OK, heads up. This is definitely rated ~M~ Very dark and bloody.

FYI, yes I did steal a torture from an episode of Lie to Me, for anyone out there who watches that show. Just be warned, if you're too squeamish to watch that show, you are DEFINITELY too squeamish for this chapter. Consider yourself warned.

Let me know how I'm doing! Enjoy~

~TLD

Chapter Three: Sin of the Flesh

Peeta was running. The dry, dusty soil of District 12 churning up in a cloud behind him. But he'd heard that scream. Her scream.

"Katniss!" he shouted. His eyes scanned the busy street. Merchants, shoppers, Peacekeepers, mineworkers… his eyes scanned for her face, the face that belonged to that blood-curdling –

"Aaaah!" Katniss screamed again.

And suddenly he saw her.

A part in the crowd revealed a whipping post, and a flash of black hair that could only belong to- CRACK! – the sound of the whip hitting home nearly stopped his heart.

He waited for the scream - he was only a few steps away from her now – but it never came.

"Katniss!" he shrieked, panic hitching his voice.

Three steps away. Peeta spared a glance at the Peacekeeper, surely he'd back off now that Katniss was-

Two steps. But no! He raised the whip yet again. "NO!" Peeta shouted.

One step. As the whip came down, Peeta threw himself over her fallen body, taking the full brunt of the impact across his own back. His shout of pain was mingled with his cry of dismay as he took in the sheer number of stripes across his beloved's back.

Blood oozed from every inch of her back, her curled body looking exceedingly small and fragile.

"Katniss?" he whispered into her hair. Her face was slack in unconsciousness, her forehead resting in the bloodstained dirt. With a quick backward glance, he looked up to the Peacekeeper, wanting to be prepared should another blow fall. But when he looked up, the square was empty.

Turning back to Katniss, he cupped her soft, pallid face in his hands. "Katniss, wake up," he whispered, tears rolling down his face. "Katniss, I'm here." He pressed his fingertips against her throat, feeling desperately for the pulse point that would confirm that she was alive.

One second.

Two seconds.

Nothing.

"NO!" Peeta shouted, his voice breaking in the strain. "No," he whispered. "Wake up, Katniss, wake up and live," he whimpered, burying his head in her hair.

Just then another searing pain ripped across his back.

"AH!" he shouted, the sheer agony of the injury jolting his eyes open and pulling him from his nightmare.

"Ah, there you are," the doctor sighed, her sweet feminine voice horribly out of place in the dark, stone prison, a bullwhip cradled in her gloved hands.

Peeta forced his heavy eyes to focus on her.

She was slightly of out focus. Whether that was the result of recently having been unconscious, or the growing pain he was beginning to feel on his face, or some side effect of the drugs she'd plunged into his neck, Peeta couldn't tell.

Think Peeta, he commanded himself. What's going on?

He'd adopted this practice over the past couple of days. He'd found that was continually coming to in situations he couldn't remember getting into. And then, of course, there were the dreams that felt so real he had a hard time distinguishing them from reality. Since then, he'd been commanding himself to try and remember, and he'd been getting better and understanding what the Capitol was doing to him and what was and wasn't real.

He began with an inventory of his injuries. Sadly, these were the best indicators of reality. Good God I'm in pain! His mind screamed. Back, of course – he could see the bullwhip, and feel the blood running in sticky rivulets down his skin. Perhaps that explains the dream then, he thought. He wasn't precisely sure if the Capitol was controlling the dreams, or if his present was just so horrible that the nightmares unfolded naturally. He couldn't spare much thought on it at the moment though. Face, Bet I'm a beauty now, he thought wryly. It felt like his eyes were swollen shut, and his nose – probably broken. Arms. He realized his wrists were screaming and with a quick twitch of his arms, he noticed he was hanging suspended from the ceiling by his wrists, his good leg only barely touching the floor. That's one way to keep a man standing through his beating, Peeta thought acidly. His ribs pained him always. He was sure he'd broken a few as early as the first day. Since then, the ache and the pressure on his lungs had never faded.

Her voice shook him from his inventory.

"Welcome back, Peeta," she chimed, smiling. "I'm impressed. You did very well. Only passed out after the fifteenth lash."

Peeta swallowed, suddenly glad he had almost no memory of receiving each one.

"Of course," she continued, "It took me two more to wake you." She moved away, setting the whip down and pulling off her gloves. Before returning to him and bringing her face inches from his own.

"Oh Peeta," she sighed, "What ever shall we do with you?"

Peeta's unfocused eyes glared back at her, his jaw as if welded shut.

"So stubborn," she mused. She ran her eyes across his forehead, down his throat, across his bare chest, and further… down. Peeta closed his eyes, briefly, in disgust.

When he opened them again, she was staring at him, a hungry expression on her face.

"Oh, but surely you don't mind, Peeta," she drawled, noticing his disgust at her gaze. "Afterall," she purred, stroking her cool hand across his fevered brow, "I am the one who's left such a mark on your body." She trailed her fingers down his jaw, ignoring his tensing body and his furious glares.

"Why," she giggled, running her hand across Peeta's battered chest, "I've no doubt made more of a mark on this body than any other woman," she smiled wickedly. Peeta winced as her fingers pressed along one of his broken ribs - Hard.

"Damn you!" Peeta spat between clenched teeth as the pain laced through him again.

She peeled her eyes off Peeta's chest, and brought them back to his face. Her expression was delighted.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, not sorry at all, "did I strike a nerve?"

Peeta refused to answer.

Suddenly she was tired with the game, "Always so silent!" she spat, throwing her arms up like an exasperated child. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she drew back to Peeta, her lips at his ear.

"So silent," she crooned, "and even after I burn you," she whispered, running her fingers along a burn mark on Peeta's side that he'd almost forgotten about, but her words brought back the torturous experience in full detail - the flames, the poker, the glowing tip searing down his flesh.

"Even after I cut you," she whispered, caressing her fingers along the inside of his uplifted wrist and down toward his elbow. He shivered, remembering the shallow cuts sliced into his skin, marking each second of time that he remained silent.

"Even after I drown you," she crooned, caressing Peeta's neck. Peeta almost coughed, the sudden memory shocking him.

As it hit him again, he felt his heart racing and a cold sweat beading on his forehead. He saw it again, the cold metal restraints on his wrists, the hard table at his back, the wet towel over his face, and the water… He'd struggled and twisted, but he couldn't escape the water and when he'd felt like his lungs were on fire, he'd scream but that would only let more water into his lungs, and then he'd felt his life, sweetly, slowly, slipping away, and would be filled with a sudden knowledge that he'd won and that he was free. But from the darkness, they'd shock him, pound his heart, clear his lungs, and suddenly, horribly, he was back again, his lungs throbbing and his body aching from the corporal punishment. "Peeta," she'd ask, "Where are the rebels hiding?" and he'd count the seconds as his minute of silence would elapse… and then - Peeta felt a panic just reliving the experience - then they'd begin again.

"But still you refuse me," the doctor continued, seemingly unaware of Peeta's panicked breathing. She sighed heavily, gazing into Peeta's wild eyes.

But then she smiled. "I guess," she began, languidly, running her hands down the panes of Peeta's chest. He winced under her possessive touch. "I'll just," she continued, as her hands continued down his stomach, "have to find…" Her hands rested at the belt of his pants, the tips of her fingers sliding shallowly underneath. Peeta tensed, his breath hitching. "… a more sensitive pressure point," she finished, smiling up at him.

Peeta's eyes burned with fury and fear, daring her to try and push him.

But instead, she backed up, ran a final caress across his bloody cheek, and turned to leave. At the threshold of the door, she turned back, and, raising her hand to her mouth, parted her lips and took one bloody finger into her mouth. She closed her eyes, a low moan rumbling in her chest, savoring the experience.

"Sweet dreams," she purred.