The 76th Hunger Games continue, day adding to day until two weeks have gone by and thirteen tributes have lost their lives. The boy alliance is still going strong – alarmingly so. Not a single member of their group has died, and I strongly suspect that the gamemakers are helping them out by not triggering any traps in the parts of the arena where they are at any given moment. Claudius and Caesar are so excited about having a main alliance that's not made up of career tributes, and it's a fair guess that the head gamemaker is of the same opinion. Anything new and different is probably a positive as far as they are concerned.
The boys who weren't part of this alliance are all dead now. The last boy who died was from District 10. His name was Moose, he was eighteen years old, tall and strong and could have posed a serious threat to the alliance. It's anyone's guess how come he wasn't a part of it to begin with, but the way he died also felt like it was designed by the gamemakers to ensure that he didn't hurt their precious boy pack. He had taken refuge in a six-storey building when a fire broke out – a gamemaker controlled fire. He was half asleep when the flames began to lick the building, but he was quick to rise, and he hurried out on the small balcony to get to the fire escape. Unfortunately for him the fire escape turned out to be rusted to the point that he couldn't get the ladder to drop. He had no other way to escape.
His district partner, Suzie, died two days later. The boy pack got her. If things keep going like this, soon the only tributes left are going to be those stupid boys in their annoying alliance. I was counting on them beginning to turn on one another by now. This far into the Games people tend to start to recognize that only one person can come out of there alive, and the strength of an alliance begins to turn into a liability. It's got to be hard enough to kill people you barely know, but to take the life of someone you've been partnered with for two weeks is difficult even for careers. So far though there's been no sign of any rifts within their group. Prim tries to encourage me, pointing out that they might fight a lot but the gamemakers choose not to show it, sticking with the narrative of the tight-knit group. She does make a good point. Seven people is a lot of players, and the more tributes remaining in an alliance, the more difficult it is for them all to get along and keep pulling in the same direction.
I do wish Madge would team up with somebody, at least for a little while. I worry that she might get lonely, and while a large alliance eventually turns problematic, two tributes pairing up is oftentimes not a bad idea. They can take turns keeping watch, give each other some human companionship, make plans together, and there will always be things that are easier for two people to accomplish than for one. So far though, Madge has not had enough contact with other tributes to form any such alliances. In fact, the closest she's been to another tribute was when she found herself walking into an apartment where the boy from District 8 was hiding. He immediately grabbed a plank off the ground and tried to hit her with it, which left little room for conversation or any form of bonding. The boy was thirteen years old and probably scared out of his mind. Madge could have killed him then and there – she never goes inside any room without a makeshift weapon of some kind, just in case, and this time she had a two-foot rusty pipe – but I think she took pity on him. All she had to do to get away from him was to go back the way she came, being both older, stronger and faster, so that is what she did. He died a few days later anyway, but not by her hand.
My best friend may not have racked up a kill count – yet anyway – but I'm proud to see that she's not being idle by any means. During the first few days, when most tributes except the boy alliance were hiding away in whatever room or building they may have found, she was out exploring. When the gamemakers sounded of loud sirens to scare the hiding tributes out from their perceived sanctuaries she was inside the station house, near the cornucopia, climbing the stairs to reach the monorail station. She didn't venture very far out on the tracks but did seem to get a good enough look of a substantial part of the arena. She's found both food and water continuously and rations everything she finds so that she'll be less likely to run out. And by now she's made herself a surprising arsenal of makeshift weapons, some that she brings along with her at all times, some that she hides in her preferred hideout, and some that she abandons, or even destroys, once she doesn't feel she has any use for them. The backpack she snatched at the cornucopia contained a small knife – not very efficient for killing unless you slice somebody's wrists with it or something, but useful as a tool. Among other things, she's used it to cut herself a length of rope from one of the swings on the playground.
One of her riskier undertakings is spying on the boy alliance. Their headquarters is in the ruins of a church across the way from the station house – not a bad spot, as it has windows in every direction and a small bell tower from which the guys can keep lookout and see if anyone approaches them. Too bad they are terrible at it, not thinking to look for anything other than people walking about out in the open. They miss the girl from District 7 when she takes a walk out on the monorail tracks. And they miss Madge spying on them from the top of the station house. She can access the building from the other side with no problem, and that gives her a perfect vantage point to study them and their comings and goings. With help from Haymitch Abernathy she receives a pair of binoculars as a sponsor gift. It must have been expensive, and I don't know how Haymitch pulled that one off, but I am so very grateful to him. With the binoculars she can keep a very close eye on the alliance, all while they sit there in their church building and pat themselves on the back and congratulate each other on being such clever, clever people.
I continue trying to raise money to be able to send Madge strawberries. It's problematic, because every passing day means that more money needs to be earned in order to buy the same thing. There aren't many people in the Seam willing to spend money on a sponsor gift to the mayor's daughter, a person few of them knows. Eventually I have to settle for what money I have collected, about two fifths of what I had been aiming for, and just hope that Peeta was able to raise some, too. I meet up with him outside of the Justice Building early one morning to pay a visit to the department that deals with matters concerning the Hunger Games.
"Good morning," I say as I jog up to Peeta, who is already on the steps waiting for me.
"To you too," he nods. "Did you have any luck?"
"Some," I say with disappointment. "Not a lot. It's not nearly going to cover it, but I was hoping that you…"
"Here," he says, holding out a small black velvet bag. I take it and open it, a little bit at first but then I as much as I dare to without risking that any coins will fall out.
"Peeta," I breathe, staring wide-eyed at the money in the bag. It's almost quadruple what I had hoped for. "How did you manage to collect this much money?"
"It was easy, in the end, if not entirely honourable," he says with a timid smile. "I made the point that if people from the Seam could contribute to this gift then no town person could claim they didn't have the money for it. I feel a little bad about it. Truth be told it was a cheap shot, I don't know the financial situations of the people I talked to, but I like to think that what matters is that it worked. They couldn't let your neighbours outdo them, so they gave money and make sure to give more."
My chest swells and fills with a warmth and a happiness that he seems so skilled at bringing out in me. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close for a long, tight hug. I obviously catch him by surprise, but he catches on after a second or two and wraps his arms around me in return, slowly rocking me a little from side to side. It feels so good, being in his embrace. I don't want to be the first to let go, yet we also can't stand here hugging each other all day long. In public, no less.
"This is amazing," I say with sincerity, reluctantly pulling back. "You are amazing."
"Madge deserves this," he says plainly. "Now, what do you say we walk inside that building and do something I know I've never done before. Buy a sponsorship gift."
It's a beautiful day inside the arena, with no clouds in sight and a clear blue sky. The tributes seem to be sweating in the heat but their spirits all seem lifted. Funny how seeing the sun shining above you for an entire day can have that effect on a person. Madge goes up on a rooftop where she can enjoy the sunshine and the warmth without the risk of heat exhaustion or sunstroke, thanks to the breeze that blows up there. She sits cross-legged, her hair hanging loose down her back and flowing in the wind, and she's removed her cardigan and tied it around her waist. She's got a serene smile on her face and closes her eyes, tilting her head back a little. She seems relaxed.
She opens her eyes when the parachute drops down a few meters away. For a second she looks surprised, then she smiles again and gracefully stands up and walks over to it. I think I might be almost as happy as she is when she finds the strawberries and a beaming smile lights up her face. Then she actually laughs, a happy sound that doesn't seem to have any place inside an arena. She takes a large strawberry in her hand – Haymitch got as many berries for our money as he could and even included whipped cream and a thermos with ice water – and savours the moment as she takes a bite, juice from the ripe berry running down her hand.
She looks up towards the sky, looking right at me through the screen.
"This was somehow your doing, Katniss," she says, the tenderness in her voice making me feel choked up. "Thank you. And so much thanks to everyone who had part in this. I can't tell you how much this means to me."
She touches the three middle fingers of her right hand to her lips and holds her hand up towards the sky. That gesture means more to me than her thanking me out loud. I make the same gesture back to her, knowing she can't see it but hoping that she senses it nonetheless.
Eventually Madge and some of the boys of the alliance come face to face. Not in the station house, thankfully, but in one of the multi-storey buildings in the south side of the arena. She is out scavenging for supplies when the boys from Seven and Eleven spot her. They're out searching too, but not for supplies.
"Look, over there," says Wally Sickle from District 11, not bothering to lower his voice even. Brimming with self-satisfaction he points towards Madge, as if he conjured her up out of thin air. "It's the prissy mayor's daughter from Twelve." Grinning from ear to ear he makes a triumphant gesture to Teff, his companion from Nine. "She would make a great addition to our kill list, don't you think?"
Teff smiles dryly, not quite as openly excited. He is a year younger than his eighteen-year-old companion but had a score of eight, contrasting Wally's six, and unlike the older boy he has taken a life in the arena already. This means that unlike Wally he doesn't have something to prove at this point.
"I think the poor mayor's daughter from District 12 must be suffering tremendously at having been torn so rudely from her sweet life of eiderdown pillows and apple pies for dessert every day," he says, sounding amused at his own cleverness. "We should help her."
"What?" says Wally, making a befuddled face. "Help her? Why the hell would we want to-"
"We should help her by putting an end to her suffering," sighs Teff, irritated that he had to spell it out for the other boy.
"Right," laughs Wally, standing up from the ditch they have been hiding in. So much for stealth, but while Teff looks a bit irritated at having had their position blown he doesn't reproach the other boy, so presumably he doesn't think they actually need it. There's two of them, each one carrying more than one deadly weapon, and Madge is alone and seemingly unarmed.
"She went in through there," Teff points as they stride towards the entrance.
"Listen, I get to kill her," insists Wally.
"What? Says who?" scoffs Teff.
"You've gotten a kill already. I've got none. Not even at the cornucopia."
"So you're useless. How's that my problem?"
They keep bickering as they walk with no rush, crossing the hundred-or-so meters over to the building where Madge entered. There's only one exit, and they can easily block that and prevent Madge from getting out. We're shown Madge, three floors up, seeing the two guys approaching. She stands near a window, pressing herself to the wall, afraid to stand for too long in the window and expose herself. She looks concerned, but not frightened. She begins to move, hurrying over to the adjoining room and from there gracefully climbing out through a window and onto the fire escape. She doesn't know that the ladder didn't drop the last time someone tried to use one. I start to feel really worried now, but what can I do other than watch? The reality is that she will have to kill or disable both boys if she is to have any chance of getting away. They haven't heard her moving about yet over the sound of their own voices, but they will soon enough. Even if she uses the fire escape there will be at least one boy waiting for her by the time she reaches ground level. She seems intent on using that method of escape all the same, grabs a hold of the ladder and, using her full weight as leverage, tries to pull it down. It doesn't budge. She tries the ladder again, not only giving it a hard tug but even lifting her body off the ground, hoping that her body weight will be enough. It does move – all of two decimetres. And as it moves the rusty old thing makes a horrible screeching sound that anybody in the vicinity can hear – including and especially Wally and Teff.
My heart barely seems to beat as the two boys, who have just about reached the building now, look up and see her. There's a moment of silence. Madge probably contemplates bolting back inside and down the stairs, but what good will that do? Then the boys begin to taunt her, making kissing noises and wolf calls, enjoying themselves and their own perceived cleverness immensely.
"Why hello there, darling!" cries Wally. "Waiting for us? We'll be with you in a second, sweetheart. Might I have the pleasure of killing you? My friend here wants to do it, but I felt like you and I had a connection right from the start, babe."
Madge slowly sinks down to her knees, then rises back up again. In her hand she holds something I can't quite make out as it is mostly obscured by the metal bars that make up the balcony rails. Suddenly the object is sent flying through the air and it hits Wally in the head with a sickening thud. His talking abruptly stops, and he lets out a grunt of pain and surprise as he falls down to the ground, blood beginning to run down on the ground. Teff stares at him with shock written all over his face. Wally is alive but is not bound to stay that way for long. Near him on the ground lies the brick that Madge threw at him. Being hit in the head with something like that in the arena can only end in one way. Madge has taken her first life. Wally might still be breathing, but she has killed him nonetheless.
The question is, what now? Teff is still down there, blocking her escape. She drops to her knees again and he seems to snap out of his shock, making it apparent that she won't be able to make use of his current state of surprise to manoeuvre past him, but she is not intending on going down without a fight, especially now. She rises back up again, holding up another brick for him to see.
"You know I can get you with this," she calls out to him. "You know it – babe. So the question is, do you want to get out of my way? Or do you want to be my next target?"
"Right," he cackles. "Good luck getting me with that on the stairs."
With that he rushes for the entrance, leaving his barely conscious, moaning companion behind. My heart is pounding in my chest and my palms are so sweaty that I have to wipe them on my pants repeatedly. Madge knows that she will have a much harder time fighting him off with a brick at close distance and she has no way of knowing what weapons he might have. She needs to decide what to do next, and she needs to make up her mind within the next couple of seconds.
She leaps up and grabs the ladder higher up – a risky move since she might just as well miss and fall onto the asphalt below. She manages to grab the ladder and maybe it's her full body weight behind it, maybe it's that it's already been loosened a few minutes ago, or maybe it's the gamemakers. For whatever reason it works, and she holds on to the ladder as it lowers itself down towards the ground, stopping about a meter and a half from the ground. She climbs as far down as she can and is then able to drop only a short distance down to the street. She's safe. Comparatively so, at least.
Hurrying over to Wally she stands there looking at him for a moment, breathing heavily and observing him with pain and disbelief in her eyes. She knows she's killed him. She also knows he could lay there for quite some time, dying slowly and painfully. Pulling out her small knife she drops to the ground beside him, swallows hard, then opens his throat.
Madge and I both startle as a brick lands just inches away from her. Looking up she finds Teff standing on a balcony, furious that he missed, or that she killed his friend, or both. Through some stroke of luck he got the wrong floor and is one storey above where she was, which means he doesn't have access to her ladder and will have to try getting his own one down or run down a floor. But he does have bricks. Madge doesn't stick around to find out if he will miss again or manage to get down the fire escape to give chase. She flies to her feet and takes off running.
A canon fires as she rounds the nearest corner.
The following day Peeta invites me over to watch the evening broadcast with him. We sit in the shop this time, on a small sofa from which we can see the television screen comfortably, and Peeta surprises me with a plate of cookie crumbs left over from a batch they made earlier that day. I'm still a bit shocked at having seen Madge kill another tribute, but deep down I knew it was coming and I have to think about it rationally. Her killing that boy was the only way to make it out of the arena alive, and her popularity seems to be growing in the Capitol afterward. She didn't kill in cold blood, and she clearly didn't enjoy it. It was a pragmatic decision. Peeta and I talk about it, and it feels a little bit better afterward. It's one thing hearing Claudius and Caesar praise her actions – it's dubious if that's a compliment in the first place – but I trust Peeta's judgment. He seems to look at it the same way I do, as a necessary evil, and he agrees that a tribute cannot become a victor without taking a life.
"Frankly I don't think the gamemakers would allow it," he says. "I think they'd make sure that nobody wins the Games without some blood on their hands."
"Yeah… Yeah that's most likely true."
In 75 years there's never been a single victor, not one, who didn't take somebody else's life. I'd rather Madge killed someone in self-defence than came home in a wooden box. I nod, and then I look at the plate. It's almost empty. I seem to have eaten more cookie crumbs than I realized, but I wouldn't mind having one more before they're all gone.
We both lean forward at the same time, only barely managing to avoid knocking our heads together. Peeta lets out a light, disarming laugh, his eyes shining at me for a split second. I'm struck by how his blue sweater makes said eyes look even bluer than usual. Neither my mother nor my sister has eyes that are as striking as Peeta's can be in certain lights and near some colours.
"Sorry," he smiles. "Did you want the last one?"
"It's fine," I say absent-mindedly. "You go ahead. It's absolutely fine."
"No, come on, it's yours." He leans back and casually throws one leg over the other, as if trying to demonstrate how welcome I am to have the last cookie crumb. He tilts his head and, with a puzzled expression, slowly moves his hand up and down between us, beckoning for my attention. "Katniss? You seem to have disappeared for a moment. I'm not a big old bore, I hope."
"No, I was just…" Without thinking I tell him what's actually on my mind. "I don't think I've ever known anyone with eyes like yours. They're just so… blue…"
I realize how inappropriate that probably was, but the mortification doesn't hit me at first because of his reaction. The small, self-conscious smile, his cheeks turning just a hint of red, the realization that I just made somebody happy by saying what I just said, those things together makes the words seem okay, even if a little weird.
"I never really know how to respond when you flirt with me," he then says, and my mouth falls open. He scratches the back of his neck and awkwardly half-smiles. "I like flirting, don't get me wrong! It's just… well, I mean… You've never struck me as the flirty type. Some girls flirt all the time, you know, but that's not been your thing, right? But you flirted with me while you were dating Gale, and you're flirting with me now, which I guess means you're not hitting on me. So you're probably just casually flirting, and I've just never seen that side of you until we started spending time together, yeah?"
Dear God, is he waiting for an answer? Mortification has now hit me with full force and I wish I could just disappear, sink through the floor, anything to get away from this moment. I'm not flirting with Peeta! I mean, well, sometimes I might have been, but I don't know that I've ever intended to. I can see how some of the things I've said and done might be construed as flirting, like maybe what I just said about his eyes, but it's always been things that just seemed natural to say in the moment.
"I… Peeta, I…"
"Don't get me wrong, I enjoy flirting, and it's really nice seeing that side of you." He raises a teasing eyebrow – why is he teasing me right now? "You don't scowl as much when you're flirting." Now my cheeks have got to be burning red, and my mortification rises to almost suffocating levels. I don't think I've ever been this uncomfortable in his company. Then suddenly he seems to shift his focus entirely, more or less bouncing to his feet, grabbing the empty plate from the table and carrying it behind the counter. The playful bashfulness disappears from his tone and whatever just came over him seems to have been forgotten in an instant. "Have you heard what they're saying in town? That tomorrow we might be expecting a crew from the Capitol, here to film a segment for when Madge is one of the final eight."
"Uhm, what?" My head is practically spinning from the swift shift of focus.
"There are still ten tributes left, but we both know things can move pretty fast sometimes, and rumour has it that they are coming to get material ready in case of that happening." He washes the plate while he talks, then grabs a towel and begins to dry it off. "How weird would that be? Good weird, I mean. It's been far too long since District 12 had a tribute among the final eight."
"Right," I say awkwardly.
"Do you think they'll want to talk to you?"
"I… I don't know."
"You are her best friend."
He seems to have completely forgotten about the flirtation talk only minutes ago and goes on about the impending interviews for a few minutes. I don't have much to say about it but it's better to talk about this than whether or not I was flirting with him earlier. I could kick myself for opening my stupid mouth and babbling about his eyes. Who does that? What kind of a ridiculous thing is that to say to someone? All the stress lately must have gotten to me, even more than I thought.
I can't help but wonder, does Peeta like the flirting? I realize he didn't say one way or another, just that he doesn't mind flirting in general, which tells me nothing. It seems logical that he would find it enjoyable – he's a charming guy who isn't new to dating, so why wouldn't he enjoy any kind of flirting, be it with serious intentions or just casual. But if he likes it, why bring it up?
And by the way, how is it that he gets to tell me I'm not making a lot of sense with my flirting when he's not making sense either. Seriously, how am I supposed to interpret it when he looks at me in certain ways, says certain things to me, or touches me the way he sometimes does? He's the one who's flat out told me about some girl he's got an enormous crush on. How am I supposed to interpret that? Yes, it's true that he once asked me out. But that was before we were really friends. Now that we are friends with each other he would never date me to try and get over what's-her-face. So what gives? Honestly, I'm a bit irritated now, and crossing my arms I raise an eyebrow and give him a pointed look.
"You should really try to put that girl of yours behind you."
"My what?" he asks distractedly, his full focus now on the television.
"You know, that girl you told me about? The one you… The one you really like?"
He gives me a look, and it's both uncomfortable and something else that is harder to pinpoint. Mostly uncomfortable. He doesn't want to talk about this, that much I gather. Well, too bad.
"I didn't realize you still remembered that," he says evasively.
"I do remember it. And I really think it's time you put her behind you. Speaking as a friend. If she doesn't want you, why not just get over her?"
"'Just' get over her?" he questions with irritation. "As if it's a decision?"
"Of course it is. You make the decision to put her from your mind and… widen your horizons."
"And what makes you think I haven't done that already?"
"Well, have you?"
I really want to know the answer, and I'm disappointed when he doesn't immediately tell me that he has, instead looking at me like he's trying to figure out how much to divulge, how much of his heart is any of my business. It takes him a good couple of minutes to answer me, and I don't like the way he's looking at me in the meantime. Like he's upset with me.
"I still care about her."
"It's high time you stop." I can hear myself sounding almost accusatory when I say it. With a huff I pull my feet up underneath me and turn my eyes to the television.
"Believe me when I tell you, I don't want to feel this way about someone who doesn't like me back."
"Well, duh, Peeta," I say, a touch dryly. "Why do you think I'm telling you to forget about her and move on? It's not worth missing out on things because you're hung up on her."
"What things?" he snorts.
"Other girls, for one. Girls who might want to be with you."
"Yeah, well…" he says, looking annoyed and a little upset. "I'm not ready to give up on her yet. What if she does like me back?"
"Has she, up until now?"
"That's a really cold thing for you to say to me," he says curtly.
"I'm not trying to be mean. I'm trying to make you see that you'd be better off caring about someone else."
"Oh, so that's all I need to do?" he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well why didn't you just tell me so before? Katniss I care about this girl. So much. Much more than she knows or understands. But I want to try and make her understand. I at least want that, before I move on."
"I think that's a mistake. A big mistake. And frankly, a waste of your time."
"Yeah? Well I don't remember asking you!"
He scowls at me, not budging even the slightest, making me the first to turn my eyes away. I think he's being stupid about this, but obviously my input isn't wanted. Whoever this girl is, he must be really crazy about her. For what, though? Does she even know what a great guy he is?
"Forget it, then," I say, staring at the television again. Normally I would feel awkward about all this, but I'm quite irritated with him for being so pig-headed about this, and that keeps any feelings of awkwardness at bay.
Peeta doesn't say anything else about it, sulking on his end of the sofa. My, what a nerve I must have hit. It's disappointing – I didn't realize he still cared that much about her, so many months later. Doesn't he realize that it's time to cut his losses? But clearly he's in no mood to listen to reason, so there's no point in trying to get through to him.
Half an hour later, when I'm walking back towards the Seam, I realize it was a mistake to bring all of this up right now. The mood between us didn't improve much by the time I left. He remained polite, probably hard-wired to be at all times, and he made small talk, but I could tell he wasn't happy with me. He'll get over it in a few days, he doesn't seem very talented at holding grudges, but I couldn't have picked a worse time to get into an argument with my one remaining friend here in the district.
The following day is Sunday when I stop at the bakery to trade Peeta is not in the kitchen when I knock on the door. I wouldn't give much thought to that, sometimeshe's here when I come knocking on Sundays and sometimes he's not, but since the reaping he's been there every time – just in case I need a friend to talk to, or just a friendly face. But not this time.
"Is Peeta… Is he in the shop?" I ask his father awkwardly, holding up the squirrels I came to trade.
"Oh…" says Mr. Mellark, sounding caught off guard for a second before he gives me a less-than-genuine smile. "No, not today. He left earlier this morning to go play football with some friends."
"Oh. Of course."
I can't be bothered pretending to smile, or even keep the scowl off my face while I complete the trade with the baker. Peeta said he would be at the bakery at all times until Madge came home, didn't he? Naturally he didn't mean than literally but it's Sunday and he knows I will be here today. He doesn't want to see me. Did I really say something that hurtful? Isn't he the one who made a big thing about how friendship means setting aside your own hurt feelings when your friend needs you? I'm disappointed in him, and my mood is even fouler than usual for the rest of the day.
I'm home alone when it happens.
Well, not entirely alone. My mother is here but she's remained utterly useless since the reaping and we're barely speaking at this point. She spends most of her time in bed, staring at the wall without seeing it, barely eating what Prim or I bring her. Hardly even drinking from the pitcher of water my sister sat on her nightstand table. Since our last fight I haven't shown her one sliver of sympathy. It's my friend competing in the Hunger Games. Am I not the one who should be getting the family's full support and sympathy? But no, in this household Mother takes centre stage at all times when it comes to matters of this ilk. It's now fallen on Prim's far too young shoulders to give medical assistance to our neighbours to the extent that she can, and on this particular day she's at the tanner's home treating a burn wound. I'm sitting by myself on the couch watching the Games when the moment occurs.
Madge Undersee is ambushed by the boys from districts 1 and 4 when she is washing her face in a fountain that was dried up when the Games began but has been filled with rain water as the days have gone by. They hold her head down under water until her body stops fighting and goes still, the only signs left of her struggle being the rings on the water. Once the canon has gone off the career tributes release her body, stand up and high five each other in celebration.
"Finally!" cheers John, the boy from District 4. "We got the bitch."
"Well overdue," grins Royal, the boy from District 1. "Come on, let's go back home and tell the guys the great news."
"Man, we are so damn awesome!"
I'm numb. While it happened I think I screamed relentlessly, my voice at least feels hoarse now, but the truth is I don't know for sure. And now I'm numb. Silent and numb, and utterly powerless to have helped the only female friend I ever had. It's almost like it's not happening to me, as if it's somebody else sitting here staring at a screen, watching her only female friend die. It doesn't make any sense. My brain won't acknowledge it as reality. Gentle, kind-hearted Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, the girl who loves strawberries and wears nice dresses and has an expensive mockingjay pin. The girl in love with her project partner Harry Storm. That girl doesn't breathe anymore. Doesn't have a heartbeat anymore. Doesn't feel. Doesn't live. She won't return to District 12 in triumph. She'll return in a coffin. I pull my feet up on the couch and wrap my arms around my legs in lieu of anything else to hold on to, sickened at the sound coming from the television, feeling like it's miles away yet still impossible not to be aware of – the humming of the hovercraft that is collecting her… her dead… Pain closes my throat almost too tight to draw breath. Collecting her dead body.
I remain on the couch, my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the screen without seeing or hearing anything further. The show continues, Claudius and Caesar probably making a show of how the first real hope for a win District 12 has had in decades has now been quenched, but the Hunger Games have never felt as truly meaningless as they do right now. I don't even care what happens to any of the other children in the arena. Hell, I already know what will happen to them. They'll die. All but one, and that one person will be someone whose face I'll see every year on television from now until I die. Maybe it will even be one of those two boys. Instinctively I feel that I will hate that person, whoever he or she is, never mind if they had any role in Madge's death. That person should be dead, and Madge should be in that person's position instead. It doesn't even faze me in the slightest that I'm sitting here feeling an adolescent ought to get killed. I would trade all of their lives to get Madge's back.
There's a knock on the front door. I close my eyes hard and rest my brow against my knees, expecting whoever it is to go away if I don't come and answer. I can't handle talking to anyone right now, being nice to them. But another knock comes, this time a bit more persistent, and through the haze it occurs to me that it might be Prim. Maybe I locked the door when she left? I don't know. Right now I don't know much of anything. A third round of knocks comes, and I force my weary limbs to get off the couch and go to the front door.
It's not Prim.
It's Peeta.
It doesn't really surprise me to see him standing there. It should, but it doesn't. I stare blankly at him, not sure what emotion is the proper one, and wait for him to state his business.
"Katniss," he says, and I notice the look in his eyes. That compassionate, caring look that is the exact opposite of what I need right now. The same kind of thing he showcased in the Meadow the day of the reaping. God damn him. "I'm so, so sorry."
And then his arms are around me, offering a warm and comforting cocoon. I'm torn between two different feelings. On the one hand I'm glad I don't have to see the look on his face any longer. On the other hand his embrace feels so soothing, so gentle and yet so strong, so full of wordless compassion, that it begins to hack away at my defensive wall. His hand finds its way to the back of my head, cradling it, and when I inhale my nose fills with the scent of vanilla and freshly baked bread.
"I'm fine," I say in a monotone. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me. We all knew this was coming, right?"
"I'm not Prim," he says matter-of-factly. "You don't have to be brave for me. I didn't come here for you to have to put up a façade for me, and you know that. You know I came to offer you the exact opposite." He moves his head to align our cheeks. "There's nobody here but you and me."
Without warning I begin to cry, a sob ripping through me so painfully it makes me groan. Why do his words have to affect me so efficiently every time? Tears start to fill my eyes and realizing that I can't hold back the flood now I simply give in and bury my face against his neck, crying helplessly.
He lifts me up with hardly any effort, carrying me inside the house and kicking the door closed with his foot. He takes me to the sitting room and sits down with me on the couch, taking a hand off me to grab the remote and turn the screen off so that we won't have to hear or see any more of the Hunger Games right now. Then he gives me his full attention, cradling me on his lap while I take complete advantage of his apparent willingness to be a literal shoulder for me to cry on. I cry for Madge, for the injustice of the Games, for her family who will never see her again except for in the coffin they send her home in. I cry for all the children who die in the Hunger Games, for the fact that the Games exist in the first place, and I even cry for my father a little bit. Peeta never shushes me or tries to calm me in any way. If anything he does the opposite, encouraging me.
"Just cry, Katniss…" he says to me in a soothing voice, stroking my back. "You don't ever have to be that kind of strong with me, be the other kind of strong. The strength it takes to allow yourself to mourn."
"Peeta," I whimper between sobs, grabbing a fistful of his sweater.
I'm too weary to fight my sorrow now that I have given in to the tears, so I just let it run its course until the crying ceases on its own. It feels good in the middle of all the horribleness. I know I will have to put on a brave face the moment Prim walks through the door but right now, with Peeta, I can allow the feelings to have space. It's odd that he's here in the first place but I appreciate it more than I can say. I should have been all alone now, with Gale no longer my friend, and Madge… Madge…
Instead I have someone who must have headed straight out the door at the sound of the canon and came hurrying over to make sure I was okay. Even though we haven't spoken in days because we had a fight the last time we saw each other. It feels so good, so unbelievably good even under the circumstances to have someone like that, that I never want to move from his lap and his embrace. Somehow, irrational though it is, it feels in this moment as if everything will work out in the end and nothing bad will ever affect me again, just so long as this boy is here, guarding me with his kindness, supporting me in his steadiness. I have never cherished him more than I do here and now. I never cherished Gale as much as I do Peeta at this moment. How many times is he going to save me?
At some point during my crying he must have undone the elastic that holds my braid together because my hair is hanging loose without my aide, his hand combing through it. I lift my head and look into his eyes, seeing my own sorrow reflected in them even if his pain doesn't equal mine.
"Thank you," I mouth.
"No need," he says back in a low voice. "The moment it happened I… You needed someone to come make sure you were okay." Somehow he manages to say it without being patronizing.
"Can anyone be okay in this world we live in?" I ask bitterly.
"Not on a day like today, no."
"No…" I agree in a strangled whisper.
I close my eyes and shift on his lap to sit more comfortably. His arms cradle me with ease, like they know exactly how to fit me, as if they had held me a hundred times before. I rest my cheek against his chest and sigh heavily, feeling a lot lighter now that I've gotten to cry, even though my head is aching, and my lips feel parched. I don't fully understand it. I've perfected the art of bottling my sorrow inside of me, but this boy has coaxed my feelings out of me twice now in a short period of time. And I don't feel violated by it. I feel quite the opposite, in fact. And he… he feels like a blessing.
Evening comes. Prim comes home for a brief couple of minutes to get some supplies. She's in a hurry and very focused and from the looks of it has not yet seen or heard what happened in the arena earlier in the day. The evening broadcast is mandatory viewing, but it will be another hour before it starts. She barely looks at me when she storms inside the house, in a hurry to get the supplies she needs and determined to get some form of response from our mother who has far more experience treating burn wounds than Prim herself does. Luckily my tears have tried by the time she comes home, and my cheeks and eyes aren't so puffy and red anymore, so she doesn't pick up on my emotional state from the quick glances she sends my way. I decide not to tell her about Madge. She'll find out soon enough and from the looks of it she needs to keep her focus on the task before her. She is so preoccupied that she doesn't even notice that Peeta is in the house, although he goes to the bathroom not long after she walks through the door, so it's not like he's right in front of her.
"Well, that wasn't very helpful. She gets worse every year," she mutters under her breath as she exits our mother's bedroom. I'm a little surprised. Normally she would never say anything disloyal like that. She must be under a lot of pressure, dealing with a serious medical problem all by herself for the first time. I wish I was able to help her out, but this is one area in which I have never been any help to my sister whatsoever. "I have to get back, Katniss. I'll probably be a while… if not all night."
The thought makes me anxious.
"Surely not all night?" I say. "They can manage on their own once you've treated the burns, applied whatever it is you apply and… bandaged and…"
"It's not as simple as all that," she sighs, stuffing supplies into my game bag. "He needs to get a lot of fluids in him and I'm worried about infection and he's in pain…" She looks up at me with a bit of worry in her eyes. "I know I can't do much but… I'd still feel better being there, you know?"
I hurry up to her and give her a tight hug, wishing I didn't have to let her go. I'm so proud of her, even though I can't stand the thought of her not being here tonight. After what happened today I could hold Prim close and never, ever let her go.
"You can do wonders," I tell her, my hand softly caressing her cheek as I pull back from the embrace. "You don't know how valuable you are to them right now. Go, go take care of him."
She kisses my cheek and then she's off. Soon I'll be alone for the rest of the evening and night. It's getting late, Peeta can't stay much longer. Oughtn't he to be going home? Doesn't he long to be back in his own bedroom? I hope not. Once he heads home the house will be so unbearably empty. My mother still being here actually just makes it worse, makes the loneliness more palpable. Does she know what happened today? I don't want to know the answer to that. If she is aware and still doesn't come to comfort me… Honestly I don't think I could ever forgive her.
I hear a door opening behind me and I turn to see Peeta stepping out of the bathroom. There's something in his eyes that makes by bottom lip tremble. He must be about to tell me he's heading home. I really don't want him to go yet. He's the only friend I've got left and he's proven himself to be a very valuable friend at that. I was lonely before he came over and I will be twice as lonely when he leaves.
"She left again?"
"Yeah…" I nod. "The tanner got burned earlier today. My mother is completely useless right now so it's up to Prim to…" I draw a quick, trembling breath. "She's too young for it. Too young to take on our mother's job."
"Baby siblings grow up someday too," he says, the hint of a smile on his face. "Trust me, as the youngest in the family I know what I'm talking about."
"It's too heavy a burden to place on her," I say, watching through the window as she disappears around a corner.
Peeta comes up and stands beside me.
"And how old were you when you began to provide for your entire family?"
I look at him, surprised by what he's saying. Did he know that? Does everybody know that? Probably so. They had to have figured out how come I was trying to sell off baby clothes at the age of eleven and bartering at the Hob at twelve. The thought of it all makes me feel drained and I lean against him, drawing some semblance of strength from his steady form.
"I know, Peeta…" I sigh. "But still."
"You're exhausted," he surmises.
"Yeah."
"Let's sit on the couch and watch the broadcast. Then you should get to bed. Come on, I'll make some tea."
I begin to breathe more quickly and my bottom lip trembles again, my fist clenching in his shirt like it did while I was crying.
"I don't want to watch that again," I say in a pleading voice. "I can't watch that again. Please Peeta… Please…"
But there's nothing he can do about it. The television will automatically turn on when the broadcast starts, and we have no place to go but here. I sit on the couch with the largest pillow on my lap, pressing it to my face whenever Madge comes on screen. I don't want to see any of her at all. Today was her last day of life, and her fate is the pinnacle of tonight's entertainment. In the past week she had risen to the top as one of the tributes most likely to win, and now they killed her. It's too cruel to be real.
I can shut out the visuals, but I can't force away the sounds. Just like it's impossible to avoid having the television show the broadcast it is not possible to mute the sound while it airs. I hear those two career kids drown my friend and I feel about to throw up. Peeta's hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes it in an effort to comfort but it doesn't help.
"It's over now," he says in a low voice when the scene ends. "It's done."
With trembling hands I lower the pillow, noticing that I have wet it with my tears. On screen Caesar and Claudius are discussing this turn of events with eagerness. It sickens me. They sicken me. How can they sit there year after year and provide commentary on the deaths of innocent children? At what point did they stop having souls?
"A few hours ago she was alive," I say, my voice unsteady.
"She was," agrees Peeta quietly.
"But tomorrow… Tomorrow she will have died yesterday. Then it will be a week ago. Then last month. Then time will turn into years and everything will go on just as it was before. As if her life didn't matter. Her death didn't matter."
"But we will know it did." We look at each other and although he looks as downtrodden with the events of the day as I am there's still some strange strength there. "Nobody in District 12 will forget. Even Haymitch Abernathy was involved for once. He fought for her."
"Much good that did her."
"It may not have affected the outcome, but it might have improved the quality of the time she did have in the arena."
His hand leaves my shoulder and the spot where it rested feels cold. We don't say much else as the rest of the broadcast plays. Peeta finishes his tea and I manage to sip through half of mine, not because I want any of it but because he made the effort to brew it and it seems impolite to ignore it. I expected to feel relief when the broadcast ends but instead I feel fear. Peeta said before it started that once it was over I ought to get to bed. He's probably right. I don't remember the last time I felt so weary and my head aches and I really want to escape into sleep. Except I know there will be nightmares tonight. No doubt about it. And I will have to go to bed alone, no Prim to keep me company. I dread it. I truly do. But what choice do I have?
Peeta rises from the couch and gathers our mugs, taking them to the kitchen. I hear him run the water and I hear the scrubbing of the dish brush against the mugs. Why is he doing all of this? He must have past the point of what is required of a good friend some time ago and now he's just collecting extra credit. I'm grateful for it but I'm also scared by it. I lost Gale and now Madge as well. Do I honestly want a friendship with Peeta? He might just be one more person that I will have to lose. I clearly don't have any luck at all when it comes to keeping friends.
Slowly I get up on my feet and walk to my bedroom. I stand in the doorway looking at the empty bed, feeling hollow and sad and abandoned. Peeta is still moving about in the kitchen. I think I'll just pull down the curtains and get into bed fully clothed and let him take the hint and leave. It's rude not to say goodbye but maybe he'll understand. He's a pretty understanding person. It will be so much easier if he just goes out the door when I'm already in bed and we don't say anything to one another and it doesn't become so blatantly obvious that I've been left alone in this house with the mother I can't reach. Would she even care if she knew what has happened? Would she comfort me? I doubt she's aware of anyone's pain but her own.
I get as far as pulling the curtains down before I hear his footsteps approaching. I remain by the window, not wanting to turn and look at him even though that's even more rude than just getting into bed without saying anything to him. A long minute passes with neither one of us saying anything.
"Well… I should be off, then," he says.
I swallow hard.
"Yeah. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything you've… you've done for me today."
"Will you be okay?" he asks and all I can do is scoff. There's a moment's pause. I close my eyes hard and wish this moment, this day, this life would all be over already. "You should get some rest. And… And if you need anything… Tomorrow or the day after or… Just come see me, okay?" Another pause. "Katniss." But I can't bear to look at him. He seems to give in, accept my unkind ways. No doubt soon to realize that I'm not worthy of his time or friendship, that I'm not nice or enjoyable or pleasant. "Try to get some sleep. I'll stop by tomorrow and see how things are, okay?"
I hear the floorboards creak as he shifts his weight and turns to leave. On a sudden impulse I spin around to face him.
"Peeta!" He pauses. I swallow again, nervous to be asking but finding the courage to do so. I suppose I'm even more afraid of letting him walk out the door without having asked. "Will you stay with me?"
He looks uncertain and my heart sinks to the soles of my shoes. Then I notice he's looking around the room and the implications of my request dawns on me. Stay with me where, exactly? For how long? Doing what? I really haven't thought this through, have I? All I've been able to focus on is my selfish need and want.
The floorboards creak again but this time he's walking into the room.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah I'll stay."
Despite everything that has happened this day I smile as relief flows through me. He closes the bedroom door and I pull my shirt over my head, leaving me in only a bra and tank top, the first of which I remove as discreetly as I can without also taking off the latter. Peeta isn't looking at me though, his eyes fixated on the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's seen in all his life. Who knows, maybe it is? The wall he's looking at has the distinction of holding the one drawing I made at school that survived long enough to be taken home, put on the wall and not having withered away. Compared to the things Peeta draws it looks downright awful. I made it at age seven or eight but if he asks I'll claim I was no older than four.
Within minutes I've discarded my day clothes and I'm in the tank top and a pair of cotton shorts. I pull the bedspread aside and get underneath the covers, the sounds telling Peeta it's okay to look again. I feel awkward, no longer sure it was a good idea to ask him to stay. Does he mean to get up in bed beside me? We don't have a close enough relationship for that just yet and Prim might come home earlier than expected. But if he doesn't get on the bed where will he go?
I get my answer when he grabs the chair I put my clothes on and moves it to stand closer to the bed. The clothes are moved to the dresser and then he's sitting down, his feet coming to rest on the small metal bar on the underside of my bed. There's not enough space really for him to put his feet up anywhere else.
"Close your eyes," he says softly. "I'll be here. I'll stay until you've gone to sleep, okay? I'll be here. You won't be alone."
I almost well up again, wondering how I ended up with a kind and generous person caring about me like this. This can't have any perks for him. In fact it must be on the list of things he'd least of all want to be doing this evening. Yet here he sits, probably uncomfortable on the hard chair in the cramped space, keeping me company and watching over me until I've gone to sleep. I wish I had the right to ask him to stay all night long. I shouldn't wish for that, it's downright shameful of me to be so greedy, and I bleakly wonder if Peeta, in this friendship, is at risk of being thoroughly taken advantage of. People who are wholeheartedly good and kind do so easily end up that way. But I can just let myself imagine waking in the middle of the night and finding Peeta still here, comforting me by his mere existence in the room. For one brief, but dizzyingly intense moment I find myself wildly jealous of the girls he's dated, and the nights they got to have him with them. It's such an illogical thought. Those girls were never in the situation I am tonight.
Soon he will be gone. Once I am asleep he will leave me. I refuse to think of the loneliness that awaits me and instead I decide to soak up every comforting moment my friend is offering me right now. The only friend I have left. And the best. Even if I had other friends, he would undoubtedly be the best friend I had.
I hold out my hand and he takes it, both our hands coming to rest on the mattress a few inches from my pillow. He squeezes my hand gently and I feel a little bit better just from the small gesture.
"Thank you Peeta," I say, not just meaning it for holding my hand but for everything he's done today. I think he knows it.
"Think nothing of it," he answers softly.
"I think everything of it," I answer, trying to stifle a yawn. Now that I've gotten into bed I realize just how exhausted I am after the horrid events of the day. "It is everything. I don't know why you're so good to me."
"Because you deserve it," he answers in a soft whisper, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. "Because you are my friend. Because I care about you. I really like you."
"I like you too," I reply. "So much." My eyelids feel so very heavy and I close my eyes with a soft sigh. I should feel odd and uncomfortable with a boy sitting beside me as I get ready to go to sleep but instead I feel protected. This is not just any boy. The boy with the bread would never do anything to hurt me.
"Sleep well, Katniss," I hear him mumble.
"Goodnight…" I manage.
I know it might seem like an odd choice to have Madge be in the Games and then get killed, rather than to go with a "Madge as the Mockingjay" storyline. I know there's a fairly popular theory in the HG fandom that Madge might have been intended to be the Mockingjay by the rebels before Katniss ended up in the arena in the 74th Games, and it's certainly an interesting idea and could make for a fascinating AU fic. But it's not the story I wanted to tell in this particular fanfiction.
So why have her be reaped and then just killed off? Well there are many things that go into that answer, but one of them is quite simply this - to include in the story the apparent futility of life sometimes. Despite all of Madge's capabilities, talent and potential, her life gets snuffed out in a seemingly pointless way. Other reasons are more story- and character driven, such as bringing Katniss and Peeta closer together, and forcing Katniss to confront grief and grow in the process. When her father died she was so young and there were so many other factors at play, not the least of which being how she was forced to begin to support her family. She might not have had the time, support, or even ability to properly deal with grief itself.
With that said, I'm sad to see Madge go and feel bad about killing her off.
How did you feel about the chapter? I'd love to hear your thoughts.