Thanks so much to Randommmfanatic and my wonderful guest reviewers!
Envy
Life is good for a while after Maysilee moves into her pleasant blue house. Everyone worried when she announces she wanted to live there alone—"Not really alone, I'll have Orpheus"—but she gets her way. Marj and Rose visit her every day, and her parents almost as much, and she often returns to her old home for family dinners. Maysilee tries her hand at gardening but is terrible at it, so she decides to sprinkle a little money into District 12's economy and hire Hazelle, Dell Hawthorne's girlfriend, to plant flowers and vegetables and herbs for her.
She occasionally takes out the cello again, but its strings no longer sing for her like they did before...well, before. So into the attic it goes, where it slowly gathers dust. Usually she'll keep her hands busy by bustling around in her kitchen—her large, beautiful, fully furnished kitchen with the giant granite counter—and churning out casseroles or cakes or stews. Maysilee has never thought of herself as an expert in the culinary arts, but practice makes perfect, and soon most of her dishes guarantee rave reviews. And she always makes too much for herself—not that she worries about the expense, now that she's glutted on blood money—so she'll usually bring her products to the family dinners or give them away to her friends. She knows Jon and Dell appreciate them very much.
Those are her days. Her nights continue to be haunted, as she returns to the arena every time she lays her head on her pillow. On the nights she cannot bear them—poisoned darts in children's necks, swords in the bellies, candy-pink birds pecking her skin away—she slinks downstairs to make herself some tea or cocoa and drinks it in the living room, slowly, to prolong her return to bed. Often, on those nights, she will gaze out her window, and sometimes she will see a light on in Haymitch's house across the way. Perhaps he has nightmares too. Perhaps he also dreads the darkness, the loneliness. Perhaps he remains awake until he passes out from exhaustion.
That's what Maysilee imagines at first. Then one morning, when it's barely dawn and she gave up sleeping around three a.m., she sees Haymitch's girlfriend, Larkspur, trotting out of his house. Her clothes are the same as yesterday's.
A hot, unpleasant sensation flares in Maysilee's chest. And while his mother and little brother are under the same roof! But she shakes her head. It's not her place to judge, and Haymitch has made it clear they're no longer part of each other's lives. He can do what he wants.
She soon finds out that, in fact, neither she nor Haymitch can do what they want.
President Snow disdainfully eyes his teacup, part of a set handcrafted by someone from the Seam, before sniffing and sipping. "Interesting." He replaces the cup on the saucer and steeples his fingers, cold gaze on Maysilee. "Miss Donner, I assume you know why I'm here."
"I've probably displeased you somehow," Maysilee answers with just a touch of impertinence.
"Yes, though more Haymitch than you." He picks up a pastry, examines it, and sets it back down on the dish. "Can we be frank with each other, Miss Donner?" She nods. "The only reason you both survived as Victors was because you were the star-crossed lovers. Now, you and I know that it wasn't entirely true, but most of the country thinks otherwise. The Victory Tour is coming up, and Panem expects to see the star-crossed lovers again."
"Haymitch and I can act for—"
"And again at next year's Games. And at the next Victory Tour when they stop at District 12. And the next Games. And so on. Eventually, the Capitol will want to see the...fruits of your romance."
Her stomach lurches.
"Haymitch's little paramour throws a wrench into the neat story we have going in with you two. I trust that you will fix that soon."
Maysilee grits her teeth. "That...is not up to me."
"I'm sure Haymitch will see the light when you remind him that I am a man best not displeased. And you are not as impotent in this endeavor as you claim, Miss Donner. Act or not, I can't imagine you're that pleased seeing, ah, Larkspur, gallivanting around with your Romeo. Embrace that jealousy. Inflame it. Let it fuel you."
Now that Snow approves of her envy, the green sensation makes her feel all the more nauseous every time she spots Larkspur coming to and from Haymitch's house. Now that Snow has voiced it, she can no longer deny the flames bursting whenever her treacherous mind wonders what Larkspur is up to in the new Abernathy residence. She hates herself for it.
She and Larkspur bump into each other in front of the bakery. Maysilee can smell cinnamon wafting out of the bag in the other girl's hand.
"Oh. Hello." Larkspur shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Maysilee imagines this encounter must be as uncomfortable for Larkspur as it is for her. After all, Larkspur had to watch her boyfriend claim on TV to love another girl and cozy up to her before the cameras for several weeks. But Larkspur got him in the end. Again, Maysilee hates herself for thinking about it in terms of winners and losers, because Haymitch is a person, not a prize, and in this world there are no winners except the Capitol. "Hi, Larkspur." They only met once or twice in passing before the Games, usually in the company of others. Maysilee never had anything against her, but even back then she'd consciously turned her head away when Larkspur was with Haymitch. "Are you...busy today?"
"Um, yeah. I need to, um, drop off breakfast for Haymitch, and then I'm headed off to work." The bag crinkles in Larkspur's hand. "I'll, uh, see you around?"
"Yeah. See you around." Maysilee turns and marches into the bakery as Larkspur makes her escape. Farll Mellark grins upon seeing her and makes small talk as he boxes up her favorite strawberry shortcake. Farll's cakes are far better than any delicacy she had at the Capitol. Give me a good cinnamon roll any day over this clafoo whatever shit, Haymitch said once on the train before the Games. Before they smashed the comfortable friendship they had and haphazardly reconstructed the pieces into a farce of a romance. Before they killed. Before they died, in spirit if not in body. Before they wrote the story line they would have to act out for the rest of their lives, for an audience who expected nothing less than a drama for the ages.
Maysilee is running, bakery box in her hands. She runs up the porch steps and bangs her free hand on the door.
"Fucking hell, Jon, I told you I don't want—" Haymitch throws open the door then stops and stares at her.
She lifts her chin and stares resolutely at him. "We need to talk."
Thanks for reading! As usual, if you send me a review, I'll send you a short snippet of the next chapter!