imperfect fit ; an everlark au based off of 'the selection' series

s e v e n t y - s e v e n

I don't really know what's going on the Report. I sit on my pedestal, thinking as every second passes that I'm much closer to being sent home. Then it dawns on me that staying isn't much better. If I had caved and read those horrible messages, the queen would win. Maybe Peeta does love me, but if he isn't man enough to say it out loud, then how can he ever protect me from the most frightening thing in my life: his mother.

I'm angry at Peeta, I'm angry at his mother, and I'm angry at The Selection and everything that comes with it. All the frustration knots itself around my heart to the point where it makes no sense, and I'm wishing more than anything that I could talk to someone about what's going on.

But that's not going to happen. Ranting wont make anything better for me, and it would make things worse for whoever I'm ranting to. Sooner or later, I need to face my concerns by myself.

I peek to my left, looking down the row of Elite. I realize that whoever stays will have to face this without the rest of us. The pressure of the public, the demands of the queen- it will all be on the shoulders of one girl.

I tentatively reach out for Glimmer's hand, fingers bursting against hers. The second she feels them, she takes hold, looking into my eyes with concern.

What's wrong? she mouths.

I shrug.

And so she just holds my hand.

After a minute, she seems to get a little sad, too. While the men in suits prattle on, she stretches out, reaching for Delly's hand. Delly doesn't question it, and it takes her only seconds to extend her hand for Esim.

And there we are, in the background of it all, holding on to one another. The Perfectionist, the Sweetheart, the Diva . . . and me.

-

I spend the next morning in the Women's Room, being as obedient as I can. Several of the extended family members are in town, ready to spend Christmas Day in style. Tonight there's supposed to be a magnificent dinner and carol singing. I feel too unsettled to even get excited.

There is a fantastic meal. I barely taste it. There's beautiful gifts from the public. I barely see them. I'm crushed.

All the relatives start getting tipsy on eggnog, and I slip away, not up to pretending to be jolly. By the end of the night, I'll either have to agree to do Queen Agatha's ridiculous commercials or let him send me home. I need to think.

Back in my room, I send my maids away and sit at my table, considering. I don't want to do this. I don't want to tell the people to be satisfied with what they have, even though it's nothing. I don't want to discourage people from helping one another, if they can. I don't want to eliminate the possibility of more, to be the face and voice of a campaign that says, "Be still. Let the this place run your life. That's the best you can hope for."

But . . . don't I love Peeta?

A second later, a knock comes at the door. I reluctantly go to answer it, dreading Queen Agatha's cold eyes as she follows through on her ultimatum.

I open the door to Peeta. He stands there wordlessly.

And suddenly, all my anger makes sense.

I want everything from him and everything for him, because I want every piece of him. It's infuriating that everyone has to have their hands on this- the girls, his parents, even Gale. So many conditions and opinions and obligations surround us, and I hate Peeta because they come with him.

And I love him even more so.

I'm about the agree to do those awful announcements when he quietly holds out his hands.