Godforsaken

“We have to scrap the whole thing. It’s useless now.”

Scowling, I slide the plans away from Gale. “No we don’t. We can use half of it.”

“Are you serious? Half of it? What’re we going to do, cut and paste?” he scoffs. “Besides, there’s no telling what the end product will be. It could come out as some kind of atomic bomb and we’d never know till it was too late.”

The pessimism that Gale is steeped in has begun to drip onto our weapon plans quite a lot recently and it’s annoying me. I know it has something to do with Katniss, but I don’t care to ask; all I want is for this lousy coal miner to get himself together long enough for us to finish something.

“Go get some fresh air,” I grumble, staring down at the drawings.

“I don’t need any fresh air. I’m fine.”

I look over at him, furrowing my brows in an angry stare he ignores with ease. He leans forward to reach for some controls that adjust a set of cameras perched and ready to take in the surroundings of District Thirteen, but I slap at his knuckles. A huff is his reply to my childish behaviors. He takes to leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“You need to knock that chip off your shoulder, Thorny,” I begin. “You’re mucking up all the plans.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a sigh, followed by a grumble of barely audible words. “I know. It’s just… Katniss.”

“I don’t care what’s wrong with you. Just get over it so we can make some progress.”

When I look over at him, Gale is staring at me rather quizzically out of the corner of his eye, as if contemplating whether or not to divulge something. I know what he wants to share and the thought of having to help him with that kind of problem makes the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I can’t do it. Things like that haven never been something I was ever any good at.

“Kat—“

“Gale,” I hiss, turning on him. “Shut up!”

“You wanted me to get the chip off my shoulder!” he calls back.

“But not by using me as a therapist!”

I turn back to the plans while he scoffs and scowls in his chair.

Gale and I had become friends, if you can call it that. He spends a lot of time in the Special Weapons room and as I’m not allowed to go anywhere else in Thirteen, we’d connected a little over our fast minds and enjoyment of creating such powerful things. Sour and moody, Gale was someone I found easy to handle because his personality was so much like mine; I knew the way he thought, what his next plan of action was going to be, and because he was so easy to unravel, I felt comfortable around him. It was an easy friendship that he didn’t push and I didn’t give much thought to.

“What about you and Odair, then?”

My head whips around and I glare hotly at him. “Don’t bring him up,” I snarl.

“Why not? Don’t you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Why would I want to talk about that?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Might help you not be so angry.”

Before I know it, I’m leaning close to his face, my eyes narrowed even more and my jaw clenched. My fingers ache to go around his throat and poke his eyes through their sockets. I refrain myself, though. This is Gale and he’s been patient with me. I liked him. I musn’t hurt him.

“I’m angry because I had to murder twenty-three children for the entertainment of some stupid airheads. I’m angry because I can’t sleep at night anymore. I’m angry because I had to do things after I won the Games that no one should even think about.” I pause and take in a deep breath. “I’m angry because none of that was good enough and I was forced back into the arena. I’m angry that the Games not only took away my humanity, but my grandmother too.

“I’m not angry that I let myself be fooled by someone like Finnick Odair. I’m angry because I let myself be used by something as disgusting as the Hunger Games and it still wasn’t good enough.”

Gale stares at me, shocked and with his eyes widened. He doesn’t look afraid, though. Instead, my new friend looks sad.

He swallows, then, tentatively, rests a big hand on my shoulder. Slowly he eases it around my back and uses his brute strength to draw me into his chest. I’m too stunned to do anything but rest against his body. I had not predicted him doing that.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I saw your Games… I saw what you did, but I had no idea about the rest of it.”

The affectionate contact makes tears well up my eyes and the uncomfortable feeling from before blow through my body. Clearing my throat and blinking rapidly, I shove myself out of his arms. I shuffle back over to my seat and try not to sniffle.

“Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just focus on these plans.”

When I look over, Gale is nodding and trying to smile, though his grin ends up being faint. He slides his chair beside mine. Before I can reach for a pencil in order to start making some edits to the drawing Beetee had presented us with this morning, Gale rests his hand on top of mine. I keep my gaze on the paper littered tabletop.

“I’m not going to say anything else about it, but I’ve been hearing some stuff, you know… from Katniss. I think you should talk to him, Kara. Might do you both some good.”

“Is that what would you would do?” I ask quietly.

I don’t know why I ask that. I guess, in the back of my mind, the curiosity to hear some sort of explanation leave his lips has been slowly pecking away and it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Maybe it was some sick way of torturing myself—maybe the Games had instilled that in me… I wasn’t sure. But I wanted someone else to reassure me that talking to Finnick wasn’t a completely crazy idea.

Gale squeezes my hand. “No, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

The tension in the room evaporates and I roll my eyes while leaning over to land a punch on his shoulder. Gale just laughs.