CHAPTER 3 - Picking up the Pieces

Now that I knew my family was aware of the beating, I knew I had to find Alder.

I needed to talk to him about what had happened. After all, he was the only one who might understand the night terrors I’d been having.

Everyday I put on a brave face and went to school and work, but only Trey knew that at night I would twist and turn, whimpering in my sleep. Thinking about the face the overseer made as he punched Alder’s stomach sends a chill down my spine: no one should look so happy hurting another human being.

Also, I hadn’t let go of my word. It was my motivation to get up in the morning. Revenge. I had to search Alder’s eyes and see whether or not he felt that burning hot feeling.

So I pack my satchel with my schoolwork and head to the market. I don’t know where the Heaths live, but according to my dad, his father is a carpenter. They are quite a rarity in this district, so someone at the market is bound to know where are his living quarters.

The market is busy at this time of day. People gather in an abandoned warehouse to trade some goods. PKs keep out of there as long as there’s no trouble. As I look around, I see the docile faces of the citizens of district 8. I shake my head. These people have it ingrained in them to be good. There would never be trouble here.

I locate West, Lola’s dad. He’s a metal worker for the district, fixing the machinery when it’s broken. He sets up shop in the market a few times a week to help the citizens with repairs for their household appliances. He knows absolutely everyone in 8.

“Karen!” he calls out to me, waving warmly. His hand stops in its track and his smile vanishes when he sees the fading bruises on my face.

“What happened? What did they…” he looks around, careful not to speak too loudly, “do to you?”

“Oh, nothing I didn’t deserve”, I say, in a tone that warns off further inquisition.

West Blanche looks at me with an eyebrow raised. “What… can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you knew where the Heaths live? The carpenter?”

His old expression is back: the teasing one.

“Well well, the blonde boy has caught your eye hasn’t he?”

In spite of myself, I feel my cheeks getting hot.

“I’ll have you know that I need to fix some wooden furniture. Please keep your prying at bay.”

West put sup his hands, warding me off.

“Fine, fine, have it your way. They live a few blocks from here...”

Armed with Lola’s father’s instructions, I follow the dirt road, kicking stones as I try to make the red vanish from my injured cheeks.

I get to the door and knock gently. An older woman, looking very weary but standing strong on her feet, opens the door. She is visibly Alder’s mother; the same piercing blue eyes and feathery blonde hair.

“Hello, Ms. Heath. My name is Karen and I was wondering if I could speak to Alder.”

She looks at me a little suspiciously, taking in the welts on my face. I wonder if Alder has told her I was in the specialty department with him that day.

“I’m actually here for some tutoring. I know he loves reading and writing…”

She nods silently, and then smiles a little bit. “Right this way, dear.”

I follow the woman and look around. Everything is made of wood, predictably, but the house is empty of anything frivolous.

“Alder, there’s someone here to see you.”

He looks up to me and I conjure up my very best smile. My eyes well up a little as I remember the last time I saw that face.

“Hey you.”

I stand there, frozen in shock.

I was not expecting Alder to carry on his shoulders the responsibility of the beating. Has he been running these thoughts in his head for the past few days, torturing himself? I watch him closely, eyes welling up, body trembling. His voice is cracking under the pressure he’s feeling. I’m pretty sure my mouth is half open, agape in surprise. What do I do? What do I say?

“Karen, I am so sorry.”

He stands there in front of me, staring at the floor with his shoulders slumped.

I know for a fact that the beating wasn’t his fault. We were being careless, both of us. He needs to know this, but I have the feeling that saying it won’t be enough.

I breach the barrier that had been established between us since the first time we met; I put my arms on his shoulder, and make my voice as steady as I can, and look deep inside myself to find all the confidence I can muster.

“Alder, look at me.”

I fix my eyes on him, maintaining the link, hoping that our physical connection will only re-enforce my words.

“The beating? It was not your fault. You know this, I know this. We were careless, and the overseer was having a bad day. That’s all. And afterwards? I can’t blame you for not seeking me out. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t even tell my dad and brother that you were there with me that day. My bruises are on my face, not yours. It would be easy to put the blame on you. So please…” I say forcefully, my face adopting an air of authority I didn’t even know I could summon. I focus my gaze more intently on his, and continue:

“Do not apologize to me. You are as much a victim in this situation as I am.”

My arms fall from his shoulder and slacken on my sides. My expression softens, and concern overtakes my features. Reaching out with my right arm, I touch Alder’s ribs gingerly, where I know his shirt is hiding bruises much worse than mine.

I look up at him and say, sympathetically, “Does it hurt?”

I hold very still under Alder’s touch.

But the only thing I want to do is pull away.

I feel something under that touch. It’s more than friendly concern. It’s… I can’t put words on it, and that’s what scares me. After a moment passed, I take his hand in mine, and slowly guide it down to his side.

My insides are flip-flopping, and I can’t see straight. My stomach feels like it hasn’t eaten in days, and my impulse is to run, flee this house until it’s a tiny speck under my gaze.

What are you doing to me?

I try to focus my thoughts, think of something else. School. Homework. Tutoring. Yes.

I don’t want to scare him away, yet I don’t want to get closer, so I look into his eyes and become very professional.

“We should hit the books before your mom comes in and wonders what we’re doing.”

What are we doing?

I open my well-worn leather satchel and pull out a couple dog-eared books. I sit down on the edge of his bed, careful not to ruffle the blanket draping it.

I hand Alder one copy, and open my own.

As I start going over today’s lessons absentmindedly, my thoughts are floating elsewhere. Maybe that unbreakable connection I have been feeling with Alder ismore than friendship. But if it is, am I the only one feeling it? This scares me more than I care to admit, and decide to quash these feelings at once.

What are they worth, anyway?

So many things stand in the way of a happy, married life: the Games, for one. The bleak working future ahead of us. And then children.

What kind of horrible human being would I be to bring children into this world?

I realize that my thoughts are racing and getting ahead of myself. I shake my head and concentrate on tutoring Alder, trying to suppress the fluttering of my heart.

I feel Alder smiling as I continue the lesson and I don’t know what to say, what to think.

If I’ve already put the thought of a relationship in the furthest corner of my brain, it shouldn’t mean that we can’t be friends. Or does it? My forehead wrinkles in thought. I have a difficult choice to make, and I don’t feel like making it now. There are some things that forge unbreakable bonds, and the beating was one of them. I can’t imagine going back to a life where there is no Alder…

I feel myself trailing off from the lesson, and I look around, confirming that we have Alder’s living quarters to ourselves. I hear the sounds of metal shovels against the earth, and I realize that both of his parents are working in the garden outside.

Suddenly, the book on my lap seems very unimportant. I know Alder must be revelling in holding one again, but I need to talk about the beating. I mean, really talk about it. I shut the book and the sound seems to startle the boy sitting next to me.

“What happened to us isn’t right.”

I stare at my hands, noticing the deep creases lining them, looking older than I reckon they are supposed to. I touch my bruises, feeling the taught, irregular skin. I clench my hands into fists.

“I’m sick of being afraid. I’m sick of being treated like cattle.”

I know this is a point of no return. This makes it or breaks it, and will go a long way in helping me decide if I continue seeing Alder. Something needs to change. I feel like a stagnant pond that has just received a rock; ripples are going through my body and I don’t know how to stop them.

“Why is the world like this? Why aren’t we talking about how messed up this is?”

Tears start to form unwillingly in my eyes and I blink them back, not wanting to let it escalate past my breaking point. I’m done crying.

I look at Alder Heath, as I carefully weigh my words.

“Please, tell me that I’m not alone in feeling this way.”

My heart soars as I hear Alder agreeing with me. Relief floods my veins, sending a sparkle to my eye. We are of one mind; we are one.

For a moment there’s calm as we both realize the weight of the step we just took. I only have the time to think to myself that I’ve been taking defining strides in my life lately when words start tumbling out of Alder’s mouth, and I find myself attentive. His words wash over me, and I finally understand that the Totherows’ disappearance has altered all of the District 8 citizens’ lives, in one way or another. I understand that this moment was branded into Alder’s mind, shoving him in the line we are all supposed to toe.

Remorse assails me for an instant. Am I opening old wounds? Are we better off toeing the line? But the moment flees when Alder utters his next sentence: “I guess I am a coward… but I don’t want to stay that way. You’re right. This is wrong.”

I feel the corners of my mouth lifting. My shoulders are slowly lifting, too, as I take in his affirmation. He agrees with me. All my life I’ve been accumulating this restlessness and finally I can share it openly with someone. This is it; the decision has been made for me. I’m staying.

Wanting to revel in the moment, I scoot closer to Alder, dragging myself along the rug on the floor, back resting against the bed. Our shoulders touching, I think about Brynn, and how she was a best friend to the girl that disappeared. I feel the boy sitting next to me, the boy who just opened his heart and his mind to me, and I know that I need to share my newfound friendship. Together, wouldn’t we be stronger?

With a soft voice, I pick up where Alder left off.

“I didn’t know the Totherows, but I know someone who did.” I look to my left, gazing into Alder’s face to check if I’ve piqued his curiosity. Unsure, I continue. “I met her by accident a couple of days ago… Her name is Brynn Hollis and she’s a designer. Fray Totherow was her best friend. Do you know what this means, Alder? We have each other, and someone else. We’re not alone.”

Peace envelops me. I forget the hunger pains in my stomach, I forget the bruises on my cheeks, I forget the future. I take in the here, the now, and I can’t believe my luck: I have found two kindred spirits, and one is sitting next to me right now.

My head slowly falls, resting lightly on Alder’s right shoulder. I close my eyes and sigh quietly. I’m happy.