which seems to be enough to appease her. But my attention is anywhere but here. I can't stop thinking about what I overheard in the walls above the mayor's office, or what the Capitol has planned for tonight's Mandatory Viewing.
The most likely scenario is the airing of Katniss's wedding dresses from the photo shoot last week. I'm not sure why us in the districts are required to watch it, since only the Capitol Citizens are allowed to vote on their favorites.
It's like another aha moment when the realization hits me. Snow is forcing the people in the districts to watch the farce of a show. Katniss and Peeta's wedding is a distraction. But a distraction for what? Does Snow want the districts to think Katniss and Peeta are aligned with the Capitol? Is he trying to make it seem that they're living a life of luxury while everyone else is suffering. But why? And what is his end game?
Katniss begged me to come over for "moral support" the day of the photo shoot, and no matter how badly I didn't want to be there, I just couldn't tell my best friend no. But it was actually kind of fun. While I was there, Cinna asked Prim and I to try on a handful of dresses, and I wonder if they will show those as well. Probably not. And while I'm a little nervous about that, it's not what has me so on edge. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that whatever "surprise" the Capitol has in store for us tonight will irrevocably change our lives—and not for the better.
"Miss Madge, Miss Madge, can we play the piano? Can we show Gale that it's not racket?" I've never been more thankful for the short attention span of a five-year-old girl than at this moment. I nod and steer Posie to a chair. She scoots to the edge to make room for me.
Gale doesn't move from his seat, but leans forward like he's really interested and I offer him a timid smile, though I don't know why I feel so nervous. "Pose, one song then we should head back to the house. You heard Ma, she wants us all together for the viewing tonight."
"Oh, okay." I try to hide my disappointment at his statement. I really didn'twant to watch this thing alone tonight. And as much as I detest walking in the dark, it beats having to watch the viewing alone, so I suppose I'll go over to Katniss's house.
"You too. Ma suggested you come, but I don't think it was actually up for discussion."
He lifts my chin with his finger, locking his hard, gray eyes on my soft, blue ones. And I feel like such an idiot for being so emotional.
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[ Katniss ]
"I don't see why I have to watch. Haven't I been tortured enough? Of course not; it wasn't enough for them to put me through seven painstakingly miserable hours of trying on dress after dress, not to mention all the hair plucking and tweezing. I swear, I can still hear Octavia's voice in my head. 'Sit still Katniss, you're going to smudge your nails. Then, 'Oh my, we'll have to start all over!'" I can't help but go off on a tangent, ignoring Prim's snide expression.
"Katniss," Prim chastises, but I cut her off before she can say more.
"Besides, it's not like Peeta or I have a say-so in the matter. It's just pointless." I throw my hands in the air, feeling defeated before plopping down on the sofa. "Okay, I'm done," I finally tell her.
"I'm sorry they tortured you, if I could've taken your place I would have." Peeta says apologetically.
I can't help but cross my arms over my chest and scowl at him. "Why don't you have to get your face plucked…or, or have your prep team perform surgery on your fingernails?" I whine some more.
'I'm sorry,' Peeta says privately with sad eyes.
"Stop whining Katniss. It's over now." Prim scolds me.
I turn my attention to Peeta and suddenly feel guilty. 'Anyway, we're already married,' I add silently, meeting the beautiful eyes of my gorgeous and sexy husband. Everything feels so surreal—I still can't believe we're really, actually, truly and officially married. Over the last two weeks, since the night of our toasting we've been living in a bubble of pure bliss. I was terrified that the arrival of our prep teams…of our little Capitol family would pop our bubble and we'd never be able to mend the damage. But it was like…as soon as they were gone, all the little holes they poked in our bubble miraculously sealed themselves up.
'Yeah, but they don't know that,' Peeta reminds me, keeping his eyes fixed on the television.
"You're being ridiculous Katniss, it wasn't that bad." My sister begins, and I can tell from the tone of her voice that she's about to give me a piece of her mind. "The Capitol can't say 'It's mandatory viewing for everyone except Katniss.' So, quit your whining, because I, for one, can't wait to see you in all those dresses." Prim adds her two cents, snatching my hand and pulling me to the cushion next to her. "Just pretend it's a fashion show. Do you think they'll show any of the dresses me and Madge tried on? No, probably not. It'll most likely just be you and Peeta since you're the ones they're voting on." Prim says, sounding disappointed.
I roll my eyes. Sometimes, Prim's optimism really gets on my nerves.
I take a deep breath and scan the length of the room and the corners of my lips tug upward. Our little family of three has grown exponentially in the last few weeks. What was once just me, my mother and sister has multiplied into us and Peeta, plus Mr. Mellark and Rye, and of course, there's Haymitch, except he's not here tonight.
At first, it irritated me to see Peeta's dad spending so much time with my mom so soon after my father's death, but I think he's actually been good for her. And they seem to be nothing more than friends, which I'm okay with. And if Mr. Mellark comes over, it's almost a guarantee that Rye is not far behind, which is a welcome addition, if you ask me. Rye's joking banter and gregarious personality always lightens the mood, no matter how irritable, grumpy or moody the rest of us are.
"Here Dad, let me help you," Peeta rushes to his father's side as Mr. Mellark rolls the television out of one of the spare closets. Out of the seven of us, not a single one of us likes watching T.V. so we only pull it out when it's forced on us. I watch as father and son work together to plug all the right cords into the correct ports before plugging it into the wall, then pressing the "ON" switch to test it out.
"Is it wrong of me that I was hoping the Capitol gave us a broken television?" I snicker, leaning into Prim and whispering in her ear.
"Wishful thinking, but no such luck," she chuckles back. "But then they'd probably send a hovercraft with a brand new one before the show even started."
"True," I say, just as the television screen turns a bright, almost glowing kind of electric blue. There is a faint buzzing sound as the words, 'Stay tuned, Mandatory Viewing will be up shortly,' rolls across the screen.
Mom drags her rocker caddy-cornered with the couch, then pulls out her knitting needles and ball of yarn and gets to work on…something. Every time I've asked what she's making, her answer is always the same. "It's a surprise," she'll say with a knowing grin.
"Scoot over," Peeta says, sandwiching himself between me and Prim. "Wow," he grins cheekily, turning his head from side to side, looking at me and then at Prim. "How did I get so lucky to sit next to the two—I mean, three most beautiful girls in the district?" He says, waggling his brows and winking at my mother.
"Shut up," I remark, playfully shoving him into Prim.
Mr. Mellark angles the television so that everyone can see it, then he joins Rye on the smaller couch next to us.
"Do you think we should see if Haymitch has changed his mind?" Mom asks.
"No, he told me he wanted to sit in his recliner with his bottle of Spirits. And he said if any of us bother him, he'll dump a glass of cold water on our heads when we're sleeping." I inform mom and avoid Peeta's eyes.
The blue screen flickers and the rolling words disappear. I don't get what the big deal is for Haymitch. They're just showing pictures of me in Cinna's dresses, maybe some of Peeta in his suits. So, why does that require a bottle of Spirits?
"Alright guys, here we go." Mr. Mellark says enthusiastically when the blue screen is replaced with a corny picture of Caesar Flickerman winking as he gives a thumbs up sign with one hand. His hair is a bright, electrifying shade of blue. Almost the same shade as the blank, flickering television screen.
I can't help but roll my eyes. And…I don't know why but it feels as if my heart sinks into my stomach, beating a million miles per second. Peeta must sense my anxiety, because he gives my hand a firm, comforting squeeze.
As much as I detest the thought of perfect strangers making decisions for mine and Peeta's wedding, I can't deny how beautiful each and every dress is. I mean, I don't have even one negative thing to say about a single one of the dresses.
Then I remind myself that the creators are Cinna and Portia. They can turn the most homely—the ugliest scraps of fabric into the most immaculate, pristine works of art. And even though I've seen each dress, bitched, whined, and complained as I was forced into them, I can't help getting sucked into the television, along with everyone else. I even find myself pointing out my favorites and crossing my fingers for a certain dress to get chosen.
A rush of heat expands across my cheeks when I unintentionally gasp out loud. On the television screen, snapshot after snapshot, Peeta is shown in his vast array of tuxes. I mean, I've always found Peeta attractive; even before I realized I had more than friendly feelings for him, there was no denying how beautiful he was.
But this isn't just beautiful. Peeta is stunning, magnificent, jaw-droppingly mesmerizing. The suit they're showing him in fits him perfectly. It's stark black, so black it almost looks blue, like a jabberjay. And instead of the traditional white under-shirt guys usually wear, he's in a soft, pale shade of orange button up shirt.
Instantly, all eyes are on me. "Oh, um…sorry. I just—the suit…it's nice. I mean…um…it looks good. The colors I mean," I stutter, refusing to remove my eyes from the television. With a subtle twitch of his lips, Peeta reaches over and takes my hand, entwining his fingers with mine.
'Wipe that smug grin off your face, Mellark,' I silently retort, but then lean into Peeta's side and rest my head on his shoulder.
For the most part, and for the remainder of the show I keep my eyes fixed on the television, but occasionally I'll glance around the room. My heart flutters with a smile when I see the pride oozing from Mr. Mellark in waves each time Peeta is shown in a new outfit.
"Oh Katniss! KATNISS, LOOK, IT'S ME AND I BET THEY'RE GONNA SHOW MADGE!" I wince and scrunch my face with discomfort from Prim's high-pitched, ear-piercing squeals. She doesn't seem fazed, or even aware of her level of annoyance, her focus completely on the television in front of us.
I inch closer to the television to get a better look, and my eyes widen with shock. The young woman on the television can't possibly be my sister. Sure, she has Prim's exact shade of blonde hair, but it's styled in a fancy up-do with intricate, cascading braids, presenting her as regal and sophisticated. And ten years older than her actual age. The girl on the television is wearing the most elegant lavender dress. It is form fitting with a modest slit up the side, and the only thing holding the dress up are tiny, skinny little straps over her shoulders. And the bottom of the dress is adorned with sparkly sequins, and maybe even some pearls. But the main reason this girl has to be a stranger, and not my sister is the stark shade of ruby red staining her lips. And the cleavage! Prim isn't old enough to have cleavage. I do a double take, my jaw slack with horror, because no matter how much I want to deny it, Prim is right. The woman—or girl on the television is, without a doubt, my little sister.
In a daze, my hand reaches out to touch the screen, as if I could somehow reach through the television and touch my sister's doppelganger right there. "Prim…y-you're s-s-so…"
"I know!" Prim squeals again. "That dress is so pretty isn't it?"
"Grown up," I finish. Where did my little sister go?
Prim doesn't seem to hear me as she gushes over her dress. "Wait till you see Madge's dress!" She snickers.
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[ Hazelle]
A smile forms on my lips when, out of the corner of my eye I see my eldest son lean over to Madge and whispers something into her ear. In all of his eighteen years of life, I'm not sure I've ever seen Gale so…happy. He's content, almost at peace with Madge by his side. She's changed him.
"Hazelle," Madge's soft voice breaks me out of my trance.
"Yes, sweety?"
"Um…thanks for inviting me to watch with you guys. I really didn't want to watch this alone."
"Honey, there's no need to thank me. I've already told you, you're an honorary Hawthorne. You don't need an invitation." I wrap my arm around her and pull her in for a hug.
After nearly half an hour, and dozens and dozens of pictures of Katniss and Peeta in their formal wear, Caesar finally changes his tune.
"Oh, wow! Whoah! Wait a minute, that's not Katniss Everdee-een!" I roll my eyes at Caesar's eccentric pronunciation of Katniss's name.
"That's NOT how you say Catnip's name," Posie blurts out, waving a shameful finger at the television.
"You tell'em Pose," one of the boys pitches in.
I watch the television in awe as we're inundated with pictures of Prim in a slew of sophisticated dresses. While I have to admit they are beautiful dresses, the darling is only twelve years old, and they've portrayed her as a young adult. I don't even want to imagine the perverted slimeballs gushing over her pictures.
"Look at Rory, he's totally smitten with Prim." Gale comments to Madge in a hushed whisper, and before I have the chance to warn him about teasing his brother, Vick begins teasing Rory with a song.
"Rory and Pri-im sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes—"
"O—" I begin, but Gale beats me to it.
"Shut up Vick. Leave Rory alone, or I'll break out the baby pictures." I am taken aback when Gale takes up for his brother. He is usually the one who initiates the teasing.
"That lovely beauty was none other than Primrose Everdee-eeen, the younger sister of our girl on fire!" Caesar informs us. Then he begins flipping through at least ten different dresses with Prim as the model. He spends at least five minutes on each dress, showcasing the dozens of different views of the same dress, from every possible angle. And just like he did with Katniss and Peeta, Caesar explains the fabric to the audience, making every thread and sequin sound so much more intriguing than it actually is.
In his hand, Caesar has a small remote control-like device that he clicks, which fills the screen with a new picture.
"ARGH, OH MY GOSH! TURN IT OFF, TURN IT OFF!" Madge shrieks when an image of herself pops onto the screen.
Rory, Vick, and even Posie crawl closer to the television to get a closer look. "Miss Madge!" Posie coos. "That's you, that's you on the television!" she exclaims, while Madge covers her face from embarrassment.
"Everyone just…close your eyes. PLEASE!" Madge begs, still refusing to show her face.
I don't think Madge knows how truly beautiful she is. Without all the Capitol-make-up. Just then, I catch a glimpse of Gale, whose eyes are wide with shock and cemented on the television, his mouth agape.
"Why would they do that? I get why they showed Prim, she's Katniss's sister. But why would they show me?" Madge asks. Then, barely above a whisper my heart breaks when I hear her mumble under her breath, "I'm nobody."
"I mean…I'm not related to Katniss at all. I just happened to be at her house, offering her moral support while they stuffed her into dress after dress. She asked—or well, begged me to come over and keep her company. Then, out of nowhere, one of her prep team members—I think her name was Octavia, she held me hostage in one of the spare rooms and just started undressing me. I was too shocked to stop her, and the dresses were much too beautiful for me to say no."
"You're exaggerating, right?" Gale questions Madge, arching his brow inquisitively.
"Not even a little," Madge responds, shaking her head. "When I asked the Octavia lady why she was dressing me up—not that I was complaining because each dress was more extravagant than the one before it. So, she looks at me like I have two heads before giving me a detailed history lesson about," Madge clears her throat and straightens her back so she's sitting taller.
"Customs and traditions regarding betrothals," Madge says in a fake Capitol-affected accent, clearly mimicking this 'Octavia' person. Then she giggles, and the sound of her laughter wraps itself around my heart.
Madge explains to a curious Posie, how in the Capitol, there isn't just a bride and groom, but an entire "Bridal Party," which usually includes the bride and groom's family and close friends.
"So, as Katniss's only female friend, it seems that they have granted me the position of "Maid of Honor."
I see Madge's entire body finally relax when the excitement from her few minutes of fame on the television is over, replaced with Peeta's handsome brother, Rye.
"Oh my gosh, he looks like a dork!" Madge giggles at the television, and I don't miss the subtle way Gale tenses up, or how he clenches his teeth together.
"Miss Madge! Oh, you were so beautiful!"
"I looked like a clown," Madge mumbles, her usually ivory cheeks turning a striking shade of red.
Clearly embarrassed, she squeezes her eyes shut, pulls her legs to her chest, then hides her face between her knees.
A few seconds later, and clearly over his private little tantrum, Gale attempts to free Madge from her cage. He scratches his stubbly chin against Madge's cheek, and she jumps. She lifts her head up a little and squints one eye open, and I can tell she's taken aback at his proximity.
"Did you need something?" I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out with laughter.
"You look beautiful," Gale motions to the T.V. with his head.
Madge rolls her eyes. "Good to know you like your women looking like clowns. I'll keep that in mind." I love this girl.
Gale frowns. "That's not what I meant, Madge. I mean yes—" Gale points to the television screen, "you were beautiful there, but if you ask me, you're most beautiful when your hair is all wild and messy, slung in that crazy ponytail, and your face smudged with a thin layer of coal dust."
My heart must swell to twice its size. I can't help the pride I feel at hearing my son's words, and in this moment I wish more than ever Glen was still alive to see the wonderful man our son has grown to be. No, proud doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling.
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[ Lily Everdeen]
"Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to cast your votes!" We're all gathered in the living room, me and my girls, along with Bing, Peeta and Rye…like…like a family, as we watch the flamboyant Caesar Flickerman. This is actually the first time I've realized that we actually are a family, as unconventional as it may seem
"Have you decided on your favorites?" Caesar connects with his viewers, looking directly into the camera. "They're all so wonderful I don't know how I can choose just one!" Caesar roars the audience to life. We only hear the cacophony of cheers from the audience, because the screen is now a cluster of tiny images. Each one is different, of Katniss and Peeta in their various wedding attire.
"Alright, alright. Calm down folks, calm down!" Caesar waits for the volume to decrease before continuing. "None of this would be possible without their brilliant stylists, so let's give a big round of applause to the stylists of District 12, Cinna and Portia-a-a!" Caesar pauses for a respectable amount of time, then continues gushing. "Such talent! Don't you wish you had your own personal stylist?" There are more hoots, hollers, and whistles as Caesar chuckles to himself.
"Remember, every vote counts, so do your part and call the number on your screen to vote and then meet me back here at the same time tomorrow night for the big reveal! With your help we will get Katniss Everdee-een and Peeta-a-a Mellark to their wedding in style!"
Rye starts to get up to turn the television off when Caesar grabs our attention. "Wait a minute, don't turn those sets off just yet. That's right folks, we have a surprise guest tonight!" Caesar gives an exaggerated pause for effect before continuing. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for the Third Quarter Quell!"
I'm certain my face goes as pale as my daughter's does. For a moment, I wonder if this explains Haymitch's absence.
"But what will they do? It isn't for months yet." Prim looks to me for answers, while Peeta looks to his brother, then to his father, who both shrug their shoulders, just as speechless as the rest of us.
"It must be the reading of the card," I provide the only answer I know of.
The anthem blares from our television set, signaling the end of the commercial break.
I know my daughter, and while she has her brave face on, I know she's terrified. She clenches her teeth to fight the flood of tears that want to burst out. Peeta and Katniss's hands are locked in a vice grip as we all wait for what comes next.
President Snow takes the stage. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit. The little boy waits for the president's nod before he approaches him with a wooden box.
The anthem finally ends and President Snow holds his hands up to silence the audience before he begins to speak.
"Welcome, welcome." It feels as if ice runs through my veins when I hear the sound of our president's voice. There is an insane applause and cheering coming from the crowd. "I think I speak for Miss Everdeen and Mister Mellark when I say thank you for casting your votes on their wedding attire."
My blood boils. How dare he have the audacity.
First, the president reminds us of the war, followed by the dark days. Then he goes on about the Hunger Games and its purpose. How it's meant to grant us peace. How the districts work together for the Capitol because the Capitol keeps us safe. Safe. When have we ever been safe?
"And now, ladies & gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games and it was written in the charter for the games that every twenty-five years there would be a Quarter Quell. To keep fresh for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance.
"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."
On the fiftieth anniversary, and the second Quarter Quell, as a reminder that two rebels died for every one Capitol citizen, twice the number of tributes were reaped.
Maysilee. That was the year I lost Maysilee…or well, 'Grace,' as the rest of Panem knew her as. Then I remember the circumstances that sent my best friend charging toward the stage to take her sister's place. The surprise, 'last minute' rules and I wonder if they will do that again.
And now, on this eve, the seventy-fifth anniversary of the defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell that as a reminder, even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from its existing pool of victors."
My world becomes unhinged. Panic rises in my chest, and for a moment I think something is wrong with me because everything becomes blurry. I realize I am perfectly okay, my eyes are just filled with tears. I take a deep breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again and again.
Slowly, the panic begins to fade; I regain control over my body, my vision clears.
It feels as if I was in a state of frozen panic for hours, but in actuality it was only a few seconds.
"I—I don't understand. What does it mean?" Prim cries out. She may not fully understand what she heard, but she knows it was bad. IS bad.
"It means…it means…we're going back into the Games." Peeta confirms all of our worst nightmares.
Kpkpkpkpkp
So, what'didya think? If you have a moment, drop me a line (or a few) and tell me what you thought :)
Once again, I want to say thank you to all who have stuck around this far/long. Your encouragement/messages and kudos truly mean the world to me. And...fingers crossed, chapter 13 will be posted before too long.
AND...one more time, thank you to AvonleaBrigadoon for all your hard work, encouragement, assistance, advice, opinions, etc... This chapter wouldn't be possible without you!
SNEEK PEEK:
Line from next chapter comes from Prim:
"Mom, should Katniss still be puking? Shouldn't all the Spirits be out of her system by now?"