At the sight of Peeta's bloody wrists, I dig in my pocket for the handcuff key, but he jerks away from me. "No," he says. "Don't. They help hold me together.
"You might need your hands," says Gale.
"When I feel myself slipping, I dig my wrists into them, and the pain helps me focus," says Peeta. I let them be.
Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs.
Peeta was burning. An inferno of anxiety threatened to overtake the blond. He breathed heavily with his head hung low, struggling against his handcuffs.
He glanced at Katniss, sleeping soundly near Gale.
Gale, he thought bitterly. I'll never be good enough for her like he is.
Peeta looked away in disgust as Gale's arm enveloped over Katniss in her sleep absentmindedly. He needed something…. something to ease the pain over Katniss.
His heart felt heavy in his chest as he made his pale hands into a fist, thrusting his wrists against his restraints. Instantly, a trail of purple bruises appeared and Peeta's eyebrows furrowed in temporary pain. The world sharpened and became clearer as he inhaled deeply and smiled.
The bruises weren't enough to sate his desire for pain, and Peeta eagerly twisted against the steel cuffs, digging them deeper into his raw wrist, bringing a stem of blood flowing across his forearms. Peeta sees stars and bites his lip as he tries to prevent making a sound. He closes his eyes in almost orgasmic bliss of the release as his heart slows.
"Fuck, it's so good," he mutters, hands bound high above his head with blood dripping down his body.
Peeta squints in the dark light, pressing the metal against his wrist again, uncaring about the blood running across him arms, not thinking of the consequences. He grits his teeth and holds his breath as the metal slices through his flesh.
At this moment, nothing matters.
Only him and the steel and the pain.
The pain is so perfect and rewarding, so blissful and relaxing… it is more than Peeta will ever need.
He sobs as red droplets roll across him arms, thinking of his only love and the love that will never be returned. He deserves this, deserves to feel so dirty and so worthless.
His fingers grip the wall above him clumsily as he twists back and forth, waiting for the well known sting and the lazy trickle of blood that is sure to come.
