the next will never come (part 17/?, hunger games, r)
the next will never come
"It means I'm done. It means I'm free. It means I'll live."
katniss/peeta, katniss/gale, au, r. katniss makes it through her final reaping. part 17 of ?
Nothing wakes me up quite as quickly as realizing that I’m alone in my bed.
I sit up straight, heart pounding. Prim’s side of the bed is cold. The dim light outside tells me it’s just barely dawn.
She’s not in the kitchen or the living room, either, but my pulse calms once I see the note on the kitchen table. I’m going to see the Capitol train this morning, it says in Prim’s loopy, girlish handwriting. I’ll be back around lunch. Prim.
So Mother must have told her about the bodies returning today. I don’t know if greeting the train is a good idea for Prim right now, especially in light of what Astrid’s parents’ said during their interview. But the note is here and her shoes are missing from their usual spot next to the door, so it’s clearly too late to convince her otherwise.
Besides, I’ve got my own uncomfortable trip to make this morning.
The pigs are already gathered noisily at their feeding trough by the time I reach the bakery. I hesitate at the back door, anxious. What if Peeta changed his mind, and told his father I wasn’t really coming back? What if they realized they can manage just fine without me, now that I’ve been gone a few days?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I force my knuckles against the back door in a knock. It flings open about thirty seconds later. “Oh.” Brody blinks in surprise. “I was sure Peeta was bullshitting us when he said you were coming back to work.”
“Um. Nope,” I say, hoping my sudden blush won’t give away our lie. “Just…needed a few days.”
Brody nods and stands back so I can come in, his face surprisingly sympathetic. “How’s your sister doing?”
“She’s alright,” I say vaguely, unsure why Brody would even care. “Is Peeta around?”
“Oh, now you’re interested in Peeta’s whereabouts,” he says, an edge of sarcasm to the words. He glances towards the stairs. “Well, you know Peeta. He’s still up there making himself pretty for the day.”
“What’s that, Brody?” Peeta’s voice calls from the landing, a thud of footsteps following soon after. “Who are you talking to -“ He stops in the doorway at the bottom of the steps. “Oh. Katniss?”
I wave a little. “Hi.”
It doesn’t take long for him to overcome his surprise, and he moves towards me with a growing smile on his face. I think he’s going to hug me, my whole body tensing in preparation, but he stops just short of touching me. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he says sincerely.
Brody snorts. “It’s been like, two days, Peeta. Control yourself.”
We both glare at him, though now it’s Peeta who seems to be fighting off a blush. Brody just snickers and saunters off towards the table in the back of the room, where a lump of dough waits to be kneaded.
Peeta turns back to me, shrugging apologetically. “Sorry, he’s just…Brody. How is Prim?”
“Oh, she’s okay,” I say quickly. I lower my voice, well aware that Brody’s probably still listening. “Could I…talk to you?”
“Sure, of course.” Peeta glances around the room, eyes finally settling on the door to the front. “Here, we’re not open yet.” He leads me through the swinging door to the space behind the register and leans back against the counter, looking at me expectantly. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to say thank you,” I breathe out in a rush. “For covering for me when I quit. I can’t really afford to lose this job, but I guess you realized that better than I did. I wasn’t thinking straight.” I swallow. “So…thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says.
“Well. Okay.” I smile a little, and turn away to start the cash register for the day, thinking our conversation is over. But Peeta just stands there, watching me thoughtfully.
I pretend not to notice that he hasn’t moved until he clears his throat slightly. “Can I…” he trails off. “No, nevermind.”
From the corner of my eye I see him move towards the door. “What?”
Peeta pauses. “Can I be honest for a second?” he finally says. My hands fall still over the counter.
“Um, sure.”
“I’m pretty sure that you overheard Brody and I arguing the other day.” It’s a struggle to keep my face neutral; my heart abruptly picks up its pace, practically pounding through my ribcage. I can tell that he’s waiting for confirmation before he continues, so I nod again, keeping my eyes turned away from his.
“So…you know that…” He half-laughs, half-sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, which is flushed so deeply it nearly matches the red trim on his apron. “Ah, this is really hard to say. Um…”
“It’s okay,” I interject. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, I do.” He pulls his hands away and gives me a sad, shy smile. “I mean, you already know. I really like you, Katniss.”
After a long, awkward pause, I nod mutely, staring at my shoes. It’s really all I’m capable of at the moment.
“I know that you have a boyfriend,” he adds quickly. “I respect that. I would never try to interfere with that. I just wanted to clear the air, I guess.”
I feel like I should say something in response, but my brain is pretty much frozen. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Peeta shoves his hands into his pockets, ducking his head. “I mean, I would really like to be your friend. I really mean that. I can get over a stupid crush. But I understand if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t been so good at being your friend so far. ” He pauses, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. “Okay. I’ve tortured you enough. I’ll be back here if you need anything.”
“Peeta.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I’m a little taken aback by the intensity. “I don’t…you don’t make me uncomfortable,” I say lamely.
One side of his mouth lifts up in a smile. “Words that every guy longs to hear.” I look away, embarrassed, and he groans. “No, see. This is exactly what I mean. I’m sorry. I’m not saying anything like that to you ever again, I swear.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Peeta repeats. He thrusts his hand out towards me, palm open. “So…friends?”
I offer him my hand, and he shakes it firmly, his fingers warm and steady around my own. “Sure.”
---
Despite everything, there’s a lightness in me all morning that can’t be dampened. Not by the middle-aged father who lets his three young children run rampant through the shop while he hems and haws over a package of cookies. Not by the old woman who mutters something rude under her breath when I tell her we’re out of raisin bread for the day. It’s not until the awful, awkward split-second when Else Mullen walks into the shop, sees me, and heads straight back out the door that I remember I don’t have much right to be happy right now.
I didn’t know who she was until I saw her interview on television, but I guess she knows who I am.
Nonetheless, Peeta’s words run through my head at the strangest moments, each time triggering a warmth that spreads through my stomach. I want to be your friend. Who knew that just laying it out there would make things so much easier between us? I can speak to him without fearing that he’ll misinterpret my intentions; I can take his words and actions at face value, instead of reading into every smile that flickers across his face.
Now that there are no more secrets hanging over our heads, I can just…relax.
In fact, work is so much more carefree than my last few days at home that I almost don’t want to leave when my shift is up at three. Peeta and Brody watch in barely-masked amusement as I drift around the kitchen, finding one last thing to clean up or put away before I go.
“Hey, if you’re looking for more work, have at it,” Brody calls out to me, opening his arms in a grand gesture over the dirty mixing bowls piled in the sink before him.
I shake my head, wrinkling my nose slightly. “No thanks. I should go.” I stop at the door and look back over my shoulder. “Bye, Peeta.”
He lifts his hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow.”
On my way home I debate going to see Gale, before I remember that he’s at work all day. The realization relieves me, though I feel bad about it. I have to talk to him eventually.
“Hello,” I call out as I arrive home, but there’s no answer. I poke my head into my bedroom; Prim’s not there. “Prim?” I ask, but I already know it’s useless. She’s gone.
A hundred awful scenarios run through my head all at once. Some small part of me, buried deep in the back of my mind, knows that nearly all of them are unlikely, if not outright impossible. But Prim should be home by now, and she’s not. My instinct is to panic.
The train station is normally a twenty-minute walk from my house, situated just past the district mines. With the exception of tributes once a year, coal is pretty much the only thing that ever makes its way in and out of District 12.
Today, I make it there in ten.
Prim is there, thank goodness, seated alone on one of the wooden benches that line the cement platform. “Prim,” I gasp out, slowing to a jog as I approach the platform.
Her eyes widen at my sweaty, sudden appearance. “What’s wrong?” she demands, standing.
“What’s wrong?” I repeat, coming to a stop just in front of her. “I should be asking you that. You said you’d be home by lunch.”
As soon as she realizes that she was the cause of my worry, she drops back down onto the bench. “Oh. Sorry,” she says indifferently.
I sit beside her. “You can’t just disappear like that,” I say, my voice shaky.
Prim rolls her eyes. “You knew exactly where I was. I didn’t disappear.”
“If you say you’re going to be somewhere, you should be there,” I insist, unwilling to let it go. “If you say you’ll be home by lunch, you should be home by lunch.”
“Fine,” she sighs, and when she glances at me I notice that her eyes are rimmed in red, but dry. “I’ll wear a tracker, too. Then you’ll never wonder where I am.”
“Hey. I’m just worried about you, Prim,” I say softly.
“I’m fine,” she says shortly, staring out at the tracks. “I’m not Mother. I know that’s what you’re worried about.”
I don’t answer. My gaze follows hers, out towards the steel train tracks. The land out here is sparse and ugly, sporadic patches of weeds and grass the only thing able to grow through the layers of coal dust settled onto the soil. But far, far away, there are mountains, rising lush and green out of the ground. Gale used to talk about climbing them one day - setting out with a few packs and our bows and arrows, living off the land.
I’d been dismissive. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested running away into the wilderness, and every time I told him the same thing: We can’t. We’d be killed. We have families to think of. That kind of talk had faded from our conversations, though, as Gale fell into the routine of the mines and reality set in.
“I couldn’t even tell which one was her,” Prim says finally, her voice cracking. “They weren’t labeled. They had to pry one open and l-look…”
I slide closer and wrap my arm around her. Her head drops to rest on my shoulder, but the tears I expect never come. She must be all cried out for the day.
“D’you want to go home?” I murmur, and feel her nod against my shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go.” I take her hand, she doesn’t let go all the way home.
---
The house is still empty when we get there, and Prim and I play a quiet game of gin rummy to pass what’s left of the afternoon. Mother walks in an hour or so after dinnertime, and I excuse myself to my room to read. She knows I have zero interest in the old medical journals or Capitol-approved textbooks that line our bookshelf - but I’m not interested in talking with her, and I don’t care if she knows it.
Dinner is late that night, and uncomfortable. I shovel it down as quickly as possible. “I’m going to see the Hawthornes,” I mumble on my way out the door.
I’m not looking forward to hashing out my relationship with Gale. But at the moment it seems infinitely more appealing than sitting in silence with my mother and Prim all night, so I follow the familiar path to his house.
Hazelle opens the door with a warm smile, though there’s a hint of a question in her gray eyes as she greets me. “Gale,” she calls over her shoulder. “Katniss is here to see you.”
Gale emerges from his bedroom looking tired, his hair mussed and messy. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, fiddling with the end of my braid nervously. “How are you?”
“Alright,” he says, coming to stand beside his mother. “Yourself?”
“I’m okay.”
“And Prim?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. She’s walking around, doing things. Not…you know.” Gale nods.
Hazelle looks oddly between the two of us. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” she says, reaching up to pat Gale’s cheek. He ducks his head away, a small flush settling over his cheeks. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“G’night, Mom,” he says, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. I watch their easy interaction with something verging on jealousy. My life would be so different today if I’d had a mother like Hazelle.
Gale and I are left in tense silence. I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly wishing I hadn’t come. Gale clears his throat. “Want to sit down?”
I nod, following him into the living room, but when I take a seat on the sofa he settles down opposite me in an old armchair. It feels like a slight. We sit in silence for a long moment, both unwilling to make the first move.
But eventually Gale gives in. “I guess we need to talk about…us.”
“Yeah.”
He sighs. “I just…I really don’t know what you want from me anymore.”
I don’t, either. But there’s no use in telling him that - what good would it do? “I want things to be like they always were,” I say softly. “I…I miss just hanging out with you.”
“Me too,” he admits, studying his hands. “But I want more. And I thought you did too. That’s what you told me.”
“I did,” I agree, swallowing hard. “Look, I’ve never wanted a boyfriend, or marriage, or babies, or any of it. But I’m really trying -“
“You shouldn’t have to try,” he interrupts stubbornly. “If you love me, you love me.”
He makes it sound so simple. As if love is just this one thing, standing alone, untouched by guilt or fear or any of the other feelings I’ve come to associate with it. As if it’s so obvious to recognize, so effortless to accept.
“It’s not that easy for me,” I say honestly.
Gale frowns down at his hands, clenched together in his lap, and when he looks back up at me his eyes are wet. I feel tears pricking at my own eyes in return. I’ve never seen Gale cry - never.
“Then I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore,” he says quietly. “This isn’t a game to me, Katniss.”
It sounds so…final. “But what…what does that mean?” Just that he can’t be my boyfriend? Or that he can’t be my friend?
“I told you I loved you when you were sixteen years old, and you treated it like...like you could just shrug it off. And fine, you were sixteen. But here we are two years later and you’re still…“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off.
Anger wells up before I can control it. “You think I think it’s a game?” I demand. “Well, what about Madge Undersee?”
Gale stares at me blankly. “What about her?”
“You sell her strawberries,” I say accusingly, but even as I say it I can hear how ridiculous I sound.
“Yeah, I do,” he says, looking at me in disbelief. “It’s easy money. You used to do it with me.”
“I know,” I mutter, already regretting bringing it up.
Gale sits up straighter. “Wait, do you - are you accusing me of something here?”
“No,” I say quickly, my face growing hot. I was, sort of, without fully realizing it myself.
He shakes his head with a sharp laugh. “I can’t believe this. All this time and that’s really what you think of me?” He stands, towering over me, his eyes hard. “I think you should go home, Katniss.”
I leap to my feet, shaking my head. “Gale, please. I didn’t mean -“
“You know the way out.” He points to the front door before stalking into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
"It means I'm done. It means I'm free. It means I'll live."
katniss/peeta, katniss/gale, au, r. katniss makes it through her final reaping. part 17 of ?
Nothing wakes me up quite as quickly as realizing that I’m alone in my bed.
I sit up straight, heart pounding. Prim’s side of the bed is cold. The dim light outside tells me it’s just barely dawn.
She’s not in the kitchen or the living room, either, but my pulse calms once I see the note on the kitchen table. I’m going to see the Capitol train this morning, it says in Prim’s loopy, girlish handwriting. I’ll be back around lunch. Prim.
So Mother must have told her about the bodies returning today. I don’t know if greeting the train is a good idea for Prim right now, especially in light of what Astrid’s parents’ said during their interview. But the note is here and her shoes are missing from their usual spot next to the door, so it’s clearly too late to convince her otherwise.
Besides, I’ve got my own uncomfortable trip to make this morning.
The pigs are already gathered noisily at their feeding trough by the time I reach the bakery. I hesitate at the back door, anxious. What if Peeta changed his mind, and told his father I wasn’t really coming back? What if they realized they can manage just fine without me, now that I’ve been gone a few days?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I force my knuckles against the back door in a knock. It flings open about thirty seconds later. “Oh.” Brody blinks in surprise. “I was sure Peeta was bullshitting us when he said you were coming back to work.”
“Um. Nope,” I say, hoping my sudden blush won’t give away our lie. “Just…needed a few days.”
Brody nods and stands back so I can come in, his face surprisingly sympathetic. “How’s your sister doing?”
“She’s alright,” I say vaguely, unsure why Brody would even care. “Is Peeta around?”
“Oh, now you’re interested in Peeta’s whereabouts,” he says, an edge of sarcasm to the words. He glances towards the stairs. “Well, you know Peeta. He’s still up there making himself pretty for the day.”
“What’s that, Brody?” Peeta’s voice calls from the landing, a thud of footsteps following soon after. “Who are you talking to -“ He stops in the doorway at the bottom of the steps. “Oh. Katniss?”
I wave a little. “Hi.”
It doesn’t take long for him to overcome his surprise, and he moves towards me with a growing smile on his face. I think he’s going to hug me, my whole body tensing in preparation, but he stops just short of touching me. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he says sincerely.
Brody snorts. “It’s been like, two days, Peeta. Control yourself.”
We both glare at him, though now it’s Peeta who seems to be fighting off a blush. Brody just snickers and saunters off towards the table in the back of the room, where a lump of dough waits to be kneaded.
Peeta turns back to me, shrugging apologetically. “Sorry, he’s just…Brody. How is Prim?”
“Oh, she’s okay,” I say quickly. I lower my voice, well aware that Brody’s probably still listening. “Could I…talk to you?”
“Sure, of course.” Peeta glances around the room, eyes finally settling on the door to the front. “Here, we’re not open yet.” He leads me through the swinging door to the space behind the register and leans back against the counter, looking at me expectantly. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to say thank you,” I breathe out in a rush. “For covering for me when I quit. I can’t really afford to lose this job, but I guess you realized that better than I did. I wasn’t thinking straight.” I swallow. “So…thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says.
“Well. Okay.” I smile a little, and turn away to start the cash register for the day, thinking our conversation is over. But Peeta just stands there, watching me thoughtfully.
I pretend not to notice that he hasn’t moved until he clears his throat slightly. “Can I…” he trails off. “No, nevermind.”
From the corner of my eye I see him move towards the door. “What?”
Peeta pauses. “Can I be honest for a second?” he finally says. My hands fall still over the counter.
“Um, sure.”
“I’m pretty sure that you overheard Brody and I arguing the other day.” It’s a struggle to keep my face neutral; my heart abruptly picks up its pace, practically pounding through my ribcage. I can tell that he’s waiting for confirmation before he continues, so I nod again, keeping my eyes turned away from his.
“So…you know that…” He half-laughs, half-sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, which is flushed so deeply it nearly matches the red trim on his apron. “Ah, this is really hard to say. Um…”
“It’s okay,” I interject. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, I do.” He pulls his hands away and gives me a sad, shy smile. “I mean, you already know. I really like you, Katniss.”
After a long, awkward pause, I nod mutely, staring at my shoes. It’s really all I’m capable of at the moment.
“I know that you have a boyfriend,” he adds quickly. “I respect that. I would never try to interfere with that. I just wanted to clear the air, I guess.”
I feel like I should say something in response, but my brain is pretty much frozen. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Peeta shoves his hands into his pockets, ducking his head. “I mean, I would really like to be your friend. I really mean that. I can get over a stupid crush. But I understand if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t been so good at being your friend so far. ” He pauses, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. “Okay. I’ve tortured you enough. I’ll be back here if you need anything.”
“Peeta.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I’m a little taken aback by the intensity. “I don’t…you don’t make me uncomfortable,” I say lamely.
One side of his mouth lifts up in a smile. “Words that every guy longs to hear.” I look away, embarrassed, and he groans. “No, see. This is exactly what I mean. I’m sorry. I’m not saying anything like that to you ever again, I swear.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Peeta repeats. He thrusts his hand out towards me, palm open. “So…friends?”
I offer him my hand, and he shakes it firmly, his fingers warm and steady around my own. “Sure.”
---
Despite everything, there’s a lightness in me all morning that can’t be dampened. Not by the middle-aged father who lets his three young children run rampant through the shop while he hems and haws over a package of cookies. Not by the old woman who mutters something rude under her breath when I tell her we’re out of raisin bread for the day. It’s not until the awful, awkward split-second when Else Mullen walks into the shop, sees me, and heads straight back out the door that I remember I don’t have much right to be happy right now.
I didn’t know who she was until I saw her interview on television, but I guess she knows who I am.
Nonetheless, Peeta’s words run through my head at the strangest moments, each time triggering a warmth that spreads through my stomach. I want to be your friend. Who knew that just laying it out there would make things so much easier between us? I can speak to him without fearing that he’ll misinterpret my intentions; I can take his words and actions at face value, instead of reading into every smile that flickers across his face.
Now that there are no more secrets hanging over our heads, I can just…relax.
In fact, work is so much more carefree than my last few days at home that I almost don’t want to leave when my shift is up at three. Peeta and Brody watch in barely-masked amusement as I drift around the kitchen, finding one last thing to clean up or put away before I go.
“Hey, if you’re looking for more work, have at it,” Brody calls out to me, opening his arms in a grand gesture over the dirty mixing bowls piled in the sink before him.
I shake my head, wrinkling my nose slightly. “No thanks. I should go.” I stop at the door and look back over my shoulder. “Bye, Peeta.”
He lifts his hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow.”
On my way home I debate going to see Gale, before I remember that he’s at work all day. The realization relieves me, though I feel bad about it. I have to talk to him eventually.
“Hello,” I call out as I arrive home, but there’s no answer. I poke my head into my bedroom; Prim’s not there. “Prim?” I ask, but I already know it’s useless. She’s gone.
A hundred awful scenarios run through my head all at once. Some small part of me, buried deep in the back of my mind, knows that nearly all of them are unlikely, if not outright impossible. But Prim should be home by now, and she’s not. My instinct is to panic.
The train station is normally a twenty-minute walk from my house, situated just past the district mines. With the exception of tributes once a year, coal is pretty much the only thing that ever makes its way in and out of District 12.
Today, I make it there in ten.
Prim is there, thank goodness, seated alone on one of the wooden benches that line the cement platform. “Prim,” I gasp out, slowing to a jog as I approach the platform.
Her eyes widen at my sweaty, sudden appearance. “What’s wrong?” she demands, standing.
“What’s wrong?” I repeat, coming to a stop just in front of her. “I should be asking you that. You said you’d be home by lunch.”
As soon as she realizes that she was the cause of my worry, she drops back down onto the bench. “Oh. Sorry,” she says indifferently.
I sit beside her. “You can’t just disappear like that,” I say, my voice shaky.
Prim rolls her eyes. “You knew exactly where I was. I didn’t disappear.”
“If you say you’re going to be somewhere, you should be there,” I insist, unwilling to let it go. “If you say you’ll be home by lunch, you should be home by lunch.”
“Fine,” she sighs, and when she glances at me I notice that her eyes are rimmed in red, but dry. “I’ll wear a tracker, too. Then you’ll never wonder where I am.”
“Hey. I’m just worried about you, Prim,” I say softly.
“I’m fine,” she says shortly, staring out at the tracks. “I’m not Mother. I know that’s what you’re worried about.”
I don’t answer. My gaze follows hers, out towards the steel train tracks. The land out here is sparse and ugly, sporadic patches of weeds and grass the only thing able to grow through the layers of coal dust settled onto the soil. But far, far away, there are mountains, rising lush and green out of the ground. Gale used to talk about climbing them one day - setting out with a few packs and our bows and arrows, living off the land.
I’d been dismissive. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested running away into the wilderness, and every time I told him the same thing: We can’t. We’d be killed. We have families to think of. That kind of talk had faded from our conversations, though, as Gale fell into the routine of the mines and reality set in.
“I couldn’t even tell which one was her,” Prim says finally, her voice cracking. “They weren’t labeled. They had to pry one open and l-look…”
I slide closer and wrap my arm around her. Her head drops to rest on my shoulder, but the tears I expect never come. She must be all cried out for the day.
“D’you want to go home?” I murmur, and feel her nod against my shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go.” I take her hand, she doesn’t let go all the way home.
---
The house is still empty when we get there, and Prim and I play a quiet game of gin rummy to pass what’s left of the afternoon. Mother walks in an hour or so after dinnertime, and I excuse myself to my room to read. She knows I have zero interest in the old medical journals or Capitol-approved textbooks that line our bookshelf - but I’m not interested in talking with her, and I don’t care if she knows it.
Dinner is late that night, and uncomfortable. I shovel it down as quickly as possible. “I’m going to see the Hawthornes,” I mumble on my way out the door.
I’m not looking forward to hashing out my relationship with Gale. But at the moment it seems infinitely more appealing than sitting in silence with my mother and Prim all night, so I follow the familiar path to his house.
Hazelle opens the door with a warm smile, though there’s a hint of a question in her gray eyes as she greets me. “Gale,” she calls over her shoulder. “Katniss is here to see you.”
Gale emerges from his bedroom looking tired, his hair mussed and messy. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, fiddling with the end of my braid nervously. “How are you?”
“Alright,” he says, coming to stand beside his mother. “Yourself?”
“I’m okay.”
“And Prim?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. She’s walking around, doing things. Not…you know.” Gale nods.
Hazelle looks oddly between the two of us. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” she says, reaching up to pat Gale’s cheek. He ducks his head away, a small flush settling over his cheeks. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“G’night, Mom,” he says, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. I watch their easy interaction with something verging on jealousy. My life would be so different today if I’d had a mother like Hazelle.
Gale and I are left in tense silence. I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly wishing I hadn’t come. Gale clears his throat. “Want to sit down?”
I nod, following him into the living room, but when I take a seat on the sofa he settles down opposite me in an old armchair. It feels like a slight. We sit in silence for a long moment, both unwilling to make the first move.
But eventually Gale gives in. “I guess we need to talk about…us.”
“Yeah.”
He sighs. “I just…I really don’t know what you want from me anymore.”
I don’t, either. But there’s no use in telling him that - what good would it do? “I want things to be like they always were,” I say softly. “I…I miss just hanging out with you.”
“Me too,” he admits, studying his hands. “But I want more. And I thought you did too. That’s what you told me.”
“I did,” I agree, swallowing hard. “Look, I’ve never wanted a boyfriend, or marriage, or babies, or any of it. But I’m really trying -“
“You shouldn’t have to try,” he interrupts stubbornly. “If you love me, you love me.”
He makes it sound so simple. As if love is just this one thing, standing alone, untouched by guilt or fear or any of the other feelings I’ve come to associate with it. As if it’s so obvious to recognize, so effortless to accept.
“It’s not that easy for me,” I say honestly.
Gale frowns down at his hands, clenched together in his lap, and when he looks back up at me his eyes are wet. I feel tears pricking at my own eyes in return. I’ve never seen Gale cry - never.
“Then I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore,” he says quietly. “This isn’t a game to me, Katniss.”
It sounds so…final. “But what…what does that mean?” Just that he can’t be my boyfriend? Or that he can’t be my friend?
“I told you I loved you when you were sixteen years old, and you treated it like...like you could just shrug it off. And fine, you were sixteen. But here we are two years later and you’re still…“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off.
Anger wells up before I can control it. “You think I think it’s a game?” I demand. “Well, what about Madge Undersee?”
Gale stares at me blankly. “What about her?”
“You sell her strawberries,” I say accusingly, but even as I say it I can hear how ridiculous I sound.
“Yeah, I do,” he says, looking at me in disbelief. “It’s easy money. You used to do it with me.”
“I know,” I mutter, already regretting bringing it up.
Gale sits up straighter. “Wait, do you - are you accusing me of something here?”
“No,” I say quickly, my face growing hot. I was, sort of, without fully realizing it myself.
He shakes his head with a sharp laugh. “I can’t believe this. All this time and that’s really what you think of me?” He stands, towering over me, his eyes hard. “I think you should go home, Katniss.”
I leap to my feet, shaking my head. “Gale, please. I didn’t mean -“
“You know the way out.” He points to the front door before stalking into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.