I couldn't find a song so this chapter is also empty.

"Katniss." Prim's voice sounds oddly different. Masculine. Distorted like she's underwater. Maybe that's a bad sign but any time I get to spend with Prim is precious. A part of my mind knows this is wrong but it's competing with so many other emotions it's drowned out.

I want to reply but my mouth appears to be glued shut.

"Katniss," She says with growing concern.

"Hmmmph," I mumble finally able to pry my mouth open enough to talk. You would think that being able to spend time with her, no matter how small; I ought to be able to talk.

"Katniss Everdeen," She says in a voice that seems to tickle my ear and fan my hair across my face.

'What?' I want to say but my mouth seems incapable of saying nothing more than meaningless gibberish,

"Miss. Everdeen." She says in that same oddly deep voice. It's strange that she uses such a formal title for her older sister. Is it different where she is?

"Miss. Everdeen!" A calloused hand shakes me roughly to reality, bright fluorescent lights, rows of desks, eyes staring at me. Prim is whisked away with one final wave of her hand. I cling to the dream, to the final image but it's stolen. Like trying to hold onto snow in your palm. There for a minute but melts and drips through your fingers.

"Yes," I say somewhat stupidly, my head banging against the corner of my desk.

"Are you alright?" My teacher asks, looking down his long, hooked nose to stare at me with a mixed expression. Somewhere between anger for sleeping in class and concern at my facial expression which I'm sure is horribly blank.

Everyone eye in the class is on me, watching, gauging my answer.

When I don't reply immediately Mr. Turt, my teacher, continues, "You started shouting in your sleep." It's not a scornful tone, or pitying but matter-of-fact.

"Oh," I say awkwardly, unable to think of what I ought to say. Sorry? Unsure if I should say anything at all. I don't remember screaming, just remember the peaceful meadow where she danced and I held her tight.

"A very loud dream about your sister."

I look down at my desk, seeing the chipped yellowing paint between my splayed fingers. "Sorry," I fidget in my seat, suddenly feeling as if the chair is too constricting and cold. "Continue on."

"You look unwell," Mr. Turt notes shrewdly. Why does everyone insist on telling me? I know I don't look well. I haven't since she died. "You should go home." This is unexpected, the kindness, allowing me to go home. He's hardly ever this kind.

"No, no, I'm fine." I say trying to stay as firm as possible when I can see the edge slipping away. Because right now. I need to stay firm and stubborn. Or I'll be swayed.

A girl behind me sighs and I whip around in my desk to look at her. It's Madge, her light blonde hair tied back with a blue ribbon. She leans forward, unable to quite reach me like she wants. There's a desk between us. Peeta used to sit right behind me. Before he won the Games and was free to practice whatever he wished.

"Go home Katniss. I'll take some notes to you," She says earnestly.

With one more glance towards Mr. Turt, who nods his head and sighs, I get up and swing my foraging bag, which doubles as my school bag, over my shoulder and walk up to the Mr. Turt's desk. He quickly scribbles an excusal note on a sheet of paper and hands it to me. My will has crumbled, too easily torn down by two people who want me to get better.

After dropping my excuse off at the office I walk backwards out of the school doors and out into the courtyard. The cobblestone is slick with ice and the few tufts of grass still alive are coated with a thick layer of frost. I can feel the eyes of other kids on me as they watch me cross the courtyard from the safety of their classrooms.

The sky overhead is a dusky gray, heavy and suffocating.

I'm not sure what to do, or where to go. I feel too numb to go hunting and it's doubtful I'll find anything. The ground is too hard and the animals are gone in their burrows for the winter. We'll have to hold out until Parcel Day. Gale is relying on me though for a haul, and as much as I hate letting him down, and even though I have hours of unoccupied time I know I won't. Because I don't care. Not today.

Home sounds wretched right now. I refuse to face my mother. I don't want to see her give up the fight again. Don't want to see her eyes, long has the life and spark left. It's better if she thinks that I've been in school the entire day. Doubtful that she'll even care or ask.

Most days, before the Games, I would've given anything to miss out on school. It's uninteresting learning about coal but I know I should pay attention as that's the only job I'll ever get. If Prim had won we could've easily done without working for the rest of our lives. That option is shot. When Gale was still in school we had time during our lunch breaks to sneak into the woods and check the snares. I still could if I wanted to but I lack the will.

If I wanted I could just sit on the cobblestone all day. Well I would if it wasn't so cold. My exposed fingers and face feel like they're about to fall off. I hate this. This indecision that's come with Prim's death. It makes everything so difficult. Even the simplest tasks become a chore.

Letting my feet take me wherever, my mind drifts off into some altered version of reality. My mind relaxes and feels more at peace than it has in a long time. Nice and calm. Blissfully blank.

"Katniss?" A voice calls and I snap back to the gray reality. All around me everything is gray. A heavy gray mist has settled around the town. Gray skies overheard, promising snow. Gray buildings, falling into disrepair. Gray streets, cold under my feet. It's amazing how much time can pass and I don't even notice. I don't mind. Far from it. These numb minutes are beautiful. Takes the edge off the pain. Makes it so I practically float through a day with nothing to feel. No sharp pain in my chest. I look behind me and can only see a vague gray outline against the mist.

"Katniss!" The voice calls again, closer at hand this time.

Oh no, I think, panicking. It's a Peacekeeper. They'll send me back to school or home for sure. My heart rate picks up and the urge to bolt is overpowering. Pretend I don't exist and disappear into a back yard. When I go to move my feet however it's like they're glued to the ground. They'll walk me back to my home and there'll be no way I can avoid mother then.

The outline becomes more distinct, enough for me to see the familiar shape of the guns strapped across their backs. Please let it be Darius, I think desperately. He won't question me too much. Make me head home probably but might not stand at the door and wait for me to go inside. I squint, through the mist, waiting for the shock of red hair to become visible.

Only it's not Darius. It's not Cray. It's not a Peacekeeper at all. It's Hazelle with her load of laundry, from the merchants, slung over her shoulder. She eyes me critically. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

I shrug, hoping it'll be enough of an answer to satisfy her. "Shouldn't Posy be with you?"

It's not enough. "Well should you or shouldn't you?" Her voice has an edge of a scolding to it and something close to concern. Hazelle has more than enough mouths to feed yet she's almost adopted me as her own. Hardly anyone knows me better than her. Knows the feelings that are locked inside. Because she lost her husband and we can both relate to losing something we loved. Unlike me, though, she got over it. "Did they close it? Is something wrong?"

"I wasn't feeling well so they excused me."

Her fingers grip my upper arm in like a vise. Unbreakable. Like the hug Prim gave me before she left…Some small idle part of my mind wonders if tears were to come how quick they would freeze in this weather. I notice the tips of her rough fingers are tinged blue from the cold, matching my own ice blue skin. "Well you shouldn't be wandering around like this! Shouldn't you be home?"

I give a shrug but when Hazelle's eyes demand an answer I say, "I guess so."

"Your fingers are blue," Hazelle comments, slinging an arm around my shoulder and drawing me closer. "Come with me. I'll fix you up a nice bath. But on one condition. You have to help me with this load." She smiles and I can't tell if she's joking or not. She enjoys a practical joke every now and again.

Once we've gotten to her house, she dumps the bag on the living room floor and deposits me onto the couch, throwing a thin blanket across my lap. "I'll go boil some water."

Their living room is bare, shabby, but somehow still manages to feel warm and homey. The dark blue couch takes up one wall with just enough space for an end table for their light. The far wall is broken up by two, large windows with fraying curtains pushed to the side. Their television is crammed into the corner without power. The only other source of comfort in the room is the armchair, a big blue one with tiny stripes of gray and yellow running down it.

I love Hazelle's house. It feels more like home now than my own. I spend so much time here anyway. The house seems smaller than my own. Perhaps it's because there's five in the family instead of just two. Two tiny bedrooms, one bathroom. Gale doesn't even have a bed. He sleeps on the couch. An uncomfortable and unfortunate turn out.

Outside the grimy window across the room I can see the first flakes of snow beginning to gently dance to the ground. "When does Gale get out?" I ask as Hazelle comes back with a cup of water for me.

She flops onto the armchair and runs her fingers through her hair. "Six…I think." She dumps out the bag of clothes and scatters them all over the floor. Starting to separate the darks from the rest.

Slipping off the couch I'm close enough to help. I begin to help by separating the whites from the pile. "Where's Posy?"

"Sleeping upstairs. Thought I'd run out while she was asleep."

I reach for a white top and drag it closer to me then dump it in the rest of little load of whites.

"Katniss I was joking about needing help! I get through more than this without help." She exclaims sounding amused. "Besides you should be resting."

"To be honest I don't like resting much," I lie throwing a top on top of the rest of whites. What it really is, that's making me help Hazelle when she's more than capable, is that I don't like watching other people do things. Make me feel useless. It's peaceful sitting here with Hazelle doing nothing, just feeling the cool, smooth, simple clothes, beneath my fingertips.

"How was school?" She asks in a concerned voice. She must know about my struggles. Of course she does. Gale wouldn't keep quiet about that.

"Good," I say as casually as I can manage without sounding overly cheery or insistent.

"Katniss," Hazelle says putting the pair of pants she's holding down on her lap, sounding tired and frustrated with the lie that slips so easily from my lips now. "Please don't lie."

I sigh, knowing that trying to continue this ruse would be ridiculous. All the better. Lying to everyone about how life is gets tiring and repetitive after months of saying you're fine when everyone knows you're not. Telling Hazelle might be a good thing. I'm done with lying. Done with pretending everything is OK when it's not. Far from it. I'm done. I don't care if I go into a home and end up like the rest of those kids. Might be better than where I am with my mother.

"I feel asleep in class," I admit reaching for the last white pair of gloves. "I wasn't able to sleep last night. Apparently I had a very loud nightmare."

"About what?" She sounds horrified as she leaves and comes back with her washboard and large metal tub.

"For once I don't remember." All I can remember is the last seconds I had with Prim, the serenity of it all. How it sounded like she was trying to tell me something. That's enough for me. It wasn't a replay of her death. Those dreams of Prim vie with the ones of my dad being blown to bits. I'm not complaining. The peaceful dreams don't come often but the feeling for the first minutes after them are beautifully happy. Anytime I spend with her, whether sleeping or not, is precious.

Hazelle is looking at me with an unreadable expression. "And?" She prompts.

"Mr. Turt took pity on me I guess and told me to go home."

"And why didn't you go home?"

I try my best to sound nonchalant when I reply. Like it's nothing at all. "I didn't want to see my mom. It's better if she thinks that I'm still at school."

"Lucky I found you then. Did you realize your fingers where turning gray?" Hazelle dumps the load of black clothes into the soapy water and begins to scrub viciously at a black top. She sighs heavily, "Honestly the things people do to their clothes."

I don't reply but crawl back on the couch and rest my head against the one badly torn pillow. Saying my fingers were gray was a bit of an exaggeration, they're just blue but I didn't feel it. Instead I ask a question of my own. It's completely irrelevant to our conversation but anything to get off this topic. I thought I had wanted to vent to somebody but now I'm beginning to think that Hazelle is not the right person. Or maybe I'm just not quite ready. "How does everyone fit on this couch?"

She laughs in her raucous way. "With great difficulty. For now Posy doesn't mind sitting on the floor or on my lap but when she's older…"

It's silent while she washes, her humming a little tune to herself and me watching the fat wet flakes of snow falling almost carelessly to the ground, getting tossed around in the light breeze.

I'm not sure how long we sit there in silence, it feels like hours but at the same time it was one of the times when it feels like it's only been mere minutes. Hazelle breaks the silence first. "Katniss," She says in a quiet voice, wondering if I've fallen asleep. I'm close, my eyes are heavy.

"Yes?" I mumble, speech garbled by the pillow I've buried my face in. Ridiculous that I can still be tired. All I seem to do lately is sleep. Or try at least. For a few hours until I'm jolted awake with my screaming.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," I say rolling around to look at her. I force my heavy eyes open to look at her. Her cracked fingers are poised over the washboard, a pair of underwear in her hands.

"Are you sure? You seem so…miserable. I always worry about you."

"Don't," I murmur automatically. That's my automatic answer to everything when someone tries to help me isn't it? I immediately shut and shunt them out of my life. Delete them from my life. Avoid them in public. Tell them I don't need help when…maybe…deep down I do. The walls I've made to protect myself include no one but me, with no room to spare. Walls are the most useful tool I've learned in life.

"Well if you ever need anything. Someone to talk to or hug we're always here." She says meeting my eyes with her own. "Do you need food?"

Is Hazelle really asking me if I need food? She barely has enough to feed her family and she's asking me? Like she could actually give me something. I can't help but feel irritated by this, I can feed myself. I have been since I was twelve. Besides the way things are going Rory will be signing up for Tesserae, Gale's worst nightmare. She should be worrying about how she'll feed her family, not me. Not when I'm getting by OK for the first time in a long while. Horrible as it is, it's easier to feed just the two of us. Or one of us as mother doesn't eat much. I've been trying to give Gale more than his share of the haul but he won't allow it. Maybe he will when he's faced with the decision of Rory having to sign up. But at that point I might need the food myself…

When I don't answer she asks in a would-be light voice, "Should I shut my mouth and let you sleep?" Silence is my answer and she doesn't talk again. Only sound is that of Hazelle cursing under her breath about how filthy the clothes are and that she swears people try and make them as dirty as possible.

Eventually I drift off to sleep. It's a light sleep in which I can hear everything but I'm unable to open my eyes. Ten pound weights have dropped on them. Low subdued voices join Hazelle's and I can pick out Rory's and Vic's and little Posy's voices but I must eventually drift off into a deeper slumber because the last I hear is that of Rory asking what dinner is.

My sleeping is troubled, irritating, and nightmare after nightmare saunters into my head, each merging into the previous to create something truly sinister. The horrible thing, my screaming which usually is the only thing that rouses me, doesn't happen. My mouth is glued shut and I feel like I'm suffocating under a hand clamped over it.

I'm with Prim in the Games, but I'm unable to come to her aid as my legs feel like they're encased in a net. The sky above is blue but unreachable through the dense canopy of green leaves, filtering the sunlight green against the soft mossy flooring.

It's only when Prim falls to her knees, gasping and clutching at her glistening red throat that the hint of a scream constricts my chest, binding it tight. Still, I have to watch her topple to the ground and claw futilely at the air, mouth a brilliant red. The boy from Two stands above her, sword held high over his head. As he brings it slamming into her stomach a scream breaks its way through my throat and up past my mouth into the surrounding area.

Drenched in sweat I jolt and flail in the blanket, my legs hopelessly ensnared. I swing my upper body up so fast my head spins along with the room and faces swim in my vision. Blurs of black hair and olive skin. The faces come into focus and I can see Hazelle and the boys staring at me with wide, stricken eyes.

"Katniss!" Hazelle exclaims offering her hand and keeping me steady while Rory and Vic untangle my legs. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I gasp waving her away. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Vic asks surveying me.

"Absolutely," I say, holding back a moan as I start to feel sick. Images swirl vividly in my mind, the horror not quite gone from my system. How many ways must I endure her dying? How many hours of torture?

Posy comes running in from the kitchen, black pigtails swinging, carrying a basket almost as tall as her. Hazelle takes it from her hands and thrusts it under my chin. I'm about to refuse when I throw up. Hazelle hold my hair and bangs back from my slick forehead until I'm done.

When I'm done she instructs Rory to leave the can outside until she can deal with it. He nods, looking a little green himself.

"You're not sick are you?" She asks worriedly.

After insisting I'm fine I ask them if I can go back to sleep and when they say yes, somewhat reluctant, I settle back onto the couch, face to the back of the couch and feign sleep. The last thing I want to do is sleep again. More nightmares surely.

Once they think I've fallen asleep again I can hear their whispers rise up in the cramped living room. Voices jumping around in my ears.

"Did you get your homework done?" Hazelle whispers.

"Yes mom." Rory and Vic reply in unison.

"Shh! Not so loud!"

"Why not?" Vic asks.

"She's sleeping," Rory says, accompanied by the sound of a glass being set down.

"So?" Vic whispers, lowering his voice all the same. "We never do when Gale sleeps and that's all he does when he gets home."

"Yeah but she doesn't work sixteen hour shifts." Rory reminds him in a smug tone. "She doesn't come home drop dead tired. Plus haven't you notice that he sleeps like the dead?"

"Rory!" Hazelle snaps somehow, still injecting the warning in the whisper.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

With the kids home silence in the house lasts for maybe about two minutes. Posy wanders in and asks, "What's Catnip doing here mommy?" Did she think it would be rude to ask when I was awake?

"She's tired Posy, very tired." Hazelle replies scrubbing with enthusiasm. "So we have to whisper."

"Is she alright?" Posy's voice has turned hushed and worried.

"I don't know, darling." Hazelle sighs. "She's sick."

"Will she get better?" Posy exclaims, too loudly. Missing Hazelle's meaning. Right over her head like most children her age.

"Shhhh!" Vic hushes and I can feel every pair of eyes on me, to see if I'll stir. I keep very still, trying to keep my back and body relaxed and breathing deep and even. Four minutes they watch me pretend to sleep. Eyes scrutinizing my back which feels too tight and stiff.

"I don't know if she will." Hazelle says in answer to Posy's question, her voice fretful. "I'm worried about her."

"But someone can't be sick like she is forever can they?" Rory asks scratching away at a piece of paper in front of him. I wonder what he's doing. Drawing?

Hazelle sighs again and I wonder if she's thinking about when her husband died. The pain and loss that accompanies it. The gaping hole that will never be healed. How it feels like some irreplaceable part is suddenly just ripped away. Would it be worse to watch them die or just find out? "Sometimes they can. They don't always get better."

At the last sentence I'm reminded of mother with a terrible punch to the gut. How she never picked herself up. Hazelle did and she had three boys and a baby due. But mother couldn't. Not even now when she's turning to skin and bones can she find the will.

Someone scoffs and I'm guessing it's Rory.

"Gale seems anxious and angry with her," Vic pipes up, sounding like he's entertaining Posy because her voice is right next to his and she keeps giggling.

If anyone was about to reply they don't get a chance. The front door opens and Hazelle says much too bright, "Hi Gale. How was work?" For a moment the ruse of being asleep fades as does the whispering. I take the moment free from scrutiny to roll over so my back faces the couch. It's less comfortable this way with my head right near the edge of the couch, arm dangling over the side but it shows them I'm still asleep.

Gale doesn't reply but says hello to everyone at large and grunts when Posy locks him in one of her infamous bone crunching hugs. Even at the age of four she's nearly succeeded in turning my bones to dust.

"Missed you!" She exclaims, sounding pleased that he's home at last. "When are you off again?"

"Sunday," Gale tells her kissing her forehead. "Always Sunday."

The floorboards creak as he stands up again and walks over to the living room. Sound stops and I have to strain my ears to hear Gale's whisper. "Why is she here?" He sounds almost…angry.

Hazelle hastily fills him in. "I want to let her rest as long as she needs to."

Gale sighs in defeat. Gale who wins almost every argument. Who's so hardheaded, actually gives up. Then again no one can ever win a fight with Hazelle. It's impossible from what he's told me and from what I've witnessed. I've never witnessed a full blown argument and Rory says that they don't happen often, but they're nasty. "York broke his leg. Won't be able to work for months."

"Don't they have five kids to look after?" Vic asks. "I'm in class with his daughter.

"Soon to be six kids apparently," Gale grumbles, agitated.

"No, not again." Rory moans, banging his head on the table. "They have enough. Their youngest is only nineteen months."

York, I swear I remember him. Can't put a face to the name but sure I could if I had the energy or the chance. Gale's probably mentioned him, probably introduced him to me. I think his son is in my class.

Impossibly I end up falling asleep again. Dreaming that someone strokes my hair and says unintelligible whispers that sounds like my name being whispered over and over again. It's pleasant, unlike the usual ones.

"Mom what is wrong with her?"

"She's sick," Hazelle says firmly. "She doesn't know how to cope."

"With what?" It sounds like Vic this time.

"Prim's death," Rory says as if it should be obvious.

"And her father's. Remember she wasn't able to appropriately mourn his death," Hazelle adds. "She had to become the sole provider."

"And her mother is as good as." Gale shoots venomously and I'm not sure how to handle the comment. Maybe I am sick and I have a fever and I'm hallucinating. "Her mother can't handle it."

"Time for bed you two. You have school tomorrow." Hazelle says shortly, sensing where the subject is likely to go and proclaiming it's not suitable for the kids.

Rory and Vic drag their feet slowly up the stairs. Loitering near the middle from the sounds of it. Neither of them wanting to go. It's doubtful neither Hazelle nor Gale tells them these kinds of things and now that they're receiving this info they don't want to leave.

"Hurry up. I want to talk to Gale." Hazelle warns them.

Upstairs a bedroom door slams shut, leaving Hazelle and Gale alone.

It's quiet for a long, heavy moment. I can feel them glaring at each other, furious.

"Shouldn't we wake her up?" Gale finally asks, more snappishly than usual.

"No, let her sleep."

"Her mother will be worried," Gale informs her shortly. His tone implies he doesn't want me in his house any longer. I don't blame him. I am after all in his bed. But he'll live, honestly.

"Let her sleep," Hazelle insists sounding near her wits end. Am I turning into an argument? Have they argued about me before?

"I'm waking her up," Gale says, floorboards creaking as he stands up.

"Don't!" Hazelle cuts her voice freezing cold. It freezes Gale from shoving me awake and I feel him lean back against the couch. His head resting by my stomach. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Gale's voice is oddly amused as he moves my arm, so it's curled by my side. I can sense him by my side, closer to my head now. His voice is louder than usual and I have to wonder if he's doing this on purpose so I do wake up it'll look like an accident. Too bad I'm comfortable gathering information right now. Amazing the things people say when they think you're oblivious to the world. "She'd want to be woken up. Besides she's been sleeping since I've got home. She's more than rested." My arm falls back over the side, hitting Gale in the face and he groans and curses but shifts so my hand is draped across his chest.

"Just let her spend the night. Move her to the chair or something. No one ever disturbs you when you're sleeping."

"What are you talking about? Posy was sticking a pencil in my ear a week ago to wake me up."

"Rare exception."

"And the week before that she sat on me. Vic woke me up when he got a glass of water. Though that was an accident." Gale says with what I can only imagine is a quelling look.

"OK fine. Just don't wake her up."

Strong arms wind around my body, gently lifting me from the couch and placing me on a lumpy chair. They stuff something that feels like an article of clothing under my head and drape a blanket across my knees. The chair where hours ago Hazelle sat after finishing her work.

I want to wake up, to get up and leave. To fall back into the black oblivion. To do something, other than have this half waking, dreaming reality. But I can't with my lead body that weighs a million pounds. A small part of me realizes I should really be going home but fatigue wins out.

"I'm off to bed." Hazelle's voice says a few minutes later and the sound of her footsteps disappear in the dark and it's the last thing I hear.

I wake, judging it's about been an hour to an hour and a half from the totality of the night around us. Neck aching from the awkward position and shivering from the cold I pull the blanket closer only to find that it was a never a blanket. Only Gale's jacket. The only one he owns. It reeks of the mines and the forest. So it's both suffocating and comforting.

I swing myself into a sitting position and get up. I don't want to wake up Gale who will undoubtedly not be in a chipper mood if I do. Better if I leave now and go home. Walk in the house and crawl into bed and tell my mom I came home right after school. She probably slept this entire time. So stupid of me. I should've woken up hours ago. Should've gone home when Rory and Vic came home. That would've been a good cue. I had wanted to make my mother believe I was at school the entire day and once Rory and Vic came home that should've been a cue. I'll have to tell her something else. Like I went hunting right after. Stupid leaden body. If she's awake at all…

Trying to remember what floorboards creak in this house and unable to remember I blindly take a step forward, bent over and groping in the darkness so I won't bump into anything. My first step goes wrong. The wooden beam emits a loud creak of protest and suddenly a light flicks on.

A light going on is a rare occurrence. We rarely get electricity, a couple hours at the most sporadically.

"Katniss?" Gale asks groggily peering at me hazily in the light.

I shield my eyes from the sudden light. Blinking repeatedly to rid my eyes from the spots of light on the back of my eyelids. "Yes," I say, eyes finally adjusting.

"What are you doing?" He moans, still not fully conscious. His eyes half closed, hair tousled and mouth slack. He momentarily looks surprised that I'm in his house before it comes back to him.

"Going home." I hiss as the light flickers off and the only light is from the moon.

"Just go back to sleep," He groans, glaring at me blearily.

It's tempting I'll admit but the odds are against me if I think my mother won't notice my prolonged absence. If I'm not there in the morning, that'll be suspicious. She could still be up. If she was sleeping throughout the morning and a better part of the afternoon she'll surely be awake tomorrow morning and be wondering where I am. Then again if she's slept all day there's a good chance she'll be awake when I get home.

"I have to go home." I say stubbornly stubbing my toe on the low living room table. I curse under my breath and mutter to myself, "where's the door?"

"The door is near the front of the house. Like always," Gale mumbles and in the dim, nearly nonexistent light, I watch as he rolls over onto his stomach and brings the pillow over his head. "Just go to bed. She won't care."

My mind feels hazy and clouded having him contradict me but I hold fast to my decision, knowing that if I sway in the slightest I'll end up confused and unsure. "No I better go."

He groans with what seems like an unnecessary amount of exaggeration. "Pass my top then."

"Why? I'm walking home. You don't have to come. I live not fifteen minutes away," I remind him, feeling guilty about waking him up. Which is how he wants me to feel, surely.

"No, no I'll come." He mumbles, looking like he wants nothing more than to stay where he is. But something wins out and he wipes his face to wake himself up. "Pass me my top."

I fling the top at him and wait impatiently. The guilt fills me up, unexpected and unwelcome. Sadly guilt is something I live with on a daily basis but that doesn't mean I like it. On the contrary. Guilty about Prim. Guilty that Hazelle feels she needs to look after me. Guilty that I've woken up Gale when I know he has to be at work at the crack of dawn, and that he feels the need to walk me to my house. Although the last bit is by choice I remind myself.

Gale sits up and pulls the top over his head, struggling with the arm holes. I wonder how cold he must've been. Sleeping without a top with only a thin blanket and no heating. No coals or wood sit in the abandoned, crumbling, hearth. All so I wouldn't have a crick in my neck, not much of a setback for me. If Gale catches a cold, it wouldn't be hard given the weather, and colds can be fatal…

"Let's go," He yawns, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs over the couch.

Gale shuts the door silently behind him and sets the pace. A surprisingly slow amble for such a biting night. The winter wind nips at my face, biting my cheeks, slowly corroding away at my face, tearing, ripping.

I walk by his side, pulling my jacket tighter around my body, snow crunching under my noiseless boots. A heavy December sky looms overhead and snow drifts soundless and lazy past our heads. Everything is quiet. No lights, other than the occasional flicker of a candle in a passing house. For one, brilliant moment the full moon's gleaming light shines through a weaker part of the clouds, stars twinkling and kissing the sky. Only to be engulfed seconds later as the clouds cage it in again. Like they don't it to be seen, like they want to keep everything dark.

I keep my eyes on the immaculate surface of white spread before us. Someone, or more likely people, has hastily cleared the snow from the walkways, but a fine dusty layer sprinkles the walkways. In some spots, nearly three inches, and in other more recently cleaned areas, only a layering that looks like dust, sparkling every so often in the ice.

Gale, I notice, has forgotten his shoes. His bare feet glide across the snow, kicking it up and sending tufts of it flying in every direction, the only sign that we were both here.

"You forgot your shoes and you won't be able to get back to sleep."

"I'll live." He mumbles toughly, sounding like he thinks rather differently. "I've gone without sleep before."

I kick the snow and watch a cloud of it get caught in a breeze and whip at my face, stinging my eyes. "So why are you walking me home?"

"Don't want Cray to get the wrong idea. Or anyone else for that matter."

"I doubt that'll happen though."

"Katniss it's some godforsaken hour, it's snowing out and you'd be alone. You don't think that'd give some people ideas?" He makes me sound like a simpleton. If I wasn't so numb I'd be angry. But the numb feeling is always there now. Well almost always. Off and on like a light switch.

I guess he does make a point. "Cray doesn't usually go for walks at this hour." Usually already preoccupied with the girls on his doorstep.

"Oh no? You'd be surprised. He enjoys his late night drinking if the pickings are slim."

It's quiet while he thinks that the words sink into my brain. I understand but I don't see the big problem or what his issue is. I've walked home at night much later than this probably. Usually with Gale but not always. Besides it's not like I can't handle myself. And often Gray will just leave girls alone unless they're on his doorstep. Does he just think me too fragile and vulnerable? I hate it. Hate that he deems me incompetent.

"And what you don't think you walking me home will start a couple rumours?"

"Better that. Besides I doubt anyone will bother to check outside their windows. Or just come randomly walking by."

"Cray might," I say bitingly. I wonder if I should be flattered but I'm too angry to care. Which, in my current state is something to relish, and cling to with my fingernails.

"He won't care. If you were alone, he'd care." He says, oblivious to my tone. Or maybe he notices it and just enjoys pretending he doesn't.

"You forgot your shoes," I tell him again, bitingly this time.

He looks down, as if suddenly noticing. "I did."

A bright square of light looms in front of us. A light with a flickering quality which can only mean candles.

Please don't be my house. I think desperately, heart sinking as we move closer and closer to it.

"I thought she would've given up," Gale mutters.

"That's why you took so long to walk me home?" I ask, knowing the answer. Both of us stopping just out of view from my house.

He nods, glancing worriedly at the front door. "I don't think I should see you to the door."

"What am I to tell her?" I whisper. I don't see a point in him not walking me to the door. She'll see two sets of footprints in the morning anyway. Or maybe someone will shovel or it'll snow so much it won't be noticeable. Why am I worrying anyway? She doesn't even look outside anymore.

"Tell her you weren't feeling well and you stayed at my mom's for an hour then went hunting and a bear chased you up a tree or something."

It's weak but it's the only thing I've got. But lies always slip up somehow in my mouth, get lodged on my lips and some altered version of the truth and the lie mix in together, creating something that is nonsensical. It's improbable that she'll get mad if I she thinks I was with Gale the entire time, but just in case. It's likely that she hasn't even noticed my absence. Unlikely that she even cares where I've been. For all I know she could've noticed my absence, a great feat, left the light on so I could get in without caring where I've been at all. But Gale is right; better to be cautious.

Gale sends my house a glance, like he's not sure about it. "Well," He says, suddenly curt. "Goodnight."

I look at the snow underfoot. It's soaked through my shoes and my socks are damp. But the state of my boots is nothing compared to what Gale is like. Feet turning blue from the cold, bottom of his pajamas soaked and clinging to his ankles.

We both stare at the ground. A heavy silence clinging to the bitter air. I keep examining the hem of his pants for some reason. Eyes unable to find anything else that isn't white or gray.

I don't say goodnight, which maybe I should, seeing as how he walked me home. Feet uncomfortable from the cold I turn on my heel, towards the door. I don't want to go home. But I'll catch the flu if I stay out here any longer.

With a great amount of reluctance I take the freezing doorknob in hand and wave over my shoulder at Gale. I'm not sure if he can see it. I fumble with the key in the lock before realizing the door is unlocked. Not a good sign. Grasping it, tight enough that my knuckles protest, I twist the handle and gently prod the door. It swings open without a creak or groan and when I see no one on the couch or standing by the door I allow myself a breath of relief.

Candles burn low in their holders, dripping onto the wooden tables, wax streaming over the side of the table beside the couch. That will be one mess to clean up that I won't enjoy. I can see a knife will be handy. Why can't she do it?

I don't have a curfew but I'm sure this is pushing it for an acceptable time to come home. I remind myself that mother is unreachable and therefore doesn't care where I've been or what time I come home. She's sleeping.

Feeling strangely triumphant I let the door click back into its frame. I ease off one boot and place it precisely on the mat beside my mother's pair. I glance out the window, trying to find Gale in the entire stretch of white and gray but he's gone home. Only thing that betrays his presence is the shoe imprints. I reluctantly tear my gaze from the window, wishing I was anywhere but home.

A stair creaks and my mother comes downstairs, looking frighteningly there and angry. I haven't seen her look like this in a long time. It's almost a relief. Then I see what's in her hands. A paper bag that looks like it's holding my books from school. She glares. "And where have you been?"

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