Promise

His home was always so warm.

I remember when I was eleven years old and the day was the coldest of the year. The snowfall was icy, the wind was biting and bone-chilling as it rubbed my poorly hidden skin raw, yet I continued to scavenge the streets for any possibility of food.

My family was among the poverty-stricken of the Seam, and it was no surprise that we were also starving. My father assured me that he would find anything he could, but I felt useless sitting in my freezing home with my pregnant mother. So I set out a little after he’d left, slipping through the door quietly without her noticing.

The roads were slick with ice and the snow was piling higher by the second, but I continued to trudge through the storm. I was quickly losing feeling of my limbs until they’d gone completely numb, leaving me stranded and alone in a part of the district that I was unfamiliar with. It wasn’t until I looked up to see the grey sky directly above me that I realized I’d collapsed, a heap of skin and bones buried within the glacial snow. I thought that maybe if I just lay there, I could brave the storm out ‘till morning and then head home; though I was quickly becoming enveloped by the winter’s chilling tendrils. Just when my resolve began to diminish, the most heavenly scent wafted through the air and into my nostrils.

Fresh bread, I thought.

When I looked up again, my gaze was met by the concerned face of an older man. I guessed he was talking by the rapid movement of his lips, but I couldn’t hear him. Nor did I feel his hands slide under my back and pull me from the ground, heading towards a house that radiated comfort. When we reached the inside, I could only concentrate on the enticing warmth engulfing me. The man placed me on a small, wooden chair and draped a large blanket over my shoulders, immediately helping to bring back my normal temperature.

I watched quietly as he bustled around the kitchen, filing through several cabinets until he found what he was looking for. He turned his back on me for a moment or two—for what, I didn’t know—and then turned around again, his hands cupped around something steaming. He placed the mug in my hands and urged me to take a drink, smiling as my face lit up at the wonderful taste of the tea. He then grabbed a pastry from a tray resting on the counter and handed it to me, pulling up a stool to sit in front of me.

“You’re the Rudolphine’s daughter, right?” he said after silently watching me for a few minutes.

I nodded my head, eagerly swallowing the last bite of the cream-filled delicacy.

He’d opened his mouth to say more, but the angry voice of a woman cut him off.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

I knew by the way her livid eyes bore into my own that her question was specifically for me.

The kind man threw me a heartfelt glance and pulled the woman (whom I assumed to be his wife) into another room. She wasn’t happy with him. In fact, she was furious that he had given me food free of charge and had the nerve to allow ‘scum from the Seam’ into her home.

I couldn’t help but cringe at the loudness of her shouts and the disgust laced in her voice. She had such a strong dislike towards me and I wanted nothing more than to run away from her scrutinization, but the brilliant cerulean eyes of a boy kept me rooted to my spot.

He trudged into the kitchen slowly, his expression inquisitive as he inched closer to me. I noticed that he resembled his father greatly, seeing as he shared his blond hair and concerned, ocean eyes. The only difference was that instead of appearing to pity me, the boy looked intrigued.

I was sure I looked rabid with my sallow cheeks, the protruding of my bones beneath my skin, and the icing caked around my mouth. I felt the sudden urge to explain myself, to tell him that I didn’t mean to intrude, and then I noticed that he wasn’t judging me the way his mother had. His demeanor was nothing but genuine, and I felt relieved for a moment.

The blond-haired boy stood by the counter, studying me, then grabbed two more pastries and moved to sit where his father did. He took a large bite out of the small cake and held the other one out towards me.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” I murmured, fearful that his mother was going to stomp out of the room and catch us at any second.

He looked over his shoulder to the room emitting loud, angry shouts, and then glanced back at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

I gave a soft thanks as the pastry was placed in my hands.

He nodded politely and devoured the rest of the sweet just as quickly as I did, though I struggled with the urge to lick the leftover icing off of my fingers. Once we were both finished, he stretched back in his seat and we sat in silence, the only disturbance being the sound of our breathing and the muffled shrieks of his parents.

Living in the Seam, I learned at an early age to accept that I didn’t have much. I was always perfectly at ease with the life I led. But sitting there, with a benevolent boy who could afford to give to others, it occurred to me how very different he and I were—I certainly didn’t belong.

It was almost as if he knew what I was thinking (he would become very good at that years to come) because his expression softened and he leaned forward, his eyes sympathetic as he held my gaze. “My mom is wrong. You’re not scum.”

I shrugged my shoulders indifferently, unfazed by my own words. “I’m starting to believe I am.”

And then he did something that surprised us both.

He rose from his seat and pulled me out of mine in one swift motion, his arms wrapping around me tightly. I should’ve been startled by the sudden contact, but his embrace was so comforting and tender that I found myself wrapping my arms around him also.

This boy hardly knew me—actually, he didn’t know me at all, and yet, he regarded me as if we were the closest friends. I was thankful for that and him as well.

He loosened his grip and held me at arm’s length, a vibrant smile on his face. “I’m Peeta Mellark, but just call me Peeta.”

Smiling back at him felt so foreign—especially since I hadn’t done so in months—but once I did, I instantly felt as if things were going to look up from that moment.

“I’m Alexandra.”