Author's Note: I've had a few chapters of this sitting in my documents for a while now. I haven't managed to edit or upload anything for it, until now. It's a slow burn between Gale and Madge. I really wanted a story that encapsulated how trapped Madge was in her life. Katniss touches on it in Catching Fire and I drew most of my inspiration from the second book, but also the first. This will deviate from the actual Hunger Games storyline - some things will be the same and some will be different.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Only my own thoughts, plots, OCs!
I really hope you like it.
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Chapter One: Sixteen
I feel as if I'm floating. A cool breeze passes over my face and I drift upwards. Further - higher - until I'm in the clouds. I am flying. I am free.
I'm not flying though. The cloud I'm soaring so high upon is a luxuriously soft bed; the breeze on my face is an electric fan whirring persistently, even throughout the cool summer night. I try to cling to my dream, to relish in the bliss and freedom of floating high above the world, but I'm awake.
It's apparent that I am indeed in my bed when I clutch my fingers underneath me and feel the rich, smooth fabric of my sheets.
I frown.
A sigh escapes my lips as I stand. The wooden floor beneath my feet is cold in comparison to my warm blankets.
I've barely slipped a robe over my shoulders, covering a thin, silk sleeping gown, when a brisk knock sounds at the door.
"Yes, I'm awake," I call hoarsely to the maid. My mouth is dry from sleeping soundly throughout the night. Every morning, I receive a wake-up call from Ava, our house maid, though I'm typically already awake by the time she knocks. She then steps in to direct my schedule and, if necessary, my attire for the day. "Come in," I beckon. The door opens. Instead of a small, raven haired woman entering, it is an older, taller male. He has thinning, gray hair and long retired laugh lines. He carries a look of extreme importance about him. Even without the luxurious suit and tie adorned daily, there is something regal and elegant about him. "Father," I greet, surprised to see him.
He normally leaves early in the morning, before the sun rises, to tend to business as the mayor of District Twelve. He then returns, if he returns, long after the sun sets. He has done this everyday since before I was born. His job leaves little time left to spend with my mother - or me. I shouldn't be bitter about this, but sometimes I feel a darkness in my heart festered by years of neglect.
Neglect is somewhat better stomached with good intentions behind it, but still a hard pill to swallow, especially for a child. It leaves behind a bitter aftertaste - one that has never quite gone away.
It's simply a fact of life - of survival. Not even the Mayor has freedom or choice in the matter of his job. Just as the Seam men are sentenced to the coal mines, refusing to perform their role meaning imprisonment or death, so is the same for my father.
I smile fondly at his sunken, tired face, happy to see him if only for a few minutes in the day.
"Hello, Madgie May," William Undersee says, kindness in his eyes that I know he reserves only for me. The old nickname gives me comfort.
"Did you not have to leave early this morning for business?" I ask curiously. He hasn't been home at this hour in a very long time.
Something dark passes over his features, but it disappears in an instant. I watch him, waiting for any more signs, but he only smiles calmly at me.
"I have news. Since you have now reached sixteen, you will be promised to someone."
There is something in the way he says this - as if it was something to be expected long ago. I already know what he means, yet it still comes as a shock. My stomach feels queasy. I don't want to know, but I have to ask.
"Promised to someone?" My voice sounds weak.
"You will enter into a marriage contract with a chosen suitor. When you are of the age eighteen and no longer eligible to be chosen for the games, you will be married." He says this all smoothly and professionally, as if he were up on stage in the town square giving a speech.
Married… to a stranger?
An arranged marriage?
My heart stops. My stomach churns.
"What if I'm reaped?"
He swallows, almost nervously, then chuckles. "You won't be reaped, sweetie."
"If I am?" I insist.
He furrows his brows. "Well, then, the promise to your betrothed would be null and void, I suppose. But that won't happen," he repeats, the words cold and cruel in their honesty.
I know this to be true. I won't be reaped - and I don't want to be. However, it seems I will still be reaped in a different fashion, my fate sealed by the chance and circumstance of a life I was born into.
I nod as if I understand, but I don't fully - not really. How can I? Marriage seems so far away - it seems so impossible. I try to wrap my head around the idea.
"Why must I marry?" I ask, trying to sound as if the question is only out of mere curiosity and not desperation. My voice cracks and gives me away.
My father looks at me with what must be sympathy, but it is gone too soon. At the end of the day, he is a politician first and foremost. It is what this life demands of him. His career would be too hard to endure without separating his emotions from his actions. The same calm mask I'm trying to wear, and failing, is on my father's face. Except, he is pulling it off expertly, looking as refined and unmoved as ever.
"It is an honor, Madge. You will be taken care of your whole life and receive splendors not even I can give you. You'll be married to a well-off man from a well-off family, and in doing so, you'll become the pride of our District."
I clutch my abdomen as if trying to hold myself together. "Who is he?" I manage, feeling dread no matter what the answer.
He sighs and tugs on his tie, loosening the fabric from around his neck. "I'm still compiling the list of prospective suitors that have put forward interest. But you won't be familiar with any of the candidates. They aren't from this District."
My husband won't even have a familiar face - he will be a stranger. I can feel bile rising as I consider being with - marrying - someone I have never even met.
I know marriage will happen one day - I always have. Because of my status in society, it has always been a given. Yet, I never once pictured myself living in a future where I am no longer just myself, but simply somebody's wife.
I've already lost a lot of myself playing the part of the Mayor's daughter. I am the spoiled, rich girl who doesn't have a thought in her head except pretty dresses and satin bows. I keep to myself, because I am better than the others. I am blind to the issues in our District and the gaunt frames of my classmates. I am far too lost in my own world to consider anyone else. That is who I'm supposed to be.
I am not only the role that I play, but I must play it regardless.
"Oh," I say simply. "Sorry, you must forgive my confusion, father, I'm very tired. I did not sleep well last night," I lie easily. I try to force a smile. "This is obviously very exciting news."
I know it isn't acceptable to cause a scene, but it's still hard to fight the urge to scream and yell and cry. I try to turn all those feelings inward, into a comfortable numb that I am normally able to take solace in. It doesn't seem to be working as it usually does and all of those feelings have instead dropped to the pit of my stomach. They are twisting and fighting each other, determined to escape.
I might possibly vomit all over my father's expensive shoes.
"Of course, dear. It is early. I'll let you dress and prepare for breakfast. I must be going now."
Just like that, our short interaction is over and I feel as if he has taken my life from me as he walks towards the door.
I scrunch my eyebrows together as a lightbulb flickers in my brain. I seize onto the one lifeline I have left.
"Wait! You said sixteen, but I'm still fifteen," I point out, trying not to sound like I'm grasping at straws.
"It's your birthday today, darling," he grins, as if it's the best news in the world. I blink at him, my mind trying to remember what month we are in and count the correct number of days. He is right. "Happy birthday, Madge. I must go now, but the maid has my present for you."
It is my birthday. It is my reaping.
"I- I completely forgot. How silly of me…" I deflate, understanding that I've lost this battle. It was hardly a battle to begin with, but a death sentence I am only desperately trying to put off. "Goodbye, father, have a lovely day," I murmur out, doing my best to seem as if this isn't the worst day of my life.
"Before I forget, I'd like to walk with you in the garden later this evening, to spend some time with you on your birthday while the weather is nice."
He pushes up the round frames of his glasses as he says this, leaning against the doorframe that he is nearly halfway out of.
I furrow my eyebrows, but nod. "Of course, I'd love to take a walk with you this evening." I feel sick as I say this, but my voice luckily betrays nothing.
"Good," he says, his political mask slipping a little. "I love you, Madgie May."
"I love you too, father."
And then he is gone.
I clench my fists, waiting to hear the front door that is downstairs slam shut.
I run to the bathroom as fast as I can and puke out all of the feelings I was just barely managing to keep at bay. They come out as a sickly, sour bile that burns all the way up. I continue to hack, even with nothing left in my body.
When I'm finally done dry heaving, I collapse against the tub, feeling even worse than before. My temples are throbbing forcefully, my brain pounding to escape my skull. For the first time in my life I wonder if my mother will let me borrow some of her morphling to dull the pain.
That thought is immediately followed by shame and I hang my head in my hands, blaming the tears in my eyes on having been sick.
Happy birthday to me.
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How did you like the first chapter? I'm sorry, I'm a sucker for a dramatic introduction and I couldn't help but make this as dramatic as possible.
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