I awaken the following morning with my hair astray and a staler more crumpled version of yesterdays clothes still upon my body. Clumps of sleep fill the corner of my eyes, and even before I have time to check a clock, I just know that I am significantly late. Not the greatest start to a day, especially seeing as being prompt is something I have always taken pride in. I have no idea why this is, just the same as I have no idea why I have never be quite satisfied with the company of the majority of other people, nor am I aware of the reasoning behind someone as petite as I being so skilled in combat, I mean, life holds a lot of mysteries.
As I enter the front room of my Grandfather and I's lodge, I notice that my grandfather is already sat upright at the dining table, staring intently at one of his many history books. My grandfather is a junkie for books on ancient history, always has been, according to my grandmother, and studying books of such is what he spends the majority of his life doing, as he refuses to assist me with housekeeping duties. He's refusal to participate in the simplest of household chores is a long-lived protest for him, as even when my grandmother was alive, as much as my grandfather had adored he would never once take any responsibility for anything even slightly domestical. Personally, I think this is a objection to protect his pride in his eyes, though I secretly hold the opinion that he is foolish for thinking this. And incredibly selfish too, as since my grandmothers passing I had subconsciously been forced to take over all housekeeping duties, Cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, pressing and dusting, you name it, I do it all, and what does my grandfather do whilst I'm inside working my fingers to the bone? He's either out on the front porch studying those god damn history books in his rocking chair, blowing smoke from his rusty pipe (a habit he had always despised and discouraged before my grandmothers death, however, now practices it a ten times more than she ever used to) or out in our undersized back yard, tending to his beloved vegetable garden. He even talks to the plants sometimes, which I find just plain odd, if you ask me, but of course, I've got the sense not to voice that opinion. A short while ago, I heard him humming the anthem of Panem to a crowd of blossoming cabbages. I had to bite down on my lower lip so hard to keep in the laughter that it was blistered for weeks afterwards.
If you saw my grandfather and I walking down the street together, you would not doubt that we were father and daughter, instead of grandparent and grandchild. This is obviously very fortunate in our situation, as nobody knows about our true relation but Helga and Cato, who I spontaneously revealed this secret to almost three summers ago. My grandfather had told nobody, because he had, quite frankly, nobody to tell. Since marrying my grandmother, his family disowned him, and he has never been the sort to engage in friendships. I'm sure he could have plenty of companions if he tried, as he is a wise, knowledgeable sort of man with an interesting background. In fact, I could even imagine him gaining interest from the opposite sex, if these things were based on looks alone, of course. With a brawny frame and mysterious shadowed features, translucent skin and barley a silver hair in sight, my grandfather looks significantly young for his sixty something age range, and always has done.
"Oh, there you are young lady, how decent of you to finally grace us with your presence!" My grandfather mocks, his eyes not once diverting from his book.
"Hey, yeah, sorry I had a bit of a late night and…" I begin, frightened by his uncharacteristic sense of humour.
"Yes, I am well aware of that, thank you Clove." He says, his usual sternness returning. "I heard you stomping about up until the early hours of the morning, I assure you!" My grandfather pauses to release a bemused sigh. "And please refrain from using such vulgar terms, I have only informed you hundreds of times before." By vulgar terms, he is referring to words such as 'hey' and 'yeah, as he believes they make a individual seem uneducated and dim, and certainly no granddaughter of his was to be described in such away, as he himself would never be associated with such adjectives.
"Sorry." I grumble, making my way to the kitchen area. I begin to slice the final piece of bakery bread we currently process in to four thin wedges, and go on to spread the bread with the last of the sugared milk. Shit I think to myself I only brought that last week.
"Well, yes, I should think so too!" My grandfather rambles on. "A man of my maturity needs a time to rest himself!" I nod in agreement to silence him, and bring over the bread on two chipped china plates that we managed to salvage from our house in the Victors Village.
We eat in silence. I watch in awe as my grandfather rips in to his bread like a savage dog, as I never fail to be stunned by such an unexpected lack of table manners for such a noble gentleman. I consume my own meal in good time, picking of small chunks of bread at a time and chewing on it thoroughly. I am in no rush to be prompt today. Not after what had happened with Cato the day before.
"So" My grandfather says as he finishes his final mouthful of bread "Why were you struggling to sleep last night, hmm?" I shrug my shoulders casually, as if my insomnia was nothing more than a coincidence. "Don't lie to me, my girl! I can always tell when I'm being taken for a fool, so there's no point in trying to tell me nothing was bothering you!" He's right as well. Not much gets past my Grandfather.
"I…" I start. "I had a stomach ache. It was keeping me awake, and there wasn't much that could be done for it." This excuse is liable, as I had only made my grandfather a meal the evening before and was truthfully quite ravenous. I had felt too distressed to do much of anything last night, including eating. After I had fled from the field, leaving Cato with the promise of my sacrifice, I had burst in to a frenzy. I could not force myself to weep nor to speculate, only to run in to the open arms of the training school, redeem my trusty blades from my satchel, and to lunge my knives in to everything in sight. The school has more than enough targets marked around its campus, however, being in control did not appeal to me in that moment, so instead, I just let my anger flow violently out of my system by scarring tree's and trimmed moss and overpriced equipment with my array of faithful daggers. As I had anticipated, I had felt a lot more peaceful afterwards.
"You should of fed yourself then, you foolish girl!" My grandfather scolds. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you have any sense!"
How dare he.
The idle old fart had a lot less sense that I. Spending his days poisoning his throat and lungs and chattering with a crowd of stalks and shrubs, how could such behaviour ever be interpreted as holding any sense? I feel my front teeth curl over my bottom lip as I try to swallow down the words of disrespect lingering on my tongue.
"Well, I've eaten now, have I not?" I manage to choke out instead. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for school, I'm already running…"
"Don't you belittle me you little madam! Don't you dare!" My grandfather suddenly roars, raising from his chair.
"I'm not!" I protest.
"Yes, yes you are, and no you proceed to talk back to me!" He insists. "You're a disgrace, an absolute disgrace!"
"No I'm not!" I reply, backing away from him. My grandfather is famous for his quick temper and inaccurate accusations, so I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction to my cheekiness, however, I have rarely seen him so enraged and this frightens me.
"Your Grandmother and I" He says, his voice lowering to a sinister level "Took you in when nobody else was willing to have you, and this, this, is how you repay us, hmm? By showing such lack of respect for me and my…"
"Oh shut the fuck up!" I find myself yelling. "I do more for you than you've ever done for me! I cook for you, clean for you, provide you with the social interaction you are far to pompous to find from anyone but a relative and this is how you repay me?" I can't help myself. I am a volcano finally erupting and freeing all the rage from my body. "You've never worked a day in your life! And its not like you've never had to, you've always chosen the easy way out for yourself so you can continue to be indolent! I mean, first you marry a victor, then when she dies you get a child to take her place in caring for you..."
I don't see the slap coming. It is as unexpected as a humid day in the depths of winter, as he has never once raised his hand to me before, in fact, I don't recall him ever even threatening to. My Grandfathers method of punishment had always been through his vicious words, razor sharp and defeating, and almost always destined to leave a prominent scar on ones ego.
The smack is firm and severe, sending a hot ache through my nerves and tinting my cheek crimson. My grandfather looks back at me blankly, not even a flicker of regret nor resentment in his expression. He seems empty. Emotionless. I am no longer worthy of his anger nor his compassion, the latter being something I never truly possessed from him in the first place.
I depart from the room soon after the blow, and calmly make my way to the bathroom. I splash icy water on my face to cool the burn of my grandfathers hit, and sit on the toilet seat for a little while with a soaked pad pressed against my cheek. After a few minutes just sitting there with an empty mind, I pull myself back together, march out of the bathroom door and into the box room in which I sleep and dress. I hoist my underwear over my legs and chest, button myself securely into a pair of beige pants made from cheap corduroy and pull a plain olive shirt over my head to complete the outfit. I tie my hair, which is hefty and dark and just skims my ribcage, into a tight knot at the back of my scalp. Slipping out back into the now absent front room, I bind together the laces of my sturdy training boots and leave the harsh memories of the morning behind me.
I am significantly late for school, of course, but for once this does not seem to matter so much. Nor does it seem to bother my teacher, whom just gives me a superior sort of nod as I clamber through the classroom door. My teacher, Miss Langdale, is a serious sort of person like my grandfather, but seems to have a lot more consideration to her nature and substance to her livelihood as she is very dedicated to the job of harvesting our young minds. Something about Miss Langdale, perhaps her straightforwardness or her undeniable intelligence, has always made me fond of her. She is fairly young, in her early thirties at the latest, and has the same complexion as me, shady hair and vanilla skin. She almost always wears very modest clothing, even in the months of summer, and her hair tightly binded back.
I take my seat in the back row, where a very tired looking Helga is awaiting my arrival. She offers a shy smile when I glance at her, which I return with a grimace. There was no way I was I going to make this easy for her, not when it might very well cost me my life. Cato isn't in our class, as he is a year Helga and I's senior, and for this I have never been more glad. This means that I will not be required to see him until recess, and perhaps if I offered to stay behind and help Miss Langdale organise the bookshelves or something…
"Clove!" I hear Helga demand in my ear, giving the impression she had summoned me more than once already.
"What?!" I reply grumpily.
"Are you mad at me, Clove?" She whimpers. I look at her, her beautiful face illuminated by the sun beaming through the classroom window, her delicate features struck with sorrow and misery, and I realise that I am not mad at her at all, despite what I had convinced myself. How could I be? She was my best friend, my only friend bar Cato, and she was hurting and by being angry at her would only increase that hurt, and that is something I can't bear to be responsible for. Not when it comes to Helga.
"No, I'm not mad." I announce, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'm just…gonna miss you, that's all."
"I'm going to miss you too" She admits sadly. "But you never know, I might make it back…"
"Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?" I find myself trying. Helga shakes her head. I nod.
"Please, don't be sad, Clove." She pleads. "It's just something I need to do, you know?" I nod again, trying to force back that reassuring smile and failing miserably. I feel Helga take my hand in hers, the warmth of her comforting me. I entangle my fingers with hers and we sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the Mathematics lesson going on around us.
"I love you, Clove." Helga whispers so faintly that I almost miss it.
"I love you too." I respond, tears clumsily spilling from my eyes.
I manage to skip recess. I tell Helga that I have heatstroke from the warm weather and that I would prefer to stay inside. Of course, Helga being Helga she offered to stay indoors with me, but I declined. We wouldn't want Cato getting suspicious.
When the makeshift school bell rings for lunch, I am not so fortunate.
"You can't stay indoors again!" Helga groans when I try to sneak back over to my desk.
"But you know I don't get along with the heat Helga, please, I'll come outside tomorrow!" I beg.
"We'll find a spot in the shade to sit!" She resolves, taking my hand and dragging me out in to the school yard, where Cato is propped up against a nearby willow tree.
"See!" Helga boasts to me. "This is the perfect spot!"
"Perfect spot for what now? " Cato enquires.
"Clove has heatstroke." Helga explains.
"Has she now?" Cato replies, as though he doesn't quite believe it.
"Yep!" His girlfriend concludes, pressing a tender kiss on his lips. Cato grins.
"I'm guessing you two have worked things out then?" I say to punctuate the awkwardness. Helga shrugs casually.
"Yeah, I explained things to Cato this morning before school and he gets it now." She smiles sadly. "He understands why I'm doing what I'm doing."
"Oh." Is all I can think to say. "Good." Cato nods awkwardly and Helga beams and then diverts the topic to something else.
I spend the lunchtime as I usually do, observing Cato and Helga's affection for one another and occasionally chipping in to whatever they are talking about with a comment that's either sarcastic or, in my opinion, incredibly witty.
As the period draws to a close, I feel a familiar grasp on my arm.
"Are we still on for tonight then?" Cato asks shiftily. I look around to find Helga looking for something in her satchel a significant way behind us.
"Yeah." I reply bluntly, avoiding his gaze.
"Right, okay." He confirms. "I'll see you about five then?"
"Sounds great!" I snap back a little too aggressively. Cato nods cautiously, and makes his where Helga is sat.
I watch them together with a careful eye. I watch Cato stroking the windswept hair away from her face, I watch him cradle her in his arms as she sits perched on to edge of his lap, and the way he erupts in to laughter when Helga poises her mouth into a sulky pout in response to his teasing. I watch them for what seems like forever, and for all the while I am watching them, I am wishing that the girl sat on Cato's lap was me.