Chapter 1: Sex for Luck
The moon is still sinking in the sky when I stride into the Hob. I like to get as early a start as possible when I go hunting, so that I am one of the first traders at the black market when the vendors open up for the day. When I use the secret back entrance - nothing more than a space between two slabs of wood to wiggle through, the marketplace is deserted. Not even the miners are up yet, though they are probably just getting out of bed to prepare for another dangerous day's work underground. The day he died, Daddy got up and kissed Mother goodbye after she fixed his breakfast, unaware that morning would be his last. For the spouse of a miner, it is difficult to see the one you love go off to work each day, for you do not know whether they will be home for dinner.
I pull up a seat at Ripper's bare stool, situated in a darkened corner of the Hob. The cover of shadow is helpful to me, for Ripper is one of my best customers, paying for more audacious loads of game that I illegally bring in. I have been fortunate to avoid punishment, having hunted for almost seven years and only a couple months off from my 18th birthday. My hunting partner, Gale, wasn't so lucky; he was made an example of when he apparently poached a deer belonging to the Mayor of District 12. The charges were horseshit, of course, but that didn't change how he suffered under the lash until he bled to death; my mother's best efforts couldn't save him. I have struggled to speak to her since then.
I hear a rustle and turn quickly, hoping that it isn't a Peacekeeper. Most of the cadets in 12 actually deal in the contraband goods instead of actually doing their job, which would be to tear the flimsy structure apart and burn it to the ground, throw every offender in the stocks. Occasionally, a new recruit, fresh off the train, will bully some vendor, until he eventually becomes accustomed to the ways here: do your duty at the bare minimum, and meanwhile, catch while catch can; Cray will largely look the other way. Which means, unless the crime is particularly egregious, you should too.
But instead it is only a nerdy boy of 18. I smile affectionately, and for me that is rare. Though I have never been very good at making friends, Thom Borden and I have known each other since we were small children. We're in the same year in school, about to graduate later this spring. The Bordens are a particularly long line of miners, going back to the district's earliest days. More than one ancestor has held the title of Foreman - the highest achievement for a miner. And now, my friend is decked out in a miner's uniform, with a headlamp atop his head.
"Why are you up this early?" I admonish him, though it is half-hearted.
Thom smiles boyishly. "I couldn't wait any longer. Hardly slept a wink last night. First day on the job!"
I can't help it. I laugh. Thom is the only one I know who would show any modicum of enthusiasm about mining. It's a dreary existence, and if you're Seam like us, the only career option available. Unless you win the Hunger Games and become a Victor, but that's only happened twice here in over three-quarters of a century. Beyond that, you're a homemaker, as most wives and women are, though there are a smattering of female miners here and there. For me, I will be a hunter until I am caught and flogged within an inch of my life, or drop dead of exhaustion. I will never be a miner - I couldn't bear to go down into those depths, the depths that killed my father. Nor could I be the wife of one, as I have vowed that I will never marry, and especially not have children who would stand a good chance of becoming fatherless. And unless the odds fall out of my favor and I am Reaped this summer - my last year of entry - I probably won't win the Hunger Games. Even if I was Reaped, I probably wouldn't win.
These sober thoughts dampen my mood, and I gaze at Thom solemnly. "You might die today, you know," I whisper. "Especially since you're new." I still can't believe he reported for duty the day he turned 18, which was yesterday. We aren't even done with school yet, and his explanation that he would take night classes to graduate on time left me still feeling concerned. He could have at least waited till May to ensure he completed his education. Though unenthusiastic about school, I am too, mostly because Mother is making me.
Thom smiles. "I'll be fine. I'm going to graduate, survive my last Reaping, marry and eventually be promoted to Foreman." But his eyes betray his fear. His fear of dying before getting to do any of those things.
I just nod. "I'll root for you."
Thom appears to be undecided about something. Finally, he sits down beside me and takes my hand. "Katniss... we're friends, right?"
"Of course."
"Will you... see me off and wish me luck?"
I eye him with something between wariness and bemusement. I know what the phrase means. It is a kind of tradition for first-time miners to steal a kiss from their sweetheart or a lady friend before falling out for their first shift. I have seen it happen here in the Hob now and again, when miners finishing breakfast are rounded up by the Foreman. But Thom is my dear friend. He will need the strength to get through the day. I nod.
Thom's smile could light up the sun. "Great!" And then, before I can say anything, he tilts my face up in his hands, bends and kisses me right on the mouth. I stiffen, but only for a fraction of a moment, as my eyes droop shut. Thom tastes sweet, like warm hearths. A few moments later, we break the kiss with a small POP!
Momentarily speechless, I recover with a smirk, amused. "I thought the tradition is that I have to kiss you!"
Thom shrugs. "It's an open question whether you would. I didn't even think you'd say yes if I asked to kiss you." Thom knows well my opinions on marriage and romance.
His presumptuousness wounds me. And so, with no nonsense, I rise from my chair, taking him by the hand so as to pull him up with me. Draping my arms about Thom's shoulders I lean in and give him the most passionate kiss I can muster in return.
I am not very good at kissing, as I only just experienced my first one moments ago and out of the blue. But Thom and I soon fall into a rhythm, our mouths engaging with an easy give-and-take. Our lips quickly part for each other, and I soon feel our tongues in each other's mouths, battling for dominance.
I am so focused on kissing him, that I only just feel Thom's hands begin to wander lower. His calloused palms grope and squeeze the fleshy curves of my ass, first one cheek and then the other. I gasp into his mouth, getting a mouthful of tongue, and wriggle a little in his embrace.
"No... no..." I murmur, though I am startled to find the protest weak.
"Can't a poor virgin make love to a beautiful, wonderful girl?" Thom whispers into my lips.
I consider this, morbidly reminded that Thom could be dead by sunset. Well, when he puts it that way...
In answer, my hand snaps out to cup him between his legs. I can feel his hardened length between my fingers, and Thom chokes a little as he kisses my lips more insistently. Assertively, I raise my leg to his waist, hitching it about his torso so that the fabric of my blue Reaping dress rides high up my thigh. Thom lifts me off my feet with enthusiasm, hoisting me in the air and laying me back on the top of Ripper's stall. I drag him down with me, allowing him to clamber on top of me. I spread my knees wide so he can nestle between my legs.
Thom is already grinding against me, the motion nudging the skirt of my dress up over my hips. I feel him gently guiding my panties down to my ankles. Still kissing him with my mouth open wide, my hands claw and fist at his simple shirt, tugging it over his head where it is cast aside into the dirt. I move on to the buckle of his trousers, finally freeing him and clasping his stalk in my palm. Stroking it with care, guessing on what to do from the gossip I've heard other girls whisper in the school halls and over stolen liquor, I guide Thom into me.
The initial pain as he slides into me is unbearable, for this is my first time, too. I dig my fingernails into his butt, adjusting our hips so that they are in perfect alignment. As Thom and I continue to kiss, he begins to thrust in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster. His pants are down at his knees, so that his bare ass - gripped in my palms - is exposed for anyone to see. My back scrapes against the wooden top of the stall, as our bodies undulate together in heat, and I pray no one walks in the door at this moment.
"Rrrrrrr... Hmmmmm... mmmmmmmm... Uhhhhhh... Ohhh... Huhhhh..." I moan and groan pathetically as Thom slams into me with an increasing tempo, as I buck my hips up to meet his. I never expected to need sex so badly, but once I have it... I thought I was an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. I feel a warmth building in my core, and it must feel like how a piece of coal is pressurized until it becomes oil. They say that it you heat coal long enough it becomes a diamond, but that's just an urban legend.
At last, with a quivering groan, I sigh, "Thom!" My walls clench around him and I release what I can no longer hold, my legs trembling through my orgasm. Thom gives another weak slam, two, before he too grunts and ejaculates into me.
We lie there in post-coital bliss for a moment; no one disturbs us. At last, I squirm, whining to be let up, and kissing Thom's lips, his face, his chest gently, he finally rises off of me. We dismount the stall and redress, oddly gazing at each other intensely, rather than turning away in shame. While I did partially go back on principles, in Thom's case, I am not sorry. If I had to make love with anyone, I am glad it was him, for he is one of the few men I can trust.
Thom captures my lips in one last kiss, and I hold it, accepting the gesture without complaint. "I love you, Katniss," my friend murmurs.
Surely he doesn't mean it, I wonder, as I watch him turn away and head for a stall, just as the first vendors and miners arrive to start the morning rush.