"Marvel!" Desmond screams, sitting up in his bed, suddenly wide awake and alert. He's panting, his eyes wide and his heart slamming in his chest. I sit up slowly next to him, wiping sleep from my eyes and frowning.
"Another bad dream?" I whisper, leaning over and moving my arms around his waist. He leans against me and I feel his body shaking and the cold sweat soaking through his shirt.
"They never end, Pearl," he says quietly, a quiver in his voice. I sigh and stroke his side with my fingertips, trying to comfort him. Marvel was always his favorite child. Before, he wouldn't admit it. But after he died, it became obvious to everyone.
"We could bring you in to a doctor..," I say hesitantly. I know he'll protest but I have to say it anyways.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Or...Or if there is, I don't want any help. I don't want to be okay," he lowers his head, lifting his hand to rub his forehead shakily.
"You don't see what you're doing to the other children. They don't feel they can rely on you. And they can't..."
"Damn it, Pearl! Let me go," he shouts, shoving me harshly. I gasp weakly, clawing at the sheets but falling from the bed anyways with a sharp "thud". I wrinkle my nose and rub my leg that I had fallen on, looking up at the bed in shock.
"Desmond...You..."
"Pearl...I'm...I'm sorry..," he's getting up off the bed now, coming around the bed to where I am. I back away from him though, staring at him with wide eyes. He's never hurt me before. Who is this man standing in front of me? Surely not my husband of twenty years.
"Stay away from me!" I shout, my voice breaking. I scramble to my feet and limp past him, tears falling from my eyes.
I sleep on the couch, curled into a tight ball and letting unconsciousness pull me into another world that's not full of my only son's death and my husband's mental breakdown.
In the morning, I awake to the sound of my daughter's screaming. I practically fall from the couch, running up the stairs to where the voice had come from. My bedroom door is open and my daughter is standing in the door, crying hysterically. I put a hand on her shoulder and pull her away gently, looking into the bedroom.
He's on the floor, a knife in his chest and his eyes glazed over, staring up at the ceiling.
"Desmond..," I choke out, but any other words I might have said die on my lips. The Capitol killed my son and now they have driven my husband to his death, as well. My already broken heart crumbles to pieces.