when I've learned how to love

one foot in the door

"Still awake?"

"No. You?"

"No."

"Lucy Gray-"

"Let it go, sweetheart. There's nothing any of us can do and we all know it." What killed you was the resignation in her voice: while you knew her voice when she wasn't on stage, while you knew what she was like when she wasn't flirting or charming or singing, she rarely sounded so defeated, so utterly deflated. But under the black veil of this cold night, where you both huddled under a scratchy green blanket while CC snoozed on the couch and Barb Azure curled up on a yellowing mattress, there was no need for pretense.

Still.

Still. "Still, you could just go hide out at the lake house and-"

"And what? And let someone else get reaped? Maybe- maybe someone younger? Maybe Maude Ivory? Is that what you want, for Maude Ivory to be carted away-?"

"Of course not," you hissed, clutching your threadbare pillow like it was a stuffed animal, "I just meant, it's stupid how it's rigged, all because of some petty love triangle."

She scoffed, her dark locks pooling round her head while she stared up the ceiling. "No love there. Besides, I only think Mayfair's tried to do me in. It's just a hunch; I don't actually know. I could be wrong." You weren't sure if she was trying to convince you or herself.

"Hm. At least if you go hide away- let me finish!- then whoever's reaped, it won't be because of some privileged mayor's daughter, it'll be a random name, a slip plucked by chance, at least it'll be fair-" but you bite your tongue, and she didn't say it and neither did you: the word fair was a cruel joke, now. Always was, really. "I just... I don't want you to die, or to come back traumatized for life. It'll be bad either way, you know? Death or a life plagued with nightmares."

A silence stretched out over you, the only sounds of sleep were Clerk Carmine's near-inaudible snores, Tam Amber's head shuffling on his pillow, and Barb Azure's soft puffs of air out the nose, Maude Ivory curled next to her. You wondered if Lucy Gray had decided to sleep now, too- until she poked you just below your rib cage.

"Thank you."

"For worrying about you? We're all-"

"For so naturally assuming I've an equal chance of living as of dying. For not speaking of me as if I'm already dead. For even considering that there's a possibility I might survive this."

"Well, of course you do," you said obviously, "we've survived District 12."

The next day, there's this silent, mutual agreement amongst yourself and the Covey that Maude Ivory shouldn't watch the Reaping- she never does; you can't let her. Once when you were 6 or 7 this woman was reaped but refused to go- the Peacebreakers (Peacebreakers, you call them) had dragged her, kicking wildly and screaming ferally, and when they'd dropped her in a heap on the stage she'd try to run off only for them to yank her back. She'd shrieked and lashed wildly, swinging her arms in haphazard attempts at self defense- and no matter how they beat her, she wouldn't succumb- until she did. Until they had to call up another tribute, and her mangled corpse, beaten to a raw pulp like a smashed pumpkin, was dragged silently away by her husband.

So, no. You wouldn't let Maude Ivory see the reaping.

"Hey, I'm actually feeling a little nauseous," you said tenderly, "could you stay, please? It's too scary for me."

"You're such a scaredy-cat!" Maude Ivory giggled, but stayed with you the same while Barb Azure and Tam Amber and the rest went to the Reaping. You kept her entertained by teaching her how to do a fishtail braid.