(8)

When I wake, my head feels like it's on fire. I feel the urge to throw up, but hold it back long enough to get my bearings. I don't know where I am, but I know I'm not in my father's bedroom. The walls are completely white. Looking around the room, I spot Finnick, passed out in a chair, still in his expensive clothes. Something smells, and as soon as I get up, I can see that vomit has stained the carpet.

I notice as soon as my feet touch the ground that I'm barefoot. I look around the room for my shoes and find them separated; one by Finnick's chair and the other, by the door. My dress is torn at the back. It's not a large tear, but will take some time to repair. I scratch my head and yawn. The clock reads 10:00. 10:00?! The pre-wedding ceremonies start at noon! Careful not to step in the vomit, I run out of the room.

As soon as I've opened the door, I realize this house is not set up the same way as my father's. I spend a few minutes searching around until I've identified the bathroom. I go to turn the handle and it is locked. I put my ear to the door and hear that the shower is running.

I don't want to wake up Finnick, so I wait until the person showering has finished. I give myself a tour of the house and come to the conclusion that this is where Haymitch and Finnick have been staying. I find the second bedroom and confirm that Haymitch is the second resident. Don't ask me where he got it, but there are bottles of liquor everywhere. There are in the trash bin, the drawers, on top of the dresser, and hauntingly, every single one of them is empty. Clothes are strewn all over the floor and the bed sheets are so messed up that it looks like a herd of elephants had stampeded them.

I'm about to leave when I see the papers, sitting on the dresser in a heap. I walk up to the notes and begin to peruse. I'm correct. They are the plans. The only problem is that they are almost completely indecipherable due to Haymitch's messy penmanship. I catch a few words here and there, listening carefully for the hum of the shower. Then I find a folder. Opening the folder, tons of little notes spill out and fall all over the ground.

I go to pick them and notice they all say the same thing. I squint and bring the paper up to my eyes to make sure I'm reading it correctly. And I am. Written on every single tiny piece of paper, in a sloppy scrawl is: I killed her. I killed Maysilee Donner. It was me. It was ME!

I can hear my heart pounding in my chest. This time, I've gone too far. This note was not for me to see, not for anyone to see. I'm still crouched down, completely stunned from what I've just read, when Haymitch walks in, a towel wrapped around his body just below his torso.

He stares at me, just as shocked as I am. However, he is first to break out of the shocked state. Coming up to me, he squats down and takes the paper from my grasp forcefully, leaving a good sized paper cut on my hand. He curses wildly, angrily pacing back and forth.

"You!" He yells at me and looks me right in the eye with a look of fury. I have never seen him like this before. Anytime he's been angry before does not even come close to how he's acting at the present. I still remain frozen in my position, just looking at him.

He scrambles around the room, throwing the empty bottles against the wall, searching for another. Glass shatters everywhere. Bottle after bottle is knocked off the dresser. He takes a bottle that hasn't shattered off from the ground and throws it against the mirror. I'm forced to move at this point, before the glass from the mirror cuts me. He opens each drawer and throws all the contents out onto the floor. He looks under the bed, in the closet and finally, finding no alcohol, turns to face me.

I'm frightened. He doesn't say anything. Instead he opens his eyes very wide and stares at me. His breathing is very heavy and sounds labored. He tries to take deep breaths in, but fails. Slowly, I back into the corner and he follows me with his eyes.

I have to make a run for it. That is all I'm thinking about. I believe I'm in serious danger. It feels like I'm back in the Games. Haymitch is a tribute and he is going to pick up a large shard of glass and stab me, leaving me to bleed to death. Several painful moments pass. My eyes dart around, trying to avoid his gaze, but every time I look back, he is still staring at me.

"So now," he says with an evil smile on his face, "you know my secret."

"It's impossible!"

"Don't argue with me!" He takes a step forward and I'm petrified.

The world is spinning around me but my mind is in focus. It is impossible that he killed her. She was skewered through the neck by pink birds. Peeta and I saw it on the tape. He held her hand when she died. I'm too afraid of him to contradict right now.

He takes another step closer to me and puts his face right up to mine. "I killed her. I killed Maysilee Donner. It was me. I killed her. It was me…" he says, "Me, Katniss, me! I killed her!"

I shut my eyes and try to tune him out. The pain in his voice is unbearable.

But then Finnick comes in and rescues me. He pulls me away from Haymitch and I remember the slam of the door, some cursing and then, blackness.

My father is fixing my dress. That is the first thing I am aware of. I am lying on my back, in my father's bedroom, and he is stitching it up with a thread and needle. My hair is up, not in its typical braid.

I groan and he says, "Oh, good. You're awake."

I'm not awake. I'm in a state between unconscious and reality. I'm so shaken by what has just happened to me that I cry. Sniffling, tears roll down my cheek. My father finishes his stitching and rubs my back.

"What's happened?" It takes so much strength for me to ask this question.

"I was feeling sick last night at the rehearsal dinner and went home early. Finnick told me he'd get you back to the house by nightfall. However, Finnick got drunk, and he took you back to his house. When I came to get you, he apologized. I'm not convinced," he helps me sit up, to avoid putting pressure on my stomach. "What state where you in when you woke up?"

I moan and rub my belly thoughtfully, "My dress was ripped."

"Yes, I noticed," he said, urging me on.

"Finnick was in a chair, completely knocked out. I think he may have thrown up in the bedroom a couple times, because there was vomit all over the floor," I suddenly feel sick.

"Ok," he sighs.

I eat breakfast in a rush, not really processing anything that is happening to me. I feel like my brain has gone on auto pilot. We go to the ceremony in the town square. I avoid Haymitch and Finnick. Dealing with them would upset me even more. Before I know it, the wedding has begun.

Madge looks very lovely as she walks down the aisle in her beautiful, white wedding dress. The dress is strapless, has delicate beading on the bodice and a small train. Her hair is curled in ringlets and they fall down her head in such a way that it reminds me of a fountain. Her make-up is simple. She makes a perfect bride.

But I'm not looking at the bride. I'm looking at the groom. No words can describe Gale.

I sit through the whole procession for a second time and when the minister gets to the "speak now or forever hold your peace" part, I am tempted to rise out of my chair and call out, "No! Gale loves me!"

But I don't. I remind myself that it is all hormones. Gale and I have never had a romantic relationship and it should stay that way. And so it will.

Haymitch is drunk again. As soon as the wedding is over, he dances around the square, running into people and causing quite a commotion. I try to ignore him, but find it an extremely difficult task. I know for a fact that Haymitch did not kill Maysilee, so why would he think he did? Was this why he took to drinking? Because he secretly believed that Maysilee's death was his own fault? I now consider it an option. The Games can twist your mind. I should know.

Gale and Madge stand at the end of the aisle and the people of District 13 begin to form a line to congratulate them.

"Family first!" A man calls out and I am slapped on the back. Hard. I turn around to say something but he speaks first. "Aren't you Young Gale's cousin… what is it, what is it, Casey?"

Oh great. Another drunkard.

I nod and walk away from him, weaving through the crowd of people. It takes some time, but I make it to the front of the line, much too close to Haymitch again. Gale's father take is taking his time. He seems to be making some kind of speech the newly wedded couple. I tune the world out.

When it is my turn, I step forward and Madge opens her arms out to me. We embrace, but my eyes never leave Gale. They look him up and down several times, eventually making their way back to his face. We lock eyes with each other. I admire how strong and masculine he looks. Sometimes I question how he maintains such a demeanor with everything that is going on. I mean, look at me. I'm an emotional train wreck.

Madge pulls me very close and whispers something inaudible to everyone but me, "I'm sorry." She is just doing her part in the act and I can't even pretend to be mad with her. In fact, I seem to feel for her even more now. This couldn't be farther from Madge's plan in life. She isn't marrying Gale to harm me. She is marrying him to do her duty and I know how she must be feeling.

I let go of her, taking special care not to mess up her hair or her dress. I walk over to Gale and give him a hug. I receive nothing in return. He does not show that he even realizes I'm here, that I'm holding him. Gale is a cold, unfeeling body. Would a cousin of the groom congratulate him with a kiss? I guess not. Anything suspicious between us would almost confirm the wedding to be an act. So we remain distant, hollow human beings and I release him without a word.

I start to step backwards, still looking at him because I simply cannot take my eyes off of Gale Hawthorne. I bump into an eccentric woman who goes babbling on about the reception party, hardly noticing as I brush against her.

Madge turns to greet the next person, but Gale is still looking at me. I bite my lip as we stare into each other's eyes, too far away to understand exactly what the other is trying to say. My lip starts bleeding and warm blood fills my mouth. That's when Finnick pulls on my arm and the moment is over.

He takes me to the town hall where the reception is being held. We are among the first to arrive. I take a pen and sign the guestbook. I begin to write my first name when I remember something. Just to annoy Gale, I sign: Katniss Mellark

I don't want to be with Finnick again. Chances are he'll start drinking again, and then who knows what will happen after that? He tries to drag me to sit down with him, but I pull away and stand by the door. My father joins me shortly. I tell him I don't want to be near Haymitch. He nods and promises me that we won't be near him.

A very large, open space has been cleared for the wedding. There are plenty of tables and chairs for everyone. In the center of the room is a stage. There are also two bars, on separate sides of the grand hall.

We take a seat at a table with a few of my father's neighbors. I recognize the man with the yellow eyes who had asked the question about Peeta in the square all that time ago. Next to him is a harsh looking woman with penciled eyebrows. She stares at me intently as my father and I sit down, pursing her lips and sticking her nose up ever so slightly. I do my best to ignore her.

"Ah, Mason. What a pleasure!" the yellow-eyed man says to my father with a big grin. I can see Penciled Brows squeeze the man's arm, as if to warn him. Is she naturally this standoffish?

My father nods politely, but does not reply.

The yellow-eyed man tries to start a conversation, "How are things going Katniss? Has the pregnancy been going well?"

"Just fine," I lie. Truth is: it's been awful. I can't count the number of times I've thrown up anymore. In the middle of the night, the morning, after lunch and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get some peace. I suppose most of it is due to all the stress. Even if nothing is happening to me directly, the very thought of Peeta being imprisoned by the Capitol gets me all worked up.

"Picked out a name yet?" he continues on.

"No, not yet. The doctors couldn't tell from the ultrasound what gender it was, so I didn't want to waste any time thinking of names I couldn't use," I reply. Baby names are the farthest thing from my mind.

"Oh, I see. Well, I wanted to wish you luck with your child," he grabs one of Penciled Brows' hands, "We both do."

"Hmmpf," Penciled Brows exhales in a superior tone and removes her hand from his grasp.

I don't like this woman. So I venture a question without any concern for her feelings, "Do you have any children?"

Penciled Brows sneers and the yellow-eyed man shakes his head. However, before he can say something, she speaks up. "Well, dear, it's a touchy subject. You see, Augustus and I had a child, but it died at six months. I was your age then," she forces out through gritted teeth. "But of course, I wish you and your child the best of luck. Let's hope it's not a preemie!"

I'm perplexed at her false kindness. Is her grief for her child still so strong that she would wish my pregnancy had complications? I push this thought far from my mind.

Thankfully, Mayor Bauer takes the microphone and quiets everyone down. This gives me an excuse to look away from this insensitive woman. He says, "It is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time: Mr. and Mrs. Gale Hawthorne!"

There is cheering, clapping and quite a few whistles for Madge. They couple walk in, arm-in-arm and kiss for the cameras. Gale picks up Madge and twirls her around to make the crowd go wild. Then, they take their seats at a table on the other side of the hall.

I prop my head up on the table. I don't care how formal the event is and how I'm breaking some kind of forbidden "no elbows on the table" rule. People with common sense do not mess with pregnant women. I decide to focus my attention on the walls, which are a deep shade of brown. I don't want to talk about my baby. In fact, I don't think there is much that I can talk about that would interest me.

But I'm wrong, because at this moment, my father taps my shoulder and whispers, "Peeta knows."

Of course, this grabs my attention. My jaw drops in a look of astonishment. I'm not positive as to what he is referring to, but considering our past conversation my first thought is: Peeta knows about the baby! Before I lose myself, I whisper back to him, "He knows I'm having a baby?"

My father raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, "He knows we're trying to rescue him."

My heart drops and I feel like it has fallen from the highest mountain to the deepest valley. Peeta does not know he is going to be a father. My father was just trying to comfort me by letting me know that Peeta is in on the plan, that someone from inside the Capitol, or possibly even Annie, has told him (even if I'm not supposed to know about that last bit). I appreciate his efforts, because I'm sure he shouldn't be telling me anything, but I'm left in a state of confusion. This comment has given me even more questions. How much does Peeta know? Who told him? I don't dare to ask him anything. If I do, my questions will surely remain unanswered but my father will have some new questions himself.

So I nod and try not to look depressed all over again. I mutter out a thank you and then turn away to concentrate on the chocolate brown walls.

It seems like hours pass, just socializing and lots of drinking. Other people at the table start conversing with my father and everyone avoids the topic of the baby. The man with the yellow eyes orders me a glass of champagne, which I reject even before the waiter has time to scribble the order down. But the champagne is brought anyway. It is sparkling white in a way that reminds me of the Capitol. For this reason, I despise it.

I get up to go to the bathroom and dump the champagne down the sink. I check each stall and make sure they are empty. I find this surprising (because you would believe the bathrooms would be occupied while you were at a wedding) but realize that the bathroom I'm in is farther from the one by the grand hall. Women would rather wait ten minutes then try and find somewhere else to go.

I take a few minutes to escape from the world. When I decide to leave, I swing open the door and there standing in front of me is Gale.

"I saw you get up," he says, arms folded behind his back.

"Yes," my voice cracks and I clear my throat.

He points to the bathroom, silently asking me if it is occupied. I shake my head and he pulls me inside. He turns off the lights and finds the lock on the bathroom door. We stand by the sinks and he just holds me.

"Katniss… Katniss," he mumbles as he rubs my back.

I don't know what to do. Gale has been giving me the silent treatment for a long time now. His emotions seem to be changing, just like mine. That's when I realize I'm wrong. They haven't been changing, they've been concealed.

It's my turn to give the cold shoulder. I say nothing as he finds the thread my father sewed together this morning. He begins to pick at it absentmindedly. "I've got to tell you something," he says as the thread breaks and begins to unravel.

"Yes?" I look up into his dark gray eyes. Tears begin to well up inside of me.

"When I was saying good-bye to you, that is, at the 74th Hunger Games, the Peacekeepers took me away before I could finish what I was saying," he says softly.

"Yes, I remember."

"I need you to remember something else Katniss," he whispers into my ear, "Remember that I love you."

I nod and try to remain calm. "Gale…"

He looks expectantly into my eyes. I'm lost for words.

So, I repeat what I said the last time, "I know." It seems cruel, but he knows what's going on in my life and in his. There is no way we could be together. "I can't pretend I haven't had feelings for you too," I say.

There is silence for a long time. "We can't be together," he realizes.

"No," I place my hand on his face, "But we can be friends. If things work out in the end, we'll still be close."

"Yes," he covers my hand with his own. A chill runs through my body. "Good-bye, Katniss," he kisses my forehead and turns. And just like that, too fast and too soon, he is gone.