Stay With Me Always

Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you for checking out my first venture into fanfiction writing! I appreciate constructive feedback and hope you enjoy. I, unfortunately, do not own any recognizable Hunger Games characters/situations.

————————————————-

I shift uncomfortably in the stiff plastic chair as I tug at the hem of my skirt, willing it to be just a few inches longer. I wonder then why I let my sister dress me for this interview. She promised I looked professional and smart; just the right winning combination. As there's no one else around in the small reception area, it's hard to judge the truth. Not to mention, my idea of fashion is jeans and a t-shirt with my hair pulled back in a braid. But Prim insisted I let my hair down. She even convinced me I should let her put a few curls in it. I'm certain I recall seeing my mother dressed something like this back when I was ten, which sets my insecurities on high alert. I stare at my hands on my lap and begin to pick nervously at my nails.

I, like the rest of Panem, have been looking for a steady job since the fall and subsequent rebuild of the government several years ago. Odd jobs here and there have kept me from being homeless. Barely.

I work most days (and nights) at a little diner affectionately called, Greasy Sae's, while the well-intended original name has long since been forgotten by its mostly inebriated, stoned, or just-don't-care clientele. Besides a basic need to stay alive, I am determined to provide a better life for my sister, Prim, and our mother.

Which is what brings me to this mostly humiliating moment in time. My friend, Gale, tipped me off about an opening here at Mellark's. Gale's girlfriend, Madge, works in the mail room and mentioned one of the head honchos was looking for a personal assistant. Unfortunately, Gale is often a man of few words, so I had little information to go off of to get me here. I spruced up my resume to include my vast knowledge of customer service (even if the customers are easy to please when they're hungover), and my uncanny ability to multitask (being the sole waitress in a small diner can be tricky), along with my stellar organizational skills (no one else was going to alphabetize the cans and boxes in the pantry, thank you very much). Whatever the case may be, someone liked what they saw and called me for an interview. Although, according to Madge, several dozen able-bodied people have been in and out of the towering office building, not to mention herself, in search of the coveted position. She swears the Devil himself would be easier to impress.

"Katniss Everdeen?"

A shrill female voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up to see an impeccably dressed woman with her hair piled high atop her head, adorned with several small butterfly clips. She has a number of subtle streaks of hot pink in her blond hair, and lipstick to match. Her lashes are heavy with mascara, and underneath, her eyes land on me and her lips purse. I feel her eyes raking in my appearance. I'm suddenly aware of my too-tight, too-short, too-old outfit that was pieced together from my mom's wardrobe since my argument for pants and a plain top were not compelling enough. According to Prim, it didn't help me "stand out" (her words, not mine). My stomach clenches. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands.

Right now, I would give anything to disappear. Butterfly blond turns abruptly and motions for me over her shoulder with a sharply pointed, well-manicured nail. With no further instruction, my response time is slow, but I jump to my feet before the door she came through has a chance to close. I take the opportunity to give my skirt a quick tug. It's then that I hear a sickening rip and feel the cool air hit the side of my thigh. I feel a rush of heat rise to my cheeks, and quickly glance down to assess the damage. The hem that barely reached the end of my fingertips has now slipped several inches up my right thigh. It's a miracle my under garments aren't showing. I barely register that the blond is talking to me.