Almost there

My beard was shaved with hot wax once again. Not that I had much, but I was proud of the fine layer of blond fuzz that had grown during the fall. Slowly, it was getting better. Not like my older brother, who was already capable of growing a mustache, nor like my father who had a beard spread all over his cheeek and neck. But it was something, or almost getting to something. I told Ed, my makeup artist, that I preferred to keep it. She said it would really make a difference if she removed it, so I let her do it; even though it was so thin and light that not even my mother had noticed, and my mother had always notices these kinds of things.

The first time Ed waxed my beard was at the beginning of the tour, and she does it regularly , every other day. She applied the hot wax to my upper lip and the thin skin on my neck. It really makes me shed painful tears every time. Today, as my eyes began to tear up, she told me. "Don't worry, P. It'll disappear soon." That was when I discovered that hot wax makes your beard grow slower and thinner every time you apply it. And that Ed's plan was to make my face smooth forever. If I had known, I would never had let her do it, even though she whined about how my skin is too sensitive for razors. If I knew that it wouldn't grow back, I would never have let her put that on me. Although I never admitted it, I was jealous of Bran and his thin mustache. And after the Victory Tour is over, I want to try growing my beard again. But now that she’s ruined everything with her hot wax, who knows if I’ll ever be able to get rid of my round cheeks. Maybe I will have my pathetic teenage face forever.

I always thought girls liked bearded men more. Well, Bran always had girls after him, but that started before the mustache. And at this point, I don't care much about what girls think anymore. Except one girl, even though I shouldn't care about that one's opinion.

I saw her near him, walking towards the forest, before the tour started. He had disappeared for some time after he started working in the mines. And when he came back he was stronger than I remembered, and black hair sticking out of his chin. It made him look at least two or three years older. And since he was covered in coal dust, as all the grown men in our district were, It looked like he was already in his mid-twenties, when in reality he was only nineteen.

It shouldn't matter to me. I couldn't resent Katniss for not wanting to live the lie of the star-crossed lovers. It was bad enough to have to do it on camera. We played a part to stay alive and it worked. Not just that, it was so effective that Katniss did the impossible and brought both of us back home. We would be forced for the rest of our lives to pretend and act. I wouldn’t want Katniss to pretend for me too. I have no right to be upset.

“You will have a debt with her forever." my mother whispered into my ears as she pulled me into an empty hug. The first thing I heard from her lips, after I came back.

At times it seemed like she wished I had died a hero rather than come home a one-legged coward. I was the one who was saved. I should be grateful. And I was grateful, even though that overwhelming feeling burned inside me. It's ridiculous, I know. I wasn't mad at her, I wasn’t mad at Katniss.

But every night, when I looked at the warm lights on in her house during dinner time, with her family around the table happy to have her back. Or when I saw her next to a man much better I would ever be. I was filled with a despicable feeling. It was pathetic and childish. I hated myself. It was like the feeling of Ed deceiving me with hot wax, while my brother could keep his thin mustache at home.

Today I was so upset with her that my prep team let me choose which tie to wear. They are so attached to these details that it seemed like a huge step to me. Maybe they were afraid that I would seem sulky in front of everyone, right after getting engaged. I did exactly what made my mother angry: Arms crossed and a lips pouting. My voice grew cold and I shout down all of their questions and attempts to 9 me, I even slammed the bathroom door when I went to change. I was like a spoiled child, crying by the window because my mother didn't want to buy me a powdered sugar donut. If my mother had seen me like this, she would have pulled me by my ear and dragged me to the pigs, forcing me to clean up their shit without a shovel. She would have called me a sissy, she would tell me to man up.