A/N: Sooo, i guess you liked that little fantasy just as much as i did, huh? I know it was cut off too soon (like you so correctly pointed out in reviews; thank you for them!) but that's kind of the point here. A story of longing, or something. This chapter was never ment to be one of its own, but once I started writing i couldn't stop! It turned out a heartbreaky little piece, just to give you a heads up... I hope you like it though, because I must admit I do.
Next chapter is either the last (which is the one i initially set out to write) or another interlude before that, I can't decide... Any thoughts there? Is this long enough already? :)
Summer continues in this new pattern, where Sundays are the only days that count, because they're the days I get to spend with Gale. The sun shines on and on, and the days are long and as carefree as I can wish for. In the woods, I transform into my old self, who can laugh and joke and be free from worry, if only for a while. We're caught up in discovering this new form of us, the Katniss and Gale who are no longer just best friends, but so much more. I suppose we have always felt more at ease close to each other, our relationship somehow physical in its little need for words. This becomes very obvious now, when we are always finding excuses to be near. The days pass by too quick, a flurry of breathless touches that burn hotter than the sun, of dozing off against the beating of his heart, of watching his grey eyes as they watch me.
He makes no more attempts to kiss me, or at least not serious ones. Perhaps he's waiting for me to make the move, or perhaps he's content with the lightness of things the way they are for the moment. I think he knows that I wish I would, too, but that I am slightly afraid of what might happen. Right now, I prefer to keep my heart always just out of reach, where it can't break if I don't let it. If this is our once chance to feel free, free from responsibility and watching eyes and the ever present hunger, then I want to take it. So I just joke around when he brings it up, and occasionally steal a quick kiss when he least expects it, just for the look on his face. And, if I'm honest, to make him keep asking for it.
Sunday nights, we manage to pack up our hormones along with our bags, and go back to being just Katniss and Gale, forever best friends, for our families to see. I suppose they blame our uncharacteristically good mood on the abundance of food, but in any case, no one is complaining. Laughter is suddenly not such a rare thing in Victor's Village.
Perhaps my brain has turned to mush by the constant, brilliant sunshine on my head, but as the Sundays pass and I find nothing to worry about, except the fact that they don't come fast enough, I begin to hope. Surely, if life can be this good, there must be a way I can keep it like this? My stomach tickles at the thought, the idea of having a whole life with the only one I'd ever want to share it with, anyway.
Then, too soon, summer fades and the days grow shorter. Unrelenting sunshine is replaced by a never-ending curtain of rain, as the weather tries to make up for the yellowed grass and the cracked earth. Cold wind sweeps in, effectively lifting the spell of heat and revealing life as it is. With the changing seasons comes a change of mood, and for Gale and me, it's not for the better.
Normally, early autumn is my favourite time, as it brings a proud beauty to the woods and freshness to the air. It also brings resolution, as nature piles up on food before it all goes away for the cold season. This year, that same resolution settles around me like a shield, driving up a crack between me and my best friend. I can't help it, but can only watch as the distance in his eyes replaces the reverence I've seen in them all summer long. It's not even just me; we are both drifting further away from our happy place, towards a dark horizon quickly approaching. And if it makes me frightened that my Victory Tour is coming up, it makes Gale angry.
On our rare good days, things are still fine. We are able to pretend that nothing is amiss, that we are still going to be fine, happy even. Other times, the silence is a heavy cloud over our heads, and I can feel his resentment seeping into my every pore, filling me with dark regret. Some days, we find ourselves caught up in heated arguments, the fire in us both flaring up and combining to terrifying strength. Late in the morning, the day before the Monday when the Tour is set to start, it all culminates.
It's yet another overcast morning. As I wait in the clearing, I watch steel grey clouds swirl in the sky with ominous speed and the trees sway, leaves swept away with the wind. If an autumn storm is on the way, I want to make it back before it breaks out. However, Gale is late. This makes me more than a little irritated, since after today I won't see him for weeks. When he finally steps into view, he wears a scowl to match my own and I know this day will bring no good.
"Overslept," he mutters, and offers no further explanation. I can sympathise, I really can, because I know he's constantly exhausted from all the hard work deep down in the dark of the mines. I just can't find that sympathy today, so I offer no reply.
We press through our usual snare run in charged silence, finding only one underfed rabbit caught. It's already dead from the chord twisted around its neck. The rest of the game has gone hiding, wisely fearing the weather. As we turn back towards the fence, a light but persistent rain starts falling, quickly picking up pace. I want to break into a run to escape before it gets worse, but Gale grabs my arm and spins me around, demanding answers that I was hoping I could escape.
"What now?" he says in a hard voice, eyes unrelenting. I don't have to ask him what he means. I just don't have any answers to offer, and respond only with silence and averted eyes.
"So that's it? Back to being a good little victor? Back to getting cosy with him?"
"As far as they know, yes," I say, fighting to retain my calm. "What else can I do, Gale?" His eyes tell me there's a lot more I can do, in his opinion, and it angers me.
"You don't understand!" My voice is rising now. "I can't risk everything, when I have fought so hard to keep it!"
The look he's giving me is an intense mixture of hurt and disgust, all in one. I guess that last part didn't come out right, but I'm too upset to correct it now.
"You were right before," he snaps, shaking visibly with suppressed anger. "I don't know who you are anymore, Katniss. You're a fucking coward!"
The last part he shouts at me, and it's terrible because it's true. It makes me so furious that I lose it myself, hurl horrible accusations back at him. I know exactly what ticks him off, and there's no holding back now. It feels almost good, but so wrong at the same time. We're not really angry at each other after all, but at them, who have us cornered with threats, and whose rules we have to follow even though we both crave freedom above all. But we're powerless against the forces of the Capitol, so we scream at each other for a long time, letting out months worth of pent-up frustration.
In the end, we run out of words but stare at each other with hateful eyes. Thunder rolls over my head with ear splitting force, but I don't flinch. When he slams a pine tree with all his force and turns to walk away from me, I'm convinced I'll never see him again. At least not as a friend. I watch his rigid back disappear into the trees, but have to blink as lightning strikes, and then he's gone. Still fuelled by anger, I manage to make it all the way home before it drains out of me, leaving me weak and hollow and completely exhausted.
Much later, mother calls me downstairs for dinner, and I drag my feet far behind, very much preferring to just stay curled up on my bed. That won't do though, since it's my last dinner at home for a while. And Gales family are still coming. I'm so surprised I almost drop the canteen of mashed potatoes I'm carrying to the table, when I see he has actually showed up. I figured he'd fake a headache or something, if nothing else then to spare himself an inevitable one.
We scowl at each other, hostile, without a word, and I can hear our families draw an exasperated sigh in unison. Since we're more or less the focal point of these dinners, they are all bound to be affected. The few times before when we've showed up to dinner after a fight, they've been uneasy occasions.
Then my little sister, of all people, speaks up to clear the air.
"If you two can't get along," says Prim adamantly, "you can't sit next to each other."
We both stare at her, and to her credit, she handles the twin glares without blinking. She has a point though, and I swallow enough pride to see this. Only my sister could make me see reason in the middle of mental war. Feeling tired again, I force myself to look at Gale, to let him know I can't be bothered to keep up the anger right now. His eyes turn a shade less steely, and he silently takes his normal seat, keeping the one to his right free for me.
Throughout dinner, I don't say a word, but no one seems to expect me to either. I guess they think it's easier to pretend like nothing, and the talk is mostly of school and work and gossip about neighbours. Thank goodness Peeta is having dinner with his own family, or else I would have had to actually keep up appearances. I can feel tension building up inside me again, charging energy from the force field on my left side, the one I'm stubbornly refusing to look at again as we eat.
Main course is stew and potatoes, followed by hot apples in cinnamon syrup, and as the tea is served and the fire is burning low in our hearth, I only grow colder inside. Is this it, then? I don't know what the next few weeks will bring, but I doubt it will be anything to improve my current situation with Gale. It scares me beyond words.
Then Hazelle rises, saying it's time to go home, and my tongue feels like it has swollen up and gone numb. I trail after them all as they walk out to the hallway, watch as they put on boots and coats and chatter pleasantly with my mother and sister. Gale goes first, and he has one hand on the door knob, swinging the door open to let in the cold air and the light of a million stars, before he turns around to look at me. My face crumbles, and so does his, not caring about all the eyes watching anymore. Suddenly he looks frightened, too. In a flash, I'm up to him, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face by his neck. I hold on for life, not going to let anyone break us apart, and he clutches me so tightly I can barely breathe.
"I'm so sorry," he says fervently in my ear, apologising only for the words earlier today. I know I have a lot more than that to beg forgiveness for, and my heart is so heavy I can't stop the flood of tears. A great heaving sob shakes my body, and then I melt even closer into him. His fingers gently work to loosen the anxious knots in my strained neck, until I stop shivering and relax.
I think everyone else in the room were a little embarrassed by our sudden display of emotions and prefers to give us some privacy, because everything has gone quiet around us. The door closes after Gales' family, but we make no move to part. I just can't let him go yet.
I don't look up either, when I feel him lift me, wrapping his arms around me so he can keep me pressed against his body while he moves. Still crying, I keep my face tucked away under his chin. When he sets me down on his lap, I register that we're in my room, and he's sitting on my overly large bed. How many times have I imagined him here with me, and how wrong is it that when it happens, I'm unbearably sad?
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whisper back against his skin, trying to apologise for every single time I've hurt him without ever meaning to.
He gently takes my face in his strong hands, forcing me to look up at him with wet eyes.
"It's okay, Katniss," he says, and his eyes are so gentle that I believe him. "It'll be ok". But I can see that he's trying to convince himself, and so I nod, forcing myself to believe too.
"I'll think of something," I say, swallowing back any tears left. "I won't let them control me."
He smiles a little then, stroking my hair back in soft caresses. I let my head fall down on his shoulder again, tired to my bones. There are three little words hovering at the back of my tongue, threatening to spill out if I'm not careful. They won't help either of us at this stage though, so instead I press my lips to the tender spot just below his ear, and then let myself be lulled to sleep in the warm comfort of his arms. I may have been dreaming, but I think I hear those same words echoed back just before I drift off.
The next morning, I receive a surprise visit from President Snow, and I realise what a complete and utter idiot I've been for hoping.