.:isn't {s}he lovely:. //Clover + Rook
Feb 6, 2015 1:02:29 GMT -5
Post by Rosetta on Feb 6, 2015 1:02:29 GMT -5
Lethe Turner
Lethe felt heavier than usual standing in the kitchen before Patricia Valfierno.
Perhaps it was the weight of her guilt and anxiety that welled around her as she faced the rapidly healing skeleton she felt to die. Or perhaps it was the protruding belly, swollen and huge, nine months matured, that hung in front of her. Either way, she tiredly held the edge of the counter behind her and stared warily at the fellow Victor who hadn’t taken Lethe’s invitation to sit at the table yet.
“I’m glad you came over today,” Lethe told her gently, rubbing her belly with her free hand. Already she had to pee again, but she didn’t want to leave Patricia just yet. There was something unsettling about the girl; she didn’t want to turn her back to her lest she end up with a knife in it or worse—Patricia’s deep-set glare.
She had invited her over yesterday, just days after Lethe had ruined the girl’s dress with red wine over a botched dinner that left both Victors avoiding each other’s eyes aggressively and spending the remainder of the dinner in complete and utter silence. Today, she came, the snow just beginning outside, swirling around her feet, melting in her hair, much to Lethe’s surprise, and she followed the barefoot mother with her wild, un-brushed hair into the kitchen. Lethe, having just woken up from a nap and not expecting Patricia so soon, began to make some coffee, still in her robe.
“After that dinner,” she continued on carefully, pulling the steaming coffee out from under the grinder and pouring it into two mugs, “I just wanted to apologize.” Her hands shook as her poured and she suddenly became aware of an acute aching in her lower back. She thrust a mug forward to Patricia and then turned away, cupping her own mug. “I’ll replace your dress if you’d like.”
She shuffled back to her safe spot, the counter, placing her free hand on it as the dull ache washed slowly up over her abdomen, in her pelvis. There was something oddly familiar about this pain and, impulsively, she began to count once the feeling ended. 1, 2, 3, 4…
Jasper had left early in the morning, kissing Lethe lazily on the head. He was off to deliver letters before the snow storm was set to descend upon them. Yet, as Lethe glanced outside, she felt her stomach stiffen as fat snowflakes kissed the window before melting down the glass. Already the ground was turning white, grass only just poking through. She hoped he was on his way back.
Since her return from the Games with Patricia, the house felt smaller, stuffed when her family was around. Usually she loved her time alone. The Victors Village was now so swamped with cameras and reporters, pointed in Patricia’s general direction, but occasionally at the sight of Lethe’s belly, they’d aim their lens at her. She aimed to disappear, like her mother, who, for the past two years, had made herself scarce. She only come over two weeks before and looked disappointingly at Lethe’s fat belly.
"That’ll be another girl,”she nearly chided, her narrowed eyes failing to hide her dissatisfaction.
“How do you know that, Mother?” Lethe rolled her eyes at the ceiling, rubbing her belly protectively and her mother just shrugged, hands moving towards her stretch marks in her own protective manner.
“I’ve delivered several.”
Holed up in her house, with only her family for company and a mother with bags under her eyes, Lethe was dying for something. But, heavily pregnant and unwilling to speak to anyone or run into Miss. Valfierno restricted that. She figured once the excitement of the Victory Tour began to calm down and anticipation intensified from the coming Games, things would settle down. Once she gave birth, once the initial pictures were taken, things would be different. Today, however, as the snow intensified outside, all she wanted was Jasper’s arms.
No sooner had Lethe reached forty did the pain resume, rising like a wave over her belly and even as she bent over slightly, on the premise of bending into the sick, found that it would not be eased…Finally, it stopped and Lethe straightened, counting again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…
“Patricia,” she forced herself to sigh, eyes still on the white skies dumping white flakes to white grounds outside her window, “I really would like to get to know you a little better.”
At twenty seconds, Lethe’s hand settled back on her belly and she rubbed more vigorously now in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Her heart was beating more rapidly now and she listened for the sound of the front door opening, signaling Jasper’s return. Somewhere in the house, Eden shrieked and Lethe started before she realized it was only with laughter. She was likely playing with Camalia.
Should she call the doctor?
She tried to raise her trembling cup to her lips, but at another round of twenty seconds, she found she couldn’t drink. The coffee was bitter on her tongue—she probably shouldn’t be drinking it anyway. She made to set it down and some of it sloshed over the edge of the mug, coating her hand in sticky blackness. Another round of pain overtook her lower back and she grit her teeth as she made another attempt at speaking, her voice more harsh now. “Patricia,” she sounded like she was lecturing her, not meeting her eyes, trying to concentrate on a particular fat flake melting into her window just behind her. “I think we ought to be friends.”
Friends.
The word hung bitter in the air, more bitter than the coffee and Lethe folded her hands before realizing one of hers was still sticky, but at ten seconds to pain she felt like she could barely make it to the sink, so she stood, slightly bent forward, smiling sweetly, yet madly at Patricia, waiting for her to speak. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.
Something was wrong here, something was off-set in the air, something rising as quickly as the hot air from the furnace.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5—
A soft groan escaped through Lethe’s teeth, but her forced smile did not cease.
