Chapter Four
To say I was casual about my date was a lie. As noon steadily approached, I stood infront of my mirror looking critically at what I was wearing. I had decided upon my only formal wear left-the pale green dress I wore for the announcement. Mariah told me that leaving my hair how it is to sit around my shoulders looks fine. When the doorbell rings, I shriek and shout Mariah; who has inevitably already got the door. When I finally force myself out into the hall, Mariah is grilling Haymitch.
"I told you, I'm not trouble," Haymitch says irritably as Mariah leans against the door frame. "Is there a problem?" I say smoothly, and I'm surprised at how calm I sound because I really am not. "No, no, not at all," Mariah says quickly, and pushes me out the door before I can run back and burrow under the covers. She kisses me on the cheek, and the door is shut on my heels.
"So," I ask, "Where are we going?" Not that there are many places. Apparently, we are just going around on a walk. Awkward silence lingers until we reach the Bakers, and Haymitch begins to ask me about my life. I don't tell him the stuff that is painful to utter; but the basics. I'm just sixteen, have a twin and a best friend I can't live without. Haymitch nods in all the right places, but I know he's tuning in and out. Finally, we sit down on the wrought-iron steps infront of the Justice Building and Haymitch tells me about his life. I watch people go about their daily lives, occasionally shuffling to let someone through. The day is sunny, but a bit cold. I draw my cardigan around me, shivering a bit, and Haymitch notices.
"Hey, that's way too thin!" He scowls at my apparent stupidity, and takes his own thick coat and drapes it around my shoulders. I would refuse, but the warmth given from it is so lovely that I can't. The awkward silence again haunts us, both not knowing what to say. I decide that walking with Haymitch into the square would be nice, as sometimes it has a jovial feel. Sometimes.
As we turn the corner to the Square, I see the differences immediately. A banner with the seal of Panem, and the logo for the Quell, hangs above the stage which has been renovated: made bigger, and now has floodlights. The cobble stones have been swept clean: screens projecting the entire square put up on the sides of buildings. I see my own sickened face as I realise what this is for. The Reaping.
I don't even notice I'm on the floor, rocking in a ball, until Haymitch stands infront of me, as if guarding me from unwanted attention. He carefully gets hold of my shoulder; helps me up and we walk back out the Square with eyes on us. I feel faint; I'd almost forgotten it was on Wednesday. Today is Sunday. I feel sick to the stomach with grief, panic, and most of all, fright. I'm not safe; never was. But now, I'm less safe than ever. I feel as if my fragile shields have been pulled down: revealing a shivering, sobbing girl who would give anything to have her name out of that bowl. My earlier bravado has been stripped away.
Haymitch leads me to the wall of a Bakery, and I finally get my grip back, everything sliding into focus. "I'm sorry," I say, sadly. "Really sorry."
"It's okay," Haymitch says softly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I almost smoulder in his eyes-but not quite. "Ciara used to do tha-" As if realizing what he'd said, he covered his mouth, flushing. It clicks together, and rage consumes me.
"Ciara as in your girlfriend?" Haymitch thinks about this, a pained look in his eyes, and nods. I wrench myself from his grip. "I can't actually believe you. You invite me here, on a date, when you have a girlfriend?"
Haymitch's eyes change, clouding, into those of a furious person. "Ciara as in Ciara Knowles. That Ciara." I bite my tounge, horrified at what he means. Ciara Knowles was last year's D12 tribute. And finally, I realize where I'd seen Haymitch before. Crumpling into a heap when Ciara's name was chosen, and I remember Haymitch being escorted from the Square as a paper-white, shaking Ciara mounted the stage. She didn't make it past the Cornocopia.
"I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"You're right. You didn't." I flush, a mottled red, as Haymitch brushes past me into the Square, leaving a mortified and self-disgusted me in his wake.