Thank you to TheAfterShock for their assistance/beta-ing as well as everyone who has taken the time to review/subscribe/favorite this story. It means a great deal!
Notes:
#1 after I sent the previews of this chapter, I got the impression they were a bit short. Since the chapters for this story will be long (each one close to 10k words), I've thought that longer sneak peeks won't hurt anyone, either (the offer still stands—review=preview). Thoughts? Which is the length you prefer?
#2 there would be one more scene in this chapter (Prim's appearance), but it turned out to be quite unfitting. I hope you're all alright with waiting for chapter three. A lot happens in that one.
#3 if you have questions about "Roommates", typing them in a review/PM would help a lot. Some of you have made some interesting observations and I'd like to address them in a FAQ. Ask anything you want to know—from the plot to my way(s) of organizing a chapter.
Replies to anonymous reviews:
rochay97: I really wanted to thank you for your kind words and send you a preview, but you've disabled PMs. So...thank you a lot!
Guest: Thanks. It helps to hear there were authors/people who liked the start of my story.
Words: 10,568 (Normal word limits: 8,000-14,000)
Disclaimer: You all know what I own and what I don't. Unfortunately, forgetting to add a disclaimer is considered a violation of FFNet's rules.
Update: 30.09.2012
Two: February
February, Week One
It is one of those days; the days when she finds it impossible to welcome the rays of the morning sun, when she feels lifeless and completely disoriented, when she reluctantly allows her sorrow, which sometimes threatens to shake her to the core, to consume her, when she simply can't move.
Such days are uncommon and rare for Katniss, yet existent and torturous. She can't find a good enough way—or a good enough reason for that matter—to remove the heavy duvet from her body, can't remember what day it is or where she is, can't wrap her head around anything other than how alone she truly is. She forgets about everyone and everything (Prim can't always help her because she can't always know when something is wrong) and refuses to be reasonable. (The word loses its meaning way too easily for her once her eyes make the decision to stay shut.)
Somewhere in the distance, a constant beeping sound is heard. A sound that would have her flying out of bed, urging her to make the required preparations for work, under normal circumstances.
She manages to recall how her alarm clock works and reaches to her left, her palm flat against the surface of the nightstand, her fingers numbly searching for the electronic device. Every alarm clock is equipped with a snooze button and this one is no exception.
When her purpose is fulfilled, she sinks as deep in the mattress as she can. She hugs her pillow, burying her face in it and breathes out what she originally thought to be relief.
But it's not. The weight she feels on her chest is still there and her stomach still hurts from a pain she is incapable of naming. She waits for a few moments, hoping the tears will finally come. They don't—they never do. Katniss can't ever cry like normal people do and it kills her.
The alarm doesn't ring again, and if it does, she can't hear it. She sinks into a dreamless sleep for the umpteenth time today.
.
.
At first, Peeta is convinced there is something wrong with his mobile.
He never expected Katniss's absence from the kitchen would be so upsetting, so unsettling for him. Though, he knows the main reason why he actually notices she's not here, walking anxiously in front of him with her braid swinging behind her back, getting ready to be out of the house some minutes before him (she heads for the farm at around five-thirty—he never worked at Sae's, so he was more than just surprised the first time he saw her up so early) is because of how used to each other they've grown in only two months. He can't always read her expressions, but she still thinks so loud and so much. Instead of feeling unnerved, he feels undeniably consoled. Maybe he's not the only one who worries so much about pointless things, after all.
He can't help wondering whether it's Wednesday, one of her days off. He checks the calendar of his cell phone one more time, noting how the word Thursday stares back at him.
He takes a sip of his water, gently placing what he's holding back on the counter. His brows furrow on their own accord, while a frown is formed, his facial features slightly distorting.
It takes a while for the thought to appear inside his head, and when it does, the grimace deepens.
Maybe there's nothing wrong with his phone. Maybe there's something wrong with her. Perhaps Greasy Sae has decided to be easy on her—maybe Katniss is not needed at the farm today.
He isn't aware why, but he feels as if he has to confirm his assumptions. He has to hear that she is here or that she has already left the house—before he would have the chance to meet with her.
The cell phone is back in his hands, his fingers quickly searching for the number he hasn't made any efforts to memorize yet. He turns around with an abrupt motion, hitting his calf on one of the drawers' handles in the process of waiting for Madge to answer her phone.
Her drowsy and hoarse from sleep voice comes several seconds later, making Peeta's catch in his throat from the sudden realization of what time it really is.
"Hello?" It is barely heard, but is enough to increase the guilty feeling as it creeps its way to Peeta's gut.
"H-hey," he starts timidly. "Madge, it's me. It's—"
"—Peeta, I know. I have your number." She pauses and he suddenly doesn't know how to continue. "What happened?" she encourages.
"Uh…" He scratches the back of his head absent mindedly. "Sorry for calling. And sorry for waking you up—I totally lost track of time. I completely forgot and I haven't looked outside to see how dark it is yet." He speaks so quickly and hurriedly that he has to calm his breathing from the moment he hears his cousin's shushing sound of reassurance.
"What happened?" she repeats.
"Are you going to come by later today?" he asks curiously, in fear of overreacting.
"No, I wasn't planning to," she replies, clearly baffled by his all too strange behavior. "You're both working today." Her tone is slightly questioning as she pronounces the last sentence.
"So, Katniss has to be at work today?"
There is more silence on the other end of the line. It is broken when an odd noise is heard from Madge, which sounds as if it is a muffled yawn. "That's what I just said."
"Oh," he tells her carefully. "Alright."
"Alright?" she echoes incredulously. He begins to nod, although he soon stops himself, realizing it's absolutely no use. It's not like she can see him.
"Well…"
"Peeta, you can't have called me at half past five in the morning to hear about Katniss's schedule," she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
He flinches. "Sorry," he tells her again. "I just don't think she's awake yet. She usually is—that's all."
"Wait, wait, wait." He raises a questioning eyebrow at her request, but eventually obliges. "Are you sure she's still sleeping?"
"Not really. I assumed she's in her room. I can't exactly get in there," he explains. "I wouldn't know for sure," he adds.
"Uhm," she trails off, before she keeps going. "Tell you what. I'll let you know, if she doesn't answer her phone. It's not the first time this has happened." The statement catches Peeta off guard. The main reason why he has no clue how he should reply to Madge's words or how to react in general concerns the fact that he doesn't even know what his cousin is referring to.
"The last time was two months ago," she informs him. "It didn't end so nicely. She kind of lost her job."
"Wha—what are you talking about?" Katniss never told him why she was fired, although he has already decided not to blame her. This sort of conversations is too personal—none of them has reached the point of sharing significant facts with the other. (He can say he's convinced there is anything but a great possibility of it happening in the near future.)
Madge's huff is barely heard. "If I consider it essential you get in her room, then you'll do it." It is neither a question nor a request. Her tone is more demanding that he remembers it to be, a newfound exigency hidden behind it. "I can't drive there in less than forty minutes."
"Okay," he whispers. She hangs up almost immediately after she makes sure his agreement is heard.
.
.
He feels as if terror—his terror—is about to engulf him. The pace of his heartbeat quickens as the seconds pass agonizingly slow—and yet awfully quick to the point of being incapable of doing anything to help—for him. The pupils of his eyes dilate in what can only be anxiousness.
His right palm curls around her shoulder as he applies more pressure on her skinny arm than he normally would. He shakes her one more time, his urgency increasing.
"Katniss?" he calls, waiting for a reply, expecting the sound of it to calm him, soothe him, automatically erase any kind of pointless worries.
But she remains unresponsive. His brain is suddenly forced to reluctantly welcome images he never wishes to see—or maybe even live—again, images of his father languishing, losing every single trace of strength he had left, being at the death's door for so long, and yet refusing to let go of his family. Because when surviving the deadly illness, which weakened him more and more as the days passed, appeared to be impossible for his old man, and Peeta would jolt him (ignoring the nurses' shrieks of protest as well as the beeping sounds of the machines piercing his ears), Mr. Mellark wouldn't answer. He wouldn't talk to his youngest son.
(Peeta was the only one who wept when his father died. It was the only day his brothers didn't dare to call him weak for being the 'family's baby' and it was the only day his mother allowed him to see how worn out and human she really was. It took her forty-eight whole hours to go back to the woman she truly is. Her husband had left the bakery and all its issues and responsibilities to Peeta and this action of his drove her completely mad. She simply couldn't approve of the way Peeta's father used to think and therefore work. However, in the end it had become apparent that if one of the Mellark boys ever dedicated his life to the family's business without seeking for an easy alternative, it would be the youngest one.)
The curtains are soon pulled forcefully aside, letting the faint light enter. The sun hasn't risen yet, but the move is enough for him to be able to distinguish her facial features.
Once he faces her for a second time, he gasps. Her staying as passive as he has ever seen her is not what scares him so much. What terrifies him—petrifies even—is her eyes.
He shudders as he steps closer, kneeling to the floor beside her, attempting to connect his gaze with hers. What he receives in return is nothing—absolutely nothing. She stares at the ceiling as if she's dead, the dull color in her grey irises doing anything but colliding with the troubled blue of his own.
He calls her name one more time, even though he knows the results will not be any different. His hand falls on the mattress while he gives it a persistent look, in fear of scaring her now he knows she's awake.
"What's going on?" he wonders out loud. The question is addressed more at himself than her, although he still wants to hear the answer.
"Katniss, you have work," he reminds her, the volume of his voice rising a tad bit more than before. He touches her shoulder again. "Come on," he encourages. His other hand moves to her cheek, turning her towards him so his face will not be out of her eyesight anymore. "You have to get up."
He meets her eyes, even when he realizes they are far too vacant for her to return the concerned glance. He squeezes her fingers, even when he realizes they are far too numb for her to return the gesture. He is positive that any other morning, she'd be yelling at him to leave her personal space, pushing him away from her. (Jumping to conclusions isn't what he believes Katniss would appreciate, but he hasn't seen anything other than this aggressive as well as somehow antisocial side of hers. He is in no place to judge, since in reality he admires her determination and stubbornness. She hasn't let herself or her sister down.)
Something manages to catch his attention and he instantly tenses; a movement from Katniss. A violent shiver shakes her form and brings her back to life. It is as if she has come back from a different world—a world she has created, in which no one is allowed to play a role for her sake.
Her eyes squint instead of narrowing at him until they're utterly closed. He makes the mistake of moving his thumb over the back of her palm (it is too soon for such a move on his or her part—they're not even friends), before she withdraws her hand from his in a sharp and violent motion. He is, at least, relieved to know the Katniss he has been familiar with all this time is not absent.
Peeta nervously clears his throat, supporting his weight on the palm he places on the furniture beside her bed, and stands on his feet. He purposefully retreats a step.
"Katniss, it's late," he states, not knowing what else he could do to get her to talk to him. "You're going to be late. Sae will be waiting for you."
She turns her head away from him, eyes still shut. When he's about to think he will have to do something drastic for her to compromise, she startles him by voicing the first question that probably crosses her mind at this very moment.
"What time is it?" she asks.
He shouldn't be here, watching this, watching her being more vulnerable than she'd wish him to ever see her. He, however, feels this need to help without caring about her paying him back, just like he used to do when he was younger. He could consider himself selfless back then.
Thus, he replies to her question, and watches her eyes grow large as she slowly starts getting a better grip on reality. She throws the covers off her body, not being bothered by Peeta's presence in her room and acting as if she hadn't noticed him seconds ago. She bolts from where she's standing, almost tripping by a sheet which is tangled around her right ankle.
It turns out he can do nothing more than what he has already done. His eyes widen at their own accord, like Katniss's, his mouth suddenly agape.
He isn't used to being as speechless as he is now, so it takes him a while to recover. He shoots a last glance at the unmade bed, before he follows the way she did, calling her name in the process.
Maybe there is something he can do for her, after all.
"Hold on!" he says.
.
.
"Get on, Katniss," he insists. She hears him sigh and feels his intense stare on her face as she persistently shakes her head in refusal, looking at the ground and chewing on her bottom lip, her teeth adding more pressure than necessary.
She doesn't understand why he's still here, preventing her from doing what she has in mind (running to Sae's farm because she's late—it takes her half an hour to arrive on foot and it's already a quarter to six), when he should be at his bakery. He opens his store some minutes after seven in the morning, but is there at least an hour and a half before he welcomes his customers.
"I can walk," she assures him.
"I know you can walk. But if you can be there in ten minutes instead of thirty, why can't you reconsider?" he wonders.
"Because…" Does she really want to tell him why? This is one of the rhetorical questions that keep running inside Katniss's head daily, but she tells herself what she wants to be reminded of, anyway; the answer is no. "Because," she ends up snapping.
She risks lifting her gaze, realizing he hasn't removed his yet. He extends both of his hands, offering her the helmet placed firmly in-between them. She clutches her father's brown leather bag closer to her chest, keeping her arms occupied.
"I'll be fine."
"You'll be late."
"You'll be, too, if you don't leave."
He turns to his left, patting the space behind him on the vehicle, beckoning her to make herself comfortable. "Get on the bike."
"I don't like bikes," she explains. I'm afraid of bikes.
"You'll be wearing this, too," he reasons, raising the helmet higher for her to notice. She hugs the bag a little tighter, considering her choices. She can either do as he says and get to work in time or be no less than fifteen minutes late.
The image of the route to Greasy Sae's farm flashes in her mind. No accident could happen there, for the road is more than just safe. All she needs to do is swallow her fear—her absolutely ridiculous bias—and accept his suggestion. There's nothing for her to lose.
"Don't ride it too fast, okay, Peeta?" She feels so small, it's mortifying. She notices this is the first time she has called him by his first name.
His lips curl upwards, forming a wry half-smile. "Okay," he promises, slowly bobbing his head for confirmation.
She takes the place he showed her behind him, her front firmly pressed against his back, her arms shakily snaking around his waist until the fingers of both of her hands are tangled in front of his abdomen. She closes her eyes, deeply exhaling, preparing herself for their departure. Her eagerness to welcome the darkness behind her eyelids contributes to her missing several details, such as the sight of the blond strands of hair on his head instead of the protective helmet. Once she is aware there is a slightly bigger possibility of him getting hurt, though, she also knows she is too selfish to leave her head uncovered.
At some point, Katniss touches her cheek against the material of his thick jacket, tightening her inevitable embrace. She's afraid that the pressure and force she puts on his ribs might knock the breath out of his lungs.
When they finally arrive at where she has to work, she feels so nauseous that she can't even tell where she is or why Mellark has stopped.
"Katniss." He steps on the ground with his one foot, balancing himself on the bike. His one palm moves to cover her hands, parting her entwined fingers one by one. "We're here," he announces. The smile drops from his face by the time he feels her trembling, yet remaining still.
The vehicle leans towards the one side and Katniss is forced to get off it, stumbling on the muddy ground. Her knees involuntarily buckle, while she tries to clear her blurry vision. Fingers lock securely around her forearm, keeping her from collapsing and therefore becoming one with the ground.
"Are you all right?" he hisses in her ear, holding her some inches away from him, trying to measure her reaction.
She blinks several times and manages to nod in response. "Yeah," she tells him. "Just a bit dizzy." She steps backwards, giving him the space he probably needs right now.
"Are you…" he starts questioning her, but hesitates and eventually looks as if he regrets it. He shakes his head, clearing it from whatever he's thinking. His eyes land on the helmet that's still around her scalp. "Do you need help with it?"
Katniss touches the plastic on her head, realizing what he's talking about. "Oh, right." She mutters a soft, quick apology and fights with the straps of what he gave her, before she hands it to him, making it clear his assistance is neither required nor needed.
"Thanks, Mellark," she mumbles.
He shrugs, making it obvious he doesn't believe his offer to be such a big deal. "Will you be okay? I mean… I don't know what all this was about… but if you need me to pick you up later or…"
"No." She presses her lips tightly together. "I'll be fine."
"Sure," he replies. "See you at home, then."
She watches him leave as she whispers, "See you." She turns around and walks down the familiar path leading to the stall of Sae's farm (there is not much she can do at the fields anyway—the harvest season ends at the end of October). The lady greets Katniss with a polite nod of her head, like she always does, and keeps her aware of what she has to work on for today. She promises to share a considerable portion of her—or rather her family's—lunch with the girl in case she stays there for longer than intended. (Katniss makes a mental note to herself to decline as kindly as possible, if the woman keeps her word. She isn't sure whether she's ready to receive more than what her employer pays her.)
When Greasy Sae's about to let her take care of the animals that haven't even been fed yet, she stops right before she approaches the outlet. "I admire your judgment, girl." Katniss shoots her a glance full of query, but gets nothing but a sly wink in return. "The baker's got a golden heart. I send my son for fresh bread every morning." Katniss opens her mouth to object, saying he's just her roommate and not what Sae thinks he is to her (if Sae thinks he's her friend or more than a friend). The next words prevent her from doing so, though. "Poor kid lost his father a couple of years ago."
And Katniss is left with her thoughts—alone.
Peeta's father is dead? Why hasn't he or Madge ever told her anything about it? How did he lose him? Was it sudden like her parents' case or was it slow like the way cancer patients die?
She thinks until it's time for her to continue with her work—in reality, she thinks until she creeps herself out.
.
.
By the time Katniss arrives home, the sky has started getting dark again. She knows it is not that late, even though she'd prefer to be here sooner, when the light of the sun wouldn't be almost gone. But the most unpleasant of all facts is not this.
Someone—someone with straight blonde hair falling evenly to her back—is standing right in front of Peeta Mellark's—and maybe hers, too—door. Katniss halts, gently biting the inside of her cheek as she attempts to decide who on earth her roommate might have called, and observes the woman's movements.
Katniss's footsteps are way too silent to be heard, so the girl doesn't seem to notice when the brunette goes even closer. Instead, she examines her perfectly polished nails, looking at the door every one in a while without bothering to knock.
Katniss arches an eyebrow and moves her fist in front of her lips, clearing her throat just to make her presence known. The blonde reacts almost immediately by turning her head towards Katniss's direction in a sharp motion, her hair slapping a great part of her face. It is a face Katniss wished she'd never have to see after high school was over.
What the heck is Glimmer Templesmith doing here?
"Can I help you with anything?" she asks instead, clenching and unclenching her fists so as to avoid gritting her teeth and making the extent of her displeasure clear.
Surprised by the sound of Katniss's voice, the blonde blanches. Seconds later, the recognition that flashes in her emerald eyes is replaced by a hint of both disapproval and disgruntlement.
"What would you be doing here, Everdeen?" she demands. Well, hello to you, too, Katniss responds in her head. Stooping so low, however, is not precisely a solution. Getting over the insignificant, trivial problems she had with her female classmates during puberty is one of the compromises she has settled for—one of the things she has promised to herself.
"I should ask you the same question, Glimmer."
Glimmer folds her arms over her chest, not bothering to hide her all-too-familiar frown now there's no one to really see and be appalled by it. But there's nothing for her to do to repulse others—not when she's so fake. (Glimmer's natural hair color could be darker than Katniss's, who sometimes in the past wondered whether the former's body shape is truly hers. The only real thing must be her eyes.)
"I'm actually looking for Peeta." Peeta, not Peeta Mellark, Katniss notes. The informality she uses to address him increases her curiosity enough to suppress her sudden urge to push the unexpected visitor aside and storm in the house, slamming the door shut behind her.
"He's not here at the moment," Katniss ends up replying coolly. She reluctantly takes some steps closer to the main entrance.
"I can see that." Glimmer has become irritated—if Katniss annoys her enough, she's positive she will ensure herself a headache that will last for the next six hours.
"Would you like me to tell him anything?" Katniss suggests, pulling her lip with her teeth to restraint. She knows making her amusement evident is both improper and childish.
"How would you tell him anything?"
"Uhm," she huffs. How difficult can transferring a message from her to Peeta be? She asks herself several questions concerning what Glimmer should mean, before she finally achieves to recognize the possessiveness in her tone. It's the same voice spoiled children use when they want to claim something—an object—as theirs. It is theirs and nobody else's.
"Why don't you come back tomorrow evening? I'd let you in the house, but…" Liar. If someone ever let Glimmer in, that would be Peeta and he's not even present. "…I'm pretty busy tonight," she finishes her sentence.
Katniss wants to show her she lives here—she wants to prove it to her. But opening the door means extracting the key from its place and she can't exactly afford worrying about the blonde's future inquisitive glances as she brings her grandmother's locket to sight. This bizarre, yet familiar ritual is completely and utterly personal.
On the other hand, there seems to be absolutely no way for her to act as if the house belongs to her. (It partly does, right? It must be the first time she properly admits the fact to herself.)
"What are you talking about?" Templesmith has apparently started losing her precious patience.
Katniss sighs. "Mel—Peeta's my roommate. Now, if you please—"
"—your what?" She seems stunned by the confession. Katniss, though, feels as if she owes no more explanations.
"Come and find him some other time, would you?" she commands. And with that, she drapes the single strap of the bag over her shoulder, lowers the zip of her jacket and tightens her grip around the silver chain she manages to dig out of her sweater, pulling it over her head. Glimmer stumbles backwards, while Katniss feels eyes piercing the back of her skull. She can't wait until the moment when she finds herself under the shower, forgetting the short-lived incident for good.
The key does its job just fine, as Katniss leaves Glimmer at the doorstep, barely muttering a "goodbye" under her breath.
Everything is just like she expected—well, almost everything. She climbs the stairs as fast as she can, throws her nearly empty bag—her key, too—on the bed right when she enters her room and searches for clean clothes to change after she'll emerge from her long (she wants to believe there will be no interruptions) shower.
What takes her by surprise concerns Greasy Sae and her words about Peeta's past.
Poor kid lost his father a couple of years ago.
When she saw him for the first time after four years, she thought she knew him. She was wrong. She knows nothing.
.
.
Three quarters of an hour later, voices from the distance lead Katniss out of her room's comfort. After she locates them (she thinks they are coming from the hallway), she decides to be less indiscreet and make her way towards the kitchen. She can say she's curious enough not to stay out of earshot, even though her curiosity has nothing to do with interfering with Peeta's issues. Glimmer's screech could be distinguished anytime and anywhere.
How the girl has been out of the house for all this time without experiencing one of her serious, unnerving mood swings is beyond Katniss's knowledge. Peeta, however, seems to be reluctant to welcome her inside (why else would he keep her out there for so long?) and Katniss mentally expresses her gratification for the fact that she won't need to face her.
Once again, she is wrong.
There is no better reason to flee this place than Glimmer's look of satisfaction as she steps foot in the kitchen. Katniss's eyebrows threaten to arch over her forehead, since Glimmer's displeasure about such a room isn't lost to her. (That girl is made for large salons, buffets and banquets, where the center of attention will be her and her only.)
Suddenly, it is like Peeta has ensured himself a new tail. Katniss doesn't know whether to be amused by the way he zigzags in the place, miserably failing at hiding his despair, or be sympathetic at how she was in his shoes some minutes ago.
He eventually spots her and forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. This time, she has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. "Hey, Katniss." The exasperation, which is more likely not directed at her, doesn't go unnoticed by her. Even Glimmer pretends not to have heard how his voice cracked in the end.
Katniss offers a small wave in return, in fear of saying something she probably shouldn't. She's afraid that if she opens her mouth, she won't be able to take back what piece of truth comes out of it.
He lets out a shaky exhale. "Glimmer," he addresses the blonde. "You can wait for me in the living room," he suggests.
"It's alright, Peet. I can keep you company," she says a little too willingly, pulling a chair and pinning her bottom stubbornly on it.
Peet? Seriously?
"I've been living alone for a long time, Glimmer," he tells—or maybe reminds—her. "Just go there and I'll make you something to drink."
She stands from her seat and lifts her head proudly. "Fine," she agrees. "Add a lot of sugar to whatever you make," she requires, before she turns around and exits the room, her heels clicking on the floor until her feet meet the carpet.
"Add a lot of sugar to whatever you make," Peeta repeats, mimicking her voice, scrunching his nose when he's positive he's out of Glimmer's earshot. "She hasn't changed one bit."
"No, she hasn't," Katniss muses.
Peeta looks at her in disbelief. "You know her?" he asks.
"I wish I didn't," she replies. "She'd been my classmate since the first grade of middle school," she explains, then.
He nods, understanding, and moves a desperate hand to his forehead, pushing the blonde hair away from it.
"How was your day?" he asks out of the blue. He looks around, his gaze eventually landing on the cupboards, probably trying to come up with a way to please his guest. He notices how Katniss lets her facial expression transform into a deep frown, doubting the real question—or rather suspecting an ulterior motive behind it.
"What?" he asks again. He shrugs. "I was only trying to make conversation."
She's aware he hasn't asked her about her day or her job before. She could also say she'd been surprised he decided to make that particular move this day, at this moment, but interaction with sane people (who have suffered enough to remain sane) is needed every once in a while. She knows that from experience. She knows how every time a crazy, persistent customer entered Snow's grocery store, she felt like she just had to call her sister—hear her familiar voice, accept them comfort Prim could only give.
She shakes her head as if to clear it from any kind of what she believes to be unhelpful thoughts.
She realizes she probably took long—too long—to reply. "It was fine," she answers honestly with an indifferent movement of her shoulders. The idea of returning the question doesn't cross her mind, although he seems to have his own plans, anyway.
"Mine was okay, too." He takes out a glass and Katniss is grateful he doesn't ask her whether she needs anything. She would kindly reject him, but such offers never cease to be tempting for her, regardless. "I like Saturdays better. Vick might be young, but he helps me a lot."
"Oh? Gale's brother?" she wonders.
"Uh-huh," he confirms. "That's him."
"That's good, I guess." Katniss can admit the conversation is getting too awkward for her taste. Better yet, the realization of Glimmer being alone in the living room, waiting, while they're here, chattering and sharing meaningless information is what makes the whole situation uncomfortable. Judging by his face, she can only imagine the feeling is mutual.
"I should go back to my room," she announces. This time, he doesn't insist on her acting as she pleases, since he possibly suspects Katniss and Glimmer won't manage to coexist in the same room for more than five minutes. "I'll stay out of earshot, so if this worries you—"
He interrupts her. "—it doesn't. I'm not worried about you," he rushes to reassure her.
Her three middle fingers twitch beside her hip. Before she has the chance to realize she was about to reach for him, intending to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, she stops herself. This is considered uncharted territory for her—not completely, though, for she has a friend and a sister—and she can't really risk causing a misunderstanding. The relationship that has been built slowly and carefully between them has plenty of advantages. There is, however, also a variety of possible moves—several sensitive topics—that could kill the mood in no time. She has thought of how havoc could be brought in the household more times than she should.
"Good luck, then," she mutters.
"Thanks," he mumbles back. "I think I'll need it."
.
.
She stares sadly at the end of her long braid. Her thumb runs over the dark strands of hair as she hears herself let the breath she didn't know she was holding.
She remembers her father playfully reminding her every time she needed a haircut, while her mother shook her head with a glimpse of happiness in her eyes, telling her how beautiful she was or how Mr. Everdeen was simply kidding her. (He loved his wife's hair, after all, didn't he? This was Mrs. Everdeen's only argument, but it was also all Katniss needed to hear to let the smile timidly spread across her lips.)
This kind of comments never bothered her when they came from the people she cared about, so why would she let them eat away at her now? Why now they're coming from Glimmer Templesmith's foul—words, terrible words have escaped it—mouth?
"Don't you ever cut your hair?" she'd asked her with a look of what Katniss saw as masked disgust. It was pronounced as though Katniss is something dirty, worthless. The glare Glimmer shot at her direction could do nothing but exacerbate the feeling of uneasiness in Katniss's gut.
But they're not children anymore. They're not in high school. She can't understand why people don't change—she has no clue why they don't make any efforts to change, since anyone can do so, if they want to.
After the main entrance in the house is closed, the only sound to be heard is Peeta's exhausted footsteps. She isn't sure what he and Glimmer talked about or if there were any explanations about the whole living-together issue, mainly because she didn't dare to go back on her word and descend the stairs. (If only Glimmer had promised to stay where Peeta told her to, everything might have ended okay. Katniss could have never imagined her former classmate would burst into her room with the excuse of wanting to see the house one more time. This 'one more time' was the cause of the questions running inside her head.)
"I'm sorry about this," says Peeta when he spots her. "She just…" He pauses, and then exhales. "She never grows up. She still acts as if she has the same rights she did when she was with me."
Katniss raises a questioning eyebrow. "We were together, yes. It's a pretty long story actually. A tiring one," he lets her know like he can read her mind.
He notices how her fingers are still touching her braid. "You shouldn't take anything she says seriously." His gaze softens all of sudden and Katniss isn't prepared for what will come next. Anything unknown usually scares her—does she truly want to get to know Peeta Mellark's every side?
Her hand falls back down. "I learned not to," she tells him. Even though what she says is true, she's aware she doesn't sound convincing, not even to herself. He doesn't know why she's incapable of being persuasive, but she does. Right now, she can't shake the connection of her father and Glimmer wanting to see one single thing—the same thing. Mr. Everdeen's words were affectionate and caring (he did care about his daughters—a lot), while Glimmer's were full of malice. Katniss wishes she could feel the difference, because she can definitely see it, but her brain is so foggy, she can't quite concentrate.
Peeta is the one to break the silence hanging, stretching between them. "Thanks for being so patient."
She snorts. "Give me some credit."
"Katniss," he warns. "You know I didn't mean it in a bad way."
"Yeah, I do," she answers lazily. "Is there any chance of her coming back any time soon, though? I'm not sure I can go through this again," she professes, her cheeks flushing red in what can only be characterized as embarrassment.
He chuckles good-naturedly. "I hope not." What's that supposed to mean? "We broke up before I turned seventeen. I have absolutely no idea why she still comes here."
"She was cheating on you," Katniss declares, rolling her eyes.
He gives her a bewildered look. "No, that's not the reason why we broke up. I just had to do a lot of things to help my family with back then. I had tons of responsibilities and she wasn't the person to support me for neglecting her." He sighs, but hurriedly adds what he has in mind. "But I don't blame her! She just couldn't understand why I had no time for her when she visited Twelve—I never expected her to."
Katniss is more than just confused. She shrugs and speaks about what she knows for sure. "She was cheating on you, anyway."
He grimaces. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "Ever heard of Cato Crane?" He nods. "She'd been all over him until we graduated." She shudders at the memory of them shamelessly expressing how…interested they were in each other in the school hallways. "Getting into details is not such a good idea."
"That's just great," he says sarcastically, obviously referring to how he was deceived by his girlfriend for as long as he had problems in his house.
I had to do a lot of things to help my family with back then. I had tons of responsibilities.
Only when her next words are out of the mouth, does she regret them. It wasn't supposed to come out like that; she wasn't supposed to be so forward.
"How did your father die?" she asks. She finds no respect in her question afterwards—none besides the way the volume of her voice becomes more and more silent as she touches a subject that would be sensitive, if she were in his shoes.
The color of his eyes turns into an ocean blue, his gaze clouded. He lowers his head, blinking incredulously. Sure, the village is small and everyone knows about his loss, but how did Katniss hear so quickly? People know not to talk about this. They know he didn't take his father's illness lightly.
Peeta slowly lifts his head, shooting her an unreadable glance. "I'd rather not talk about it right now."
Katniss doesn't blame him. She wouldn't be in the mood to narrate to him what happened with her parents. In fact, she's quite startled there's no hostility or hatred in his words—but not everyone's like Glimmer.
"Okay," she whispers. "I guess it's a bad time to ask you if I can invite my sister for a weekend." When and if Prim's free, she adds inside her head.
"No," he replies weakly. "Primrose can come."
February, Week Three
The second time Katniss sees Gale Hawthorne in the house is on a Sunday—again. (Sometimes her roommate is too busy to buy the essential products from the market and she has to be the one to do the transactions—Mrs. Hawthorne owns the small pharmacy of the village, so Katniss can say she has come across her son more than once.)
She wonders whether this is what happens every time he visits; him and Peeta challenging each other about trivial things—like the basketball game that took place in the backyard the last time—as well as arguing like immature teenage boys do. She hasn't seen them together much, so she's aware she can't really tell.
After greeting Gale, Katniss supposes she won't be needed for anything other than giving them some privacy, which is probably what they wish for after they find the time to meet with one another. However, when Peeta announces there's something he has hasn't done yet and that he'll be back downstairs in five minutes, Gale asks her to stay.
At first, she thinks it is because being alone in a spacious place is foreign to him or makes him uncomfortable, since he has two brothers and a little sister to look after when he's home. But then, he makes his intentions clear, cutting straight to the main point of the conversation he intended on making from the very start.
The first question following the typical ones (like "how are you doing?" or "it's your day off, right?") is, "Have you ever eaten at Panem?"
According to the few village inhabitants Katniss has met, Panem is the best out of the two restaurants in this place. It attracts people from town and is usually full every Saturday evening. Knowing one of Katniss's weaknesses, Madge had once informed her about tasting the best lamb stew she had ever experienced. Frankly, Katniss thinks her friend believes that because she hadn't tried Mrs. Everdeen's cuisine. No one knows how to cook better than her mother.
"No. I wasn't planning to, either," she eventually says to Gale.
"Why not?" he blurts out almost immediately, probably considering it necessary to defend himself, his choices and his taste.
"I'm not sure. I've never had a reason to go there," she explains.
"Really?" Gale looks warily at the staircase, checking whether Peeta is done yet and quickly realizing he's not. "How about you give it a try, then? You and I could go there the next Saturday—the place is really cool." He abruptly stops himself from telling her anything else, and Katniss is partly thankful for that.
Partly.
She blinks once, twice. Is he asking her on a freaking date?
"Uh…" she starts, and then trails off, unsure of how she ought to complete her pathetic attempt at a sentence.
Realization hits him like a ton of bricks, his shoulders tensing, his chocolate brown eyes growing large. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he hastily tries to fix his previous words.
"Truth to be told, Hawthorne, I'm not sure what you meant, then."
He scratches the back of his head as creases appear between his brows. "It's kinda complicated actually. I want to talk to you. I couldn't think of a better way to do it," he admits.
"Talk to me? Why would you want to talk to me?"
A door shuts from the second floor. Gale nearly jumps from the couch. "Look, if Peeta asks, tell him you're going out. I'll explain to him the next Sunday," he whispers.
She scowls. "It's not like I've agreed to meet you yet."
Gale copies her scowl. Katniss can say Peeta senses something's up by the time he reaches the final step of the staircase. His gaze travels from his friend to his roommate and vice versa, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Even if he wants to know what the topic of the conversation had been while he was gone, he chooses not to refer to it.
The dark-haired boy holds Katniss's gaze pleadingly.
She stands from where she's sitting and leaves without a second word. This action of hers doesn't mean that Gale has missed the defeated nod directed at him, though. His lips curl upwards. Once the smirk finds its way to his mouth, it's difficult to be hidden.
February, End of Week Three
Madge has a ridiculously firm grip every time Katniss wishes nothing more but to escape, sink in the depths of her pleasant loneliness and peace and never re-emerge. Those are the moments when she wishes she had a good book in her hands to spend her time with instead of the sight of her friend holding two entirely different dresses—one hanging from each arm—for her to pick. There's really no picking when it comes to wearing something nice, as Madge calls it. This date is not real.
But it's Friday evening and Madge will have none of Katniss's excuses—neither lame nor plausible. She doesn't blabber about what the brown-haired girl needs to do when she is asked out, but her piercing—demanding—stare somehow says more than what her mouth could ever utter. Katniss has heard how a million words could be painted in one single picture and the one in her mind is apparently no exception. She imagines—not only imagines, but also suspects—Madge will refuse to leave her cousin's house unless she sees Katniss try both of the dresses. The blonde could easily stay here for the night and the thought is more than just unsettling for Katniss, knowing this would be her fault in a strange enough way.
She scoffs and grabs the clothes from Madge's arms, assuring her friend that she can totally make it on her own, when she hears the eager volunteer to be helped.
She shuts one of the bedroom's doors behind her louder than expected, before she cringes at the harsh sound it elicits. She finds herself in her personal bathroom, which was for the guests before she temporarily moved in the house, and examines what Madge has brought to her.
The one dress is worse than the other, she decides. Those are not the colors she'd wear, if it was up to her. (It is up to her and she chooses not to care about her meeting—because that's what it is—with Gale. Madge has just somehow ended up responsible for the way Katniss will show up in her non-date.)
Her thoughts are truly anything but helpful to her.
The first piece of clothing she takes in her hands is a dark red color. It reminds her of blood and blood reminds her of hospitals and death. Not to mention that there are no braces. She will go nowhere wrapped in this.
The second dress is slightly better. It covers pretty much everything Katniss wants to cover, but navy blue was never one of her main preferences.
She goes out with a big frown on her face, letting Madge know she chooses nothing. (She doesn't tell her she will wear the first thing she considers formal in her wardrobe, and that her choice will be made tomorrow afternoon.)
"I'll pick one for you, then," Madge tells her gladly. To Katniss's utter horror, she raises the red dress just a little higher than the blue one, examining it closely. "That one will do."
"No." Katniss crosses her arms in front of her chest, shaking her head stubbornly. "They're yours. I don't feel comfortable borrowing your clothes," she admits.
"Oh, come on. You wouldn't come to town for shopping." And I'm perfectly fine with that, Katniss thinks. "I wouldn't have brought these to you, had you accepted my suggestion."
"Madge," Katniss addresses her girl friend with a brief, almost unimportant, shake of her head. "I had no intentions of dressing so formally. I don't see the point in it." And it's true. She isn't capable of seeing the point in wasting her time by wondering how she will appear in front of a person she doesn't even care making an impression to.
Madge sighs. "If I was asked on a date by Gale Hawthorne, I don't think I'd be as cool as you are right now," she states, placing the clothes carefully on the soft covers of Katniss's bed. She looks at it for a good couple of seconds and it's like she's debating with herself whether she should sit on it or not.
"Dates are weird," Katniss declares.
"Sometimes," Madge agrees, surprising both her friend and herself.
"My last date was definitely weird," Katniss adds.
"Your last and only date was with Marvel Flickerman. Of course it was one of the worst experiences of your life."
"Gee, thanks, Madge. I'm certainly looking forward to tomorrow evening now." The sarcasm dripping off the brunette's voice isn't lost on the mayor's daughter. Sympathetic glances and uncomfortable grimaces are exchanged. Madge decides that making herself comfortable on the bed will probably help her be a little less jumpy.
After a long silence passing between the two friends, the blonde's face seems to light up in a way Katniss can't quite place.
"I know what to do!" she suddenly exclaims. "We should call Peeta in here—he has really good taste!"
Katniss flinches, her feet taking two small and timid steps backwards on their own accord. "We'd better leave your cousin out of this," is the only phrase she can come up with saying at the moment.
Though, it is as if no words were spoken—Madge acts incredibly fast, like she never expected and never really got a decent answer from Katniss. She flees the room, her footsteps echoing as she loudly stomps on the stairs, Peeta's name repeatedly falling off her lips.
Katniss mutters a silent curse under her breath, making several efforts to ask herself how she got into this pitiful situation, even though she knows she will never have an answer that will offer her the contentment she needs.
Mellark doesn't take too long to be back with his cousin, but the moments that passed as Katniss was trying to patiently wait for them and—therefore—get ready for what is about to come look like an entire eternity to her.
Peeta can't help the quiet chuckle when he notices the expression that's plastered on her face. "What's wrong?"
"You're laughing at me," she accuses.
"No, I'm not." He lifts his palms defensively, but a stern look urges him to reconsider in a matter of seconds. "Maybe I am. A little."
"Well, stop it," she growls, eyes glistening.
"Hey, hey," Madge interjects. She doesn't speak as she walks towards the bed, but Katniss already knows what she's up to. She holds the dress Katniss thought to be slightly better than the other one in front of Peeta. Then, she makes a small movement with her head towards the direction of the second option. "This or that?"
To Katniss's complete surprise, Peeta seems to take the question seriously. His thoughtful expression betrays the fact that he might even be intrigued by the new task that somehow has to be completed by him.
"They're for Katniss, right?" he asks. Madge eagerly bobs her head in confirmation.
He slowly approaches her, taking as many steps as he has ever dared to towards her, and holds the clothes in front of her. By the time Madge notices his gaze lingering on the red, strapless dress, she claps her hands in satisfaction and lets one of her biggest smiles decorate her face.
"I knew you'd like this one." Before Katniss has the time or the chance to groan in frustration, he objects.
"Actually, I was trying to figure out what was wrong with this dress. I like the blue one better." The smirk finds its way to his roommate's lips in no time.
"Wha—why does nobody agree with me?"
He smiles. "I don't think Katniss had any intentions of showing anything other than who she really is from her very first date." Madge rolls her eyes dramatically. "Plus, navy blue brings out her eyes. You shouldn't ignore it." Katniss wills herself not to blush like a stupid schoolgirl, but the heat creeps its way to her already rosy cheeks (the whole conversation makes her embarrassed in a way or another) anyway.
She unconsciously squirms under his stare. The comments about eyes have always made her feel more or less uneasy. They're so incredibly corny and cheesy that holding back from visibly gagging is the best she can do. What makes her think she's even less convenient around him, though, is that Peeta said those words as if he meant them. No one—besides her mother, who always loved to admire her husband's eyes in her daughter's face—noticed her eyes before. Truth to be told, grey is odd. She hasn't met anyone beside her father with the same eye color as hers.
"Of course you'd say that," Madge snaps Katniss out of her reverie. She turns her attention to the girl. "Trust Peeta, if clichés aren't a part of your everyday life."
Katniss looks sheepishly at him, while he shrugs in return as if saying "it's just the way I am".
"I'll leave you two alone now," he murmurs.
.
.
The fact that Katniss usually works less on Saturdays makes her hours at Sae's farm seem much fewer than any other weekend. If she said she's looking forward to tonight, she'd be surely lying. She doesn't know what to expect—the feelings and fears the unknown elicits from her must be one of the most horrible things she could experience in her life. Only God knows how much breaking a routine or even hearing about something new—unpleasant or pleasant—costs her.
Her time at home passes like a blur as well. There's barely nothing she can do alone besides reading and tiding—surprisingly enough, she isn't in the mood for none of them. Calling Madge isn't such a clever option, either. She probably won't act as Katniss fears she will, but expecting to hear her fuss about her bad luck (or Katniss's good luck) remains quite a risk. Honestly, there is no apparent reason why Katniss should be considered lucky that Peeta's friend asked her out. (He reminds herself he didn't really ask her out, even though she wouldn't understand Madge's words even if he did.)
At around seven o' clock—half an hour before Gale is supposed to come and pick her up—Peeta informs her about his own plans as well. He offers a wry smile she can't quite place and words of approval she can't quite ignore—only her parents used to pay her compliments more than once within a week.
Katniss knows the preparations most of the girls her age do each and every time they are supposed to have a good time out of their home's comfort. If Glimmer was once Peeta's girlfriend, then she doesn't understand what he finds pretty on her. She has traded her pants and loose sweatshirts for a blue dress that's not even hers. She has braided her hair differently than how she usually does, in the complex way her mother used to braid it for her, but it still isn't as perfect. She hasn't even applied make-up—except lip gloss, and that's only because her lips are chapped.
When it's finally time to meet up with Gale, he says nothing about her appearance and she decides she is pretty grateful for that. His comments would probably make her squirm twice as much as Peeta's—she doesn't leave in the same house as him, does she?
Thankfully, he doesn't own a bike like Peeta does. He tells her about his father's old car and how he left it home as he prefers walking to driving. They are both aware there's not much they can talk about on their long way to Panem, but they soon indulge in the comfortable silence stretching between them.
They arrive at the restaurant some minutes later, Gale entering the place from the main entrance and Katniss following behind. He leads her to a table he seems to be quite familiar with, before he realizes there are way too many chairs for only two people to sit. (Katniss supposes he brings his siblings here.)
He is the one to break the ice.
"How did Peeta take it?" he asks. "Was he startled?"
"Nah," she replies. "He was okay. His mind seemed occupied."
"Yeah." His expression is thoughtful. "I think he said something about needing to clear some important stuff out tonight." She nods in comprehension. Mellark had told her something about having plans for this evening, anyway.
She bows her head, her gaze trained on the tablecloth, while she takes the menu in her hands and looks through it absent mindedly. She already knows ordering lamb stew is not a good idea. Saving money has been her goal from the very start—she shouldn't make room for any exceptions, even if Gale pays for both of them.
She doesn't know how to continue the conversation. Thus, she remains silent until she hears the sound of him clearing his throat, wordlessly asking her to lift her gaze to meet his.
"So… the walking didn't bother you." At first, she looks at him questioningly, though, when realization dawns on her, she lets his statement echo in her head. She nods, showing him he's right.
"I'm used to it." She shrugs indifferently. "I like walking."
"You must be the first person who says that to me." He snorts, as though his effort at laughing wasn't as successful as he intended it to be.
Well, everyone has their reasons, she thinks. "Really?" she says instead, even though she doesn't sound that interested. They share an awkward look and Katniss is reminded why she wasn't anticipating the moment when they'd reach Panem.
To their luck, the waiter decides to rescue them from the lack of ideas for possible topics to discuss. (Katniss notes how he still hasn't told her what they're here for in the first place.)
"Good evening," the waiter greets them. Katniss swears she recognizes this hoarse voice from somewhere. She has no clue why it sounds so ridiculously familiar until she looks up and comes face to face with who she was never expecting to see here. Her pupils dilate, an unusually goofy grin decorating her face.
"Uncle Haymitch!" she exclaims. After she notices the look full of curiosity Gale gives her and the waiter's wince, she keeps her palm over her mouth, preventing herself from spitting any unwanted voiced thoughts and words out.
"Now, now, Miss," the man who's in his early forties tells her. "I believe it is Mr. Abernathy for you." He points at a silly white tag which is attached on his black suit. The sight of him in formal clothes is almost funny, and she realizes his thoughts do not differ much from hers, as he scans her whole form with a raised eyebrow.
Although Gale doesn't speak, Haymitch's eyes find him in a matter of seconds. He raises his eyebrows even higher, if that is even possible.
"And who would that young man be?" he wonders out loud.
"I'm Gale Hawthorne, sir," he introduces himself. They exchange a brief nod of acknowledgement and Katniss suspects that if Gale knows his way around here, Haymitch hasn't been in this place much.
Suddenly, a question pops in her head; what is he even doing here?
She doesn't even remember how she and Prim started calling the man Uncle Haymitch. She guesses that, since they have heard Madge call him this so many times in the past, the name's stuck. He always makes sure his frown of disapproval is shown every time he hears it, but Katniss thinks that, deep down, he likes being addressed this way.
He's almost as alone as she is. He lost his wife—Maysilee Abernathy—right before Madge's mother became as "sick" as she is now. Better yet, her death is the reason why Mrs. Undersee is so mentally and physically unstable. Katniss wonders whether this is what happens to twins—is it impossible for one of them to keep going with their life once the other is gone?
A violent shiver runs down her spine. She can't afford to think this way. Prim is absolutely safe at college and she isn't going anywhere. Katniss makes a mental note to herself to call her when she's alone, in her room.
"Rumor has it you have permanently moved to the village," Haymitch tells her. It is her turn to doubt him. That is until the facts start clicking one by one in her brain, inevitably leading her to the conclusion she has managed to reach.
"Madge told you that," she points out.
"She did." He nods.
"But she didn't tell me you were working here. I'd have come to visit you sooner," she tells him. This man has unknowingly achieved to make her feel attached to him over the years, it's almost insane. Katniss doesn't know whether she has to put the blame on how similar they are (silent, blunt and bitter when necessary) or on how he had practically been the one to raise his niece after his wife's death. (They saw each other pretty often.)
On the other hand, Madge had been one of the reasons why he almost quit drinking. By the time the weight of bringing up a teenage girl—Maysilee's favorite niece—was on his shoulders, he just knew he couldn't combine his responsibilities with his habits. Though, Katniss thinks what made him stronger has to do with the contentment his time with the three girls—Madge, Katniss and Prim—gave him, and not considering the obligations he thought he had a chore.
In other words, Uncle Haymitch liked their company. He enjoyed looking out for them, even when it came to the silliest issues.
"The girl didn't know for a reason. Still doesn't." He implies he actually minds her presence here, but his mock displeasure makes it hard for her to believe him.
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
"What does it look like?" He makes a brief gesture with his hands, showing her the place around him. "I work here."
"I think we've established that, Haymitch." She scoffs. "But why would you be here?"
"I once lived here, too, Sweetheart." I had friends and family here.
"Stop calling me that."
"Stop asking questions."
"Fair enough." Katniss looks across from her, suddenly remembering Gale is still sitting with her. He watches the whole interaction without uttering a word, his face expressionless.
"Gale Hawthorne, huh?" says Haymitch. "Would you, by any chance, be the son of Hazelle Hawthorne?" Gale confirms the fact with a movement of his head. "She's got lots of kids," the waiter adds.
"Four." This time, Haymitch nods.
"Have you decided what you'll have yet, kids?" And like this, Katniss realizes her talk with a familiar face has come to an end.
Haymitch helps her choose what she'll eat, while Gale orders confidently what he probably always does. Just before the dark-haired man turns on his heel to continue his job, he and Katniss share a bit more of personal information.
"I haven't moved here permanently," she confesses.
"For the refreshments," he admits. "That's why I'm here." He almost quit drinking.
.
.
"I'm surprised you haven't asked me yet," Gale tells her. She looks up, examining his face closely, her one eyebrow arching as she silently questions his motives. She chews slowly, before she carefully swallows her bite, preparing herself to speak.
"It's up to you," she reminds him. "You called me here. You are the one who gets to decide what I'll know and what I won't."
"So, what you're saying is that if I called you here for no reason, you'd be okay with it," he voices his interpretation of her words, the disbelief palpable as he talks.
"You said you wanted to tell me something, didn't you?" she asks. "You don't seem stupid enough to call me for no reason."
He smirks again and Katniss wonders whether this is supposed to be one of his smiles. "You have a point." Had his tone been smug, Katniss would have surely scowled.
"I guess I do," she replies in the same tone, letting him picture her personality the way she thinks of his.
He soon realizes he will have to be the one to start the conversation, since she apparently refuses to do so. "Catnip."
The temptation to correct him overcomes her before she has the chance to register it, although she knows he's doing it on purpose. "Katniss."
"Katniss," he repeats. "Peeta's cousin is your friend, isn't she?"
She places her fork back on the table. "Madge?"
"Madge," he confirms.
"She is. What about her?"
"I'll get straight to the point. There's no use in acting otherwise," he warns her. "I'm curious to know what she thinks of me. She's…from town. She might be different from the girls here." He pauses.
"I'm afraid you will have to explain yourself." She understands nothing.
"My father was a man I used to look up to when I was still a kid," he says. "He was the person who put food on our table. I saw him as the strong, honest man who loved his wife and never let his family down." He crumples the first napkin he comes across. "I ceased to think of him this way at the age of twelve."
Katniss decides it is time to make sure he's talking to her instead of himself, that this is something she's supposed to hear because he wants her to. "What happened?" she encourages him.
He offers a look of gratification, and she knows she has done something right. "He cheated on my mother when she was still pregnant with Posy."
"Posy?"
"That's my youngest sister. She's seven now," he explains, before he continues. "Father left her for another woman in her mid-twenties. They ran off together." Katniss recognizes his facial expression to be the one of disgust.
"But how… how did your mother…?"
"How she knew? He told her. He didn't know Posy was on the way." Katniss frowns. "He also tried to talk to us about how sometimes people fall in love after they're already married. But… I couldn't accept it, you know?" Her frown deepens. She can't pretend she understands what he's talking about, since she has never been forced to be under similar circumstances, but she can't find it in her to shake her head, either. Instead, she waits for him to move on. "I had to support my family on my own when I was twelve. He claimed he did my mother a favor by not deceiving her behind her back, but he didn't do me a favor. Some of his debts were left unpaid."
"Gale," Katniss grimaces. "Sorry, but I don't know what all this has to do with Madge."
"Sometimes, the people in District Twelve are too narrow-minded. I'm not talking about only the old men and women who were meant to stick to their ancient beliefs, but also their children. Nobody took me seriously. They think my choices are always frivolous, but they know nothing about them." He looks her straight in the eye. "You don't seem to pity me. That's why I'm telling you."
"I don't pity anyone," she retorts in a tone which is harsher than originally intended. "I don't like it when others pity me."
A faint smile plays on his lips. "Like father like son."
"Huh?"
"They whisper when they think you can't hear them. They think I'll be unfaithful to whoever chooses to involve romantically with me," he explains.
She can't help herself. "That is ridiculous. Are you sure you haven't done anything to encourage their intentions?"
He shakes her head. "Divorcing is rare here, that's all. Too rare," he lets her know.
"Weird," she mutters to herself, while he hums in agreement. "What would you want me to do, then?" she asks, clearly bewildered.
"I want to know what a person, who hasn't heard of those idiotic rumors, thinks of me. I want to know if I'm really doing something wrong. Madge is…" he trails off, unconsciously prompting her to complete the sentence for him.
"Innocent? Naïve?"
"Different. She's from town. She has grown up in a different way."
"That doesn't give you the right to take advantage of her," Katniss protests. Madge's words and thoughts about Gale were—and they definitely remain—anything but negative. What if she jumps into false conclusions sooner than she should? What if Gale keeps leading her on?
"You have misunderstood me. I do like Madge. I just want to know whether she's interested in hanging out with me."
"And you want me to—"
"—tell her only that. Don't talk to her. I'll do that myself."
The creepy sound of the metallic cutlery against the dish urges Katniss to put the fork down once again. She lets out a small cough. "I'll see what I can do," she mumbles.
As she thinks of how soon she will be able to phone her twin sister again, a random thought crosses her mind. Peeta's reaction to her "date" with Gale was nothing like how she felt as if she needed to protect Madge moments ago. He was too calm, too okay with it—almost ignorant, even though the surprise was also there at first.
She can comprehend the meaning of neither his actions nor his whole attitude. She will know nothing until he tells what's wrong with him and what isn't.
However, getting to know to him is not a wise solution. She doesn't need—or want for that matter—any more friends. She would have to care, love more people than she already does and there is absolutely no way she can afford to hurt herself more. (She honestly wouldn't be worried, if it weren't for that incident that happened two weeks ago. Not only has she let him see too much, but she has also allowed him to carry her on his bike. A bike.)
She offers Gale a fake, tight-lipped smile, letting him know everything's okay, eliminating his concern. The fact that they have shared a meal at Panem has nothing to do with Peeta.
Katniss rushes to put the random thought of him aside.