Authors note: So this is my first dig at writing anything like this, so please be gentle=)

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games. I just play with her characters. All mistakes are mine.

Wednesday

It's a really ugly blanket. It's this greenish yellow slime color and made of some fleece material. I have been staring at for I don't know how many days straight and that's the only way I can describe the color. It's probably seen better days.

I listen to the sounds of the respirator. It could have passed for someone who is breathing if it weren't for the occasional beep from the machine who controls her lungs and monitors her heart. In and out. Peep. In and out. Peep. It's taunting me with its regularity. Knowing that her body is supposed to do this on its own, but now is at the mercy of the hospital and its staff to make it through the day. But not for long.

I hold her left hand in both of mine. With my right thumb I rub soothing small circles in her palm as if trying to console her. She doesn't feel it, but right now it's the only thing keeping me from completely loosing it. The blanket covers her body up to her chin; the only parts that aren't covered are her head and the hand I'm holding. I wonder how many people have stared at this hideous blanket, holding a loved one's hand, hoping for them to wake up.

The thought of looking at her face terrifies me. If I do, I don't know if I can hold it together. But I owe it to her. To look at her. To see her. So I brace myself, take breath and turn my gaze to her eyes. They're closed but move beneath her eyelids; it looks like she's dreaming. She's not. The doctors said that this is normal, muscles contracting or something like that, I wasn't really paying attention. All I could concentrate on was the lifeless form lying under that fucking ugly yellow blanket! Frustration and sadness are mixing and fighting for attention in my mind. Frustration, because I'm so powerless and can't change this. Sadness, because I've accepted it.

Something wet lands in my hand and I realize I've been crying. I quickly dry the tears from my face. You can't do this now! Instead I keep looking at her eyes.

"Please open your eyes," I whisper even though I know that's not happening. I just really want to see your eyes! Her blond hair is shoulder long and you could see that someone has been taking care of it, brushing it and and putting it in a braid.

The draft from the door, startles me and pulls me from my thoughts and I look up. In the door opening I see the person that reminds me of a third emotion: anger. They have the same blond hair but hers is pushed backwards in a pony tail. She wears the same oversized hoodie as yesterday and her eyes are raw from crying. I just want her to leave.

But she has every right to be here, perhaps even more so than me. So I don't say anything. I just stare at her, doing my best to put up a blank face, but judging by the turmoil in my head I'm probably not doing a very good job. But at this point I'm to exhausted to care.

She looks at me apologetically and opens her mouth to say something, but she must think better of it because she closes it again, as if changing her mind. Instead, she just sits on the opposite side of the hospital bed, mirroring my position. We're both quiet. It's an uncomfortable silence but I'm still thankful for it because I'm really not in a talking mood. I've said everything I want to say.

The hours fly by faster than I expected. Then again, what did I expect? I don't even hear the knock on the door I've been dreading since I got here. The hand on my shoulder wakes me from my trance and I see a pair of brown eyes looking down on me. It's Dr. Paylor. No!

"Just a few more minutes," I try to bargain and my voice breaks. But I know it's pointless. They've already postponed it once because of me.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

They switch off all the alarms so they won't go off when they turn off the machines. Like I would care if it's beeping or not; I've been hearing it for four days straight. It's the silence I fear. They unhook everything and after that the only thing left to do is wait.

I hold her hand and continue to rub circles on the back of it. With my other hand I stroke her cheek. It takes longer than I expected but I am still unprepared when it happens. Hell, how can you prepare for this! Her chest stops moving and I no longer feel her pulse under my fingers. She lets go. So I do too.

Sunday

The funeral is held at the local church and it is completely packed. I'm sitting in the row in the back, closest to the door. It provides a sort of comfort, knowing that I could leave almost unnoticed if it gets too overwhelming. I could have been seated in the front but I prefer the anonymity I get in the back row. Besides, I would just be feeling eyes staring holes in the back of my head if was sitting there.

I don't know anyone in this room and really I couldn't care less. The only person I would have cared about is long gone, lying in a wooden casket close to the altar. A lot of people give their eulogy. I was asked if I wanted to say something as well, but declined. What could I say? The only words I could form right now are bitter and harsh. The frustration I felt a couple of days ago has given away to anger. I don't know if I can ever let go of it. For every stranger, standing by the photo of her, giving their speech, the suffocating feeling that started when I got here just keeps escalating. I grab the bench and hold it with such force it hurts. Even then, I don't let go, like physical pain is the only thing keeping me somewhat sane.

As soon as the service finishes I rush to the door as soon as I can, thankful I got here early enough to park close to the church. I'm not staying here a second longer than have to. I have no need for people I don't know giving me their condolences and pretending to care. When I open the door of my SUV I hear footsteps approaching. I already know who it is so I turn around and look her straight in the eyes. I see her pain, but I cannot feel sorry for her.

"There is nothing you can do or say right now to change anything, so save yourself the trouble!" I get in the car. "I'm done," I say in whisper. Then I close the door and leave her on the parking lot.

After a while I have to stop. A familiar mix of anger and sadness is boiling inside me and is threatening to surface. I try my best to suppress it, my grip on the steering wheel tightens and turning my knuckles white. I find a small secluded dirt road and pull over. Finally, I let it out. My hands are crossed on the top of the wheel and lean my forehead on the back of them. I'm grateful no one can hear my sobs and cries as I break down in the solitude of my car. When my throat is raw and I have no more tears I start the car again and drive away. I will never come back here.

Authors note: I will post the next part soon. It's more or less finished. I'm maxwellandlovelace on tumblr if you have any questions or just want to say hi!