A/N: Thanks so much to the Muttations blog who made this story their Fanfic Pick of the week! Also a very special thank you (again) to Miss Scarlett 05 for recommending it and for writing the very flattering review... If you haven't checked it out yet, go do that, and listen to the Muttations Podcast!
Hope you enjoy this chapter, since I'll be on vacation for a week starting tomorrow and unable to write... Well, not exactly unable, but I'm probably not going to sit around Disneyland writing fanfic :)
Also, my beta didn't have time to check this chapter, so I apologize for any typos, but I really wanted to get this uploaded before I left.
6 months before reaping
The morning after my sham of a date with Flynn Mellark, I wake up to find that winter has arrived overnight. I can see from my window that a blanket of snow covers the square, and all the merchants are already beginning to shovel the entryways of their shops.
After trudging to school in my boots and heavy coat, I look around before heading to my first class until I spot Gale in a corner of the hallway with a small crowd of boys. Of course, I'm too intimidated to approach him in front of his friends, all from the Seam and older than me, but I try to catch his eye a few times from across the hall. He doesn't glance my way.
At lunchtime, Katniss sits down across from me, as always, and suddenly my heart starts racing. Would Gale have mentioned anything to her about our little tryst? She always maintains that they are nothing more than friends, but what if she's secretly harboring feelings for him, and now she hates me for swooping in? Or, if they are strictly platonic, will she judge me harshly for being so easily charmed by a boy I hardly know? Fortunately, she seems to be acting the same way she always does at lunch, so I have to guess that he didn't tell her.
However, this makes me worry as well. She's his best friend. If he didn't tell her about me, should I assume that I simply wasn't worth mentioning? Is this further proof that I'm just the latest in Gale's long line of slag heap victories?
I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe Gale knows that romance just isn't a subject Katniss is interested in. She's certainly never brought it up around me.
"It's amazing how fast the weather changed," I say, trying to distract myself from negative thoughts.
Katniss simply nods and bites off a piece of the dried meat she brought for lunch.
"Gale did a great job at my parents' party," I mention, remembering that the last time I spoke to her was the morning before the party, which seems like ages ago after all that's happened to me since then.
"I'm glad," she replies.
I pick at my chicken sandwich with my fingers. "It's a shame you couldn't make it," I add.
Katniss shrugs. "His brothers need new winter clothes. Figured I'd let him make the money," she explains.
"Right," I say, remembering the smaller Gale look-alikes running around yesterday in the Meadow with only thin jackets and pant legs that ended slightly too high on their ankles. Not to mention pretty little Posy in her drab clothes. I sigh, thinking of how her face lit up at the idea of a dress and a ribbon.
We're quiet through the rest of lunch, and part ways wordlessly with a courteous exchange of head-nods when it's time for class.
Settling down in my seat, I take out my book to prepare for another mind-numbing lesson, when I notice Peeta Mellark lingering next to me. I look up and raise my eyebrows.
"Hey Madge," he says, clearing his throat.
I smile back politely, and he sits down behind me. "Fun party over the weekend," he says.
Surprised that he's still addressing me, I turn around. "It was okay," I say.
One of Peeta's friends throws a balled up paper at him, distracting him from our very limited conversation, and I turn my attention back to my math book, diligently coloring in all the zeros on the page with my pencil.
"I heard that Arion Wick drank a whole bottle of wine and threw up in the hedges outside your house," Peeta says, with a good-natured laugh.
I turn around again, looking slightly appalled. "My parents thought it was such a great idea to invite teenagers to the party, and it turns out they all just got drunk and made fools of themselves," I say, shaking my head.
He laughs again. "Well, I didn't drink," he says. "Did you?"
"No, of course not, but your brother most certainly did," I tell him.
Our teacher finally enters and tells everyone to settle down and open their books. I turn to face the front of the classroom again and resume my doodling.
"Well," Peeta whispers, leaning forward on his desk, "acting a fool always does seem to work out for him."
Unsure what he means, I turn around wearing a puzzled look.
"Eyes front please, everyone," the teacher says sternly, writing the numbers of the pages we're to finish on the chalkboard.
I slump down slightly in my chair and keep my eyes on my book, scribbling away at the assignment of busy-work for the rest of the period. When class is over, Peeta smiles at me before hurrying off to our next class with his friends.
I watch the clock for the rest of the afternoon, the minute hand appearing to move at a much slower pace than usual, until finally, three-thirty arrives. Out in the hallway, I check the corner by the drinking fountain for Gale, and I see a few dark haired boys that resemble him slightly, but he's not among them. Remembering his brothers, I venture over to the other side of the school, where the younger kids are being released from class. I spot Katniss, who's greeting her younger sister, and I duck out of sight. I'm not exactly sure that I need to hide, but it's well known that I'm an only child, and since I have no siblings to locate, I don't want to have to explain what I'm doing over here.
Eventually, I pick out Rory and Vick in the sea of children passing by me. Rory meets my eye for a moment, but makes no gesture letting me know he remembers who I am. They seem to be escorting themselves outside, so I make my way to the double doors that lead behind the school.
Still no luck. I come to the conclusion that I would make a terrible hunter, at least when my targeted prey happens to be Gale Hawthorne. I'm about to give up and just head home, when I feel a heavy arm draping itself over my shoulders. When I look up, my stomach sinks, and I'm greeted by Flynn Mellark's sly grin.
"Feeling better today?" he asks.
I shrug the arm off. "It comes and goes," I say coldly.
"Well, hopefully it wasn't my mother's cooking," he laughs. "You'll break her heart."
I try to imagine the unpleasant Mrs. Mellark looking genuinely heartbroken, instead of just calculating and bitter. "No, the food was fine," I say.
"Great," he says brightly. "So you should come over for dinner tonight then, since you rushed out so fast last night."
I stare at him blankly. "Uh, thanks, but I thought I made it pretty clear-"
He waves a hand in the air. "Right, right, your coal miner boyfriend," he says dismissively. "I've decided, I'm okay with that. There's no reason you can't spend time with me, even if you're still seeing him."
"Oh really?" I ask suspiciously, my eyes widening.
"Yeah, it doesn't bother me," he answers smugly.
"And why's that?" I can't help asking.
Leaning in closer to me, he grins, showing off a dimple in his left cheek. I ruminate over how odd it is that a face can be so handsome, yet so off-putting at the same time. "I just know it won't take long for you to choose me over him."
I resist the urge to kick him with my boot and shove handfuls of snow down his throat. Instead, I smile as sweetly as I can at him. "Why is it you insist on making it so difficult for me to be polite about rejecting you?" I ask.
He lets out a hearty laugh. "Polite Madge is boring," he declares. "Until the other night, I only thought you were pretty. Now I know you've got some spunk behind that quiet little exterior, I can't help but egg you on until it comes out," he says proudly.
My phony smile fades slightly. "You don't know anything about me," I say, and push past him to trudge home. He follows. "Ugh," I huff, "I thought you were trying to convince me that you're not a creep."
He laughs, unabashed. "I'm not a creep, you're just cute when you're irritated," he says, and I roll my eyes.
He jogs ahead, then turns to face me, blocking my path. He's still smiling, but his expression is more serious than before. "Okay, okay, no more teasing, I swear," he says. "Look, maybe you're having fun with your secret coal miner boyfriend for now, and I get that, believe me. But sneaking around, lying to your parents, it gets old after a while," he says, shrugging. "You and I wouldn't have to do that. We're better suited for one another." He takes my icy hand and squeezes it, then lets go before I have a chance to protest. "Just think about it, okay?"
I open my mouth to deny him again with some rude comment, but this time his smile actually appears genuine, his eyes looking hopeful instead of devious. I still don't trust him, but I can't bring myself to spit out an insult.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, and jogs off to join his friends.
When I catch myself staring after him feeling bewildered for a few seconds longer than I should, I abruptly start marching toward home, wishing I could go back in time a few days, when my head wasn't filled with conflicting thoughts about good-looking boys.
Gale eludes me all week. Each time I manage to catch a glimpse of him from a distance, looking everywhere but my direction, I find myself wondering more and more if the night we kissed was real. If we even spoke. If the charming boy he was that night, who laughed freely and made me feel more special than I ever have, was just a figment of my imagination.
I keep the pair of shoes I wore that night, still dingy from coal dust, sitting just inside my bedroom door as a reminder.
I had tried to follow Nessie's advice and talk to him, but he's proved impossible to pin down, and the fact that he hasn't sought me out just makes it more obvious. He never had any intention of continuing what we started. I was a temporary distraction, a bit of fun one night, nothing more.
It makes me sad, of course, and humiliated to realize that he doesn't want me after all. More than anything though, it infuriates me. It makes me want to confront him, even more than I did before, when I still thought there was a chance I'd been misinformed about his reputation. My anger motivates me so much, I decide to seek him out to tell him off in a place where I know I can find him, but didn't have the courage to look before. I just have to make it until the weekend before I can venture there.
Trying to stay awake as the numbers swim around on the pages of my math book, I hear a quiet yet abrupt hissing sound behind me.
"Ssst," the sound persists. "Ssst, Madge!"
The whisper of my name brings me back from my math-induced daze, and I turn around. Peeta Mellark smiles and pushes a small scrap of paper toward me, darts his eyes to the teacher, then back to his work. I turn back around and unfold the paper to read his message. Coming out tonight?
Tonight? I'm vaguely aware that kids from school get together and do things on Friday nights, but I've certainly never attended, and I have no idea what these get-togethers might actually entail. I write a question mark under Peeta's words and pass the note back to him discreetly.
A few moments later, he taps my shoulder lightly, and I take the note without looking behind me. Bonfire. F said he'd bring u.
I purse my lips in anger, trying not to growl and break the silence of the classroom. F for Flynn. I turn around and Peeta raises his eyebrows, but frowns when I shake my head resolutely.
When class is dismissed, he stops me before I leave. "Why aren't you coming?" he asks.
I roll my eyes. "No offense to you, but your brother is an arrogant jerk," I explain haughtily. "Assuming I'd say yes before he even asked me? Ugh, the nerve, like he's Finnick Odair or something."
Peeta nods, but looks confused. "Oh, I thought you two were..." he trails off awkwardly.
My eyes go wide. "What? No, no, absolutely not." I snatch up my book and furiously shove it into my bag. This is Flynn's version of letting me think it over? I should have stuck to my first impression of him instead of trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Did he tell you that we're together?" I demand shrilly.
He shrugs, looking torn. "He might have thrown the word 'practically' in there somewhere," he offers.
I huff angrily. Peeta picks up my book bag before I can, and throws it over his shoulder along with his own. "Come on, let's get to History," he says, and leads the way through the hall. "My brother's not so bad you know, he's just not used to girls turning him down," he says, smirking.
"Well then he should find someone else to stalk," I grumble, and Peeta laughs. He hands me my bag when we get to class, and I take my seat.
"You should still come out tonight," he persists. "Flynn's harmless, he just likes you. Anyway, there'll be a bunch of us there."
I try not to wrinkle my nose at the idea of crowding around a small fire for warmth in the freezing air behind the school with a group of people I hardly know, including the maddening Flynn Mellark, knowing the whole time that I could be at curled up at home with a book and a cup of tea. "I don't think so," I tell Peeta. "I won't really know anyone."
He raises his eyebrows hopefully. "Well, you could always bring a friend," he says enthusiastically, his eyes moving to the empty seat next to me.
"Thanks, Peeta, really," I say, "but I think I'm going to stay home. I don't want to encourage your brother."
He looks slightly crestfallen, but manages a smile anyway. "Maybe next time," he says, and finds his seat in the back of the room with his friends.
"What was that about?" Katniss asks casually as she sits down next to me.
I briefly entertain the thought of filling her in on my recent dilemma involving the baker's sons, leaving out the parts about Gale, of course, but I hold back. She and I have never really shared like that before, and even though it would be nice to vent about it, it might be awkward. As far as I know, she's never dated anyone either, but unlike me, she just seems... above it somehow. Or, at least, above gabbing about it with me before class like the other girls our age might do. "Oh, nothing," I say, rolling my eyes. "Just the aftermath of my parents' party. Next year, I'm hiding upstairs the whole time."
She gives me half a smile, a rare occurrence for her. I'm tempted to try and keep the conversation going, but our teacher walks in and starts in on today's history lesson, and I spend the hour struggling to keep my eyes open.
When school is over, I walk straight home, taking care to avoid the Mellark brothers and more possible invitations to tonight's awful-sounding gathering. At home, I'm happy to see that my mother is downstairs in the main room reading one of her old novels, with a bit more color in her face than she's had all week.
"Feeling better?" I ask, sitting on the arm of her chair.
She smiles at me and pats my arm. "A bit, yes," she says. "How was school?"
"Great," I say brightly, like I always do when she asks. I've been trying hard not to let her hear me complain, especially about the disastrous results of the date she forced me to go on. I was angry at her for a while, but I know deep down she only wants me to be happy. Maybe if I convince her that I'm happy enough without her help, she won't try to contribute to my social life anymore.
"Any plans for the weekend?" she asks.
I force a smile. "Yes, actually," I say. "I'm going out tomorrow afternoon."
"That's wonderful," she says, smiling warmly at me.
Thankfully, she doesn't ask for details, just looks back down to her book. I take the opportunity to move from her chair to the piano to play a bit for the first time all week. I'm never allowed to play while my mother is suffering from a headache, and I always miss it, since it's the only hobby at which I've ever actually demonstrated any skill.
"That song sounds so sad, darling," my mother comments.
I stop for a moment, trying to think of a happier tune to play, but for some reason, I find that a song is harder to fake than a smile. I continue what I was playing before and, through my mother's sighs, the sadness of the melody actually comforts me.
Saturday morning I wake up early, but stay in bed as long as I can stand it, trying to work up the courage I'll need for the day's task.
I will confront Gale Hawthorne today.
With closed eyes and clenched teeth, I repeat the phrase over and over in my mind, willing myself to get out of bed. When I finally manage to get up, I look out the window to see that the snow is falling heavily today. The trek across town will be a bit more treacherous than I would prefer. Part of me wants to scrap the whole idea and stay home where it's warm and there's no danger of frostbite or further emotional turmoil.
No, I tell myself. I will confront Gale Hawthorne today. A little snow will not stop me from finding him and saying what I need to say to him. I am not a girl to be toyed with and used and simply thrown away. I am worth more than that.
I stay in my room, not hungry for breakfast, and tidy up a bit to pass the time. I read a book I've already read a hundred times, organize my hair ribbons by color, finish the scarf I've been knitting, choosing to ignore all the flaws and lumpy knots I've created. Glancing to the window, I watch the weather get progressively worse as the morning passes by. When afternoon arrives, the view has gone from gloomy to downright menacing.
Finally, I take a deep breath and get dressed in layers, dreading stepping outside to be assaulted by the wind I can see swirling the snow around. Trying not to let the weather shake my resolve, I head downstairs, reminding myself how much better I'll feel once I tell Gale where he can shove his fake charm and his kisses.
Nessie greets me in the kitchen, and says something that I don't catch because my head is filled with all the clever insults I have planned for later. "What?" I ask her, trying to bring myself back to the present.
"Always in your head lately," she scoffs. "I asked if you were planning on going out in that mess."
"Oh, yes," I tell her. "Are my gloves in the hall closet?"
"They are, but I wouldn't do that if I were you," she says, pouring some tea in a cup and handing it over to me. "That storm's going to get worse before it gets better."
I wrap my fingers around the cup to warm them. "This can't wait. There's something I need to do across town."
"Ah," she says knowingly. "So you've been shut up in your room all day and suddenly you have a pressing matter that requires you to venture out into the snow, which you despise? You do realize that certain people most likely won't be at home at the moment."
"Oh, I know," I say, sighing. Might as well tell her the truth, seeing as she figures everything out anyway. "That's why I'm going to the Hob."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is that so? Well, I didn't know you were so worldly these days."
"I get around," I say mysteriously and she bursts out laughing. A chuckle escapes me as well.
The truth is, I didn't even know what District 12's black market was called until I subtly fished the information out of Katniss, along with a vague idea of when she and Gale head there after they finish hunting on the weekends.
The way I've heard people in town talk about large gatherings of people that might go on in the Seam, I ought to have a bit of anxiety about going there, especially alone. However, Katniss made it sound like she does business there quite often, so I figure that if she can do it, so can I. I'm aware that Katniss is much braver than I am, but I think it's only because she's always needed to be. If I were charged with the task of feeding my family all on my own, I'd like to think I'd have the fortitude to do whatever it takes.
Speculations aside, I am nervous, and not just about braving the Hob. As much as I need to deal with the Gale situation and obtain some closure, I'm dreading it. The last time I saw him up close, he was kissing me goodnight at my back door, after insisting on walking me all the way there from the Seam, even though he knew he'd just have to turn right around and go all the way back home. At the time I'd thought it was sweet and chivalrous. Now I don't know what to think about it.
I falter a bit when I think of kissing him. I take a deep breath and let it out, expelling those types of thoughts from my mind. I will confront Gale Hawthorne today.
"Well," Nessie says as she hands me a piece of toast, "your boots are in the hall closet too, along with your good jacket. Make sure to keep the hood up. Folks at the Hob, they aren't used to seeing pretty young blonde girls wandering around in there. Someone might try to hustle you out of money," she warns.
I take one bite of the toast, but my stomach is too tense to eat any more, so I hand it back to her. "I don't have any money, so that won't be a problem," I reply seriously, then look up to catch her smiling. "You're kidding, aren't you?"
She nods and I let out a huff, then her face turns serious again. "Whatever it is you're going there to do, I hope it's worth going out in this weather."
Smiling, I give her a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't worry so much," I say.
"Madge, honey," she says as I'm heading back into the dining room. "Just promise you'll be careful."
"I'll be fine," I call on my way out.
It's hard to tell what she's more worried about: the dangers of the Hob, the chance of a blizzard, or my emotional well-being.
Once I'm decked out in my warmest gear, I head out the front door into the frozen afternoon. There are a few people in the square, but they're all rushing quickly to their destinations. No one stops to chat, or to peer in any shop windows. Snowflakes stinging my cheeks, I wonder for a moment if Gale and Katniss even bothered to go out hunting today, but quickly banish the thought before it has a chance to grow into an excuse to go back home.
I press on, my boots crunching their way slowly across town. It's hard to tell when I've reached the Seam, since the snow on the ground is thick enough to mask the usual layer of gray. Everything looks white and pristine today. The only gray now is the sky, with coal-colored clouds hanging ominously above me.
When I spot the unassuming old warehouse from a distance, my nerves begin to act up, and I repeat my mantra a few times with closed eyes. A minute later, I open them again and squint when I see someone I think I recognize heading toward the building. When I watch him trip over his feet, I'm sure I know who it is.
"Haymitch!" I call, and he turns in my direction, brushing himself off. I hurry toward him, my anxiety pushed to the back of my mind, and I hear him curse. Despite his boorishness, I can't help but feel relieved to see someone I know.
"Just what do you think you're doing over here?" he demands, brushing himself off.
"I'm looking for someone," I answer hastily. "What about you?"
He scowls at me. "Emergency," he replies. "My house is dry."
"Oh," I say after an awkward pause.
He stares expectantly at me, then rolls his eyes and opens the heavy looking door of the dilapidated building. "Ladies first," he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
It's only now, as the door is opened and I get my first glimpse of the makeshift market stalls and the throngs of Seam residents, most of whom I've never even seen in the square before, that I start to actually get scared. Many in the crowd are old, weathered, and missing teeth or limbs. I cringe and hang back for a moment, trying to swallow my fear, and Haymitch clears his throat loudly.
"Any day now, little one," he barks.
I take a wary step inside and immediately Haymitch pushes past me and rushes away to one of the vendors. So much for thinking my "uncle" might act as an impromptu escort through this unfamiliar territory. I think I like Haymitch better when he's drunk and seems to actually care about me, even if it's only in his dysfunctional and usually obnoxious way.
The temperature inside the building doesn't seem to be any different inside than out; the only relief is that there isn't any wind blowing the icy air around. I push my hood back anyway, since no one in here seems to be bundled quite as warmly as I am, and move away from the door to a somewhat inconspicuous spot in a corner behind some waste bins, where I can get a better look. The place is crowded with bodies, probably all trying to escape the cold.
Right away, I pick out Gale over by one of the stalls near the center of the building. Katniss is there too, sitting on the counter of the stall, where an old woman is laughing and serving them steaming bowls of what I can only assume is soup. Gale and Katniss appear to be in good spirits as well. I can't help but feel a stab of jealousy twisting around in my stomach at how easily they converse, even sharing smiles with one another. Watching them together is a glaring reminder of just how alone and out of place I am here.
I close my eyes to gather myself for a moment, and when I open them again, Gale hasn't moved an inch, but his eyes are now locked onto me. Mortified that I've been spotted so quickly, I freeze like a frightened animal, feeling myself shrink down just a bit. He moves his eyes back to Katniss, whose back is toward me, and he leans in to tell her something. She nods and turns her attention to the woman with the soup and a young redheaded Peacekeeper who seems to have joined in on the conversation. I find the sight a bit odd- a Peacekeeper coming here to do business when surely he can afford to shop in town, and also the casual manner in which he appears to be socializing. I purse my lips, noticing that his standard issue uniform jacket isn't even buttoned, when suddenly Gale appears directly in front of me. He moved so quickly during the moment I was distracted, I hadn't even seen him leave the group.
"You lost?" he asks in that gruff tone he always used to use on me when he would deliver strawberries at my back door, back when we were strangers.
I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. "Of course not. I came-"
"Anything to trade?" he interrupts.
"Huh?" I blurt.
"Trade," he says slowly, as if speaking to a child, and gestures to the bag slung over his shoulder. "Like game, or produce. You know, things of value. How much coin ya got on you?" It sounds like an accusation.
I shake my head. "I don't have any," I say meekly. I want to speak more, but he's quicker.
"Shame. Best get on home then, Undersee," he says tersely. "You've got no business here."
My mouth opens slightly, and my chest tightens as I stand glued to the spot, blinking and dazed, trying to figure out how this hostile and malicious man has replaced the boy I found so charming only a week ago. His eyes move down over me once, then back up to my face before turning around and starting back toward the center of the Hob.
"Gale," I say, snapping myself back into the present.
He turns back to me.
The whole confrontation, the charges of wrongdoing, all the words I had planned to say to him disappear with the little puff of warm breath that escapes my lips and floats up when it hits the freezing air, and the only thing I can get out is, "I thought we were friends."
He smirks, and takes two steps closer to me, which are all his long legs need to close the distance between us. "Well, we aren't," he says quietly, looking straight into my eyes. "No need to pretend to be upset about it. We both know how things work around here." He backs up again and motions me away with a patronizing little wave. "Now run back to town where you belong. I'm sure you'll find someone there who's better suited for a girl like you."
Clenching my jaw, I will my eyes not to fill with tears until he turns his smirking face away from me and rejoins Katniss. Once he's gone, I flee the warehouse and the tears spill over, burning-hot on my frosty cheeks.
I'm not quite sure how I make it home, feeling cripplingly heartbroken and yet so furious I could knock the teeth out of the first person who gives me a second look. Luckily, the streets are empty.
I shake the snow off before I get inside, and leave my jacket, gloves, and boots in the corner of the kitchen on the floor. Storming through the main room, I stop short when I spot the misshapen vase I made that Gale had joked about at the party, filled with flowers and sitting on the end table near the piano. Someone must have found it hidden under the sink and brought it back out to display.
I can't say why the sight of it angers me as much as it does. Perhaps it simply reminds me of the Gale I met that night, and I don't want to remember that side of him right now, after his complete and unquestionable rejection of me. Or maybe it serves as a symbol of how all my attempts to branch out and try new things end in failure. Either way, before I can think better of it, I sweep it from the table and it shatters on the floor. I watch the puddle of water spread across the floor around the flowers and the broken pieces of clay, and I exhale. Surprised at how good it feels to destroy something I put so much effort into, I laugh quietly to myself.
Before anyone discovers me acting so insane, I grab a towel from the kitchen and clean up the mess, switching back from laughing to crying about halfway through.
When I'm done, I retreat to my room, and the first thing I see is the pale blue against the white of my bedding. My dress, the one Haymitch bought for me, has been cleaned and returned. I wipe off my tears with my shirt sleeve and take the dress from the bed, holding it up with both hands to examine it. Not a trace of coal dust can be detected. Hazelle really does work wonders. She erased the only piece of evidence proving that I had ever been to that cursed slag heap. It's what I asked her to do, so why does the sight of it, perfectly clean, looking like new to anyone who doesn't know better, make me so incredibly sad?
Tossing the dress back to the bed, I sit down, close my eyes, and let out a long sigh. It's good the stains are gone. No proof left. If the dress can be salvaged without any damage, maybe I can too. Just forget the whole thing ever happened.
When I open my eyes again, they're drawn toward the shoes next to my door. Throw them away, a little voice in my head urges me. Erase it from your memory.
I get back up and grab the shoes, then look to the window. How far could I throw them? Would someone pick them up and take them away before the snow buries them?
"Ugh," I groan out loud, and open my closet, bury the shoes in the box filled with tissue paper and my too-small, never-worn pink rain boots, and replace the lid. Items I can't bring myself to get rid of.
There, good enough. I close the door and fling myself face-up onto my bed next to the dress. The dress, the vase, the shoes, all taken care of. No more reminders, and no more tears, I promise myself. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll never have to speak to Gale Hawthorne ever again.