AN - Written to answer the prompt from dandelion-sunset on Tumblr: "You can't keep pretending it didn't happen, cause guess what? It did!"
"Can we talk about this please?"
"Nope." I stalk down the hall to my room and shut the door in her face.
Prim bangs on my door, brimming with teenage outrage at being dismissed. "You can't keep pretending it didn't happen, Katniss. 'Cause guess what? It did!"
"La, la, la. Not listening," I sing under my breath, not that I'm taking any of this lightly. It's just a coping mechanism I developed years ago for dealing with Prim. She's still flailing away out there, but I continue to ignore her, digging instead through the jumbled pile of assignments and journal articles on my desk. When I finally manage to turn up my headphones, I jam them on. Florence and the Machine is playing in a continuous loop on my ipod right now and it's just the thing for this little problem I'm having. I turn it up. Loud. Then, I jam the little device into my pocket. I need something, anything, to distract me because I can not think about it. Every time I do, my blood pressure rises a few more notches. There's a very real possibility my head is going to explode.
Desperate for something to do, I pull my quiver from my bedroom closet and sit on my bed to inspect each of my arrows. I check for loose heads, then stare down each delicate shaft to ensure there are no cracks. I make sure the nooks are secure and the fletchings are all in place. Once they pass my scrutiny, I take up the bow and, using a soft piece of flannel, polish it in a slow arc, watching for signs of wear, rubbing out thumbprints and wiping away bits of dirt. When it gleams, I check the string. It is perfect.
I throw the quiver and bow over my back and swing open my bedroom door.
Prim is still standing there, apparently also still yelling. I can't help but shake my head, then I point to the that I can't hear her. She stomps her foot and shakes her finger at me, her mouth still moving angrily.
I sigh and slide the headphones off. "What?"
She barely stops for breath. "Why do you have to be so stubborn, Katniss? Can't you see that-" She breaks off, her eyes wide. "Where are you going with your bow?" she croaks. It seems she's nearly yelled herself hoarse.
"Out."
"Out?"
"Yeah, I need to get out of here for a bit." I push past her, moving toward the kitchen to find snacks to take with me.
"Where are you going?" She sounds a little frantic. I'm not sure I care.
"Not sure."
She asks if I'm going to the Hawthorne's and I shrug.
"You can't," Prim begs. "Please, Katniss, don't go there."
"Gale might want to go down to the range with me."
"Katniss, you just caught me giving Rory a blow job in the living room. You cannot show up at his house with your bow!"
"And there's that thing we're never going to talk about. Ever again," I shout firmly and over her protests and my little sister finally shuts up. I guess she knows I mean business. "And since we seem to think we're all grown up around here, I don't know why you feel that you have anything to say about what I do."
She gapes at me like a fish and I stomp out of the house, the kitchen door slapping behind me. I can't believe she thinks I'd actually shoot him. I'd never do that to Gale. But if Rory Hawthorne wets his pants as I walk up the driveway, I won't mind.