I can't think straight. The bedroom seems to be swimming and I feel like someone has punched me in the head. But nobody has, and the room isn't swimming. I must have fallen out of bed, though, because I am on the floor, groping Peeta's shirt to gain stability. He has come to my aid yet again. "Katniss, it's alright," he says. "I've got you." His voice reaches out to me and I compose a bit, but not much. "Prim," I squeal out. He adjusts his hold on me, left arm over my shoulder, right held in front of me to clutch.
I do nothing but stay wrapped in Peeta's cocoon until the screams and the image of bombs bursting are cleared from my vision. Even then, there is still an achy numbness in my chest.
Author's note: I wrote this drabble at least two years ago, but never wanted to post it.
