Fade Chapter Five:

The walk to town was devoid of conversation. Gale was a moody and ill-tempered young man, but it appeared these poor character traits were further magnified in the morning hours.

He had barged in the back door as I sat at the table with Iris, drinking mint tea. I choose the mint in hopes that the herb might have a calming effect on my sour stomach. It roiled and churned like the dirty water in a laundry machine, no doubt a side effect of the relentless nerves that attacked me on all sides.

When I awoke in the wee hours of the morning after a fitful sleep, my very first instinct as I gained cognizant thought was to scream into my pillow. I did NOT want to spend time in the presence of that bigoted, broody lout!

I glared at Iris across the table, as he stormed in. This situation I found myself in, was after all, entirely her making and her fault. If she felt my icy gaze, or the sudden tension in the air at her eldest son's entrance, she hid it expertly. Continuing to thumb through an ancient cookbook, she hummed absentmindedly to herself, seemingly oblivious. This only further ignited my ire. What the hell did she have to do all day!? Why couldn't she have taken me? And why ask him in a room full of people, during what was meant to be a lighthearted dinner. Perhaps she knew her son well. Denying his mother in public would have been too difficult for him. Or perhaps she was far more calculating than that… expecting his refusal, and knowing… KNOWING, that the kind hearted Mellark boy would eagerly volunteer for the task at hand, if for no other reason than to see that I wasn't publically slighted. And also Knowing… KNOWING, that Gale would refuse to relinquish any perceived duties over to the very young man he despised more than any other, and who had already unburdened him of what he had always considered his most precious obligation.

Ohhh, she was good! But what in Panem's good name, was her end game!? That was the question that had been broiling in my mind. What on earth was she hoping to accomplish?

Gale had marched about the kitchen like a bull, throwing open drawers, slamming cabinet doors shut, as though to make a demonstrative display of the sour mood he was in. Highly unnecessary. Any one with eyes could see the tense stance in his shoulders. The hard set clench to his strong jaw. His furrowed in brow, and too rigid steps. He was angry. It was as clear as the clean sky outside. I wondered idly who of us was dreading the outing more. In the end… I suppose it was him.

And thus had begun our trek back into the ugly shantyville that was Twelve. A barked,

"You coming?!," from the insufferable, arrogant prat, had been all the invitation to follow I would receive. Iris had offered me a five dollar bill, 'incase I should need anything', but I refused it, telling her that I had my own money. Besides, what could five dollars honestly buy these days?

And so I followed him out the door, once again staring at his back as I trailed. When we exited the cul de sac, he slowed his menacing pace so that he fell in step beside me. It was a small courtesy, but it hardly qualified him as a gentleman.

The day was bright and cheery, early spring, the temperature almost sixty. Hazel had given me her denim jacket to wear. It was faded, and stiff, but it blocked the breeze. I had no way of knowing what to expect as to the 'fashion' tastes of the women of twelve, but I didn't hold out much hope. I was interested to see what the shop people wore, and only hoped I wouldn't be too disappointed. I intended to imitate what I saw. That was truly all fashion was in the Capitol anyway. Picking out the illustrious few, and blatantly copying their intrinsic sense of taste. I'd been doing it all my life… why would this place be any different.

As we reached the fringes of the town, Gale's pace slowed. He seemed more than a little reluctant. We hadn't said a word to each other and the agonizing weight of awkwardness was suffocating me. It was all unforgivably rude! He was the one who had insisted on bringing me anyway. And I had half a mind to remind him of that fact.

I suddenly thought of the bright, congenial morning that would never be, as I imagined what coming into town with Peeta might have been like. It would have been easy conversation, including rich anecdotes about this town that might have even endeared it to me.

As we approached the main street, we began to see people milling about, and I swear Gale cringed. He kept his stony eyes straightforward, making eye contact with no one. As we continued on our way, quite a few people stopped briefly to look at me, surprise registering on their placid faces, but quickly threw their eyes down and continued on their busy way. One woman holding a basket of laundry with Gale's coloring, approached, lumbering under the weight of her load. Unlike the fair faced townspeople we had seen thus far, she boldly stared at me, waiting it seemed until my eyes connected with hers. Severe grey eyes collided with mine as she pursed her lips in a scornful manner. Her wrinkles ran deep, and her dark chestnut hair was intermixed with wiry gray strands. She was familiar looking. Not her in particular, but rather the aura about her. It was an aura of enduring discontent. Gale displayed slivers of the same, but his was nothing compared to this woman. Hers was palpable. As though it had festered and brewed for so many seasons that it was now tangible. I attempted a small smile as that was my go to whenever I felt alarmed or threatened. The veneer of politeness could nearly solve any problem, after all. Or, at least, I had always thought it so. Her eyes became slits, and she looked as though she was about to say something harsh to me when a deep resonant voice to my left drew both our attentions.

"The pharmacy is over there."

He speaks!

Gale pointed in the direction of a shop just down the way to our left, ignoring the woman all together. I understood at once that this was his feeble attempt to avoid a public scene, so I followed in kind.

"Yes, thank you," I mumbled, moving past him towards the shop. I was only a few steps away when I heard the woman hiss cruel words at Gale. Just shy of being out of earshot, I only caught the words: traitor, your father, and ashamed.

My heart slunk to the bottom of my chest at her tone. I had half a mind to turn around a defend him. To tell this heinous woman that he wasn't a traitor at all. That he had been nothing but vile and rude to me since we'd met. That he hated me. But in the end I just kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was inside the small store staring aimlessly at the shelf full of soaps and shampoos. I suddenly felt very low, and for half a second fought fiercely against the rising surge of emotion as the desire to cry overwhelmed me. Refusing to be caught with tears in my eyes, I distracted myself by scrutinizing the wares in front of me.

The items were obviously cheaply made. The packaging was no frills with the tackiest most outdated design. A few of the top shelf items looked vaguely familiar. Likely knockoffs from Capitol originals, meant to trick the buyer into thinking the product was similar, but what a waste of energy here in Twelve. The population wouldn't recognize the packaging in the first place. In districts one or two, sure, they might actually be aware of the originals, but certainly not here. Nothing but wasted expenditures on empty marketing.

My mind reeled at the lack of selection. There was only one type for each item, completely eliminating the option for choice. Something about this was terribly disconcerting. For example, there was only one type of deodorant for men, and one type for women. That meant… that all the men of twelve smelt exactly the same… and likewise for the women. I could remember lazy afternoons in my adolescence wandering the brightly lit aisles of the massive super drug, pondering at length about what sort of deodorant I wanted to buy. I had pulled off the caps to smell a few, read the labels to find one that wouldn't leave marks on my clothing, but would also condition the skin, so often irritated from the constant waxings. I was partial to scents that boasted labels like, 'clean rain' and 'Fresh Breeze'.

But here, there wasn't any choice. The pink plastic tube in front of me didn't even list a scent, it simply said, 'Deodorant.' The options were this medicinal smelling antiperspirant, or nothing at all. It didn't sit well with me. Just another small knock against a simple liberty.

I heard the jingle of the bells as the door opened, and looked over my shoulder to see Gale enter. One look at his face, and I whipped my head back around, staring hard at the pink tube. He looked absolutely, unhinged. His neck was red with anger, his eyes dark and wild. Moving to an aisle on the far wall, I breathed a short breath of relief that he didn't approach me in his state. Once again, my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach as miserly nettled it's way into my very bones. Not for the first time, a pang of loneliness made me long for my old life. My life from before my mother became sick. A carefree life when my only worry had been how to obtain Marco's affections, and keep them. Everything was so different now.

And then it happened.

For the very first time, a torrent of anger so bitter and sharp flooded out of my very heart, directed at no one else but my dead mother. It ripped itself as if from my very lungs with such a surge of pain it nearly dropped me to me knees. A cruel voice I did not recognize as my own screamed in my mind,

How could she do this to me? How could she have had no plan for me!? No plan, save for shipping me off to rot away and die in a poor hellhole on the edge of the world.

Tears pricked my eyes, as I sucked in a deep breath. Both guilt and relief flooded me in equal measure. Guilt for ever thinking that her sickness was in anyway her fault, and relief for finally admitting to the anger I had cast down so far and so deep. I was already over this town. I just wanted to go back to the house and lock myself in my room.

Sighing at the deodorant already in my hand, I picked up a bar of chalky looking soap and decided to head for the counter. As I turned around, I realized the rail thin woman behind the cash register had been watching me with pensive, cold eyes. She visibly bristled as I starred back at her.

This did not bode well. My already faltering sense of self-worth receded further.

As I reached the counter, she stared down her nose at me and in a clipped tone asked, "Can I help you?"

It couldn't have been more obvious what I wanted from her as I set my items down.

"Yes, I 'm ready to check out," already too emotionally exhausted to feign civility, my own tone matched hers. Pursing her lips, she acted as though ringing up my two items was the largest inconvenience she had ever encountered.

"That will be 78 cents," she stated as she filled out the paper receipt. I nearly gasped. Was this a joke?

"That can't be right?!" I blurted in my shock. The glare she threw me was scathing as she retorted.

"I assure you that is the correct price!" It was only then that I had realized there where no prices listed on any of the items I had seen. 78 Cents!? It suddenly struck me that the woman thought I was upset at the price as if she was overcharging. Over eager to make her understand, I mumbled,

"No, of course, I apologize, I just thought… it would be more."

"More?!" She scoffed. I pulled a bill out of my clutch and slid it across the counter to her. To my complete surprise, she looked at it in incredulity as her brows furrowed in.

"What am I supposed to do with that!?" She spat at me. I looked at her in shock. What on earth was she on about? To my knowledge all of the districts had the same legal tender. I was at a loss of how to respond, and to only make matters worse, a few patrons where now in line behind me. They peered around my shoulders. I heard the woman behind me gasp in surprise. Color began to rise in my cheeks hot and oh so unwanted. Clearly, I had committed some sort of faux pas, but I was clueless as to what. Having studied etiquette exclusively for years, I had rarely found myself in such a position before. It was beyond unnerving. Trying desperately not to sound dazed, I put on my best airs and replied evenly,

"I'd like to pay for my items." The shopkeeper looked at me as if I was the most horrendously stupid person she had ever met, and some semblance of my dignity made a reappearance as it grew overtired of her caustic rudeness.

"I can't break a fifty, you half wit!" She all but barked at me, "We don't keep that kind of money in the drawer!"

Half wit!?

I had never been the sort of person to put rude Capitol shop attendants in their place, but I had hung around with rich, cruel, beautiful girls who seemed to immensely enjoy doing that sort of thing. How many times had I hung back pretending to look at heels as Petra had scathingly annihilated an attendant that refused to take back a dress without a receipt.

But I wasn't Petra. And I never wanted to be. Mustering every overtaxed ounce of affability left in my body, I asked almost politely,

"I see, where is the bank? I'll go make change and return."

"Bank? You mean the exchange office? It's only open on Wednesdays." Her insulting tone was grating on my last nerve and I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice as I questioned,

"One day a week?!" My tone, only further riled the woman as her voice rose,

"All industries that are rarely used keep short hours." It was clear that was a fact that everyone in Twelve knew, but it couldn't have been more obvious that I was not from Twelve. Her presumptuous tone that I, a foreigner, should somehow intrinsically know the hours of the District Twelve bank was a preposterous notion. I was just about to open my mouth to tell her exactly that, when out of nowhere a bronzed fist slapped some coins down on the counter, and slid my bill back towards me. Startled, I glanced up, once again, to fine Gale hovering above me in my very personal space.

"Here, this should cover it. Keep the change," His tone was calm, but held a slight edge, as he plucked up both items and the fifty dollar bill, dropping them into my hands. If her gaze at me was cruel and cold, the staggering glare she threw at Gale could only be called hateful. Without another word his large hand was on my waist, pushing me away from the counter towards the door. It was firm, and unknown, and my heart leapt into my throat in shock. It seemed he was constantly manhandling me, and I nearly slapped his hand away, when all of a sudden it tensed on my waist and abruptly fell away as though burned. And then the heated whisper hiss of the shopkeeper behind us, finally registered in my ears,

"Seam Rat!"

Shocked beyond measure at her extreme hostility, my anger flared without reason, and I turned full stop, intending to put Petra's rants to shame! But just as I turned and opened my mouth, both of Gale's hands reached for my waist again, and he turned me back around sharply. My eyes connected with his only briefly as he whirled me back towards the door. They held a strict warning, and my mouth closed automatically.

Pushed back out into the bright sunny day, his hands fell away again, leaving behind a searing memory of the imprint. I turned to him, seeking his eyes and after a long pause, he finally glanced down at me. I couldn't say what it was he saw on my face, but it caused him to let out a long suffering sigh as the tension in his shoulders released.

"It's not worth it." His strong voice was equal parts admonishing and defeated. Surely, he didn't really think that? My face softened and as his eyes scanned my expression, his own seemed to as well. He stared down at me, and I boldly met his gaze as I desperately wondered what it was he was thinking. His eyes were dark, but more than that they were so very deep. It was impossible to know what things were hidden in their murky depths. His face suddenly looked puzzled as he continued to gaze into my eyes. For one bright, surreal moment, I was able to see what his face looked like as it regarded me without a hint of disdain. His brow was relaxed, his lips missing their usual hard line, and his boring eyes were only inquisitive, as if I was suddenly an intriguing riddle he was hell bent to solve. For only a moment he seemed almost approachable. And from the fractured fringes of my rattled mind, a simple thought fought through my barriers and traipsed it's way back in: Gale was an uncommonly handsome man. I swallowed involuntarily, as all at once our gaze grew warm and uncomfortable… at least for me. My cheeks heated of their own volition, as my eyes took in his every feature. I began to feel hazy and hot, as though heated from the inside out. My brain melted to mush as its baser processes of the silly schoolgirl variety took control. I suddenly found myself wondering how it could be possible for anyone to ever be cruel to a face that intoxicatingly lovely. Without thinking, I suddenly voiced aloud the next question that popped into my head,

"Why did she call you that?" It came out as a whisper, and shocked us both that I asked it. The moment seemed to snap as he suddenly glowered, casting his gaze away. He visibly tensed, and when he looked back at me, it was as if it was a different person before me.

"It doesn't matter." He said simply, though in a way that made me think it actually mattered very much. It was clear he had no intention of speaking more on the matter, and back to his usual self, he turned on his heel and stalked down the steps.

Watching after him, I stood there, rooted to the spot, completely stunned. Suffering undeserved slights should not simply be tolerated. He was being snubbed on all sides, and my presence in his life only magnified and exacerbated the issue. No wonder his disdain towards me came as natural to him as breathing. Just by existing in his already precarious world… I was destroying it.

A/N: Thank you so much for the follows and reviews! It's been said before, but feel free to drop a line with your thoughts. I'm always curious to know your impression. Thank you kindly for reading!